Written in 2021
I have been living on my own since January 31, 2017. On that day I moved out of my marital home and into a one bedroom apartment. I wanted-no-I needed to be alone. I needed quiet. I needed total control of the remote-if/when I used it at all. I needed to prepare (or not) my own food. I needed to support myself financially.
I was finally on my own for the first time. I bought furniture. I bought matching towels and color coordinated the bathroom. I started small because I have no sense of design or decoration-but I have my moments-and I have some extremely talented friends who willingly fill those gaps. I settled in and developed my routines. I was happy.
Four plus years later, I was still happy. I moved to a larger apartment. I wasn’t sure I liked the location but it was the only apartment available. Then, I stepped out onto the patio. It was wonderful! Open on one side, not boxed in like most apartment patios. So I began; two sturdy, comfortable weather proof chairs and a small matching table, cinder blocks stacked on end in a stair step fashion around one corner of the patio, colorful flowers to top of the cinder blocks, a bird bath and a bird feeder (both of which I think the squirrels were taking full advantage of!) My patio became my place of refuge; my sanctuary on both cool mornings and chilly evenings, hot tea in the morning, a lantern and a good book and a nice hand knit shawl in the evening. It was a peaceful and joyful place where friends and strangers alike were always welcome.
I had arrived home from work on a night that I had gotten off at five instead of eight. The sun was still up and I felt like I had hours of time before bed. It had been a great day at work, the weather was beautiful, and I was in an absolutely joyous mood. Life was good! And for the first time in many years, I was lonely. I was lonely because I didn’t have anyone to share my joy with. I got my dinner and went to the patio and enjoyed the solitude.
My Patio 