My son says, “Embrace the transition,” Well i say, ” excuse me for having a moment of insanity.” It’s been 22 days since I was ousted from my home of six years. I’ve never been without my own SPACE. I’ve relocated from one place to another but always to a place of my own for me, myself and I plus a pet or two. I’ve never had a roommate. The word roommate scares me and sends me into a place in my head that I don’t want to visit. I’ve lived alone for 23 years. It wasn’t easy at first this living alone. I was divorce at the age of 30 after six years of marriage. I made many adjustments like: learning to cook for one, how to sleep on both sides of the bed, to keep the mattress from getting lopsided. Eating alone and coming home to an empty house was the most difficult part of being alone. The bed is colder in the winter without the warm of that extra body. Over the years I had my own version of roommates’ dog, cats, three parakeets, a turtle named Franklin and a fish called bear.
I buried myself in establishing a career as an educator, developed my skills as a writer, playwright, and singer. Mother of one fabulous son and grandmother of three, at the age of 53, I can’t call myself homeless, but it feels like I am. A friend and her 24 years old fresh out of Boston College son took me in. So, what all the fuss? I have a good roof over my head, my own room with AC, close to the bathroom, and in an area of the house that is quiet. It’s only the three us, we have different schedules very much like ships passing in the night. It took me 10 days to unpack and to personalize the space I now live in. I can’t say home, I either say the space I sleep in or the place I live for now.
I feel like a caged bird. I miss lying across my sofa and channel surfing. I miss my weekend Saturday breakfast tray in bed and the afternoon nap. Or coming home siting in my favorite, big, black, leather chair and relaxing with a glass of Merlot and listening to Joseph Hayden’s Mass in the Time of War. I feel like I’m tip toeing around. I worry if I made too many trips to the bathroom, or kept the lights on too late blogging, reading and grading papers. As soon as I arrive there I would prefer to go directly to the room I sleep in, but not to seem anti-social I sit in the dining room and chat.
I have spent 23 years of my life living alone. Besides having the occasional boyfriend. I dwelled in my own space alone. My son says that I should embrace learning how to live with other people. He has a point. I just might end up with a roommate, I live in New York City and the rents are $$$$$$$$$$$$. Living with a roommate scares me more than living alone.
Stay tune for more…………………………..
Does it matter why or how people are displaced from their home, apartment, hut shack or igloo? The space people personalize with a favorite chair, coffee or tea-cup; and an old creaky bed that sleeps comfortable. The walls painted with colors that reflect the celebration of life and love. Pictures hung in the right places capturing silent stories, moments of laughter and sorrow. HOME a scared abode, where children are raised, grandchildren visit, where parents and grandparents are nurtured during their golden years.
For the first time in my life I am lodging in someone else’s space; having been dislocated from my corner of paradise. I sit in my room, where there are no pictures of familiar faces, sleeping in a strange bed, sitting on a wooden chair, one single lamp, void of a writing or vanity table. My belongings are stored in suitcases and an overnight bag. Such strange and uncomfortable feelings because I don’t know how to be in someone else’s’ space. They say that I should “make myself at home.” How Can I make someone else’s home feel like mine? Is this possible?
I am deeply grateful to the family for their kindness during this time of hardship. But I worry about proper etiquette. I lay awake at night thinking did I clean after myself? Or would it be insulting to my host family if I slept in on my days off? Can I have a cup of tea and a snack in my room before bedtime? I don’t know how long finding my own space will take. I am told “There is no rush take your time.” How much time are they referring too? This is all so unsettling?
What Say you?