Injustice

Today our local paper carried another article highlighting the obscene injustice in our courts.

In 2015, a forty-two year old (caucasian) man picked up a twenty-one year old prostitute and took her to the outskirts of our city. When he could not perform the sexual service he had contracted with her, he pushed her out of his truck, naked from the waist down and locked the door. In an effort to stop the man from driving away with her clothes, purse and cell phone, the woman ran around to the front of his truck. The man drove forward, knocking her down and drove over her legs, leaving her injured and unable to summon help. The woman managed to walk two blocks to the highway, where a good Samaritan picked her up and drove her to the hospital.

Last year, this man was found guilty of assault with a vehicle.  This week he returned to court for sentencing. 

The judge sentenced the man to ninety days in jail, to remind him and others that a vehicle cannot be used as a weapon, although he did note that he did not feel the man intended any harm but he was ‘wilfully blind’ to the harm his actions would cause. He also sentenced the man to a three year probation order, personal grief and trauma counselling as well as addiction treatment. Finally, to ensure this man did not feel too hard done by, the judge ordered that his jail time could be served on weekends so he could keep his job. It was noted that this poor deluded SOB had a record involving a number of serious offences but this was the first time he had ever been given a jail sentence.

Other than a few words noting that the victim had entered a victim impact statement in which she mentioned that she still suffers from nerve injury, there was no mention of the victim. There was certainly no indication of compassion or consideration towards her, as far as the judge was concerned.

There is so much wrong with this picture that I cannot even begin. Why are there so many of these entitled losers causing so much grief and harm to women? Why are the powers that be so reluctant to hold them accountable? This is disgusting, already.

The Care Bears are Coming to Our Town

Genie at the Wheel

Fifteen years ago we bought our granddaughter a pink ride on car that played an annoying little Care Bear song. Genie loved that car and rode it non-stop for two summers. She obviously had her mother’s love for being at the wheel – and her questionable taste in music πŸ˜‚. Six months ago, at fifteen and a half, Genie got her learners license and bought her mother’s mini van. Yesterday, less than a week after her sixteenth birthday, Genie went through her driver’s test and passed on her first try. πŸ‘

Having her license, and her own vehicle, will be a good thing in a lot of ways. Genie will be able to drive herself and her younger brother, Rory, to highschool. She will be able to drive herself to work. She will be able to run errands and take her little sisters places they need to go. She will have the freedom to take herself places that may not otherwise be accessible to her. It will be an asset on future resumes. There are a lot of positives.

Of course, this independence comes with a lot of responsibility and concern for those of us who love her. When Genie gets upset, she walks or rides her bike – for miles. She can go so much farther, so much faster, with real wheels beneath her. Will she drive when she is upset? There are other less responsible and less kind teenagers that do not have a vehicle or their license yet. Will they take advantage of our sweet little girl who has worked so hard for what she has? Then of course, we live in Saskatchewan. For the better part of each year, our roads are covered with ice and snow and our dark of night extends long into what should be daylight hours. Driving is challenging for experienced drivers, how dangerous will it be for our newbie? Finally, Genie will be sharing the road with a host of other drivers, some who should not be behind the wheel of a vehicle. Will she have the skill to avoid them?

There are some steps to independence and adulthood that are more notable and daunting for teenagers and those of us who love them. This is a big one. Fortunately, we know Genie is responsible. We know she will not abuse this privilege or take this responsibility lightly. Still, we hear echoes of the Care Bear song and suddenly she is our innocent, vulnerable, baby girl again. 😲

ThenπŸ’–
And NowπŸ’–

Deadly

On Thursday, the news broke. Another murder suicide. A middle aged couple on the verge of divorce. Husband took his wife’s life and then took his own. Shock and sadness. How can this happen? Why does this keep happening? I have a few thoughts on the subject.

Every time the subject of domestic violence, or any violence for that matter, comes up in Saskatchewan the same comments follow. It is natives, it is poverty, it is refugees. No, it is not. All too often, it is us. It is one of ours. The couple who died last week – white, middle class, nice home in a nice neighbourhood. Robert Picton, the pig farmers who butchered countless native women in British Columbia, one of us. Russell Williams, commander of the Trenton Airforce Base in Ontario, who raped and murdered young women, one of us. Robert Leeming, murdered his room mate/part time girlfriend and her little daughter, one of us. I could go on for pages.

The fact is violence and murder is not confined to any race, socio-economic group,sex or age. We have to quit looking over there and start looking across the board for the actual root causes and red flags. Until then, there is no realistic way we can prevent it, it will keep happening.

Marriage and Divorce

Today is a double anniversary for me. 43 years ago, I got married. Weddings and marriages are supposed to be rated on the positive scale of life. That one wasn’t. By the time I got to my wedding day, I knew I should run. I didn’t.

Today is the 24th anniversary of my divorce. That should be a negative, but it wasn’t. I am proud that I got out. I am proud that I took myself and my three teenagers, my dog and my plant out of a really bad situation. I am proud that I worked my butt off, kept a roof over our heads and food in the cupboards, and decent clothes in our closets. I am proud that I worked my way up from a worn out sedan to a cool reliable, turbo-charged convertible. I am proud that I took my kids on memorable holidays, spent time with them, and gave them the home they deserved – even if it was only for a few years.

Today my kids are on their own, living their own lives and raising their own beautiful families. I am happily married to a good man. He is caring and kind and funny. We have a good life, a new dog and lots of plants.

My divorce was a good thing. The best thing I ever did. There really isn’t a good way to celebrate a divorce. People think you are bitter or angry or awful, if you ever mention it, no matter how good it was. So I don’t.

I do celebrate my first marriage and my divorce every year on October 8th. I don’t make a big deal out of it, no party or anything. I just go for a walk, stomp the hell out of a few flowers, feel good about myself and grateful for the life I have. 😊