Betwixt and Between

I have a major couch, a minor couch, and two easy chairs in my front room, seating for seven if everyone likes one another or is at least willing to tolerate them. It’s been a long while since all the seats were taken and it will be a long while again before it happens once more. I miss the company. It’s okay sitting outside six feet apart, but if you’ve ever started a fire, you know that the kindling needs to be close to one another for things to take off. Same with people and conversations.

Don’t take this as a whiny gripe. I understand why it’s happening. It’s just something I miss. In my case, the loss of my wife compounds the situation. When the pandemic passes, and it will pass, I’ll now be a single at a dance featuring all couples. It feels to me things will be out of balance a bit, and loneliness might be a real possibility. Although, the discomfort may be more mine than theirs. That’s something to think about. After all, the friends who were ours seem to be treating me exactly the same, and in most cases, they miss her almost as much as I do. I think that’s what you’d expect from childhood friends.

I think all this popped up because it’s a gray, rainy day, in that dead week between Christmas and New Year’s Day. It’s a time that always seemed out of place to me, not really part of the preceding year or the new one coming. Not a happy time. Plus, it always meant I was soon to face January and February, and someone needs to explain to me why, when the pendulum of time begins sweeping back toward spring, these months seem interminable. One antidote to the gloom was company. Now that’s verboten and even the wife is gone. I guess I’m stuck with memories of well-lit winter evenings of music, food and conversation and the hope that one day we will meet again.