Octogenarians in poodle skirts? Why not?

Sometimes we have to jump out of our comfort zone

When the audience of writers saw me walking around with a mic on Saturday, telling the stories behind my books, they would not guess that an hour before, I was running around in ragged sweats praying I didn’t blow it. Or that I’d be eating dinner alone a couple hours later.

The thing about the solo life is that nobody knows what it’s like when it’s just you. I’m not saying this for sympathy. I know I’m blessed, but I want to be real about how it is.

My talk as a “Spotlight Author” on Saturday went well. The PowerPoint worked, the mic worked, people came from far and wide to hear me, and quite a few bought books. For two hours, people saw me and heard me.

I loved it. We who live alone feel invisible so much of the time.

But then it was done, and I was back in my car, dressed up and exhausted. I didn’t have the energy to make dinner, so I went out.

Noise hit me as I entered the crowded restaurant. The server waved me to a side booth under one of the TV monitors showing a football game. No one else was eating alone. After reading stories about my husband from my memoir and talking about our lives together, I yearned to see Fred across the table from me. We would talk and laugh and share dessert. But he wasn’t there, and it made me sad. Even after thirteen years.

At a nearby table, the server brought chocolate cake with a candle and invited everyone to sing “Happy birthday.” At other tables, friends, families, and couples gathered, some of them with babies. I had my phone and a book to amuse me, but I didn’t feel like reading.

I bypassed the fried food and ordered the shrimp salad but blew my diet with a beer and a slice of key lime pie, self-soothing with food.

After dinner, I went for a walk, hoping to get some exercise before dark. I passed hotels, industrial buildings, and the back of the Oregon Coast Aquarium. I discovered a short tree-lined trail behind the Holiday Inn. It was lovely, but I felt vulnerable being there alone. In the woods, I worry about four-legged predators. Here, I worried about the two-legged ones.

I fought to hang on to the good feelings I had earlier. I spent that night redoing PowerPoint slides in my dreams.

The weekend festivities were not over. On Sunday, St. Anthony’s Church in Waldport celebrated its 75^th anniversary with a big party with a 1950s theme.

It was fun. My dress was tight on top, and just before I was ready to go, I spilled makeup on the front. Hours later, it was still a little wet from my semi-successful effort to remove the stain. But it didn’t matter. I wore the polka dot dress with red shoes, a red purse, a little white hat, and my husband’s letter sweater from John Burroughs high school in Burbank, California.

Maybe a third of the congregation dressed up, but they went all out. Eighty-year-olds in poufy poodle skirts, one dressed as Annette of the Mickey Mouse club, others in silky dresses with matching hats and shoes, men in suits or Fonzie-style leather jackets. Quite a few of us arrived alone. It didn’t matter. We were all having fun playing dress-up.

We sang old songs at Mass, then gathered in the hall for a feast. The church provided turkey and ham; we brought the side dishes. So many cakes and pies! A slide show offered the story of the parish while long-timers reminisced.

Just when I thought I could relax, Father called me up to play and sing some 1950s songs, and I did, recruiting choir members to help. That’s Julie and Barry Collins with me in the photo by Charlene Walton. The music was not perfect, but it was fun.

Driving home afterward, I saw residents going to the grocery store, vacationers on their way home from the beach, and visitors pulling off the highway to take pictures of the waves at Seal Rock.

Regular life went on.

Still in my fancy clothes, my vocal cords shredded from two days of talking and singing, I sat down to write about my weekend because there was no one to talk to about it.

Am I sad that I’m alone again right now? No. I’m glad for some down time to regroup. It would be nice if Fred was here, but he would have been pushing to leave church earlier so he could watch his football games. Being single meant I could stay as long as I wanted and sit next to anyone I chose. Flirt even.

Time is speeding by. Might as well pass it singing “At the Hop” in a silly hat with a belly full of stuffing and cake and friends squeezing close to read the music.

This weekend was unusual. I can’t tell you how many times I plan to go out and then decide to stay home. It’s hard to get yourself going, and it can be miserable feeling alone in a crowd. But we can do it. If we don’t know people, we can introduce ourselves.

Maybe, like me, you feel as if you have to earn your place by not just attending but playing the piano or baking the best cake or giving a talk. You don’t. It’s perfectly okay to just show up, join the crowd, and say to someone, “Hi, I’m ____.”

There’s plenty of time to be alone. Like many of you, I am dreading the holidays, even Halloween. But that’s another post.

How was your weekend? I welcome your comments.

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How did I end up alone? My first marriage ended in divorce. My second husband died of Alzheimer’s after we had moved to the Oregon coast, far from family. I never had any kids, only dogs. Now I live by myself in a big house in the woods. You can read our story in my new memoir, No Way Out of This: Loving a Partner with Alzheimer’s, available now at your favorite bookseller. Visit https://www.suelick.com for information on all of my books.