ONE

Sometimes I’ll go a couple of days without showering if I have no in-person appointments. Not that I’ve ever been one of those funky-body-odor-type women, but even if I were, so what? If I run errands, I wear my thick down coat. Is anyone at the library or Stop & Shop going to smell me? Lini doesn’t seem to care. And if she did, how would I know? Besides, she smells of Seafood Feast in Gravy, so tough luck, girl. I guess I’ll have to reconsider my hygiene habits now that it’s warmer outside.

TWO

As long as I’m confessing to my slob-dom, sometimes my clothes don’t quite make it into the hamper until I decide to break down and do the laundry, which is two flights down in an unheated basement. I might wait ten days or even more, depending on how long I can manage the underwear situation, which sometimes doesn’t matter either because I’ve been wearing yummy long johns under sweatpants for months now, so the panties factor is not a contributing variable here. And, besides, Lini likes curling up in the near-empty plastic basket. The final impetus is when I run out of turtlenecks, my mainstay winter wardrobe item. But in the meantime, the pile and the O’Keeffe make a lovely still life, don’t you think?

THREE

Since my dishwasher’s been broken, I’m washing everything by hand, which is mostly OK. Lately, I’ve let the dishes go for two days. I’ve never seen a bug or critter in this apartment after twenty years, so I’m not worried about invaders. And it’s only me, so how many dishes can there possibly be? But it’s also Lini’s bowls and the silverware and pots and pans and, oh, the glasses, which are harder than you’d think to get squeaky-clean by hand. On Sunday, I organized mounds of unmatched Tupperware that were tumbling out of one kitchen cabinet area and voilà! Tucked in the back was a pile of hot-pink paper cups, plates, and bowls leftover from my 50th birthday party in 2004. Problem solved.

FOUR

Let’s talk about the singing-while-living-alone thing: I sing while taking a shower, washing the dishes (when I get around to it), scooping the litter, putting out the cat food, making dinner for myself, vacuuming (a rare event). Sometimes it’s songs you might recognize, ear worms from the day, or choral parts I might be learning, but mostly it’s improvised nonsense, complete with vocal swooping and occasional attempts at belting (when my downstairs neighbors are out). And sometimes it’s a few rounds of “Lini Lini Bo Beanie, Banana Fana Fo Feanie, Fee Fi Mo Meanie, Lini.” Yeah. Like that. Am I the only one? What will happen when I live in senior housing? Will they throw me out for disturbing the peace?

FIVE

Solo living means total control and total freedom. So, naturally, my living room is a cat playground. Every evening at 10:00, Lini waits patiently during Lawrence O’Donnell’s opening segment, then the games begin. Her latest is chasing a rubber ball back and forth through a fuzzy tunnel, a cloth-covered slinky-type contraption that I got at the Ocean State Job Lot for ten bucks. We play fetch, bounce, leap, twirl, hide-n-seek, skid, slide, fly, and the always-popular shoelace-dangling-from-the-bike dance. The other night, I heard myself laughing out loud at her shenanigans and realized I hadn’t laughed all day. I might have to do something about that. Someday soon.

Dear Readers: Hope you’re enjoying my new Substack. I’m keeping it free for the foreseeable future, but I’d be grateful if you’d lend your support by subscribing and sharing. And stay tuned for updates on my search for a publisher for This Is 70: A Life in Micro-Memoirs, a linked set of 70 micro-memoirs of exactly 70 words each to mark my 70th birthday last year.