photo by the author. (Not the same dinner, but this one was a good one, too)
It is a challenge to navigate solitude, and not be able to discuss or wonder or share with someone else. For instance, meals, eating. I mean, what and how I cook is good, satisfying , usually healthy , and sometimes even impressive. And I cook lovely food, regularly, for — myself.
Tonight just happens to be a (quite successful) perfectly cooked pasta primavera; mushrooms, chicken broth, loads of garlic/olive oil, broccoli, little tomatoes, (halved), sautéed spinach/arugula, scallions, throw in some shredded zucchini. Combine with perfectly cooked good Italian ziti, fresh basil, a generous grating of fresh parmigiana. Sprinkle of chopped parsley for garnish. And a crusty French baguette with unsalted butter. A delightful bottle of 2022 California Chardonnay. And the soaring piano music of Bill Evans, bless his soul, brilliance and magic hands.
It’s kind of a pity not to have someone to share the food and the jazz with, but I’ve come to relish my creative solo life, being grateful for its richness.
I’m reminded now of the time I was driving home from a music gig, September 18, 1980, alone, late. NPR on the radio, the most gorgeous jazz piano. I’m sure it was WGBH, the Eric in the Evening show hosted by the late, legendary Eric Jackson, the Dean of Boston Jazz Radio. He was talking about how Bill Evans, the jazz pianist, had just died. I really didn’t know anything about Evans. I remember feeling intensely sad, that he was gone and I had never gotten to know about his work, his genius, his tortured life. I was immersed in his music, and crying, alone. It was about 1 am, I was driving on Rt. 9 through Connecticut. The road was empty. Part of my sadness was not being able to share it with someone.
I was reading Virginia Woolf’s “A Writer’s Diary” recently, catching up on the Bloomsbury group. The crazy, inventive, outré, wild lives they created and shared— key word being “shared”— including all the wonderful meals and wine and dinner discussions, and of course art, music and sex. If any of them had had to be alone, live life without the intense connection/interaction with their tribe , how would they have fared ? I wonder.
When my marriage was imploding, and I slowly began to realize it was no longer tenable, I asked a divorced friend how she managed being alone. I was amazed that she cooked elaborate meals for herself. I said “I don’t think I could manage being alone every night… why do you bother to cook a whole pork loin, make a pie?” She said “You have to take care of yourself… you don’t want to be one of those old ladies who live on tea and toast.”
So - I have no one to share this dinner with. I have no tribe. It is the way things are , in my life. Food, music, movies, books and sunsets. I’ve learned how to enjoy and embrace them, in solitude.
Lonely? Sometimes. Alone is different than lonely. It’s a really good meal, tonight. Just me, Virginia, and Bill Evans.
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The ‘Eric in the Evening’ reference just flooded me with nostalgia. ❤️
Beautifully said 🫶 And Bill Evans - just yes. Peace Piece might be the most wonderful jazz “piece” ever written. Genius.