The week that was: The good, the bad and the ugly

I haven’t written anything, other than a check for property taxes, for almost two weeks. I’ve been distracted by:

The good: Our oldest son was married Saturday evening in Las Vegas to an intelligent, accomplished, sweet, efficient and – the icing on the wedding cake – gorgeous young woman. The wedding party, including a 6' 3" ring bearer (standing behind the bride in the photo above), marched down the aisle to the Dixie Cups’ “Going to the Chapel.” The dinner-dance reception was attended by their friends from all over the country. It was scary looking out on the dance floor and considering the collective IQ of those kids, who represent some of the brightest young minds in America – D.C. lawyers and legislative assistants on Capitol Hill. My son and daughter-in-law are in Hawaii on their honeymoon. He turns 30 next week. The world is their oyster. 

The bad: My niece and her husband from Ohio came to Florida to babysit our dachshunds, Bonnie and Billy Ray, while we were in Vegas. The day before we left, Billy Ray, while running figure eights with his girlfriend, the neighbor’s pug, somehow – nobody saw it happen -- got his paw caught between two driveway paver stones, completely extracting one of his toenails, resulting in a geyser of blood and much yelping (by my wife and me -- Billy was remarkably composed). We rushed him to the vet and my niece and her husband, instead of having a nice relaxing vacation, had to deal with a dog with a bandaged foot who was forced to wear one those silly plastic cones around his neck and required three doses of daily medication and return visits to the vet. Billy Ray has learned his lesson: Running with fast women always gets you in trouble.

Whereas I can only fix Finlandia Grapefruit Vodka tonics, my nephew-in-law can fix anything. We returned home to find the dryer drying (we assumed it always took four hours to dry a load of laundry. He said you have to clean out the vent. How the hell would I have known that?); the doorbell ringing (apparently there’s a battery that needs replacing regularly), and he pointed out that, to heat the pool, it is necessary to go outside and turn the heater on. (I thought I was turning it on when I pressed “pool heat” on the control panel inside the house and never understood why it failed to work, which is why we haven’t used the pool for six years.)

I should have taken shop instead of Latin.

The ugly: Meanwhile, up in Missouri, my sister and 99-year-old mother couldn’t attend the wedding because they were under subpoena to testify at the trial of a “person” who, in November, 2011, rang my mother’s doorbell, pushed his way into the house when she opened the door thinking he was the paper boy, locked the door behind them, then proceeded to beat, rob and kick her repeatedly. Having no inkling of the horror that was going on inside, my sister let herself in with her key to deliver mom’s blood pressure prescription and received the same and, in many ways, worse, treatment. (She thought our mother, who was lying motionless on the floor, was dead.)  The attack ended only when my brave and amazing sister made a dash for the front door to keep him from getting his paws on her daughter, who had arrived on the front porch and, looking through the picture window, saw her grandmother on the floor. At that point the “person” freaked and ran out the back door.

Mom's and my sister's testimonies made the front page of the local newspaper, which reported their names and ages – information the public didn’t need to know which caused them further angst -- while taking care to point out that the racial composition of the jury didn’t match the color of the attacker’s skin. Another elderly victim of his crime spree who, unlike my family, was sexually assaulted, also testified.

The all-green jury found the "person" guilty on all counts. The judge informed the jury, after they had rendered the verdict, that the accused had already served 20 years for rape, burglary and robbery and, within a few months of his release, had been arrested for drugs and sentenced to 10 more years, but was paroled after nine months. The “person” will be sentenced next month. The prosecutor, in light of the “person’s” record, is going for five consecutive life sentences. Personally I think six are called for, but five will do as long as he doesn't see the light of day again.

I've never written a word about any of this because a) it hurt too much and b) I didn't want anything I wrote to affect the outcome of the trial but I'm doing so now because the stupid newspaper published their names and, as long as it's a matter of public record, I want to salute the strongest, bravest women I know who, by the grace of God, are still with us.

So, all in all, quite a week. We're going to a Super Bowl party Sunday. I've been so distracted I'm not even sure who's playing. I think it's the Cincinnati Reds and the New York Islanders, but I may be wrong. 

It might be the Reds versus the Denver Nuggets.