It’s Tuesday morning. I’m on my second cup of tea with a list longer than my arm of things I need to do today. And I’m going to get there, I really am. After this cup of tea. I swear. If you listen carefully, you’ll hear the sound of me trying to convince myself. 1. wrap baskets for delivery 2. clean up kitchen 3. bake gingerbread men 4. deliver baskets 5. bake more fruitcake 6. make wine jellies. 7. make supper 8. take youngest to curling. It will be a busy day, but I’d rather be doing this than what some of my friends and former co-workers are up to today. I used to be a reporter. About six months ago I gave it up for a variety of reasons. But sometimes I miss it, and I really enjoyed covering court. It’s fascinating, both the legal end of it and how it works, and how everyone’s stories are on display. It’s a place where everyone is vulnerable. Those vulnerabilities are there for everyone to see, like being naked in front of strangers. A big trial has just wrapped up in the city and the jury is deliberating, so that means my reporter friends are hanging around the court house, waiting for the verdict. I’ve always said that broadcasting and reporting was a game of hurry up, wait. You are usually going full tilt or you’re sitting by the phone like a teenage girl on a Friday night, waiting for it to ring. The jury began deliberating yesterday, and called it a night around 8. They’ll be back at it this morning.
Court is hard for those who find themselves in it. Not just those who are accused of crimes, but those who are on the other side of whatever crime is alleged to have happened. For families who’s loved one was injured or killed, it’s like they’ve fallen down the rabbit hole. It’s not like what you see on tv. What you don’t see is the frustration of families who show up to court only to have their matter adjourned. They are looking for one thing, and it takes so much longer than they ever anticipate. Even if the result is what they are hoping for, it never solves everything. It hardly solves anything. These people still have to figure out how to pick up the pieces. Their grief is delayed. They are grieving all the while, but think that once the matter is resolved through the courts, there will be closure. There is no such thing. I’ve always thought that court is full of damaged people. Not just the accused. But everyone in it. We are all damaged by what we hear there, by the process, by what happened to bring us there in the first place. There is this expectation that court will make it better, that justice will be done, and that life will be fair again. But it never is. And justice is often a shade of grey, not black or white. It’s like victims expect the process to make them whole again, and instead, it takes a piece away from everyone involved. Like leaves falling off the trees in fall. So, while my reporter friends are waiting this morning at the court house, I’ll once again go over my list of things to do here and give thanks that I get to keep a little piece of myself this morning.
Last night, I stayed up way too late and worked on my knitting. It’s something I’ve just taken up recently, and so far I’ve made scarves and hats. I’m practicing ribbing, so I’m making myself a hat. It’s going to be long and slouchy, at least in theory. So far, I’ve made a hat for each of my kids and now this one is for myself. I need it to keep me warm while I wait for my youngest’s bus to arrive each afternoon. I like knitting in the round, it’s fun. I’m not good at reading patterns, so all I’m doing with this is knitting five and purling five. We’ll see how it turns out. Maybe if I get this list done today I can finish it and work on another one. Toques for all! Hey, I’m Canadian. Toques are mandatory. 😉