Sadly, The Search Is Over

The remains found in the marshy area a mile or so from Casey Anthony's parents' home have been positively identified through DNA as being those of Anthony's missing three-year-old, Caylee Anthony. I wish I could at least feign shock and surprise, but it is the outcome we all suspected was coming.

Casey, who was charged with first-degree murder back in October and has been in jail ever since, has been refused the right to attend memorial services for the child whose absence she neglected to tell anyone about for one month, and then whose abduction she blamed on a Hispanic woman who lived in her apartment complex (the woman has been cleared of all charges when the FBI established her solid alibi).

During the 31 days between the time Casey says Caylee went missing and the day her "abduction" was reported to authorities (by Casey's mother, mind you, who also reports in the same 911 call that Casey's car smells "like a dead body in the damn car"*), Casey was spotted and (courtesy of CCTV security cameras) photographed shopping and partying as if nothing were amiss. She also put her time without Caylee to good use by stealing and forging her mother's checks and committing petty theft.

The marsh where the little girl's remains were found was apparently a favorite burial ground for Casey Anthony for her childhood pets. Searchers say they had been previously unable to search the area because the rainy season from the previous spring had put the whole area under water.

My heart bleeds for Casey's parents who have lost a grandchild and a child to this mess. I dread the day they suddenly come to the realization that somehow, in spite of what I'm sure were good intentions, they managed to raise a monster.

~C~

* Cadaver dogs later gave a "positive" on the trunk of Casey's car for the presence of human decomposition. Further tests of the air in the car confirmed this finding.

Hope On Hudson

Hope Edelman, who used to teach creative non-fiction at my alma mater, Antioch, gave an interview on our local CBS Channel 2 news about Jennifer Hudson's loss of her family this past weekend, particularly her mother. Edelman is the author of Motherless Daughters: The Legacy of Loss, a collection of stories, including her own, of women who hve lost their mothers.

I had hoped to study with Edelman during my creative non-fiction semester, but she left Antioch before the opportunity arose. (I'm not taking it personally, though.)

My heart goes out to Jennifer Hudson and her sister for their loss. I'm hoping they can find their way out of a pain so deep as to be unimaginable.

~C~

So Long, Paul.

Dear Paul,

I can call you Paul, right? I mean, it only seems fair, since I've been in love with you for the past 40 years. The first time I saw you was on television, in a movie called What A Way To Go, with Shirley MacLaine. I originally wanted to see the movie because my previous love, Gene Kelly, was in it. But then I saw you, and I had to break Gene's heart and dump him for you. I was ten. I do realize I'm not alone. I'm just one of the legion of women (and men -- not that there's anything wrong with that) who fell in love with you and never fell out.

So, before you go on to wherever it is you're destined to go, I'd just like to list a few reasons why I... why we... why we all... loved you.

We love that you were so incredibly beautiful, and yet, according to everyone who knew you, you had no idea, and when the topic was brought up, it merely annoyed you.

We love that you were more interested in being true to a character and turning in a good performance then you ever were about the way you looked or the likability of your characters.

We love that you were married to the same woman for fifty years, which has got to be some kind of movie star record as far as we're concerned. And we love that the two of you seemed to genuinely still love each other after all those years together, and that you grew old together, and that you were the example that it can be done.

We love that you were able to look at the blessings you received and be gracious enough to give back when you could, and that you found a way to do it in a way that will continue to generate charitable income (hopefully) for years to come.

We love that, no matter your age, your eyes stayed every bit as blue as ever, and that there was always a bit of the demon twinkle in them, even if you weren't smiling at that moment. And we loved that you were almost always smiling.

We love that you were here, that you were one of us for a while and that you worked hard and played hard and loved your family. We love that you gave us your performing self, but kept your personal self private. It preserved our mystery.

We love that we were able to love you for a time and we are a little melancholy that we must now love you from an ever greater distance than before. But we will go on loving you, because it's what we do, regardless of the people we love in real life.

So, safe journey. Peace be with you. And thanks again for all the great good fun.

~C~

My New Favorite Champion Swimmer (Not Michael Phelps, Smarties.)

Meet Christopher Marino, age 13. He's the one on the left in the picture. Christopher and his father, Walter, (pictured with him) had a teensy-tinesy little adventure not long ago. They were swimming off of Florida's Atlantic coast when they got caught in a powerful rip current and were swept apart. Nearly three miles apart. For 12 hours, Walter and Christopher treaded water, growing further and further apart with each passing minute. To gauge distance, Walter continued to call to Christopher, using lines from Disney movies back and forth.

"To infinity," Walter would call.

"And beyond!" Christopher responded.

Eventually, there was no response. Walter was sure Christopher was gone. When he was rescued by fisherman and transferred to a Coast Guard cutter, he went down below because he couldn't bear to watch them come across Christopher's lifeless body. When the Coast Guard called him up from below, he was sure the news would be the worst. Instead, they pointed to a Coast Guard helicopter flying overhead.

"See that helicopter?" they told Marino. "It has your son on board, and he's fine."

Christopher beat Walter back to shore, though he was nearly a quarter mile farther out to sea. Both Marinos suffered from mild exposure and dehydration, and jellyfish stings, but were otherwise fine. The Coast Guard rescue unit was pretty gob-smacked. They had been looking for the pair for nearly as long as they'd been gone, and were sure after the first ten or so hours, they'd find bodies.

How did these two survive? Walter survived by refusing to panic, even after he thought he'd lost his son. He remained calm, thought of his daughter and how he couldn't let her suffer two deaths in the family, and alternated between floating on his back, and dog-paddling with the rip current until he was rescued.

As for Christopher, we'll never know how he survived after he lost contact with his father. Christopher is severly autistic and is almost entirely non-verbal, save for vocalizations and lines from movies and t.v. shows. Marino believes it was autism that saved his son.

Christopher has no fear of death, Marino explains. "And the water is one of his favorite things." Christopher is soothed by water, so managed to avoid panicking himself. When they wafted through a jellyfish school and began getting stung, Christopher did start to freak out, but Walter talked him through it. Shortly thereafter, the boy drifted out of his father's earshot.

We will never know what happened to Christopher once he was separated from his father. We only know he kept on swimming and treading water, until he was picked up by Coast Guard helicopter. It was the rescue of the father that led to the rescue of the son, as the Coast Guard was able to reorient their search for Christopher once Walter had been picked up with the fishing boat. If Walter had given up, as he considered doing for a moment when he thought his son was lost, then his son would have been lost.

So, move over Michael Phelps. Christopher Marino is my new favorite championship swimmer.

~C~

Where's Caylee?

I can't imagine why police and the FBI think this crackpot killed her child and disposed of the body. What with her sterling character and her upstanding, forthright demeanor.

Ummm... Casey? If you can find some free time in your busy schedule of being perpetually arrested and arraigned on child neglect charges, petty theft, check forgery and identity fraud, do you think you might take a moment to tell law enforcement what the hell you did WITH YOUR FREAKIN' KID?

Somebody give me a rolled up newspaper. Someone needs to be hit upside the head.

~C~

THE SPORT OF KINGS? OFF WITH THEIR HEADS!

A horse is not fully grown until at least five years of age. The bones are not knit. The tendons and cartilage are not set. Hence, the tendency to refer to racehorses as "colts and fillies," terms for immature horses.

When you watch, bet on or in any way support American horseracing and their inclination to run horses from one to three years of age -- including the Triple Crown -- you are advocating and supporting animal abuse. Pretty hats and lovely rose wreaths do nothing to alter the fact that forcing thoroughbreds -- bred these days with spindly, thread-like, porcelain legs because it's prettier -- to run a mile and a half at top speed is a cruelty.

The death of promising filly Eight Belles, who placed in the Kentucky Derby this past Sunday, only to break down after the finish with two broken front ankles, is the result of this capricious foolishness. It's vicious and hateful. Anytime you go to Santa Anita or Hollywood Park and bet on a horse, or go to an OTB parlor, you support the abuse and cruelty that is American horseracing. Please see past the pomp and circumstance of this idiotic and brutal "sport." If we're so interested in seeing who the best jockeys are, let's let them run the races from now on. Perhaps people would find it a tad less interesting if we were euthanizing a jockey at the finish line after he broke down because he was asked to run too far, too fast, way too young.

I'm not saying we should ban the sport. I'm only asking that we start setting age minimums and shortening distances, so that we don't have yearlings, twos and three-year-olds running these grueling distances at full-bore. These aren't Dixie Cups. These are living, breathing creatures that we have responsibility for. If we started viewing horseracing as we do dog fighting, Eight Belles might have lived until her fourth birthday.

Rest in peace, Eight Belles. You were a hearty lass.

~C~