[continued from previous entry]
Our suggested remedies to the problem: reduce the road's speed limit (we assumed it to be the town default limit (35), asked for 25 or 30), post signs. Failing that, post signs along the lines of 'Warning: 4th class road ahead -- difficult passage.' The Board committed to nothing (with gracious, somehow sympathetic objectivity), said that they weren't sure if the town default limit applied to our road or not, that the first step would be to look that up. With that information, what to do would then be deliberated.
We thanked them, sat and listened to the rest of the meeting until Mo wanted to get back home.
A week later: I stop by Mo's place, he mentions that he thought something had been posted at the bottom of the hill. I go take a gander -- sure enough, a brand spanking new sign's appeared right off the two-lane, reading 'SPEED LIMIT: 30.' The Board found the information, decided to waste no time in doing something with it. Another neighbor mentioned a second sign had been posted at the other end of the road's third-class section, and '4th Class Road' signs had appeared at either end of that stretch. Beginning that day, the number of cars passing through decreased, continued dropping in the following days, finally settling near the level it had been before the increase three years ago. With most of the drivers now staying within the limit. A major change, producing a whole different vibe along the road. Got me feeling real damn good and in a funny way came as no surprise, just confirmed the feeling I'd had that going to the Selectboard would turn out well.
I showed up at the Board's next meeting, last Monday. They seemed surprised to see me, seemed even more surprised when I thanked them for the fast action, appeared pleased when I described how things have gone, expressed cautious optimism.
The following day: stopped off at Mo's, asked what he thought of the situation. He appeared a bit confounded that the traffic sitch had changed so much, that the outcome was so positive. Same with my uphill neighbor. As if any interaction with any government body is expected to be a waste of time and any experience falling outside that expectation is confusing.
Me, I'm obnoxiously content.
Life here has grown increasingly busy as I've slipped deeper and deeper into work mode. Late yesterday afternoon found me up on the extension ladder, spreading a layer of primer over an exterior section of the house I'd scrapped/sanded in previous days. Birds came and went at the feeders, their chatter the only noise, the not seeming terribly concerned when I worked near them. The sun slipped down in the western sky, it's last light extended out from over the treetops in radiant shafts.
Seen today in the men's locker room at the gym in Montpelier:
-- A gent stripped down, showing a multiply-pierced scrotum. Looked like two or three bolts -- I couldn't get an exact count. I saw the flash of metal out of the corner of my eye, he turned around, facing away, before I could get a better look. He remained turned away, standing in a corner, looking down toward his nether region, hands busy doing, er, something -- impossible to tell what exactly. Checking for lint? Polishing metal? Don't know. The other males politely ignored the guy. I considered asking him (nicely, of course) what the hell he was doing, but restrained myself, left him alone.
-- Another guy -- tall, rangy, with long feet -- toweled off, post-shower, then pulled a pair of black socks from his locker, sat down on a bench. He stretched one sock like a piece of elastic, then inserted it between his toes like a towel, running it briskly back and forth in an apparent drying/buffing operation before putting it on. Repeated the procedure with the other foot. Then stood up, pulled on clothes, sauntered out of the room, almost like a normal human being.
We're a weird bunch, we male people.
Madrid, te echo de menos.
rws 7:17 PM [+]
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