It was bittersweet, I'll admit. I was leaving the land of palm trees and azaleas but was returning home to redbuds and tulips. Behind me were Posey, Ducky and Jaz but ahead were normal named people like Cindy, Joan and Barb.
My first Tuesday back found me at Woodstock. The club looked beautiful - floors and furniture polished and gleaming, vases filled with spring flowers.
On my way to the card room, a friend called to me. He's a member there and was meeting someone on business.
"So what brings you to Woodstock?" he asked.
"Bridge."
"What?"
"I'm here to play bridge."
"Bridge? Are you serious? You're playing bridge?"
I nodded.
"Wow," he said staring at me in disbelief. "You've really sold out."
I immediately went into defense mode. "What?? What do you mean? Bridge is fun and it's really challenging and - and I bet you can't even play. Try it, just try it sometime. It's hard..." I was beginning to babble so I turned from my accuser feeling like a four-year old who'd been told her mother wore army boots and continued on into the card room.
The truth is he hit a nerve. Had I sold out? Have I spent too much time at a card table and not enough at something more productive? When I'm on my death bed will I look back and regret not devoting more of my life to loftier goals?
I decided to take comfort in the words of author Kurt Vonnegut, who hailed from my hometown. He said something like, "I swear we are on earth to fart around and don't let anyone tell you different."
So there.
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