Just two little words

Not an hour from where our friend, the SC, sits in his garage smoking and pondering the imponderable is an evangelical center of faith and learning where people study God's Word and pursue His calling in their lives. This center offers degrees in theology, intercultural studies and psychology. The focus of their school of psychology is the integration of the Christian faith with today's mental health services.

These are noble sentiments, and I am certain the school strives mightily to maintain this focus. I am not an expert on these subjects. I know a psychologist who appears to be normal. And that first Bob Newhart show was pretty darn funny. But it seems to me that there is a certain amount of arrogance in any one human attempting to control or claiming to understand another.

Never forget: “therapist” is just two little words shoved together.

If SC were to hop on “the 5,” as the Californians like to say, and head north for a spell, he would come to the campus. With a little research he would discover that this school was the first of its kind, and that it grew out of a series of lectures given 45 years ago next month. Those lectures were given by a consulting psychologist from Tacoma, Washington. The school was named for this consulting psychologist.

But, SC will not find the consulting psychologist’s name on any sign or building.

Mary, Jackie and Delmar

When Tom and Betsy and I (and sometimes Patrick) go for coffee, we go to Starbucks. Where else would we go? There we are greeted by our Starbucks friends. Mary, who is less than half our age, calls us "baby." "Hi baby, how are ya today?" If one of us goes for coffee without the others, Mary will rat that person out. While less demonstrative, Jackie was named manager of the quarter for the downtown area, and always greets us with a smile. Delmar has our orders ready almost before we walk in the door.

A Starbucks friend learns your name and your drink. That's why when you make a Starbucks friend you never throw them a change up, you always order the same thing. If you want something different, you go to a different Starbucks. You tip your Starbucks friends - not some left over change coins, but paper money. You use your auto-reload shareholders card to buy the drink, but you tip well, at least once each week.

Our Starbucks is very small and located two blocks from our building's entrance and it is a point of pride with Tom and me (Patrick doesn't get it yet) to go in shirt sleeves no matter what the weather or temperature. There is a big new Starbucks opening up across the street from our building entrance, but I don't think we will abandon our Starbucks friends.

Memorable Starbucks friends I have known:

• Bitsy - at my last job, before everyone decided to go to Joelle's, we followed Bitsy to two different Starbucks stores, we liked her so much.
• Nancy - for several years I spent one or two days each week in Portland, Oregon. Nancy managed the store on SW Washington and never forgot my quad grande nonfat latte which is my I'm travelling on business and need something a little more expensive drink.

P.S. The cups in my part of the US tend to leak from the rim at the seam.. This was not a problem on the west coast, so I assume that some union is to blame.

I Smell a Rat

Freud once commented that a child would destroy the world if it had the power.

Finding time to write is always a problem. It is compounded by the many unpleasant emotions that underlie the memories of those days. I find it a real effort to focus clearly on the events of that time without being repulsed by the feelings that accompany them. Not just the feelings related to Adelle’s death, but those that were part and parcel of my life falling apart. While my narrative of Adelle’s demise is accurate, I find that the time-line of that tragedy and the concurrent events in my life are not synchronized. I offer no apology for these minor discrepancies.

The facts were pieced together later. While she slept, her son assaulted her first with a baseball bat, then a gun and finally with an axe or hatchet. Evidently it took a lot to kill her. For the next week or two he continued to live in the house, and even had a bunch of friends over for pizza. When one commented about the rank smell, he told them it was a rat that had died behind the wall. Finally he ran away with a friend. He had a new pickup truck, a gift from Adelle, in which to make his getaway.

You are, like so many people at that time, assuming that he was a surly, moody, bedraggled, disrespectful, class-cutting juvenile delinquent. On the contrary, he was a straight-A student. His employer described him as the best employee ever. He was a well-liked, good looking, clean cut, friendly and respectful young man. He called his mother faithfully at 3:30 everyday after arriving home from school. The company that Adelle and I worked for was small, and office parties were usually family affairs. He was a nice kid and was always willing to play with the smaller children. No early warning signals could be seen outside the home.

His father became anxious when, after a week, the phone was not answered and messages were unreturned. He finally drove to the house, found it locked and dark. Peering through the window of the garage he saw the totaled car and called the police.

I was able to answer the coroner’s question about body disposal; I knew from the papers she left that Adelle requested cremation. The difficult job of contacting her mother, who lived in Europe and spoke no English, was done by Adelle’s ex-husband to my deep gratitude. The next obvious job was planning her funeral service. This was not easy because, to risk a suit for trade name infringement, Adelle was the Smoking Non-Christian.

During this whirlwind of several days I made other trips to the house. Did you know that Servicemaster offers a complete array of bio-hazard cleaning services? I completed my inventory and had the safe in her closet drilled. I met with a realtor who opined that selling a home where a murder had occurred could prove to be challenging.

Two or three times a week, I dropped Hansel and Gretel off at that candy-covered cottage in the deep dark woods. I cried every time.

Still, less than a 20 minute drive away, that old man continued to do those unspeakable things. Our paths had crossed once, and they would soon cross again.