The Brickyard

Last weekend the Indianapolis Motor Speedway hosted the "Brickyard." The Brickyard is an "event" a lot like the Indianapolis 500 in that it causes

1) my church not to hold Mass on Sunday and

2) police officers to, inconveniently, block any traffic attempting to drive in any direction except directly to the track.

In celebration of this great annual event, Tony and I...went to watch tennis.

Yes folks, despite having resided in Indiana for four years, we are not NASCAR fans. As Tony points out, the only thing that would make those races interesting would be if a driver decided to turn right.

Summer time...and the livin' is easy

There are baseball games...


...and days spent reading and sunning in the park...

...and a darling puppy to play with...

...and an amazing husband to share it all with.

This is a happy summer indeed.

Do all dogs go to Heaven?

This is literally a church signs debate, being played out in a Southern US town, between Our Lady of Martyrs Catholic Church, and Cumberland Presbyterian, a fundamentalist church. From top to bottom shows you the response and counter-response over time.

Meet Tessie!

Tessie is a ten week old Puggle who joined our family on May 23rd. Her mom, Ginger, is a Beagle and her dad, Chomper, is a Pug (hence, "Puggle"). Tony and I have wanted to add a canine member to our family since last September - well, really for the past four years - but between passing the Bar, finding a job, saving up for puppy expenses, and taking the MCAT, this was the first time we were able to make the commitment of our finances and time.

Tony named her after a song. Or a Red Sox player? Or maybe it was a song about a Red Sox player... I'm not really sure, I was too busy squishing all the rolly skin around her face while he explained her name to pay attention. But in any event she's definitely Tess.



She's a little resistant to loose-lease walking.
Really lease-walking in general.







And a relationship with the cats is still...

...evolving.

But she's playful and sweet and always wants to be wherever we are. We couldn't be happier to add her to our little family. Welcome Tessie!

Spring

Spring is slowly starting to suggest itself in Indianapolis...

Flowering trees are blooming.

Ugly geese are pooping on lawns.

Kids are playing in parks.

The weather is warm and sunny. And windy.

And the Maiolinos are making watermelon margaritas.



Yep. Definitely Spring.

Sunday Afternoons with Milo

It is oh-so-lovely,
on a stormy Sunday afternoon,
to have a cat like Milo
to curl up with
and read and nap
while the scent of a delicious dinner
of roasted chicken, sweet potato, and roasted vegetables wafts through your home.

It's so easy sometimes,
with alarms beeping at 6:00a.m.
and idiots driving 25 mph on the 40 mph road when you're late to work
and judges who think your pleas are too harsh
and victims who think they are too lenient
and dirty laundry
and cat puke,
to become disillusioned.

But with a purring cat in your lap
and a good book in your hands
and smell of Sunday dinner all around you
and - most importantly - an obscenely handsome and hard-working husband
sitting on the other end of the couch,
it's very easy to remember what a truly happy life I lead.

A Tribute to My Profession

A little about me: I am loud and obnoxious; I will interrupt you when you are talking and I will not apologize for it. I probably won't even notice I did it. I'm argumentative and I think I'm always right. I never give up when I'm making a point and I never give in if you disagree with me. I will repeat the same thing over and over again until your ears bleed and you finally agree with me just to get me to shut up. I'm smart enough to always have a retort to whatever it is you have to say, but not smart enough to know when I've lost. I have to win. Have to. And I am the wordiest little brat you've ever met.

That's just me. Doesn't sound great, right? Well those are my talents; I didn't ask for them, but they're what I got. And as a wise man once said, "Your talent is God's gift to you. What you do with it, that's your gift back to God." I am a prosecutor. I take my abilities, and my orneriness, and I speak for those injured individuals and communities who cannot speak for themselves. I fight for little pieces of justice every day, and more days than not - I get some. I am not paid much, but I am proud every night when I go home.

There are heroes in this world. They're called District Attorneys. They don't get to have clients, people who smile at them at the end of the trial, who look them in the eye and say, "thank you." Nobody is there to appreciate the District Attorney, because we work for the state. And our gratitude comes only from knowing there's a tide out there. A tide the size of a tsunami coming out of a bottomless cesspool. A tide called crime, which, if left unchecked will rob every American of his freedom. A tide which strips individuals of the privilege of being able to, to walk down a dark street or take twenty dollars out of an ATM machine without fear of being mugged. All Congress does is talk, but it's the District Attorney who grabs his sword, who digs into the trenches and fights the fight. Who dogs justice day, after day, after day without thanks, without so much as a simple pat on the back. But we do it. We do it, we do it because we are the crusaders, the last frontier of American justice. Knowing that if a man cannot feel safe, he can never, never feel free.

- Richard Bay, "The Practice" (1997)