Drink and Be Merry

Onward I march through November eager for December and Christmas. Halloween was over too quick. I got to do the tricker treater thing for the first time from my own threshold. It was fun, but at one point I saw a tall hooded visitor and wondered, how do you know if all come for candy? I was glad to have another person with me to keep me safe. I was going to tell you that person was my husband, but then I didn't want you to get the idea that I needed a man to make me feel safe. It really was having another person there to help in case of an assault on my front door. It is a very dangerous holiday in my mind. Someone knocks and you open the door with no real way of knowing who it is, other than their size and are you going to ignore the door just because the shadow on your doorstep is a little taller than average? I suppose you must to be completely safe, but then we  return to the phrase trick or treat. If I don't treat than I can almost assuredly wait for a trick by morning. No one destroyed our pumpkins and in my life that has only happened once when I was six, probably one of the worst ages for such a calamity. However, the house behind us was broken into, two police cars parked and searched our properties. It is strange how little authorities tell you, probably for safety, but it is alarming to see two sets of flashing lights and have no idea what is going on.

Fickle Motivation

I find myself thinking, "I should blog about this" just about every day of the week. Rarely does my motivation coincide with the inspiration. One thing on my mind right now is Natasha Pettigrew. She is a cyclist who was hit by an escalade. Christy Littleford, the driver, dragged her bicycle four miles to her home. The driver claims that she thought she hit a deer. It is impossible to not wonder whether she knew she had hit a person or not. This question is of the utmost importance. Important to Natasha's survival is that key fact. Important to Christy's innocence and continued freedom. The kind of woman I am is completely different from this woman. I would have stopped immediately to see what I was dragging. Of course, then again, maybe not. The horrible scraping noise of the bike would have been impossible to ignore and horrible to endure, even for a scant four miles. I entertain the notion that I would stop, but running home to my theoretical take charge husband, would be very appealing. Even ignoring everything would be appealing, in order to suspend reality.

Natasha's family and friends are grieving and lashing out for a sense of justice, which is harsher punishment for the driver. It is penalty enough to hit a person with your car and know that you caused their death. Not to mention the definite charge and future conviction of manslaughter.  In the driver's defense, Natasha was not wearing reflective safety gear nor did her bicycle have a light attached to it. When riding in the darkness of dawn or dusk, reflective material or lights are essential. This is a tragic story, but there can be no proven malice or ill intent in the accident. Whether innocent or guilty of knowingly running down a person on a bicycle, Mrs. Littleford's conscience, knowledge, and regret will stand as punishment for a lifetime.

A rose by any other name...

There is a place on the border of Minnesota and Canada called International Falls. My husband saw International Falls on the map and was instantly excited to go there to visit falls that would rival Niagra. We stayed the night in Two Harbor, MN on Lake Superior. Knowing we were going to see giant falls in International Falls, we skipped Gooseberrry Falls and instead toured two lighthouses. They were absolutely gorgeous and offered us an opportunity to do a little rock scampering. At about 1:00, we set out on the road for International Falls. Five hours later, as I snoozed we pulled into our hotel. International Falls was far from the large town we expected. We set out to find the local Chinese Restaurant, one of maybe six restaurants in town. Naturally, we when couldn't find it we drove to see the monumental falls. First, the border gate came into sight, no passports, no Canada for us. As we turned around, surrounding us were industrial buildings. In fact, the buildings lined the river. There was a little green trailer on the side of the road which was labeled "tourist info." It was closed, but a little board gave the history of the town. It turns out we were 106 years too late. There had been a 35 foot waterfall prior to 1905, after which a factory built a reservoir on the river and the falls were immersed underwater. I found our situation deliriously hilarious. We found ourselves in a town whose only claim to fame was a giant smokey bear. International Falls would still be disappointing by another name, but perhaps less misleading.

Dragon Tattoo

I finished The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson, this morning around 3:30. It was impossible to put down. There comes a point with every mystery novel, if it is well written, that you reach a point in the story in which you must continue. Aided by a cozy nest of blankets, rain pelting the windows, and curiosity I simply had to read. There was a line that spoke to me as particularly clever and absurd. On page 471, "Yes," Blomkvist said without hesitation, "Martin was dafter than a syphilitic polecat--where do I get these metaphors from?" The author of course, Mr. Blomkvist. After recently reading Steven King, who blatantly wrote himself into the story line, it is nice to see a line which alludes to the author. I'm sure Larsson found the line preposterous, but it probably refused to leave his mind. I'm waiting to read the next book after I finish the stack I have collected from the library. Even when I am ready for it, I will probably resist because there will be no more novels coming from this literary genius who passed too soon.

M to M

M to M, rather than M&M's, although I like those too. I have a passing fantasy that I could be a writer and my current lifestyle favors this colossal endeavor. I have been moved from my previous home in Missouri about seven hours north to Minnesota. People here expect me to complain about this "tiny town," but in truth my hometown did not even have a stoplight and I enjoy BFE. The aforementioned is an acronym, I have previously used, knowing it mean the middle of nowhere, but not the words for each of the letters. I googled it the other day. Do you know what it means? It is ethnically inappropriate and vulgar. Which makes the previous statement quite funny, "I enjoy..."