Since the stroke, however, home alone has lost much of its glamour. The first six months, I was never alone. But almost always home. Now, I reminisce of days spent rushing around in my car visiting people, shopping, having lunch, going to work. Don’t get me wrong, I love my home. We built this house the year before the stroke as our forever home, our sanctuary, our favorite place.
This winter has been the coldest, snowiest, yuckiest winter I can remember since I lived in the Black Hills of South Dakota. Here in the Arkansas Ozarks, we are not prepared for weeks of snow cover, or endless days of below freezing temperatures.
Our driveway is a curving half-mile of gravel, descending into and out of a hollow. Right now, the mailman won’t even drive down it. So, it is highly likely that I would be home alone regardless of my driving ability.
Luckily I’ve never been a person who gets lonely easily. But I’m beginning to understand what that emotion feels like. I can’t say I am bored. I keep busy puttering around the house. I read a lot. I am on constant cat duty. We have three official cats and someone recently dropped off another. We don’t have a litter box, so someone always needs out or wants in. Sometimes I feel like the doorman at a popular fancy cat hotel.
Yes, this is a rambling blog post. I guess I just need someone to talk to. You, dear, reader are that someone. Sorry 🙂