My Friend Went to Jail


It’s been a day like none other. It started out earlier than usual because I now take Tesla to middle school. The school set up is bizarre and I could not find how to get to the student drop off. There were signs everywhere staring me down with: No Student Drop-Off  But, no sign directing me how the hell to get to the drop-off area. I finally trusted her to walk across the parking lot, even with the signs still glaring at me through the rain drops. Oh yeah, it was dreary and raining too.

Work was the same. Me, trying to cram as much case clearing as possible into my work schedule. I do get breaks. Two, 15 minute, breaks that fly by along with the rest of my day. And today, I left early because one of my best friends was being sentenced.

We stood outside the courtroom, waiting to go in. When I arrived, I hugged Jodie, her husband, Steve, and their 13 year old son, Sean. I have been friends with Jodie since meeting in 6th grade. Our other two friends, Dawn and Angie, were also there and we sat together in the courtroom, often holding hands during the impact statements.

The judge seemed angry. Often short with the lawyers. She listened to both sides give statements, including Jodie and Steve. Listening to the parents of the children who died was absolutely gut-wrenching. I cried along with the families.  I cannot even begin to understand how it would feel to lose your child in such a way that they did.

Steve pled guilty and did not have a trial. Jodie was not offered a plea. She was found guilty, and now, today, a judge was deciding her fate and also making the decision of Steve’s. After the testimonies, the judge immediately gave her decision. I don’t understand the impact statements if the judge has already decided. I guess it is just the last chance for everyone to get off their chests what they think and how they feel. It was emotional beyond belief. The family of the boys that died testified for both sides. It split families, because some felt that strongly that what the boys did on that day that caused their deaths was their own doings, as Jodie and Steve weren’t home. They did not allow them to drink for hours and then drive a vehicle drunk. Period.

I wasn’t there that day. I’m just stating what I believe to be true.

While I think they were completely wrong in previously buying alcohol for kids and allowing them to drink, I do not think Jodie should have been sentenced to 2.5-6 years in state prison. Her youngest son is 13 and oldest just started college. My heart was breaking as the judge read off their sentences. Steve was sentenced 3 years probation with fines, DUI classes, and community service. I had hoped Jodie would not get prison time, but the judge was incredibly harsh, comparing them to parents who horribly abuse their children, physically, sexually and emotionally, and even murder them. I knew then that she was going to jail. The judge was over-the-top and out-of-line with that comparison. In no way would either of these two people intentionally hurt anyone, especially their children, or friends of their children.

What I think doesn’t matter. The statement I prepared and gave to the judge didn’t matter. The judge had already decided what she was sentencing my friends and there is nothing I could do about it. I will be there for my friend and her family as she begins what her lawyer told me will be 2.5 years, and then she will be up for parole with the state board. The most she can stay at the county jail is 1 year. The judge ordered she must go to state.

She ordered Jodie be taken into custody immediately to begin her sentence. The sheriff cuffed her and led her out of the room. We were all in shock. Then, we all started crying.

So what has been accomplished? Tax payers will pay for someone to be behind bars that is not a threat to society. In fact, prior to this, she and her husband had never been in any legal trouble, so society is losing a tax payer and gaining a tax creator. I have cried so many times today for my friends and their family. I just needed to get some of this pain out. Stone and Nick won’t magically come back. I wonder, is there really is any satisfaction gained by destroying more families?

Now, I will stop crying and just continue praying. I went to their house afterwards and told Steve they have to be strong, and work through this, and that I’m only a phone call away. I pray he never hesitates to call.

Thanks for reading.


Homemade Slip N Slide

After a water balloon battle that came down to Tyler versus me, we broke out the bottle of Dawn dish soap and made a Slip-N-Slide out of a paint drop cloth.  It didn’t take long for my neighbor, Deb, to add the plastic bag her new mattress arrived in, and in no time, we had fun trying not to break any bones.  Well, I was trying that is, the kids don’t really think about their bones breaking during moments like this.  Tyler, Blaine and Tesla were reckless and daring, as usual.

My brilliant idea of the day.  Make a slip-n-slide.

My brilliant idea of the day. Make a slip-n-slide.



The playing field

The playing field


The battle lasted longer than I thought; many balloons didn’t break on the first throw.  We had about 80 balloons, the green ones looked like hand-grenades.  The tie-dyes were really cool and everyone’s favorites.

After Deb cut open the mattress cover, I womaned up and joined in the fun.  Deb didn’t want involved, so she stuck to taking pictures.  Didn’t hurt myself, but I admit, I’m tired.  Good thing Suz is coming over and making dinner!  🙂

What a fun, but exhausting day!  A day that memories are made from.  ~P.




Rail Trail in York, PA

My dear friend from high school, Beth Fike (Lightner) asked if I ever rode my bike on the rail trail.  I had not, so we made half-ass plans last night to go this morning.  Beth was the only one really prepared at 9 am, Dale and I were just winging it.

Some pictures on the way to the trail:

Remember when this was McDonald's?

Beth gets our bikes down.

Beth gets our bikes down.

We started riding just off of Richland Avenue.  There was quite a bit of activity-walkers, joggers and bicyclists.  Ages ranged from babies in strollers to active senior citizens.  Beth, Dale and I were just trying to not wreck our bikes.  Dale’s bike has some serious gear issues, making this 4 mile total trip very difficult.  The trail is shaded and the scenery is over-all, pleasant.  The people we passed said hello, good morning or at least nodded if their ears were plugged with an electronic gadget.  I ran into a musical friend of the family, Lori Yost, and recognized her.  She couldn’t get over that I remembered her and her parents.  Gene and Esther Yost are doing well, still love Bluegrass music.  😉

There are many turns on the trail due to roads.  The weren’t any active trains (the weeds growing through the tracks and the “Derail Ahead” signs gave it away) in the area.  I said to Beth, “If the tracks aren’t being used, why don’t they recycle them?”  Beth’s answer was simple, “then it wouldn’t be a rail trail.”

Good point,


Click on the first thumbnail to see what I discovered on the rail trail in York, PA.

Double Creek Marathon 2013

Gruver's Orange Army

Gruver’s Orange Army

The Double Creek Marathon was held today, June 15th, in Dover, PA.  A mile and half of North Salem Church Road was closed for the event.  Participants returned on the same road for a total of 3 miles.

Participating in the marathon was a small army of Gruver’s Boot Campers who have No More Excuses!

Downtown the mascot of the York Revolution baseball team joined in supporting the participants and the crowd.

One very grouchy Mike Fetrow refused to move his wide load out of the way.  I even offered to direct him while turning around but he refused.  Eventually, someone notified the police who told him to do exactly what I had offered to help with.  I get he had a certain route outlined by PA DOT, but there were 1000+ people and he was one grump in a truck.  (Some people haven’t changed much since high school.)

Photos from the event.  Click on the first small photo and the gallery will open for each section.

Jeremy Gruver's Outdoor Fitness Boot Camp

Jeremy Gruver’s Outdoor Fitness Boot Camp


line up to start marathon 2013 027 marathon 2013 028


(click to open gallery)


Gruver Finish


(Click first pic to open gallery)



(Click first pic to open gallery)

If you see yourself, comment on the picture and I will tag you!

Great Job Double Creek Marathonists & event co-ordinators


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Word count: 180 Saving Draft…

Memories of Trista

There comes a time in every young boy’s life when he first notices that there is something special about girls.  For as long as he could recall girls had been of little interest and more often the enemy.  This change of heart does not happen while in the company of a girl his age.  It happens when he spends time with a girl who is some years older.  Unbeknownst to him he is no longer conversing with a girl, but with a young woman.

My parents had some close friends when I was much younger and we visited their home quite often.   These regular get-togethers had been going on for as long as I could remember.  Theirs was a house of wonders.  There was Nintendo, computer games, and more toys than I could ever play with.  For years mere mention of an upcoming visit would fill my body with waves of excitement.  Though the two siblings at this house were a few years older than my sister and me, they were still very kind to us.  For them it was a chance to stray from their usual routines and show off their most prized possessions.

The oldest daughter had a thing for picking on me.  I assure you that it was all in good fun.  Her antics were no different than any fourteen year old girl who is confronted with a shy, quite boy.  I was not accustomed to this type of attention.  My sister was a year older than me and she was never inclined to block my passage through a doorway then tug on my collar as I tried to zip by.  It was just a game to me, no different than the types of things my oldest siblings would do.  Only it felt different coming from her.

I distinctly remember the day my young mind changed.  She was sitting at a large kitchen table and doodling on some papers that her mother had laid out for her youngest daughter.  I stood across the table from her and watched intently as her imagination appeared on the page.  For the life of me I cannot remember what it was that she was drawing, but I just couldn’t turn away.  I was amazed at this kind of creativity that I had never witnessed before.  With my mind elsewhere I continued to gaze in her direction.  Within minutes I was no longer looking at her drawing.  I slowly realized that I was only looking at her face.  There was something so appealing about the curve of her cheeks and the arc of her lips.  She leaned forward to fill in some portion of her sketch and for the first time I realized the beauty of an eastern woman.  As the sound of live music filled the house I stood there mesmerized by something that I could not understand.  I was immersed in a warm feeling that I did not want to end.

From that point on I lost nearly all interest in the Nintendo and the arsenal of toy guns.  I was watching her every move like a barn owl.  I somehow knew that looking at her with puppy dog eyes was not an acceptable thing to do.  After catching me in a forlorn gaze for at least the third time her eyes widened and her lips narrowed.  Bobbing her side to side like a metronome and distinctly pausing between each word, she inquired “What. Are. You. Looking. At?”  I froze in panic.  My hand was in the cookie jar and I had just crushed all the cookies.  I darted away and avoided her as though I had just become the mouse.

A few months later, and I believe for the first time, her family came to my house.  The four of us kids tore up the basement while the adults made music outside.  She was quite amused with a toy football player that must have belonged to my older brother.  It was about 1 ft. tall and would punt small objects when you pounded down on its helmet.  I was thrilled to be entertaining her by running back and forth while she launched Lincoln logs and tinker toys at me.  At some point she fired a small wooden door stopper that had gotten mixed in with the bin of toys.  The stopper was roughly cut and splintered around the edges.  I had no idea that it had hit me right in the crotch as I was running by.  What’s worse is that it somehow clung to my baggy sweatpants.  She was already in a full-bodied point and laugh as I looked around to see where it had landed.  When I realized where it was I became physically stuck between shock and embarrassment.  In my haste to swipe the object free of my pants I accidentally struck myself in a way that is only ever funny to the person who sees you do it.  I doubled over in pain.  By now she had fallen to her knees in laughter.  I immediately did my best to laugh and walk it off at the same time, but I could feel my face getting red.  I was certain that she had previously sensed my childish infatuation and I just wanted crawl under the rug.  She was now on the floor laughing hysterically.  Through her laughter she managed to blurt out “I’m gonna pee my pants.”  I remember thinking “Please God let her pee her pants.  Then she’ll look twice as foolish as I do right now.”  After a minute or so we both gathered our composure.  With tears still in her eyes she kept trying to tell her brother what had happened, but she couldn’t manage to get past the part about my self-inflicted injury without bursting into laughter again.  I still laugh when I picture him leaning forward with his hands out and saying something to the effect of “What? What? What is so damn funny?”

With each of our following trips to her house I found myself secretly wishing that I could make her laugh like that again.  I would have risked life and limb to bring that kind of joy to the girl who had cast such a strange but wonderful spell over me.   Within another year I knew that that wish would never come true.  By then, even I could tell that she was a not a girl but a young woman.

I’ll always cherish the memories I have from that house.  It truly was a house of wonders and it was also a house of firsts.  The first time I played Nintendo.  The first time I used a computer.  The first time I celebrated a Chinese new year.  And yes, the first time I felt attracted to a girl.

God Bless you Trista Eng.  You are forever in my heart and often on my mind.

Sam Crider

Rest in peace, Cookie

Today, in 1986, a friend of mine named Betty Jean “Cookie” Hollis was found dead at a pavilion in a local park. Her clothes were on inside out, she showed signs of rape and was strangled. The night before, my mother’s boyfriend’s cousin showed up at our door at 12:45 AM in a state of panic, his clothes were inside out, and he asked to talk to my mom’s boyfriend. Of course, he was sleeping on the sofa recovering from a party that night that involved grain alcohol, PCP, marijuana and cocaine that took place in my mother’s home where I lived. I told him that my mother’s boyfriend was sleeping. He asked me to tell him once he got up in the morning that he had been to visit. When Cookie was found, I knew that the visit was somehow involved. Against my mother’s advice not to be “a snitch” or a “narc”, I went to the police station and told them what had happened that night when he showed up at the door.

Two weeks later he was arrested for murder and rape, but he got out on bail. For the next two months, until he was convicted in September of 1987, he constantly threatened to kill me and often banged on windows and the air conditioner asking me to open the door and talk to him. I called the police every single time it happened. I testified in court about what time he came to the door, what he was wearing, and answered a stupid question from the defense lawyer. After he was convicted and sentenced to 25-45 years in prison, he called me through my mother’s boyfriend and told me that he was going to kill me at soon as he got out. I have never forgotten that. All my life I made sure to have private unlisted phone numbers.

Now that we have technology and for a price anyone, I MEAN ANYONE, can get my address, phone number, credit report, background check, and other personal information on the internet. On this day, every year, I take a moment to remember Cookie and to remain vigilant that one day I may get a very unpleasant knock on my door. There is nothing I can do to keep my address and personal information out of the hands of people who shouldn’t have it. Think about that the next time privacy laws get shelved or are not voted on by your representative in the House and Senate. I do every single day. Rest in peace, Cookie, you are not forgotten.

By Michele Kalis

Money makes monsters

I really get tired of hearing how money is so important.  I just need enough money to get by.  There is no burning desire in me to be a millionaire so I don’t live my life as if money is the ultimate goal.

My family is what’s most important to me.  I want to spend as much time with them as possible. (minus Walt)

To those who’s world revolves around the almighty buck, I feel bad for them.

Here is a message I received from a person who used to be a close friend:

Want to insult my show? Fuck off. I just pulled in more money in the last two week than all your welfare checks combined this year. Your website help cost you custody of your daughter and help you meet people who have sex with balloons. I’m meeting millionaires and some of the most influential people within the industry I’m in. My suggestion to you is to shut your big mouth. It’s gotten you in enough trouble.

I made a joke on his wife’s facebook status about his radio show causing his wife to fall asleep and that was what I got from him at 4 AM.

His message is so ill-informed I just had to share it.

1. I have received $0 in welfare.  (If he makes a penny he has me beat)

2. My website had nothing to do with custody.  The judge wouldn’t even let them talk about it after she concluded it wasn’t relevant.

3. I haven’t met anyone who has had sex with a balloon.

4. My mouth isn’t that big.

5. I’m not in any trouble.

My suggestions to him:

1.  Worry about your wife and children more than how many millionaires you meet.

2. Watch your eating habits….you are one fat fucker.

3. Don’t think I won’t tell the world everything you write to me.

4. Your secrets from the wife are about to bite you in the ass so prepare for covering it.

5. Spend time with your kids (instead of sending them permanently or semi-permanently to your parents or her grandparents that you’ve blackmailed rent money from)….millionaires don’t give a shit about you.  After awhile, neither will your wife and kids.


Some people shouldn’t marry or have children.



Two Fake Friends

Isn’t it funny the moment you realize someone you thought was your friend isn’t?

Not funny as in: that was a great joke…..hahaha

But funny as in: that was a kick in my ass I didn’t foresee.


Fake Friend #1


Former Co-worker

Fucked around on her fiance (now her hubby)

I should have known when I was being used as an alibi so she could fuck around, that I was not a friend.


Fake Friend #2


Former High School friend

Wanted to fuck around on his wife.

I should have known when he tried to stick his tongue in my mouth, that I was not a friend.


Fake friends need not apply.

With friends like these two, who needs enemies?

I have enough enemies.


I find it ironic that these two people who were once such close friends, now avoid me because of their own secrets.   Never once have I mentioned or even hinted about their secrets in my blog.

Until now.







Tesla turns 6

Tesla had a great 6th birthday!  It was great to have all my kidlings together.  The weather wasn’t too bad….a little chilly.  😉   Thanks to all who helped make the day special!   ~P.


Wanted her hair curled for the party....and make up. 😉


Information about Waffles needed

Two Saturdays ago…. at  12:45 AM, two males entered the apartment of Shawn Warfel and shot him twice while he stood in the kitchen.  He has been moved to Johns Hopkins and is still in critical care.

His shooting happened right off a busy street by a Rutter’s Store in RED LION, PA.


If you know anything, call 911.  If you don’t want to call the police, please email me, call me, comment…..any leads or information you may have.

This is the original blog post.

Thank you!


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