Category: council review

#75: Livonia, MI 12/19/16

Inside the Livonia city council chamber, it felt like the last day of school before Winter Break. Oh, sure, THEORETICALLY there was work to do. But there were also plenty of hugs and goodbyes to go around.

“Welcome to the 1,815th regular meeting of the Livonia city council,” President Kathleen McIntyre dutifully announced. While I’d like to imagine McIntyre boarded up in her office and forlornly drawing another line on a wall full of tally marks, that works out to roughly 76 years of city council meetings.

“My oldest daughter is now a teenager as of Saturday,” Council Member Scott Bahr (who, oddly enough, looked barely old enough to buy cigarettes) gave a shout-out at the top of the meeting.

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This man has been chugging from the Fountain of Youth.

“I would like to wish my oldest son a very happy 19th birthday,” Council President McIntyre dittoed. She looked directly into the camera. “He will be celebrating that on January 5th. He was originally due on December 22nd. The fact that he arrived two weeks late pretty much told us how he was gonna go through life–on his own schedule.”

There were a few uncomfortable chuckles.

Spirits were lifted, however, when cheerful Wayne County Commissioner Terry Marecki stopped by to say “hiya” in her thick upper Midwest accent.

“I’m sure you’re gonna enjoy your couple weeks off here with your regular jabs and doing this jab at night!” she exclaimed.

“I wanted to give you an update on 8 Mile Road. It’s been what, six weeks, Tadd [Todd], that they finished it? I want to assure you, it’s going to be done.”

She flashed a reassuring grin and a goofy sign-off. “You can tell your peeps!”

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“Tell your peeps, your squad, your bruhs, your brahs, and especially your homies.”

Before the peeps could be told, there was one serious piece of business to do.

“This is a request to purchase a FARO 3-D laser scanner,” Council President McIntyre read. “This comes from the police for 3-D scene mapping. Good evening, chief.”

Livonia’s police chief stood with neatly-combed hair at the podium to explain this expensive purchase. “This is a huge step forward in our ability to map all crime scenes. You may recall the fatal accident that we had not too long ago. To map that scene with our current device took six hours. That scene with this device would take 30 minutes.”

Wow. From six hours to 30 minutes?! Sign me up for a baker’s dozen!

“This is exciting stuff,” Council Vice President Brandon Kritzman murmured in fascination.  The council approved the scanner.

As council members prepared to go home to their milk and cookies, there was a surprise comment from former Council Member James C. McCann.

“I didn’t plan on this, but as somebody who sat where you’re sitting, the ability of this council to work together–” he smiled proudly, like he was speaking at a high school convocation.

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This is “Santa Formal” attire

“Everybody’s always prepared. It is very nice to see a council that’s working this very well together. And I’d recommend to the voters that if they have the chance to reelect every one of you, they should do it.”

Hear hear! Tell your peeps!

Final thoughts: Obviously I haven’t seen all 1,815 Livonia city council meetings, but I would easily rank this one in the top 400.

#74: McHenry, IL 12/19/16

Trouble in paradise! Turmoil in the Land of Lincoln!

The pride and joy of McHenry–“Fiesta Days”–was in jeopardy, and Mayor Susan E. Low had summoned the only heroes who could save it.

“The next item on the agenda is a motion to approve the 69th annual Fiesta Days schedule, including the addition of Thursday, July 13,” she read.

That’s right–a sombrero-sized bombshell was just dropped on Fiesta Days: adding THURSDAY to the schedule.

“Thursday night is important to draw higher-quality amusements and better food vendors,” the jeans-clad Chamber of Commerce rep solemnly informed the council.

“Fiesta Days are looking to attract and serve millennials, the 21-36 group. I think this is what our Thursday night is gonna be geared towards–try to get some of the younger crowd out there.”

You hear that, millennials? Put down your smart phones and your mannequin challenges and go sample the local Illinois cuisine–which I’m assuming includes both sweet and popped corn?

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Let’s fleek it up!

A local pastor strode to the podium. “By having a Thursday night, we can make Sunday fully free,” he argued, being an expert on how to keep the Sabbath rockin’.

“I actually get to call myself a millennial by two days,” he chuckled. “As I ask them about the music selection at Fiesta Days, I typically get the answer of, ‘it’s fine, but it’s not MY music.'”

He paused for pastoral emphasis. “‘Not my music.’ We have to transition generations. Thursday night, we get to focus on millennials.”

Alderman Jeffrey Schaefer tapped his fingers together. “What type of entertainment were you thinking?”

I was wondering the same thing. As a millennial, I am into such popular musical acts as Neil Diamond, Willie Nelson, and Olivia Newton-John. But something tells me they aren’t in the Fiesta Days budget.

“We’re gonna try to keep it local and geared more towards that millennial group,” the Chamber man said evasively. “We’re not exactly sure.”

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The Committee on Wooing Millennials

Alderman Schaefer motioned to approve the plan. Alderman Andrew Glab backed him up, gruffly muttering, “I’m glad to see us going a little more toward the family, uh, thing.”

But suddenly, Mayor Low slammed the brakes on the Fiesta Express. “I have no problem with the event,” she frowned, “but we spent a LOT of time deciding those times.”

Alderman Schaefer looked worried. “I was going to amend my motion to change the time to 10:30 for Thursday.”

The mayor looked relieved. “So your motion would be to allow the event, end it at 10:30?”

But immediately, Alderman Victor Santi jumped ship. “I’m not seconding that motion.”

Then the council went to DEFCON-3 as Alderman Geri Condon turned on her mic. “I personally support Thursday, closing at 10:30, keeping the beer sales and times, BUT I would support 50% reimbursement,” she demanded, referring to the condition that the Chamber of Commerce reimburse the city for all or part of its costs.

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“Also, I demand that we move the lost-and-found from behind my seat.”

“The motion on the table I’m not gonna support,” Alderman Scott Curry viciously knifed. “I’m hoping we vote that down and then we can put one that has 50% in.”

The Titanic was going down. It was too late to bail!

The vote: 2-4 to kill the Schaefer motion. Alderman Curry leapt forward.

“10:30 on Thursday, alcohol times the same, 50% reimbursement,” he briskly rattled off.

Mayor Low called the vote: 4-2 in favor.

“Majority rule,” she shrugged.

#73: Millbrae, CA 12/13/16

‘Twas the season of change at the Millbrae city council meeting. A time to remember the departed and toast to new beginnings.

While I was popping the Champagne at home, a string quartet was popping off the holiday classics in the meeting room–“Joy to the World” and “O Come, All Ye Faithful.” Wow, live entertainment at a council meeting! What a refreshing change of pace!

That being said: once in 73 council meetings was enough. This isn’t “High School Orchestra Chronicles,” so I won’t review their performance. But let’s just say, I was very, very happy for this city council meeting to start.

“I’m very, very proud of these young people. They’re go-getters,” Council Member Wayne Lee rhapsodized. “Michael, I understand you’re going to Yale, which is exciting!”

The chamber roared for the violinist. One of the staff reached over and high fived him.

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Boo yeah!

But as Michael moved on, another dear leader moved out.

“I want to share a short story,” smiled Mayor Anne Oliva, who in a few brief minutes would be relinquishing her gavel. “I did not get elected the first time around to our council. I missed it by 17 votes, and I was beaten out by Robert Gottschalk.”

Every head turned to Gottschalk, who was sitting stage right. J’Accuse!

“I ran with my father by my side, even knocking on doors every Sunday afternoon asking for support. When my father died a few months later,” the mayor gently winced, “I had no idea how much I would miss him. Especially when I was unable to share small victories, such as my next run for council–which I won.”

She bit her lip and tried not to tear up.  “I leave you in the hands of your new mayor, who I know will be a success. I wish my dad were here. But perhaps he’s looking down…Thank you all so very much.”

Everyone leapt up to give Her Honor the ol’ Hip-Hip-Hooray. Heir-to-the-throne Reuben Holober handed over a gift.

“This is amazing!” she exclaimed after pulling out a necklace. She fingered the trinket attached to it.

“It’s a gavel with a little A on it!”

The audience nodded approvingly.

She held out the necklace she was currently wearing. “When my dad ran for mayor, he gave this to my mother when he won.”

“Awwwwwww,” everyone murmured in unison.

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Must…not…cry

The council unanimously elected Holober as the next head honcho. As Oliva and Holober stood to swap seats, Council Member Lee pumped the brakes.

“Whoa, whoa, you gotta take the oath! You don’t get the gavel till you take the oath!”

Mayor-elect Holober strode down to the podium. Lee, playing the role of red carpet commentator, announced who was doing the swearing-in.

“Reuben’s lucky fiancé!” he boomed as the two lovebirds raised their rights hands and sealed the deal.

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“I do.”

Mayor Holober took his seat at the head of the dais. “Thirteen years ago, I entered this room to watch my mother take the oath of office as mayor. I never thought that one day, I would be sitting in this very chair.”

He stared at the room of supporters. “While my mother is no longer with us, I know that her passion for the city of Millbrae is alive in all of us.”

Ex-mayor Oliva led the standing ovation for him. While this is all very sweet, does anyone find it odd how Millbrae is killing so many city council members’ parents?

Final thoughts: First council meeting with a string quartet AND first council meeting with TWO MAYORS! 10 out of 10!

#72: Louisville, KY 12/8/16

UPDATE: You can now listen to a dramatic reading of this review on iTunes, Stitcher, Player FM and right here:

What do you do when a council meeting is so emotional–so raw–that it makes the winter a little colder, the night a little darker, and the world a little more vulnerable?

The Louisville Metro Council was a sight to behold: 26 people. Young and old. Black and white. Thick Kentucky accents and thicker Kentucky accents. David Yates, the youthful council president with hair slicker than a mint julep at sunrise, stared icily at the overflowing chamber.

“For those that are addressing the landmark designation of Tremont Drive, the council will not accept any further testimony. ANY attempts by ANYONE will be ruled out of order,” he warned with the gravity of a doctor breaking the news about your husband’s coma.

“Mr. Clerk, would you please bring up our first speaker?”

An older man with a white goatee lumbered to the podium. If you took all of my college professors and mashed them into one person, this would be the dude.

“I am new to the city, having moved here a year ago,” he began casually.  “Tonight, I urge the council to delay the granting of a demolition permit for the Powell/Smith House for a couple of reasons. Delaying–”

President Yates sharply cut him off.

“Excuse me. Did you–” he sounded incredulous. “I JUST had to read that we are not to address the landmarks decision. We cannot hear ANY information relating to the landmark.”

The man looked hurt. “Can I continue if I do not?”

The president softened. “If you do not.”

The man adjusted his glasses and stared down at his papers. He paused. “Another reason for delaying the decision on the Powell/Smith House is to allow time to fully document–” home boy picked up exactly where he left off!

Two men behind him covered their mouths stifling laughter. Even his own lips creeped upward into a grin as he shamelessly trolled the council.

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Well played

President Yates was enraged. He slammed the gavel on his desk. The man looked up.

“I’m done?” the man asked innocently.

Yes, yes he was. His heart was in the right place. But his mouth was not.

As the chamber settled down, Council Member Robin Engel took to the microphone with bittersweet news.

“After 27 years of service, Monica Hodge will be retiring from Metro government,” he beamed at the woman standing to his right. He leaned into the podium and suddenly took on the role of emcee in a “This Is Your Life” trip down memory lane. He waved over Kentucky political titan Rebecca Jackson, who strode to the microphone with an air of confidence.

She grasped Hodge’s hand. “If I reached out my hand and said, ‘come pray with me,’ Monica would come pray with me. We saw a lot of those prayers answered, including those prayers for her health and those prayers for our crazy husbands who never knew where we were. Monica, we love you.” The two women embraced and the chamber erupted in applause and laughter.

But the eulogy wasn’t over yet. Council Member Engel gestured to the ample man with the broad shoulders and a bright tie. “Pastor Hodge?”

“Oh, good evening!” the pastor bellowed with a wide grin. “Let’s take up an offering, that’s what I say! Ha ha ha!” The audience went wild.

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Can I get an Amen?

“I love my wife. And what you see here is what you see at home. I’ve gone through a lot. Open heart surgery. I do dialysis. But–” his voice quaked and he blinked back tears. His voice became high and tiny. “But I stand here today because I have someone who stands with me. An amazing lady. Your loss is my gain.”

All around him, heads nodded like a Sunday sermon. “Thank you.”

Finally, Hodge stepped forward to a 15-second standing ovation. “I want to give thanks first of all to the lord because ten years ago I didn’t know if I would be standing here tonight, struggling to to get through a day of chemo.” Her husband, the pastor, wiped his eyes.

“Enjoy every tomorrow that you’ve got because you don’t know what life is gonna bring you. You’ve all blessed my life in some way. I thank you for that.”

As Hodge and her entourage cleared the chamber, there was one piece of lingering business that, unpleasant as it was, had to be done.

“We are reviewing the landmarks designation,” President Yates announced heavily. “The commission voted to landmark. The committee voted to overturn. The resolution is now before the full council.”

The lone man wishing to speak was Council Member Tom Owens and he had one heartfelt plea: save this house.

“There is a certain innocence, I think, that we all share. And this innocence is that the landmarking process ought to be without rancor. But the truth of the matter is,” he spoke carefully and quietly, like a tired old lawyer begging the jury not to sentence his client to death, “the truth of the matter is when it comes to the old farmhouse in your subdivision, or in your neighborhood, there is going to be some desire to see that old house” saved.

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“Don’t make me chain myself to this house.”

With dark circles under his eyes, he hunched down in his chair. “Our decision to overturn the Landmarks Commission will, in all likelihood, bring the wrecking ball to that” 145-year old house. “Thank you, colleagues.”

No one else came to his defense. Owens and two others voted to save the house. Twenty-two council members voted to destroy it.

In one night, the city lost a valued employee and a valued home. Such is life in the hollers of Kentucky.

#71: Beloit, WI 12/5/16

Okay, I have to admit something: I had a hard time focusing on the Beloit city council meeting. It’s not because it was boring (it wasn’t). It’s not because I was under the influence of alcohol (I was).

It’s because all I could think about…was the wall.

The brick wall. AROUND the city council.

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Is this to keep the Big Bad Wolf out of council meetings?

Is it art? Is it a metaphor? Or is it a way of saying, “the only way you’re gonna ‘stick it’ to City Hall is with a bulldozer?”

Regardless, the city council had four more walls to worry about: a proposed “indoor entertainment venue.” To approve or not approve was the question.

“We were contacted by five neighboring property owners who are opposed due to concerns about traffic, parking, noise, and loitering,” a bespectacled city staffer informed the stern-looking councilors.

“The planning commission reviewed this and voted 6-0 to recommend denial.” She nodded to the building owner sitting alone in the audience. “I don’t think he’s trying to negatively impact the neighborhood.”

The man cautiously approached the wall. He was wearing a Carolina Tarheels fleece under a puffy jacket. “My name is Mario. I’m the owner. I’m trying, you know, to do that thing. Whatever that thing…” he stuttered with a heavy accent.

“My English is broken so hopefully you understand me,” he apologized. “If you guys say no, throw away that idea then continue. So technically you’re the boss.”

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Do it! Scale the wall!

But Councilor Sheila De Forest looked intensely grief-stricken. “I want to make sure that you were understood at the planing commission. Did you have a translator there at the meeting for him?”

The staffer slid next to Mario at the podium. “He didn’t ask for one. I didn’t know he needed one.”

“Did we OFFER him one, though?” De Forest pressed angrily.

“I…don’t know,” sighed the employee.

Councilor De Forest was livid. “I guess I’m not comfortable proceeding until we offer him a translator,” she demanded.

City Manager Lori Curtis Luther jumped into the fray. “I just want to make a cautionary note that we shouldn’t ASSUME what someone does or does not want,” she attempted to out-sensitize De Forest’s sensitivity. “I don’t want to imply that we think you NEED a translator. I think that can be insulting to some.”

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Some might say a fortressed city council is a tad insulting.

Riding in to the rescue was the third Good Samaritan, Councilor Marilyn Sloniker. “Would you like ME to ask him in Spanish if he understands what’s going on?”

Council President David Luebke quickly tried to sort out the ethical dilemma roiling the council. “I think…I think that’s…we’re pushing it too far. I don’t want to insult anybody’s intelligence.”

“I understand,” shrugged Sloniker. It’s no small irony that the council who erected a wall around themselves was worried about how to be properly inclusive.

However, when it came to Luebke’s fellow councilors, the gloves were off.

“The Holidazzle was fantastic. I happened to go in where you work, Mark,” he slyly grinned, referring to Councilor Mark Preuschl’s candy shop.

“They had samples up there, but for every one he gave out, he ate a piece too!” Everyone had a much-needed and de-stressing laugh.

No translation needed there!

#70: Lisbon, IA 11/28/16

Don’t be fooled. Lisbon’s population may be just 2,200 people–but its December calendar is packed tighter than a Tokyo subway car at rush hour.

“Holiday Jubilee proclamation,” Mayor Beryl O’Connor adjusted her eyeglasses and read the sweeping decree. “Whereas holiday celebration is an effective tool for fostering local pride and maintaining community character, I, Mayor of Lisbon, proclaim December 10, 2016 ‘Lisbon’s Holiday Jubilee’ and call upon the people of Lisbon to join their fellow citizens in participating in this special occasion.”

Harken, Lisbonites! Your leader calls upon you to spread cheerfulness maximus! (What exactly does that entail?)

“We’ll be having activities during the day starting out with breakfast with Mrs. Claus,” city administrator Connie Meier explained. “The parade lineup will start at four. This year we changed the theme to ‘Parade with Your Pets.’ So you can dress your pets up in Christmas sweaters and walk them in the parade.”

With this news, my heart grew three sizes. Granted, this is Iowa, so I imagine there will be several cows in festive XXL upperwear.

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Pictured: Director of the Lisbon Chamber of Commerce

“Next month is kind of a busy month,” warned the city administrator. “Lisbon Schools is having all of their concerts on Monday night. December 12 would be our next regular council meeting–there is an elementary K-3rd [concert] at 6:00 and [grades] 4-6 at 7:15. On December 19th, there’s also the high school band and choir concerts.”

Uh-oh. Is it time to take the missiles to DEFCON-2, Your Honor?

“Is your daughter in band or anything?” the mayor muttered to Council Member Nathan Smith.

“The 19th is out for me,” he winced. “And she’s in basketball, so Tuesday nights tend to be interrupted too.”

Thankfully, the crisis was defused: they agreed to double up the meetings on December 5.

“What’s wrong with the lights?” Mayor O’Connor spontaneously blurted out. “One side of the street comes on and five minutes later the other side of the street comes on!”

“It’s where the photo eyes are placed–” the public works director started to answer.

“I have no idea what that means,” the mayor stared blankly.

The director patiently explained this complex marvel of modern engineering. “The photo eyes are detecting the sunlight. When the sun’s coming across, it will still be shining on one photo eye and there will be enough shade on the other one that it’ll keep ’em on.”

“It’s called photo eye?” she cautiously inquired. “If I tell somebody that, they’ll think I know what I’m talking about?”

The public works director humored her. “Yep.”

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This picture was taken with a photo eye

While he had the floor, there was something else he needed to get off his chest for the good of the city:

“This it the second time in twelve months we’ve had problems with our spiral screen” at the wastewater plant. (Mayor, if you say “spiral screen” people will NOT know what you’re talking about.)

“I know everybody’s reading these wrappers, and their sanitary wipes and wet wipes are saying they can be flushed. Please, [I’m] asking people not to flush.”

He exhaled. “So yeah, that’s my little soapbox speech.”

Final thoughts: Stop flushing the wet wipes! Geez.

#69: Laurel, MD 11/28/16

It’s the holiday season, so you know what that means: the eggnog is flowing, the mistletoe is hanging, and city council members are bragging about how THEIR winter festivities are the best thing since sliced gingerbread.

“I’d like to welcome everyone back from the Thanksgiving holiday. I hope it was a healthy one,” Councilmember Frederick Smalls warmly greeted the room. “I will say, however, that I did try a new recipe. It’s Brussels sprouts with Gruyère cheese.”

He added a lackluster, “Mmmm,” as he glanced sideways down the dais.

Councilmember Donna Crary picked up on the signal.

“I will disagree,” she pursed her lips, “with Mr. Smalls. That Brussels sprouts recipe was given to me at the same time. It’s not healthy.” Councilmember Smalls loudly guffawed as the sign language interpreter mimed laughter.

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“Do you know what’s healthy? That weak-ass tea you’re serving.”

But enough about Thanksgiving. It’s almost Christmas! Your Honor, when will we all get to meet Santa?!

“On December the 10th at 9 a.m. sharp, Partnership Hall will be holding the Breakfast with Santa,” Mayor Craig Moe read from his notes in a non-festive monotone. “Any tickets left?”

“Sold out!” someone yelled from the audience.

Mayor Moe looked into the camera–right into my disappointed eye holes. “Cancel that. We’re sold out.”

Whatever. I’m not disappointed. I’m not crying. These tears are just me being allergic to PEOPLE WHO GET MY HOPES UP.

“The holiday decorating contest will take place as well,” the mayor tried to reassure me. “If you’d like to nominate somebody or yourself, you can dial 301-725-7800. Or you can let my office know. We encourage you to get your decorations up and submit your nominations.”

Hey, mayor: stay in your lane. Laurelites, if YOU have a nomination for best holiday decoration, send it to City Council Chronicles. I’LL be the arbiter of taste around here.

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This is my nomination for deadliest stare.

That wraps up the yuletide news: it was time to do the People’s Business. “Ordinance number 1894,” announced Council President Michael Leszcz. “An ordinance amending the Laurel city code Chapter 17, ‘Traffic,’ Article III: ‘Stopping, standing, and parking.'”

He looked to either side. “Any discussion?” Nope. “Call the roll.”

As the clerk went down the list, something bizarre unfolded. Mayor Moe leaned back in his chair and caught the eye of Councilmember H. Edward Ricks at the far end of the dais.

NO. VOTE NO, mouthed the mayor.

All of the other council members were glancing at their papers, completely unaware of this not-so-secret communication.

“Mr. Ricks?” the clerk called out.

Ricks gave a pause. “Yes,” he slowly said, sounding beleaguered.

The mayor stared daggers at Ricks.

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How is she going to translate this?

“Mayor Moe?” the clerk said.

He did not respond. Council Member Ricks stonily eyeballed the mayor. The pause was so pregnant, some of the other council members stopped shuffling their papers and glanced at Moe.

“Concur,” muttered the mayor at last.

“That concludes the normal agenda,” President Leszcz continued, blissfully clueless about what transpired.

At this point, His Honor broke into a grin and chuckled. I have no idea if this was a playful joke or if the mayor was genuinely pissed. He’s a more wily character than I gave him credit for.

All I know is this: Santa better watch his back in Laurel.

#68: Garden City, MI 11/21/16

Three days before Thanksgiving, the Garden City council was ablaze in festivity. I don’t know if everyone was hopped up on cranberry sauce or had been mainlining gravy in the bathroom, but city council members were chomping like Santa’s reindeer to do the People’s Business.

And it all kicked off with this electrifying audiovisual overload for the National Anthem, complete with a booming choir and tear-jerking stock footage:

What’s even more American than a waving flag? How about a waving Santa:

“I wanted to remind everybody that immediately following the Santaland Parade this Saturday, we will have Santa down at the old farmers market,” the city’s downtown development director reminded all the good little girls and boys.

“We will have cookies and hot chocolate for everybody and I believe the mayor will also be handing Santa the key to the city.” Hold the phone, mayor. Don’t you know how Santa works? He doesn’t NEED a key–he just slides down the chimney at city hall. DUH.

And speaking of sliding, a lady from the county commissioner’s office was all smiles about her own early Christmas present: a shiny new road.

“It’s looking GOOD!” she marveled. “I don’t know if you’ve been down on Cherry Hill Road but it is smooth as a whistle! They were working like ants. I’m like, WHOA!”

As a whistle! That is impressive! Most roads I’ve ridden on are smooth as a bumpy graham cracker. Clearly some deal with the devil was made here to get a whistle-smooth piece of turnpike.

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“This road is slicker than a stick of butter in a microwave.”

However, the city council meeting was about careen through some deep potholes. And like most headaches, it started when the mayor opened up public comment on a contract to purchase discounted gasoline.

“How much money?!” shouted an elderly man in a neon safety vest as he hunched menacingly behind the podium.

“We’re getting it for 98 cents a gallon,” Mayor Randy Walker patiently explained.

“HUH?!” the man screamed.

“Gasoline for the police cars, fire trucks,” the mayor raised his own voice.

“BP has it $1.98!” the man slurred in disbelief.

“We get it cheaper. They don’t have to put all the taxes on it,” Mayor Walker reassured his accuser. “That’s a pretty good deal. I’ll take that.”

The elderly man, satisfied that Santa Claus wasn’t pulling a fast one on the taxpayers, turned and sat down.

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Why is everyone else not wearing their protective safety gear?!

Next, it was Mayor Pro Tem Pat Squires’s turn to talk turkey. Clad in a pink “Santaland Parade” hoodie, she read from her notes. “I move to purchase an aerial lift truck from Wolverine Freightliner. Our old one is 26 years old and it is not able to be used anymore according to the state of Michigan.”

Well, that didn’t sit right with Mr. Vesty McYellington, who immediately shuffled to the podium.

“You can fix it up!”

Mayor Walker was insistent. “It’s 26 years old. We gotta get a new one!”

“Why buy a new one?! Fix it up! It’s my money! My tax dollars!” raspily bellowed this modern-day Scrooge.

But the mayor had made his list and checked it twice. “Oh-kay,” he sighed. Then the council voted: Garden City was getting a new truck under the tree.

Final thoughts: I give 10 out of 10 stars to Santa for delivering a smooth road, new truck, and amazing gas prices to Garden City. See you at the parade!

#67: Steinbach, MB 11/15/16

Three days ago, I would have considered Manitoba to be one of the top ten Canadian provinces. But after watching this week’s short, sweet, and dignified Steinbach city council meeting, I think Manitoba is now firmly in the top nine.

“Recently, I had the privilege of turning 60 years of age,” Councilor Jac Siemens announced at the top of the evening. “I feel a great divide between where I have been and where I’m going. The older I get, the more I look back and I see many years of laughing, hurting, crying, working way too much, playing too little–and not stopping enough to celebrate.”

Wow, this sounds more like an “I’m a-leavin'” speech than a “welcome to the meeting” message. As long as he doesn’t pull out a guitar and sing “Cats in the Cradle,” I can hold it together.

“As I celebrate my first 60 years on this earth, I brace myself for the remaining years. When I turned 50, I wrote a list representing 50 things I learned so far in my life. So now, I’ve added ten more to that list.” He flipped the page and unloaded his wisdom on the unsuspecting masses.

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Lesson 1: red carpet makes the floor look like lava.

“In no particular order, here they are.”

  •  We can’t always tell the truth but we must try very hard never to tell a lie.
  • Dress properly.
  • Life’s biggest joys are spouse, family, friends, parents, children, and grandchildren.
  • Worrying is a waste of time.
  • Age should make us better, not bitter about who we are.
  • If I can’t change my situation, I can always change my perspective.

Inspiring stuff. I encourage everyone to print out this review and tape it to your cubicle. Instead of a cat telling you to “hang in there,” it’s a kindly Canadian man saying to “dress properly.”

You had one more thing, councilor?

“I have learned to ride a bike, with all the joy that it gives me. When I am on a bike, all I can do is crank on those pedals,” Siemens boasted as he wrapped his valedictory speech.

Mayor Chris Goertzen had a musing of his own. “Council, I have a question. And there will be a statement before that question,” he politely alerted them.

“Council, we saw that the Penfeld and Number 12 intersection has been virtually complete now. It’s functioning well, but one of the things we do need to recognize is there are quite a number of businesses that have really had a lot of patience along the Number 12 highway.”

The mayor glanced from side to side. “I think we need to publicly acknowledge many of those businesses along there that have suffered through this a little bit–and we wanna say thank you. So my question to you is: do you agree?”

The councilors stared blankly. Suddenly, one courageous soul–no doubt reflecting on Jac Siemens’s 60 Life Lessons–mumbled, “yes.”

And THAT, my friends, is lesson #61: always say thank you.