Writers like to be alone, don’t they? How else can they conjure up devious characters and plots to entertain you? To a certain extent that is true.
A room with no distractions, your favorite beverage by your side, maybe music, and a good chair to churn out your latest work in progress is all you need.
Not so living alone. I had never lived on my own until I became a widow four years ago. Brought up with four siblings meant there was always someone to fix or help with a task you could not do.
We were both twenty when we married never having lived away from our parents. So for the next fifty years, I always had someone to open a jar, hold a ladder, drive me whenever I didn’t feel like driving. My husband was not what you would call a handy person. He ignored light bulbs needing to be changed, oil for the car, and even a gas fill-up. But he was really good at putting on my eye makeup. Let me explain.
I was in the Cosmetic industry for many years. You were expected to wear full makeup everyday. How else can you sell if you are not wearing the products?
I don’t have the best eyesight and as my husband was an artist he helped me with shadow and liner. I managed the mascara myself. The benefits of not living alone are endless. Let me give you an example.
Last week during a cold snap my heating was not doing what it should be doing and the chill in my living room had me looking for penguins. I fiddled with the thermostat—still nothing but blasts of cold air. I called the management of my condo and waited and waited.
To keep warm I donned a long-sleeved t-shirt and a quilted vest. I zippered it up to the neck and settled in my office to diligently edit Jamie Tremain’s latest W.I.P.
I started to get a bit warm so I tried to unzip the vest to be more comfortable - determined to finish the editing. Thirty minutes later I still couldn’t get the zipper down. The toggle had shifted and wouldn’t connect where it should. I tried to pull it over my head. Wasn’t going to happen!
My neighbors are reluctant to go into anyone's apartment so unless I wanted to embarrass myself and call the cops to extricate me I needed to look for my sewing shears. No idea where they could be. Then, I remembered I had some sharp ones in the kitchen.
Another half hour and I was free. I nearly lost an important part of my anatomy, and my Old Navy vest is now in the garbage. It didn’t owe me anything.   So living alone in the time of Covid-19 or anytime can be… Dangerous or humorous. I prefer humorous.
Spring will be here soon and I won’t need a vest. But maybe I will call the cops if a future predicament necessitates. I love a man in uniform. Slainte, Pam 
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