I was talking to my sister, Irene, the other day. “What do you have planned for this weekend, ‘Reeney?”
“Nothing!” she replies, a big smile on her face. “Jimbo’s off snowmobiling up to Presque Isle, so I have the whole weekend to myself.”
“Oh, that sounds heavenly! What’re you gonna do?”
“A whole bunch of nothing, Ida. Binge watch something on Netflix, maybe. Give myself a facial and mani-pedi, if I have the energy. Catch up on my People magazines.”
“You’re killing me! And on the menu?”
“Haute cuisine. Popcorn and Junior Mints. That’s as far as I got.”
“That’s a good start. And let me just say for the record, I am totally jealous!”
Greta Garbo had it right: sometimes, you just want to be alone. Not that I don’t like spending time with Charlie. I do. And I love hanging out with my friends, the Women Who Run With the Moose. Work’s good, too. It’s fun chatting with folks, keeping up with what’s going on. But, you know what? All that takes alot of energy, and every now and then, I got to fill up the tank. And that’s best done by my lonesome.
I gotta say, I love my own company. Whether it’s working on a project in my craft room or sitting down with a good book or video (usually some rom-com Charlie could care less about), I’m happy. In fact, some of my best alone times are ones where, if you asked me, I couldn’t tell you what the heck I did. I just sort of wander around the house, you know, puttering, watching the birds on the feeder, spacing out, totally free-form. No to-do list in sight!
Sure, I’m alone when Charlie’s out snowblowing or if he spends the day volunteering down the fire department, but there’s nothing quite like a weekend where I have the whole double-wide to myself. I don’t know why it is, but reading a trashy novel while taking a hot bath is more delicious if I know he’s gone for a couple of days. I crank up the heat, eat ice cream for supper and rekindle my love affair with Netflix.
Now, you know what the best thing is about having a whole weekend alone? Knowing Charlie will be home at the end of it, of course. ‘Cause, to be honest, by Sunday, I’m starting to miss the guy. I’ve even been known to go into his closet and smell one of his shirts. You can wash ‘em all you like: they still smell like him. I’ll say to Cora, “Guess who’s coming home today! Charlie!” I might cook the big guy one of his favorite dinners or make him some cookies or something. Cora’s no dummy. As the day progresses, I see her sitting by the window, looking out. “Charlie should be here any minute. Do you hear his truck?” When he drives up and walks through the door, I’m happy to see him and Charlie’s happy to see me, too. In fact, we’re both kind of refreshed from our time apart.
Let’s face it: when you’re with each other 24/7, conversation can get a little thin. Being apart gives us something to talk about when we come back together. And God knows, after forty plus years of marriage, that’s a good thing.
That’s it for now. Catch you on the flip side!
Hear Ida Tell It: Greta Garbo Had it Right