The other day, Carol was picking up after me (I should say she was whistling a merry tune as she did so), when she said, “I can’t imagine what this place would look like if you were a bachelor.” I have photos should she be interested in knowing.

Somewhere along the line, I developed the habit of having the TV on with the sound off. All day long, most days. I’m not watching TV, mind you. I’m usually reading or writing. It’s mostly sports that are on in normal, non-pandemic times. Especially baseball, since that tends to be televised all hours of the day and night.

Board games have never mimicked real life, at least my real life. I have no history of wanting to be a tycoon that would have informed me of how to win at Monopoly. As far as Settlers  of Catan, had I ever been a real life settler, I’m quite sure I would have perished with the first frost.

Before Carol and I met in person two years ago, she wanted me to know she wore hearing aids. I guess she viewed it as some sort of disability or infirmity that I should be aware of in case I had any second thoughts.

While the coronavirus lockdown has been – for me anyway – a walk in the park without the walk, I could see Carol’s edges fraying like an overused couch. Six months without a planned trip for two people whose relationship has been defined by travel, Carol was itching to get on the road again.

t was the day I got up a little later than usual. Maybe a lot later than usual, because when my eyes fully opened, there was a new tv table in the bedroom, a new water pitcher in the fridge, a room deodorizer and a different brand of stain remover near the washing machine.

The other day, loud banging suddenly disturbed the rhythmic progress of pointless respiration emanating from my sector of the couch. Dogged residuals of traditional masculinity fired urgent messages to my brain that I needed to see what was up.

The house my parents bought on Patterson Drive in Chalmette, Louisiana represented the very lowest rung on the ladder for the fledgling upwardly mobile middle class of the mid 1950s. The salad days for the neighborhood was when crawfish was 30 cents a pound, the big oil refinery in town could go a whole year without a major explosion, and the aluminum plant had built a huge smokestack that now sent its particulate pollution over the river to Algiers rather than letting it continue to rain down over Chalmette.

Most anniversaries celebrate longevity and joy. Then there are the anniversaries that widows know. Where do you find something to celebrate or be joyful about there?

Each of us has our own way of converting all family memories into fond ones. These are mine.