Moving into a new neighborhood is like stepping into a face full of cobwebs.  You blink your eyes and realize that you weren’t the first living thing to be here, and it almost feels as though your presence disrupts the natural order.

When I pull into my driveway, I sometimes look up and see that the people on the hilltop across the street--whom I haven’t had a chance to meet yet--go to their window and peer down at me, apparently making sure that I’m supposed to be there. They recognize my car and retreat back into their living room to watch TV.

“Oh, we look out for each other here,” said a woman whom I did get a chance to meet.  “We’re all in the neighborhood watch and we make sure that we’re all okay.  Why, just last year I helped run off a burglar. They were about to break through the glass at Janey’s house!”

How this waif-like mother helped run off a burglar remains explained.  Perhaps she’s tougher than she looks. I take a step back.

Of course, you always have to explain yourself as well. “I’m in marketing and I work in the city,” I say.  “I have never killed anyone, although sometimes I like to put underwear on tiny dogs.  I am also available for babysitting at a nominal fee.” I haven’t said this last bit, but I’m often tempted.

“You mean you haven’t been approached by Tom yet?” Another neighbor exclaimed.  “He always talks to the new residents. He’s sort of the caretaker around here.” There’s always one of those everywhere, isn’t there?  The self-appointed guardian.  Someone with too much time on their hands who hasn’t discovered either embroidery or the Internet.

“Do you want me to give him your e-mail address?” The neighbor continued. “He has a mailing list for the neighborhood.”

“...and what kinds of things are discussed on this mailing list for this entire, expansive block?” I asked.

“Oh, you know.  Whether the nearby school is making too much noise, when we’re having a block party. That sort of thing.”

I gave him my e-mail address.  Because I’d like to be on that mailing list. I’d like to know what’s going on.  A neighborhood street is a lot like a big, cement life raft in the middle of an ocean...people jump on at random times, look at each other warily, and then relax and take comfort in the fact that other people decided to join the exact same raft.  We float through time for a while--some jump off, but generally speaking, we all expect to be with each other for the long haul, so let’s make sure we recognize the cars that pull into our driveways, and for God’s sake let’s make sure we’re on the same page about that next block party.