As a former New Yorker I have to say, when someone rings your doorbell and you are alone in the house, you usually:

a. Pretend you don’t hear the bell
b. Go to the window and peek out and see who’s there just in case you have to identify them later in a lineup
c. Request that the person shows twenty forms of ID…from their driver’s license and passport to their baby hospital pics and their 9th grade junior high school graduation photo, produce a list of all the medicines they are currently taking, a document of any previous surgery experiences and an assurance validated and signed by their doctor that they have not spent more than a year in a mental facility. It is also helpful to check out their DinersClub Card, cause, hey you never know.

Needless to say, you didn’t open the door to a stranger if you were home alone. You always would read about the good Samaritan who opened the front door to the stranger who claimed their car broke down while on their way to the Mayo Clinic to donate a kidney and half their liver to their dying cousin and they therefore needed to use the phone to call the hospital and explain the delay. While the kind homeowner was fetching the phone for the visitor, the stranger’s “partners in crime” would be sneaking into the back door and carting out the plasma TVs.

Well, we lived in the mountains of Connestee and it had been raining there. Allan was out at a meeting and my doorbell rang. I looked out to see a little elderly lady standing at the door totally drenched and holding three books and a board game in her hands.

“May I come in and use your phone?” she queried, seeing me through the screen door. (Mental note #1: Remember to close inside door when Allan isn’t here!) . “I was walking home from the clubhouse library and got caught in the rain and need to call someone to pick me up. My grandchildren are visiting and I stopped at the library to pick up some things to keep them amused and on my way home, all of a sudden, it started to downpour!”

Now, being a New Yorker, I am embarrassed to admit, I looked her up and down as various scenarios played through my brain. Hmmm…she says she was walking home from the clubhouse. That in and of itself is a feat since the mountain roads were quite strenuous to navigate on foot. I don’t recognize her, so that tells me she didn’t live on my road. It also tells me that this little lady is no doubt in good physical condition as she is quite a distance from her home if, in fact, she actually lived in Connestee. Will she tackle me the minute I turn my back to procure the phone for her?

And those books that were in her hands. Was she carrying them to use as weapons if I didn’t move fast enough when she demanded my jewelry and my aunt Audrey’s Rice Charlotte recipe? Had there been any reports of break ins in the neighborhood as of late? (Actually, in all the years we’d lived there…we’d only heard of one!!) And wait…forget the books. Maybe she actually HAD a weapon…perhaps a knife or a gun hidden underneath those book decoys. (I’d been watching too much CSI).

And what about that board game she was toting. Clue? I mean really. Was she playing that in her spare time to hone in on her skills? I could just see the headlines…The murder was committed by Mrs. Elderly Lady, with a book, in the parlor near the telephone!

I decided I could take her if need be, no matter what, even if she did walk the roads of Connestee, since I had been working out myself and heck, I walked those roads too. Okay, I’m huffing and puffing after the first two miles, but nonetheless. (Allan later said when I told him the story, that I’m so buff, had she tried to shoot me I could have probably grabbed the bullet in my teeth and yelled…”Yeah??? What else have ya got?!!”)

So, I let her in and not only offered her the phone, but offered her a cup of coffee and a towel to dry off with. After a phone call to her home with no one answering, I told her I would drive her home myself. We dashed into the car in the pouring rain and off we went.

Anyway, I came home and thought to myself…it’s so nice that we lived in a community where all you have to do is walk up and ring someone’s bell…and you know you’ve got a friend.

And since I was a New Yorker (and probably always will be in my heart), Mental note #2: Now I know where she lives!!