I look at my phone is great suspicion.

Hi Alissa, my name is Ben and I got ur number from ur profile on singles.com. I’m also in the medical profession and thought it might be fun to chat.

Stop here. Please note, Alissa does not, nor will ever have, a profile on any type of dating website. 

Naturally, my sleuthing skills kick in. Who is this? Is this probably one of my friends messing with me? Likely. Hopefully. Because I’m just not overly fond of the idea of some guy getting my info from the internet (how and why? I have no idea) and texting me. I immediately order my friend to look up the area code. In this moment I could have saved myself a lot of drama hassle had my eye not decided to suddenly cross, changing a 757 into a 575. Yes, those area codes happen to be from 2 very different places….

New Mexico? this really blew my confidence that I would discover this guy out. Now my mind is going wild. Yup, definitely someone that wants money. And by golly, ain’t no way no New Mexican was gonna get my money. How does he know how to spell my name correctly? 

I choose to ignore.

Fast forward 24 hours.

Hi Alissa, did you get my message last evening? I don’t want to come across as pushy, just wondered if your still interested in finding new friends. Ben

I’m a little irritated. Interesting in making new friends? Yeah well, texting certainly isn’t my method of making friends. Upon evil influence (a few unnamed friends…) I reply.

Ben- i don’t have a profile. How did you get my number?

The reply.

I’m sorry. Can I call you?

By now my mind has very few boxes for this Ben to fit into. 1) a creeper. 2) someone who is trying to get my money 3) a friend that suddenly moved to New Mexico, got a new number, and never told me (does this scream ‘unlikely’??)

No I don’t talk on the phone. And if you want money-you came to the wrong person.

Might as well just put it out there. My friends try to talk some sense (?) into me. He’s probably a doctor. He probably wants you to donate for orphans in Haiti.

Alissa- please do not be mad at me. I would never take your money. And if I did, i’d give it to the orphans in Haiti.

G….you got me going once. Don’t ever try it again (I know you will). I do now know that the Virginia Beach area code is opposite of New Mexico’s, even if you had to tell me.  Yeah, I’ve had moments where my private eye talents were better.

I bought a wooden clothes rack today at the little Mennonite home-goods store. Anyone with common sense knows that a cloths rack can only stand the test of time if it’s bought from an Amish or Mennonite. You can be sure that plastic one from Walmart would collapse under the weight of wet cloths and a gust of wind. (I’ve had some experiences in my past) I really don’t know why an Amish would even need a cloths rack. Don’t they have those huge wash lines from the house to barn? Yup, even goggle proves it

But since they make a quality product, I won’t question it. This city girl has no wash line, and a cloths rack will do the trick. My mom always told me I wouldn’t use the dryer if I paid my own bills. Well, I still use the dryer enough to make any Amish lady shake her head in shame. And I can almost feel the judgement from my very green landlord, so I guess I’ll try… Besides, it’s too hot to use a dryer in the summer. 

I buy pastries from the little Italian bakery a few blocks away. This week I tried pastries from the Greek lady at market. The American’s desperately missed the cut with their potato chips and doughnuts. Ok, I admit to also buying a doughnut at market. But really, you need to try some kourabiedes. 

My neighbors play music regularly. It’s usually only during daylight hours, thankfully. It’s largely Puerto Ricans, and since I can’t understand a word of, it’s either very poor quality music or Spanish. There is also a teenage boy that frequents my street fairly on a regular basis. I won’t make judgments on his intelligence, maybe he’s just an aspiring singer. But one day he spent at least 4 hours in front of my house singing at the top of lungs. I couldn’t understand any of that either. 

Isn’t diversity good? 

Some things in life are just more perfect than others. When you find that perfect place, delightful hobby, or wonderful friend, enjoy it!

The place? The Pottery Works. The hobby? (surprise…) Painting pottery. The friends? Any of my friends or family that I coax into joining. “But I’m not artistic” they whine. Doesn’t matter. You don’t have to be. 

Is he artistic? Well…maybe someday. Does he love it? You better believe it. I’ve never seen him so quiet and focused in his whole life. I love to watch it.

When you’re finished painting, they glaze and fire the pieces.

yes, that’s a mug with a monkey I’m holding. Hate me if you want.

Joanna and I delighted ourselves in an afternoon of silent painting for her birthday. No time restrains. Just gloriously lost in paintbrushes and color. I’d been eyeing this little guy up for probably the last year, wondering when the lucky day would be I would bring him home. I just started here, but just look at those little green pants. Too cute. I can just see him peering out from under some pansies in the flower bed.

And don’t remind me of my age. And the fact that this is probably the lowest form of art known to mankind. When I want to create some real art, I’ll pull out my oil paints. But when I need a quick art fix, I know just where to go.

My great-great-great grandpa had a bakery on a small street in Lancaster city. You have no idea how much I wish I could spend a day around town in 1850. (that year is a very rough guess. It might have been earlier). Today I live on the corner of that street.

I have a few questions about his life. Was there parking in the city at that time? Because there sure isn’t now. And since that was before cars, where did his horses live?

I suppose he’d have a few questions for me. Starting with why a girl like me lives on her own in the city. And, what is a computer? and what in the world is a blog?

But one of the things I love about life is always learning something new. Moving to the city has provided me with endless questions. There’s new neighbors. And there’s a lot to learn.

Parking. Yes, I park on the street. “Can you parallel park?” I’ll ignore that question for now, let’s stick to the positives here. But actually, the first month I was here, I was seriously questioning the abilities of my neighbors to park. Why do they park with half a car length in front of them, and half behind them? Don’t we want to fit as many people in here as possible? I’ve finally figured it out. NO, they don’t want to be a friend and give me a parking space. They want other cars to stay away from their car. No one gets hurt that way. Ok, fine. But sorry, I just might fit my car into the 3/4 part of a parking space you left.

Then their people that really just need to leave the city. 

I think I’m missing something about garbage cans (literally, I’m missisng a lid). When I grew up, our garbage cans had lids. And it stayed that way. First time using my new garbage can here–the lid is gone.  Did the garbage men throw it into their truck? Did someone steal it? Did it blow down the street on a non-windy day? Well kids, I hope you have fun sledding next winter with my garbage can lid. Carolyn and I talked about this. “We should tie it to the handle of the can”. Well, does anyone know where you can buy a lid without the garbage can? 

I will never cease to be amazed at my neighbors. Any time of night or day, there is a party on a porch somewhere. Kids, the parents, the cousins, they’re all there. When do they sleep? not sure. When do they work? Let’s not even go there…

But I do like it. And if I’m ever bored, there’s my dear elderly neighbor lady that will always be up for a conversation. I just might never get away.