while you were gone

spring oak

Three and a half days. It’s been a while, since you were there and I was here.

I thought it might be fun to be alone. You know, so I could do stuff.

The first night I accidentally woke at 3:30 in the morning, thinking it was 6:30 and made a pot of coffee, enough for two, before I realized that it was darker than dawn.

I drove to the wine country and held Ali’s baby, just a little, since you know how I am always a little afraid of breaking them. It was a long drive and for four hours I listened to podcasts about poetry and spirit and life and longing. I drank champagne and ate cheese with Kathy, and we congratulated ourselves for making it from ages 15 to 60 with wonderful daughters, son-in-laws and our own marriages intact. Chuck gave me sunflower seeds, two different kinds, for your garden.

The hills were so green, I thought they might swallow me up (and I half hoped they might).

I bought a few new clothes, and then returned most of them. I realized I was the oldest person in that particular store, both times. That might have been the problem with the clothes.

Ate avocado toast for dinner the first night, popcorn the second and a spoonful of peanut butter the third.

Spray painted the patio chairs so bright they glow. They might fade, or I might repaint. Or I might learn to love the glow.

I read and wrote and did laundry and put a new shoe rack in your closet. I cleaned up the dead plants, and potted a few more. I moved the jars of rocks outside, because nine jars of rocks in one house might be too much.

I only forgot to water your stuff once. Maybe twice. Let’s say once.

Replaced the upstairs shower curtain, straightened the book piles by our chairs and hung three new bulletin boards in my studio. Watched some baseball, painted my nails and read every page of the Sunday New York Times.

I went to bed early and got up with the sunrise. I snored. Without you here to annoy, my snoring had only me to annoy. It was lonely, snoring without you.

It wasn’t as much fun as I had imagined, being alone. It was ok, but it’s better when I am there and you are here, and better yet when we’re both here or both there.

I can’t wait for your plane to land tonight.

Love, Kim




  1. <3 <3 <3 You have your person. I go through something similar, but it has become a way of life. So sweet and inspiring and thank you for sharing. xo Suzanne

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