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It is a measure of the insanity of my morning, that I've found HP fanfic in Russian that I am attempting to read. God in Heaven, forgive me for these sins. But really, it's cracking me up. What better thing could I see today, than Russian Death Eaters. Well, other than waking up in Italy with Eric Stoltz.

My mother woke me up so she could make the bed. This was extremely annoying.

Why am I not somewhere else?

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My grandparents arrived today. They were attending my cousin's graduation ceremony this weekend. She's going to work at a radio station in Houston, the same one where she interned during school. They brought chocolates, and the stories they always tell. Of living in LA, in Greece, in Louisiana, of traveling to Turkey and England.

They were in Selma a few weeks ago, for the first trial. One of the men who killed my great uncle was convicted of capital murder, and will either be sentenced to death or life in prison. It feels strange, an odd relief and a sense that nothing changes it, no matter what. For my grandmother's sister to lose her husband in such a way, and so soon before my great-grandmother died, it will never be enough to change anything.

I oppose the death penalty, because I don't think it serves as an adequate measure to prevent crime, the system is corrupt, and I don't believe the state should hold the power of life and death. Simple as that. But is life in prison an answer? I don't know. I don't think so. Granted, the American prison system may not be the tuberculosis riddled cess pool that exists in Russia, but it is still deeply flawed.

No answers, no easy ones anyhow.

(no subject)

Gene just made us sandwiches, with his kielbasa and zely dish from yesterday. So sinfully messy and delicious.

We're going to do Christmas early, and celebrate on Monday before he and Melynda leave for Houston. I'm going to make some thick, heavy bread and we will cook something. Gene's reading my cookbook on the porch right now.