Meals On Wheels
We went for a run today in Danville, down the Danville-Peacham road. For mid-march, the weather was exactly normal: 35°, bright blue sky, deep snow in the fields and the woods and a light breeze from the south. We is me and my dog, Spanky.
As we rounded a curve we saw flashing lights up the hill; an emergency response truck, a fire-truck, a state cop, a tow truck and a passenger car. As we got closer, the tow-truck pulled away with the last of two smashed cars while the other trucks started the process of packing up and backing out and turning around to head back.
In the middle of the road, directing traffic, was a man dressed in civilian clothes with an overcoat, hat and mittens. He watched us running towards them and when we were within 100ft (I still couldn't recognize him) I heard him call out "Spaaaaankyyyyyyy!". Her ears pricked up and we ran to him. It was the minister from the Methodist church.
Apparently the fellow who delivers meals to shut-ins and the elderly got hit pulling out of a driveway. He couldn't see over the snowbanks. I guess he'll be okay, just shaken up, but I immediately emailed my in-laws in Cincinnati to let them know (my father-in-law is a 'guest' minister at the church in the summer). Within minutes they'd found out the details and spread the word to other church members.
Spanky still couldn't get over that anyone in the middle of the road would know her name.
The Traffic Directing Lady
On my drive into St. Johnsbury every morning on Route 2, I pass by the St. J. School. At this intersection are cars coming from three directions, but more importantly, it's high volume straight-and-turning all ways. Employed to deal with this is the Traffic Directing Lady. She stands, appropriately, in the middle of the intersection and wears bright orange hat, mittens and vest. She's a big girl.
There's something about her that is just riveting. I think it's the decisive way in which she indicates whose turn it is. Or maybe it's the affirmative nods that say "you, yes you, yes, you're perfect, do just what you're doing! good job!". Or maybe it's those orange mittens.
Regardless, there's now this moment in my commute that has this weird little circumstance playing out: she's precise, controlledl, good at what she does, and makes everyone feel like they are in the most capable hands. But lately I've begun to worry: What if she falls ill, or dies, or gets hit? What if she quits, retires or gets snapped up by a road construction contractor? I started running through scenarios now, whenever I'm stopped in traffic there. I think about the best way to handle the situation before anything should happen. I've decided to get her a gift.
But the biggest dilemma is that I can't roll down the window and hand it to her or it would interfere with her doing her job. Can you imagine that out of sheer generosity and appreciation I hand her a gift with a thank-you note ("thank you for being the best damned traffic direction I've ever seen!") and in the processes, occupying a free hand and her attention, only to have get screw up the traffic and cause and accident or get hit.
For now, I'm playing it safe and keeping this all to myself.
The High Speed Chase
Click To Zoom
A local redneck kid named Brandon was chased by the police through St. Johnsbury, out to Danville and then back on the highway and eventually within a few miles of his home in Concord, Vermont.
The Caledonia Record published a front-page news item on the story here. I made a map of the chase from start to finish and posted it on the right (click to zoom).
It's a small town, though, so of course you may be anticipating that I know the kid, and I do. He was my daughter's first friend that she publicly stated was her "boyfriend". That relationship ran its course and their friendship faded as he got into one predicament after another, including stealing tires from the back of his neighbor's pickup and being chased through the woods heading back to his own house, but still carrying two tires.
The chase starts in the village of St. Johnsbury and includes driving down Winter and Cliff streets which, if you know them, you'll know don't lend themselves to high-speed chases.
So in the middle of the chase, the kid heads towards Danville where I live. (Good Lord - please don't come here.) Then he loops back and, get this, heads home. But why head home? He's only 17 or 18. He gets on the interstate and is suddenly faced with the biggest and most complicated (and as of yet unanswered) question of his life: "now that I've got the cops on my tail and they know who I am, where do I go? I could drive down to Boston.... or drive south a bit, get of the highway, and then get back on again and head north and then what?" Clearly he never really thought that part through. Driving fast through St. Johnsbury late on a Monday night seems sketchy, but that it wouldn't attract attention is a conclusion that really helps define "Redneck".
My daughter is horrified. The phone has been ringing all day. It's her friends calling to say "Have you seen the headlines ... ?!?"
Town Meeting Poem
During lunch in the cafeteria
Some folks linger in the gym.
A few scraps of paper litter floor
Small clusters of friends and neighbors
Chat about the rain or the new house
Or things I can't interpret:
"... saw the way he walked ..."
"... I snowshoed down there but couldn't find ..."
"...she said she had two, but I don't think ..."
Back When I Was A Kid...
At lunch today at Town Meeting, we ate in the school cafeteria. We had ham and beans and cole-slaw and beets and cottage cheese and rolls and butter and I had a chocolate milk.
The meal was served by the sophomore class, and apparently it's the fashion of the day for girls to wear tops that are stretchy-tight. One lady at my table pointed out sotto voce that when she was a girl in the 40's that they called that "Jail Bait". Her husband, in the voice of Maurice Chevalier, mumbled/sang "...zank heavenz, for liddle gulz..."
I took more ham.
Weather or Not
I started going to town meetings about 22 years ago, and consider it a point of pride that I haven't missed one yet. This includes a meeting during a terrific ice storm that left almost a half-inch thick shell on all the cars, trees, roads and power lines. There were only about 12 of us in the gym that year, compared to twoo or three-hundred. I moved to a new town about five years ago and haven't had a spring storm like that 'big one' back in Monkton ... um ... it might've been '95 or thereabouts - can't really remember.
Anyway, we've got snow, rain, sleet, ice and high wind in the forecast for tomorrow (Town Meeting Day). Another winter storm, and the spring storm season is just getting off to a great start. I'm hoping for low turnout this year. It makes the meeting move faster and get a little more interesting because only the die-hards and the opinionated show up. Of course that may also impact the Obama/Clinton ratio, but we won't know in what way although you can be sure we'll hear about it on Wednesday when everybody will say they know what Tuesday's weather caused.
I've got four 25lb bags of rock salt betting on the ice storm. I can't lose.
I've got to teach a class in the morning at The Academy in the first period, but I'll be out in time to get to the Danville Town Meeting. I'm also on the board of The Northeast Kingdom Astronomy Foundation which is putting up an observatory in Peacham, so the plan is to rush down to Peacham for lunch and be there for when an article we're warning comes up for a vote. (We're asking the town to give the school board the authority to negotiate use of school land for this private observatory which will be used as a resource for the school.)
All this excitement and ice and wind ... it's going to be a great day.
Good Jumpsuits
I like to think my problems in life are huge, but putting them into words often shrinks them up like a moth too close to a candle. Here's my current situation: the guy across the street from me has some behavioral patterns that are just a little too close to home for me. For example, we both obsessively snowblow our driveways. I tend to be a little more on-the-spot, but he'll be out there when he can. I tend to shape my snowbanks a little more obsessively, but his are neat. This list goes on, with our similarities and our differences, but there are other strange patterns: We're about the same age height and build, although he's of a darker ancestry - possibly eastern european - and I take after the nordic side of my family. But last december I was out clearing the driveway before dawn after about 6 inches of snow had fallen and he was out and I noticed we were both wearing:
- fleece caps with visors
- ear protectors
- gloves
- scarves
- boots
I think he noticed too because he switched to some kind of insulated work pants. I hate to think of those great jumpsuits taking up space in our closets so I'll probably take mine out again - but he's bound to be thinking the same thing.
I honestly don't know what to do.
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