It's Kind of a Long Story... about DYING ALONE

Just like we're born

Hey Drama Goblins,

I’ve often said I’m the least spiritual person in the world. I’m as far from woo-woo as you can get. I’m a “better living through chemistry” kinda gal.

And yet… I also am open to the idea that there are things we don’t know. I mean, I paid good money to see a psychic. I let a tarot card determine my fate.

Perhaps the lady doth protest too much?

The last couple of months have been a relentless series of intense, strange, curious, coincidental, moving and… deeply connecting experiences that I can only attribute to my moon rising into the not even the 7th house. This house goes to eleven. Or maybe Mercury is whatever the opposite of retrograde is. It’s all been good, and it’s all be a lot.

A friend posted something about vibes that I wish it could find. I couldn’t believe it was resonating with me, but it was. I do remember I replied, “I’m vibing so hard lasers are coming out of my eyes.”

I’m still trying to make sense of it all. And simultaneously accepting that it might not ever make sense. There may be no rhyme or reason.

We’re so wired as humans to want a neat narrative. To have our experiences fit into a story that makes sense.

One of the ways I do that is to write. It’s been very difficult to have all of these stories piling up and not have the time to write about them. I’m not a disciplined or efficient writer. The words flow fairly freely, but I need lots of little breaks and don’t enjoy it as much when there’s a looming deadline. Writing for an hour here and there doesn’t work for me.

I was chatting with a friend whose spouse died young and who is also a writer and storyteller. I asked him if he thought we were so drawn to telling stories because we felt responsible for keeping the story of our late spouses alive.

I felt that so strongly when I was going through John’s things. That the evidence that he was ever here lay solely in my hands.

My friend said, “Oh yes. Absolutely. I feel like if I don’t write about it or tell the story then it didn’t happen.”

We can’t let our spouses not have happened.

I don’t want me to not have happened either.

I’m so glad you’re here,

Lara

My Laundry Boyfriend

Short Story

I’m turning into a person with piles of laundry at the end of the bed.

Long Story

I briefly joined the Cat Ladies for Kamala Facebook group. I’m not a cat lady, but I’m a Cat Lady ally.

My current Facebook Cover image

I love the way Women of Cat have reclaimed the epithet. To “die alone” with cats is not a curse or an insult, it’s a life choice. An extremely satisfying and fulfilling one. I mean really fellas, if women are choosing a cat over you, you might wanna take a good, hard look at yourself.

In the group, I posted this:

Let's replace "alone" with "unpartnered"

I may not die with a man by my side, but I will be surrounded by the love of my friends and family with whom I have spent my life forming strong connection and having fun, adventurous and meaningful experiences.

I will be celebrated, missed and mourned. My legacy will live on in innumerable ways.

How many catless douchebags can say that?

As happens with all Facebook groups when they get too big or are too unfocused, there was a chorus of comments that were variations on:

“We all die alone”

“We’re born alone, we die alone”

“I’m never married and have no children or family. I will die alone.”

“I prefer to live alone.”

I may have literally banged my head against my desk. I know the first rule of comedy is “don’t blame the audience,” but in this case, I don’t think I was being unclear. I think it is a phenomenon of online discourse that there are always people who will comment just to be contrary, to answer a question that wasn’t asked, or who are (forgive me) just too stupid to follow the thread.

I elaborated,

We may not die in physical proximity to another person, but we die in the context of the life we have lived, and the people we have impacted and who have impacted us. Yes, we are the only ones experiencing that magic moment between life and whatever’s next, but we are not alone.

Nor are we born alone, we are born in physical connection with at least one other person, our mothers, and with us come the sum of so may who have come before us.

Everything we do is informed and influenced by others, from the cradle to the grave.

I didn’t think this would be a controversial post in a group that has been denigrated as lonely and destined to “die alone,” or in a group of supporters of Kamala Harris, who now famously said,

“My mother would say to us, ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with you young people. You think you just fell out of a coconut tree? You exist in the context of all in which you live and what came before you.”

That is how we exist. From the cradle to the grave.

I had an ah ha/no duh moment a few weeks ago. I had been saying to myself, “Why can’t you get everything done? You don’t work full-time. It’s only you that you have to shop for, cook for and take care of.”

Do you see what I didn’t see? I’m the only one.

Yes, there used to be three people in this house eating and wearing clothes and making mess and needing things and doing things.

But, there were also three adults doing all of the work.

Three people generate more things to do than one person does, but there are baseline things that need to be done in a household regardless of how many people are in it.

I can’t believe it’s taken me almost 7 years of empty nesting to figure this out.

I’d never thought about it before, but it would be very hard to explain this phrase to a non-native speaker. I mean, “no duh” implies the absence of duh, but there’s no such thing as the presence of duh. And, “duh” and “no duh” mean the same thing, but you do use them in slightly different ways that I’d never be able to articulate.

It used to be easy to swing by the store on my way home when I was commuting. Or run an errand or two at lunch. Now grocery shopping or going to the post office is a whole thing. I’ve joked that I “ice cream shop. I have to plan my circuit of Safeway-Trader Joes-Grocery Outlet so that I hit the store with the ice cream last, which can vary depending on what they might have in the three-dollar pint case at Gross Out, if there are Brownie Crisp Ice Cream Sandwiches at TJ’s, or if I’m gonna get Nick’s or Halo Top at the dreaded Safeway. And all that is contingent on what I need from which store if I have the time to stroll the aisles at Gross Out because you never know what you’re going to find if I can skip TJ’s and get a basil plant at Safeway.

Don’t talk to me about Whole Foods or Sprouts or the farmer’s market. A girl can only handle so much.

I swear the generals planning the invasion of Normandy didn’t have as many variables to consider.

And, there’s also the *other* Trader Joe’s, which is sometimes an advantageous strategy.

I’ve become an “I’m running late” person when I used to always be on time or early.

And, my clean laundry is piling up.

I don’t like my clean laundry piling up.

I used to look down on people who had piles of laundry and full baskets all around the house. So unsightly. Just put it away.

When I was commuting and wifeing and parenting and working 7 days a week. Shizz got done. Not only because John and Max were helping me do it, but because I was by necessity hyper efficient. I had to be. Not only to maintain my own standards but to prove to the shaming voices in my head that I was a nice person with a nice house and not the little girl who grew up in mess and chaos.

I let a load of clean laundry and a suitcase I haven’t unpacked and the huge haul from the $2.99 sale at Salvation Army pile up on one side of the bed while I slept on the other.

I joked to a friend, “I’m not going to die alone, I’m going to die with my laundry boyfriend by my side.”

The byproduct of the hard work I’ve done to quiet those judgy voices that have been screaming at me for my entire life is that I’m more comfortable letting things slide.

I leave the dishes in the sink overnight. I wait until the weekend to vacuum even if I notice some schmutz on the carpet. I only mop the kitchen floor when someone’s coming over. I’m healthier and messier.

And eventually, I put the laundry away.

Lara Sez…

Listen!

80’s Deep Cut of the Week! This video looks like a parody of an 80s music video, but I still love this goofy song.

Read!

This is the kind of book that gets under your skin. I was a little off-kilter the whole week I was reading it. And, it crystalized for me one of the things I know about parenting. Your kids are a mirror. They will show you exactly who you are. Some parents are willing to take a good, hard look at themselves. Some break the mirror.

Buy!

The Pink Stuff didn’t impress me much, but this viral cleaning product delivers! A friend of mine was telling me that when you spray it in an empty jar of peanut butter and fill it with water the gunk on the sides and bottom just lifts away like magic! I’m almost done with my PB and am super excited to try it!

Eat!

I just made the best nectarine crisp. What made it so great? This super crunchy and easy crisp topping! The recipe comes from Berries: A Country Garden Cookbook, one of a series of beautiful award-winning cookbooks I worked on very early in my career.

Willie’s Blackberry Crisp

1 c. flour

1 c. sugar

1 t baking powder

1 egg beaten

1 stick butter, melted

Combine the flour, sugar and baking powder. Make a well in the center and add the egg. Mix until crumbly

When I'm feelin' fancy and/or have it around the house, I swap 1/3-1/4 of the white sugar for brown, add finely chopped almonds to the flour mixture, and vanilla and/or almond extract to the egg. 

Top 4-5 cups of whatever fruit you've cut up & tossed with flour, sugar, lemon juice, and cinnamon (if you're feelin' spicy) and poured into an 8 x 8 baking dish with the crumble mixture

Drizzle the melted butter evenly over the crumbly topping. 

Place your baking dish on a sheet pan and bake for 40-45 minutes at 375