What? You’re painting it by yourself?

The living room renovation continues

Taped and ready to go. Walls will soon be white, carpet shades of gray

I’m standing on the top step of the stepladder unscrewing a curtain hook when the middle fingers of my left hand lock and I drop the screwdriver to the floor.

Maybe this job is too much for me.

Nonsense. The old hand does that when I’m doing normal things, too. It always recovers if I relax for a minute.

Over the last few days, I have spent hours emptying drawers and shelves, moving furniture and taping the edges of doors and baseboards in the hope I won’t slop paint on them. I have been reaching way up and way down, sometimes crawling on the floor.

My hip hurts and my back isn’t much happier. but that happens when I’m sleeping, too. Moving is better. I read the obits in the newspaper. People younger than I am die.

My grandfather was still climbing ladders and riding a bike in his 90s. I hope I take after his side of the family. So far, so good. I take breaks when I’m tired, start again when I’m rested.

The neighbors are coming tomorrow to help move the piano and china cabinet, which I couldn’t budge. I just need the furniture away from the walls. The carpet guys, coming Tuesday, can figure out how to get the big stuff out of the room. I’m paying extra for them to do that.

My new blinds arrived last Wednesday. The one in the living room is lovely. It has a remote control and goes up and down as if by magic. The less elaborate one I ordered for the bedroom was the wrong size. Apparently, the friendly man who was so proud of his speed-measuring techniques mixed up the width and height.

I had removed everything from the massive dresser under the bedroom window to make it easier to push out of the way. It will be three more weeks before the blinds come, so I put everything back.

Those walls and drawers sure hold a lot of stuff.

But progress has been made. In a week, my hallway and living room should be more beautiful. Also, less cluttered. I am finding dust-covered knick knacks and gewgaws that I could live without, including some I forgot I had. Nothing goes back in without justifying its continued residence here.

Meanwhile, my visiting friend has gone home. I love her dearly, but it is a relief to be able to talk to myself and leave all my doors open again. I really seem to love living alone.

If my friend were physically able, we could have done this paint project together. That would have been fun. But we did other fun things.

Way back when I was married to my first husband, his sister would invite her friends and family to her home in Sacramento, California and put us to work. One time we might be painting, another overhauling the garden. We didn’t mind. It was fun. We were all much younger then. The sister, the same age as me, has passed on. People my age do die. But hell, people can die at any age.

I treasure memories of my sister-in-law shoveling dirt in the garden, playing her piano in her nightshirt, and making lasagna in her kitchen. She had a great laugh. Like me, she was married twice, divorced and widowed with no children. She lived her last years alone, but she lived a full and bountiful life.

Today, I will start painting. Compared to the prep, that should be easy.

There was a full-length mirror at the end of the hallway. I took it down. Sometimes it was disconcerting watching myself walk toward the mirror, especially when I didn’t look good, but having it gone is like plastering over a window.

I’m playing piano at church this afternoon. I may show up with paint in my hair, but I’m confident my 10 fingers will be working. With any luck, the green hallway will be white and the ridiculous purple stripe at the top that I have lived with for over twenty years will be gone.

Can I do it alone? Yes, I can. I promise to be careful on the ladder.

I welcome your comments, as always. Thank you for your responses to my last post about my discomfort with sleepover guests. It’s a relief to know most of you feel the same way.

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I’m reading a book of short stories called Wait Here by Australian writer Lucy Nelson. Every story is about someone who never had children. I don’t read a lot of short story collections, but these are really good. In the story I just finished, the narrator says: “The home of a woman who lives alone is a sacred thing.”

I love that. Don’t you?

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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 memoir, No Way Out of This: Loving a Partner with Alzheimer’s, available at your favorite bookseller. Visit https://www.suelick.com for information on all of my books.