The week started off with a trip to Boston for the launch of my middle daughter's book, Don't Make Art, Just Make Something.
Have you ever noticed that
whenever someone does
something particularly well,
we call it art?
The thing is, if we're always
trying to make art, we miss
out on everything else we
It was the final week of the General Assembly up in Hartford, which passed AN ACT CONCERNING DISSECTION CHOICE.
A local or regional school district shall excuse any student from participating in, or observing, the dissection of any animal as part of classroom instruction, provided the parent or guardian of such student has requested, in writing, that such student be excused from such participation or observation.
It was also Artweek at Beecher Road School, where my youngest daughter is a student. Recently, they took a trip to the Yale Center for British Art, where they saw George Stubbs painting, "A Lion Attacking a Horse". To a young girl who loves horseback riding and who has recently given up eating meat due to her love of animals, it was a disturbing painting.
Even more disturbing was when she was told to reproduce the painting in art class. She didn't want to reproduce violence and because of the subject matter, she asked if she could do a different painting. When she was told no, she did her own version where the lion was lying down with the horse. It was rejected by the art teacher. Perhaps, as Isaiah 11:6 says, a child shall lead them.
The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together; and a little child will lead them.
Fiona related this to us over dinner this evening. I suggested that she should ask to reproduce paintings from de Kooning's Women series instead, but didn't go into details. I also introduced her to the song, "Flowers are Red" by Harry Chapin.
It will be interesting to see what directions her artistic express takes.
It is a beautiful spring evening. The dog lies contentedly on the front lawn, underneath an American flag hanging limply in the still air. I glance briefly at the pictures hanging on the wall of last summer's vacation to Cape Cod. Beneath the picture of Fiona on the bow of a whale watching ship is one of her school projects. On a shelf nearby are stones from the trip together with seashore themed knick knacks my mother had collected.
On a table next to me are call sheets from yesterday's election and at the end of the driveway, the sign urging voters to support Ellen Scalettar for First Selectman remains, having completed its mission.
Fiona is at her grandparents house this evening and Kim is on her way down to a memorial service for Bob Edgar, the head of Common Cause, where she works, who passed away unexpectedly, the same evening that our late First Selectman died.
It has been a busy, chaotic couple of weeks. There hasn't been time to think or struggle with difficult feelings around death.
Last night, some people rejoiced, while others were disappointed about the election results. Yes, I got elected as alternate to the Zoning Board of Appeals. It wasn't an office I had particularly sought, but one that sought me. I was asked to run to fill a slot on the ticket and I believe it is important to have full slates of candidates and competitive races. Zoning is an important part of the social contract, so it is another responsibility to have taken on.
I did learn something interesting, however. My wife's grandfather held the same position years ago. I hope that I'll live up to his standards on the ZBA.
So now, I sit quietly in an empty house taking it all in. I imagine others may be sitting in empty homes as well as their feelings get a chance to catch up. My thoughts go out to everyone for whom these past couple weeks have been so challenging.
Finally, I have a chance to write, and then to rest, before the next task comes along.
The sky was not as grey on Wednesday as it was on Tuesday. There were patches of blue overhead, but still the horizon was layers of grey, like a Rothko painting of a gray British flannel suit. I don't remember much more of that day, I was still in shock.
Thursday, I got up and made my oatmeal and raisins. I put the water on to boil for coffee and sat down to check my email and social media. There are rituals in our lives that carry meaning. The orange in the stocking at Christmas, the five kernels of corn at Thanksgiving. They remind us of past hardships and present pleasant times. There are other rituals that may have started just as habit, or as conscious choices to improve our health, but become part of what sustains us through trying times. My morning oatmeal is like that. I got up and went about my life in a normal way, even though the normal has been rent in two.
In the evening, I rushed to the Democratic Town Committee headquarters. There were two important tasks to be tackled. The first was to come together and share our grief about the death of our First Selectman, Ed Sheehy. There were many red eyes and warm hugs. The second task was to nominate a candidate to fill Ed's place on the ballot.
People spoke in shaking voices lauding Ed and seeking to find ways to honor him and do what he would want us to do. Ellen Scalettar was nominated to be our new candidate, a long time friend of Woodbridge, and a long time friend of Ed.
Ed was a brilliant man, a great leader, the sort of First Selectman few municipalities are fortunate enough to have. Yet Ellen is cut of a similar cloth and is also great candidate. The fact that she was our State Representative for many years, and ran for statewide office also helps, with just over a week until the election.
The next stop was Town Hall, where there was a special meeting of the Board of Selectmen. The chair in the middle, normally occupied by Ed, was empty. There was a moment of silence. The selectman appointed current Selectman Beth Heller, to be finish out the rest of Ed's term.
There was a chance for people to speak about their memories of Ed. As I listened, I thought of the final episode of MASH. Something great was coming to an end, and we were all gathered to be part of it. Yet if there was a television show to capture Woodbridge during the Sheehy years, perhaps Mayberry RFD would be better.
These days fewer people remember Mayberry RFD. It went off the air the year that my family got its first television, but I remember watching old episodes. Probably even less remember the days of Rural Free Delivery. The show was a video portrayal of an idyllic small town, previously captured by Norman Rockwell, and later tapped into with Ronald Reagan's Morning in America advertisement.
Norman Rockwell, Andy Griffith, and Ronald Reagan captured the sort of town that we moved into about the same time that Ed became our First Selectman. Yes, there were the odd experiences and mad cap adventures of a small closely knit town that made both Mayberry and Woodbridge endearing; the drama over where to put a new ball field, the efforts to save a country club, the conflict around the BBQ pit at the firehouse, the issues around animal control, and there was the wise old Ed Sheehy, like Andy Griffith, calmly working us towards fair solutions.
Friday, there was the wake. Many of us stood for an hour or more to honor Ed and comfort his family and one another. From the wake, I rushed off to the pot luck dinner at the local school. Fiona was in the Multi Age Group program, which some say boasts the best pot luck dinners in town.
Saturday was the funeral; the local Catholic church packed to the gills, the antique firetruck, carrying the coffin, only to break down, perhaps providing one last twist on a very special show.
Now, it is Sunday morning. I return to family issues which I seek to balance with my work commitments and with the final week of the municipal campaign.
To all my friends: stay involved. Let's make Woodbridge RFD, the sequel to The Ed Sheehy show, just as special.
"O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,"
It's times like these that I reach for my trusty old beloved collections of poetry. I started the month with T.S. Eliot's The Wasteland:
April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
I celebrated my mother's birthday, the first since her death, quietly while I attended a conference. The following Monday, I texted my middle daughter, who works about a mile from the finish line of the Boston Marathon, to see if she was okay.
I've kept myself busy, perhaps too busy. I haven't had as much time to write as I would like, but there is so much that needs to get done. Yesterday, I went to an Institute of Medicine Roundtable, then rushed off to hear Ken Lenz declare his candidacy for First Selectman in Orange and up to Woodbridge for the Preliminary Town Budget meeting.
And they tell him, "Take your time. It won't be long now.
'Til your drag your feet to slow the circles down"
During my years in Woodbridge, Ed Sheehy has always been our First Selectman, tall of stature and as steady as any Nutmegger from the land of steady habits. Ed was at the meeting last night as a well crafted budget was presented to the town. There was little discussion, for the budgets under Ed's watch have been the most sensible I've seen of any municipality.
This morning, as I drove to work, I received a phone call. It was the sort of phone call that you know is bad news before you answer it. Not because of who was calling or the time. Yes, it was a little early in the day for that friend to be calling, but not that out of the normal. It was just the sort of feeling you get. I was about to get on the Parkway to work. I had my headset on so I could answer the call without pulling over, but I wondered, should I change course, not get on the Parkway to take the call?
After the Preliminary Town Budget meeting, First Selectman Ed Sheehy went home and later in the evening suffered an aneurysm and passed away in the middle of the night. At least that is what I think the call said. I'm still in shock. The unflappable Ed Sheehy, steering the steady course, never doing anything unexpected did something total unexpected and now, I'm trying to make sense of it all.
The drive to work was quiet. There was a cold grey mist, not quite rain, not quite tears, hanging over the road. I passed a pond where the mist, over the rippled water added to the sense of the storm and the droplets that gathered on the car windows did role down the glass like tears.
I return to my book of Walt Whitman
When lilacs last in the door-yard bloom’d,
And the great star early droop’d in the western sky in the night,
I mourn’d—and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.
Slowly, the electronic devices recharge. It has been a long day. I think Foursquare may have congratulated me on the miles I traveled today. It does that too often. My first event of the day was an Institute of Medicine meeting, Achieving Health Equity via the Affordable Care Act: Promises, Provisions, and Making Reform a Reality for Diverse Patients. It was a thought provoking, jam packed day. It took place at the Mark Twain House and Museum. I've been to other events there, but this was the first time I got a chance to take a brief tour during the lunch break. I did not realize that history of publishing in Hartford, nor various aspects of Mark Twain's finances. It was an odd juxtaposition which I'm still pondering.
From there, I rushed to Orange, where the Ken Lenz declared his candidacy for First Selectman. I got to know Ken a bit during my campaign for State Representative, and I'm glad that Ken is running. He's a good guy and hard worker.
My next stop was the Woodbridge Preliminary Budget meeting. The turnout was light and there was little for comments. One person did ask about police activities beyond the motor vehicle information listed in the budget. I mentioned the What's New section of the police department website.
Now, as my devices recharge, I'll head off to bed and recharge my own batteries as well.