Gone are the days of the nuclear family and with it, the nuclear community. And I’m not talking about The Nuclear Community -- the open exchange of information among those tasked with enforcing best practices surrounding the world’s nuclear weapons -- no. I mean cul de sacs, bikes on the lawn, ice cream trucks wrapped around the block, doors open, minds closed. 

When the kids were young we used to tell them, “Never talk to strangers.” But the truth is, they never got the chance. That’s because a strange face was a rare occurrence in our world. But now? We’re surrounded by strangers -- we ride in their cars, eat their food, h**ky p**ky in their beds! And even still, we have no desire to really know each other. We’d rather spend time on our little screens searching for virtual Pokémon in the park.

The other day, while making my great-grandmother’s sweet and sour meatball recipe I realized I was out of jam. This got me thinking -- I don’t know my neighbor’s name, let alone the contents of their pantry. On my way to the store, the idea for the Neighborhood Watch was born: a weekly column where we keep you up to date on the goings on about town. Join us for roundups, advice columns, events, personals, and polls to engage in the world beyond our own four walls.

Privacy breeds isolation, and just like Reagan told Gorbachev in ‘87, “It’s time to tear down that wall.” 

Won’t you be our neighbor?

xoxo,

Neighborhood Watch