It was early morning. I had gotten to the massage therapist a half hour early. I'd been across town seeing the chiropractor, a new one for me. With all the road construction, I took backroads and didn't want to be late.
With a a temperature in the upper fifties, the salt air called me. Across the sandy, broken parking lot as Maine winters often do, a slice of grass, another parking lot in better repair and there it was. Casco Bay. Seagulls were everywhere enjoying the thermals as a noticeable breeze provided them an easy flight.
Two grizzly looking men in their late forties were talking. The one in the green truck looked about the parking lot. His eyes never left me. The other man, also in jeans leaned into the truck on the driver's side. He also watched me.
I walked toward the marina and heard it. I could hear the engine running from the well used sedan from the late 70s. As I passed the faded blue sedan with dents abounding, it was evident that there was no one inside.
Then it occurred to me. Was this a drug dealing going on?
Friday, September 7, 2018
Thursday, August 30, 2018
Running The AT?
The Appalachian Trail is a 2,200 mile journey over mountains, roads, towns and farmland. Historically, it has become a mindful journey. A long and challenging walk through yourself.
While it is a hike through some of the most beautiful land on the eastern coast, it also has its challenges. Black bear, poisonous snakes, insect bites, rough terrain, mosquitoes, and poison ivy. Among other not so healthly experiences, the mind also has its own journey.
You mostly walk with self, often accompanied by other thru-hikers. But you do the bulk of the trail work inside yourself. That can include climbing over fallen trees, rocks, streams. It also includes working out your head stuff.
Like so many things so simplistic for the gifts they offer, walking the trail has become a sort of record thing. Speed Like Ms. Pharr who ran the 2,200 miles meeting her husband nightly with food and supplies. Or the recent person who beat her journey. Now the Belgian dentist, Karel Sabbe, has topped Ms. Pharr's record. Most of the thru-hikers carry their own packs. They have designed restocking sites. There is no time clock other than the weather.
I wonder if we now should be measuring the JOY one has in completing a task, walking the walk. Maybe it is time to compete to see who grows more academically, emotionally, is in better shape than their counterparts.
I thought the measurement, if there is one, was to be inner growth. It wasn't about bragging rights, appearing in recreational magazines. Here is what was written about the experience:
"Hiking the trail is not just a physical accomplishment; it’s transformative in other ways as well. Hikers’ experiences of rebirth are not merely figurative and don’t always disappear after the hike is over. Some feel they’re communing with God while on the trail; for others, it restores their faith in humanity. Because hikers are away from family, friends, and significant others for weeks or months at a time, they must trust and rally behind one another. More than one romantic relationship and countless friendships have started on the trail and continued once the hike is over. The trail has its “sacred sites” — not only gatherings like Trail Days but also the shelters, camping areas, and towns along the way, where hikers laugh, dance, and tell stories of adventures, of hiker traditions, of trail magic, and of the heroes and legends that have grown up around the arduous walk. It also has its sacred texts, in the form of guidebooks and shelter journals, which hikers sign upon arrival at each outpost, debating philosophy, telling jokes, letting others know about “unfriendlies” in the area, working through their own inner struggles, and inspiring those whose energy is flagging. Many are at a crossroads in life and are searching for answers, and their fellow travelers or the trail itself eventually provide them, though the revelations do not come quickly or easily."
https://www.bostonglobe.com/magazine/2015/09/09/inside-mind-appalachian-trail-hiker/HZQS53jPKcj6wirW2Ll0LM/story.html
Remind me again, what kind of 'trail magic' you are getting when you run the AT?
While it is a hike through some of the most beautiful land on the eastern coast, it also has its challenges. Black bear, poisonous snakes, insect bites, rough terrain, mosquitoes, and poison ivy. Among other not so healthly experiences, the mind also has its own journey.
You mostly walk with self, often accompanied by other thru-hikers. But you do the bulk of the trail work inside yourself. That can include climbing over fallen trees, rocks, streams. It also includes working out your head stuff.
Like so many things so simplistic for the gifts they offer, walking the trail has become a sort of record thing. Speed Like Ms. Pharr who ran the 2,200 miles meeting her husband nightly with food and supplies. Or the recent person who beat her journey. Now the Belgian dentist, Karel Sabbe, has topped Ms. Pharr's record. Most of the thru-hikers carry their own packs. They have designed restocking sites. There is no time clock other than the weather.
I wonder if we now should be measuring the JOY one has in completing a task, walking the walk. Maybe it is time to compete to see who grows more academically, emotionally, is in better shape than their counterparts.
I thought the measurement, if there is one, was to be inner growth. It wasn't about bragging rights, appearing in recreational magazines. Here is what was written about the experience:
"Hiking the trail is not just a physical accomplishment; it’s transformative in other ways as well. Hikers’ experiences of rebirth are not merely figurative and don’t always disappear after the hike is over. Some feel they’re communing with God while on the trail; for others, it restores their faith in humanity. Because hikers are away from family, friends, and significant others for weeks or months at a time, they must trust and rally behind one another. More than one romantic relationship and countless friendships have started on the trail and continued once the hike is over. The trail has its “sacred sites” — not only gatherings like Trail Days but also the shelters, camping areas, and towns along the way, where hikers laugh, dance, and tell stories of adventures, of hiker traditions, of trail magic, and of the heroes and legends that have grown up around the arduous walk. It also has its sacred texts, in the form of guidebooks and shelter journals, which hikers sign upon arrival at each outpost, debating philosophy, telling jokes, letting others know about “unfriendlies” in the area, working through their own inner struggles, and inspiring those whose energy is flagging. Many are at a crossroads in life and are searching for answers, and their fellow travelers or the trail itself eventually provide them, though the revelations do not come quickly or easily."
https://www.bostonglobe.com/magazine/2015/09/09/inside-mind-appalachian-trail-hiker/HZQS53jPKcj6wirW2Ll0LM/story.html
Remind me again, what kind of 'trail magic' you are getting when you run the AT?
Sunday, August 26, 2018
A Churchie For A Day
This morning I decided to explore my area more. There is a church in town that has a pretty open orientation to belief systems. this isn't my first visit to this denoination. I went to a Unitarian church in elementary school. My mother seemed to think she should expose us to 'religion.' And so we were exposed.
My first memories about this church was that I had to awaken too early on Sunday mornings. It was a long drive to Baltimore city, some forty minutes or so. I was usually sick in the stomach both from the long drive and mom's incessant smoking.
It was a large and magnificent building called the First Unitarian Church of Baltimore. I remember asking my mom how they knew to make it the first? Did they anticipate others?
Sometimes my brother and I sat in the adult church service. Other times we went to the children's Sunday school. I did like the Sunday school and I really liked the teachers. Plus, the refreshments afterward were bountiful.
Not much for 'organized' religion, I thought the Unitarians deserved another try. Besides, I may meet people in my small community. The grounds for the church were large, with every kind of northern wildflower you might imagine. I was perplexed to figure out which building of the two was the sanctuary. I was early so there wasn't a soul outside to ask. Then I saw the sign eclipsed bya low branched group of trees:
SANCTUARY
OFFICE
The inside of the church was non-descript. No icons, no religious material, just nice veiling beams and an openness to it.
Almost immediately, I was welcomed by a Buddhist woman who was the official 'greeter.' After a short walk into the open space, another woman announced that there is no minister during the summer. A recording of music by Peter was played on the screen along with the lyrics. That lay people lead the service.
Earlier I had googled the website to learn the talk would be on COSMOLOGY. Not much of a follower of that, I thought at least the question and answer period would be interested. as an experiencer, you can imagine the myriad of questions I had. This is going to be fun, I thought. Instead, she read from a prepared text, rarely looking up at her audience. Then she invited us to come up to her alter for some star dust and a sip of tea.
"Star dust?"
I was more than intrigued. I quickly cued in only to find some glitter doused into my left palm. The rest of the service I spent trying to remove it. I was afraid I might be tatooed for life. Worst, I had been lied to! I thought, hoped that NASA might share some of this for the greater good.
The tea cups were about the size one might enjoy for a child's tea party. One teaspoon of tea was barely evident in each cup and I was careful not to consume before the 'unity gathering' officially took place. I sure didn't want my sipping to exclude anyone.
Maybe I'll wait til the fall when the interim minister returns. I may just get a better sense of the church. Or not.
My first memories about this church was that I had to awaken too early on Sunday mornings. It was a long drive to Baltimore city, some forty minutes or so. I was usually sick in the stomach both from the long drive and mom's incessant smoking.
It was a large and magnificent building called the First Unitarian Church of Baltimore. I remember asking my mom how they knew to make it the first? Did they anticipate others?
Sometimes my brother and I sat in the adult church service. Other times we went to the children's Sunday school. I did like the Sunday school and I really liked the teachers. Plus, the refreshments afterward were bountiful.
Not much for 'organized' religion, I thought the Unitarians deserved another try. Besides, I may meet people in my small community. The grounds for the church were large, with every kind of northern wildflower you might imagine. I was perplexed to figure out which building of the two was the sanctuary. I was early so there wasn't a soul outside to ask. Then I saw the sign eclipsed bya low branched group of trees:
SANCTUARY
OFFICE
The inside of the church was non-descript. No icons, no religious material, just nice veiling beams and an openness to it.
Almost immediately, I was welcomed by a Buddhist woman who was the official 'greeter.' After a short walk into the open space, another woman announced that there is no minister during the summer. A recording of music by Peter was played on the screen along with the lyrics. That lay people lead the service.
Earlier I had googled the website to learn the talk would be on COSMOLOGY. Not much of a follower of that, I thought at least the question and answer period would be interested. as an experiencer, you can imagine the myriad of questions I had. This is going to be fun, I thought. Instead, she read from a prepared text, rarely looking up at her audience. Then she invited us to come up to her alter for some star dust and a sip of tea.
"Star dust?"
I was more than intrigued. I quickly cued in only to find some glitter doused into my left palm. The rest of the service I spent trying to remove it. I was afraid I might be tatooed for life. Worst, I had been lied to! I thought, hoped that NASA might share some of this for the greater good.
The tea cups were about the size one might enjoy for a child's tea party. One teaspoon of tea was barely evident in each cup and I was careful not to consume before the 'unity gathering' officially took place. I sure didn't want my sipping to exclude anyone.
Maybe I'll wait til the fall when the interim minister returns. I may just get a better sense of the church. Or not.
Friday, August 24, 2018
Maine, Minerals And Me
It's a lovely day in southern Maine. I just got off the phone from a friend in the southern town in western Carolina where I lived for years. My friend calls with a report on how things look from my home exterior. A trained naturalist, the friend just returned from Maine. We spoke about areas we both love to visit.
It's the little things in life that are so endearing. A phone call from a distant friend, distant only in geography. Good friends are never far away. They ensure you know that by checking in. I still keep up with friends from elementary school.
Soon the pressure washer fellow will arrive. Then the fellow who will repair things damaged in the move. When my favorite teal glass lamp is repaired, a new coastal style white shutter chest will arrive a week or so later. The teal lamp with a new shade will really spruce up the room. Then I will have a coastal painting reframed. Did I already tell you this in an earlier blog? If so, just know I have a lot going on. <giggles> Of course, all of this will take a few more weeks. Especially, getting into the cue for the repairs. Apparently, now they send out an estimator. Then find a repair person, furniture cleaner, etc.
The twig table as well as the lamp will probably need to be taken to the repair shop for a week. I can't wait to get them back and to use them. Yes, more weeks to wait.
While all of that is in the cue, I await my feathery flock of friends.
The birds haven't visited the bird feeder yet. It may take a few weeks. Last night I put out my four solar lights near the boundary of my land and the preserve. Soon, I will put out the trail camera to see what visits in the night. I can't wait to see what is out and about in the wee hours.
Land is a curious thing. We are all just passing through it. I like living on it gently. Doing no harm.
Did you know that in Maine, mineral rights to land automatically convey with the land? They don't out west. I found after an extensive google search, this information was not readily available. But then, that isn't odd is it? Especially in a country that values energy and capitalism over people.
Maine has a unique value of the land and of its people. They really are leaders in the environmental movement. I really shouldn't call it a movement because it has always been a way of life for them. Maine keeps it simple.
"Knock, knock."
"Who's there?"
"I am."
"I am, who?"
"I am a Mainer."
It's the little things in life that are so endearing. A phone call from a distant friend, distant only in geography. Good friends are never far away. They ensure you know that by checking in. I still keep up with friends from elementary school.
Soon the pressure washer fellow will arrive. Then the fellow who will repair things damaged in the move. When my favorite teal glass lamp is repaired, a new coastal style white shutter chest will arrive a week or so later. The teal lamp with a new shade will really spruce up the room. Then I will have a coastal painting reframed. Did I already tell you this in an earlier blog? If so, just know I have a lot going on. <giggles> Of course, all of this will take a few more weeks. Especially, getting into the cue for the repairs. Apparently, now they send out an estimator. Then find a repair person, furniture cleaner, etc.
The twig table as well as the lamp will probably need to be taken to the repair shop for a week. I can't wait to get them back and to use them. Yes, more weeks to wait.
While all of that is in the cue, I await my feathery flock of friends.
The birds haven't visited the bird feeder yet. It may take a few weeks. Last night I put out my four solar lights near the boundary of my land and the preserve. Soon, I will put out the trail camera to see what visits in the night. I can't wait to see what is out and about in the wee hours.
Land is a curious thing. We are all just passing through it. I like living on it gently. Doing no harm.
Did you know that in Maine, mineral rights to land automatically convey with the land? They don't out west. I found after an extensive google search, this information was not readily available. But then, that isn't odd is it? Especially in a country that values energy and capitalism over people.
Maine has a unique value of the land and of its people. They really are leaders in the environmental movement. I really shouldn't call it a movement because it has always been a way of life for them. Maine keeps it simple.
"Knock, knock."
"Who's there?"
"I am."
"I am, who?"
"I am a Mainer."
Catholicism As A Cult
For most of my life, I have been plagued by poor souls who follow organized religion. Yes, it plagues me. Trained as a sociologist, I follow groups. Always have. But Catholicism, like the Moonies, or evangelists stand out in the crowd. Why you ask?
Let's look at their history. Organized by King Constantine who founded the religion based essentially on real estate, their financial holdings are worldwide. Money is their foundation. Control is their god.
Is God really about money? And control?
This religion also has a huge history in pedophilia. Yet, the followers continue to tithe, to follow. I shake my head in amazement, in disgust at all of that.
Take a read.
https://www.nytimes.com/2018/08/23/opinion/i-stood-up-in-mass-and-confronted-my-priest-you-should-too.html?action=click&module=Opinion&pgtype=Homepage
Let's look at their history. Organized by King Constantine who founded the religion based essentially on real estate, their financial holdings are worldwide. Money is their foundation. Control is their god.
Is God really about money? And control?
This religion also has a huge history in pedophilia. Yet, the followers continue to tithe, to follow. I shake my head in amazement, in disgust at all of that.
Take a read.
I Stood Up in Mass and Confronted My Priest. You Should, Too.
Catholics should not keep on filling the pews every Sunday. It is wrong to support the church.
https://www.nytimes.com/2018/08/23/opinion/i-stood-up-in-mass-and-confronted-my-priest-you-should-too.html?action=click&module=Opinion&pgtype=Homepage
Thursday, August 23, 2018
Celebrating 70 Soon
When my adult children asked me what I wanted to do for my 70th birthday, I told them I had to give it some thought. After simplifying this to a fun and meaningful birthday, I made a decision. I really just want to have my two children together for the weekend. Dinner out at a lovely place, spending th days together. Old times.
I loved being a part of my children's lives. Helping to guide them, mentoring them, loving them. But for about eight years, things have gotten busy. Jobs. And then the grands came along. It is hard to have much of a converation with them around. I do enjoy them dearly. But there are times I just want to spend with my children.
And so I shall. Plans are in the works. This touches a very special place in my heart. I am indeed lucky.
I loved being a part of my children's lives. Helping to guide them, mentoring them, loving them. But for about eight years, things have gotten busy. Jobs. And then the grands came along. It is hard to have much of a converation with them around. I do enjoy them dearly. But there are times I just want to spend with my children.
And so I shall. Plans are in the works. This touches a very special place in my heart. I am indeed lucky.
Wednesday, August 22, 2018
25 and 70
The year was 1974. I was twenty-five years old. The Watergate hearings seemed to go on forever. The President of the United States, Richard Nixon, was about to be impeached. He resigned. It took two years.
https://www.pbs.org/newshour/politics/complete-watergate-timeline-took-longer-realize
Fast forward forty-five years. Once again, we are investigating the President of the United States. This time for breaking more laws than I care to count. For possible treason involving Russian hacking of our elections. We have an idiot for president and a very unstable man. At best.
Cohen pleads guilty, says he coordinated with Trump to pay off women and influence election
Washington Post.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special_Counsel_investigation_(2017–present)
Forty-five years.
We're just fifteen months into the current presidential corruption.
A long time friend called today. We are similar in age. She thanked me for supporting her to take a high level position in finance. We laughed about all of her series examinations to be licensed. The hard work. The fear of possible failure. Then the conversation turned to our lives. Marriages. Children. We spoke about the wasted years with husbands who could offer nothing in a relationship. We spoke about our gratitude in having children. Being mothers. We spoke about now.
We spoke about forty-five years of living a life. Of learning. Of being honest with yourself about what you really want. About what you are willing to put up with. About having no clue what your life has meant to others. About learning what it has meant to you as the sand in the hour glass measures the passage of time. Each morsel becomes more precious, minute by minute.
Experiencer Bettina Rodriguez Aguilera runs for the Senate.
https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/2018/08/20/she-claimed-aliens-kidnapped-her-child-major-newspaper-endorsed-her-bid-congress/?noredirect=on&utm_term=.f726b9caafff
The human condition continues. Truth shows itself like flower bulbs erupting for spring. The real story is ~ what will we do about it?
https://www.pbs.org/newshour/politics/complete-watergate-timeline-took-longer-realize
Fast forward forty-five years. Once again, we are investigating the President of the United States. This time for breaking more laws than I care to count. For possible treason involving Russian hacking of our elections. We have an idiot for president and a very unstable man. At best.
Cohen pleads guilty, says he coordinated with Trump to pay off women and influence election
Washington Post.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special_Counsel_investigation_(2017–present)
Forty-five years.
We're just fifteen months into the current presidential corruption.
A long time friend called today. We are similar in age. She thanked me for supporting her to take a high level position in finance. We laughed about all of her series examinations to be licensed. The hard work. The fear of possible failure. Then the conversation turned to our lives. Marriages. Children. We spoke about the wasted years with husbands who could offer nothing in a relationship. We spoke about our gratitude in having children. Being mothers. We spoke about now.
We spoke about forty-five years of living a life. Of learning. Of being honest with yourself about what you really want. About what you are willing to put up with. About having no clue what your life has meant to others. About learning what it has meant to you as the sand in the hour glass measures the passage of time. Each morsel becomes more precious, minute by minute.
Experiencer Bettina Rodriguez Aguilera runs for the Senate.
https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/2018/08/20/she-claimed-aliens-kidnapped-her-child-major-newspaper-endorsed-her-bid-congress/?noredirect=on&utm_term=.f726b9caafff
The human condition continues. Truth shows itself like flower bulbs erupting for spring. The real story is ~ what will we do about it?
Monday, August 20, 2018
A Fall Day InSouthern Maine
Taupe tree trunks, elms, pines and oaks reach toward the sky. An assortment of wildflowers in front, placed like an orchestra before the stage showcases. There are white yarrow, queen anne's lace, blue indigo, pink, yellow, violets, dusty mauve something, wood sorrel and purple violets.
I am curious what lies beyond the woods as I see light through the trees. This fall, I will explore it as well as the Presumpscot River nearby.
It's nearly three o'clock in the afternoon. A strong ocean breeze blows in from the east on a cool late August day in this coastal town.
The rustle of tall, fine fescue awaiting mowing and trees swaying in the backdrop are the chorus. All this softens the warmth sun as it moves west to drop below the horizon.
Fall is in the air and it is a welcomed return from a few weeks of unbearable heat and humidity.
Soon birds will eat at the newly installed trefoil designed feeder on the side of the house. Black oiled sunflower is a favorite of birds everywhere and there is plenty to eat. I feel like a child awaiting their arrival, like a child on Christmas morning. The anticipation is palpable.
I don't worry about the wildlife here. Moose aren't seen too often in southern Maine. The katydids are getting noisy on this back-to-school day. This time next year, I will have a naturized buffer between my home and the wonderful neighbors next to me. They'll be native wildflowers, maybe a couple of small trees.
The adventure continues.
I am curious what lies beyond the woods as I see light through the trees. This fall, I will explore it as well as the Presumpscot River nearby.
It's nearly three o'clock in the afternoon. A strong ocean breeze blows in from the east on a cool late August day in this coastal town.
The rustle of tall, fine fescue awaiting mowing and trees swaying in the backdrop are the chorus. All this softens the warmth sun as it moves west to drop below the horizon.
Fall is in the air and it is a welcomed return from a few weeks of unbearable heat and humidity.
Soon birds will eat at the newly installed trefoil designed feeder on the side of the house. Black oiled sunflower is a favorite of birds everywhere and there is plenty to eat. I feel like a child awaiting their arrival, like a child on Christmas morning. The anticipation is palpable.
I don't worry about the wildlife here. Moose aren't seen too often in southern Maine. The katydids are getting noisy on this back-to-school day. This time next year, I will have a naturized buffer between my home and the wonderful neighbors next to me. They'll be native wildflowers, maybe a couple of small trees.
The adventure continues.
Friday, August 3, 2018
Moving?
I've used the same moving company for years. The first move was outstanding. The same driver packed us up and moved up. The second move was ok, so was the third. The fourth was a nightmare. The company salesperson lied. I was told everything would be packed and unpacked and the boxes removed. They refused to do that. The fifth move I used the same company was a different transfer agent who used the same incompetents to move my things in. Everything was unpacked.
The sixth move was basically ok. Several things were broken at my former house including a damaged wall. Moving things into this house, repeated the same scenario. I paid for unpacking and the boxes to be removed and the company told me it would be a unpartial unpack.
The same salesperson handled these moves. This person is a pathological liar as is just about everyone with whom I have dealt. They will be reported to the Better Business Bureau for starters.
Moving is always a challenge. No one should be allowed to drive nine hours straight, then unload a truck with one novice. The novice had no clue how to assemble my bed frame. Six unnecessary holes later, I showed him hold to assemble it.
Many things are missing from my move, some are broken. The top of a twig end table was snapped off. The company will send an assessor out. In a few more weeks, someone will come out to repair the damaged floors and my things. My grandmother's bowl is missing and that is near and dear to me.
Buyer beware!!
The sixth move was basically ok. Several things were broken at my former house including a damaged wall. Moving things into this house, repeated the same scenario. I paid for unpacking and the boxes to be removed and the company told me it would be a unpartial unpack.
The same salesperson handled these moves. This person is a pathological liar as is just about everyone with whom I have dealt. They will be reported to the Better Business Bureau for starters.
Moving is always a challenge. No one should be allowed to drive nine hours straight, then unload a truck with one novice. The novice had no clue how to assemble my bed frame. Six unnecessary holes later, I showed him hold to assemble it.
Many things are missing from my move, some are broken. The top of a twig end table was snapped off. The company will send an assessor out. In a few more weeks, someone will come out to repair the damaged floors and my things. My grandmother's bowl is missing and that is near and dear to me.
Buyer beware!!
Monday, July 30, 2018
Empty House
Detective McGirth was lazy beyond his years. Between his love of pork, pork rinds, mashed potatoes and dessert, he grew in size year after year. A man waiting for a heart attack, some would say.
His wife, Lizzie had been pilfering from the community homeowner's association for years. He enjoyed the run off from that money. Shortly after he learned of this, the deputies told him they would cover for her crimes. After all, police have a code of conduct. And it isn't one for the citizen; it is a code for one another. They do not squeal on fellow officers. Ever.
Living in a small town, everyone knew or were related to everyone else. The detective's wife was best friends with Julie's sister. The wife knew about the affair and was happy Julie's sister had finally found a good man. As any man knows, when mama isn't happy, no one is happy. McGirth would keep his wife's secret. He would also cover up the murder of Julie's boyfriend.
McGirth knew what was going on. He only had to look at the lights that were on in Julie's bedroom and see the white van in her driveway to know. When the lights slowly dimmed throughout the house, he knew. McGirth was lazy, not stupid.
Julie didn't have a history of making good choices. She, like her best friend, was also a spiteful kind of person. When another woman, Carlie, went after Julie's boyfriend, Julie wasn't about to give up so easy.
Carlie was highly allergic to bee stings. She carried an Epi-pen with her at all times. Julie suggested Carlie and she hike in the mountains. When Carlie went to the restroom, Julie put her her cloth clothes and removed her Epi-pen from her backpack and hid it. She neatly tucked her cloth clothes back into her own backpack. Since Carlie didn't know the trails, Julie volunteered to be her guide.
It was a hot day with no relief in sight. A bee stung Carlie near her jugular vein and collapsed instantly. Death ensued within ten minutes.
Julie lifted Carlie into the white van and covered her in 6 mil plastic and drove around until she stopped on a ridge near her best friend, Lizzie. Lizzie would know what to do. But she wasn't sure she wanted to involve Lizzie. When she heard the crushing of leaves as though someone or something was walking in her direction, she hid under the plastic. As he footsteps got closer, she panicked and came out of the van. She thought that no one would dare look inside so she could have time to conjure up a story.
Just then, Beth, Lizzie's neighbor who also knew Julie and her sister appeared by the white van.
They say families often have pathology. Or traits even. Spitefulness was in Julie's family. They would get even no matter the cost. Betrayal was a curse throughout generations.
And get even they did. When Lizzie returned home, she found a note from Julie's inside her detective husband's jeans.
"Honey, meet me for coffee in town."
- Julie
Detective McGirth had been leaving for work early the past few months.
"It's quite an involved case," he told Lizzie.
But Lizzie suspected her best friend. She had done it to others. And she had no standards.
That night when the detective returned from work, Lizzie had her own surprise for him.
A large red sign hung from the second bedroom.
"Honey, meet me for coffee in town."
- your girlfriend, Julie
McGirth stopped his patrol car dead in the driveway looking up. He slowly walked to the front door and opened it. The house was totally empty.
His wife, Lizzie had been pilfering from the community homeowner's association for years. He enjoyed the run off from that money. Shortly after he learned of this, the deputies told him they would cover for her crimes. After all, police have a code of conduct. And it isn't one for the citizen; it is a code for one another. They do not squeal on fellow officers. Ever.
Living in a small town, everyone knew or were related to everyone else. The detective's wife was best friends with Julie's sister. The wife knew about the affair and was happy Julie's sister had finally found a good man. As any man knows, when mama isn't happy, no one is happy. McGirth would keep his wife's secret. He would also cover up the murder of Julie's boyfriend.
McGirth knew what was going on. He only had to look at the lights that were on in Julie's bedroom and see the white van in her driveway to know. When the lights slowly dimmed throughout the house, he knew. McGirth was lazy, not stupid.
Julie didn't have a history of making good choices. She, like her best friend, was also a spiteful kind of person. When another woman, Carlie, went after Julie's boyfriend, Julie wasn't about to give up so easy.
Carlie was highly allergic to bee stings. She carried an Epi-pen with her at all times. Julie suggested Carlie and she hike in the mountains. When Carlie went to the restroom, Julie put her her cloth clothes and removed her Epi-pen from her backpack and hid it. She neatly tucked her cloth clothes back into her own backpack. Since Carlie didn't know the trails, Julie volunteered to be her guide.
It was a hot day with no relief in sight. A bee stung Carlie near her jugular vein and collapsed instantly. Death ensued within ten minutes.
Julie lifted Carlie into the white van and covered her in 6 mil plastic and drove around until she stopped on a ridge near her best friend, Lizzie. Lizzie would know what to do. But she wasn't sure she wanted to involve Lizzie. When she heard the crushing of leaves as though someone or something was walking in her direction, she hid under the plastic. As he footsteps got closer, she panicked and came out of the van. She thought that no one would dare look inside so she could have time to conjure up a story.
Just then, Beth, Lizzie's neighbor who also knew Julie and her sister appeared by the white van.
They say families often have pathology. Or traits even. Spitefulness was in Julie's family. They would get even no matter the cost. Betrayal was a curse throughout generations.
And get even they did. When Lizzie returned home, she found a note from Julie's inside her detective husband's jeans.
"Honey, meet me for coffee in town."
- Julie
Detective McGirth had been leaving for work early the past few months.
"It's quite an involved case," he told Lizzie.
But Lizzie suspected her best friend. She had done it to others. And she had no standards.
That night when the detective returned from work, Lizzie had her own surprise for him.
A large red sign hung from the second bedroom.
"Honey, meet me for coffee in town."
- your girlfriend, Julie
McGirth stopped his patrol car dead in the driveway looking up. He slowly walked to the front door and opened it. The house was totally empty.
Friday, July 27, 2018
Fallen Oaks
I was beyond tired from the move. Everything went exceedingly well. I kept thinking about the woman in the woods with a Glock. She looked so familiar. For a moment, I thought it was my neighbor, Julie's sister.
Then there was the dead body in the van. But I didn't dare take a look.
The children of the detective are preteens and the coyotes are clearly more afraid of them than to come close enough to do harm. Besides, parents need to parent. But Beth forgot, that children today are society's problem, not the responsibility of their parents.
The detective's wife is often seen driving her Lincoln SUV about town. Beth never gave that much thought until the first homeowner's association meeting. The detective's wife was on the board of Beth's community homeowner's association in the capacity of vice president. The vice president/wife was also the next door neighbor and friend of the Oakwood Homeowner's Association president. One would think a detective's wife who was also the association's vice president, would surely see a conflict of interest as the president deposited homeowner association dues into her personal account.
Julie and her son were at odds for some time. His girlfriend and he were arrested for severely injuring Julie last year. Both Julie and her son had numerous DUI charges against them. There were other problems. Julie was constantly fighting with her sister. The sister and her husband had been estranged for some time.
"Hey, Beth, how have you been?"
"Fine, except for the allegedly murder-suicide in Oakwood."
"OMG, I knew that woman," the manager said.
"She told me just last week that there was a man that was going to kill her," the manager added.
The following day Beth was on her way to the airport. Her flight was delayed and hour. She knew the thrift store manager wouldn't contact the Sheriff's office with her information about Julie's death. Beth contacted Detective McGirth who assured her he would call the manager and interview her.
Even on the plane, that never quite sat well with Beth. She decided to pay the woman another visit when she returned to town in a few days.
"Hey you, the store looks great! Love the smell of apple cinnamon," Beth said.
"Thanks, we re-merchandised, do you really like it?"
"It is really attractive," Beth said.
"Should be, you sure donated enough here," the manager said.
"Hey, do you know Detective McGirth?"
"Do I know him? He is one lazy man. Didn't investigate the burglary in my sister's house. He doesn't do a thing!" the manager said.
Then there was the dead body in the van. But I didn't dare take a look.
The following morning my neighbor phoned. Sometime in the middle of the night, Julie and her male friend died. Right under the nose of the county sheriff's detective. McGirth wasn't the sharpest pencil in the drawer. Only last year he boasted of using his silencer to murder two coyotes in his yard.
"They could git my kids, " he said.
"They could git my kids, " he said.
Beth did her best not to appear shocked. After all, McGirth was her neighbor and she wanted to ensure some sense of civility with him. But living in the southern Appalachians means just about everyone carries a weapon. It also means people are cavalier about using them when wild animals enter their land. Risk or not.
The children of the detective are preteens and the coyotes are clearly more afraid of them than to come close enough to do harm. Besides, parents need to parent. But Beth forgot, that children today are society's problem, not the responsibility of their parents.
The detective's wife is often seen driving her Lincoln SUV about town. Beth never gave that much thought until the first homeowner's association meeting. The detective's wife was on the board of Beth's community homeowner's association in the capacity of vice president. The vice president/wife was also the next door neighbor and friend of the Oakwood Homeowner's Association president. One would think a detective's wife who was also the association's vice president, would surely see a conflict of interest as the president deposited homeowner association dues into her personal account.
When a new board was formed the following year, community representatives spoke to the Sheriff's department regarding this. They were escorted to a small room in the back of the department. The door was closed abruptly.
"You need to let this go," the lieutenant said.
The new president and her board were taken aback. Speechless. They wondered how a detective's salary could afford a new Lincoln SUV. They couldn't get out of the room fast enough.
There were other things that didn't fit. Detective McGirth lives in front of Julie. To the right of him is the Pesty family. The Pesty's have a surveillance camera posted facing their driveway and the road with a sweeping view. Yet no one in the Sheriff's Department examined the suveillance footage.
Julie and her son were at odds for some time. His girlfriend and he were arrested for severely injuring Julie last year. Both Julie and her son had numerous DUI charges against them. There were other problems. Julie was constantly fighting with her sister. The sister and her husband had been estranged for some time.
When Julie did not answer her phone for two days, a friend stopped by. The back door of her home was left ajar. Julie and her male friend were inside. Julie was found on the floor, her male friend on the bed. A gun was near his hand. Both were unclothed.
Could the son have caught his mother and her friend in an intimate moment? Could he have been on drugs at the time? Was Julie's sister, the woman I saw in the woods, the same woman I video'd on my cell phone involved? Did the son seize the opportunity to destroy both of them since he was the only child and heir apparent to whatever Julie had accumulated financially? This incident was kept secret for five days by the county Sheriff's Department.
Six days after their deaths, Julie's family drove from Florida and completely emptied the house. A For Sale sign went up the same day.
Beth had been an investigative reporter for a few years. She was shopping in a store in town, when the manager of a thrift shop happened by. Beth had donated many things to the store and the thrift shop manager had been to her home numerous times picking up furniture in their truck.
"Hey, Beth, how have you been?"
"Fine, except for the allegedly murder-suicide in Oakwood."
"OMG, I knew that woman," the manager said.
"She told me just last week that there was a man that was going to kill her," the manager added.
The following day Beth was on her way to the airport. Her flight was delayed and hour. She knew the thrift store manager wouldn't contact the Sheriff's office with her information about Julie's death. Beth contacted Detective McGirth who assured her he would call the manager and interview her.
Even on the plane, that never quite sat well with Beth. She decided to pay the woman another visit when she returned to town in a few days.
"Hey you, the store looks great! Love the smell of apple cinnamon," Beth said.
"Thanks, we re-merchandised, do you really like it?"
"It is really attractive," Beth said.
"Should be, you sure donated enough here," the manager said.
"Hey, do you know Detective McGirth?"
"Do I know him? He is one lazy man. Didn't investigate the burglary in my sister's house. He doesn't do a thing!" the manager said.
"Wait. So he never stopped into the store to ask any questions? I mean you are just down the street and everyone shops here."
"He never called or came to interview me. Nothing," she said.
"This doesn't fit. People do not quarrel or fight undressed, especially women."
Beth requested a copy of the autopsy from the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner in North Carolina. No toxicology studies were done. Inspection of the police report never discussed fingerprints on the gun allegedly used other than it was a Glock. Nor was her home dusted for fingerprints. The report said it all.
Suicide.
There was far more to the story. Why was the detective in such a hurry to close out this case?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)