No Place To Call Home

Having solved that little dilemma for the moment, I lay back and soak in the warm homey comfort of the farmhouse bedroom that has been assigned to me by my friends. I am lying here alone, but somehow it feels better than lying alone in my own bed. I don't know why.

I get up and make myself presentable. As presentable as one looks in the gear they've selected to wear  to go break an Olympic caliber sweat in a State park with a hangover. I head to the kitchen for an around-the-farmhouse-table chat with the family, strong coffee in big stonewear mugs, and a fabulous omelet prepared by my friend's  less hungover spouse.

Eventually, I take leave, letting them get to their own holiday undertakings -- Egg hunts, flower cutting, custody handoffs and whatnot. I have no such elaborate plans but don't want to interfere with theirs. Of course I am waylaid by the Chocolate Lab who had hesitated to leave my side the prior evening. He grabs his leash and hops into my car, taking up residence in the passenger seat as though it were his, natch. I had forgotten that I should have "ix-nayed on the alk-way" conversation as I made my way out.

I notice on the way out that my friend has planted Easter flowers and placed nests they've found on their property in bushes for seasonally joyous decoration.  Little touches everywhere. I had not so much as dyed an Easter Egg at my house. No chicks and bunnies adorned my table tops or table linens. No kids, no need.I didn't even bake anything traditional.  I have no one to bake for. No hostess to present with a cake for having invited me. Last year I'd been at Scott's sister's.  I'd baked a ton of things.

Eventually I extricate the dog from the car, but not without first taking and posting a cute photo of him to Facebook remarking that he was not likely to take "no" for an answer...

And I go, wondering what Craig is up to, and thinking about what in the world I should do about Scott. I am not sure I am ready to have him completely gone from my life. He's been a 33 year habit. Yet I don't have any idea what place he should have in my life. These are paths less traveled by in my life. I have usually maintained friendships with everyone I've dated. If we were good dates, that usually means a foundation of friendship was poured first. But no one else has ever been so uncommonly mean in the breakup (Lars notwithstanding) and I am not sure what our relationship is supposed to feel like, much less what to call it.

I am hoping that I figure it all out on the walk. I tend to figure out everything when I am on one of my walks. My life. My career. What to do about Easter.

I don't do anything of the kind, of course.

But I do remember that I need to stop by the little Irish pub I'd been to with my cousin and her friends on St. Patty's Day. The name of it, which I can barely pronounce, much less spell, is the name of a county in Ireland where my colleague's brother lives. I told him I'd get him a T-shirt since he was sweet enough to get me two pair of drinking gloves.

I go and have a seat at the bar. It's barely noon, so the bar isn't exactly packed. I have to wait for the bar tender. In the mean time, I check Facebook. Evidently my photo of the Chocolate Lab in my car has gotten a lot of attention from people who think I've taken in yet another animal I don't have the capacity to discipline properly.

One of them is my cousin. I reply to her that I am not getting a dog, it was a loaner, but ironically, for the second time in a row, I am in our pub with my running gear on.

She laughs and asks what the kids and I are doing for Easter. I tell her the kids are with Lars.

She is appropriately horrified but reads through the lines. "Are you going to Charlotte's?"

"No," I say, trying not to sound like a total loser. "Charlotte is traveling with her family. I will go to Mass. Visit Dad's grave. Hit the trails. Watch a little NCAA basketball."

"Don't be ridiculous. You are coming here. I am seating 18. 19 will hardly make a difference."

I thank her profusely and accept.

Such a simple conversation has managed to make me feel like I belong somewhere, when all I figured out on my walk is that I really don't have anyone or anywhere to call my heart's home. And that was making it hard to go home. But after discussing the T-shirt with the bartender, I order a beer, scratch out a to-do list on my phone while I drink it, and then indeed, head for home.