If you haven’t kept up with recent Chronicles, the main character of the story is on a quest to find to make sense of the world, with the less obvious motivation of wanting to belong somewhere.

‘Not a home with a TV and MTV- that close kin to the Halloween celebrations growing up. A place with no hollow religious warnings of doom, where I am in trouble no matter what I do. A place free of Hollywood stars playing the supporting role to the ruling class. Where a thing or person IS what she/he/it/they/them appears to be. I don’t know if such a place exists. But, I am not giving up hope.

I found my way to Virginia, the home for ‘Lovers’ apparently. I don’t entirely know what that means. But, when an old lady at the local drive-through treated me like a prodigal child come home for dinner, I nearly burst into tears.

I wasn’t crying because I was eating at McDonald’s, that is only partly true. Neither was I crying because of the disorienting effect of being called “Sugar!” at window one, then “Ma’am” respectfully at the next.

I only wanted a quarter pounder with cheese, french fries and a milkshake, America’s comfort food, (so coined by that TV that I hate). A heaping dose of affection and respect- that I did not expect.

Was I a prodigal child come home for dinner? Or, a woman whose reached a level of maturity in life worthy of distinction and respect of her young peers?

I got a burger all right and a snapshot of myself that I have never seen before. A wake up call, perhaps. A little light of truth bursting through those drive through windows!

This episode reminds me of a friendly conversation at my college orientation. When asked about my parents, I said, “My mother was German and my father was Irish. The young man, recognizing the temperamental tendencies of such different people, retorted: “My God! That must of been very confusing!!”

“Yes,” I said. “My mother was very busy, rigorously doing everything that needed to be done like her life depended on it.” I remember stories of her neighborhood in Little Neck, NY, where she scrubbed the front steps to the house each day. So, they sparkled.

My father was a bit more relaxed. If the roof leaked over his office, he’d just put a soup pot on his desk and continued doing his crossword puzzle until he felt like fixing it. It’s fine! No worries!

Of course, this temperament is not true of all Irish people. But, being easy going to a fault explains why he could sleep in his toolbox at the construction site where he worked in Boston. (It was a long drive home to Marshfield, I guess.)

My dad pops out of his 30″ X 72″ steel vault bright and early and his crew shouts: “Mal!” my brother tells us- entertaining the family at holidays. “It was sort of like Cheers! when the beloved character ‘Norm’ walks in for a beer,” he says.

So, affection is a balm to one’s soul, a soothing antidote to the chaos –within and without. “We’re not in Kansas anymore,” says Dorothy to Toto in the Wizard of Oz. This place will likely have it lions and tigers and bears, “Oh my!” But, the State for Lovers is starting to feel like home.