Happy Birthday, America!

A few years ago, we received this homemade card from our son and daughter-in-law.  Both of their fathers were Air Force career men, so they remember the sacrifices that military families make.

I pray, as a nation, we never forget the men and women who have served and sacrificed for this imperfect, but still the best, country on the planet.  It's true that freedom isn't free.  Today, because of those who have served, we can:

1.  Grill and burn as many hot dogs as we want.

2.  Fight over the last corn-on-the-cob.

3.  Pellet each other with water balloons.

4.  Drink too much beer.

5.  Display the American flag on our property.

6.  Own property.

7.  Enjoy all kinds of red-white-and-blue Jello salads.

8.  Raise the water bill by running through the sprinkler all afternoon.

9.  Follow the town parade down the street.

10.  Write our name in the dark with sparklers.

11.  Spend too much money on firecrackers.

12.  Annoy our neighbors with firecrackers.

13.  Injure ourselves with firecrackers.

14.  Sing America, the Beautiful.  

15.  Spit watermelon seeds at each other.

16.  Vote.

17.  Argue over whom to vote for.

18.  Enjoy the DVD John Adams, the excellent (originally HBO) mini-series.

19.  Make a patriotic pinwheel out of a paper plate, a pencil, and a thumb tack.

20.  Remember that we are all created equal. 

Have a patriotic day!

Memorial Day - How We Can Honor the Fallen

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A Heavy Heart

I've been blogging in my head a lot lately, just haven't settled in at the computer to write down my thoughts.

Life has been sobering recently.  (Which implies I'm normally drunk, or high, so that is really a goofy statement.)  It's been stacked with serious issues that take some deep thought.

1.  Like ISIS, or ISIL, or whatever.  It's clear we are going to be dealing with these terrorists for quite a while. It's frightening.  

2.  Yesterday was the 13th anniversary of the 9/11/2001 terrorist attack.  This always makes me sad.

3.  UTIs.  I never knew a urinary tract infection (or 8) could cause such problems.

4.  Publication issues.  I'm a first-time author, and my brain is in constant turmoil about which direction to take my book, The 12 Days of Christmas Adventure.  I think about it so much, my brain feels like this.

Doesn't this give you a headache just looking at it?

5.  In addition, we received a letter today that our bank account was one of the many compromised in the recent Home Depot hack.  Ironic, as my husband is an operations manager for Home Depot.

Life is scary and sad and anxiety-ridden at times.  Sometimes, it makes me long for heaven.  Like, right now.

When I think of the horrors going on in the middle east, the beheadings, the kidnappings, the brutal taking of human life, it's more than I can stomach.  Please, come, Lord.  We clearly don't know how to get along.  Our hearts are so depraved and corrupt, we don't deserve the life you have given us.

When I take Dad to one more doctor, and we hear that he is becoming immune to antibiotics because he has had so many in the past year, my heart aches.  I pray, Lord, we need your peace and your guidance, because we are coming to the end of what medicine can do to kill a nasty bug called pseudomonas.

When I don't know which avenue (of several) to take with my book, I just do nothing, which is stupid, because then no progress is made.  Some days I just can't get past this.  So, I bake some cookies.  And eat too many.

When we get a second letter (my credit card was hacked a few months ago) that our finances have been compromised because some people are greedy, destructive thieves, I want to go back to the barter system.  You launder my clothes, and I'll make you cookies.  We can swap chores and resources, and forget the paper money and silver coins.  I might have had more peace of mind living on the Prairie next to the Ingalls.  

We just seem to be making such a mess of things.  Why can't we be kind, and respectful, and share?

I realize I'm not the first human to raise these questions.  And I know the answer, I just wish it was different.  I wish it was repairable.  But, as long as we have free will, there will be messes and hatred and disease.  It's the price we pay for freedom. 

So, it's not a dilemma I can solve.  But, how God must grieve for how we live.  The people we destroy, the opportunities we waste, the gifts we squander, it's all so ruinous.

For the past couple of weeks, I've been taking a little wooden cross with me to bed at nights.  It's shaped to fit in the grip of a hand. 

I talk to God as I grow sleepy and ask Him to help me see things from His view.  He sees all the details of everything, and only He can assure me that, no matter what, He's got His hand on me.

Money will come and go, America will always have enemies, my parents will (probably sooner than later) pass from this life, and my book may never leave my computer.  I need to remember this life is temporary.  I need to hold all things lightly, because all things come to pass.  They don't come to stay.   

In the end, injustices will be righted, and goodness will be rewarded.  And whatever I can do to walk justly and humbly with my God is all I can do.  It's all I can do.

FIFTEEN SHADES OF GRAY (part 1)

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~     ~     ~     ~     ~

I've been thinking about something for about six months - a decision that, on the surface, seems easy to make.  However, because of society's standards....I've wavered.

On some days, I'm sure I want to make this change.  On other days, it seems...well, unacceptable.  Or, at least unwise.  I mentioned to a friend the other day what I was considering, and she immediately shook her head.  "Oh, no, you don't want to do that.  You won't like it, I promise you, you won't like it."

Hmmm.  I mentioned it to another friend, who said, "Why do you want to do that?  Oh God, no."

A third friend said this:  "Oh, gosh, I couldn't do it.  I don't know if I'll ever do it."

These reactions surprised me.  I assumed friends would be more encouraging.  I hate to think I might have to walk this journey alone.

When I tell you what I'm considering doing, you might laugh.  Or, say, Oh, who cares what others think?  Or, say, Oh God, no, why do you want to do that?

I'm going to stop coloring my hair.

What is your first reaction upon reading that?  (I really want to know.  Please leave your letter choice in the comment box.)

a.  Are you nuts?
b.  You're going to look 10 years older.  ACK!
c.  Oh my goodness.  Well, it's your hair.
d.  People are going to treat you differently.  You'll regret it.
e.  I can't imagine such a thing.  Let's don't talk about it anymore.
f.  There, there now.  You're clearly out of you mind.  Here, have some chocolate.
g.  Good for you!

Hmmm.

To me, my reasons for giving up this ritual seem reasonable.

1.  I'm tired of it.  I've been doing it for 12 years.
2.  I'd like to put the money to other things.
3.  What's wrong with looking my age?  I don't even know what I've really looked like the past 12 years.
4.  I'd like to be free of presenting a colored version of myself.
5.  I think I've reconciled that I'll look older.  Older than what?  My fake hair color?
6.  I'd like to encourage other women to think about ditching the dye job too.  When did we come to believe we had to look younger?  Men don't do this (some do, but not most.)
7.  My hair dresser told me we still don't know the long-term effects of repeatedly painting chemicals onto our scalps.  What if, someday, we learn that fat cells, or wrinkles come from hair dye?  The ultimate irony.

Anyhoo...this is what I'm thinking about.  I want to try letting my natural hair color - whatever it is (it might be purple for all I know) - grow in unpainted. And because I want input about this sensitive issue, I'm going to write about it here.  Even if, six months from now, I run, screaming, into CVS for a box of L'Oreal #5AR.  It might be just be too horrific.

But, I want to see.  I think.  I want to be able to look into the mirror and just say, hello, you.  This is what 57 looks like. 

 Will you join me on this journey of self-discovery?   I might need your help.

PART 2
PART 3
PART 4
PART 5
PART 6
PART 7

I Thought Debt Was a Negative - Silly Me

We live in a nutty world.  Nuttier than a squirrel's stash in the winter.

I had a conversation with my bank two hours ago that still has me shaking my head.

My husband and I have a joint checking/savings account.  In addition, I have a separate checking/savings account.  Not because we divide the money, or I want more chocolate than he thinks is reasonable.  I simply stash funds in the second savings account until the water heater springs a leak, or the car needs new brakes, or some catastrophe occurs as life rolls along.  This savings account is simply a holding cell until the unexpected happens.

I never use the checking part of this account, never have.  For ten years, it's had all of $3.50 in it.  I don't even think about it, forget I have it.

Yesterday, I got a letter from our bank stating that for three months, I've been over drawn on this checking account.  My balance is now -$2.50.  What?    

I called the bank.  A very nice woman named Nicole looked into it and then asked me, "Do you have a daughter?"

"Yes," I said warily.  Had our girl been swiping a dollar a month from this forgotten account of mine? 

"Did she have a car loan with us?" Nicole inquired.

"Yes."  I wondered where this was going.

"It looks like that's been paid off," Nicole informed me.

"Uh-huh."  I think we co-signed for the loan, which was paid off this past summer.  "Okay...."

"Oh, I see," Nicole said.  "You've been moved from a platinum account to a gold account."

I'm still trying to put things together.  "We got demoted because our daughter paid off her loan?"

"Well, you're now in a different status.  You have to maintain a certain balance in this checking account, or there is a fee."

I'm still thinking.  "Are you telling me we're being penalized because we have less debt?"

"It's not a penalty," Nicole said.  "You're simply in a different status."  She then said something about how we used to be at the platinum level, which was $2700, now we're at the gold level, which is $750.

"Let me understand this," I said.  "Because our daughter no longer owes you money, we have to keep a minimum amount of funds in this checking account, which we don't use, or we will be fined."

"Correct.  You're at a different level now."

"Yeah, I get that," I said.  "We've been bumped down a notch.  So instead of getting our daughter's money, you require more of ours.  It looks like the bank benefits from our family being in debt." 

Nicole kind of chuckled.  "Yeah, that's how it works.  Paying off the car loan is what changed things."

Am I really hearing this?  This is insane!   "Well, you know, Nicole, I'm not going to use this checking account.  I've never used it.  Can I get rid of it?"

"You can close the account," she said.

"Can I keep the savings without the checking?"

"Yes.  But you can't go online to pay any bills if you don't have both."

"I don't do online banking from this account," I said. "I move the savings money over to our joint checking when we need it.  Can I still do that?"

"Oh, yes," Nicole assured me.

"Close the checking account," I said.  Before it costs me one more penny.  Before I have to take out a loan to save money.  I can't believe I just typed that.

Nicole tapped away and removed the checking account.  I'm surprised she didn't charge me anything to do it. 

I admit I don't have a high finance mind; I don't understand Wall Street and interest rates, but shouldn't you be rewarded for paying your bills?  Shouldn't you get a higher status for being responsible?  Like I said, NUTTY. 

I have no idea how being only a gold member at my bank will change my life.  I didn't know I was previously a platinum member, so I'll now be paying attention to how my life degrades.  Gosh, once we pay off the last of our son's college loan in April, we'll probably tumble to the tin can level.

There's a lesson here somewhere, but darned if I know what it is. 
  

 

WHERE WERE YOU?

The morning of September 11, 2001, I was at the gym.  The aerobics class I normally took on Tuesdays was cancelled because the instructor was stuck in Washington D.C.

Her flight had been delayed, for - to us - an unknown reason. 

Fifteen minutes later I arrived home and flipped on the news.  Matt Lauer was interviewing an author, when he interrupted the conversation to announce that a plane had crashed into a World Trade Center building.

That was the beginning. 

Minutes later, I watched in disbelief as a plane flew into a second building.

Then we knew.  Someone was intentionally killing Americians.

news.nationalgeographic.com

It was incomprehensible, just didn't seem real.  I tried to reach my daughter, away at college in Pennsylvania.  My son called from Maryland.  Is this really happening? we kept saying.

When the towers fell, I became nauseous.  This is what evil looks like, I thought.

By the time a fourth plane dove into the ground in Shanksville, I decided it was time to wake up my husband, who was working nights at the time.  I hated to do it.  He had served the Air Force for twenty years.  He would be heart-sick.

I got him up, and together, we stared at the TV for the rest of the day.   How could such a thing happen?  We kept shaking our heads, unable to imagine the level of hatred that devises such a plan. 

news.nationalgeographic.com

Through all the horror and grief, Americans united to support one another and stand resolute that this tragedy would not break us.

Today, I am praying for those who died on that day.  I'm praying for their families.  I'm remembering the days immediately following 9/11/2001, when the best of us emerged.  We turned to God and each other for comfort and healing.

And yet, years later...we are again bickering about politics, economics and social issues.  It seems we have forgotten how easily we can be humbled when the worldly things in which we place our trust are destroyed. 

The aerobics instructor returned safely to Florida to tell her story of how, after the first two planes struck, passengers in the airport were told to run from the terminal.  With hundreds of others, she ran for her life to an empty field and waited for instruction. 

There are many lessons from 9/11.  

blog.heritage.org

A frightening one is that evil exists.  

The good news is that, in the end...God wins.  

Throwing Stones

I've been thinking about Paula Deen a lot this week.  Her face has been plastered on the news every hour or so.
                                           
I watched her tearful interview on the Today show, and my heart went out to her.  She's clearly upset by and ashamed of the behavior that got her in this current mess.  She's terribly hurt by the condemnation she's received from so many of her sponsors.  She has apologized over and over for her language twenty-seven years ago. 

Apparently, an employee filed a law suit, claiming the working atmosphere in Deen's empire is discriminatory.  Over the course of the trial, Deen admitted she has used racial slurs in the past - almost thirty years ago.  Immediately, the Food Network dropped her.  Not two days later, Sears and Home Depot dropped her - they won't be selling her cookware anymore.  She's losing her Las Vegas restaurants.  And there's probably more to come. 

I don't know every detail of the suit filed against her, but this punishment upon punishment seems extreme.   Yes, she needs to correct her work environment, clean up whatever unjust shenanigans are going on.  I don't deny people have been hurt.  Deen is a senior citizen who was raised in the south, and, over the years, some attitudes might have needed adjusting. 

But, the woman is facing it.  She acknowledges that years ago she used some hateful words.  Not anymore.  Not for decades.  One can't build her brand to the level Deen has by systematically treating people badly.  The demonization of the woman seems unnecessarily brutal.

I imagine we all have said things we later regretted.  I certainly have.  The human heart is often ignorant and insensitive.  It can be fearful and defensive and prideful.  This is the condition we all share with Paula Deen.  Every one of us.

I pray we remember this as we watch the Deen saga play out.   Because she is a high profile figure, her sins are glaring and repeatedly highlighted.  She is paying for her mistakes in a very public, painful way.  I would never want that focus on my imperfect heart. 

I pray forgiveness for Deen emerges soon.  Nobody benefits from being incessantly dragged through the mud; certainly not the drag-ee, but not the dragg-er either.  God alone is qualified to judge the deeds of man.  And all of us will stand before Him someday.

No Place Like Home

Our daughter purchased her first house last week.   It was a three-month adventure.

Her closing date was moved twice.  She needed a thousand dollars more than she was originally told.  She was told she couldn't get home insurance until the shoddy roof over the back patio was repaired or torn down.  She discovered the day of her walk-through the refrigerator that came with the house didn't work.  At the time of closing, the realtors didn't have the keys to the house.

It was a bit anti-climactic when she left the closing with no way to get in to the 35-year old house that has issues, but was still hers.   She had a lot of paperwork and a bottle of wine from the realtor, but no place to go.

So we went and had lunch while the realtor found the key.  Turns out only one of the three locks to the house was re-keyed.  What kind of sense does that make?  My husband immediately went to Home Depot and bought three new doorknobs with deadbolts and installed them.  We were able to lock ourselves in while we started cleaning and painting.

In the process of rinsing rags, we discovered all three sinks in the house leaked.  Back to Home Depot for plumbing pipes and caps and whatever else keeps water contained.  Buy more paint, will you, honey, while you're there, and bring some food on your way back, because we're going to be working on this house for a year.

We put on Motown and swept cobwebs from corners and inhaled paint fumes and got dirty and silly.  My husband installed fire alarms and re-installed some closet shelving that was propped up with 2x4s.  We bleached and caulked and Swiffered.  That night, we slept like stones.  Then we got up and did some of it all over again.

Every homeowner knows that buying a house is an adventure.  You don't know that going in the first time, but that's what you learn.   It's a crazy, often aggravating process.   Our daughter was shocked at how many people had to know her SSN, see her pay stubs and bank statements.   Too many people "are in my business," she declared.  Yep, when you're dealing with thousands of dollars, everybody wants their piece of the pie.    

But, in the end, she has her own plot of land.  That's why foreigners came to this country 200 years ago.  To own something, build something, establish something, and spend decades paying for it.  It's the American dream.

Our girl is excited to have a home full of light (we're painting all the rooms Steam White or Ivory Mist.  It's all Eggshell to me) and hospitality and brownies.  She's planning a Noah's Ark-themed room to welcome youngsters, and she's inviting friends to come teach her how to prepare their favorite meal.  She has a shower curtain with the periodic table on it.   She's a chemistry teacher, so imagine her delight when she found that at Bed, Bath, and Beyond.  She might use a beaker for a toothbrush holder. 

We're very excited for her and all the adventures she will create on her own little patch of earth: a vegetable garden, fighting weeds and spiders; eating rice with friends and family because, for awhile, the larder might be lightly stocked; having mail delivered at the end of the driveway; and dancing naked in the living room, if she wants to.

There really is no place like HOME.

 

JUROR # 1

I had the privilege and challenge of serving on a jury a few months ago.  I was impressed with how serious the process is.  I was disgusted by how easily the process can be derailed from getting to the truth.  (I wrote in more detail about that experience HERE and HERE.)

The defendant was charged with DUI.  The evidence was indisputable.  The jury had to be unanimous, but the six of us split 4 guilty / 2 not.  After five hours of deliberation, nobody changed their minds.  The judge declared a mistrial, and the defendant was set free.

I was shocked.  In my eyes, the defendant had clearly broken the law.  The two jurors who did not agree argued not that the young man had not driven under the influence, but that the evidence was skewed by the police department.  Almost immediately, we were off track, arguing the role of government, the people vs. the establishment, and whether or not the judge presiding over this case was corrupt.

It was ridiculous.  I learned I don't know enough about our judicial system and neither does the average citizen, five of whom I shared a room with for five hours.  I hope I'm never at the mercy of a jury of my peers.  We're a squirrely lot.

All I can do is pray the young defendant learned a few things too.  Hopefully not to drink and drive.  But, sadly, he might have learned if you distract and confuse the masses, you're home free.

A Heavy Heart

I've just spent two hours reading blogs and commentary about the Newtown, CT killings.  Like everyone, my heart aches for that once peaceful town.  I cannot imagine having a child murdered.

I saw on the news this morning that since 1999, there have been seven mass killings at schools.  SEVEN incidents.  In this year alone, there have been five non-school mass shootings.  It's almost become common place, so much so that I only remembered two (Columbine and VT) of the seven, and one (Gabby Giffords) of the five.  The mind can only take in so much horror.

Already the debates have started about how to fix the problem.  Stricter gun laws, less violent video games/movies, better screening/help for the mentally ill, armed police officers in the schools, metal detectors at the schools, etc.   All of these seem like good ideas.  Why weren't some changes implemented after mass killing #1?   Maybe because we didn't think it could happen again.   We couldn't imagine it would happen again. 

And here we are, a dozen episodes later, grieving the loss of innocent children.  Little kids who were just learning to read and tie their shoes and ride a bike.  We will never be able to eliminate all school violence in America, but we ought to be able to do better than we're doing. 

The question that always comes up after such tragedies is How could God allow this to happen?  Although I understand the anguish behind the cry, it's further saddening to hear this because the question implies a misunderstanding of God's character.  God hates suffering and death more than we do.  He grieves as we do over the loss of life.  It is never His will that people are harmed.

The problem is that His will is often overruled by human will.  That's the power God gave mankind: the freedom to dismiss Him, to distrust Him, to ignore Him, to mock Him, to disbelieve Him.  It's completely our choice.  Total freedom.  That's what true love looks like.

So, we can be mad at God for giving us free will, if we want to.  On occasion, I have wondered what He was thinking.  We're too selfish and stupid to be trusted with such a gift; we make poor decisions all the time.  But, the other option is that we are puppets, with no mind of our own.  God loves us enough to give us the freedom to chose Him - or not.   Freedom is what God allows.

It's not His fault we mess it up.  He's always there to guide and and encourage and support - we can take it, or leave it.   When we choose to dismiss God's will for our lives, we suffer, because the human heart is imperfect and fearful.  Judgement is poor, and perspective is skewed.  That's the human condition.  Without God's influence, we're just floundering souls trying to figure it out on our own. 

So, we self-medicate with self-destructive vices and idolize useless things and hide and exaggerate and manipulate and blame each other and defy authority and sometimes pick up guns and shoot.   And God weeps.

But, He doesn't change the rules.  We're still free to turn to Him, or stay our destructive course.  Every day, we are free to choose. 

We don't yet know the full story of Adam Lanza.  We know he made a choice for evil, and innocents lost their lives.  From Cain and Able to slavery, the Holocaust to 9-11, and all the shootings since, evil choices were made.  God has watched His children destroy each other since the beginning of time. 

And He waits with open arms for all the grieving to turn to Him for comfort and peace and justice.  He is especially close to the bleeding, the dying, and the brokenhearted.  He embraces every deceased victim with perfect, unbridled love.  He is the only one who can heal the human soul and set things right.  

I pray, as a country, we will implement changes that will help prevent further shootings.  Legally, there is more we can do.  The more permanent solution, however, is a matter of the heart.   What choices are we making, every day, as teenagers, parents, neighbors, employees, managers, community leaders that are hurting others, marginalizing them?   Killers do not grow up in a vacuum.

In our troubled society, we need God's guidance more than ever.  I pray we can humble ourselves and seek it.

As Amy Grant sings, "no more lives torn apart...that time will heal all hearts...this is my grown-up Christmas list."   

Seeking Justice (part 2)

(....continued from previous post...)

There we sat.  Six jurors who had to agree, and we were at an impasse.  After nearly five hours.

It shouldn't be this difficult, I kept thinking.   Facts are facts.  How can one dispute facts?

That became our next rabbit trail of debate.  Do established laws, tools, procedures need to be accepted?  Do we have to follow the legal framework of the state, even if we don't like it?

The four Gs (guilties) said yes.  Civilized society is based on a structure of laws that apply to everyone.  We can dislike any of them, but until they change, they are the standard by which we all are judged.   This is why being an educated voter is important. 

The two NGs (not guilties) said the law does not have to be accepted and can be challenged.

OK, then.  We had another question for the judge:  Were the laws presented in this case (a speeding limit, a legal drinking limit) facts, or simply evidence we could choose to dismiss?

The judge called us back into the courtroom.  By the look on her face, I'm sure she was thinking, what is wrong with you people?!   She simply reiterated that we had received all the information we were going to receive, and we had to come to a unanimous verdict.   I asked for clarification on what we had to accept as true.  She read us a statute that basically said any evidence presented can be rebutted by other evidence.

That didn't really answer the question, but that's all we got.  Back to the drawing board.

We then discussed whether the validity of the Breathalyzer had been rebutted by any evidence.  We had heard testimony and seen paperwork showing it was reliable and legal.  We heard no testimony, saw no paperwork showing it was not.  The defense attorney talked about its weaknesses, but there were no witnesses or paperwork to show any.  What the attorneys said was not evidence, we were told by the judge.   

The two NGs were still not convinced the Breathalyzer was valid, even though nothing had been shown that proved otherwise.  We sent a final note to the judge:  We're going nowhere with this.

The judge called us back into the courtroom and grilled us one by one:  If you had more time, could this be resolved?  Nope, we all said.  If you slept on it and came back tomorrow with fresh minds, could this be resolved?  Nope, we all said.

She just looked at us for a while, and I felt terrible.  I knew what was coming.

"Do you know how much money will be wasted if I have to declare this a mistrial?" she asked us.

I sat there like a kid in the principal's office.  I didn't know the amount of money wasted, but I knew it was not pennies.   One of the NGs spoke up and declared, "I'm not changing my mind."

The judge stared at her jury another minute.  Waiting.  Hoping we would say, just kidding, send us back to the cellar, we'll figure it out. 

We did not.

The judge looked at the attorneys.  "Do either of you want a mistrial?"

They solemnly shook their heads, and I felt terrible again.  All their time and work down the drain.

"OK, then," said the judge.  "I declare this a mistrial."  She unzipped her robe and sat back.  I can come talk to you now and answer any questions."

We were escorted out and back to our deliberation room.   We didn't talk much while we waited for the judge.  One G did remark to the NGs that they were probably happy with the mistrial outcome.   They both said yes, absolutely, and I realized it was possible they had decided early on a mistrial would be just as acceptable to them as a not guilty.

The judge came in to chat.  Her first question to me was, did I feel my last question was answered? 

I said no and asked again:  Didn't we have to accept the laws presented in this case as fact? 

Her answer surprised me:  No. 

She elaborated:  You can dismiss anything you want to.  You can believe or disbelieve anything you see or hear. 

Even the law?  I said.

Yes, she said.

So, there are no absolutes here?  I pressed.

No, she replied. 

Another NG piped up:  Wait a minute.  A speed limit sign is posted as 45 miles per hour.   You're saying we can choose to ignore that if we want to?  If we don't agree with it?

The judge replied:  You have to obey the law, but you can dispute it.  What if the wrong sign was put up?  What if the sign was vandalized and a different speed was painted on it?  You can believe or disbelieve anything.  For example, how do you know I went to law school?

I stared at her.  That's when things began to get screwy.  If nothing is necessarily "true", how can anything be judged as legal/illegal, right/wrong, safe/unsafe,  hot/cold?   According to this judge, everything was subjective, even the law.   Even whether or not she attended law school. 

I began to feel very disillusioned.  We had not spent all this time debating if the defendant was driving under the influence of alcohol, but whether or not the laws established to determine that are valid.  I wish I'd known that going in, because that's a different question, a philosophical debate.   Four jurors generally trusted the law enforcement framework.  Two jurors did not.  Florida state law had been on trial, not the drinker.  

What happens to the defendant? one NG wanted to know.

He's free, the judge replied.  Nothing was proven.

Not exactly, I thought.  Apparently, if you don't agree with a law and you find at least one juror who sides with you, it's likely you won't be subject to that law.  In my view, that was proven.   

The judge thanked us for our time and released us.  I drove home feeling a mix of naive, stupid, and crazy.  And somehow, sad.  I assumed we were a nation of laws that we all accepted as, well, "the rule of law."   I was not aware the law was on trial at every trial.  Maybe I should have paid more attention during Civics class in high school.   

Before being Juror #1, I was fairly confident the judicial system's goal was to discover the truth.  Determine the facts of what happened and weigh that against the laws in place.   Were laws broken, or not? 

I've now learned laws are subject to interpretation and whim, and if you're savvy/determined/lucky enough, you can wiggle your way out of anything.

Is this as unsettling to you as it is to me?  

Seeking Justice (part 1)

 

I've been out of the loop this week because I was summoned to jury duty and then chosen to serve on a jury for a DUI trial.  I have never served on a jury before, and initially, I dreaded it, but soon found it fascinating.  And a huge eye-opener.

My mind and emotions traveled quite a journey over the course of the trial, and it surprised me how passionate I became about what I perceived as truth and untruth.  I also realized how ignorant I was about our judicial system.  My fellow jury members were ignorant as well.  This is not a good thing.

Let me say up front, I had sympathy for the young man charged with driving under the influence.  He seemed sincerely shaken up by the charge, and he presented himself fairly well on the witness stand.

However....his blood alcohol level was above the legal limit.  For me, that was the deciding factor.  The defense team wanted us to consider other factors:

1.  It was his first offense.
2.  He initially cooperated with police.  (He later lied about the drinking.)
3.  He was a hard worker in construction and could not afford to lose his license.
4.  His red, watery eyes were due to debris he is constantly exposed to on his job.
5.  He did not do too terribly bad on the field sobriety test.
6.  He was new to the area and was drinking with people he didn't know well.
7.  He had no one accompany him to his trial; no parents, siblings, friends.

In my eyes, those were considerations for the judge during sentencing.  They didn't matter in determining whether or not he was driving impaired due to alcohol.   This was the only question we had to answer: Was he driving under the influence?

It seemed simple to me.  He was driving  (We saw video.)  His blood alcohol level was over the legal limit.  (The Breathalyzer proved this.)  Done. 

How naive I was.

After two days of testimony, we began deliberations.  Immediately, there was division.  Four "guilty," two "not guilty."  

The four Gs (guilties) were stunned.  How can you rebut the Breathalyzer? we asked.   Here's what we heard from the two NGs (not guilties):

1.  Those machines don't work.
2.  Those machines can be fixed.
3.  DUIs are money machines for the the police department.  Do you know how much money they bring in from fees from DUI charges?
4.  The guy didn't look drunk.  
5.  It doesn't matter that he lied.  He was scared.
6.  The cop followed the defendant to his apartment building.  The guy was home.  Even if he was drunk, he wasn't going to drive anymore. 
7.  And all seven points above.

The four G's went over all of these factors, stressing what the judge had told us - sympathy for the defendant was not to play into our decision, and we had to decide based only on the evidence presented.

A third of what was presented was proof that the Breathalyzer is a legal, credible law enforcement tool in the state of Florida.  It's inspected regularly, certified, stamped, cleaned, whatever, monthly and annually.  We saw all the paperwork verifying this and heard testimony from an officer in charge of the Breathalyzer.

The NGs didn't buy it.  Didn't care.  The machine is corrupt, and without an illegal blood alcohol reading, the guy is not guilty.  They were not budging.

OK, then.  We sent a note to the judge:  We are deadlocked.

She wrote back:  Keep deliberating. 

We rehashed it some more.  The same points.  A few people got irritated.  Nothing changed.  After an hour, we sent another note to the judge:  We are still stuck.

She called us back to the courtroom and instructed each of us to think about the weakest point of our position and share that with the group.  That should spark new dialogue.  I thought this was a good idea.

Back in the deliberation room, I went first.  I conceded that the defendant was not fall-down drunk.  That didn't mean his brain was not impaired.  I agreed the defense attorney was good at creating doubt, creating sympathy, but I could not get past the Breathalyzer results.

The rest of the Gs examined their decision.  The two NGs announced they didn't have any weaknesses in their position.   I remarked that not playing Devil's advocate to their own position did not do justice to the process, that we all needed to examine our vote, even look at what we would have to see to change our vote.   One NG then responded that a blood test (for blood alcohol content) could change her vote, but we didn't have that, so it was irrelevant. 

OK, then.   We sent another note to the judge:  We are still at an impasse. 

The judge ordered us pizza for dinner and left us alone for another hour. 

We ate pizza and griped about not having our phones, which were taken, and then veered off onto non-trial subjects like local restaurants and the judge's spongy shoes.  I picked up my Time magazine and read for a bit.  I felt uneasy and began to pray the truth would be revealed to all of us.  I briefly considered changing my vote.  Could I live with that?  I didn't think so.  Even if I changed, we were still not unanimous.  We had to be unanimous. 

We had been deliberating four hours, and I didn't see any resolution. 

(conclusion in my next post....I'm still processing it.)

Election Day

Here's what I thought today when I went to vote this morning at 6:45 a.m.

1.  Wow, look at the line, I hope I'm done by 10:30.  (Sadly, I had a funeral to attend.)

2.  It's great to be standing in line with my daughter/teacher.  I don't think we've ever gone to vote together.

3.  This lady in front of us is so friendly.  We're hearing all about her son, the high school band member who plays the tuba.  His name is Caden.

4.  It's kind of chilly here in Florida, but I'm so grateful for beautiful weather, because we might be standing outside awhile.

5.  I hope the polls are open in NY and NJ.  It would be awful if, due to Sandy, people there were unable to vote.

6.  A lady who looks like a member of the Kardashian family just joined the line.

7.  The line is moving.  It's 7:10.

8.  Caden's mom remarks that if everyone would just fill out their sample ballot and bring it with them to vote, the process would go so much faster.  My daughter and I agree, because we brought our sample ballots too.   We're all feeling very pleased with ourselves. 

9.  The line is growing.  Sister Immaculata comes out of her office with two plastic lawn chairs for people who need to sit down.  It strikes me as amusingly odd that, for all the contention about God in the public square, our voting station is a church.  I love this.

10.  The movie The Secret Life of Bees comes to mind and how the character Rosaleen is beaten for walking into town to vote.  I think about this for awhile.  All the people who don't vote...all the people who think it doesn't make any difference...all the people who just don't care.   How did that happen?

11.  A couple guys in suits and ties join the line.  One has a coffee cup from Starbucks; one has a cup from 7-11.   

12.   We've moved up in the line enough to read the placards on easels that talk about voter fraud.  There is a map that outlines our voting district.  A quarter of an inch to the left, and we'd be in another precinct.

13.  A guy in a brown FedEx uniform gets in line.

14.  Caden's Mom tells us she doesn't care if she's late to work, she's going to vote, no matter how long it takes.   This makes my heart smile. 

15.  I notice a few walkers and canes in the line.  I love this. 

16.   A lady a few spots ahead of us calls to my daughter that they used to work together at the health food store.  My daughter says, yes, I remember, and they chat for a minute.

17.  We're just inside the building.  There are probably two dozen rickety, aluminum voting cubbies set up.  I pull out my driver's license.  The C-D sign-in line is the longest.  The U-Z sign-in station doesn't even have an attendant.  I'm assuming the S-T person slides over when necessary.

18.  Here we go - my daughter signs in, I sign in, and we disperse into open cubbies.  I fill out my ballot in three minutes.  Love that pre-completed ballot!

19.  I feed the four-page ballot into the machine that sucks the thing in to be counted later and receive my "I Voted" sticker.   It's now 7:45 am. 

20.  As I walk to my car, I'm happy to see the line is still long and growing.  Even if we don't completely like anybody who's running for anything, it's important to make the best informed choice and cast a ballot.  I'm so grateful I live in a country where this is a privilege.   When I was 20, I didn't appreciate it as much as I do now.

21.  I hope Florida does not hold up the results this year, like it did in 2000.  If there's a problem, I hope it's in another state.  Like North Dakota.  We never hear anything about North Dakota.  It needs some press coverage.

22.  I pray, regardless of who wins, both sides are willing to compromise a bit to get things done. 

23.  As contentious as America politics can be, I do not want to live in any other country.  Freedom is messy sometimes.

24.  To the Starbucks suit, the 7-11 suit, Caden's mom, the FedEx guy, the Kardashian chick, the health store colleague, the senior citizens, and especially Rosaleen - thanks for showing up.

Did you vote today?

Heartbreak....again

I've been sitting here for a while thinking how to start.  It's just so awful.  Again.

This time, it was a movie theater in Aurora, Colorado. 

Yesterday, I watched the Colorado governor speak from the podium twice, and he stumbled for words both times.  I welled up watching him, because I was right with him.  Speechless and rambley at the same time.

After two days of news from Aurora, our TV is now tuned to some pre-Olympics stuff.   Not because we don't care anymore, but because the heart is raw.   And, although it seems somehow disrespectful,  life does go on.

For the coming months, the questions will be pressing:  who is James Holmes?  Why did he want to kill innocent people?  Is he insane?  What are his parents like?  What kind of upbringing did he have?  Why did he want to kill innocent people?  Did he really think he was the Joker?  Who are his friends?  Did anyone see this coming?  Why did he want to kill innocent people?  Was he on drugs?  Could this have been prevented?  Why did he want to kill innocent people?

Like after Columbine and other public square shootings, we're left with nothing but heartache and questions.  We've witnessed the worst of mankind, and we must understand it.  We must place these events in an explainable, categorized box, so we can regain some sense of control.  If we can just understand the why behind these tragedies, surely we can prevent them.

So, we start again.  Witnesses from the theater, injured and uninjured, will share their experiences.  The medical teams will retrieve evidence from torn flesh.  Law enforcement officials will interrogate.  Therapists and analysts will probe and document.  The Holmes family will be scrutinized.   

In the end, we will gain more facts and knowledge, but not necessarily more understanding.  No matter the factors (and there might be many) that led James Holmes to kill, we will not accept them as valid.  In a civilized society, no level of hatred or disorder will validate gunning down unsuspecting families in a movie theater.  On the day an action such as this becomes understandable, we will, as a nation, have lost our soul.

So, even without complete answers, we will do what Americans do best.  We will pray for and support the Aurora community.  We will share in mourning the loss of the twelve.  We will send cards and money to the victims and their families.  We will root for the injured when they begin their physical therapy.  We will follow their stories and read the books some will write about their horrific ordeal.

We will follow the trial of James Holmes and pray that justice will be served.

We will try to forgive.  Because, the root intention of a human heart is transparent only to God.   

We will move forward.  Because, life does go on. 

More Than Meatloaf Can Do

As I left the bank yesterday morning, there was a scruffy man on the corner holding a sign that read:

I don't give cash to anyone on the street, but as I drove home, I thought about what kind of lunch bag I could put together and bring back to the fellow.  It would be the third time I've tried to do this.

Twice before, after seeing a worn and weathered stranger with a sign, I've traveled somewhere to get some food and returned to the site.  Twice, the stranger has been gone.

This time I was lucky.  When I returned to the bank with a meatloaf sandwich and some crackers, the man was still there.  I handed him the bag and then chatted with him a bit.

Did he know about the local soup kitchen?  Was he looking for work?  Did he have family?

He did know about the soup kitchen, but had no car.  He sometimes took the bus, but currently was recovering from a broken leg (he wore a knee brace) and could not walk to the bus site.  He was looking for work; he was working construction when he hurt his leg.  He had registered with CITA for a job, but there was a month's waiting list.  He hated standing on the corner with a sign.  He would never want his mother to know he was doing this.

He was thrilled to have a meatloaf sandwich.  His blue eyes smiled as he told me he had not had a meatloaf sandwich in five years.  He shook my hand and thanked me several times.

As I drove away, I saw him light up a cigarette.  I don't know his personal story...and I know addictions are demons...but, he could have had something to eat for the price of the nicotine.  

Every encounter with the homeless/hungry/jobless is heart-tugging for me (I have written about this before.)  It escapes me why, in a country with so much, there are people who don't have what they need.  I know personal choices play a role.  I know those who have a lot may chose not to help.  I know government plays a part, but it seems impossible to balance - it encroaches either too much, or too little. 

I know there are myriad reasons why the poor will always be with us.  And, we will never find the perfect system in this life, because we don't agree on the solutions. So, sadly, nothing is likely to permanently change.

Luckily, in my little corner of the world, meatloaf is around to stay as well.

How do you react to a needy person on the streets?  Do you think there are solutions to the problem? I'd like to read your thoughts. 

An American Moment

Dad has been in rehab four days.  He's working hard and is completely pooped by day's end.  If all goes well, his predicted release date is February 20.

Since it's an election year, Dad has been watching as many debates as he can manage.  Even though they sound pretty much the same.  The number of players has dwindled, but the accusations and fault-finding fly freely every time.  Me, oh my, what a great country.  

The Florida primary is Tuesday.  I pray there is a clear winner.  No recounts, no brawls dragged into court.  Since the 2000 hanging chad debacle, we Floridians want some other state to be the fly in the ointment.  (Maybe this year it will be North Dakota.  I never hear anything about North Dakota.  It could use a little publicity.) 

Being in rehab, Dad has been wondering how he will get to vote this year.   He and Mom take very seriously this privilege that has been fought for and sacrificed for over generations.  They love and appreciate this county like nobody else I know.

So, my husband checked into how someone who's not mobile can vote.  Turns out you can pick up a form for them to sign that gives you permission to bring them a ballot.  My husband got the form, Dad signed it, my husband returned it and was given a ballot.

Then, in a rehab gown with a milkshake nearby, Dad voted.

Since this is normally a private event (notice the curtain pulled between Dad and his roommate), we did what we usually do.  We took a picture.

We'll probably never again see anyone actually cast their ballot.  It's kind of monumental and touching.

In the Ballpark, this is probably the most significant thing that happened today.

The BEST of MEN

At church yesterday, the tenth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks was commemorated with uniforms and steel.

Local First Responders were invited to be honored and prayed for.

 

The men in light blue are firemen/paramedics who work at the fire station a block away from my parents' assisted living facility.  The man on the right has been to Mom and Dad's room twice when 911 was called to take Dad to the hospital.

Active military were encouraged to come in uniform.  This Air Force officer was working the door, handing out programs. 

Off duty, but still serving. 

Bagpipers had been invited to play hymns as parishioners entered the church. 

They were majestic and riveting.

The Knights of Columbus had arranged this commemorative Mass.  They, too, came in full regalia.

Everywhere I turned, there were strong men (and a few women) who were protectors and helpers and healers.

I was so proud of them and so grateful for their commitment to service.   So grateful for all First Responders everywhere, especially the brave souls who tried so hard to save the injured and dying on September 11, 2001.

During the procession, a 10-inch cross fashioned from World Trade Center steel was carried to the altar.  It was displayed in the church hall after Mass.  

It was heavy and solid.  Cold rubble transformed into a symbol of forgiveness and reconciliation and new life.   

The 9/11 attacks weren't the first to be visited upon America.  And, sadly, they won't be the last.   In the meantime, let's do what we can to get along in our own little circle of influence.

Like share the remote control, and let the other driver have the closest parking space.

And let's be grateful for the days of peace we do enjoy. 

I made cupcakes for our local fire station yesterday. 

I'm going to do that more often.