Our house was broken into last Friday. I first saw that the gate to the yard was open, something I don't do because the dog may get out and go off on her own. There were footprints in the snow leading up to our back porch; a window in the storm door was open and there I found the smash window of the backdoor. I went around to the front of the house as I normally do and then called the police. "Get out of the house." I was told. "They may still be in there."
The police came in and checked the inside of the house; thankfully no one was there. The only thing missing was my laptop that was recently given to my by my wife. It was to be her old one; a friend at work had completely gone over it and had installed Window XP. The computer was clean, there was nothing on it, and I had hardly used it. That was the only thing stole, it was sitting on the couch, right next to the door. One cop said it was kids, it was small, light and valuable.
The second police office explained how easy it has been to get into, the broken pane was right next to the lock and was easy to open. He suggested we install a two-way lock—a key needed to get into from either side as well as installing a door with a more remote pane of glass.
I went to the home store and bought both, a lock and a door. Then the snow hit and I have a new door sitting in my house uninstalled. My life has changed. I will no longer be able to look out my back door window to see activities take place in the back yard without having to open it first. I'll have to think twice about being too friendly to people who come to my house, meter reader, paperboy etc. I'll have to remember how my house, my private life was violated and forced open and something stolen from me.
K.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
The American Dream--Life, liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness
I can still picture them both in my mind, two young men who died in their mid twenties. Both were oh so young and full of life, both filled with ambition, wanting to succeed, and both died by their own hand. The first, let’s call him "G," had an amazingly strong, firm handshake, very sincere. I told him he should enter politics because of his handshake, he had the strength to shake hands all day long and not let it faze him. He was very likeable.
G loved everything about the Spanish people, the language, culture, everything. Had he lived long enough he would he watched the Spanish TV stations incessantly, but they only became available after he died. G became enchanted with a Latino girl in his Spanish class in college and waited until the last day of that class to ask her out on a date. She refused; he went home, put a gun to his head and blew his brains out. So very impulsive, so very senseless. Why? Only G knew the hurt of rejection, it was way too much to bear. His act could not be reversed, no second chance, no turning back. It was his final solution.
The second young man was "D." D too was likeable, friendly and quiet. He grew up a small rural town and came to this area to make it "big." He was a good friend to have; his only flaw was he fell into the wrong crowd, and became addicted. Drugs have a way of turning a good, sensible person into something you wouldn’t recognize; like the book Dr. Jeckle and Mr. Hyde. Oh, they make you feel good; the worries of the world drop away as you "drop out." But the dark side to them is they can kill–as family and friends of D unfortunately found out. I’m sure D never knew, as reality (and life) just slipped away. "Just one more ’hit" before I go back home and face rehabilitation." His mother was coming to reclaim her son, to take him back home so she could monitor his recuperation, his return to the normalcy of living. Instead, she went home with his lifeless body to bury him in the small town family cemetery. His last ’hit" indeed became his last act.
I feel very sorry for both of these men, who perhaps represent only a microcosm of what happens on a daily basis in this world. They were energetic, full of life, searching for that elusive, difficult to find, happiness. Now they are nearly forgotten except by their respective families and a few close friends. Sleep in peace gentlemen, sleep in peace.
K.
G loved everything about the Spanish people, the language, culture, everything. Had he lived long enough he would he watched the Spanish TV stations incessantly, but they only became available after he died. G became enchanted with a Latino girl in his Spanish class in college and waited until the last day of that class to ask her out on a date. She refused; he went home, put a gun to his head and blew his brains out. So very impulsive, so very senseless. Why? Only G knew the hurt of rejection, it was way too much to bear. His act could not be reversed, no second chance, no turning back. It was his final solution.
The second young man was "D." D too was likeable, friendly and quiet. He grew up a small rural town and came to this area to make it "big." He was a good friend to have; his only flaw was he fell into the wrong crowd, and became addicted. Drugs have a way of turning a good, sensible person into something you wouldn’t recognize; like the book Dr. Jeckle and Mr. Hyde. Oh, they make you feel good; the worries of the world drop away as you "drop out." But the dark side to them is they can kill–as family and friends of D unfortunately found out. I’m sure D never knew, as reality (and life) just slipped away. "Just one more ’hit" before I go back home and face rehabilitation." His mother was coming to reclaim her son, to take him back home so she could monitor his recuperation, his return to the normalcy of living. Instead, she went home with his lifeless body to bury him in the small town family cemetery. His last ’hit" indeed became his last act.
I feel very sorry for both of these men, who perhaps represent only a microcosm of what happens on a daily basis in this world. They were energetic, full of life, searching for that elusive, difficult to find, happiness. Now they are nearly forgotten except by their respective families and a few close friends. Sleep in peace gentlemen, sleep in peace.
K.
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