The Larson Family

I’ve had it.

Some months ago, Becky and I are sitting on the couch watching TV late one night. The college kids who rent the house two doors down must have been having a party again because we were hearing drunks walking up and down the sidewalk in front of our house all night. And suddenly we hear a young male voice say, “Shrubbery!”, ah yes, the Monty Python classic, followed by a snapping sound.

I went outside just in time to see a group of about four guys walking up the driveway into their house. And I’m ashamed to say, I didn’t do anything. It was dark, I couldn’t identify anybody, so I didn’t call. We replanted the shrubs in a different area, further from the sidewalk, and planted new, bigger shrubs near the sidewalk.

Last night, Bluto Blutarsky and friends decided to have a rager again, this time an indoor/outdoor party with upwards of 50 people. And when I got up this morning, one of our shrubs was torn out of the ground.

No more Mister Nice Guy.

I went over and photographed the litter and beer bottles they leave around every time they have a party. I photographed the damage the did to my property. I called the police. The Officer who came over took my information, and as we were talking, one of the residents over there backed out of the driveway. The Officer stopped him in the driveway and had a talk with him. The cat’s out of the bag now. They know I’ve complained.

I called the Fargo Police Department’s Property Owner’s Liaison and left a message. My lovely wife Rebecca found the name and address of the property owner (she’s good at that kind of stuff). I sent them a fax. I sent them a letter. And I told them I sincerely hope they’re conscientious property owners who will take whatever measures are necessary to ensure their tenants behave in a neighborly manner.

But I’m not done yet.

Right now I’m cleaning out my video camera, making lots of room. It’s a pretty nice camera. You can acutally set it to record for 32 hours straight. I bought a blindingly bright 150-watt light bulb and installed it over our front step. Tonight (it’s Saturday, maybe they’ll have another party) I’m setting up the camera on a tripod in our living room where it will just be able to see outside through a crack in the blinds. And I will tape all night under the brilliant new light in our front yard.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Hi, it’s me again. Remember two weeks ago when I told you how I’d just changed the headlight bulb in my wife Rebecca’s 2003 Kia Sorento? And remember how I told you we’ve been having a terrible problem with bulbs burning out all the time?

Two nights ago, the driver’s side headlight burned out. This is the same bulb I replaced on November 28th. So I just came back in from changing it. I changed the passenger side brake light while I was out there.

So, for the record, the headlights in the Kia now consist of: passenger side, changed out Feb. 28th, and the driver’s side, replaced today, March 16th, 2010.

Now let’s see which one burns out first. I’m putting my money on driver’s side headlight bulb (it would seem too logical for the older bulb to burn out first) by May 29th.

If you do any driving at night in the Fargo area, you’ve probably seen me at some point in the last three weeks. Or more accurately, you’ve seen the blast of the high-beams from my wife’s Kia Sorento blasting your pupils down to pinpricks. And believe me, I’ve seen you. Squinting, your face illuminated bright white, as you flash your headlights at me. Sorry about your ocular degeneration.

In my previous blog, you might remember I told you about how Kia Sorentos have a problem with their lights burning out. Headlights, taillights, brakelights, the works. I changed our last headlight on November 29th — the driver’s side.

About three weeks ago, the passenger-side headlight burnt out. Well, it’s been so damn cold, I just couldn’t bring myself to go out and change it. So, we minimized our night-time driving for the last three weeks. But when we did go driving at night, I kept the high beams on, just so we’d have at least one working light on both sides of the vehicle.

Woudn’t you know, it got up to a relatively balmy twenty-something today, so I finally went out and changed the bulb this morning.

So, for the record, right now we’re on pace to have a burned out light bulb every quarter. I shouldn’t complain because the Kia has mechanically been a stellar car for us. No major problems to speak of (I’m knocking) except this annoying problem with the headlights.

By the way… did I mention we’ve had a brakelight burned out for about two months? Maybe it can wait until spring.

In my previous blog, Justice Delayed I explained how my Uncle Jim ended up in prison after a drunken fight in a hotel room, and how he was left incarcerated for about fifteen years longer than he should have been. But the story of how he was released is a story in and of itself.

When the state of Michigan passed a “Life Means Life” law in 1992, they decided to apply the law retroactively to all currently incarcerated lifers, whether they had been given a parolable life sentence or not. That meant my Uncle Jim, who could have expected to be released somewhere around 1992, suddenly found himself the recipient of a very long sentence extension.

A group of law students from a nearby university took exception with the idea that a prisoner’s sentence could be extended with the stroke of pen, disregarding the recommendation of the judge and jury who originally tried the case. So, legal challenges were filed, and after many years, the courts finally ruled in favor of the inmates. You can pass a “Life Means Life” law, but you cannot apply it retroactively to prisoners who have already been convicted by a jury and sentenced by a judge.

It was that ruling which finally sprang my uncle from prison just two days ago.

My Uncle’s plan upon his release was to come back to North Dakota and live with his Mom, my Grandmother, in Minot. So my Mom and her other brother John met up in New Haven, Michigan, picked up my Uncle Jim as he was let out of prison after thirty-two years, and began the long drive back to North Dakota. This roadtrip was the first time these three siblings have been together since they were just little kids.

On the way to Minot, they were gracious enough to stop here in Fargo, and I got to meet my Uncle Jim for the first time since I was in diapers. The picture above, left to right, is Uncle John, my Mom, me, and Uncle Jim. I made a big, home-cooked meal of Dakota Baby-Back ribs with homemade baked beans and we had a great time with the family. Jim and John got to know my wife and son, and I got so see my Mom for the first time in two years (she lives in Texas). We stayed up talking ’til late in the night.

Unfortunately, the visit was far too short. We went out for breakfast this morning, and then they had to get back on the road to Minot. They left a few minutes ago and they’ll arrive in Minot this afternoon. Jim will get to reunite with his Mom, and then it’s down to business. He’ll have to check in with his parole officer (he has forty-eight hours from the time he enters North Dakota to check in) and then get to work on settling in at my Grandma’s house and finding work. He has a potential employment opportunity already set up, and things seem to be going good on that front. He has been a physically active man while in prison, so his health is good for a man of sixty-seven, and that’s a blessing considering most men his age would be retiring.

We hope to travel to Minot in the next month or so for a visit.

The geese migrating over our house in the fall of 2009. A little honking musical tribute as they go over is always welcome.

A couple of years ago, we had a problem with the engine in our Jeep Grand Cherokee, and for a while we thought the old bucket had met it’s demise. So, we went car shopping. Rebecca wanted an SUV, and after very little shopping around, we settled for a nice 2003 Kia Sorento EX.

It’s a nice little two-tone black and gold SUV. Four wheel drive, foor door, mid-size SUV — just a touch bigger than a crossover. She likes it, so we’ve been happy with it.

For anybody who might be thinking of buying a Sorento, here’s the skinny. We’ve had no major problems with the vehicle in the couple of years we’ve owned it. But we have experienced some odd/recurring problems you should know about.

First, we had a problem with the engine overheating last winter. I was sure we needed a water pump, but it turned out to be a bizarre — and thankfully less expensive — seal problem on the bottom of the coolant overflow tank. But the stubborn problem that’s been aggravating me to no end is HEADLIGHTs!!!

The bulbs on Becky’s Sorento burn out every nine months. And of course at different times, so you go out and change the left, and three months later, you’re out there changing the right. I just changed the passenger side bulb about two months ago, and the driver side burned out yesterday. And this is easily the fifth or sixth light bulb replacement in the last two years.

I figured I should write it down so next time it happens, I’ll be able to go back and see when I did it last time.

I also ran across some online advice suggesting it may be a bad ground between the fusebox and the fender, so I’ll be checking that out to see if it makes any difference. Keep you posted.

Click Here to read a step-by-step guide to replacing a headlight on a Kia Sorento.

A little background on me. For the first five years of my life, I did not have a prominent father figure in my life. As a matter of fact, I was surrounded by women. My mom, my grandma, and my aunt. And even after my Mom got married, I was still surrounded by women since I soon became big brother to two little sisters. And being the voracious reader that I was, I read everything, including my Mom’s women’s magazines. Don’t get me wrong, my Dad’s stash of Playboys made it into my brain too… but that’s not really reading now, is it?

When I became an adult, I looked back on that and came to the conclusion that there are some advantages to being raised by women. I’ve always felt like I have a better understanding of women than some of my male friends. And I’ve come to discover that I have some skills which are rare in adult males because of it… like shopping.

I shop for my wife all the time. And I’m not talking trinkets and knick knacks, I mean clothes. Somehow, I have a knack for knowing her size — even though she occasionally gets on me for buying them a little too small (I like ‘em tight, what can I say) — and being able to pick out stuff that looks good on her. I’m not saying I never fail, but I do pretty good most of the time. I distinctly remember one time when one of Becky’s friends looked at her and said, “He buys you clothes?” with this look of jealousy. I like it. I’m proud of it.

But recently, I’ve run head-on into a new problem. Becky is eight years younger than me… a young-looking thirty two and she can rock the trendiest clothes and pull it off. But I’m forty, and I look it. Goatee is getting a little gray.

So, not too long ago, I went to a trendy little clothing shop in the mall. I picked out a few things for Becky and went to check out. As the cashier is ringing me up, we’re making small talk, and I gestured to one of the articles I picked out and mentioned how my wife has been wanting one of these. The cashier goes on ringing up my purchases and then she dropped the bomb.

She said, “God, I don’t think my dad has ever bought me clothes.” I stood there for a moment, thinking “What did she just say?” And then she said, “As a matter of fact, I know my dad wouldn’t be caught dead buying me clothes.”

Yep, I heard her right. She thought I was buying clothes for my daughter! Was she even listening when I told her these were for my wife?? I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say. I was offended, but mildly amused too. I’m such a sensitive and considerate Dad.

So, she finished ringing up and bagging my purchases, and said, “Here you go. I hope she enjoys them.” And as I walked out the door I said, “Oh, I’m sure she will. She’s gonna look hot in these.”

That’ll teach her.

Just a quick update on Gizmo after his “fix”. After two days of sleepiness and hiding in the basement, Poo Poo has come around. He’s no longer staggering, seems to be more awake, and has returned to harrassing Tigger. Now he’s walking around the house with his normal disdain for everybody (except Cole, his buddy) and — I’m knocking on wood vigorously here — he has not sprayed on anything. We cleaned like crazy while he was gone to get rid of any residual smells, and that seems to have helped. Hopefully, he has turned over a new leaf. — Troy

In my previous blog – A New Beginning – I told part of the story of my Uncle Jim, incarcerated for the last thirty-two years, convicted on the charge of second-degree murder. He will be released on December 16th.

My mom printed out that blog and sent a copy to my Uncle Jim and shortly thereafter I received a letter from him. Since I was short on facts, he corrected and informed me on a few things. An excerpt:

[Your blog] like your letter to the parole board, reached a deep spot not often awakened. I’d like to correct a number of misconceptions in your blog. I correct these things not in any harsh way, only so that you have more facts to base things on.

Despite Jim’s sentiment that he wasn’t correcting me in a harsh way, I was a little worried that I had overstepped some boundary by getting the facts wrong. The last thing I wanted was for my uncle to be upset with me before we even get a chance to know each other in person. He continued:

I was arrested and tried for the case I am about to be released for in 1977, a little over thirty-two years ago.

I don’t know where I got the idea it was 1973, but if you read my previous blog, you can now know, it was ‘77 and not ‘73.

I had three separate trials, the first two trials resulting in 1) a mistrial as the jurors could not agree — nine voted in my favor that time, and 2) a mistrial, as the prosecutor made inflammatory statements to the jury in his closing arguments — things he legally could not say. He did it on purpose, as he felt I would not be convicted that time either. The third trial, two years later, lasted three to four weeks and the jury finally convicted me of a lesser charge [of second-degree murder].

It was my belief then and now, that the jury compromised the last time, thinking that I must have done something — so they found me guilty of something.

Nice, right? Don’t ever let anybody tell you that the American legal system protects you from multiple trials with laws against ‘double jeopardy’.

The only evidence against me was all circumstantial — no one even so much as saw me with the man who ended up being killed.

I did not kill — nor did I help anyone to kill — the man who ended up dying. There was a drunken fight in a motel room and the man was killed. My only involvement at the time was being in the room. I never helped, nor even so much as laid a hand on the victim. But I did help the man who did it afterwards… to get away, and gave him a place in Pittsburgh to rest for a few days. Now you know my involvement.

I had heard much of this story from my Uncle before. What was he doing in the hotel room? Who was the man who died? I got a letter from him many years ago which explained in some detail, but I don’t have it anymore and I’m not sure I can remember the details. I can say my Uncle Jim has admitted being involved in dealing weapons to groups like Posse Comitatus and the American Indian Movement, both of which were quite active in the seventies. I’m not sure that the ‘meeting’ which ended with a man dying had anything to do with these activities, but it at least gives you an idea of how three guys in a motel room could have wandered down such a dangerous path.

As I said in my previous blog, my Uncle doesn’t downplay or shirk responsibility for the acts which ended with his imprisonment. He fully admits that he’s done — and was doing — things he should not have been doing. If I’m reading between the lines of his letters correctly, what he does have a problem with — and I do too — are the legal shenanigans which kept him behind bars for so long.

The original charge was first-degree murder, and I was found guilty of the lesser charge of second-degree murder, and given a parolable life sentence. That last is very important.

It is my understanding that those in Michigan who received “Parolable Life Sentences” served, on average, twelve to seventeen years. Perhaps my relation to Jim is coloring my judgment, but that seems like a sufficient amount of time for a man like my Uncle — a man who was essentially in the wrong place at the wrong time, involved in things he should not be doing, yes. But not a killer. So, how did he end up getting so much time?

Years after my imprisonment, the state of Michigan and some of its politicians decided that they wanted to make a new law regarding lifers, saying in 1992 that “Life Means Life.” And they went a big step further… making their new law retroactive to include all lifers, parolable or not.

So while I started out with a parolable life sentence, given to me by a jury… the state gave me a sentence that three juries couldn’t give me, with the stroke of a pen.

Can you imagine? Our justice system is built on several key principles. That you have a right to trial by a jury of your peers is a big one. And the jury’s decision, and the judge’s subsequent sentence, are binding. And yet a politician can essentially overrule the decision of a jury and the sentence of a judge because it’s politically popular? “Vote for me. I’m tough on crime.” Get off my johnson, Mr. Politician. Everybody is tough on crime. Have you ever heard a politician say “Nah, you know, crime doesn’t bother me so much”? Saying it, and campaigning on it, is just a way to appeal to people who are angry with their own lot in life.

I will go into detail on how my Uncle ended up being released in a future blog. — Troy

We went to Island Park to take our Christmas Card photo today. November 14th, and no snow on the ground. Maybe my memory is deceiving me, but I don’t recall many winters as a kid where we didn’t have snow on the ground halfway through November. Not that I’m complaining… it is a beautiful day.

For any family members who might want a printable copy of this photo (this means you, Mom), just right-click it and save it. It’s hi-res and printable quality, sized to 4 X 6. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all. — Troy