We stay-at-home moms (and there really are a great number of us, living here in Pleasantville) walk our uniformed children to school in the mornings en masse. If you weren't expecting it, you might do a double take at the sight of us all. For just a second, you'd wonder if somehow you haven't made your way back to 1940. It felt mildly disconcerting at first, from the perspective of an inner city dweller cum 1940's-Housewife, but now I only rejoice in the retro-ness of it all. My kids are so safe here. Oodles of other children swarm the cul-de-sacs and the meandering streets with their poetic names after school. The doorbell rings constantly. We're right back to sharing our flour and eggs and sometimes even our canned refried beans around here. There's always someone you trust to turn to in times of need. Something in all of this slightly cheesy togetherness touches me deep inside my jaded soul. In the middle of the chaos that the city so often embodies, you can get yourself a can of free, spontaneous refried beans and a homey chat elaborating upon how good it is that the street sweeper has done such a nice job. And you know, he really has.