man charged in triple murder; victims related - tonight Newspaper

LIFESTYLESPINCYCLE DIARIESTALYN-TERZIAN GILMOURAweek has gone by, and Istill can’t shake the blues... but at least it looks likewe’re actually going tobe on time today. Kids are dressedand fed, bags are packed for school,and just as we go outside to load everyoneup, disaster! There is rottenfood everywhere: I forgot to closethe garage door last night and raccoonsgot into my green bin!A quick cleanup later and I’mthinking the crisis has been averted,when up the driveway comes mycleaning lady – the one that keepsrearranging all of my stuff; the onethat keeps breaking things in myhouse; the one I’m putting off lettinggo because I’ve never fired anyonein my life. I wasn’t expecting her,especially since I am actually tryingout a new cleaning lady – today. Sheis set to arrive any minute! What todo now? I blurt out, “Oh, hi! I wasn’texpecting you today. But, um, great.Go ahead inside, I’ll just be a minute.”Quick, send text. No response.Call ... pick up, pick up, pick up! “Hi,it’s me. I’m so sorry, part of our rooffell off last night and I really don’tfeel comfortable having you comehere while they work to put it backon. Us? Oh, geez, we’re fine, thankyou for asking. I will pay you, forsure, I’m so, so sorry! See you nextweek. Thank you so much. Okay,bye.”Before you judge, part of the roofdid fall off last week, and tomorrowa roofer is going to come and put itback on, so … not a lie, just a stretch.I hop in the car with the restof the gang who have now (thankgoodness) offered me a ride to thesubway. Purse? Check. Spare bagwith shoes? Check. Latte? Checkitycheck check! Things are startingto go my way – I think I’m going toshake this funk after all – I mean,what a comedy of errors this morning,right? And I survived.This subway is disgusting; it iscrowded and hot. I hope I don’t almostfaint again. Focus: Perhaps Ishould turn off Zero Dark Thirty andjust stare at the ground – somehowtorture scenes seem too akin towhat I feel like I’m going throughright now. Hmmm, why don’t theyhave the A/C on? Ouch! What the –ouch! Some totally oblivious womanhas not only just stomped on myfoot with her big, high-tech sneakers,but when I turned to see whatwas going on, she clocked me withher giant backpack. And now there’sa medical emergency and I’m stuckhere? Funkity, funk, funk!It’s eight hours later…I did makeit to work, had a not-so-productiveday evaluating my life again andmanaged not to cover myself withmy lunch this time – so all in all, notbad.And now I’m at my son’s baseballgame (which I signed him up for as away to at least cross one more itemoff my list). We’ve been in our neighbourhoodfor close to five years andthis is a great way to get involved –and yes, this new-ish environmentwill be just as tricky for me as it willbe for him … I just wish I wasn’t insuch a funk.I look around. There’s a group ofwomen who seem like they’ve beenon this circuit for years: They havetheir folding chairs, their travelmugs and hunter boots (on this unseasonablycold and rainy Tuesdayevening I am wearing a thin T-shirtand Converse and am willing thesun to come out) and they appearmore interested in comparing notesover their latest acquisitions, recipesand social agendas. I swear thatif I were to look closely enough atthe grass by their feet I would seetiny little brass plaques denotingtheir respective, individual plotsof land at the park – undoubtedlypassed down for generations. Iknow this because I got the onceoverwhen I was carrying our gearto “their territory” so I did a quick180 and changed course.But, oh no. I’ve now wound upwith the really nice and inclusivegroup. You know these people – theyare overly sweet and complimentary.They want to know every littledetail about you and where youcome from, seem oblivious to thefact that you only met five secondsago, and for some reason believethat you are just as interested in everydetail about their lives: “We’vebeen at this league forever! You’lllove it! We live right over there ... seemy house? What about you? Whatstreet? What number? My son, X,has been playing for the past twoyears but just look at him, he can’tfocus or listen – X! Pay attention tothe coach! – I swear that child is goingto be the end of me. You know,he won’t eat any vegetables! Whatdo I do? You must have some ideas?Which one is yours?” Oh boy.So now I’m sitting by the dugout.TUESDAY NIGHT16.07.2013 P. 07CONFESSIONS OF A MODERN-DAY RENAISSANCE WOMAN:FUNKY BLUES, PART 2This really is the best spot anyway– near all the kids and I can reallyget into the game. Little by little I’mfeeling not funkadelic anymore, butbewildered. I’m trying to figure outhow I got here. And how I’ve let myfunk dictate so many of my moves,like not making an attempt to get toknow some of these people, or worryingabout the consequences ofeach and every decision I’ve madeup to this point, or the consequencesof each and every decision I haveto make hereafter.I look up and start to really watch.To my surprise, I notice that my sonhas joined, I mean really joined, histeam without hesitation. He’s talkingto all the other kids and havingthe best time. He got thrown into aAs the innings progress, I findI’m enjoying myself and letting goof all of my other wonderingssituation he knew nothing about, orhad control over, and is doing justfine.As the innings progress, I find I’menjoying myself and letting go of allof my other wonderings ... the noisein my head grows quieter as it is replacedwith cheers, squeals and myfavourite: the crack when the ballconnects with the bat. Then, to myutter astonishment, the game hasended and I am being congratulatedby the coaches: “Your son had thehit of the game!” And all of a sudden,I knew that we had accomplishedwhat buying a new pair of shoescould never achieve: I was out of the“spin-cycle.” For now.Visit Talyn online at spincyclediaries.com, orfollow @spncycdiaries on Twitter