When we first moved to Massachusetts we rented a house in Stoughton in a very close knit neighborhood. The person who rented the house to us had lived with these neighbors for decades and was the self proclaimed linchpin to the social life of the group. The reason she rented her house to us was because her husband got a job in France and, given the opportunity, she went to live abroad for a few years.
The kitchen had a huge bank of windows from counter to ceiling which allowed anyone walking or driving by to see a hint of what you were doing but not necessarily a clear view. There seemed to always be someone walking their dog or kids riding bikes up and down, and it was nice to look up from a project to see a bit of life going on. Little did I know I was being watched just as much as I was watching.
When I bake potatoes I scrub them good, poke holes in them, rub them down with olive oil, salt and pepper and bake them up. Quick, easy and (I like to think) healthy (until I add butter and cheese and bacon and sour cream…) Yeah, yeah, I know. Back to my story…
One of the very first nights in the house I rubbed my potatoes down generously with oil, salt and pepper as usual, but as I reached to put them in the oven I realized I hadn’t poked holes in them.
Have you ever tried to grab an oiled potato?
As soon as I could grip the potato hard enough to poke it… it would shoot out. One shot out of my hand, flew into the sink, ricocheted off the curved walls and plopped into the window with a thud. I grabbed a huge chefs knife and started stabbing the potatoes as they slipped and “ran” away from me. They finally made it to the oven…
Oven the next few months the neighbors, while cordial… they were quite stand-offish. I just assumed that the social exploits of this neighborhood maybe we’re exaggerated.
We lived in the house for 12 months before purchasing our dream home in Plainville MA.
Beautiful! Built in 1823…
When I told the landlord we wouldn’t be renewing the lease we started a conversation which shed some light on the entire years situation, to which I had been blissfully oblivious.
Apparently the story around the neighborhood was…
…I was witnessed stabbing hamsters.
Someone saw me stabbing a terrified little brown hamster that wa running for its life.
After months of reflecting on the rumor all I can piece together is that someone saw me stabbing my oiled potatoes and they turned into hamsters in their mind.
All I could think was “You mean all this time we could have been friends?” (Extra points if you can tell me what that is from… 😏)
The point of my entire story is one based in gratitude. First impressions are everything. Apparently I blew it with an entire neighborhood of people who think I’m a hamster murderer.
I am incredibly grateful that people have been so supportive of me and my weird little stories. Thank You Kara for being SUCH a great inspiration. You always tell it like it is, and that’s the best thing of all. I would never have been able to do any of this without you!
Thank you to everyone who has visited my page! Please come back! Hopefully it will be educational, or at the least, entertaining.
My page hit 1000 views today!