Sunday, November 28, 2010

RE: Old Spice Man vs. Mel Gibson

I think we can all agree, humor makes fun of someone.
Those of us who are not offended, laugh.
Those who are offended, take that offense either overtly or covertly.
Some exit the conversation, others the room, and others exit lives, or certainly this blog.... when what is deemed as funny by one is an insult to another.
I suspect someone viewing the following may see not one  ounce of humor in it.
However I do.
So I am willing to risk a few readers in the name of freedom of speech and humor.

I especially like the creative processes involved in the making of this video...
and the fact that old news like this can still interest me.
It also feels good to laugh.
Old news can still be very funny news.

Be forewarned
The following clip contains repetitive f bombs and other curse words... including foul language of a graphic sexual nature.... so don't play this when you have any kids/minors in listening range or you are offended by such things.
Some in my line of work,  particularly me, tend to walk the razer's edge when it comes to humor.
I find humor liberating in a world that is on an emotional and financial down-tick lately.
So when I find something that makes me laugh, more than one, I consider posting it.
That's what I am doing do with the following from You Tube.
I find it utterly hysterical on  a number of perverse levels.
I know others watching it will find it utterly perverse and not the least bit funny.
To those I offend, my apologies in advance.

Old SpiceMan vs Mel Gibson

Saturday, November 27, 2010

BEFORE He Cheats


Before I gather up my calendar, my notes, my gear....
Before I  review today's cases and call people to remind them I am coming....
Before I pull on my favorite boots that don't leak in the rain yet come off fast inside a stranger's front door...
Before I put on my favorite coat with the pockets that conceal things I might need should events go wrong...
Before I load up my Trailblazer, program today's route in the GPS...
Before I  get the wire in place for cell charge and tune it into my favorite morning, Saturday, of NPR radio...
Before I head out of this long  rutted dirt road to a concrete one and ultimately cross the fluid Puget Sound...
Before I do anything else to prep for a day of investigating and the many miles ahead...
I think of why I do what I do.....
and how important it is to me and to the people I am going to see.
It's too late for anyone to help Lia (read story that follows if you haven't)...
and countless loved ones of loved ones who've left this planet way too soon.
No one can stop death.
Yet perhaps... just maybe.... we can help keep it at bay.
Perhaps we can make living life easier for someone else.
William Arthur Ward got this concept.He's long gone now...though I carry his words with me today and every day.
Now I pass them to you.

“Before you speak, listen.
Before you write, think.
Before you spend, earn.
Before you invest, investigate.
Before you criticize, wait.
Before you pray, forgive.
Before you quit, try.
Before you retire, save.
Before you die, give.”

Friday, November 26, 2010

Lia C. HAWKINS On October 21, 2010 the world lost a bright and beautiful spirit. Lia C. Hawkins died in a tragic accident. She was 33 years old. Lia sowed seeds of love and laughter everywhere she went with everyone she met. She was a bright presence in the lives of her family, friends and acquaintances. As a daughter, sister, auntie and friend she will be sorely missed. She has left a huge gap in the lives of all of us. Lia made lasting, authentic, loving connections with people growing up on Bainbridge Island and, in her adult years, in Seattle and wherever she traveled. She will be remembered for many things including: the twinkle inher eyes, her contagious grin and her playful nature. Lia was beautiful, passionate, funny, loving and kinda gift to all of us who had the privilege of knowing her. Her heart, her humor, her compassion and bright spirit will be missed tremendously. Family and friends will gather to celebrate her life, share stories and honor her memory: Saturday, November 6th from 1:00 - 4:00 p.m. at Shilshole Bay Beach Club, 6413 Seaview Ave. NW, Seattle, WA 98107. Lia's family would like to sincerely thank the community for the outpouring of love and support and ask that, in lieu of flowers, condolences be sent to: Jared Hawkins 2400 NW 80th Street #240 Seattle, WA 98117-4449
Published in The Seattle Times on November 2, 2010

For Lia

I am feeling a bit ill at ease this morning and I am wondering if writing will help.
And in doing so, maybe I will help someone else.
After all, I think the purpose we humans are here for is to keep the species going, growing, learning and hopefully, evolving into a higher life form.
One way we guide others of our species to do that.... is by sharing, information, knowledge, warnings, recollections, wisdom.
I also know none of us are here forever.
Sometimes our individual missions on planet earth are long.
Sometimes, shockingly short.

And that brings me to today's blog.

Whatever I write will be brief, because a rare day beckons.
I have this empty palette of time on which I can paint any word pictures in my head I choose.
I have freedom of  speech, though I am cautious expressing it.
I want to bring no harm, simply decompress slowly... so I, and others... can process all this.
Today's verbal picture is underwater.
There is a blond girl there.
I have known her since she was so young, when I first moved to Seattle. She is a little older than my kids.
She is a rarity.
Not only in her beauty, intelligence, grace, emotional consistency,  kindness... she is a unique in her wisdom and willingness to give and share love.

Hers is a rare, sparking, gem-like beauty.  An all-American beauty.
She was very good girl.
And she was a triplet!
She had another brother and sister, they all hung out in the same womb.
There was also an older birth brother...
and two more brothers that came with a co-joined family.
One of my best friends was her second mom.
So whevenever we celebrated an occasion (and there were many) it was always together and there were six kids guaranteed.
All the kids are beautiful and perfect externally.
Internally, like all kids, they all had wild spirits that were kept well tamed.
They are the kind of children who could rock the planet with peace and harmony if given the opportunity.

Add two new kids....mine... plus extended family.... and the years filled with  massive kids growing older through years of memories: summers at the beach, falls and winters full of family celebrations, springs with huge birthday parties for sometimes 9, 10 people at a time.

All of these people I am telling you about.... they are the family I found when I moved to the Pacific N.W. from L.A. California.
They are the non blood family who found me, or I found them.... when my birth family found other places in the US to settle down. Some on the southeast coast, some northeast, some in California some in Oregon.
Yet the family I described earlier, my Pacific Northwest family... is one I see more than my own blood family.

So now I will get to the point.
One member of that family, one of the triplets, was first reported missing and found dead towards the end of October.
I just found out about this a whole month later. A few days ago to be exact.
This distresses me to no end.
To not have even known she was missing.
And then to have not known she was found the second day she was reported missing.

She had been working on a boat in a Ballard Marina, she was found dead underneath the boat during the second dive search on the second day.
When I was told this, by one my my best friends, my friend was mortified and apologetic she never called and told me it was happening. However, she was in the thick of the things, first the locations, then recovery and funeral phase.
She said she figured I watched the news, read the papers, everyone was talking about it.
I was mortified too because she was right...  I listen to the radio when I drive to cases. I see and hear amber alerts,
Though I somehow missed this.

I heard nothing about it until a few days ago.
Dear Lia has been dead one month now.
She hit her head... or perhaps someone hit it.... I don't know.
And, from what I have heard, it was her siblings.... and I believe her boyfriend... who were at the boat when the divers surfaced with her body from beneath it.
They did the I.D.
When the story was told to me.... and  I heard the words "fracture to the skull, found floating under the boat,...."  I instinctively exhaled until all the air left my lungs.
With my next breath came a memory of our last conversation when she showed up at a party months earlier.
Then I pictured her floating under the sea.
And I thought of the triplets losing their third.
And the brothers losing a sister.
And mothers and fathers losing a daughter.
And scuba divers searching the murkey depths and ultimately discovering a young woman two days submerged.
Rescue divers, Police, Paramedics, Tow Truck Drivers, First Responders....they have children too.

I am writing this blog today not because I want to.
It's because I must.
It is.... after all.... Thanksgiving weekend.
We spent Thanksgiving dinner last night at the home of  those friends, not Lia's immediate family, but the one Lia's immediately family co-mingled with.
The boys there were her brothers, not in blood.... in spirit, in life.
And now, also in death.
One of her brothers, told me his best friend also just died.
Never smoked, used drugs. Diagnosed with cancer and dead in 3 months.
Other stories trickled out of young mouths that were never meant to be known or said in kids so young.
I guess television, movies, life has changed all that.
However, I can't get Lia's image just floating in that cold sea out of my head.
Her other brother said the same thing to me.
"Me too. I can't sleep, I can't stop thinking about it."
The depths of her death are unfathomable, literally and figuratively.

Because this is the Diary of a Private Eye and therefore, claims truth...
I have decided to link you with Lia's story.
My friend wrote her obituary and has also allowed me to post it along with her picture.
I am doing this so you will say a prayer for Lia's spirit because I think she will hear it.
And with every prayer said...
maybe one pain will heal.

Just as tears were were shed last night over Thanksgiving dinner....
we spoke of how bad it was to have gone through....
yet how, at least, we know where Lia is...... that she was not abducted, or missing, dead, or held captive for years.
And I marveled quietly in realizing how incredible it is.... that people can still find positive points to tragedies.
Today, as you read this....whoever you are....hug the one you love a little longer.
Be a little kinder today.
Make that hug, or phone call, linger just a little longer.
If not for yourself, do it for Lia.
Let the lesson of Lia's loss not be lost on you.
It's how she would have wanted to be remembered.

Here's a link to the media story:

Monday, November 22, 2010

Remembering Chandra

From BBC

Chandra Levy: Guandique found guilty of 2001 murder

Chandra Levy Chandra Levy's disappearance made headlines around the world
An immigrant from El Salvador has been convicted of the 2001 murder of US congressional intern Chandra Levy.
Ingmar Guandique had denied killing Ms Levy, 24, whose remains were found in Rock Creek Park in Washington DC more than a year after she disappeared.
The case claimed the career of a politician she was romantically linked with, Californian Democrat Gary Condit.
Mr Condit, once a suspect in the murder case, has always declined to discuss whether or not they had an affair.
The jury deliberated for four days before returning guilty verdicts on two counts of first-degree murder.
Guandique faces the possibility of life in prison.
Earlier in the trial, prosecutors admitted they had no eyewitness or physical evidence tying Guandique to Ms Levy's murder.
Defence lawyers said Guandique, 29, had become a scapegoat for a botched investigation and claimed that his DNA did not match samples found on Ms Levy's clothing.
Ingmar Guandique, pictured in April 2009 Guandique told cellmates he carried out the killing, prosecutors said
But the prosecution presented evidence that Guandique had told prison cellmates he had carried out the killing, and they argued the details of the case matched patterns from other attacks against women for which Guandique had been convicted.
Guandique was serving a 10-year prison sentence for those attacks when he was charged with Ms Levy's murder.
Prosecutors said police were wrong to initially focus on Mr Condit.
The former California Representative testified during the course of Guandique's trial, and said his decision to not discuss the nature of his relationship with Ms Levy was based "purely on principle".
"I think we're all entitled to some level of privacy," he told the court.
"Seems like in this country we've lost a sense of decency. I didn't commit any crime, I don't think I've done anything wrong."
To the full story:

Wise Words

If we could shrink the earth's population to a village of precisely 100 people, with all the existing human ratios remaining the same, it would look similar to this: 57 Asians; 21 Europeans; 14 from the Western Hemisphere; 8 Africans; 52 would be female; 48 would be male; 70 would be non-white; 30 would be white; 70 would be non-Christian; 30 would be Christian; 89 would be heterosexual; 11 would be homosexual; 6 people would possess 59% of the entire world's wealth and all 6 would be from the United States.; 80 would live in substandard housing; 70 would be unable to read; 50 would suffer from malnutrition; 1 would be near death; 1 would be near birth; 1 would have a college education; 1 would own a computer: When one considers our world from such an incredibly compressed perspective, the need for both tolerance and understanding becomes glaringly apparent.

-  Author Unknown

Sunday, November 21, 2010

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Breaking Up Is Hard to Do.

As Pink's "tongue in cheek".... or "TNT in cheek".... song below so clearly illustrates, the biggest danger in leaving a relationship is not the time when you say, "It's over".
It's the time you actually leave.
That's when things get really, really bad.
The person who is left, was not happy when you said you were going to leave.
Yet until you are out that door, they don't realize it is true.
That's when the trouble begins.
The "leavee" will seek justice, or retaliation.... in one form or another against the "leavor".
In my life experience, despite what media says, I have never seen an "amicable divorce."
Any break-up, of marriages, friendships, business alliances.... leaves one party feeling broken.
Particularly the one who felt like he/she has been kicked to the curb.
P.I.'s, like cops, find Domestics the most dangerous, distasteful and disturbing of cases...
I think Pink's video gives you a good idea why.

Attitude Adjustment In Pink - "So What?"

Friday, November 19, 2010

Can You Find Me?

One of my Facebook friends not only sent me this link to her blog, she appears to be its founder.
There are so many unidentified victims out there, the more eyes on these images, the better.
Thank you Rebel, for this link and your good hard work.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Blind, Deaf And Dumb

Last night I worked until 3:00 am.
I slept until 5:30 am, caught the 6:30 car ferry while it was still dark... and made it home after dark.... just a little while ago.  I'm not complaining because I like what I do and every now and then, cases and trials hit all at once. There's no way around 14-18 hour days sometimes.
That's why, when you pick a career,  it helps to pick one you like.

This morning I was in Seattle before the sun was up and most of the commuters were there.
I had moved from the real sea, the Puget Sound, to the concrete sea, I-5 South.
I delivered cases to various law firms... and must say, it felt great to hand them over to the attorneys in whose capable hands I know our clients will find justice.

Here's a secret.
I hate lawyer jokes.
And here's a confession,
I like lawyers. The good ones.
Like all professions, there are good people and bad people.
Most are fabulous doctors, however, I have investigated a few who ended up in jail.
I know many good accountants, however, I have helped expose a fair share of fraudulent ones.
There are good attorneys and there are bad ones. I only work with the best.

The good attorneys... they are the warriors of the judicial system.
Your life, your freedom, your family's future and your financial security can literally be in an attorney's hands.
I know mine was once.
I was hurt by someone.
Were it not for the personal injury attorneys who fought for me, who invested their time and money in my case, I  believe I would have faded into an embittered, angry person instead of the civil/personal injury investigator I am today.

So tonight, when I walked in our beach house after many long days, many miles on the road and so little sleep last night, you'd think I'd step away from writing or thinking about this business. Yet the blog beckons me, as if it has a will, a voice, a story that must be told.

This would be that story.
There was this little girl. She was 7.  She was blond with blue eyes, reminded me of me when I was her age. However, she had no voice of her own beyond grunts and groans. She could not see. She could not hear. She was a little Helen Keller....and while she wasn't my subject, she was the daughter of that subject and she was present during my time with her mom in their apartment.

Mom had a legal action, I needed to interview her and ask some questions.
She just moved to the Northwest with her husband, a soldier, and her two daughters.... a perfectly normal 9 year old and the one I just wrote of... lets call her Libby.
Libby's mother explained, Libby can not see, hear or speak.

Libby lived and slept on a mattress in the living room. I later learned, she put anything she touched in her mouth. When I arrived she had a sock in her mouth, it didn't look clean. Her mom saw me looking at the dirty sock and pulled it out of Libby's mouth and shouted "No Libby" while gently slapping her hand. This made no sense to me because it made no sense to Libby.

I will admit I was more fascinated by Libby and the family dynamics than the case I was working.
I wanted to climb inside Libby's head and imagine what life was really like for her. I had been obsessed with Hellen Keller as a kid. Even though I knew Helen Keller was real, read the book of her life, and some books she wrote, saw the movie and real clips of her, I could not conceive how she endured life with such great sensory losses... yet maintained a positive attitude. It was Helen's teacher, Anne Sullivan, who let light into Helen's dark world.

I knew this was not and would never be the case for Libby.
Mom was Libby's full time caretaker and got a stipend from the state for doing so.
I studied Libby's young, smiling, optimistic, though not very bright mother -- who had a positive attitude and said Libby was gift not a burden.
I asked whether they ever thought of getting her a special teacher, or taking her to a special school and she said,
"No, Libby is as she is meant to be."
I found that disturbing.
How do any of us know what we are meant to be unless we are allowed to explore our own potential?

I chose not to argue the point with Libby's mom.
I just sat very still after Libby suddenly sensed my presence, crawled over to me, and ran her fingers all over my face, my hair, my eyes.
The whole thing was surreal.

And now, looking back at it, years have passed and I wonder how Libby is doing.
I recall when I left her house, I was conflicted. Mom seemed okay, doing the best she could.
Mom said either she (mom) takes care of Libby or Libby is institutionalized who knows where.

Still people are always on their best behavior when there's an investigator in their living room.
So I took the leap, told the attorney I was worried about the welfare of little Libby and asked if they could just check into it, make sure she was being cared for properly?
The attorney, as an officer of the court, said he would and I believed him.
I had taken photos of Libby at the house, shown them to him.... and he said he has a daughter Libby's age.... and never realized just how blessed he truly was.

There's a lesson here, I think.
No matter how bad we feel we got it, someone's got it  a whole lot worse.
Some people like Libby, from day one... birth.... aren't given a fair shot at life.
And some people who become parents, will never get to retire and experience golden years untarnished by a blind, deaf and speechless child with an uncertain... if any... real future.
And what of Libby's older sister and soldier father?
The pebble lands in the pond, the water ripples outward.
Everyone is affected.
Myself included.

Now is a good time to count your blessings.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Saturday, November 13, 2010

Death At Sea

My case load is a lot like the sea.
It is never constant. Never predictable. Always in motion and transition.
And because I cross the Puget Sound most days to get to the city (either by car ferry or by bridge), I am more aware of this than most.

When I get out of my car during the ferry crossing, and walk down towards the bow of the ship, to the very edge of the yellow barrier point past which no one can pass,  the sound of the ship's engines do not drown out the symphony of waters, birds, sky and wind.  Standing by the bow of a Washington State Ferry you realize, there is a greatness to the universe, and a humility to the human spirit (at least mine). And you learn... life is really transition between points in time and space.

I'm especially aware of this philosophical reality... particularly now, when winter comes to the  Pacific Northwest and the chill in the air makes life more challenging and interesting.
I explore the beach after storms sweep through... bird and mammal bones wash ashore from Port Gamble Bay.A few days ago,  I followed as our dogs ran free on the long isolated beach in our backyard.
The dogs suddenly stopped and gathered around something distant. They were looking down and appeared motionless. I raced to them and I too stopped in my tracks
We were the pack examining the dead.

It was THE heron.
Not just any heron.
But THE heron.
The one that played with Zen, our massive half Husky, half Lab.
THE heron with the huge nest atop the tree next door.
THE heron who would dive bomb Zen.  Zen would chase THE heron if it stopped to munch a fish by the distant shore. They were love/hate playmates for years.
Now THE heron was dead in the water. Rather, in the sand and sea weed beside it.

THE big majestic big blue heron was part of a family of three (the third being last year's baby).
The dead one was big. It was mama or papa. I couldn't tell and didn't want to know enough to look.
Its long, limber neck was twisted, though I suspect that's not cause of death.
Something else could be anything.... the possibilities out here in the boonies are limitless.
Maybe it got stuck in the mud flats at low tide.
Maybe the eagles got it, I wondered if eagles and herons fight.
Maybe some good old boy was being bad and shot him.
Or maybe it had a heart attack and dropped mid flight to the ground like a sack of feathers, flesh and bone.

The dogs and I just stared in collective curiosity and  I like to believe, communion.
Other creatures had been feeding off  the body.
It wasn't pretty to look at, though its long beak was untouched.
I felt an instant wave of loss, grabbed the dogs' collars, leashed them and we walked to the edge of the peninsula.
I'm sure the dogs forgot about that heron in a heart-beat, if they even once considered what it is they were viewing.
Me, I still can't stop thinking about it, as I watch another Heron fly alone... or  sometimes with the smaller heron.

You may wonder what all this has to do with private investigations and blogging.
There is a link, I assure you.
It is one word.
I've been working two child abduction cases. Both domestics.
In each, (one client is a man, and another is a woman) the Child protective Agency or Judicial System failed one child and one parent.
The child(ren) were taken from the right person and given to the wrong one.
And when the wrong one gets the kids, they either run.... or break their semi-defeated opponent completely down.
That's why I'm including the following video.
Every day, every where in the world, children are victims....
parents are victims....
of  legal and custodial injustices, mistakes, loop-holes, horror stories.
Following is one such story and shows how one such victim released her pain in a way that may help others in the sharing.
I honor her for that.
And I ask you to share the U-Tube story that follows... if you are so inclined.

"Parental Alienation- The New Face of Terrorism"

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Sunday, November 7, 2010

On The Tracks

I've spent way too many days away from the blog.
The challenge I face is the same one you do every day, provided you're one of those trying to dig yourself out of the current global economic sinkhole.
Ever since the internet bubble burst, work comes first when you intend to remain financially independent. And my work is no nine-to-five gig.

Basic, yet important domestic things like laundry, dishes, vacuuming, grocery shopping, get tossed by the wayside.
My list of to-do's grows longer by the day. As does the guilt that follows from not doing it.
Friendships are hard to maintain because the timing is seldom in sync.
Family meals are not the norm.
Blogs are fewer and further between.
And sleep only comes because the body won't let you stay awake any more.
Most days are spent on the road, going to see people who can't get out of their hospital beds, homes.... or even graves.
I represent the living, the dead and those whose status has yet to be determined.
Once I gather info on their cases, time is so essential to getting those case moving.
Every case has to be investigated.... on scene and on net.... then written up, photos have to be developed,  often follow-up calls made,  everything has to be packaged up, evidence secured. All followed by invoice and delivery to the attorney or the private client.
I don't get paid sick days, holidays or health insurance.
I don't get a water-cooler around which to chat with my associates.
I don't get 15 minutes breaks.
I don't get L&I or Worker's Comp.
I don't get bonuses, a union or any guaranteed hours.
As a self-employed subcontractor, I  spend my time working, driving.... and getting new business going and flowing to cover life's basics.
I know many people who do not need to work. Or do not want to. This is a hard concept for me to fathom.
I think even if I won the lottery, I would still investigate because it is not just a job to me, it's a passion. And work is fun when it's something you love.
I'm not jaded by this business, I'm enthralled by it.
I have never worked in any business like investigation.... where I can help, change, improve...and most important of all --  recognize and acknowledge lives that all too often go unnoticed. Or disregarded.

This brings us to last week, when I was squatted down on the edge of a train platform, the toes of my boots touching the orange edge of the marking on the platform that said, "warning do not cross."
I was still in the safe, legal zone.
I looked left and saw the distant lights of a train coming, it was close.... so I switched focus, first to my camera.
Then, had I been a dog, my ears would have perked up as I opened the air canal to some serious sound in the chamber.
No horn, just the growing ominous roar of the train getting closer and closer to me left.
I squatted in the exact spot my now deceased young client had stood.
When the incident happened, he was beside a friend and many people were present.
He was happy, excited and definitely not suicidal.
He was just a teenager watching the trains when something bad happened.
What that something is remains to be determined.
He went under that train and died before he had a chance to grow into a man.
So I was there to investigate why and document what I could.

I was there with his mom who wanted to come and knew the exact spot where everything happened.
We arrived in separate vehicles and didn't speak as we walked.
Then we found the place, "This is it!" she shouted.
She pointed to a spot  where an impromptu memorial had once been, it was made by all his friends, kids at schools, notes from strangers. Time had passed, the memorial came down, now  there was nothing left except some duct tape.
I photographed that area and moved to the tracks.

I squatted down, with my camera, in the same space where my dead client last stood... and a little voice in my head said, "Bring it on."
The train's sound turned into a roar....
the wind whipped up....
and I clicked the locomotive first as it blew right past me with a huge endless growing gust that ripped the clip off the back of my hair. The last shot I saw of my favorite (and rare) combat-colored banana clip was a peripheral glace as it went under the train.
I kept still and strove to remain steady to get the shots.
I pressed my feet and body into the ground,  in a fetal-like vertical position, placed the camera on my knees and became a human tripod while snapping pictures.
More than once, I wondered if I might get sucked under the train by forces of physics... as some claim my client was.
I thought of that young client and what he thought in his last moments.
I listened to the screech of metal, the roar of  train's engine, my nose filled with train track dust.
The train was all there was in the world at that moment.... it over-rode any conversation, any movement, anything else. It was there, it felt greater than a force of nature and you didn't mess with it.
And this speeding chain of steel boxes kept rolling.
No horn sounded, it just passed by the platform.
I recall thinking it had to be the world's longest train.
And then it was gone.

I took many photos that day.
Talked to a few of the people standing around who were curious and watched.
Some approached me with questions about why I was there.
Some heard of the young man killed that day.
Others told of others such instances at other railroad crossings.
One wanted to discuss the last episode of CSI.

I finished my worked and lingered longer with the mother.
She grabbed my hand and asked me an odd question.
"Are you psychic?"
I  decided not to tell her the truth.., being, yes.
Instead, I said, "Sometimes, though I tend to think being intuitive is mistaken for being psychic."
She said, "Well if my son communicates with you, will you tell me?"
"Of course," I said, leaning forward to receive her hug.
At that moment, there was a down-burst of rain, tears from heaven.
I tucked my camera in my pocket and we quickly said our good-byes. I pulled up my hood, then jogged to to my car.
I had to get prepped for my next case. I was running a half hour behind.

And now, today, it all gets written up, packaged up, mailed or delivered top various attorneys and clients.
Yet there are life moments, pearls, like the moment at the train station last week, that are too precious not to mention.
Not to write somewhere.
Not to share with someone out there.
Lesson learned from this one:
However bad you think you have it, someone has it worse.

Monday, November 1, 2010

Charlie Sheen's Smallest Victims

I just don't get it. I do not know... and never will understand why... some men choose to break up families for whatever reason, mood, motive or excuse they choose.
They know why they're leaving, it's just the person whose been left that doesn't get it.
The man may claim to have another women.
Or he may say he was drunk, seduced or just wanted to stray.
They may say they felt ignored by their wife.
They may say their wife no longer appeals to them "that way."
Maybe the wife has grown old and wrinkled and the man would like to trade her in for a newer model.
Whatever the reasons/excuses/justifications....
all I do know, and there is no nice way to say it... "power makes men horny."
There are exceptions, though I do not believe those exceptions to be the norm.
The more famous they are, the hotter they think they are. Presidents, governors, senators, rock stars, golfers, bikers, actors, coaches. You name it.
You see a man in a position of power and my guess is more of those men men submit to weakness in the opposite sex department than women.
Not that women are faultless.
There may be a 50/50 sexual equality in cheating for all I know. I don't follow the statistics.
Occasionally I follow the cheaters.
Regardless, I have a small window of time here to add an interesting and highly visible domestic case to the blog.
While you read it, think of the kids.
They're the true victims here.
Charlie Sheen is leaving a load of messed up kids in his wake.
They will never grow up the same.
How can they...with their parents exposed in such a way on the net.
I can't help of thinking about David Hasslehoff's daughter filming her own drunken father for the internet, in the hopes the exposure will shock him to sobriety.
No such luck.
He's still drinking.
The link on Charlie Sheen, his wife and kids below, comes from Radar Online.
Admittedly, some people call this info source questionable at best.
However, I like it... and how deep its links go into a story.
Ultimately, we each determine the truth to a story on our own.
There's interesting evidence, however, in this story:
Brooke Mueller Wants Sole Physical Custody Of Kids | Radar Online