A little Saturday night excitement

Helicopters circling overhead, police SUV vehicles racing down our street—and me oblivious to all of it until a breathless Jordan came to the cottage to alarm me. The story was vague at first—a kidnapping and a car wreck, with the assumption the car wreck freed the kidnap victim, billed as a girl (could be anywhere from seven or so to 20).

Then more details trickled in, though I doubt any of it is official. The car was stolen in Waco and wrecked in the creek east of Lily B. Elementary—where those desperadoes thought they were going is a mystery since all streets in that area dead end at the creek. So the next report was that state troopers with machine guns were searching the creek, looking for three people.

Jordan and I sat on the patio but when the helicopters began circling overhead again, she rushed me inside, told me to lock the door, and said she be back with her key. So now she’s back, with a report they are still looking for the suspects, including a Black man with an Afro.

In the midst of all this, Christian has gone to Tokyo Café to pick up our dinners.

This is the stuff of a thriller—too bad I write cozies. I asked Jordan what she would do if the kidnap victim came to her door. She said, and I applaud this, she would step outside, lock the door, and call 911. She would do that to protect her family. It occurred to me, since so much is unknown, that the girl who came to someone’s front door could well be one of the criminals deciding to cover herself with the story of a kidnapping. Hard-hearted as it may sound, we have to consider all possibilities these days.

Meantime I am locked in my cottage, wishing for fresh air.

Bulletin: one person still at large (no word on how many in custody). Girl claims she was kidnapped in Waco, and troopers have been pursuing them since Waco. If all that pans out, it was a terrifying experience for the girl. The possibilities are endless—darn, maybe I should try my hand at a thriller. I don’t mean to sound insensitive. It’s just hard to process that this goes down in your own quiet, lovely neighborhood.

We’ve had a string of happy hour nights, which I’ve thoroughly enjoyed, but I was looking forward to a low-key, calm night tonight. Because the Burtons were to be gone for several nights, I had lined up guests every night. Between cooking myself dinners and happy hours at night, I was kind of tired.

The Burtons meanwhile turned their unexpected stay at home into parties and had two, small, distanced happy hours on the front porch to celebrate Christian’s birthday. No, I won’t say which one, but I will say it’s not decade changing although he, like my younger son and other son-in-law are approaching that milestone—they were  all born in the same year.

Last night was a special treat. Jordan had a surprise guest for Christian—his friend Gary from Dallas, with whom he went to college (a few years ago, ahem!). I knew Gary but not well until one day Christian said, “You ought to friend Gary on Facebook.” I replied I wasn’t sure he even knew who I was, but Christian said, “Oh, he knows.” Since then, Gary and I have become fast friends, sharing everything from simpatico politics to a love of dogs and some thoughts on food. I promised him next time he came to Fort Worth, I’d make tuna casserole, but that didn’t seem fair on Christian’s birthday—he hates tuna. Anyway, we visited late last night on the patio, after the other guests had gone, and this morning, again on the patio, over coffee. Such a pleasure! And he has promised to come back. In spite of huge differences, including age, I feel like I’ve found a brother under the skin.

Apparently, all is quiet on the western—or wait, eastern—front right now, so I have my patio door open and am enjoying a pleasant, if slightly hot night. First sound of helicopters, I’m locking the doors. Hope to read more in the morning and untangle this neighborhood thriller.

Where are the good guys today?

This was one of those days that it was hard to clear your mind and go about business. For me, the most pleasant moment was happy hour. Five-thirty is Sophie’s  favorite time of the day. When she senses that we are about to go out to the patio, she runs in and out excitedly. If I am slow—getting my sunglasses or phone, for instance—she runs back in and looks at me as if to say, “Well, are you coming or not?” Tonight she seemed to know that neighbor Mary was coming, and she sat expectantly watching the driveway. I thought it made a cute picture.

My sisters and brothers in Sisters in Crime consider it gospel that you should never talk about religion or politics on social media. You might alienate readers, and heaven knows, we all want each possible sale. I’ve been thinking a lot about that today. I rarely if ever talk about religion, certainly never to suggest what someone should or should not believe. I may occasionally allude to the way my faith governs my beliefs and actions, but that’s it. On politics, I am more outspoken, compelled by my conscience to speak out. If you truly believe that the nation—or a particular person—is leading us to disaster and you can express that in calm and reasonable terms, I think you are morally obligated to speak out. Otherwise, we become a nation of sheep.

But the two—politics and religion—collided last night when the White House ordered Lafayette Square in DC cleared of peaceful protestors so that the squatting president could have a photo op in front of St. John’s Church. It was wrong on so many levels, all of which have been thoroughly explored on social media today—the unbelievable violence against peaceful protestors, the arrogance of a man who defies Christian principles holding a Bible (upside down and backwards), the hubris of trespassing on church property—and forcing church personnel to flee for their lives.

Did it gain him any votes? Not from anyone I heard. All I have heard and read today is scornful. Except from trump himself, who apparently tweeted, “Thank you, Mr. President” for clearing “violent” protestors.

Across the country, we are witnessing a terrible irony: some cops are using brutal methods to quell peaceful protests—against police brutality. They are making the people’s argument for them, their actions demonstrating the need for drastic and thorough reform of police departments, their education, government oversight. I haven’t yet heard much call for training in compassion, but surely that too is needed.

But increasingly, we are seeing examples of police reaching out, walking with protestors, kneeling and praying with them. These are the men and women who set the example we need. God bless them. I was proud of Fort Worth last night where an eight o’clock curfew cleared the streets, and the chief of police, among others, took a knee and prayed with protestors. We need more of that and less rhetoric about dominating the battlefield. Trump seems to want a civil war; we need to show him peaceful cooperation.

Does anyone else have the feeling as I do that the trauma in this country is building toward some sort of a climax? I don’t sense that these protests will stop as those after Martin Luther King, Jr.’s assassination did or the riots after the beating of Rodney King. Tonight the marches seem more peaceful, but I think the public won’t soon be distracted. I hope I’m right. But I wish I had a magic lantern that would show me the future. I cannot begin to think how this unrest will end, how the national will ever get back to normal or to a new and better normal. Still, I remain hopeful.

Life picks up the pace

After my three-days of cabin fever, life got a little more exciting this morning. When I opened my email, I found several messages from FB Friends who had received a friend request from me. Some were puzzled, but others weren't...and neither was I. I had an impersonator. Someone had copied all my pictures and information and sent requests to people who were already my friends. Apparently they do this to collect information on others and to send harmful links, hoping  you will open them because you trust me. Somewhere along the way, this impersonator changed his/her name from Judy Alter to July Alter which gave some a clue. I changed my password and tried to report the site to FB--but I never could pull it up, so apparently the impersonator was smart enough to block me.
But what thrilled me was the support from my FB friends--many, many wrote to tell me about it, some with helpful suggestions, others saying they had reported it to FB. Some joked, some took it seriously, but it took me all morning to answers messages and deal with this problem. Not sure I've done that successfully yet, but I do want to thank everyone for their support.
My day of deception wasn't over (Deception is a keyword in the title of a forthcoming Kelly O'Connell Mystery). My daughter, grandson, and I left for lunch about 11:30, only to find a shabby green car with no hubcaps, scraped paint, and lots of signs of abuse, parked in front of my house for no reason. The man driving was on his phone, and there was a woman in the back. Couldn't tell who was in the passenger seat.
In my neighborhood we have recently been warned of an increase in break-ins between 10 a.m. and 2 p.m. A special warning was out for a car with no hubcaps and three Hispanic males. Naturally I was a bit concerned and suggested Jordan drive around the block (I often do this when I see suspicious cars). Confusion ensued, not helped by Jacob's continuing comments--apparently, as I didn't realize until later, the whole episode scared him. Finally we parked at a stop sign where we could see the car and called 911--we have been repeatedly urged to do that when something is suspicious. Better safe than sorry. As we finally took off for lunch, Jordan called my neighbor Jay, and he said he'd go check it out. By the time he got there, the car was gone. The police said they would check the neighborhood. Calling was good for two reasons: it shows people we're serious about neighborhood protection, and the more calls police get the more attention they pay to the neighborhood.
Jay joined us for a beer where we were lunching, and we rehashed the whole thing. Jacob spent the lunch hour watching for police cars--finally saw two--and was ecstatic when he saw a helicopter, which he assumed had taken the bad guys. When we got back to the house, the first thing he did was rush inside and reassure me that my computer was still there.
Wow! More excitement than I'd had in three days.
About cabin fever, I've decided the Lord helps those who help themselves. I knew I was a couch (maybe computer) potato those three days. So today I resolved to take charge of my life--a lesson I learn over and over. I did my yoga, did a lot of household chores, especially taking plants back outside and watering, and resolved to watch what I eat and drink. Fell down a bit on the latter--when we went to lunch at a hamburger place, Jordan ordered us each wine, though I had a chicken salad sandwich which was really good. Then she came back after Jacob's play date about 4:30 and wanted more wine. Then at 5:30 I went to supper with Betty--meatloaf, black-eyed peas, and green beans, and another glass of wine. I'll be going to bed early tonight, but it sure beats days of isolation.
Happy Thanksgiving to each and every one.