Friday, May 15, 2009

Little Town on the Beltway--Town Meeting Edition

I firmly believe that the answer to my midlife crisis is to get involved in my world in more diverse ways. Right now I'm all work or all mom, with little room for crossover or in between. So this year I decided to participate in a couple of small-town activities.

For those of you who don't know, I live in a small town of about 135 people in Suburban Maryland. We're 18 miles and at least an entire generation away from DC. Tuesday night was the uncontested election of two town commission members. It's hard to get anyone to run at all, so I suppose a hotly contested race is a bit much to ask, but it might have spurred my memory to show up and vote. According to the chair of the town commission, we had a pretty good turnout of 18 voters to vote for two people who probably had to have guns held to their heads to get them to run just to replace themselves.

The next night was the annual town meeting. I lasted through the first hour because we were dealing with matters of particular interest to me: the proposed bypass that should rescue our adorable, historic town from the choke of heavy traffic and the two derelict houses next to mine.

I'm torn on this last one. I'm heartsick for the middle-aged loner who didn't have fire insurance and can afford neither building up nor tearing down his properties. (Nevertheless, I can't shake the haunting comparison between this guy and the middle-aged loner killer in The Lovely Bones.) But I'm amazed that there could be two houses that make my house look good in comparison. I should be glad, but really I'm tired of the hazard next door. I'm concerned that either house might look like a great place for teenagers to hang out smoking pot and accidentally starting another fire or going through the floorboards as they explore in the dark on a dare. I want these things torn down, built up, sold to someone who cares, sealed up from teenagers, whatever. I don't care. Maybe I just want to erase the image of the day the one house burned down two years ago--I've always been simultaneously drawn to and repelled by hellish forces of nature. Whatever my motivation, I'm ready to move on. I'm sorry for the loner, but I want my neighborhood back.

And what a neighborhood! At 45 (next Friday), I'm one of the younger adults in town. I've lived here more than 10 years and am still a newcomer. I don't go to the town's Methodist church apart from Christmas Eve, so many of my fellow small-town citizens don't really know who I am. I'm a middle-aged mom. I guess I fade into the background.

But this year our state delegate recognized me (albeit I had spoken up during the meeting, giving geographic clues), so that was one small step for suburban momkind. In any meeting of this kind, I think it's customary for one citizen to hog up the majority of the time set aside for these meetings, either through comments they think are funny, questions that are irrelevant to anything anyone's talking about and certainly not on the agenda, or demands for action! They want action! You want action? Move to a big town. It's not happening here.

Nevertheless, it's sort of nice knowing that there's still a place so close to arguably the world's most powerful city that still gets obsessed over finding money to repair gravel roads and fix up the old school house where Miss Anna and Miss Flo went to school.

And speaking of Miss Anna, she finally lost her husband of more than 67 years. He wasn't sick for long, but at 89 I think his passing can't have been unexpected. So we all gathered at the Methodist church to say goodbye, the overflow crowd watching the service from a Web cam in the parish hall. I listened to the well-meaning but misguided language of bigotry in a eulogy that claimed the deceased was such a great guy because he loved Jesus. I guess everyone else can go to hell. Oh, wait a minute....

Then we all crossed the street to watch the American Legion lower the flag at the town hall. There was an awkward moment when the string holding the flag broke, and all the poor WWII vets had to maintain their salutes while their hapless octogenarian Legion buddies tried to fix it in an operation that seemed to take forever. The reception to wish the dearly departed was held at a cozy inn we could all walk to, and we ate white bread sandwiches and talked about how much the town has changed--when it really hasn't.

I'm not sure why I'm celebrating all this. It's infuriating sometimes but beautiful. It's democracy in action and family and friends writ large. I should get more involved. Maybe in another 10 years, when they think I've been here long enough, I can run for the town commission and pore over proposals for a new propane heater for the town hall. It sounds kind of nice, really. So long as I can run unopposed.