Spring ran down Main Street today in a long, energetic stream. She lay around the Common in various sized puddles, reflecting the view above her head: utility lines, the American flag, the blinking caution light, the sky. Kids climbed an old maple tree on Main street. A fellow drove his convertible through town with the top down.

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Town Meeting was well worth the trip. In addition to all the other entertainment, during one of the breaks caused by a paper ballot I met a toddler in the lobby where his Dad was attending the CERV snack table. The child fussed at the brownie I bought so his Dad agreed he could have a chunk of it. A couple of minutes later, the toddler lurched across the lobby to me. He wrapped an around around my leg. We stood there, enjoying each other's company and the snack.

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Bumper Sticker of the Week: "Honk if something falls off." It was stuck to a car parked on the Common.

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A few years back, I won a Pot Hole contest run by radio station WDEV. The prize was breakfast for two at a Waterbury restaurant and a pair of shocks, installed. I gave away the breakfast because I couldn't find anyone to go at the same time I could and it was too far to drive alone for a pair of eggs, some bread and coffee. The shocks worked just fine. Here's the winner: regular roads have potholes. Since the advent of I- 89, the term pot pit has come into use. Perhaps the most colossal example is in Middlesex, heading south into Montpelier. As you try to take a peek at the picturesque church on the right, a BUMP sign catches your eye. Actually, it's a two BUMP sign pot pit. As the car ascends the lip of the pit, you think, the sign must have been wrong -- this is not a bump, it's just a little rise in the road. But then the front end begins to slide downward and the rear bumper smashes onto the lip of the pit. The impact jolts your spine and your head snaps forward. You take a bite out of your tongue. You think well, it only got the back bumper and your sacrum but it's over. Then as the rear end pitches through the deepest part of the pit (scraping the oil pan, muffler and the other stuff under there), the front bumper rams the other side of the pit. As the front tires thud back onto the road, the trunk opens and slams shut, loose change jumps out of the ashtray, your neck snaps, everything on the back seat is thrown into the front seat and there's one last crunch as the end of the tail pipe is bent beyond recognition before the back tires lumber from the depths. In admiration and amazement, you look into the rear view mirror and see the light of the car behind you. For a moment they flash skyward then disappear altogether as they shine into the pot pit.

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