I will say up front that I’m not sure I would have lived through what Katie Allison Granju is going through, but man, I laughed when I read this part of her post today:
Chris pleaded with him to find out what R and Y’s role in the overdose and physical injuries might have been, since they had been alone with our teenager in their house trailer for 15 or so hours before paramedics were called. Detective H told him that R and Y were very nice people who had no role in anything that had happened. He told Chris that they could not be involved in drug dealing prostitution because their house trailer and cars were too beat up and trashy. He explained that if R and Y were involved in these criminal activities, they would have more money for nicer things. [emphasis mine]
Oh, really? REALLY? Man, could you imagine how hard a cop would laugh if any drug dealer tried that line on said cop? That, if he were actually a criminal, he’d be more successful at it?! Oh, well, open the jails and let all the poor people out. Obviously, they can’t be involved in criminal activities.
I mean, I’m not a detective, but I can think of another plausible reason I bet someone who deals with people involved with drugs immediately thought of himself.
Oh, I forgot to tell you the most interesting thing about my Grandma’s birthday. She wanted an “atomic cake,” which none of us had heard of, but my aunt called all over and found a bakery in Orland Park that makes them. A layer of yellow, banana-y cake, some banana toping, a layer of white cake and a layer of strawberry topping (which I had to eat around), and a layer of chocolate cake and chocolate frosting, all topped with white frosting.
It was amazing.
But when we asked Grandma if this was the cake she remembered from her youth, she said it was “fine.”
Which, really, doesn’t answer the question.
One thing I love about Tennessee is that right about now, when you think winter is going to be forever and it will just always be cold and muddy, things start to bloom. One daffodil in my yard, the redbuds, some white things I didn’t recognize.
Sure, it’s no good for one’s allergies, but it’s good for one’s soul.
I am very, very grateful every time the Butcher opens his wallet to pay for things, since it has been so very, very long since he could do that. But I’ll admit that I hate that the dog is alone all day, even though I know she just sleeps, since that’s what she does when we’re here.
Still, poor Mrs. Wigglebottom. She’s been following me around all morning like she knows a boring day is coming.