Dining Alone

Dinner time is now one of the hardest parts of the day for me. It's not that I've never dined alone before, because I have, many times. Art's job required him to travel a great deal, and, once our children were out on their own, I frequently had dinner alone. But back then, it was a nice change of pace. It allowed me to cook something I liked that Art wouldn't eat,  heat up some leftovers—or just make a bowl of popcorn–and eat in front of the TV. I knew it was temporary. Art would be home by the end of the week. Now I'm back eating in front of the TV every night and I no longer see it as nice change of pace. It's not temporary. It's my new life.

I like to cook and, unlike many retired couples, Art and I had dinner at home together most nights. He didn't like to cook, but he sometimes helped with the "prep" work—peeling potatoes, chopping vegetables, etc.—or grilled the meat, and he always set the table and helped with the clean up. Most nights we opened a bottle of red wine, drank half of it, and saved the rest for the next night. During the late fall and winter months, when the Florida weather cooled and became less humid, we'd eat our dinner on the lanai by candlelight. I miss these rituals more than I could ever have imagined.

This past weekend, I took a major step toward returning to some semblance of normalcy and invited company for dinner Saturday evening. I made a big pot of spaghetti and meatballs, which was one of Art's favorite meals—and mine. As I went about the preparations, I quickly realized how much Art had always contributed when we entertained. I was able to concentrate on the cooking, because I knew he would make sure the house was clean, the table was set and the wine and other drinks were ready.

By the time my company left Saturday night, I was totally exhausted, but I think the evening was a success. And it was so nice not to have to dine alone… in front of the TV…on a Saturday night.