The Occational Irony of Justice

I woke in the wee dark hours of the night, and could hear bad people clamoring outside my bedroom window. I hunkered down in my bed waiting for the worst to happen. Not too worry, shortly thereafter I really woke up. I'd had the b'jillionith 'anxiety' dream I've had since early December when I became a juror in a criminal trial, a murder trial.

Earlier today I tallied up the votes of 11 jurors and myself and felt my heartbeat surge when we came in anonymous in our agreement of second degree murder. Mind, I'm guessing that all of the jurors believe the defendant is guilty of murder in the first degree, but unfortunately, the trail & its evidence as presented to us was so cold and so full of hearsay, we couldn't say so within a reasonable doubt. Were the vote strictly based on gut feelings I am sure we would have gone with first degree murder.

Later, in the courthouse halls after the verdict was read aloud in court, we all had a long chat and got to hear the REAL story from the District Attorney himself. Finally we got to hear what happened leading up to the trial that ended today. Turned out this was the defendant's second trial; the last one ended in a hung jury. The hung jury resulted from just one juror who refused to find the defendant guilty of any crime at all. My jury thinks that former juror must have had her head up her but for now justice prevails.

A few years ago I was on a civil trial and at that trial's end I hadn't learned the name of even one other juror, but for this heart wrenching criminal trial I learned all eleven names and formed respect for everyone in the group, much the same as if were all survivors of a bus crash. We're hoping to get together for a reunion dinner some time in the future.

I must say, nothing like a jury trial to fill you full of patriotic feelings of justice, fair play and such. As stands, the defendant will receive 17 years to life. Here's the rub; the defendant incited, lied and cajouled 2 others to do a brutal murder for him. Then, because the other two individuals (already tried and sentenced) were honest and truly remourseful, they were given long and brutal sentences. But the lying, unremorseful, unrepentant clown we made judgement of for today? He got the shortest sentence of the three of involved in the murder, even though the murder had been solely his idea. The other two were just ignorant, drug addled fools - abeit violent fools - going along with someone else's plan. That so totally sucks.

And of course, the real victims in this are the family and friends of an 18 year old man-child who died in a pool of blood in a city park rest room because he had the bad luck to piss off a very clever and very bad man.

They're baa-ack.....

Bandit Birds

On Sunday afternoon before heading home, Barbara she had a look out the living room picture window, taking a little time to admire the Hawthorn tree, which is currently festooned with bright red berries.

"Are there berries all the way to the top?" I asked.

"Nope," she said.

"YAHOOOOOOO!" said I. They're back... back at last!

The yahoo and general celebration was because when the berries disappear at the top of the Hawthorn tree, it can only mean one thing - they have returned, i.e., the Cedar Waxwings are back!

Measuring His 'Belly to Berry' Ratio

GULP

Those fawn colored birds among my favorites of mine. They are not only beautiful, but I need them to help keep my hawthorne tree under control. As you can see in the photos above, the Waxwings stuff their greedy little gullets with the Hawthorn's red berries which means less berries fall to the ground to sprout into annoying baby Hawthorn trees. Now, how incredibly helpful can a bird be, eh?

Do the Yellow Feathers Make My Arse Look Fat?

Double Neck Twist

Mini Mini-break in the Wine Country

The Friendly Arches in Grass Valley don't come with Fries

I took yesterday off because of my achy knee - I can walk without the crutch now, but it aches and I want to lay off it for a bit. Friday night my friend Barbara drove up from Monterrey (Castroville, otherwise known as Prunetucky for its uh... 'quaint' & sometimes toothless inhabitants).

Haven't had Barb up in ages! On Saturday we drove to Grass Valley to visit Fran for a luncheon date. To our surprise - and delight - Mark was around. Most times he's busy putting in long hours at the Nevada City Winery where he's the little old winemaker (OK, not so old, and not so little, and yes - I am bragging about knowing a gen-u-wine wine maker). Anyway, we invited Mark along and we had a great afternoon of it. Barb and I were supposed to be the benefactors of the meal, but Mark sprang for the check at Tofanelli's and we 'ladies' got to feel genteel, cared for and all that good junk - thanks again Mark!

After lunch we decided a walk down the main drag couldn't do us or our waistlines any harm. I love roaming Grass Valley and/or Nevada City with Fran and Mark, between Fran being a 3rd grade teacher there, and Mark working at the Nevada City Winery, they seem to meet people and kids they know wherever we wander. Apparently that's what living in a small town is all about.

Window Shopping

Didn't get much walking in before I made an Imperial Decision, that dessert was going to be necessary, so we hit the Truffle Shop. Um.... lovely, truffly treats, all delish and most about 100 proof. I a Black Tulip Truffle bitter chocolate and Remy Martin Cognac. *hick*

Hum... maybe there was too much liquor in the truffles - you think?
We ended the day at the Nevada City Winery. I had meant to taste and purchase some wine but by then my knee was achy and I took a pass on the Zinfandel. And speaking of Zin, there was a wee bit of a din next door at the Miner's Foundry which was holding a wee Robert Burrrrrrns celebration. Bagpipes and kilts filled the air - that is there was bagpipe music in the air, not kilts, though the latter would have been just fine with me.

Cheeeeeese... and maybe a little wine

Mark Pouring at the Winery