About every six months, "Bertie," a long time acquaintance in Alabama phones me and tells me what's going on in her life. A year ago she phoned and said her company had downsized and all the older employees were given the heave-ho along with a severance check.

Bertie took her money and made a down payment on a foreclosed house. I made a trip to see her. It was a cute little house on the outskirts of town, at the end of a narrow one lane road that ended in a cul de sac.

Six months later Bertie phoned to say the neighbors were unusually cold and unfriendly. That's when she found out she was smack dab in the middle of a clannish family enclave where only relatives lived. There's nothing more clannish and hostile than a bunch of rednecks who don't want a stranger in their midst, so Bertie kept to herself.

She found out most of the women living in the enclave were divorced and working all day, leaving their kids to fend for themselves. These kids roamed around doing things like setting off cherry bombs in her mailbox--ruining it--and running over her water meter with their bikes, breaking the cover. She got a special locked mailbox with a narrow slot but the kids put firecrackers in it. She put a fence around the meter--they tore it down.

Then Bertie fell and broke her leg. One day she was struggling to lug her big ole BFI trashcan down to the road. A kid on a bike rode past, then paused. He asked her if she needed help. She did, and paid him. They worked out a deal that if every Monday he'd take the trashcan to the road, and on Tuesdays bring it back to the house, she'd pay him. She has a library of DVD movies--the kid borrowed one
on the promise he'd return it. That's the way it's been working out for several months now.

Pretty soon, the kid was bringing his two little brothers along, then the whole pack of them started to visit. Bertie gives them cookies and sodas, and does puzzles and crafts with them. She sits on the porch and watches them play ball. The kids stopped messing around with Miss Bertie's mailbox.

Now, as a pessimist I say you'd better call those mothers or other caretakers and see if it's okay with them for the kids to be visiting. The world has changed, someone could accuse you of some impropriety. But she hasn't spoken with any of the adults. I think I'm right. Do You?