Neighborhood Watch

Sitting at a family funeral dinner, I didn’t recognize the phone number when my phone rang, but it was a local number, and the caller left a voicemail. Once I was on the road home, I listened to it—and laughed.

I love my neighborhood.

Someone who lived a few hours away drove by my house and noticed an unfamiliar car. (Did I say I love my neighborhood? And that some of us are observant enough to identify the cars that don’t belong to us but are in our driveways often enough to be trusted and the ones that seem sketchy? Some people would call it nosey. I call it responsible community living.) A guy got out of the car and picked up a package by my front door and shook it. By this time, my neighbor was past my house but turned around, when he saw the guy take the package. But no worries: my neighbor got a picture of the license plate and vehicle.

I laughed as I listened to him tell the story in his message. I laughed when he told me again when I called him. And I laughed as I told him some missing background.

A friend who lives outside town waited until the last minute to order a Christmas gift. It would get to my house faster than her house. It was expected that day, so she sent her high school son to pick it up. I told her I might be getting another package so to be sure he shook any packages to make sure it sounded like the right item.

My neighbor apologized, but I insisted, “No apology needed! Stay attentive and pass along any other suspicions”—which might turn into more funny stories.

It still makes me chuckle when I think about it. One alert neighbor. One confused kid. And one barely-on-time Christmas present.