Today’s a good a day as any to talk about something that has an impact on everyone at one time or another. Living alone. If you believe online stats, over 36 million men and women now live alone, representing a record high of 28 percent of all U.S. households. Big number. Triple what it was in 1950. For whatever else is wrong with living alone, the pandemic makes it worse. But don’t make more out of it than it is. And be honest. Some people prefer a solitary life, devoid of obligation, free to come and go, free to choose without consideration and free to backslide without blame. One large loner group is the young — that is, young adults — perhaps thought of as the carefree generation. Not likely that carefree, by the way, because all on their own, their stress is the 24-7 pressure cooker of self reliance and threat of failure. Then there’s the widow and widower groups and every other category in between. Elderly widows tend to support each other, to build close relationships and participate in various social activities, unlike elderly men who tend to isolate, which explains why widowers tend to remarry at a greater rate than widows. Widower behavior does make sense. Most of them don’t do well on their own. They need female management. They need experience — and clearly, no one would doubt that females are almost always the chief operating officers. Look at the evidence. Left by their spouses, widows get along very well, thank you — to do what they have always done — run the show on the home front. Widowers need, depend, on that leadership in the worst way. Widowers, alone, without a COO, ruefully rediscover what it’s like to be teenagers again, without mothers to take care of them. You see, despite what you hear, women are the stronger sex, more independent, more resilient, more tenacious and healthier. If this assertion were not true, why do women have longer life expectancy? But as needy as the majority of men may be, some widowers suck it up and make like Jeremiah Johnson, the famous mountain man. Take it day by day. Plan, or don’t plan, one meal at a time and make that meal simple. Put the clocks in the closet along with the dreaded routine. Bag up and give away a lifetime of clothing. Keep several jeans, tees, sandals — and a couple of society uniforms for those rare public appearances. Hang onto a variety of weapons should Benedict Biden’s government threaten your weathered sovereignty. Keep the windows undressed. Protect the parchment that people call your skin by showering only before those rare public appearances. Acknowledge that other bathroom habits deserve some daily respect. And so does the bed. Unfortunately, widowers have no pressing incentive to either wear bedclothes or launder bed linens. Caring for a King bed is easily a two-day ordeal which should motivate any thinking person to perform it only once a quarter. With this system, you simply dispose of the soiled fabric and replace it with new, crisp, material. Costly? A little. But it’s a fact, Matilda — no detergent or bleach can whiten three months of dead skin. Let’s face it. Widowers who once lived a well-ordered, efficient life manged by their chief operating officers, easily fall into disorder — into a type of haphazardness, an aimless lack of discipline. It’s not surprising nor is it necessarily cheerless. You just have to recall why clean sheets are virtuous. You have to respect that a grimy fridge is godawful disgusting. You have to agree that a little routine is at least a little bit healthy. Here’s an idea. From time to time, sit quietly and pretend that certain voice is whispering in your ear, reminding you what works and what doesn’t. Jeremiah didn’t have time for a real or imagined conversation. He was too busy scratching and clawing to sustain his life. Widowers might claim they are doing the same thing. Not even close.

conventionofstates.com