Clinton Township Newsletter

1 S e p t e m b e r 2 0 1 6 September 2016 Since 1982 CLINTON TOWNSHIP Newsletter ® CLINTON TOWNSHIP Newsletter ® "Well, the sun's not so hot in the sky today and you know I can see summertime slipping on away. A few more geese are gone, a few more leaves turning red, but the grass is as soft as a feather in a featherbed. So I'll be king and you'll be queen, our kingdom's gonna be this little patch of green..." – James Taylor, "September Grass" One of my security officer friends from HMC convinced me my life would be significantly enhanced if I added a rotisserie to my cache of kitchen appliances. I value his expertise in all things pertaining to food (recipes, cuts of meat, gadgets, etc.) so I ordered a Ronco 4000 rotisserie. The 4000, I am sure, is approximately how many pounds it weighs. At any rate, the USPS, with much effort, delivered a humdinger of a carton (26" x 21") to my front door and managed to dump it in the front hall. There was no way I could lift it and no way I could open that sucker. With the help of a caring neighbor and a sharp kitchen knife we managed to slice it open only to reveal a second box (19" x 16") which had been sealed with equal vigor in a similar manner as box #1. Now you won't believe this, but inside box #2 was box #3. Again, we sliced and tugged and maneuvered for a time and the ultimate prize appeared – a shiny black rotisserie. Surely we had reached our goal? Not so much. Removing the d--- thing from box #3 was yet another challenge. I remembered the small set of German nesting dolls I once owned and winced at the irony. My neighbor dragged it to the porch (the empty cartons barely made it through the doorways) and it sat there for over a week while I debated my next move. No way could I assemble its multiple parts. My dreams of producing a juicy rib roast or a succulent chicken were put on hold. The following Tuesday I confronted Dave, the guy who prodded me with gastronomical promises in the first place. With tearful eyes and pleas about the inability of elderly ladies to unpack and assemble large appliances, he offered to make a house call and put the thing together for me. I must confess, within 10 minutes tops Dave had the heat shield in place and demonstrated how the spit, trays, basket, etc. function. Cautioned me to use the industrial strength gloves when handling the spit (how safe is this thing, anyway?). I bought a beautiful pork loin anticipating a gourmet Sunday dinner. The big black box performed as promised and my dreams were fully realized. Now can someone find me a tiny Phillips screwdriver that will open a tiny compartment in a thingy that enables me to change batteries for the porch awnings? Don't manufacturers even care about helpless old ladies? After all I'm still young and alert enough to buy stuff! And, as you can see, my dreams in life are minimal. – Julie Fl�nn Recently I was reading a review of the movie, "Bad Moms" (which is more about over-stressed moms rather than truly "bad" mothers). The interviewer asked the actresses in the movie to talk about one of their " bad" mom moments, which made me immediately think back to one of mine... A trip to the library with my toddler... It was an overcast day, with a light drizzle and I was taking my son to the library. The car windows were slightly opened. I got out of the car, shut the door, looked back into the car and there was my baby, securely strapped in his car seat – and there were the keys, sitting in the front seat of my now - locked car. On the verge of panic, I tried to quickly figure out a solution. Leave the baby, run into the library and call the police? (This was before everyone had cell phones). Just then a woman walked up and asked me what was wrong. I explained the situation, and she asked, "Do you live nearby? Do you have a second set of keys in your house?" Yes, I answered". "Here," she replied, "take my car, go home, get your other keys, come back here and open your car". Dumbfounded, I did what she said. As I was driving very quickly to my house, I thought to myself that here she was – a complete stranger – trusting me with her car. However, I was trusting her with my baby. There was a huge amount at stake for both of us, and a lot of mutual expectation involved. When I returned, enormously grateful, I found my child placidly staring ahead, as if we did this all the time. The woman mentioned to me that she didn't try to talk to him, for fear of scaring him. She just watched him quietly to ensure his safety. "You see", she added, "I'm a child psychologist." I inconspicuously looked to see if she had wings, if this was possibly one of those angel-in-real-life encounters you hear about but, no, she appeared to be human. Seeing her months later in the drug store confirmed it for good. I vowed to pay the good deed forward whenever possible. I got my chance later that year. I exited the grocery store to find it pouring rain and, just behind me was a woman, nine months pregnant with a full cart and two small children. I recognized the harried look on her face as she assessed the situation and had no solution. I said, "Go get your car, come back here, and I'll watch the kids and your cart of groceries". She raced (or, rather, waddled) off to get her car, quickly returning. "Okay, now you get the kids in the car and I'll load the groceries in the back." She promptly did as I said and, thanking me said, "You must be an angel!" No, but I was very happy to help. My point is this: parenting is hard and so is life sometimes. We all need to work together, like a village, to raise our families. This doesn't make us angelic, it means that together we'r e a stable, community that cares. I'm so happy to be a part of it. Jie Fly, Edit

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