My Driveway's in Jail

Yes, I did just say that. It's even in the newspaper.

Actually, it's not my entire driveway, that would be ridiculous! Who's ever heard of an entire driveway going to jail? Well, maybe in Canada - out in the lawless North Country or something, but not here.

To be accurate, it's not even my driveway as much as it's a piece of a of a wall adjacent to my driveway. I live on the bottom of a hill. A retaining wall of paver stones holds up part of my landscaping - my rare collection of poison ivy, poison oak and some pachysandra that got in there somehow.

They arrested my paving stone. And I wasn't even home to see the action. It made the news here in the rollicking non-stop mecca of excitement where I live. The problem is; my paving stone is no longer just a paving stone. It's now evidence. So, it currently

resides in a police station, in a bag, longing for its brother and sister paving stones. Maybe I'll visit it in jail tomorrow.

Here is the article, edited a bit to protect the not-so-innocent.

TEEN ASSAULT SUSPECT LINKED TO GANG: COPS

NEW YORK — Police say that a Village teenager who has been charged with two assaults this month is tied to attempts to organize gang activity in the village.

Dummy 1, 19, was charged Sunday with second-degree assault, weapons possession, criminal mischief and reckless endangerment.

Police say Dummy 1 threw a paving stone through a window at the Hillman Avenue home of Dummy 2, 22. When Dummy 2 pursued Dummy 1, Dummy 2 was stabbed and suffered minor injuries.

Dummy 1 and Random Dummy, 28, of the Village, were both charged with assault in an incident earlier this month.

"We've been having a lot of ongoing issues between Dummies and their friends," said Sgt. Mr. Man, noting there have also been baseball bat fights in the past week.

Dummy 1 was sent to County Jail on $100,000 cash bail and is scheduled to appear Wednesday in Village Court.

Monopoly Go to Jail Card copyright Hasbro.

Mother's Day

My daughter gave me a copy of this photo in a frame this morning. She said "I know you miss your Mommy, so this is from her."

She's so thoughtful...puts a lot of thought into any gift she gives, from a souvenir she brings home for her friend from Florida to things like this. She remembers her a little. She was in 1st grade when my Mom died. A few years before, I remember her sleeping on my Mom's couch early in the morning and woke up to find my mother looking over at her watching her sleep. It had taken a lot of effort to get out of bed and into the wheelchair by herself without waking anyone. I looked at them. They looked so much alike. It was as though my DNA had skipped a generation and my daughter ended up almost as a clone of my Mom. She was lucky.

My mother looked up at me and had an unusual expression on her face. It wasn't really sad, I think if I had to find a word for it, it would be acceptance.

"Look at her sleeping, she looks like a little woman. It's a shame I won't get to see her grow up."

I told her not to talk that way, that of course she would see her grow up, but my Mom smiled at me and said. "Of course honey. I know." She knew the truth. I refused to accept it.

I watch my daughter growing more each day. She's getting so tall, so feminine. I don't think she realizes how beautiful she is. Anyone who looks at her comments on it but she doesn't seem to notice it herself. She's kind and thoughtful, methodical and meticulous. She's quick to forgive but slow to forget. Her humor's so dry that people don't expect it from such a little girl. Sometimes they walk away confused - that's okay, they'll get it later. She's so much like my Mother that it makes me question nature vs. nurture - I'm leaning toward nature.

If the gods continue to smile upon me, I'll get to see her grow up. I just hope that my Mom was wrong.

I hope she's watching too.

It's There...

It's there...in the back of my mind. When I'm sitting at a meeting at work, (and let me tell you...there have been a lot of meetings lately.). When I'm making dinner. When I'm ordering Chinese Food because I'm too tired to make dinner. When I'm falling asleep, the first few moments in the morning when I'm having my coffee and enjoying a moment of solitude...it's there. It's telling me...

"It's time to sit down and get back to work. We have stories to tell and you're not letting us out. There are words waiting to play. Come on now...we've been waiting and enough is enough!"

It's time to write. It's not just something I want to do. I need to do it. I can usually wait until the last day of school, when I come home that first day of summer vacation in the late morning and immediately go out to my back deck and pour a huge glass of ice water and open my laptop - and then I'm free. I write and write until it's dark. Then I come inside and write some more, sometimes until it's light outside again. I take the necessary breaks to drive children to camp/friends/ice cream stands/movies and then later pick up those children from camp/friends, ice cream stands/movies. I try to make healthier meals than I do during the school year when I'm so exhausted that I sometimes wonder how much longer I can physically handle my job. I'm a Mom. I see dear friends I don't get the chance to catch up with during the year. I pay more attention to my pets, catch up with my Dad, make snacks for children's sleepovers...but mostly...I write. I sleep in short intervals from about 3 am to 7 am. I have dark circles under my eyes. I don't dry my hair and it turns into a wavy wild mess. But I'm happy!

The problem is that this year, the stories are banging at the door - demanding to get out - and I still have about six weeks left until I can really let them loose. I'll go to bed now since it's past 11 pm and I have to get up at 5 am - but before I fall asleep I'll probably do some plotting in my mind. That appeases them for a bit. I'll watch everyone I see and wonder why they do what they do. I'll observe and file away my thoughts for a few more weeks. When I was a child I loved Harriet the Spy. I WAS Harriet the Spy (minus the affluent neighborhood). Louise Fitzhugh knew exactly how to describe a girl with a driving need to write down everything she saw and thought. When her notebooks were taken away, she was lost. I'm like that with my laptop...like Harriet without her notebook.

Six more weeks. It can't come soon enough.