How Much Retribution Is Required?

In the box where I post my blog on Facebook each week, there is a question. “What’s on your mind?” It says.

This week, the F B question is daunting because what is on my mind, what I cannot seem to release, is this question: Should twenty-one year-old, Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, Boston Marathon bomber and murderer, when convicted---and there is no doubt that he will be--be sentenced to death or receive life imprisonment without parole?

As you probably know, in order for him to receive the death sentence, the jury would have to be unanimous.

 Although I am not frozen into this view, generally speaking I am opposed to the death sentence. How can we revere life itself—the essential, God-given life force--and at the same time deliberately extinguish it, no matter how twisted the human being who contains that life has become?

Possibly the death sentence gives some families a kind of closure?  It is certainly less costly to the taxpayer than life imprisonment. According to a study done in 2010 by an organization called The Price Of Prisons, the annual cost per prisoner ranges, depending on the state, from $31,000 per year to $60,000. And that data is five years old.

I spent a year working in a holding jail in Ohio. A holding jail is a prison in which the inmates are incarcerated while they await trial and/or sentencing. This jail time can sometimes last a year, maybe even more and was known to the inmates as doing “hard time” because they could not get out of doors for exercise, nor were there were programs or a library. They just sat. So a steady group of them came to our rather feeble—I thought— weekly drug abuse program in hopes that their sheer physical presence might elicit a positive comment from one of us to the sentencing judge when their turn came up.

In fact, drugs were easily come by and were the jail population’s major recreation. I learned much about the nature of prison life from these men, many of whom were two and three timers who, hoping to shock me, told me prison stories of sadism and appalling brutality. I learned not to shock easily.

From what I heard and, I might add, from movies we have all seen, should the jury in Boston decide to punish Dzhokhar Tsarnaev by life imprisonment, he will do very hard time. Given his youth, his looks and the national public outrage against the act of terrorism he committed, in all likelihood he will be repeatedly sodomized, beaten, perhaps even brutally murdered while he is incarcerated. This is possible even if they put him in solitary for life. 

Acknowledging that no punishment can possibly bring back the three people whose lives were lost, or return to health and wholeness the two hundred and sixty-four people who were injured in drastically life altering ways, what do you think is the appropriate punishment for Tsarnaev?

In my view, the most severe punishment we could inflict on this unrepentant young man is life imprisonment without parole. And, although I disapprove of the death penalty, in this case I think that death by lethal injection would be merciful compared to life imprisonment. Is mercy called for? How much retribution do we require and what sort of punishment will satisfy our sense of justice?

My natural inclination leans toward mercy. But, then, I am not the mother of that little boy.

An Extraordinary Treat In Every Way

                                          April in Paris!

Photo by Taylor Lupica

To be exact: three days, the 14-18 of April in Paris and they were terrific. Invited to join my oldest son and my daughter—my youngest son’s work schedule wouldn’t permit—I went to Paris for three days. My oldest son, Lock, is fluent in French and goes to Paris annually, making him a more than capable guide. Daughter Taylor, just wanted to go and I, having not been to Paris since the 1970s, the three–day, jet-lag crash, notwithstanding, could certainly not say no to such an invitation. What mother in her right mind would say no?

We stayed in a modest, but well appointed and very old hotel on the Rue Jacob on the left bank. Perfect location. Interesting shops everywhere. We went to Marly at the Louvre for lunch one day. Chic and delicious. Great setting. We visited St Chapelle and were struck dumb by it’s majesty and beauty. 

We also went to the Picasso exhibition, which, for me, was more interesting than moving. I much preferred the Impressionist paintings at the Musee D’Orsay.

But most fun and completely new to me, was a food tour Lock had booked with a organization called Paris By Mouth http://parisbymouth.com/ 

 We were a small group and our deeply knowledgeable guide, Catherine Down, led us through French gastronomic heaven. At an ancient wine shop, La Derniere Goutte, we were given a sketch of the intricacies of wine making. This was followed by a visit to the Poilane bakery where we tasted and were introduced to the baking of bread and apple tarts. We were led further to Pierre Herme to experience the making of flakey, buttery croissants and delicate, melt-in–your-mouth macarons. At the Marche Couvert we selected cheeses and confit de canard. (duck pate) 

Further along, we gasped over the chocolates created by Patrick Roger, the recently voted number one chocolatier in Paris. In addition, we tasted the rich, sensuously smooth, lightly flavored, cream puffs made by the number one cream puff baker in Paris at La Maison de Chou.

At each stop Catherine purchased some of the wine, cheeses, cream puffs, chocolates, etc. and we ended the tour in the back room of a tiny wine shop, gathered around a rectangular wooden table eating each delicious bit as Catherine opened the perfect wine--fully explaining why this wine—with this cheese, chocolate, etc.

 Needless to say, Lock and Tay and I each had a salad for dinner.

Paris By Mouth has been written up in the New York Times in the past and if you check the Travel section--36 Hours, Left Bank, Paris--in the April 19, Sunday Times, you will find this remarkable tour acknowledged  again. 

And, by the way, never miss an opportunity to travel with your adult children somewhere, anywhere.  Never mind that you can’t quite keep up with them!

A Chocolate Tsunami

On Wednesday I went to the dermatologist to have a couple of skin anomalies taken care of. I like my dermatologist; he’s thorough and kind and unfortunately—only for his patients-- very busy. These days, discovering skin surprises is fairly routine for me, but one of them was nasty and I knew it.

Turned out both were nasty. The worst--I won’t describe it; it’s too gross--but when the needle he inserted into the infected area of my finger felt like it had reached my elbow, I was looking at the ceiling and, in a rather panicky voice, saying things, like, “Good Grief! Are you nearly finished?”

“Five more seconds,” he said calmly and began to count down. I count down with him and then I complain, “My seconds are faster than yours!” He laughs and we’re done. The nice nurse applies antiseptic goo and bandages to both the attacked areas and my bloody finger feels like the damn needle is still in it. She asks me to press the gauze to staunch the bleeding while she rips open a large Band Aid. 

I walk toward the elevator reminding myself of how lucky I am that the health issues that I have to deal with in my life, thus far, are only annoyances. Annoyances are low on the health scale, especially at my age, but also, I think, at any age.

Making the left turn out of the Brick Walk onto the Post Road, suddenly I Want Chocolate! The desire washes over me like a tsunami and I argue with it. Don’t be silly.  Nonesense! Just go home.

But I deserve it, the tsunami insists. I deserve a treat. That was truly unpleasant.

And what do you know? As if with a mind of its own, my car dives right into The Pantry parking lot. (For those of you who don’t know, The Pantry is the home of all things delicious, especially the bakery.)

OK. If there is no place to park, it will be a sign and I will drive out and go home.

There are not one, but two, parking places available.

 Once inside, I am in no hurry to decide; I will take my time: luxuriate in the deciding.

Two salty caramels, maybe? I hold the golden caramels wrapped in cellophane twists in my hand briefly and then gently place them back into the open box on the counter. Perhaps something from the glass bakery shelf: a tiny chocolate cup with chocolate mouse inside? A lemon square? No, not lemon. A densely chocolate World Peace cookie?  Hmm. I spy a clear plastic cup of chocolate panecotta with a surface of thick-looking caramel sauce and I stop.  Yes!

 The minute I am back in my car I pick off the tight top and plunge the rounded plastic spoon into the thick, smooth pudding. The caramel and dark chocolate are a perfect combination. Heavenly. Leaning back in the seat, I scoop up another bite and slowly savor it.

Driving home, the treat precariously propped up on the seat beside me—at a red light, I gather up another bite—I know what is coming, what I will do: something I have done for years: a habit deeply formed. I will not eat it all. It’s too rich and definitely not on my food list: a far cry from the flaxseed-laden breakfast cereal and the no-fat milk, the chicken and fish that pretty much constitute my intake. That’s why it’s such a splurge! Therefore, when I have slowly eaten half of it—every bite of which I will absolutely relish--I will pitch it. I will toss out that gorgeous panecotta. Not without regret, I assure you, but into the garbage the remaining half will go.

At home, with the tsunami of desire happily sated, the dark chocolate sweetness of my last bite still on my tongue, I scrape the remaining half of the panecotta into the disposal, running water over it madly so that I can’t change my mind.

There is no way for me to know if this habit of mine is a form of insanity or wisdom. Perhaps both? But there it is. It’s up to you to judge and I hope you will.

What We Say Comes Rolling Back

A wise person once said that our words create our reality. In fact, now that I am thinking about this, a number of wise persons have made this same statement, from psychologists to philosophers to religious leaders. Even a smattering of the medical community.

 “In the beginning was the Word and the Word was made flesh.” That is, the Word came into reality. Extrapolating from that famous Biblical line, it is said that our lives actually move in the direction of our words.

 So, if our words set the direction of our lives, what direction do we want our lives to go in? I’ve been noticing lately: some of my own and the negatively hyperbolic words of others.

For example, in just this week I’ve heard said with vehemence, “I hate my doctor’s nurse!”

She hates her? Isn’t that a bit extreme? That isn’t just a careless expression. None of us need any more hate running amuck in the world! Saying we hate someone puts all that negativity not only out there, but also into our own bodies. The expression of hate and the containing of hate are only one thing.

I heard this week from a friend who is renovating a house that the fact that the electrician didn’t come and the plumber failed to show as well is “a nightmare!”  Frustrating? Yes. Annoying? Yes. But a nightmare? No. A nightmare is when one of our children is diagnosed with leukemia. 

We need to be cautious about all the negativity we discharge because we can’t speak negatively and live a positive life. We are planting seeds when we talk and we will “eat that fruit.” We can think and feel whatever naturally comes up for us—and it’s healthy to be aware of our thoughts and feelings—but slamming our stuff into words has power in the universe and do we really want to add to the unconscious collective destruction that the human race seems to be so fond of?

The well-known spiritual teacher, Marianne Williamson, tells us that our difficulty is not so much that we are afraid of our powerlessness, but that we are afraid of discovering how powerful we truly are. And by that she means the power of our thoughts, our ability to manifest our own reality.

 Lest you think that the above ideas are some kind of New Age woo-woo, here’s a quote from the Bible, the Book of Proverbs: 6:2-4.  “You are snared by the words of your mouth.” Even then, people understood that our negativity and our complaints and our anger would in some form, come rolling back on us.

That certainly gives me pause: that what I say about others, my life and myself holds the power of prophesy. Yikes!

 Here’s the good news. The reverse is also true: that celebrating the good in everyone and every situation whenever we are able and expressing that will increase the positive energy in our lives and in the world.

A much better choice, wouldn’t you say?