PRISMS AND POLKA DOTS

The boyfriend and I are taking time today to ponder the unfolding of life.  We both are convinced that a loving hand hovers over us and tends to our most vulnerable times.

It cannot be a coincidence that this weekend, of all weekends, we were asked to watch little girl Buffy Boo (my pet name for her).  In one day, she has bonded with us.  Oh, and let me stand corrected.  Buffy weighs 4 pounds, not 5 as I wrote yesterday.  At five months old, when I throw a toy across the room, she's quick to fetch and bring it back to me.  I tease that she may be a little fox or a little wolf.  She looks at me, tilts her head to one side and then the other, like she's understanding every word I say.

  

The aroma of beef stew is floating through the house.  It's a crock pot kinda day.  Buffy Boo will be going home at 4:30, and after that we'll have a toddy or two and then a bowl of stew.  

I've been watching snippets of the Darrell Brooks trial on YT.  He's the individual who drove his vehicle through crowds of people at a parade in Wisconsin.  He asked to represent himself and purposefully acted like a deranged fool through the entire trial.  At times he had to be removed from the courtroom into another courtroom.  Never could I have envisioned such a display of dishonor in an American courtroom.   Throughout the trial, the prosecuting attorneys and Judge Jennifer Dorow handled themselves with unimaginable finesse.  It's sickening how the judge and prosecution had to tolerate and tip-toe around such behavior, because they didn't want to give the defendant a shred of opportunity for a successful appeal.    The jury returned a verdict of guilty after two hours of deliberation, and thank Heaven he was sentenced to consecutive terms of life in prison without the possibility of parole.  Watching Judge Dorow and the prosecuting attorneys wipe away their tears with Kleenex indicates the level of sorrowful emotion during the victim impact statements.  

The Iowa-Illinois football game is on the telly.  Score is 2-0.  

Until the morrow, ta-ta.