For weeks I‘d imagined the scene: On my first full day as a
new retirement community resident, I would leave my pile of boxes and go down
in the elevator for lunch, and walk the curving hall, with big windows
overlooking the lovely pond with fountains and water lilies, to the dining room
entrance. Study the lunch menu in the lighted case for the first time, then
walk into the dining room and find a seat. By myself. Surrounded by examining
eyes.
I’ve been on my own for a lot of years: Decades ago, as a
young widow, I founded a little marketing company that grew way beyond anyone’s
expectations. Traveled the country to clients alone, been in professional
meetings with total strangers. Circulated and made new acquaintances in crowded
rooms. Eaten in lots of restaurants alone. Confident and independent, you bet.
But now it would be different. I would be a newcomer, no longer in charge. This
entrance …
