The Kirkwood shooter and a challenge to investigative journalists

It's easy to call Cookie Thorton a madman. No one in his or her right mind would walk into a civilized city council meeting and open fire - we can all agree on that. But by writing this week's shooting in Kirkwood off as the aberrant act of a crazed…

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Sin, Sex, Secret Societies

Last night I saw The Da Vinci Code for the first time.  I had read the first chapter of the book some time ago and frankly it so did not capture my imagination that I haven't picked it up since.  Years before, I'd read Holy Blood Holy Grail, the book…

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No Clinging

Tragedy struck our family suddenly, as it sometimes does, with no real warning signs or portents. One moment, contentment, a morning ritual of oatmeal and coffee, conversation about daily plans, and then a new moment - horror, blood, panic, and my oatmeal bowl in mid-air, suspended. That instant, so short so brutal, shattered us. Driving, driving to the animal emergency clinic - is this too fast? This is too slow - get in that lane - stave off panic, full of dread and fear, breathe in, breathe out dare to hope. So sorry, so sorry, no words to capture the sorrow. The history - years of love and effort and training with a much loved but unpredictable dog with and for whom we worked so hard (not hard enough?), and a greatly treasured older cat who ruled our home like a feisty queen, and with whom the dog always backed down, isn't the point here. But that history was the the fabric of our home, our life. Much effort, so much love and constant awareness. Years and years of vigilance, training and exercise wasn't enough, and now we lose two beloved beings in one short time. We live with that, we grieve, we work to move beyond remorse and guilt. During one of the many trips to the hospital, (so many, an eternity in a few days) I think - this is why we need a heaven. This yearning to know that loss isn't how we end, that there is some goodness waiting to counter this searing pain. That hope would help with my sorrow, with my anger, with my guilt and regret. Too know that my beings will live again, free of pain, happy. That the damage led to perfection. My yearning tastes of tears, so sorry, no words.

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This just in…prayer doesn’t work.

While doing the research for my previous post, A Slaughterhouse of One's Own: A community confronts Santeria, I came across several explanations of exactly how animal sacrifice works in this religion, physically and metaphorically speaking. The animal is bound and its throat is cut. The carotid artery is sliced with…

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