The Livingston Township Council held its final meeting of the year on Wednesday, December 18, during which the last ordinance and contracts of 2024 were approved.
The Council went into a closed executive session at the start of the conference meeting, which lasted about an hour, to discuss personnel matters. As a result, the start time of the regular meeting was pushed back to 8 p.m. The Council also returned to closed session following the conclusions of both the regular and conference meetings later that evening. Discussed during the second closed session was personnel, litigation, and property acquisition.
At the start of the regular meeting, the Council issued proclamations to the National Charity League (NCL) and Young Men’s Service League (YMSL). Jessica Kelly also gave a presentation about the Mayor Wellness Program grant the township recently received. The grant will help address three community health needs: mental health, physical activity, and a third undetermined focus for 2025. Through the campaign, Livingston also has the opportunity to be designated a “Healthy Town” at the end of 2025.
Dog Park Ordinance
The final ordinance of 2024 was passed, which will allow the Council to expand the public areas where people may walk their dogs in town. Now that this ordinance is approved, the plan is to allow additional dog access around the Oval.
“The dogs bring joy to everybody... it just makes for a happier place,” said Council member Shawn Klein, who led the push for the ordinance. “I think the township should try to make Livingston as dog-friendly as possible and this is a step in that direction.”
Contracts
A$988,000 contract was awarded to Mott MacDonald for professional engineering services related to Phase C of the township’s PFAS treatment facilities, which will cover remediation of three township wells.
Two change orders were approved for a planning contract with Topology NJ. The original contract was for $15,000, but due to the volume of work, two changes - for $50,000 tions of the family had owned and occupied the place until at last it was sold. Generally known as “Aunt Clara,” she had pink cheeks and a cheery smile, despite the drawbacks of advanced age. For years Aunt Clara had kept in touch with the Blaines, who lived in West Livingston. She had visited them and was a favorite with the family. The Blaines of her generation were no more, but John Blaine and his wife, Emily, had the same affection for her as the Blaines of an earlier time had. One morning not long before Christmas, Edith Blaine, a blond, unaffected daughter of the household – she attended the High School with her brother, Bill – brought in a letter from the mailbox. It was for her mother. “This is good news,” Mrs. Blaine said as she read the letter. “Who do you think is coming for Christmas?” “Santa Claus,” answered the redcheeked, rather chubby Bill, the other child of the Blaines. He was a year or so younger than his sister. “Aunt Clara is coming three days before Christmas,” the mother said. “I’m so glad. She has not been here for five years. She writes that for one thing she is anxious to see her old home again. She is as sentimental as ever. Bless her heart, of course, we will take her to see her old home again. How the sight of it will please her!” Edith’s face turned white. “Oh mother, haven’t you heard?” she asked. “The old Parker house was torn down last week.” “Torn down!” Emily Blaine exclaimed. “No, I had not heard. This is awful. Aunt Clara will insist on going to the place and we cannot take her. We’ll have to find excuses, for the sight of it would break her heart. Oh, why do we cry for Colonial architecture and tear down the real Colonials day by day? I hate to say so, but it’s too bad she is coming here after all. The poor old thing! The poor old thing!” “Cheer up, mother,” Edith said. “It’s Christmas time. Perhaps somehow we will find a way to keep Aunt Clara from the place.” Friday morning, John Blaine and his wife stood on a crowded platform in the Newark station as the long, red train from the West hurtled in and ground to a stop. Then they saw Aunt Clara being helped from the The Livingston Township Council honored the Young Men’s Service League at the Wednesday, December 18, meeting. train by a white-coated porter. She looked much older than when they last saw her, despite her happy smile as she caught sight of them. The next day was spent largely on talk – there was so much about which to reminisce. In the afternoon the elder Blaines took Aunt Clara for an auto ride, in which John Blaine, the driver, was careful to avoid the section of town in which the Parker house had stood. The old lady’s happiness, her joy in being back once more, only added to the agony of her hosts. They knew that her mind was on her old home and that she was longing to see it. Sunday was a dread repetition. It was after dinner that Aunt Clara brought up the subject of her former home. “All of you are very kind to me, Emily,” she said. “I enjoyed the trip about town yesterday, but you did not take me to the place I wish to see most of all – my old home. You no doubt forgot. Would it be possible for you to take me there? “I will be 84 in April,” Aunt Clara said, “and so I doubt I will ever come East again. Even this time I had plenty of trouble with my daughters, who said that I was too old for such a trip. If they hadn’t talked about it so much, perhaps I would not have come this time. Of course, Emily, they were right, but I’m so glad I am here.” “And we’re glad too,” Emily said. “You were my mother’s girlhood friend, and we all love you as she did.” As she spoke, she glanced at the weather report in the paper. There would be snow for Christmas, it said. If only there would be enough of it, Emily thought, their poignant problem might be solved. Aunt Clara was leaving for home Tuesday morning. Still, however, for the first time in her life, Emily Blaine looked forward to Christmas with dread in her heart. It was a white Christmas, as the experts had predicted. Very large snowflakes were falling straight to the ground with no wind to deflect them. To Emily Blaine’s dismay, this held no promise of a heavy fall. Sometime after breakfast, Edith, standing by the Christmas tree which she and Bill had decorated, startled her parents. “Bill and I have arranged to take you for a ride,” she said to Aunt Clara. “We’ll leave as soon as you are ready.” “How can you do that?” her mother asked. “You know that we do not like to drive the car in the snow.” Edith smiled, the spirit of Christmas in her bright blue eyes. “We don’t need the car. A little while ago I phoned our neighbor, Art Snyder, and he agreed to lend us his horse and sleigh. Bill and I will take Aunt Clara for a Christmas morning sleighride – there’s room for three in the cutter if we squeeze in. Come, put on your warmest clothes,” she added, to the pleased visitor. In the red-painted cutter, Aunt Clara and the Blaine children sped over the growing layer of snow. The sorrel horse, driven by Bill, danced along, as if to the music of sleighbells. “Good for you, Bill,” Aunt Clara cried joyfully. “You know the right turns.” She was inordinately happy, the light of anticipation shining in her eyes. This was what she wanted, and what she had journeyed two thousand miles to see. When they reached the Parker farm, Bill reined in the sorrel but did not turn into the driveway. “Look Aunt Clara, look!” Edith cried. Aunt Clara looked. “Oh, how beautiful it is!” she exclaimed. There, through the mantle of gently falling snow – mystic, ineffably lovely – she saw the home of her childhood. There was the old porch where the hammock had hung; the steps which her nimble feet had descended on the mornings when she left for school; the steps she had descended, strewn with rice and confetti, on her wedding day. There were many other reminders. “You have made me so happy!” she said. “You have given me the best Christmas of my life.” “I don’t think we can go in,” Edith said casually. “Everything seems closed up. The people must be away for Christmas.” “No, I would not try to go in,” Aunt Clara said. “Just to see the house has been enough. Oh, I’m so happy!” Back in the Blaine home, Edith talked with her mother. They were in the secrecy of a bedroom. “Before you left you told me briefly of what you had done,” Emily was saying, “but I don’t quite understand yet.” “Well,” the daughter said, “the more I heard Aunt Clara talking about her old home, the sorrier I felt for her. I did not believe that we could keep her from the place. It was plain, of course, that her sight had become poor, and all at once a thought came to me. Why not take a cue from Hollywood and provide some scenery for her? Bill and I got in touch with our art teacher, who luckily had not gone away for the holidays, and he entered into the thing like a school boy himself. Everyone in the class helped, and, working at the school, we painted a likeness of the house front. It was all on canvas by late yesterday afternoon. Then we took it to the site and nailed it to supports. No doubt the snow helped our plan, but I’m sure that the picture itself would have been enough.” Emily Blaine beamed with delight. “Go call the others, Edith,” she said. “The turkey’s done. It’s time for our Christmas dinner.”
