Bilbo Baggins and Me

Whatever you do, don’t touch my refrigerator. I know where stuff is. There are no rotten items, leftovers are carefully reconstructed into a chili, a soup, or a layered casserole of tortillas, mashed peas, potatoes, salsa, and of course cheese. I use everything and nothing goes to waste (except for the three jars of maraschino cherries leftover over from John’s Manhattan cocktail stage). I have enough for the week ahead and I systematically use what I have purchased and will create meals out of anything. Ask my kids. One time I made savory pancakes with chicken and cheddar cheese in the batter…to be covered with chicken gravy as the syrup.

My friends know not to mess with the refrigerator Nazi in me and they barely bother with putting anything away when we vacation together or share a meal at my house. Come to think of it, I have rearranged their refrigerators too…but that is not where I am going with this story.

I saw “The Hobbit” last weekend. At the beginning of the movie, when all those big hairy giants crashed Baggins’ house, I felt the intrusion too. Sure, they left the house spic and span, but they ate everything and caused a huge raucous that made me nervous. He just wanted his stuff to be left alone. HE wanted to be left alone. But no - they had come to tell Baggins they wanted him to join them as their thirteenth member…as the burglar. He just wanted these guys OUT of his house, to leave him alone. He explained that he wasn’t up for it. Baggins didn’t want them to touch his belongings.

I get that.

I am a member of a club that I did not ask to be in and I still do not feel qualified. The widow club, I thought, was for 80-year-old women, not me. But I was chosen to join…and like Bilbo Baggins, I think I will learn how to do this as I walk this road, fare the storms, climb the mountains, and fight the giants. Like Baggins, I might want to turn around someday and just go home. But maybe something else will call me back to this difficult, but purposeful road of widowhood. Call it an adventure, I guess.

That is what my husband would call this….a story of an adventure.