Puttin’ on the Ritz

Right now, Kathy and two sisters are downtown at the Ritz celebrating her birthday. I can’t tell you how old she is, but it’s the big one between 50 and 70, about halfway between. Since it is such a milestone, I decided to treat her to something special, hence the club suite at the Ritz. She called me shortly after they had checked in and told me that they had been upgraded to the Junior Presidential suite! That’s the one I originally wanted them to have, but I couldn’t afford it. It must be about $800 a night.

It’s also the home opener for our NFL team playing their arch rival. I told her if she sees any huge guys walking around they are probably football players so she should get plenty of autographs and we’ll sort them out later.

This means I am home alone! Except for the dog, and he can be good company, though he’s never really been much of a conversationalist. He’ll come over for a head pat, especially when the thunderstorms start rolling in tonight.

Being home alone means I get to do anything I want, like rent movies that Kathy would never watch. This weekend’s selections were The Shooter and The Breach. I just finished The Shooter. Plenty of action, righteous anger, several impossible escapes but an odd ending where the hero seems to descend to his antagonists’ amoral level.

Being home alone means microwaving left over spaghetti and eating alone at the kitchen table with the TV for company. Funny, but it’s not much of a conversationalist either. It doesn’t care how my day went, and is oblivious to my plans for tomorrow.

Being home alone gives me an idea of what it might be like if Kathy precedes me in death and leaves me here to fend for myself.

I could do what I want, when I want, with whom I want. Or not. Opens up all sorts of possibilities. Would I date again? Would I get married again? Would I be able to figure out the checkbook? Would I learn to cook, or would I just starve? Graham crackers. You don’t have to cook them. I could eat them. And maybe some grapes. A balanced diet.

Mostly it seems like a great big hole, an unfillable space. I don’t believe I want to think about that right now. I’d rather look forward to her lurid tales of life at the Ritz when she comes home tomorrow. God willing.