The weekend after I got home, I had a dinner date with my friend Dragon. We met on Saturday at bookclub at the library where I work. She’d texted me that she was interested in hearing about my time at The Hermitage, but I was feeling shy. I didn’t want to sound like I’d gone all religious.
As it turns out, my fears were entirely justified.
In the normal conversation that ensued over the next two and a half hours, The Hermitage came up five times, despite my best intentions. Although, to be fair, Dragons is intimately familiar with my life and picks up easily on even small changes.
The first time it happened, I had picked up my phone while Dragon and Hubby were saying their goodbyes to count the calories in my planned dinner. She asked why, knowing that for the past several years I have behaved in a manner antithetical to good health and my own best interests in the realm of food consumption.
“Oh, just trying to eat healthier,” I said airily. She didn’t let it go and as we made our way out, she pursued the topic. “Well,” I said, “Remember how I said I had developed a list of goals for my time at The Hermitage?” She allowed as how that was “so me.”
“Well, one of my goals was to consider how I treat my body. So, I thought about it and I want to change how I approach my health. I’m going to eat better and lose weight.” She thought that was great.
By that time we had reached the outer doors. I was parked on the far side of the empty employee lot. “I’ve decided to get more exercise and I’m starting with walking. I’ve decided to stop parking beside the door.”
“The Hermitage?” She asked.
“Yeah.” I breathed heavily mounting the slight incline to the far side of the parking lot but it felt like a healthy effort rather than a hateful chore.
We drove to the Cracker Barrel, which has great options for healthy eating if that’s what you’re up for. I made my order and she asked me, “What are you reading?”
Oh boy.
“The Seven Storey Mountain by Thomas Merton.”
“Oh, I love him! Why Merton?”
“Learned about it at The Hermitage.”
“They recommended books to you?”
“No, they have a library and I was browsing. I read a short bio of Merton and then followed up with his own writing.”
“Cool.”
Our meals arrived. Her side dish was lima beans with bacon. “This is really good. Want a bite?” She asked.
“No thanks, I’ve gone back to not eating pork.” She didn’t bat an eye, and kindly did not remind me that the last couple of times we’d eaten together at our favorite bar/restaurant I’d ordered tater tots smothered in pulled pork, a combination of melted cheddar and blue cheeses, onions, and “bang-bang” sauce, and declared it manna from Heaven.
Dinner continued with blessedly few references to religion until she brought up The Hermitage again.
“Didn’t you get a massage while you were there?”
“Yeah, and ironically it morphed into me becoming Hubby’s most expensive Christmas gift this year.”
She laughed. “How did that happen?”
“I came home and said I wanted a monthly massage at Creative Wellness.”
She thought that was great, too.
We finished our meal and had one last errand to run: a grocery store curbside pick up for her. I eyed the brown paper sacks her purchases were delivered in greedily.
“Y’know those three bucks you owe me?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll take it in trade for as many of those paper bags as you can spare. They’re part of my recycling method in the kitchen and I’m totally out.”
“They do a lot of recycling at The Hermitage?”
“It’s pretty much their thing after silence.”
“I got your back.”
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