Opening the door to guests when you live alone

They're here to see you, not your house

Do ever feel like you can’t invite anyone over because your home isn’t fancy enough or clean enough or you don’t remember how to welcome guests?

Me too. Now in the second week of having a friend stay with me, I think I’m getting the hang of it. The biggest lesson: If my home is good enough for me, it’s good enough for anyone else.

We all have those fussy family members who want to tell us how we need to change this or fix that. But most visitors are here to see us, not to critique the saggy sofa. In fact, if a place is too nice, it’s difficult to relax.

It’s good to spruce up a bit. We don’t want people seeing actual dirt or finding our underwear where it shouldn’t be, but let’s all take a breath and relax.

A while back, when my dog Annie was still with me, I worried about how the sleep-in dog sitters, two middle-aged women, would react to my house. I was embarrassed about my stained and matted carpet, the dog fur all over everything, and the way my house smelled like dog.

They would hate my lumpy bed and fight with the persnickety toaster oven knob.

I had once been the dog sitters’ writing teacher. They admired me for my accomplishments. But now they would see the dust on the dresser and the chipped porcelain in the sink, the grunge around my faucet, the garage light that doesn’t work, and the goofy things I hang on my walls. They would see my medicated shampoo and rash cream. They would see me.

They would see what Debbie Weiss in her terrific book Available as Is, calls “Widow’s Entropy, where the house knows its master has died and goes into mourning, breaking down in pieces.”

When they came to meet my dog, the dog sitters didn’t mention any of that. They gushed over my green living room walls. They loved the lilac pattern on my plastic tablecloth. They were fascinated by the tchotchkes scattered everywhere. Such a lovely home, they said. Such a great dog.

The one jumping on them and sticking her head into their bags?

They kept exclaiming over everything. To them, this place was Disneyland. They were excited about having a retreat here in the woods, exploring the paths that are so familiar to me.

After they left, I noticed the crucifixes and Jesus pictures all over the house and wondered if that would bother them because they were not religious.

None of that mattered. For once, I wouldn’t feel guilty about leaving my dog. I would have someone bringing in the mail, watering my plants, and using up the leftovers in my refrigerator. They would do what family would do if I had them.

Years ago, my late sister-in-law would invite everyone over to help with projects at her house. We dug ditches, planted flowers, and painted walls. We slept in sleeping bags on the floor, and no one complained. We were younger, yes, but we wanted to be together and that mattered more than the accommodations. I’m not that bold, but then again, why not?

When my dad’s father and stepmother were still alive, they lived in a cottage by the beach in California. It was not fancy. The floors squeaked, the walls were covered with Grandma Rachel’s low-budget art collection, and most surfaces were filled with her books and papers. The place smelled of mildew and cigar smoke, the heat was cranked up to 80 degrees, and frankly, Grandma Rachel wasn’t much of a cook. But it didn’t matter. We were here to see “Grandma and Grandpa,” not their house.

People are not coming to critique your house. Go ahead and invite people over, especially if you’re feeling lonely. They and their home are not perfect either. If you don’t want to cook, tell them you’re not up to it. Order a pizza, host a potluck, or have a picnic in the yard. Just open the door and let the world in. And then, when you have had enough company, say goodbye and enjoy your precious solitude.

I know many of us are happy on our own, but don’t you sometimes wish someone would come to your house? Why not invite them? What holds you back? If you do have guests, what is your best advice for surviving company?

*******************

I have to share this with you all. I don’t get a lot of gifts in the mail, even on my birthday or at Christmas. So, I was delighted to find a package in my mailbox yesterday from a reader named Ro. It came all the way from Australia. The package was decorated with ribbons, happy faces, and flowers on the outside. Inside, it contained tea bags from Australia, a recipe, pictures, a newspaper clipping, and the most precious note praising me and my Substack and hoping this gift would offer me cheer on a dark day.

Oh my gosh. Ro, you have no idea how happy this made me. It reminded me very much of the packages I used to receive from Grandma Rachel. You never knew what might be in there. Nothing expensive, but there might be newspaper clippings, shells, a poem she had written, or something she had picked up at a thrift shop, along with a rambling, nearly illegible letter which usually ended with, “I have to go, the mailman is coming down the street.” Grandma Rachel was my dad’s stepmother. She never had children of her own, and the rest of the family through she was kind of loopy, but I loved her.

Ro, I don’t know you, but I love you, too. I know the postage is not cheap from Australia to the USA. Thank you so much. There just might be something in your mailbox from Oregon one of these days.

---

How did I end up alone? I didn’t have any kids. After my husband and I retired to the Oregon coast, far from family, he died of Alzheimer’s. 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.