I have now been in my new home for about six weeks. The first few weeks were strangely euphoric since I was so glad to have IT, the move, behind me. Our new house is filled with light thanks to double rows of windows in the living room and the weather was unseasonably warm. I got a cat, a good book, and didn’t make much progress on unpacking.

Then, I went back to Lawrence to visit my daughter. Actually I went back twice. I stayed in a hotel room, which was an odd feeling in an of itself, to be doing that in a place where I’d lived for 20 years. I had breakfast and lunch with friends and dinner with my daughter. Every waking hour was devoted to the life I’d once had and it felt like trying to break up with someone but still seeing them and not being sure it was a good idea to break up in the first place.

This week it all hit. I woke up Monday with a profound sense of dread. What now? The only way I know how to make friends is through work or through my kid. Maybe I could be a surrogate PTA President! A room mom! Teach Sunday School!

Yeah, when you start thinking like that you have to sit up and take stock. So that’s what I’m doing.  But tell me, how does a 60-year-old woman make friends in a place where she knows no one? This I plan to explore.