This year, when we found that all of our kids had "other plans" for the seder, and none were going to spend it with us, I knew that the time had come for us to somehow either get invited or find a few friends in similar positions and do the seder together. Stage one for this was for me and my husband to answer "dunno," or:
"This year we haven't a clue."I guess it sort of sounded like a euphemism for:
"We're hoping that we'll be invited by someone."And in the end a "someone" actually did invite us. Actually a few "someones" by the time Passover had rolled around. It was my husband who landed the winning invitation, and I kept telling people that I didn't know the people. But it ended up that our host and I had been acquainted almost half a century ago. That's even before my husband had met him, and even before I had met my husband. We had a wonderful time there and hope that we were good guests, well-behaved.
Our trip home ended up being more complicated than planned, because we ended up missing the bus by a few seconds and had to tremp. I got the first ride, which took me to Ofra. From there I got a ride to the Shiloh Junction. And from there another ride to the Shiloh-Shvut Rachel Junction, and there I ended up waiting and waiting. I reached the point when I had decided that if one more car passes me without stopping, I'm just going to walk straight up, and believe me it it straight up, to my house. So I zipped up my coat to be ready to march. It was cold. And just then a car turned and stopped. I didn't know the person, but he almost stammered my name. He used to read my blogs.
He was on his way to see a neighbor of mine and very happy to take me home.
It seems that I'm a bit more well-know than I had thought.