Red Riding Hood/A Cabin in the Woods

My favorite fairy tale is and will always be Little Red Riding Hood. I have often wondered why--I mean, it's a dark and strange tale with a fairly violent ending. You know it: A girl lives in a deep dark forest with possibly her mother. She is told to bring some freshly baked goods to her grandmother. In my mind the route is much like the one to our own grandmother's house...through a cow path, under fences, over stone walls...The girl wears a red cape with a hood, hence the name Red Riding Hood.

Well, Red dallies, picking flowers and kicking stones along the path and eventually does arrive at her Gran's cabin in the woods. But, apparently because she has taken so long, a wild wolf has beaten her to the cabin and gulped up poor old granny whole.

The wolf then poses as Gran, even dressed up AS GRAN in  her night cap, long cotton night gown and wire spectacles. And we all know what happens next--Red Riding Hood notices that her grandmother's looks have significantly changed since the last they met. So Red questions the wolf, "Oh, my, Grandmother! What big EYES you have!" (and all the rest)

Red is wise to the wolf's answers and although they leave kids these days shaking in their boots, she soldiers on because this was a long, long time ago and kids were braver back then (and possibly more foolish.) Red doesn't get to save herself or her gran the way modern re-told fairy tale heroines do--instead a wood cutter gets that job. Axe strikes. Gran pops out of the wolf's belly and all is right in the fairy tale world.

Peace is returned to the cabin in the woods. The birds start to chirp. Wee chipmunks come out from under dried leaves and scurry about. A gentle breeze comes along and little children everywhere learn the life lesson that they are not to dally when sent on an errand through the deep dark woods. They are to go STRAIGHT THERE and come STRAIGHT BACK...or something very sinister will happen. Not only to them, but to their elders!

The Joys of Being a Public Servant-Planning Commission

Getting on the Planning Commission of my tiny town was supposed to be easy. You meet a few people, shake a few hands and bing, bang, boom--you're on. At least, I had heard that that was the way it was going to be and it was...until it wasn't.

I first had to meet and greet the Development Review Board. They smiled and didn't ask any questions. One person did say something mildly sexist about "we need more women on the board." {Or is that reverse discrimination, I never know.} So they rubber stamped me and I was off.

Then I was told by Mr. T., the planning/zoning/health officer, that I needed to meet with the Trustees. That they would be asking me questions and that I might want to phone him to discuss what they might want to know. Now, I knew that they knew that one of my seven sisters was a local Realtor and that they had ASKED, no BEGGED her to serve and that she had declined. People being who and what they are,  they believed that I was a  sister substitute Mud City Girl--you know, we all look alike, we must be interchangeable? So I called T at home after he had expressly asked me NOT TO DURING THE RED SOX GAME---T's from Boston...

So I called him during the game, he muted it and said the VERY same things that my girlfriends have been saying to me for years just before every blind date I have ever been on: "Don't worry. Just be yourself!"        
T thought we should just do a little practice so he asked me flat out, "Why do you want to join the Planning Commission?" My immediate answer wasn't the regular snarky one I had used when other people had asked me the same question. I heard myself saying that I grew up here, more or less, went to school here and have come back home, I have purchased a house, I pay taxes.... I work for the city and have for many years and I believe I could be of service to my home town.

"Good answer!" T said and turned the game back up. "Don't worry. They'll love you."

I then attended the Trustees meeting that took place at the local "Water and Light" department. It was their territory, I hadn't done my homework well enough to know who would be in the room so when I was asked to join them at a round table with seven or eight men and a woman, all of whom were scowling at me, I was taken aback. T was right. They had questions. One of which was, {and I swear} "What do you think about sewer?"

Sewer? I hesitated, "Do you mean the idea of HAVING sewers or sewage or sewage treatment?"

Everyone smiled. "No," the guy said. "You pay for sewage. What do you think of the rates?"

"Um...uh..." I stammered. "I think they are about average, I think?" I mean, the head guy at the Water and Light Department was sitting next to me. It was obvious that the businessmen who had clearly been fighting with and accusing him of God knows what wanted an answer from me. And they wanted it to match what THEY thought. Now, I can tell when I have disappointed a person. It's an automatic thing I learned when I was five years old. I thought my goose was cooked until the next, and dare I say, more bizarre question was sent my way. And it was: "Do you think you should be able to tell people in town what color to paint their houses?"

I knew I would get this one right so I said, "No. I think property owners can paint their houses any color they want. If they want a purple house with pink polka dots, they can have it. The neighbors might not like it but...."

Frowns all around the table....so I continued, "I mean, in Craftsbury Common and Albany village...places like that...all the houses are white so I suppose there must be a zoning law in place in SOME towns. Like the village green...?(Shut up! I kept saying inside my head. Shut. UP!) But I couldn't stop. "And I know in Stowe the signage is all the same size and the colors can only be gold, green, red..."

I was interrupted by the question-asker who shouted, "Well, you go that one wrong! You CAN tell them what color to paint their houses!" He had  good laugh on that one. Then it was my turn to scowl. I thought, "What the hell is going on here? Make fun of the new girl?"

 Later someone asked if I thought I could keep an open mind about development, possibly a town baron code for "Think like us". Vote our way. So I said, the way one does at a job interview when asked about ones proficiency or knowledge of some software program one has never hear of-- "Yes, yes I can." I did get out of there alive, obviously, but I think my candidacy did come down to one thing: entertainment value. I told them after the peppering of obviously not well-thought-out questions, "T told me you would have lots of questions. But he also told me not to call him during the Red Sox game at night. So I did call him last night. Luckily they were playing the Cards--my team..." and they all garfarred and gullumphed themselves into a nice "that will do"-- allowing me to help myself out into the night. Me and my "big city ways."

The next appointment (and, mind you, this was at least three weeks into the running here) was with the Planning Commission itself. Not a woman in the room other than me, so I took back what I thought about the "we need a woman" comment because they did need a woman. Their only questions were about which Mud City girl I was and did I live there now and was I that realtor's sister. So this time, I passed the test because this time? The answer was one I could get right. So they let me in. Allowed me the opportunity to help my town go forth in a new direction. Keeping in mind an open mind. Keeping in mind, too, that my "term" ends in about two months from when it began.

My Life List

It changes all the time, I add things I think would be cool, delete things that seem unattainable. And rarely do I ever accomplish any of the items so instead of being called a Life List I call it a Dream List or sometimes Vision Board.

My niece, who is six, calls it her "bucket list" like from the movie. "Oh," she will say when I speak of a museum or a zoo..."that's on our bucket list." The thought that that little angel needs to plan out things to do before she dies is just too gruesome a thing to consider...but she's got one.

Mine is simple and includes categories such as going places to have a nice meal, experiencing trips/journies, a spa day, renting a cabin in Maine, that sort of thing. All of which are attainable.

But what if I were less practical in my listing of things? What if I put things on my list such as "live in a yurt" or "own and operate a Bed and Breakfast" instead of "sleep in a yurt" and "stay at a bed and breakfast on Maple Street"?  What if I went crazy with my list and flipped through a mag of African safaris? "Ride an elephant" could be added. "run with a zebra"--that sort of thing.

What if....but probably not

No sleep- part two

not to mention the college nights I shouted with my sisters, "No sleep tonight!" And I want to, I really want to, but I can not do it. I admit defeat. Even the many times that I have experienced deaths in the family, traveled to Florida on Spring Break and the two times I flew to Europe. I slept at least part of the way  through it. So. Sorry. I apologize.  And I respect those of you who can do it. It is on my life list, though, so who knows? Maybe all I have to do is visualize the experience. Maybe all I have to do is admit that my body will not truly sleep until, like my Mother used to always say, I am dead. Maybe I get to be awake just exactly the number of hours I can stand to be. And maybe I get to be asleep so I can dream and stay as beautiful as my late mother was. Whatever the truth or reason is, it astounds me that other people are not like me. And I could not be more thankful that they are not. Sleep well. Or don't. Either way, remember that some of us simply will, no matter how much we fight it, sleep tonight!

All Nighter- but not really

As a self-proclaimed 8 hrs a night sleeper, 10 in winter--yes, I am a mammal and a Vermonter, not a bear--I just want to say that I have a great respect and admiration for those who choose not to sleep through the night. And, honestly, one of the reasons I must insist on 8 to 10 hours is that, in all reality, I probably sleep a total of six. And don't get me wrong--I have tried. I have honestly given it the good old college try. I once spent all but 10 minutes of a 24 hr stint stifling yawns and head nods, the night my nephew, Sterling, was born insisting that I had a second, third and fourth wind. But even then, I failed. I walked the zombie walk of shame to a dark and comfortable nurse's room, curled up on a love seat have my length and fell embarrassingly and dreamily asleep. (Sorry, Sterling, but you were fine as far as we knew at the time.)

And I do not even want to tell you about the times in college I, like all my sorority sisters, cried out, "No sleep tonight!" only to fall prey to the 2 am drop-dead celestial seige that held out a soft pillow and sheets with 500 plus thread count...

winter wonderland, continued

knights to keep the peasants safe. And there was always music and dancing. And those stories  always and forever began with Once Upon a Time and it was always a long, long, time ago in a place far, far away. And they always lived Happily Ever After...yes, they always had adversity to overcome, hard work scrubbing this or that, polishing someone else's silver, sweeping and mopping wooden floors on hands and knees. Cleaning fireplaces. Sweeping chimneys. Being forsaken by some prince because of a mean-spirited step sister.

 But never once was a kid lowered down a well with a rope tied around her waist and told to scrub the field stone rocks with a scrub brush dipped in bleach. Their parents did not ask them to stick their hands inside Mason jars because they were small enough to wash them out thoroughly. They never had to shovel 10 buckets of snow away from the leaky foundation every spring night before they got a snack and had just gotten off the school bus!

So, although there must have been snow a long time ago and so very far away, I had never heard that so I formulated the opinion that my life as a child in Vermont was one hell of a lot more difficult than even the brothers Grimm could think up in their dark, crazy minds. And, come to think of it, I still do. (But, don't get me wrong, I learned many a lesson. All the morals any story book could offer. I developed what my parents had---a strong institution, an ability to overcome any obstacle dropped in my path, and let's not forget, most importantly? Memories for stories such as this.)

winter wonderland

As a reader and great lover of fairy tales, ancient to re-told, I wonder why most of the ones--perhaps all--I grew up listening to involve summertime, walks in the woods, green fields of wild flowers, babbling brooks and children eating candy or young women eating forbidden fruit.  Nobody is wearing winter wool. Nobody is shoveling snow; not even as a punishment.  It's true that they live in ranshacle houses down by the river and are forever sending children off to forage for food, sell their only cow or just fend for themselves....but nobody is freezing, like in real life---at least where I come from. Not one kid, pig, goat or even big,bad wolf I ever read about had to cut a damn path through 6 feet of snow to get to grandma's house like I did when I was a kid in Vermont. There was no talk of outhouse runs at sub zero weather through the dark, scary woodshed with actual coyotes howling at the moon up on the ridge behind the house. Those fairy tale kids never even slept under woolen patchwork blankets their mothers made out of raggedy wool coats and hand-me-down kilts from their wealthy cousins. True there was a great dichotomy between the kings and the serfs, but there were knights  (Note: read Winter Wonderland, Continued)