
I went on a long ride yesterday. I found myself cycling through the Lafayette hills towards Moraga (I live in California by the way). I came upon St. Mary’s University and instantly wondered why I chose to go to college in frigid Minnesota when there is this oasis of higher education tucked back in the fog covered hills of the East Bay.
As I continued on my ride, I found myself in the “golden” hills surrounded by splendor and in solitude. It was the most relaxed I had been in six weeks.
And then I got to my coffee shop…read the newspaper…and panic set in.
800,000 people are without homes in the Himalayas and winter is three weeks away!
God—have mercy
I just read that the killer of Pamela Vitale is a 16-year-old high school student/turned college student from my neighboring city. I had been keeping up with this case in the news, often asking myself, “What would I do if I came home one day to find my wife dead–murdered–in our house?” I shudder to think what that must have been like for Daniel Horowitz. What’s tougher, I can imagine, is not knowing who did it or why it happened.