Slow Down

Now, I'm NOT saying that Greencastle, Indiana, is a sleepy little burg. But I AM saying that as I drive on the road home from my office out at the Prindle Institute, there is a stretch where the speed limit is twenty. Not twenty-five. Twenty.

As I approach the twenty-mile-an-hour zone, a blinking light signals to me that my speed is excessive. It has a frenetic red blinker that silently shouts out my dangerous speed: 23!!!! 22!!!! 21!!!! And then, when I finally slow down in obedience, the blinking ceases and I can see the approved number: 20.

There is no elementary school or preschool nearby. What is nearby is DePauw University. The frantic blinking light is to protect the college students from speed demons going twenty-two or twenty-three miles per hour.

I love slowing down to twenty.

I said above that Greencastle is not a sleepy little burg. As evidence, I submit the fact that the university is in session today, classes and all, despite its being Labor Day in every other part of the country. We are laboring mightily on Labor Day. The faculty and students here work as hard as I've ever seen anybody work.

But still, a diligent little blinking light here does everything in its power to tell me, "Slow down, you move too fast." And when it does, I feel (readers in my age bracket will understand this). . . I feel GROOVY.