Alone, Not Afraid

"I, a stranger and afraid/In a world I never made..."*
Na-ah! I may be a stranger, sort of, as my hosts had to go away for a time, but I don't feel like it and I'm not at all afraid. In fact, I find exploring around here interesting and stimulating.
I got directions to get to various places and yesterday after breakfast, I started out. Went to T Street, which led me to Main, and right across the street, was Superstition Market. Bought blueberries, then crossed again and walked to the right, thinking Wal-Mart was there.
It wasn't, so I went back the other way and got to Fry's, where I bought a Cobb salad for lunch. I was delighted to see that not only the world's BEST thrift store is across the street, but so is the 99 Cent Store. I'll be sure to go back. I was glad to get the walk in, which may have totaled two miles, possibly more, and it felt good.
On the way there, I passed T-118, where the Happy Hour will be at 5:00 today. Dick, the host, and Pat, another person I had met, were outside and we chatted for a bit.
Got a text from Suzanne to tell me the workmen were finished in my place, but hadn't yet put the washer and dryer in. Thanked her for that. Betty texted to ask where I was--(sigh). I told  her yet again and texted back with a heart I drew.
After lunch, I set out for Wal-Mart. I had the directions, but somehow messed up, so had to ask several people for directions. I got there, though, and picked up a made-up sandwich and small bottle of lemonade for dinner last night and a salad for lunch today.
I sat on my patio with what was left of the (small) bottle of Chardonnay from the plane and read my book. I then took a walk to the clubhouse, just to look around. As I walked back, Ellen called and we had a good long talk, about an hour's worth, I think. I always enjoy talking to her, but was sorry to hear the Hershel, Greg's mother's pug, had to be put down.
Later, my hostess called and I told her of my adventures. I'm looking forward to hearing abut hers when they get back.
*One of my favorite poems. By A.E. Housman, it seems to illustrate the modern dilemma of having to adhere to the dictates of the powerful, political, religious, or any other kind.  Housman died the year I was born. I'm going to add his poem in the comment section.