Front Porch: Guilty pleasure day ruined by computer troubles

So here I am with a delicious day and a half all to myself. What shall I do?

My husband has gone with a friend to a Mariners game in Seattle, and the house is quiet. No pillows dropped on the living room floor. No Bruce obliviously standing at the kitchen sink rinsing out something gucky from the garage as I approach with a steaming pot of pasta needing to be drained. No need to interrupt what I’m doing to be sure he eats something (he goes without food unless there’s something edible directly in his line of sight).

Now I love the guy and am happy to ensure he stays nourished. And I love that at the end of the day we exchange stories about what we did during the day. I love hearing and feeling his presence in the house. But a day to myself – a guilty pleasure. Guilty because I have friends who have lost a spouse and who have way too many days alone. I sure don’t want to be in their shoes. But an occasional day with nobody or nothing to think about but what suits the queen of the house (me) – well, that is surely a pleasure.

I could go have lunch with a friend in Cheney, as I’ve been meaning to do. There are all those books downstairs that I should sort through, moving some along to new homes and generally cleaning up the book shelves. I’d sit outside and read one of those books except it’s so smoky out that reading should be confined to that comfy recliner I already spend too much time in.

Not that I can’t do these things when my husband is in town, and I do. I work from home and can arrange my day to accommodate for social events, shopping and other things. Working from home means I could be writing at 8 p.m. or over the weekend so I can do other things during the week if I wish. It’s nice to be flexible that way.

Bruce works during the day, but often stops off at the house to refill the tanks in his truck. So we see each other a lot, and I like that. But a teeny tiny moment when I know my solitude or reverie will be uninterrupted, as I said – bliss.

I could go see a matinee by myself at the Magic Lantern downtown. There are often interesting films there that don’t play in the mainstream theaters, so that could be a fun thing to do. It occurs to me to drive out to the cemetery to visit my mother’s grave. I haven’t done that in a while, and it’s been on my mind. Or I could call my cousin in Florida for one of our marathon conversations and catch-up sessions.

I’ve been wanting to do some Christmas shopping. Early, I know, but I’m not one to put these things off. Besides, we’re going overseas this fall and will be bringing Christmas gifts with us. This might be a good day for that.

I have a friend who serves lunch to seniors, and I’ve long thought I should join her in that endeavor from time to time. Another friend plays Scrabble with a group of women once a week, and she has often invited me to come. Today is Scrabble day, and I’d enjoy joining in on the activity. I grew up playing combat Scrabble with my mother, and I’m sure I can adjust to a kinder and gentler version. It’s good to do new things, and today could be a perfect day to do either of these.

So what am I doing today exactly? Staying put. Doing loads and loads of laundry. Changing the sheets and towels. Filling up the liquid soap containers in the bathrooms. Making a cucumber salad. Paying bills. And staying off the phone.

Something has gone wrong with the vision I had for this day. This is now day three in which I can receive emails but I cannot send any out, a clear problem for someone who sends out finished work product via email and handles most business communications in that manner. I’ve tried to work it out with the appropriate online representatives (twice), but the problem has been bumped up to a higher level of response.

I am confined to the house because I’m waiting for my Internet provider’s troubleshooters to call back. There is no set time when they’re going to call, of course, not even a range of hours. Just sometime.

This is not turning out to be a day filled with bliss after all.