It seems that everything is happening on April 6th. There is a fashion show, a Beatles tribute band playing, a piano concert, two big sales at my favorite thrift stores, and a girlfriend’s afternoon wedding. Guess which one I am going to do.
She is thrilled to be getting married to her guy, two seniors tying the knot. It will be a lovely ceremony (I am in it!) with funny stories of how they met, Victorian poetry, and other thoughtful things.
I have no plus one, even though it was offered up. I am between significant anyones, and even my son turned me down (he knows the bride’s family). But that’s okay. I am there to be witness to a wonderful day that they are looking forward to. It’s not about me; it’s about them.
As I sit in my torn-up house with the cabinets finally going into my kitchen today, I am looking forward to the end of the construction mess. I am looking forward to having a kitchen sink again, a garbage disposal and a refrigerator that is not in the garage, blocked by a heavy saw.
I am looking forward to the compressor not coming on randomly and scaring the bejeezus out of my jumpy dogs. Daisy hid in my closet this morning because of the noise. I am looking forward to a quiet house and sitting at my kitchen table again. It’s the epicenter of my life, and I haven’t had use of it for six weeks and counting.
I knew it would be like this. I haven’t done a kitchen remodel in twenty years. It was horrible. I swore never again. But then I bought a forty-five-year-old vacant house at the bottom of the market in 2011 and lived with the pressed-board cabinets, the almond tile with brown grout, the black-market appliances that slowly broke one by one over the past seven years, or never worked in the first place.
The sellers put lipstick on a pig. I bought the pig, and lived with it while my youngest went to a private college on the East Coast, took two trips abroad, studied overseas, and needed some support the first year out of college. Then I took in my sister for a year while we figured out what was going on with her health. It wasn’t what anyone thought. I was glad to do it.
This has been my winter to do me things, like buy a new kitchen, sing with the symphony, exercise and hike and date and all the things that were hard to do while being someone’s care giver. I’ve learned a few things about myself this past year. I don’t mind being alone. I actually like it every third night or so. I don’t mind missing out on the club events that center around drinking. There’s only so much of that a person can do each week.
I do like to dance, but it is getting harder and harder to find like-aged people doing it. I like to dance and get home in time for the 10 o’clock news. Now that’s a hard thing to do in the winter. The bands start at nine and end at midnight.
The contractor wanted to do my kitchen in the summer. But I insisted he do it in the winter. Yes, my PG&E bill was high last month, but I didn’t want to sit around my house waiting for the contractor to leave every summer night so I could go out and hear live music somewhere. In the Bay Area, there is live music six days a week, with Monday being the odd day out.
I didn’t finish the book about my World War II hero uncle this winter. I didn’t meet anyone and fall in love. I didn’t have any gatherings at my house because of the construction mess. But I did get a good contractor to put more lipstick on the pig that is my 1970’s tract home.
And I did get invited to a wedding of a girlfriend. It will be wonderful to be a part of it.