Youngest son left for Edmonton Wednesday. I wish I’d snapped a photo of him leaving with his friend Zach in the fancy-schmancy pick up and camper they are delivering for their summertime boss at the R. V. rental place, but I didn’t. (There’s a reason I’ve never been the family photographer. I was always too busy experiencing the milestones to think of recording them.)
So, for the first time in my life, I am living alone. I can’t say I like it much. I don’t like coming home in the evening to an empty house. Empty, that is, except for the animals. Things do stay tidy, and I thought I liked things tidy, but I guess I only like tidy when I have to fight the messy people to get it that way.
The two kids still living here in town don’t stock their own fridges. That means that even though I live alone, I don’t eat alone.
And I’ll get used to living alone. I’ll even learn to like it after a while. If things go the way they usually do, I’ll learn to like my quiet order just about the time one or two of the messy people decide to move back home again.