When the Company Leaves

There is a curious emptiness to the house when the company leaves. The house was so full when the company was here. All the air in the house was filled with music and happiness and talking and choices and remarks and what to do next and smiles. A very big ratio of happiness per square inch.

Then the company leaves, out the door, promises to come again soon, don’t leave it so long, have you got your keys? Your wallet? Your book? If you forgot anything, we can mail it to you. Don’t worry. Are you sure you don’t need us to pack you a sandwich? No? You’re good?

Then the door closes, and it is so quiet in here. So very quiet. The house breathes a silent sigh. Just us again. How is that done? Just us. We are down to zero.

Well, there is surely laundry to do now. So much laundry that you can just add things to the washer willy-nilly, to get things back to normal.

And there are surely dishes in the kitchen to wash. And some contemplation of the fridge, still stuffed with good things to eat.

Maybe put together a meal. The leftover of the too-large steak, cooked to medium-rare perfection—still good if sliced thinly, at a slant. Grind some more pepper onto it. And a salad. A salad of romaine lettuce, chopped apple, sliced grapes, sliced raw mushrooms, blue cheese dressing—oh my, surprisingly good.

It is a little like getting lost while out on an errand—the mistake causing you to see parts of town that you didn’t know about, and that you should purposely investigate sometime. So it is with assembling a meal out of the bits and pieces in the fridge clamouring to be eaten before it is too late. The remains of the goodies you prepared in advance of the company arriving. You made lots so that there would be choices, and now, of course, there is lots left. Bread and cookies and pie and endless fruits and vegetables.

That first load of laundry is now ready to put in the dryer. Find the next load of laundry to go into the washer.

What next? Must get the exercise. Maybe a walk. Can put on the knapsack and pick up a dozen eggs on the walk. Seem to be out of those.

Dazed, a bit, after the company has left. Tired. This old dog has been taken on a trek, a mountainside hike, but this old dog loved it. Now ready to lie down for a bit.

All the things unattended to while the company was here. The ICBC notice—yes, of course I will renew the insurance. The notice to get the next Covid vaccination—yes, will do. The reminder to get the oil changed—yes, and I can make the appointment online for next week. The catching up with the usual social calendar—events confirmed, cancellations confirmed, proposed outings under consideration.

Regular life goes on. What felt like a flat, empty landscape—with the company gone—now begins to shrug itself into wakefulness. A few things will happen. Other things will rise to fill the emptiness of the company-gone house.

The state of company-gone.

Now creeping into my mind are the images, which will be permanent, especially if revisited, of the time of the company in my house. Music, laughter, hilarious jokes told. And all the rest of it.