Finally: Some Calm AFTER the Storm...

After reporting on the largest blizzard of my career, and subsequently digging my home out of three feet of snow, I now have time to sit back and reflect on a few things that are still sharp in my mind - things I witnessed before, during, and after the blizzard. 

1.  I was behind a woman in the grocery store last Wednesday who was buying four dozen eggs.  I'm not sure why someone needs four dozen eggs, unless you are feeding the Connecticut National Guard or baking the world's largest cake.  I had a dozen eggs and I "weathered" things just fine, thank you very much.  Incidentally, I went to a grocery store the day after the blizzard - they had a special on eggs.

2.  I'm amazed when people drive 80 miles per hour on the highway when it's summer.  Then there are those who drive 80 when it's pouring rain.  Can someone explain to me why we were getting passed on Interstate 84 as two to three inches of snow were falling an hour?  Was someone late for a movie?   Late for work?  Trying out for a new "NASCAR" winter series?  Or is there an overwhelming desire to be on the six o'clock news?  (I can assist you with that...)  I was required to be out here - and we kept it at 30 to 40 miles per hour.

3.  I haven't seen towns and cities this quiet since Christmas.  As bad as this storm was for thousands of people, there was something nice about the forcible peace created by a historic weather event.  We were forced to just...sit; enjoy the fire, read a book, have dinner together.  This snow created misery - but it also created happiness.  My 19 month old hated it (tears), my five year old loved it. ("Cool Daddy!")

4.  I grew up in Texas:  Tornadoes.  I lived in Colorado:  Avalanches. I worked in Florida:  Hurricanes.  When I moved here, I thought New England weather would be rather tame compared to what I had experienced across this country.  But after Irene, Sandy, and this blizzard, I now have more respect for the New England climate.  Connecticut is getting punished, and I'm not sure what we did to deserve that.

We are still digging out.  But for every aching back caused by a loaded shovel, every pass of a snow blower, one thing is clear - spring is on the horizon. 

Of course, by then, we'll have to worry about flooding...

"Good Night Moon" - Remembering Even the Smallest of Joys After Newtown

There is a nightly tradition I never want to miss.  Around 7:30, I get to read one of my 19-month old son’s favorite books.  After one book is finished, he will clumsily climb down off of my lap and grab another – then another – then another – fighting the fact that, eventually, he will have to go to sleep.

There is a kitchen that must be cleaned, a workout to do, laundry staring at me in an overfilled basket, but never do I hesitate to volunteer for this evening ritual.

I met one man today that will never again have that chance.

His name is Neil Heslin, he lost his son Jesse in the Sandy Hook shootings.  He was testifying today before a legislative task force setup to examine what changes, if any, should be made to gun laws.

“Jesse was the love of my life, he was probably the only family I have left,” Heslin told the press.  His eyes were red, and he was standing next to a picture of he and his son when Jesse was just six months old.

What struck me is when Heslin was testifying, questioning the need for high-capacity magazines in certain rifles, someone in the audience yelled, “Because it’s the Second Amendment!” 

One role of my job is not to take an opinion on such matters; viewers have no interest about how I feel on certain political issues.  However, I feel I can say that no matter what side you are on, the very least we should give the parents of Sandy Hook is the respect to speak without fear of being criticized. 

There are no easy answers here, because there are so many variables when dealing with violence, especially when discussing weapons in the hands of someone who was clearly mentally ill.  I feel for legislators, because whatever decision may be made, it will leave many feeling angry and possibly resentful of the process.

The news cycle moves on, and there are days now where “Sandy Hook” isn’t mentioned in a newscast.  But those of us not directly impacted by this tragedy must remember Newtown, even on the brightest of days, because it reminds us of the simplest blessings in life.

True, there’s a great deal at stake in this local and national debate.  No matter what happens, I must remember that I get to go home and read to my children, while so many do not.

“We were supposed to go back and make gingerbread houses that day.  We never made it.  Twenty minutes (after dropping Jesse off at school), my son was dead,” Heslin told some teary-eyed politicians.

Tonight, “Good Night Moon” was more meaningful than ever.    

My Summer Vacation: Headaches, Rashes, and Itching

"Hello Muddah.

Hello Fadduh.

Can I please not -

See one more doc-tuh?"

With all due respect to Allan Sherman and Lou Busch (writers of the famous song, "A Letter from Camp"), part of my summer has been rained upon by visits to doctors.  Even as a parent pushing forty, I still daydream about a summer that would be like a Jimmy Buffett song,  sun-bathing in the warm waters of the Caribbean sipping on a cocktail, the distant sounds of steel drums echoing across the sea.

But instead, my destinations have involved those in lab coats examining my head and skin.

Let me explain.

In my quest to stay in shape, I have subscribed to Tony Horton's "P90X" program.  However, the night before Memorial Day, I fell off my chin up bar and slammed the back of my head on the concrete basement floor. 

I was always taught if you are going to do something, do it right.  So just to make sure I was REALLY injured...

The metal chin-up bar then dislodged and struck me in the temple.  I forgot the names of my kids, asked my wife every minute if I lost consciousness, and then blamed her for the accident, telling my emergency room physician I must stay in shape because, quote, "My wife works with a bunch of hot, rich doctors."  (Seems like there was some head issues in there before the head issues...)

After a week of weariness and headaches, I was back to what I would consider normal.  The chin-up bar has been retired, and is now collecting dust in a distant, dark corner of the basement. 

Not to be outdone, the rest of my body wanted attention, and that help would come from an evil plant.

Trees in our front yard are often riddled with vines, which I decided needed to be pulled down.  A woman walking her dog happened to notice my gardening exercise, and notified me that I was "pulling down poison ivy."  My wife reassured this stranger - and then me - that it indeed was NOT poison ivy, but "Virginia Creeper."  Forty-eight hours later, dark, menacing rashes appeared on my arms and legs. 

If it was socially acceptable, I would drink Cortisone cream.

The itch became unbearable, so I rushed off to an "Urgent Care" clinic.  When the doctor opened the door, she said, "Oh wow.  Oh my. You need help." (I wish that was the first time I can say I ever heard that...)

I went through a prescription of anti-itch cream in two days, and when I went back to the pharmacy for a refill, the employee says the insurance company won't let me have another batch until the end of August.  Of course, the insurance company knows exactly when the itch will stop, so it made better sense just to listen to them.

Note to self:  Jump in poison ivy next month so I can use new tube.

My mother often tells me the older you get, the more visits to the doctor.  I turn forty in about two months, so isn't a little early to be filling out my "frequent doctor card?"

Summers are short in New England, but if this is what the doctor prescribes, then maybe I'm ready for fall.  Oh wait - I already did that - off a chin-up bar.

Maybe I'll just sit on the couch until the first day of winter...

Backyard Brawl: Should Connecticut Widow Be Allowed to Bury Husband in Her Yard?

It remains her paradise.

Elise Piquet’s backyard is an oasis of relaxation and tranquility.  Her rolling, lush green property contains a centuries old stone wall, healthy, vibrant gardens and a vast assortment of birds and indigenous wildlife.

I should also mention that her late husband is buried there as well.

When she bought the property in the late sixties, the last thing on her mind was how eleven acres in Chester, Connecticut would an ideal location to bury someone.

Decades later, she met Christopher Doll, a native of England.  Doll fell in love with Elise, with Chester, Connecticut, and, as it turns out, the property Elise owned.  After he passed in 2004, Elise did an exhaustive search of local cemeteries, only to learn they were full.  So she decided to bury her soul mate in their “Garden of Eden,” where a visit is never more than just a few steps away.

“I just used to sit on the bench and talk to him.”

But after the funeral director informed the town of the internment, zoning officials told her human burial is prohibited, and that Christopher would have to be moved.  Elise decided to fight, suing the municipality in 2007.

“It’s just a pointless thing, he’s just a bundle of bones now, why not just let him rest in peace?” Elise told me from her back patio.

The case will be heard Tuesday morning before the Connecticut Supreme Court.  Chester’s town attorney John Bennet told the Associated Press the burial violated Connecticut’s health code and local zoning regulations.

“Connecticut laws and regulations require one to get permits for this sort of thing,” he told the AP.

For Elise, she still holds onto the oath of “for better or for worse.”  Her idea of paradise is worth fighting for, even when some no longer have a voice.

“I’m not really a fighter by nature, I have to be goaded like a bull.  But, like the bull, watch out,” she chuckles, smiling confidently.  “It’s been a long battle, and I’m not ready to give in.”

She says if she loses the case here, she’ll appeal to the United States Supreme Court.  I asked her if she has any regrets about this long and emotional ordeal.

“Oh I don’t regret it at all, not at all!” she says confidently, as we stood over her husband’s grave site.

You can watch the story here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0LtH71zxfwQ&list=UUFgFRk_6jae5D6KUokxIPfg&index=8&feature=plcp

Death Penalty Meeting its End in Connecticut

According to the Texas Department of Criminal Justice, since 1982, the state has executed 481 inmates. 

After the reinstatement of the death penalty in 1976, Florida, according to the DOC, has killed 72 capital felons.  (I witnessed one execution, but I’ll get to that in a minute.)

Connecticut has executed one prisoner since 1973, serial killer Michael Ross, and many believe that will be the state’s only execution for the foreseeable future.  The death penalty, it appears, is nearing its end here, which is fascinating on a number of levels considering a Quinnipiac poll taken last year shows that more than sixty percent favor keeping the law intact.

The death penalty is one of those issues that stirs emotion and often, heated debate.  A ghastly, horrific crime sparks a gut reaction that the accused deserves nothing more than a painful death.  Amazingly, some who are against the death penalty were vocal about how the two men who killed the Petit women should be streamlined to the death chamber.  But yet, here we are, witnessing a major policy change that will impact criminal justice for decades.

The arguments against the law are sound.  The death penalty is not a deterrent.  It costs states millions of dollars a year, and the appeals process is painful for families having to relive the crime. 

But in a 2005 editorial in the USA Today, Michael Rushford writes several major universities found that “for each murderer executed, five to 18 murders are prevented.”  Dr. William Petit and his sister, Johanna Petit Chapman recently wrote a letter to the editor in the Stamford Advocate that reads, “we firmly believe that the death penalty is the appropriate sanction in certain heinous…crimes.  (It) gives prosecutors a critical bargaining chip in the plea bargain process.”

Solid points on both sides…I’m glad I’m not the one voting.

I witnessed an execution when I was working in Florida.  Johnny Robinson raped and killed 31-year old Beverly St. George in 1985 after her car had broken down in St. John’s County.  Almost twenty years later, I found myself sitting in the observation room, feeling the pulse in my neck as I nervously waited for the state to carry out its sentence.

Finally, the dull, gray curtains slowly pulled to the side, and there was Robinson, covered in a blue sheet up to his waist.  He was asked if he had any last words to which he simply stated, “Later!”

The lethal dose was administered.  His breathing became labored, his eyes fluttered, and in minutes, he was gone. 

The curtains closed.

And so too does a chapter in Connecticut’s history, but I sincerely doubt the debate will fade.    One vote won’t erase that.

Heartache at the Pump: A Texas-sized Problem

From my kangaroo-skinned cowboy boots to my use of the word "ya'll," I'm an easy target of the Texas stereotype.

I grew up in Lone Star State, so that must mean I love barbecue, the Dallas Cowboys, and pickup trucks.  And I love  my pickup truck.  I love my beloved truck even when I'm forced to fill the tank.  Although when my bill topped out at about eighty dollars last week, I about coughed up my slow-smoked beef brisket.

According to Triple A, the average price of gasoline in the Nutmeg State (I'm a transplant now...) is $4.05.  That's harder to swallow than a rusty spur on a worn boot.  Four dollars?  Long gone are the days when a gallon of gas was cheaper than a strong cup of coffee.  (I remember filling up in Texarkana in 1997 for .87!!!)

But don't be fooled that this is a simple case of supply and demand.  Gene Guilford is with the Independent Connecticut Petroleum Association.  He knows energy markets as well as I know good sauce.   In an interview I conducted Monday afternoon, he told me two pieces of information relating to our oil/gas situation that were as surprising as snow in Austin.

"Over the last four years, Americans have used less gasoline.  Gasoline consumption, actually, declined two and a half percent last year alone," Guilford said from his Cromwell office.  "That four year period, Jamie, is the first time since World War II that there's been a contraction in the consumption of gasoline." 

But Gene wasn't done yet.  He moved on to the Harry Truman presidency.

"For the first time in 62 years, America has become a net exporter  of petroleum products." 

The answer to why this is happening is as clear as a Texas cowbell.  The problem, he says, lies where the bell tolls in New York - Wall Street.  Speculation.

"There's no human being that can tell you that domestically, it's because we don't have enough product, that it's in the wrong place, that a refinery isn't operating, that something is wrong with a pipeline," Guilford said.  "Even to the extent of last week, there was a news story that said while the United States Department of Energy had told Wall Street what I just told you, Wall Street said, 'I don't believe it, we don't believe gas consumption is going down.'" 

Let the stampede of prices continue.  It's out of control, and we could easily see prices inflate to more than $4.50 a gallon in the coming months...maybe even higher.

The 2010 Dodd-Frank Wall Street Reform and Consumer Protection Act was designed to control inflated prices.  It was passed so the Commodity Futures Trading Commission (CFTC) would have better oversight into oil and commodity markets.  The idea was to table excessive speculation.  But Guilford says that lawsuits against the Dodd-Frank Act are slowing down any benefit the consumer will see. 

A few years ago, when gas hit about $4.70 in Connecticut, I got rid of my truck for a (gasp!) four-door sedan.  I kept it about two years, until my desire for another truck was as strong and constant as a Texas pump jack.  I'm not getting rid of my truck as prices continue to climb, but I do wish for some relief - the kind you get during a cool Texas fall, when the dog-days of summer are but a painful memory.  And when it comes to pain at the pump, we'll take any kind of memory, as long as it's in the past.   

"We've got to get the speculation out of these markets because it's hurting the American economy," Guilford said.  

Dream a little dream: I just want some sleep

A lack of sleep can make you say and do the strangest things.

A lack of sleep can make you say and do the strangest things.  (Wait a minute, didn’t I just say that???)

Looking back on the first years of our marriage, my wife and I laugh at how we would whimper out of bed at 9:30 in the morning.  “Good Lord!  It’s early, too early!   The rooster is still asleep, isn’t he?”

But then somewhere, the decision was made to have kids, and sleeping in late meant that there’s a chance you might actually arise after the sun showers us with a soft warm glow.  Now, with a nine-month old baby who still hasn’t figured out how to sleep through the night, a good night’s rest is at a premium.

As it turns out, we are not alone.  A recent Center for Disease Control report illustrates that more than eleven percent of respondents say they didn’t have a single day where they felt they got enough sleep.  (Sorry girls, but women get less sleep than men.)

Then the researchers brought up the really good news.  A lack of sleep leads to mental and physical health problems including obesity, depression, anxiety, and diabetes.  One way to avoid that risk, doctors say, is by getting at least seven to nine hours of sleep a night.

I’d have a better chance of having a picnic on the moon.  

Personally, there have been some valued lessons for me in this period of forced insomnia:

1. I’ve watched so many “infomercials,” I know how to be fit, cleanse my skin, and cut a shoe with a steak knife for just $19.95.
2. It is possible to catch a power nap at a red light.
3. A sea of coffee doesn’t make me jittery, it’s just that I feel I need to carry around my own personal urinal because my kidneys are working overtime.
4. My ability to hold my own in a debate continues to falter. “That’s stupid!  “No, YOU shut up!”  “I know you are, but what am I???”

My mother reminds me that there will be a time when I will look back on this period of my life longingly.  For now, I’m considering taking a job at a mattress store, because I hear the benefits are amazing. 

Good night.