My daughter moving out last year has changed every aspect of my life. Being perpetually single I realized there’s no one to take care of for the first time in my life except me. It’s not a negative by any means, but it’s different.
I heard the sound of the big truck pull into the neighborhood and park nearby. Within minutes you hear the purr of the riding mower in my neighbors front yard and I know that my yard is next. I don’t have much grass and it’s mostly weeds, but even weeds need to be mowed in Spring. I used to enjoy mowing my yard myself, but my neighbor, Hercules, and I found a guy who’ll mow it whenever needed for $25. That is an immediate yes.
The next morning I stepped outside with a cup of tea and sat down to gaze at the freshly mowed yard. It was early, so the air was cool and crisp, but I was still wearing my fluffy robe and pajamas as I surveyed the flowerless flowerbeds. I haven’t planted anything yet and not sure I will. Over the years this yard has consumed hours of my life with watering overflowing flowerbeds by my design, but they look quiet and peaceful while empty.
Maybe instead of me taking care of the yard, the yard wants to care for me by offering the option to take care of less.
My daughter is visiting Wednesday and by the time this is published that day will be here. It’s Tuesday morning, but not yet daylight as I sit and type. I woke up thinking about the pile of drafts on this site waiting for the light of day.
Sitting here at 6:30 a.m. it seems the drafts and I have similar interests…to see the light of day. The drafts are mainly titles and some have the makings of a blogpost already written on the page, but this one was merely a title. It was written last April and saved to drafts when my daughter still lived here. Chocolate and hummus were two things we kept readily available in this house.
They weren’t always there, but if not, they were easily accessible. A quick drive to the market would manifest chocolate and hummus into our home which made that day better in some way. My daughter’s happiness moment was a fresh container of hummus with Naan and mine was having some form of chocolate to snack on. Stepping into the kitchen I see the glass jar of chocolate almost empty and the hummus sitting in the fridge is about a week old and half eaten.
Seeing this title almost one year later I can surmise chocolate and hummus lost their footing in my solo life, but they were a mainstay in our life together. These two things brought comfort in knowing they were there and I wonder if she’ll look for them today? Taking a sweeping glance around the house it looks like a single woman/writer lives here with way too many books, but I hope it forever feels like home…with or without chocolate and hummus.