Paranormal Pienomenon

Today, I took a nap. While I was asleep, Casey kindly took it upon himself to mix up the filling for the instant chocolate cream pie I'd bought last night.

Even more kindly, he left the bowl with the filling remains along with a spoon sitting on my nightstand, so I could have a lovely chocolatey treat as soon as I woke up.

However, for the first split second when I open my eyes, I really can't focus at all. The mixing bowl Casey used happened to be metal.

So, since I was lying on my side facing the nightstand, the first thing I saw upon waking was a big shiny metal thing.

Naturally, as anyone's would be, my first thought was, "Hey, cool! A UFO!"
What do you mean, that wouldn't be your first thought?

Hockey, Football, and Other Stuff

I have noticed something very interesting.

Tirithien is learning about hockey. He watches games with me, observes, and takes a genuine interest. He has even been looking things up on his own-- there have been times this season when he's known the stats and standings better than I have!

This may seem like a very small thing, but I've never had a boyfriend who took an interest in ANY of my interests before, and I'm enjoying it thoroughly.

It's not just hockey, either. It's what I learn at school or in my readings, what I did at work, music I like to sing, and anything else which might catch my eye. It's a strange phenomenon, but it's definitely a worthwhile one.

Of course fair is fair, so in exchange for hockey, I've been learning about college football from Tirithien.

The fun thing is when one of us gets crossed up in our sports and starts yelling insults from the wrong sport at the TV.

Tonight is the BCS championship game, the Ohio State Buckeyes vs. the Florida Gators, and as much as it pains a Michigan girl like me to do so, I have to pull for the Buckeyes in this one. (even though one of my cousins thinks I'm a traitor now!) Aside from the idea of rooting for the team from the same conference as U of M (kind of like family members, in a weird NCAA way), I lived in Florida when I was a kid. But I hated the Gators and their garish orange and blue colors. I pulled for Florida State! So, between rooting for the Big 10 and against the Gators, I am wearing a gray shirt today. No scarlet to be found, though. I can only go so far. ;-)

The new semester starts today. I am registered for 2 classes but can only afford one, so since I can add/drop with no penalty this week, I'm going to go to both and see which one I like better! One is the History of Europe in the 14th and 15th Centuries, and the other is American Intellectual History. They're on Wednesday and Thursday evenings.

New News

And you can read all about it here. :-D

It was quite amusing to tell my family. First they didn't quite believe us, at least for a few seconds, then they were all so excited! Then they were confused.
Auntie: "Why June 21st? That's a Thursday!"
Me: "But it's the Summer Solstice!"
Whole Family: "Ohhhhhhhh!"

Meanwhile, it just seems that weddings are in the air! Two of my fellow snopes-friends are also getting married, which is absolutely wonderful.

And strangely, it seems my ex-husband is also getting married, according to the announcement in the paper, in March, to his just-past-high-school sweetheart, who is far more suited to him than I ever could have been. My main reaction was, "Darn it, I wanted to get remarried first!"

More Racial Food For Thought

At this temp job of mine, I work in a small office room with two other people. One of them has a radio which she keeps tuned to a station which is a combination of R&B and a talk format. It bills itself as black people radio. One of the DJs actually said it that way- "You're listening to radio for black folk!"

In the afternoon, they have a talk host on who addresses "black issues."

I had to do some pretty extensive studying of vocal quality and tone when I was in college the first time around.

Based on his voice, I am 99.9% sure that this host is actually a white guy pretending to be black. It's not a matter of his vocabulary or language construction or accent; it's his voice itself.

I feel like I'm listening to some sort of weird vocal blackface thing.

Racial Food for Thought

When a commercial for some biography about Muhammad Ali (or Cassius Clay, for sports trivia purists) came on the other night, it occurred to me that the young Mr. Ali was an incredibly handsome man.

Yet if I'd been one of his contemporaries, it would quite likely not even have occurred to me to think of him in such terms. Ever.

How sad.

Tagged, I'm It

Well, Martie tagged me, so now I am supposed to post 6 weird things about myself. So here goes:

1. I will go barefoot any chance I get. (Yet another reason for hating winter!)

2. One of my favorite pastimes with my baby brother (which started practically before he could even talk) is to watch bad Japanese monster movies.

C. In my mind, my car has a gender and a name. She is the Red Star. (Named for the White Star ship from Babylon 5.)

4. I am allergic to crab and lobster. Which sucks, because crabcakes are really very good.

5. There are days when the wind off Lake Erie smells so much like the ocean wind down in Florida that it makes me amazingly homesick, even though it's been 15 years since I lived in Florida.

6. I have dreams about vampires with some regularity.


I'm not going to tag anyone... but if you want to do a post like this, consider yourself tagged!

Confessional Friday

(Wow, I haven't done one of these in awhile, have I?)

Confession #1: So, this new job of mine which was supposed to be all wonderful and which I was so excited about? It turned out to be actually dangerous. Not just, "I don't like this job after all," but, "I feel like my life and limbs are in danger if I go to this job." It was at a state facility for people who have MR/DD. Okay, I've taken care of people with severe and profound mental retardation before, and I can do it without much trouble. What I didn't understand before I started the job is that this facility is for the people who can't handle living in ordinary group homes, the ones who, in the parlance of the trade, have severe behavior problems.

I really shouldn't be any more detailed than that, due to confidentiality issues, but after three days of coming home shaking and near tears, I called my old temp agency to beg for help and they quickly found me a one-month assignment that will start Monday. I give all the praise in the world to the workers who can stick it out, but I'm not one of them, and I'm kind of ashamed of it.

Confession #2: I've been reading this website and this website, and agreeing with pretty much all of it.

Hamilton!

Oh sweet mother of squee, I finally have a job. I start on November 27th. I'll be working at the Northwest Ohio Developmental Center, taking care of people with disabilities. I've done this sort of work before, but in Michigan, the minimum pay set for these workers is $7.65 an hour. Not exactly enough to get by on. Apparently either Ohio direct care workers have better lobbyists, or this group has more sense.

The unfortunate thing about it is that the 2 weeks worth of orientation is from 10:30 AM to 7:30 PM. And I have school on Tuesday and Thursday nights! Those are the last four class sessions! Luckily I have a very understanding professor who is willing to work things out so that I'll still get the class material and be able to take the last test in the University testing center.

Meanwhile, the other night Tirithien told me about the town of Hamilton, Ohio. Apparently in 1986, the residents decided their town name just wasn't exciting enough, so they decided to change it to Hamilton!

Italics and exclamation points would certainly make geography more exciting, wouldn't it?

Unfortunately for the residents of Hamilton!, the US Board on Geographic Names rejected the name change, and they had to go back to being Hamilton.

I bet there are still "Welcome to Hamilton!" signs up around town, though.

Mirror

Yesterday my reflection frightened me.

I had set my glasses down, since I don't always use them when I'm at the computer, and wandered into the bathroom. I was in an old flannel shirt and jeans, barefoot.

My reflection looked like me at 17. The same pale, drawn face, the messy red hair, the shades of sleepless nights beneath my eyes. And my eyes shone with the same green madness and dark pain they'd had back then.

Twelve years, gone away, just for a moment.

I combed my hair. I put my glasses back on. They hide the green light of madness from others. No one looks closely behind glasses.

But it never really goes away.

Getting Political

I wish, I wish, I wish the election would be over! I already voted by absentee ballot; why do I have to keep seeing nasty ads?

And oh, are they ever nasty. Here in the borderlands, I wind up seeing and hearing ads for Ohio and Michigan. None of them are good.

Oddly, the Republican party has pulled its support of Senator Mike DeWine. DeWine's attack ads on challenger Sherrod Brown seem to consist mainly of mentions of a tax "evasion," which was ruled an oversight by the IRS and paid off several years ago. These aren't even the nastiest ads; why pull the support? Was Senator DeWine just not getting personal enough?

Republican candidate for state Attorney General Betty Montgomery attacks her opponent, Democrat Marc Dann, because he "defended alleged child molestors." Um, the guy was a freakin' defense attorney. That's what they do! Whether they want to or not, it's their job. She wants to be a judge, but doesn't understand the function of a defense attorney? Oy. In the gubernatorial race, Ken Blackwell is accusing Ted Strickland of having (horrors!) TEH GAY!

Then the mudslinging escalation. We start out with things like, "My opponent is soft on crime," and "My opponent voted against the troops." But now with just a few days before the election, we've regressed to such desperate ads as, "My opponent thinks it's appropriate to use nuc-u-lar weapons against puppies!"

And you know what? I filled out my ballot without having seen a single ad about what the candidates themselves say they would do.

I think our electoral process needs a team of ninjas to enforce fair play.

Can't you just imagine? A candidate is making some smug, smarmy, unfounded speech about how his opponent is opposed to equal rights for polar bears, when suddenly ninjas slide in on ropes and set things right!

Maybe someday I will run for state office. My only campaign promise will be, "I won't say anything negative about my opponent."

I just have to find myself an army of ninjas to defend me from the slings and arrows of my opponents first.

By the way, did you think that by voting for Republican candidates, you were supporting the troops? The Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America disagree. The IAVA, which is non-partisan as far as I can tell, did a tally of which Senators and Representatives voted in favor of bills which would improve conditions for the troops. The 324 proposals included such things as veterans' benefits, healthcare, and medical research dedicated towards injured soldiers. They assigned each legislator a grade. The Democrats were FAR more likely to vote in favor of these helpful proposals.

I've prepared an analysis of their data, which you can see in Excel spreadsheet form here. The first page is a list of Representatives with their grades, parties, and states, then page two is a chart summarizing the grades in the House. Pages three and four repeat the process for the Senate.

It seems awfully dirty to send these soldiers to war and then refuse to take care of them when they get home.

The Deer Guy

So, yesterday afternoon being sunny and warm, Tirithien and I went to our favorite park for a little bit of wandering. At one point, we heard the crunching of leaves behind us, and moved aside to let the person pass. The park is very popular with joggers and power walkers, so this is something we're used to.

A gentleman who looked like the prototype of the aging hippy--tattered denim, long gray hair tied back in a ponytail, arrowhead necklace, and a definite sense that his personality had been "chemically enhanced" at some point-- passed us by, saying, "Excuse me, can I get by you? I walk faster." You know, as if we hadn't moved aside to let him do just that.

Anyway, he went by and we kept walking. The guy had gotten about 50 yards in front of us when he crouched down and started closely examining something on the ground. When we caught up, he excitedly pointed out the deer tracks he'd found.

Now, I'm admittedly not a wildlife expert, but if these were deer tracks, they'd be the first deer ever with pawpads and claws. (Perhaps we should notify the Ohio DNR about the possibility of a deer-badger hybrid running around Wildwood Metropark?)

The hippy gentleman started making a long rambling speech about how he knows all about deer and how to sneak up on them and how to walk quietly in the woods-- even through leaves! -- and that's why we hadn't heard him coming up behind us. Even though, you know, we had heard him just fine. But he's been trained to walk quietly in the woods, because he's part Indian.

Well, I'm about 1/64th Cherokee, give or take a few blood drops, though I look purely Scots-Irish except for having higher cheekbones than my Celtic ancestors did. And this guy looked even whiter than I do.

So I asked him what tribe. "Blackfoot," he said cheerfully.

Ah yes, there are just so many forests in the Great Plains to practice walking quietly in.

For that matter, I'm pretty sure there aren't any deer living in the Great Plains either.

Walking away sounded like a very good idea. So we tried it.

The guy came along for a few steps before he pulled ahead again, crunching the leaves as loudly as ever. He turned around to tell us that deer will attack if you scare them. A buddy of his learned that the hard way, it seems. I know he was just waiting for us to ask for the story, but we didn't oblige.

And away the guy went, loud, fast, and obnoxious, on his way to sneak up on some deer. Around a curve and gone, mercifully!

When we reached the curve, we didn't see any sign of the guy.

We did, however, see three lovely deer grazing in a thicket. Apparently our friend had stalked right past them. Three brown deer, a mama and two yearling does. They considered us calmly for a moment, looking at us out of those big moist eyes. Apparently they approved of us, because they went right back to eating.

Unfortunate that the deer guy was so busy showing off his woodland skills that he had to miss such a thing. :-p

My visit to a cult!

Well, okay, it probably wasn't really a cult, since they didn't ask for all my money. But it was creepy.

I've been visiting a few different churches around town, seeing if there's a place I would fit nicely. Yesterday I decided I would visit Unity of Toledo. (Which has nothing whatsoever to do with the Unitarian Universalist church, whose members have never once creeped me out.) On Unity's national website (unity.org) the philosophies sounded interesting. Quite a bit about how God is within all, and Jesus was the only one in which this was fully realized. Definitely intriguing. So I went.

I realized my first mistake as soon as I got there. You see, in my experience I have noticed that the churches with the more liberal philosophies are the ones which generally don't care what people wear to church, so long as they get there. Thus, I figured that I'd do all right with jeans and a nice sweater. Wrong! The people walking in were dressed to the nines. Suits and all. Oy. But I figured I may as well go on in, since one of my criteria for a welcoming church is that they not care what people are wearing. If they reacted badly to me, I'd know I was in the wrong place. And to their credit, I wasn't made to feel at all awkward, clothing-wise.

However, awkwardness was soon upon me in the form of the greeter, who swooped upon me with a gigantic hug as if I was a long lost friend or a child returning from war. Eeeek! Now don't get me wrong, hugs can be lovely things. But really, I prefer to only be hugged by people I've known for longer than two seconds.

After clucking over me for a moment or two the greeter sent me into the sanctuary, telling me she'd come sit with me when the service started. Oh, lovely.

While waiting, I observed what was going on. The sanctuary had auditorium seating rather than pews, which my back certainly appreciated. But there was no choir. This automatically meant they were off my list as a possible permanent church home, since there are cold winter mornings when the ONLY way I can convince myself to crawl out of bed and go to church is by reminding myself that I get to sing, but I certainly figured I could stay and see what the service was like.

With no choir, the congregation was led in hymns by a dorky guy in a cheap suit with a lovely strong tenor voice. The man could sing, no doubt about that. The problem was his musical theatrics. You know how if someone in a pageant sings as her talent, she will "emote" to a ridiculous degree? It looked like that's what this man was trying to do. I couldn't actually watch him; I was afraid I might laugh, and I didn't want to do that to the poor guy (and his singing voice really was wonderful).

And the sermon. Oh dear. Aside from the fact that it seemed like the pastor was making it up as she went along, it seemed absurdly shallow. It was very self-centered, very focused on internal reflection and feel-good self-love. Any mentions of God? None, unless you count the part about how if a reflection or meditation makes you feel good, that's how you know it came from the God-part of you. The sermon culminated in the signing of a pledge which had been distributed in the bulletins. The pledge was on a green card and consisted of a promise to always do one's best, no matter what. It was worded in a more flowery way than that, but that was the gist. The cards would then be gathered and used to create a big banner to hang in the sanctuary. Needless to say, I did NOT turn mine in.

During the Exchange of Greetings (known to Episcopalians and Catholics as the Sign of the Peace), as I was being passed from person to person, being hugged over and over by women with pasted-on, too wide smiles, I accidentally said to a few of them, "Peace be with you," or "God's Peace." It's the way Episcopalians do it, anyway. This drew some absurdly shocked and dirty looks from these well-dressed women.

The closing hymn increased my discomfort even more. Apparently they sing the same closing hymn every week, but not peacefully from their seats. No, they form a hand-holding circle around the outside of the room and sing from there. And of course, no hand-holding circle of song would be complete without the ubiquitous back and forth sway, now, would it? During this ordeal, I caught the eye of a teenage girl across the room from me. She was also in jeans and had clearly been dragged there by her mother. We communicated wordlessly: "HELP! How did we get into this?"

Thankfully, that was the last bit of the service, though the greeter who had sat with me tried to insist that I join them for fellowship. I blurted out that I had to get home and babysit. (It was the first excuse my panic-stricken mind came up with, okay???) She also kept insisting that I sign the guestbook so they could send me info, in spite of my polite repetition of the fact that I really didn't think this church was what I was looking for. She kept on, so finally I signed a fake name and address. And then, blessedly, I was gone, as fast as the Red Star could carry me down Central Avenue!

Aside from the creepiness of the too-wide smiles and the pushy hugs, I was also greatly irritated by the inward focus of the church. There was not a single outreach ministry I could identify in the literature they handed me. The sermon insisted that they were following the Way of Jesus to find God within the self. Coming as I do from an Episcopal parish with a huge focus on social justice and helping the poor, this was an unpleasant shock and cognitive dissonance. Admittedly I'm no true Bible scholar and only an amateur theologian, but I'm pretty sure Jesus was big on helping others. Which had me sitting there during the sermon wanting to yell, "You've missed the whole damn point!"

Apparently Unity is fulfilling a need for these people, but not for me. I think next Sunday I need to creep back to St. Andrew's Episcopal Church which I visited a few weeks ago and sit down quietly in the back with the Book of Common Prayer and the 1982 Hymnal. My faith comes in odd colors at times, and I'm sure I'm more Deist/Panentheist than Theist, and by many or even most strict definitions I'm not Christian at all. But as I've learned from visiting other churches, I am most definitely Episcopalian! (I'm not sure that combination is entirely possible, but I'm trying it anyway.)

So, Unity of Toledo is not the place for me. And if you prefer not to be hugged by strangers, it's probably not for you either.

And if you live on Berry Street in Toledo, if there is such a place, and you happen to get mail from Unity addressed to someone you don't know, I apologize.

Working World Woes

I came to Toledo thinking I could easily start working.

Wrong!

What with my broken arm making things difficult and the fact that I have to compete for jobs with a slew of laid-off factory workers, so far all I've been able to get are temp jobs.

Which are all well and good, but I'd really like to have some dependable income.

Besides, with being in a string of temp jobs, I get kind of confused when I'm answering the phone in a sleepy stretch of midafternoon: "Good afternoon, um, uh... where am I again?"

At this job, though, there is actually nothing for me to do between phone calls. They just can't leave the phone and the front desk unmanned while someone's out on medical leave. So hey, I get to study at work and not get in trouble.

What Woodland Ninjas See

The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.

-- J R R Tolkien

Even more pictures to be seen here.

This is about 10 minutes away from home. Envy me, city dwellers!

Free at Last!

I'm free, I'm free! I have cast off the fiberglass shackles of my arm's bondage!

Yes, my cast came off yesterday as scheduled, and the doctor was so pleased with how well it's healed up that I don't even have to wear a splint or brace like I was supposed to! I have an ace bandage to wrap it up in if I'm going to do something active, but that's it. And I have no danger of future arthritis from this, and I'm really thinking it bodes pretty well against me getting osteoporosis in the future. I mean, if I'm almost 30 and healed up almost as quickly as a teen would have done, these must be some good strong calcium-laden bones I have!

But oh, it feels so weird to have it off. I was really surprised to discover how weak my arm has become. I had improved so much in strength with the cast on that I guess I was thinking the difficulties I was still having were due to how difficult it is to grip anything with a fiberglass band across my palm! But no, my arm is very weak-- lifting a full glass is difficult, and it was even hard to squeeze the toothpaste tube! How embarrassing.

My wrist's range of motion deteriorated, of course. (Though the doctor was impressed with how much ROM I managed to keep in spite of being immobilized for that long.) I have some wrist and arm stretchy exercises I'm supposed to do to bring everything back to normal. And believe me, I'm going to do them!

The first thing they did after they got the cast off-- even before doing a follow up x-ray-- was let me wash my arm! Ahhhh. :-) But my skin integrity also deteriorated while it was all covered up. It looks like I have a rash. And I've been cautioned not to scratch too much, because I could bleed very easily. The skin is amazingly sensitive at the moment. It's calmed down some from yesterday, but it's still so very weird. Sometimes it feels good, like when I was out in the rain yesterday, but sometimes it's just too much!

However, I took a LONG bubble bath last night. I feel 100% clean for the first time in 6 weeks! And I washed my hair with both hands! And I was able to wash my left elbow! There was all this nasty dirt and dead skin coming off the formerly broken arm. It felt SO GOOD!

Murder Suspect Claims Goat Turned Into Corpse

From Yahoo News and the Associated Press:

A Nigerian murder suspect accused of killing his brother with an axe told police investigators he actually attacked a goat, which was only later magically transformed into his sibling's corpse, officials said Thursday.

Now, in general, I have a very uncomfortable feeling about these weird crime articles which come out of Nigeria. They drip with western superiority. "Ah, those silly, superstitious Nigerians! We would never believe anything like that!"

This one, though, is quite possibly the weirdest excuse I've ever heard. "It wasn't my brother at the time, it was a goat!"

No, I'm pretty sure this guy knew just what he was doing.

Thus, I have no qualms whatsoever at laughing at his ridiculous attempt at an excuse.

Unless it turns out that the brother really was a were-goat. Then I'll apologize for laughing.

My Temporary Doggie

This is Jake, who is usually called Jakers.

He is my aunt's dog, and since she and her family are gone to Florida for the week, Tirithien and I have a temporary dog!

Now, Jakers has arthritis, but you sure wouldn't know it from the way he tears around when we take him out for walkies. Oh, no! When he's on his leash, Jake is a big strong moose of a dog who wants to run everywhere and smell everything. (Today I was thanking all that's holy that Jake does not chase squirrels, because they are everywhere! Can't you just picture this ginormous yellow lab chasing a squirrel, dragging along the poor broken armed girl behind him? Ow.)

But Jake is a very good doggie. He was apparently mistreated before my family got him-- very scrawny, very skittish. He still is terrified of loud noises and upraised arms, and he would never dream of getting on the furniture, even though we've tried to invite him up! He will not even touch food if I leave it lying on the table within easy reach. I've never known such a good doggie!


I actually kind of suspect that he might have flunked out of leader dog training at some point and then been given to the abusive people. He's just too well trained for that to have happened on accident.

As you can see, after we go for walkies, he is a very tired puppy. And he misses his mommy. But he seems to be enjoying himself here. He has especially attached himself to Tirithien and gets very excited when Tirithien comes home from school!

This was supposed to be an experiment to see if we could handle having a puppy of our own, but I don't think we'll be able to. If just having this wonderfully well-behaved dog around is wearing me out, what would a lesser dog do? And would I really want to take the dog out in the middle of the night in winter? No! So, alas, having a doggie of our own is going to have to wait until such time as we have a backyard. Too bad I'm allergic to cats, since they love being apartment pets. Oh well. Maybe it's time to look into getting another guinea pig. I miss having a furbaby of my own!

Odd and Beautiful Dream

Five years ago minus a couple of days, I had horrible nightmares about the people still trapped beneath the just-ruined World Trade Center. I can't imagine a worse death than that-- being trapped all alone in the dark and dying slowly. My now-ex tried to wake me from one of these nightmares by touching my back, and I promptly burst into hysterical tears for all those people. "No one will ever touch them again," I sobbed.

Given the reminder of the fifth anniversary of the attacks and how prevalent it's been in the media these past weeks, I suppose it's no surprise that I would dream again of those who lost their lives, but this time it was no nightmare.

Very early this morning, my spirit wandered outside my body, floating here and there, suddenly expanding vastly in awareness.

How can I explain such a strange thing? To my dreaming self, all times were now. All places were here. And the air was full of spirits, bright shining spirits rising to the sky. From the ruins of the WTC, from the Pentagon, from a field in Pennsylvania, from the battlefields in Afghanistan and Iraq. But there were more, so many more! From Gettysburg and Iwo Jima, Valley Forge and the Alamo, the killing fields of Cambodia, the plains of the Sudan. Everywhere, everywhen, spirits were rising to the sky.

And they were singing.

I'm not even going to try to describe their song; no words of mine could ever do justice to it. It was everything.

How I wanted to add my voice to their song! But I could not; my spirit could not fly as theirs could, and so I could not sing as they could.

So I wakened, overwhelmed perhaps by what my subconscious had created for me to see and hear. And now there's nothing to do except to try to make things better for those of us who can not yet fly.

Vigilante Juxtaposition

TOLEDO, Ohio—An 86-year-old man was robbed at gunpoint Tuesday afternoon in Calvary Cemetary. The man had been visiting his wife’s grave. The robber took the man’s wallet and car keys. The wallet contained multitudes of identifying information, meaning the man and his family must now cancel accounts, change passcodes, and keep a vigilant eye on his credit report.

More importantly, however, the man is now afraid to visit the cemetary alone.

Police currently have no leads.

The crime victim is Tirithien’s grandpa. I want to cry and scream and track down the robber all at once. “How dare you terrorize an old man like this?” I would demand. And pain, yes, there would be pain. And fear. On the robber’s part, not mine.

MARSHVILLE, North Carolina (AP) -- An angry mob fatally beat a man whom they mistakenly thought was involved in the disappearance of their friend, shortly before police arrested and charged another person in the crime, police said.

Union County Sheriff's deputies found Tony Lorin Blakeney at his home with serious injuries Friday. He later died at a hospital.

Ten men, ages 16 to 30, were charged with murder in the attack. They were being held without bond until an October 4 court date.

But one of the hallmarks of civilization is that we let the rule of law take its course, rather than trying to mete out justice and/or revenge ourselves. I am not equipped to know a person’s guilt or innocence.

Had I been with Grandpa at the time, it would surely have been justified to defend him as best I could. After the fact, I have no right to touch the robber, much as I may want to.

Constitutional Amendments
Amendment V: No person shall be held to answer for a capital, or otherwise infamous crime, unless on a presentment or indictment of a grand jury, except in cases arising in the land or naval forces, or in the militia, when in actual service in time of war or public danger; nor shall any person be subject for the same offense to be twice put in jeopardy of life or limb; nor shall be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself, nor be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor shall private property be taken for public use, without just compensation.
Amendment VI: In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial, by an impartial jury of the state and district wherein the crime shall have been committed, which district shall have been previously ascertained by law, and to be informed of the nature and cause of the accusation; to be confronted with the witnesses against him; to have compulsory process for obtaining witnesses in his favor, and to have the assistance of counsel for his defense.
Amendment VII: In suits at common law, where the value in controversy shall exceed twenty dollars, the right of trial by jury shall be preserved, and no fact tried by a jury, shall be otherwise reexamined in any court of the United States, than according to the rules of the common law.
Amendment VIII: Excessive bail shall not be required, nor excessive fines imposed, nor cruel and unusual punishments inflicted.

Thank you, James Madison, for including these. They do protect scumbags like the guy who robbed Tirithien's grandpa, but they also do protect those upon whom no harm should fall. Our judicial system isn't perfect, but it's better than trial-by-mob.

Where's my chisel?

I'm about ready to carve my way out of this cast! I somehow twisted my arm inside it last night and wound up with something that feels remarkably like a rope burn. I have a feeling that my arm is going to look rather hideously bruised from bumping against the cast by the time the doctor takes it off.

Luckily, this is now going to be 9/18 instead of 9/22. It's only a few days' difference, but even that's something! So if any readers within earshot hear joyous shouts of "I'm free, I'm free!" on the morning of the 18th, that will be me. (Sorry if I wake you up!)

Unfortunately, I am no longer a full-time student. The University of Toledo insists that they have to charge me out-of-state tuition, since I haven't lived in Ohio for very long. They have tuition reciprocity only for Monroe County, Michigan. Well, I lived exactly 20 feet north of Monroe County. Sigh. But I should have in-state residency for next semester and can try again then.

The class I kept is called "The Early Republic." It's a senior level history class about the time in US History between the Revolution and the War of 1812-- you know, the part that gets completely glossed over in most history classes. The professor is a delight-- he absolutely loves his subject, so he's very excitable during lecture. It should be a lot of fun! (The first test is September 12. Hopefully he'll be able to read mine. My handwriting with a cast on is, shall we say, less than exemplary.)

Now I'm off to do some studying. Federalist Era, here I come!

Mixed Blessing Across Two Worlds

The other day out in the world, a very dignified elderly gentleman struck up a conversation with me about the cast on my arm. I explained that it had been a rollerblading accident, but that it was healing up nicely and the cast would be off before too long.

The man's face seemed to glow with benificence. "It's gonna heal," he told me. His deep southern voice reminded me of chocolate. "I know it's gonna heal." He very gently laid a hand on the cast and proclaimed, "By the love of our Lord Jesus Christ, you be blessed and healed."

What an odd gift to give a stranger! But he offered it so beautifully that the kindness of it brought a tear pricking to my eye, and I thanked him profusely. "Thank you, sir. Bless you."

It was an absolutely profound moment of beauty, which shifted rapidly when the man asked if I was married, and started to caution me that when I did get married God hates divorce and I needed to make sure I obeyed my husband.

Sigh.

The blessing I accept as the gift of utter kindness and love it was.

The advice, though? It's just not going to quite work for me. Obviously. He was so earnest that I'm sure it was offered with just as much kindness as the blessing, but that is not the world in which I walk.

But for a moment, two worlds intersected just long enough for a blessing to be given, and that contact was a blessing in itself.

Broken Bone Update!

According to Dr. Mike Modano (really, they could be twins), my poor fractured radius and ulna are healing perfectly. The x-rays barely show a fracture line at all (I had to look very hard to see it), and all the bones are lined up just where they should be. So, no surgery for me! The cast can come off on September 22nd. (Believe me, I am counting the hours...) It will be replaced by a splint which will be worn for 2 weeks, and then I should be good to go!

One of the cool things about Dr. Mike Modano is that he does not dumb down his explanations in any way. He's absolutely 100% willing to answer questions if he uses a term I don't know, but otherwise he speaks in genuine doctor language. Or maybe this just seems cool to me because it helps me realize how many interesting medical vocabulary words I've picked up from helping Tirithien study!

The other very cool thing about Dr. Mike Modano is that he's only going to charge me the lower Medicaid rate for my care. Apparently with a fracture, he charges one fee that covers setting, casting, and other follow-up care, such as the cast removal with the scary looking tool that looks like a saw blade attached to a shop-vac. Plus I'll be allowed to make low payments until it's paid off. This is extra good, since I did not have insurance when the injury occurred!

Meanwhile, I've gotten myself enrolled for fall classes at the University of Toledo. I'll be taking 12 credits (4 classes).

Full time school, plus full time work, plus a broken arm.

Clearly I'm quite thoroughly insane.

My first ever broken bone!

This post is pretty much a copy and paste from a post I made on the snopes message board, with Percoset-enhanced mistakes edited out. When you consider that I'm now reduced to typing lefty, and I'm extremely right-handed, I figure you will all understand!

Tuesday morning seemed like an excellent time for rollerblading. I hadn't been in quite awhile, and didn't have anything to do, so why not scope out a new Toledoan trail? Good exercise, fun, etc.

I was doing quite well for not having bladed in ages, once I worked out the initial wobblies, but I had forgotten one of my cardinal rules of rollerblading: never skate a trail before first walking it.

This trail had a slope. In my skating prime a few years ago, I could have handled it with aplomb. It was not all that steep, but was long, so I was going at considerable speed. I nervously tried to grab a tree branch to slow down, and my top half obliged, but my skates kept right on going. Splat! Right wrist, then tailbone. (And I was indeed wearing wrist guards.)

I was pretty well stunned, but thought if I could get my gear off, I could walk back to the car. But I couldn't even get up! And I also discovered, upon working my right wrist guard off, that my wrist was bent at an extremely sickening angle. It was pretty obviously fractured, at the very least, and by then the pain was sneaking through my shock. Ow, ow, ow!

A couple of nice bystanders stopped to help-- one went to fetch the park rangers, while another stayed with me and called Tirithien to let him know his girlfriend was apparently broken. The park rangers called EMS, EMS called paramedics, and I got an ambulance ride to the hospital. They had me all immobilized since my tailbone and lower back were so badly pained. They were so nice-- one of them called Tirithien to let him know what hospital they were taking me to, and another gave me a teddy bear and told me jokes all the way to the hospital.

The hospital nurses were just the nicest nurses I have ever met. After they did the obligatory pregnancy test, they sent me off for x-rays. Meanwhile, Tirithien's parents came to the hospital to check up on me too. X-rays determined that I hadn't broken any spinal or pelvic bones, but my arm... Well, I managed to snap both forearm bones right below where they join the wrist: a Colles fracture. The ER doc told me their orthopedist was doing a surgery, but if I could wait about 3 hours, he'd come treat me.

The unfortunate thing was the possibility that I could have needed surgery to fix this, so I wasn't allowed any food or drink, even ice water. And I was SO thirsty. They hooked me up to a saline drip with some nice painkillers that let me sleep. Evidently I was time traveling in my sleep, because at various points I asked Tirithien if he had fed Colin, my guinea pig who died in December, and who he'd found to watch Brendan, which is what I want to name my future son-- who isn't even conceived yet! Good meds, there. ;-)

The orthopedist, who bore a striking resemblance to Mike Modano of the Dallas Stars, showed up, injected my hand with some interesting numbing solution, and stretched out my arm so the bones popped right back where they should be. Bless him, the post-setting and casting x-rays barely looked different from a healthy wrist!

So then I was sent home, in my hospital gown and shorts, since we didn't dare attempt to get my shirt back on. I looked like a hospital refugee. I'm supposed to go for checkup x-rays and a follow-up appointment with Dr. Mike Modano next week, to make sure I really won't need surgery. And I have Percocet and strawberry ice cream. And I have typed this entire post left handed. But I think my rollerblades are going to Play It Again Sports. :-p

Apartment Pictures!

Well, we don't have it all organized quite the way we want yet, but it at least looks like a home now instead of a collection of boxes, so I thought I'd take some pictures to share! So let's start the grand tour, shall we?

Here is the living room. The dresser which is doubling as an entertainment center was made by my stepdad, and I think it may be the most awesome dresser in existence. The quilt which is serving as the tablecloth was made by my great-grandma.
Another angle of living room. The coffee table, by the way, is actually an ancient steamer trunk which belonged to Tirithien's grandparents.
And one more living room shot. I figured I should show off my huge collection of Red Wings bobblehead guys, who now have Tirithien's two U of Toledo bobbleheads to keep them company.The dining room, which is the messiest room as of yet, since the table just makes such a good place to put random things we aren't sure where else to put. I realize that a milk can is not the traditional method of storing hockey sticks, but it just seems to work. The kitchen. So many cabinets! The stove now has a sign over it that proclaims it to be an Area 51 Top Secret Research Facility.
The all-important bathroom. If you look carefully, you can see me trying to keep my reflection out of the picture and not succeeding! Here is our office/study/computer room. We can both be online at the same time!
Here's the closet of the study (okay, it's technically a bedroom, if you ask the people in the apartment office), which has been filled with bookcases. The laundry room, conveniently doubling as a walk-in closet off the bedroom. No more lugging laundry up and down multiple flights of stairs! Our nice, comfy bed. The bedroom from another angle. Apparently Winnie the Pooh wants to be Indiana Jones when he grows up. He's a very silly bear.

Observations on Moving

1. Don't rent from U-haul! Let me tell you all what those creeps did. I had reserved myself a 14-foot truck and an appliance dolly online. The day before the scheduled pickup, they were supposed to call me and tell me where I could pick the stuff up. Meanwhile, I had gone ahead and changed my cell phone number to an Ohio number, so I called them, since they still had my Michigan number. The woman I talked to told me I would be picking up my stuff at their location on Seven Mile Rd. Wait a minute, that's 30 miles from my home... er, my old home. I don't think so! Somewhat in shock, I asked her to please try to find something closer.

A couple of hours later, I called back and was told that I could now pick things up from the location at Thirteen Mile Rd. and Ryan Rd. To which my response was, "I wanted something closer, not further away!" Plus they still had my wrong phone number, even though I'd given the correct number to the first woman. I asked this person to please try again, since that would be a 40 mile trip one-way. (Did I mention that you're only allowed a certain number of miles when you rent a U-haul?)

About an hour later, I received a call from a man who told me I could pick up my truck from their Michigan Avenue location. Fifteen miles from home. I figured that would be the best I could get from these people and told him, "Okay, fine." Tirithien and I picked up the truck at 11:00 as scheduled, only to be given a very small utility dolly instead of the nice, big appliance dolly I'd actually requested. But at least we had the truck.

2. I cannot believe they just let people rent these gigantic trucks without any training on how to drive them! My car is a Saturn. It's tiny. I've driven a big van before, but that's nothing like a 14-foot moving truck! My poor brother rode down with me, brave soul that he is. We made the trip without incident, until we were almost to the new apartment. A wide one-lane street becomes a narrow two-lane street, and the lane was just a little too narrow for the U-haul. I was trying to keep as far to the right as possible, so as not to interfere with other cars, but bumped the tires up on the curb. This causes a U-haul to wobble and weave like a drunken frat boy on the way home from a party. Not fun! I was screaming, my brother was screaming, and I think my stuffed animals were probably also screaming. It probably lasted less than 2 seconds before I got the truck back under control, but oh, that was terrifying!

3. Moving on a day when it is 95 degrees out is a bad idea.

4. If you do have to move when it is 95 degrees, you need to purchase more than one pack of Propel. (Electrolytes... gone!)

5. When you've been moving heavy stuff in 95 degree heat all day, Waffle House seems like gourmet food. Besides which, they were probably the only place that would have let us in, as grubby as we were.

6. When you have your door open all day to carry stuff in, flies will probably also come in. If one of the flies is in the bathroom with you while you are getting ready for bed, and you attempt to kill it with your bare hand, make sure you do not hit the bathroom counter at full force. The fly will fly away laughing at you, and you will have a sprained ring finger which swells up and turns a very interesting purply color.

Observations on life in Ohio to come later. :-)