Having grown up in a small town, I had blogged about their foreignness on a few occasions.  Now, more than a decade later, I find myself living in one all over again.  As a bona fide, converted city slicker, I am working through the adjustment one laughable situation at a time. 

On the second morning after arriving here, I received a knock on our apartment door.  My husband had left for work, and I was alone with my kids, so of course I peeked through the little hole in the door and asked, “Who is it?”  The woman on the other side introduces herself as a neighbor in our apartment building.  I’m still “city scared” of all strangers so I talked to the woman through my locked door.  You have to understand, in the city, strangers never came to my door unless they were from my church or wanted to sell me something; neighbors, especially apartment ones, kept to themselves. 

It took awhile, but eventually I felt comfortable enough to open the door.  When I did the woman smiled and stuck out her hand.  “Oh, there you are,” she teased.  “It’s good to finally see you.”  Before she left, she gave her name and apartment number again, reminding me if I needed anything she’d be more than happy to help. 

She wasn’t the only one who dropped by that day and introduced themselves, by the third time, I had finally relaxed enough to just open the door and say hello.  Now, as for leaving my apartment door wide open like most of them do around here, I don’t know if I’ll ever be comfortable enough to do that.