Aging Bites IT.

Cruelty....that's all it is....pure and simple...CRUELTY. I'm speaking of the "natural" process that we humans call aging. It's unbelievably depressing...sunscreen, sunglasses, body butter, lotions, oils, moisturizers, loofah sponges, creams, masks, more vegetables and fruits, more sleep, probiotics, vitamins, fish oils...AND I still look 20 years older than I should. Not that 64 is a bad age....but I'm 44. Crazy.

So, I'm looking in the mirror this morning after my shower and trying to figure out what the hell happened to my hair...the curls are absolutely gone now. Straight as a stick. Not to mention the color of a donkey. What happened to my curls??? Are they going through a mid-life crisis too???? So they got up one night while I was sleeping to go and be with some 20 year old's locks? I mean really...my hair was so easy to take care of...now, no matter what I do to it, how it's cut or styled...it won't hold any kind of shape, it's flat, straight as an arrow and on the verge of feeling like straw...even with conditioners. UUGGHHH

Then there is the matter of my skin...it is discolored, with brown spots all over my face...my doc says it's from the Methotrexate and being in sunlight. Really??? Even with sunscreen??? How about this...you take your Methotrexate and shove it up your.......okay, wait a second...Methotrexate is one of the reasons I can move without as much pain. Well, doesn't make me feel any less pissed off about it.

Now, let's get to the real kicker for me. How in the hell, do eyelids gain weight?? I've lost it everywhere else, but my eyelids are lard asses. Which brings me to another question...do my eyelashes look shorter because they too, like my hair... are changing... OR is it one of those situations like fat guys...you know, their big beer bellies make their penises look smaller...is THAT what's  wrong with my eyelashes...my eyelids are obese and sagging so my eyelashes look shorter??? And I swear, every day there is a new little line at the corners of my eyes...crows feet my ass. These look like a Pterodactyl swooped down and skidded across my face. The only thing that I don't have are dark circles under my eyes...and I'm hoping that doesn't happen too. But, if it does...I guarantee I'll be bitching about it.

This morning, I guess I slept with my face scrunched up on the right side, because my fat assed right eyelid was really puffy. I looked like a Kangaroo had boucned through the room and punched me in the eye. 

I'm horrified at what is still to come. I've had nightmares about all of my teeth falling out and having to get dentures. My mom has worn dentures since I can remember. But she's 83. And I'm not. I haven't lost my eyebrows yet...in fact, those bushy bastards look like a couple of wooly worms crawling across my obese, Pterodactyl scratched eyelids.

And now we get to my lips. There are vertical creases in my upper lip that are beginning to extend up into the skin above my lip. Are you kidding me...?? What is that all about? I have huge lips and they've got wrinkles too??? I thought fat things...people...didn't get wrinkles. And my skin is so dry...it looks like the surface of the Sahara Desert. AND this is with the use of alcohol free butters, creams and oils. 

Well....it's going to happen....whether I want it to or not...but like I said in a previous post...I'm not acting like I'm okay with all of this. I'm not. I want my youth back and I want my health back. In the meantime, I guess I'll just keep lubing up, conditioning and hoping that my eyelids will go on a diet.

Choir Directors and Band Directors...Two different species.

This morning was the annual area music educator's meeting. I didn't have to go, because I'm not teaching...but I wanted to, so that I could see friends and listen to Mark Lawley, who was the guest speaker. (Awesome, by the way!) John was going also, so...off I went. 

I've always known there was a big difference between choir directors and band directors...everyone in music education knows this...but today, it was even more evident to me! Evident because I've taught both! With this being said, here are my Choir and Band director comparisons!

Choir directors: Organize themselves into oblivion.
Band directors: Hope that it's there on their desk ten minutes   before they need it.
Choir directors:  Will have a glass of wine.
Band directors:  Will laugh at the choir directors drinking wine while they are pouring a glass of beer that they brewed themselves.
Choir directors:  Will insist that everyone have their folders, robes, etc...for a trip, only to realize 30 minutes into the trip that they left their folder with the "check" in it on their music stand.
Band directors:  Will insist that everyone have their uniforms, instruments, music, etc...for a trip, only to realize 30 minutes into the trip that they left the percussion section in the percussion room.
Choir directors:   Will belabor a point.
Band directors:  Is there a point??
Choir directors:  Will have informational meetings where everyone is more confused afterward than they were before. (Hence, the wine.)
Band directors:  Will have informational meetings that are quick, to the point, and if you don't know or understand something...they'll explain it to you at the after party.
Choir directors:  Emote while conducting with their hands.
Band directors:  Emote while yelling at the trumpet section to stop throwing the snare drummer's drumstick.
Choir directors:  Always know who is in their room, who is supposed to be in their room, and who has been in their room.
Band directors:  Walk into their room before rehearsal, bump into a kid only to turn and notice that he isn't a band member, ask the kid what he's doing there...only to get the response..."I'm Josh's friend, I got kicked outta my house and he said it'd be cool if I crashed here for a while. It's all good, man, I'm a drummer."
Choir directors:  Plan concert music for the entire year.
Band directors:  Plan concert music based on whether or not their top two trumpets will be out of jail in time for the concert.
Choir directors:  Insist that everyone have a pencil.
Band directors:  Insist that everyone have a pencil, and for God's sake...take your marching shoes home and wash them.
Choir directors:  Ask permission to order new music.
Band directors:  Order the music, then explain that it was on consignment.


This is all in good fun. For many of you reading this...your response is - "In 25 years of teaching, I've never forgotten anything on a trip!" That's great! But for the rest of you...I see that smirk! Some of you band directors are thinking..."she makes us sound like we're disorganized...and that's just not true!" Actually, band directors are the MOST organized people I know. It's just that when we're dealing with that many kids, that many hours a week, it's hard to keep up with every little thing. We are all music educators who love our students and do whatever we have to do to make our programs successful. It's an honor to do what we do...even though it doesn't always seem like it. Hang in there, my music educator friends! I hope you have a great, energized, musical year!! :)

Honey, Bunny!

Camille's Fairy House and toys. Notice the Cat In the Hat sitting on the toilet to the left of the fairy house?

There is something very special about 4 year old little ones that I adore. Their short, sweet legs that carry them with quick, stunted strides to the playground, or bathroom... make me smile.

I love how my niece, Camille, gets as close to my face as she possibly can when we lay down for naptime, puts her tiny fingered hands on my face and says, "I love you, Cuhruhlin." My heart melts just thinking about it.

After my first year of teaching, I thought I'd never go back to it. So, to fill the job void at that particular time, I worked at Payless Shoe Source and a Daycare. I taught the 4 year old class at the Day Care. There was this little guy with super blonde hair...actually white, big blue eyes and a personality that was all boy - named Hank. One day, when I was feeding the kiddos their snack, I was pouring milk and after I had poured Hank's milk...I was a couple of kids down from him still pouring and he says "Can I have some more milk, Honey Bunny???" I couldn't help but laugh at the big smile and flashing blue eyes as Hank held his cup up to me. At that very moment...was a sound that is a privilege for anyone to hear - who is fortunate enough to hear it...the sound of twenty 4 year olds laughing out loud!! I LOVE the energy that is produced in a room when kids are truly happy like that. It's palpable. John and I still jokingly call each other "Honey Bunny"!

Yesterday, Camille and I were playing "Fairies" (of course) with the fairy house that we made together several months ago. Now, anything or anyone can be a fairy. Therefore, Bethanie's giant Winnie the Pooh and the giant Marching Band Bear that Chuck Pound gave us for Christmas years ago, are both fair game. Camille leaned a piece of cardboard against the table that her fairy house sits on and said "We're going to watch a movie....and here's the popcorn!" She had an old Christmas stocking that she has played with since she was just a baby, filled with jingle bells. She propped all of the bears, tigers, frogs, Cat In The Hat, and everything else out of the fairy house - up on my lap and around me on the chair. She then declared..."Here's your popcorn!" Each of us got a piece of jingle bell popcorn to munch on while we watched the cardboard movie! Then, off to the toy piano ( my brother, Mike, bought this mini piano for Michele and myself when we were about Camille's age) to play and sing to all of us. Her first concert selection was Jingle Bells. Now, I know that it is only August, but evidently, Camille is very ready for Christmas because she turned and said to me as I (and the other fairies) applauded her performance..."Cuhruhlin, is it only 3 weeks until Christmas??" I replied, "No, honey, it is more like 3 months... a little more, actually." To which she replied, "Well, maybe I could watch your Christmas movies, ya know, like The Grinch!" Ahhhh to be young and only worry about when Christmas is going to get here!

I love the age of 4. Their brains are little sponges with all of the innocence, love and trust that can only be found in kids who haven't entered school age yet. I hope that all of you have the good fortune, like I do, to be hugged by a very sweet 4 year old today!

Black Leather, Spiked Hair and Kindergarten.

My elementary music classroom was off of the cafeteria, kind of away from the other classrooms in the building. It was later in the day, so the cafeteria was empty. In comes one of my kindergarten music classes! They all come in quietly and sit in their circle on the floor in excited anticipation of what today's music class is going to entail.

Just when I think they are all seated and the teacher exits the room, in straggles the last student in the line. He's adorable in his black leather jacket with big silver zippers all over it and a wide collar. His dark hair is spiked straight up in the air and his sweet little face houses big blue eyes with thick dark lashes. His tiny baby teeth are white when he grins and I love it when I see them flash when he's singing...he loves to sing...he loves music...and, he loves me. There is usually at least one moment during music class when he crawls up onto my lap for a quick hug.

I greet him as he slowly saunters into the classroom and is walking around the back of the circle of kiddos. I've already taken my seat at the head of the circle to sing our greeting when I notice that "Buddy" (not his real name) is stopping behind each student and quietly whispering something to every single child. I quickly make out the words he is whispering..."mother fu _ _ _ r"! Now, Buddy, at the ripe old age of 5 was not a stranger to the "office". He was often in trouble for various infractions but I just couldn't help myself...he had stolen my heart. Without hesitation, I stood up and said, "Buddy, you realize what we have to do now, don't you??" I said this as I crossed over to him and held my hand out to him...he quietly said "yeah."

As he looked up at me with those big blue eyes,  he wrapped his arms around my legs in a bear hug, then stepped back and grabbed my hand as his head and shoulders immediately slumped as if he just couldn't bear anymore disappointment. I hit the call button on the wall and asked for someone to meet me in the cafeteria since there was no one to cover my class while I walked him to the office.

The principal, a very tall man entered the cafeteria...as Buddy and I came through the classroom door, I noticed that he (the principal) had a big smile on his face as he saw the two of us..."Mrs. Devos, how are we doing?" As we met, the exchange was fast because I had to get back to the other children. I explained the entire scenario. I said that "Buddy was whispering some very unkind words to the other children. Words that he would have to talk to YOU about." Buddy is still clinging to my hand with his eyes directed down to the floor when I mouth "mother fu_ _ _ r" to the principal. I thought he was going to explode trying not to laugh out loud. He composed himself and directed his attention downward....way downward because he's 6 feet 3 or 4 inches tall and Buddy is a small kindergartener. He looked down at the tiny black leather jacket clad boy and said, "Buddy, did you use words we can't use here at school again?" In a hushed voice the answer was "yeah." The principal said, "well let's go talk about it, okay?" again..."yeah."

As I transferred his little hand from mine to the principals, he looked up at me. I smiled at him and said, "I'll see ya later, Buddy, okay?" I watched the two of them walk across the cafeteria hand in hand, the very picture of a young boy and a grown man and the understanding that takes place within that representation of two complete opposite ends of the male spectrum. As I started to close my classroom door, I glanced again at them just in time to see Buddy turn around to look at me and give me a little wave by curling his little fingers up and down on his free hand right up next to his cheek, as if he didn't want anyone else to see him do it. Not that there was anyone else to see it...in fact, the cafeteria lights were off and it was kind of dark with only the daylight coming in through the windows at the far end of the big room.

I've often wondered what has come of "Buddy". I hope he's happy and healthy and is living a productive life full of love, family and friends. I also wonder if he still wears a black leather jacket and spiked hair...even if he doesn't, in my mind he does.

Pasta, Pee and Me!

In my life, chain reactions tend to be funny. Let me tell you a short story about one that happened today...to me.

I had forgotten that John had to go to school tonight for some reason, so when I realized that he would be leaving in an hour, right around supper time...I moved into action to cook a quick, easy meal that he could eat before he left. (No good wife lets her husband go to work hungry!) So, into the kitchen I go...after having been sitting in the living room reading and drinking a cup of joe and a glass of tea over the last couple of hours.

I decide pasta is the simplest and fastest to prepare for the needed nightly nourishment. So out of the cubard I pull scroodles...our nickname for vegetable Rotini, pasta sauce and out of the refrigerator I get the garlic, half of a peeled onion, ground beef, and Smart Balance butter. Pasta, home made garlic bread and salad. Works for me. Now....while I'm gathering all of the necessary ingredients, it occurs to me that I have to pee. I can hold it. I think...yeah, I can hold it...it will only take about 5 minutes to get this all going...then I'll run to the bathroom. I run the water in the pot to get the pasta going...wow, this is taking a long time...this running water...ooooo....okay...put it on the stove...good. Open the sauces, pour in to the saucepan to heat up while the hamburger browns with garlic and onion, oregano and parsley...lay the bread on the sheet pan, mix the minced garlic with butter, spread onto bread...stir the browning meat, check the pasta water for a boil...okay....I can't wait any longer......I have to go pee.....NOW....I've been doing the "don't piss your pants dance" holding my legs together, moving quickly from one foot to another....thinking the entire time it's going to stream down my legs....but....I make it...barely....and the relief is awesome...but then, while I'm sitting in the bathroom thinking of how relieved I am....I hear something....I could hear the pasta sauce boiling and splashing out of the sauce pot....I had forgotten to turn it down! I finish quickly, wash my hands and realize I had forgotten to put a clean hand towel in the guest bathroom when I did laundry yesterday...so I go to the end of the hall, get one, dry my hands and take off for the kitchen. I can see it...red sauce all over the stove, stove front, the mircrowave above, the wood floor below and the counters and pots and pans all around! I immediately take the pasta pot off of the burner and start to clean up my mess. I put the bread in the oven....but forget that the cast iron pan is on the top shelf of the oven...until about 5 minutes later... I manage to combine the pasta sauce and cooked ground beef without incident. All of a sudden, I realize that the garlic bread isn't browning on top....oh yeah...I need to take the cast iron pan out of the oven...so I do and place it on top of the stove. I drain the pasta and return it to the pot, pour the meat sauce on top of it and turn the oven to broil so that the top of the garlic buttery bread will toast. As I do this...I absent mindedly grab the hot cast iron pan to move it without having first grabbed a pot holder. I immediately jerk my burned hand away, hit the big spoon in the pasta flinging it and pasta everywhere, step back away and hit my fat ass on the island behind me, which caused me to sidestep and knock the "trash" bowl off of the counter with my elbow... hitting my funny bone which I then grab with my burned hand, which at once felt like I had stuffed into a coal furnace...and there I stand...holding my burned hand, covered in pasta sauce, standing in pasta and sauce and trash bowl remnants...oh...the toasting garlic bread...I open the oven door...the bread is black. Black garlic bread...yummy... I think next time, I'll just piss myself! 

The moral of this chain reaction story is this: Always take a leak before you start cooking!

Goodness of Heart.

I'm always amazed at the outpouring of love and appreciation that I receive from former students...John and I both are. When I'm in the classroom, whether it be a choir or band rehearsal room, a Music Theory classroom, an elementary music classroom, or even like in Texas when I taught high school Speech and assisted with the dance class....I'm always very aware that I can have either a positive impact at any given moment or a negative one.  It's not easy for any teacher to always do the correct thing...when kids (kids can be 5 year olds or high school seniors...there are not that many differences)  are misbehaving, being rude and not listening...when outside influences are negatively affecting the way they react or don't react at school and to you as a teacher...it's not always easy to just smile and chalk it up to "a bad day". I've been in a few situations when a kid was cussing me out, not because of anything that I actually did to that student, but because they were already frustrated, upset, pissed off about another situation and then I just happened to rub them the wrong way...or they were looking for a fight. Over the years, I've learned to assess those situations a lot quicker and react in a more suitable way as to not add fuel to the student's fire, but to throw a little water on it to douse it some.  Once in a while, you just have a student who has decided that they just don't like you for whatever reason, and there isn't anything you can do about that. I used to think I could save them...but sometimes, no matter how hard you try or want to fix it, it is going to stay broken until that kid gets some relief somewhere else...or grows up and decides he or she was wrong. Obviously, this is a long process that many times, takes years...any many times....never even happens.

I'm fortunate. I've had some wonderful years of teaching...18 before I stopped teaching last year. I've always maintained one important thought about my students...any students actually. If I show them that I'm a good person with a good heart and insist that they be a good person with a good heart...good things will happen. It's so very true. You have to be right with yourself, comfortable in your own skin and confident to be an excellent teacher. Teaching is SOOOOOOOOOOO hard...whether you are a master teacher beloved by all, or a struggling teacher who isn't very good and doesn't know how to get better or doesn't care to get better.....IT'S a very difficult road on which to drive. Curvy, slick, and ridden with giant potholes. Potholes that are unavoidable at times.

Having had a year off and taking another year off from the education arena has given me a little different perspective. When you are so entrenched year after year...counting the years to retirement or just starting your first year and counting the days to the end of that first year, when you are in that "counting" process, something happens to us as educators. We become our jobs...whether we mean to or not...many times our entire identity is what we do for a living (meaning the financial living) but...as educators, it is almost every waking thought....NOT the financial part of it...but the teaching part of it. The constant preparation on our own time, constantly worrying about lesson plans, evaluations, meetings that get nowhere or somewhere you know isn't the best thing for the students, buying things out of our own pockets for our programs, classrooms, etc. Giving the kids that don't have money for lunch a couple of bucks, when you don't actually have it to give... paying for tickets for the "trip" for the kids who are too embarrassed to ask their parents for money because they don't want to make them feel worse about not being able to provide at that particular time, taking kids home when their parents forget them or just can't come get them and it's already 11:00pm...and there is NO other choice even though we're not supposed to give rides...buying new shoes for the kid who has holes in his and the snow is up to your knees, loaning your personal instruments, books, etc to kids who can't afford to buy or rent one...but in whom you see lots of potential and so you take the risk just hoping it will help them realize that potential, being parents to the kiddos who have biological parents...but that's as far as it goes..., being awakened at 2:00am by the phone by a student or a parent who says that their friend or son or daughter is threatening to commit suicide and will only talk to you... Yeah, teaching is a lot more than just counting the days or years to retirement. 

I've had people say to me..."Well, you may not make a lot, but you get your summers off." I've crafted a new response to these non-educators...and it is simply this. Those "summers" which is actually only about 2 months now, CAN NOT possibly add up to the late nights, Saturdays, Sunday afternoons, days off that are spent at school or doing school activities or prepping for class, concerts, performances, football games, basketball games, assemblies, parades, service projects, honors banquets, competitions, hours counseling upset or angry students... CAN IT??? I'm an educator. I don't have children of my own, I have students...some of whom are educators themselves now, and still call John and myself for advice, help or just a shoulder to cry on when things don't work out the way they thought they would. Those kiddos call us Mom and Dad, which was a joke in the beginning...but somewhere along the line, through the years... became an endearment. John and I have paid for college courses for a couple of our students, paid for groceries for students and have spent countless hours getting students through tough classes...middle school, high school and college classes...just so they could pass and go on with the next step. I know that we don't have the "parental rights" that having biological children gives us and so we are constantly getting the " you don't understand because you don't have kids" thrown in our faces by not only parents of students, but by our own family members...and I have to say...we know that. We both realize that we don't have kids...thanks for reminding us...but we both also know that we DO have kids - No, I didn't give birth to them, and maybe not in the paying for life, car and health insurance way at least not every month... or worrying about braces, illnesses or any of the other trillion things parents have to think about on an hourly basis, but we do get it. And, many times we see the things that parents can't or won't or don't. In fact, ALL of the time we see those things. The things that being a parent automatically makes you blind to are the things we as NON-PARENTS automatically see...and seems so obvious to us. So insanely obvious for non parents to see and respond to. 

I just want all of my former students to know this. I have always tried to make learning enjoyable, exciting and interesting...the past few years of dealing with the RA made it a lot harder and I know that I didn't do as well as I had previously as a music educator, and for that I apologize. But know that I always had the best intentions. If I have ever said or done anything that hurt or offended any of you, I apologize for that. When your every word and facial expression are monitored and judged, as all educator's are, it's bound to happen. Slip ups will happen...we are only human. So, to my former students...I hope your life has turned out the way you wanted it to...I wish you all the happiness in the world and if it hasn't turned out the way you wanted it to....remember that YOU are the only one who can change it, fix it, redirect it. Be a good person, do good things, be honest and loving and the world will be a much easier place in which to make your ideal life happen. Always be a good person. ALWAYS. :)

Heaven...Parallel Universe?!

Parallel universes. There's an idea that I can't get my mind around. John and I watched the movie "The Source Code" tonight. It was good...and made me pause for a moment to think about alternate worlds, other mes doing different things, married to someone else or not married at all...knowing different things, being talented in different areas...not liking coffee... (ha ha) Anyway, it's funny to think about those things, I think any alternate mes would still have to be outspoken...just can't imagine it any other way. But then, that's the beauty of the alternate, parallel universe...we CAN'T imagine it and so it exists safely tucked away right beside us, around us- so close, yet undetectable to us. Right now I imagine one of my alternate mes as getting ready as her butler tells her that her driver has pulled the car around and that her private jet to her private tropical island is fueled and ready to wisk her away. Bitch. 

There's kind of a sense of comfort thinking about that other place...whether it exists or not...it's fun to think about all of the possibilities within our world and within the realm of an existence we can't comprehend, at least not in its entirety. Actually, it sounds like heaven to me. Literally...that's how I think about heaven...all of the possibilities, comfortable thoughts and things I can't comprehend. Maybe heaven is the parallel universe. Maybe, just maybe...happiness, kindness, caring and love are all that exist there. For me, I'm going to picture heaven as being on a sun-drenched beach, laying in a lounge chair, the warm, soft sand between my toes, the blue, clear water lapping at the shore just a few feet away from me and I'm holding an ice cold drink in my hand and there's no one around. Seagulls are calling, the waves are breaking and I am closing my eyes as the cool breeze brushes over me. Ahhhhh. My little slice of heaven. Wait...there's one person besides me around...I need a cabana boy to refresh my drink once in a while!

Coffee, The Ultimate Comfort.

I haven't blogged in a few weeks. I've been gone, busy or just not motivated to write. But today is a great day for putting words on paper, or in this case, sending words through satellites!

First, I want to talk about coffee. Let me put it into perspective for you.

You wake up, you're still tired, but you don't have to go anywhere or do anything this particular morning. You slowly work your way to the kitchen in your baggy pajama pants and an old concert t-shirt that has holes in the armpits, and has seen better days, but you just can't stand to part with it. That shirt magically holds memories of youth, happiness and health. You step up to the coffee maker with the anticipation of being engulfed by the aroma that is only present when opening a fresh bag of roasted coffee beans. You slowly fill the coffee pot with water and let it drizzle into the maker. In goes the coffee filter and then...you carefully scoop the desired amount of beans into the grinder. You press the button and all of a sudden there is this vicious assault on all of your senses... but mostly on your hearing. However, you endure it because you know...that in just a few short minutes, after the vibrating grinder stops under your fingers, that the steeping, hot, wet, dark liquid will soon pass your lips and teeth, and bathe the sensitive taste buds of your tongue only to ever so gently pass down your throat and esophagus. At this point, there is a comfort level that no words can express. That first sip of the rich warmth is always the best. At this point, your hands curl around the mug, you lean against the counter and pledge to make the day ahead of you a positive one for those who surround you.

Okay, that was number one...but I really don't have a number two right now...I've got to go make a pot o' joe. 

Sparky Snickers

We didn't make any special plans for the 4th of July this year. In fact, we didn't make any plans at all! John ended up falling asleep and I went over to Michele and Daron's to watch the fireworks wars with Michele, Kendrick and Camille that their neighborhood has every year. The big city sponsored firework displays were all done on Saturday night for some odd reason this year, and the 4th was on Monday...oh well, missed it. After I got home around 10:30pm that night, John woke up and we were sitting in the living room talking and watching tv. I kept hearing what I thought was a strange noise from outside...stranger than all of the crazy loud fireworks going off! John got up and there was a little black and gray striped kitten on our deck looking in our back door and meowing, terrified out of his mind. Of course, my heart sank, and instantly John opened the door and the kitten came scampering in. When he ran in, it was obvious he was scared and confused. He didn't realize he was at the wrong house until he came inside, I think. John gently picked him up and we both went out on the deck with him. We knew he had to be someone's pet even though he didn't have a collar. He was de-clawed and acted like he'd been around people by how loving and trusting he was.

John got the kitty a bowl of milk and we sat out on the deck with him. He jumped up on my lap and I held him and scratched his ears. He'd go back and forth between John and myself getting as much loving and scratching as he could!  He'd get up in my lap, cuddle up as closely as he could get to me and tucked his little face under my arm to hide from the loud explosions. He started purring and fell asleep for just a couple of minutes. The fireworks died down the later it became and he perked up. He jumped down off of my lap and started batting at and pouncing on the Junebugs that were flying around the window of our back door. After about an hour and a half, John and I went inside to go to bed and he started pawing at the window for us to let him in. We said our goodnights to him and went to bed thoroughly expecting him to be gone by morning, hopefully having found his people.

The next morning, John got up around 6a.m. and came in to wake me up to tell me the kitten was still on the deck. John had cut up a piece of salami for him...he ate most of it! As the morning went on the sun was beating down on the deck and it was so hot, the little thing was just laying there in the shade of the table, panting like you see lions do. I felt so sorry for him. I picked him up and put him on our front porch where it was much cooler and out of the streaming sun. I gave him cold water and knew I had to do something for him before the sun reached the front of the house in the afternoon, so I called our neighbor just to see if they had lost their pet. We found out that the kitten had adopted them just a few days before and their little girl had fallen in love with it. She's about 8 or 9 and had named him "Snickers". I had been calling him Sparky since he'd shown up on the 4th of July. The neighbors had taken him in, bought food for him and were keeping him.

Relieved to know that he was going to have a family to care for him, I went out to sit with him until the neighbor girl came to get him. He was rolling around on the cool concrete and jumping on my lap and rubbing my feet and hands trying to get every possible loving stroke he could from me. After about five minutes, the neighbor girl came trekking across the yard and came around the corner. She smiled really big when she saw him and said with delight, "SNICKERS!" The kitty jumped up off of my feet and galloped to his girl. She picked him up and said "I was so worried about you!" He loved on her, obviously glad to see her. He ventured back and forth between the two of us and loved on us both  as we talked. When it was time for her to go, we said our goodbyes and she turned to walk across the yards. She turned back and said "Come on, Snickers!" The sweet, green-eyed kitten took a couple of romps toward the direction she was traveling then...he stopped. He turned his little head around and looked at me. Tears welled up in my eyes and I said "It's okay, buddy...go with your girl." With that, he was on her heels, chasing her across the lawn.

I love animals of all kinds, but I think "Sparky Snickers", the scared kitten that ran out of the neighbor's house on July 4th, 2011 between fireworks explosions, will have a special place in my heart for a long time to come.

Reasonable Doubt Being Doubted

The verdict on the State of Florida vs. Caylee Anthony case was read today. Many people were shocked that she was found NOT GUILTY on the following charges.
First Degree Murder
Manslaughter
Child Abuse
She WAS convicted of lying to law enforcement. As much as this has enraged people, the fact is - that in a court of law in the United States of America, if Reasonable Doubt can be established, then a conviction, by law....can not be imparted by the jury. 

Just because we know Casey is a pathological liar and her parents obviously share the same problem, and the pieces of this crazy, disgusting, convoluted puzzle which not only resulted in the death of a beautiful child, but also disrespected and disgraced her small body after her untimely, sad death - does not mean that the jury can convict Casey.


The prosecution obviously thought that the media had won this case for them over the past 3 years. They had to know that there was reasonable doubt....the "facts" were too fucked up from the continuous lies and findings from Casey, her parents, her brother, to the meter reader that "found" little Caylee's remains. When the prosecution threw First Degree Murder AND Manslaughter AND Child Abuse along with the lesser charges at Casey- thinking they'd get one of them to stick, they should have known that there was going to be REASONABLE DOUBT and that she wouldn't be convicted. If they wanted to make sure she was convicted, the prosecution should have charged her with 2nd Degree Murder (which is not pre-meditated) and that jury would have convicted her. But, because Prosecutor Ashton wanted the death penalty - and was more than likely thinking he was going to become famous - and his cockiness got the best of him during the trial, he blew it.


John and I talked about this at length this afternoon. He should have been a lawyer...he loves it and he's good at it. When he was accepted into Wesleyan Law School in Fort Worth a few years back, I just couldn't see how we could make it work being an hour away...maybe he'll get another shot someday...he needs to be a lawyer. He still studies it and his knowledge of criminal law is amazing. Of course, John being John is brilliant at whatever he chooses to do...his mind is incredible.


Back to the Anthony family...wow. Those people...those horrible people...I hope they get help and look at this day as a precious gift. Whether they like each other or not, whether they have anything to do with each other or not...divorce or not....they ALL need serious mental health help. 


The fact is...I'm thankful for Reasonable Doubt. Too many people have been convicted and put to death in this country only to find out afterward that the evidence proved they were innocent. This is the crux of my own dilemma. I've always thought that if someone were to hurt or kill someone that I love, I wouldn't have a problem with that individual being put to death. Now, after years of studying it and re-thinking it...I guess I just don't know. 

If you want information on wrongful convictions there is plenty out there for your perusal. I personally appreciate all that our police, detectives and other law enforcement do to get at the truth...even when the truth is not the truth.