Friday February 5, 2016
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Life is hard at times, and at other times it's wonderful. One way or the other, it's the best thing we have, right?
As I type this my right foot is killing me. Sciatica. I've been doing everything I can for it, but haven't had much luck, although I am able to get out of pain by lying down on my side, and I have some hopes that an inversion table I have ordered will help the problem, or at least help me to avoid an operation I have no time for if I am going to take care of Lolly.
I've also discovered that if I go outside and work my butt off the pain goes away. So I've been doing a lot of work around the house.
You know? "When life hands you lemons, make lemonade."
Why did I tell you all that? Because I know doggone well that almost anyone reading this has had some kind of BIG problems at some time, and is VERY glad it's gone, or at least under control.
Life is, I think, a matter of perspective.
I recently read a book written by a NYC prosecutora hundred years ago in which, among other things, he tries to explain why people kill each other.
He lists about 325 different reasons; enough to really make your think. But in the end, setting aside plots to get money and the like, he says it comes down to one simple thing:
Two people get into an argument; one of them kills the other one.
So read this short quote from Reuters:
"Texas man killed in cinema parking lot after argument about movie"
"A man who argued with two other movie goers about the ending of a film was struck outside the cinema by a truck driven by his adversaries and killed."
Think about it. They argued about a movie.
You know how long the killers are going to spend in prison for that moment of anger?
Can anyone out there explain why someone would give up the rest of his life over something like that?
Don't put them in prison for life or any amount of time, execute (is that the word I want?) them. Why should we feed and care for them for the next 40 years or so?
Think of all the money we could save if the prisoners that committed murders would be put to sleep permanently?
I have a brand new inversion table you can use if you come after it. I bought it and found out I couldn't use it because of my BP. Same reason none of my kids can use it,
they all have stents and whatever wrong with their hearts. One of them lost the instructions but you can figure out how to use it. I can't get my email to work again to day. So let me know on here if you want to use the table.
To be honest with you, I don't know what we should do with people like that — as long as it's their first crime, but if they are the type who are in and out of prison for life, wreaking havoc with society, as far as I am concerned they have thrown away their right to be a part of that society. And as precious as life is, I would agree with you.
Thanks, Pat. I have an inversion table now because this string was originally written a while ago, but I sure appreciate the offer.
My sciatica is odd stuff. The inversion table seems to have helped, but what seems to be doing the most good is making up my mind that I had to get back to being me. "Me" is a person who works. All my life I have spent hours and hours each week doing hard physical work, not because I had to but because I can't shake the feeling that work is good, is natural, is what I was put here to do. So I have tried going back to work outside, the theory being that in all the lifting, and carrying, and bending, and stretching, and whatnot I'll stretch my body and get it back in normal shape again. (That's the theory, anyway.}
I love the feeling of using my muscles. And it shows when you come to my house. You can see that someone wanted it to look nice. Plus which, the best reward I get out of life is when I can do something for Lolly, and Lolly always loved having a nicely landscaped house.
Anyway, I am trying to get outside and work hard every day if I can. It's not easy. There's a lot to do when you take care of someone, but by doing a few little things to get more efficient I am managing to use my body more. I tell you, though, it sure had run down, and it's not going to be easy to get back in good shape — not at my age.
Well, enough about me. Thanks again.
Why give these people a second chance to kill someone else? The person they kill doesn't get a second chance to live their life.
If you get stopped for a speeding ticket, the officer doesn't say, ok you won't get a ticket and have to pay a fine, but don't do anything else wrong.
"Tom, Why give these people a second chance to kill someone else?"
You're preaching to the choir on that one, Pat.
I always hate to mention this, or even to think about it, but maybe telling it again will make some soft-headed do-gooder think.
I had a student named Kathy in my homeroom in Texas. Homeroom kids stayed with the same teacher for four years. Poor kid! Her mother, her brother, and her twin sister had all committed suicide, not all at once, at different times. Also, although they were all quote bright, none of them had made it through high school either.
I could see Kathy struggling against depression, and what looked like a certain fate for the four years. But over those four years she slowly progressed, until as a senior we all knew she had finally made it out of the shadow of death.
The night of the senior prom I didn't see her there. It worried me, and it worried a lot of the kids too. I asked around, but no one knew where she was.
The next day, a Saturday, I picked up the newspaper. There was her face on the front page.
One thing that had made Kathy happy toward the end of her senior year was that she had found someone to love. He was an older man, but the kids who knew her seemed to think he was, while not great, "okay."
Two days before the prom she found out he had recently been paroled from prison, where he had served just seven years for the murder of his girlfriend, who he shot and killed. She broke up with him.
The night of the prom she was sitting in a girlfriend's car in front of a fast food place. Her ex-boyfriend came up, pointed a gun at the two of them and told her friend to get out or he would "kill her too." She got out and ran as fast as she could to a phone, but as she ran from the car she heard poor Kathy screaming, "Don't kill me! Don't kill me!"
Then the gun went off.
That moment in my life hardened my attitude toward our justice system in a way that nothing else could have done. To my dying day the image of that poor, sweet, tortured face will be in my head, the face of an 18 year old girl who was shot to death on the day she finally made it through high school and had her whole life ahead of her — shot to death as she pleaded for her life by a man who had murdered another young woman in cold blood, had served just 7 years for it, and had come out and done the exact same thing again.
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