Dispatch from the Fringe-- Part I.

Slow motion madness,
entry level lens flares.
Rocking tunes and headphones,
detectives, knives and blank stares.

Whoa, what a trip. Patrick and Nick drove my bookbag and I to the airport, leaving the apartment at 530pm for a flight that left at 7pm. Not the most timely decision I've ever made. Traffic was lesson upon lesson of the hazards of individuality run wildly amok. It was maddening to see that may cars move that slowly.

Security was a breeze, and in mere minutes, I was standing in line to board the plane with 14 minutes to spare before the departure time. I chatted aimlessly for a few minutes with the middle aged woman in front of me. We discussed traffic. The middle aged couple in front of her joined in the conversation. They relayed their thoughts on Hurricane Rita. To be young is to be interesting I suppose. Though it could have been the tshirt I had on. Martin Sexton, hallelujah.

"The featured film for this evening's flight is available only to our port tack guests should they decide to peer out port tack windows." It was a hurricane sized sunset. I took a number of photographs with my trusty Canon and they looked solid. But it was for naught.

A quick jaunt down the Freeway courtesy of Chelsea Limosuine Services (Incorporated), and I was home and back with the family. Everyone seemed in good spirits, if tired. Big changes are certainly happening all over the place, but red blood is pumping in the heart of hearts that matter. Among friends, my goodness is Laura pregnant, and with a shiny sparkling ring on a certain finger. Adorable. Mary looks great with a stylish-as-ever hair cut and Dumo is loaded with a pile of chuckle bone tales. TJ seems happy, if thicker and more Italian than he's ever been. Good for him.

I took Mom on a couple laps around some good good music, with some good good headphones. Sam and Chelsea joined in and it was a regular music binge. But it would not be a moment easily recalled the following morning.

What started as a day begun early, ended as day gone late. I fell asleep around 2:15am. I would be awoken less than 2 hours later by flashing lights, missing things, and a big enough goodbye to last 10 months.

A gentleman, one built slight but tall, with a preference for the night time and prone to hockey mask disguise, had weaponized himself with a knife and was preparing to traffic in stolen goods from the residents of Woodrow Road and late night foot sprees from the cops. He made off with some cash, credit cards, an mp3 player, a camera battery and memory card. The morning light would reveal many more details.

A packing of the car with Chelsea's cargo for her 10 month Americorp adventure ran parellel to the gently probing questions of the Police officer sent to query our collective knowledge (mostly Chelsea's as she called 911 and was witness to the scoundrel in action). At last the final belongings were collected and the final bags packed. I'd like to say I took part in these surreal events but I was in a daze, drawn and quartered by the pesky missing mp3 player...

We made it to the airport and it was all pretty surreal. Sam, Molly, and I shared some good laughs on the way home. I write this now in a room full of jostling tossling children aged 6mo to 6 years, when details begin to surface and the investigation gained a Detective and his eye for leads and logic.

The same gentleman that broke into this house broke into my grandparents garage and house next door. The upholstry of Grandpa's 1932 Ford Coupe suffered under the willful blades of the vandals knife as did the motorcycle, previously so carefully attended to, now marked with the insignia of fear, of rage, of doubt... and maybe of circumstance. Stolen items from the house include a jar of peanut butter, a loaf of bread, a can of beer, some peperment sticks and a car battery. They'd been placed in a duffle bag by a bicycle in the diveway.

Who would leave a duffle bag full of hot goods (and house keys and traceable supermarket discount card) with his bicycle in the middle of a driveway? A gentleman intent in coming back I suppose, but one whose intentions were thwarted by a California bound sociologist.

Chelsea had woken up to get a shower and pack her things, when the unraveling and deciphering of the previous 2 hours events began to unfold. It was her quick thinking, sharp observational skills, and charged cell phone that lead a foot chase between cop and criminal.

Cowboyish, which is to say boyish, was the method by which the police officers introduced themselves to the sleepy neighborhood. Lights and sirens blazing, t's no surprise to anyone suspect 101 got a good head start as he took off running, pockets full of loot, and even managed to escape. It seems the investigation is in full swing.

Luckily no one was hurt. This is all only 12 hours into the trip. My goodness. I'll be very curious to learn the full details as the very observational Detective reveals them. Kudos to the Officers so eager to offer assistance, but those sirens sure were a bummer.