Suffield Observations
Try Measuring the Heart, One Beat at a Time
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I recently received a fitness tracker – the kind you wear on your wrist that measures your heart rate and steps taken, and relays the data to a smartphone app.
The Suffield Observer (https://thesuffieldobserver.com/category/columns/suffield-observations/page/8/)
I recently received a fitness tracker – the kind you wear on your wrist that measures your heart rate and steps taken, and relays the data to a smartphone app.
In England, Boxing Day, the day after Christmas, is kind of a big deal. A national holiday, it’s a bona fide part of the holiday calendar. It’s the perfect coda to the Christmas celebration. Friends and family not seen on Christmas get together. Everyone’s relaxed.
Last month, while dining at a local restaurant, a Suffieldian I’ve known for almost 15 years came to our table and asked us how things were going, and I told her things were not perfect. She breathed this huge sigh of relief and revealed to us that things in her life were not perfect either.
Several years ago, I went into CVS and ran into someone I have known for as long as I have lived in Suffield.
A new school year is upon us, providing a chance to shed all those bad habits and start the year right. My fellow parents, I am talking to you. For those of us who drive our children to any of Suffield’s fine schools, there are procedures for the safe and efficient drop off of students. Why are there people who don’t follow them? Consider the situation at the McAllister Intermediate School.
We have a pool, which is kind of like saying I have a 33,000-gallon creature in my yard and feeds on chlorine, a lot of chlorine.
Thirty years ago this month, I said good-bye to a friend for the last time. It was short and far from meaningful. It was finals week, and I caught her at very stressful moment. I left campus a few days later, and she spent the following semester abroad. I didn’t have her address or number in London, but in truth I probably wouldn’t have written or called.
When I was 15, I was sitting in on a driving lesson my friend Chris was getting from his dad. After practicing all the fundamentals, Chris was given the green light to drive home. It was sunny, the windows were open and an air of triumph permeated the car. Inexplicably, a bee flew into the moving car, hit Chris’ neck and landed right on the inside of his leg as he was driving swiftly down this stretch of road. As the bewildered bug began creeping up his leg, and as Chris was wearing shorts on that hot day, he let loose a stream of expletives, pulled the car over and, after deliberately putting it into park, jumped out and danced until the insect flew away.
Connecticut’s a funny state. It’s the third smallest state in the nation, but it has 169 municipalities. To contrast, our neighbor Rhode Island has 39. Complicating matters is that each one of those Connecticut cities and towns believes itself to be an entity unto itself. Even towns that share a border, like, say, Suffield and Windsor Locks, consider the other to be so different as to be another state.
I was talking to a friend about a recent event. How could this happen? Are people blind?