But Matrimony was different. Different, because I know the author in real life! He was a good friend of my sister’s — the last time I saw him was at her wedding — so of course I was delighted when he contacted me and offered to send me a copy.

The embarrassing fact is, it was hard for me to focus on the actual story. Much of the book takes place in my own hometown of Ann Arbor, Michigan. I was born and raised here. I live here now. I lived here during the time that the Ann Arbor part of the book takes place (early 90s). One of the main characters is a graduate student in clinical psychology — my dad’s department! The very street I grew up on, where my parents still live, is mentioned in the book. And if that’s not enough for you? He relates a friend-of-a-friend anecdote that I also told on this very blog (the greatest waitstaff goofup of all time). Needless to say, I found all this very distracting — in the best possible way, but still, distracting. I suppose people who live in cities like New York City or Paris or London are used to reading novels set in places they know like the back of their hand, but for me it was a charming novelty.

So, anyway. Matrimony is probably not a book I would have chosen to read on my own. The genre, Contemporary Adult Fiction About Love & Relationships, is not my favorite. However, even aside from the setting and personal connection with the author, I must admit that it was fun to read about characters who are the same age as me (40ish), with similar backgrounds (caucasian, privileged and sheltered) and education (fancy small liberal arts college). It’s easy to turn our noses up at this demographic, but Josh never does. He treats his characters with respect even as they muddle up their lives and make bad choices. And he brings the story to a satisfying conclusion without wrapping it up too neatly. If you like contemporary novels about love, marriage, growing together and apart, and coming of age, I would certainly recommend Matrimony.

* * *

Have you ever read a novel written by someone you knew? Ever read one that takes place in your hometown? Was it weird for you too?

Here they are, six 12yos (the keyboardist didn’t make it into the picture), with their teacher introducing them. They played one song: “You Really Got Me” by The Kinks. And they rocked! Joey broke a drumstick halfway through but managed to keep playing and did an impressive fill (yeah, I know all the drummer jargon now; just ask me what a paradiddle is!) at the very end.

Here’s a close up of our rock star.

A lot of our friends and family showed up, and even those who are not exactly die-hard rock ‘n roll fans (hi, Dad!) seemed to enjoy themselves. It was extremely gratifying!

The younger set had a great time, too. Here are Daniel and Lena with our pals Simon (blue shirt) and Basil (curly hair). Who doesn’t love a fountain? On a warm June evening?

Joey has a drum kit and he started taking private lessons through the school last fall. Just this week he started Rock Band 101 along with four other 12yos (2 guitar, 1 keyboard, 1 bass). He was soooo excited, and, I must confess, so was I. In fact, I think all the moms were pretty excited. Can you picture it? Five moms sitting in the lobby, getting all misty over the opening riff of “You Really Got Me.”

Wait a second…

Rock ‘n roll isn’t supposed to involve moms driving their kids to class, paying for lessons, checking with the teacher to see how well they practiced this week, waiting proudly in the lobby. I mean, isn’t the glamour & romance of rock ‘n roll all about defying parents and learning it the hard way?

On the other hand, those mommy moments don’t come so often when they’re 12. I’ll take ‘em any way I can get ‘em.

Lauretta Codrington hit the national news last week when she a) was one of two holdout jurors who voted not to convict a young man of murder, resulting in a mistrial, and b) went public with her reasons why. To say she’s been “criticized” for her decision, well, that’s putting it mildly. She even had to take down her website because some of her clients were getting hate mail.

Here’s the story, in case you missed it on the evening news. Laura Dickinson, a student at Eastern Michigan University, was found dead in her dorm room, half naked and with Orange Taylor’s semen on her. EMU officials covered it up, insisting that she died of natural causes. When the truth came out several high-ranking officials were fired, including EMU’s president. Shock, outrage, national news coverage — emotions ran high, as I’m sure you can imagine.

Last week, Orange Taylor’s trial. His main line of defense was that Laura was already dead when he entered her room. He argued that she died of a pre-existing heart condition. The medical examiner could not confirm or deny. And for Lauretta and one other juror, this was enough to raise a reasonable doubt. Again: shock, outrage, national news coverage, and emotions running even higher.

I have two things to say about this.

One, I have known Lauretta for many years — our sons have been friends since first grade, and she is also my client — and she is a woman of absolute integrity. To accuse her of grabbing the spotlight in order to get publicity (as someone did on a blog which I will not link to) is simply ridiculous. The accusation that her vote was motivated by racism, ditto.

And two, listen up, people. You weren’t there. You did not see the evidence. You did not hear the testimony. You. Weren’t. There. What on earth gives you the right to second-guess her? It’s been a while since I went to law school but I do remember that appellate judges are not supposed to overturn a jury’s findings of fact, particularly with regard to evidence, testimony, credibility, etc. And the reason for that is because they weren’t there.

I have the utmost sympathy for the victim’s family, who in addition to the loss of their daughter have now suffered what must feel like a double indignity. I also have the utmost admiration for a woman who followed her conscience under extreme pressure. I hope that if I were ever in a similar situation I would have the strength to do the same.

I have to confess. I am a cat lover, and I particularly love our goofball Peter, but I do have limits. I don’t mind the injections as much as I mind the outrageously stinky and copious poop that is the result of the special expensive high-fiber diabetic cat food, which our other cat has to eat too, since we can’t prevent them from eating out of each other’s bowls. And I mind having to keep track of and remembering to give the injections. And I mind the pee on the floor which hasn’t completely stopped even though his blood sugar is pretty normal now.

I have to confess. It has occurred to me that I could secretly give him a giant overdose and be done with it. Our household is chaotic enough even without a diabetic cat to keep track of. He’s gotta be at least sixteen years old. He’s had a fun life.

Wednesday morning I gave him his shot, only to discover that my husband had already given him his shot an hour earlier. Coma! Brain damage! Death! It was 8:30 a.m., and Bill the vet doesn’t open for business until noon on Wednesdays. I had to take him to the 24-hour emergency animal clinic clear on the other side of town instead.

To make a long, frustrating story short: the emergency clinic sucked. I transferred him back to Bill right at noon, yep, I trekked out almost all the way to Ypsilanti twice in one morning just for a stupid cat, but not before the emergency clinic managed to rack up $130 in fees, for three hours of keeping him “under observation” and giving him a few glucose tests at $23 a pop (Bill charges $8 for the same thing). Plus, they were rude. I dunno, maybe I’m just used to the star treatment we get at Bill’s, where they luuuuurve Peter. But did they really need to make me wait 20 minutes in the empty waiting room even after I’d called ahead to let them know I was coming to pick him up? Did they really need to make me pay in advance? Did they really need to ignore my 4yo, who just wanted to show off his cool toy truck? The one good thing that happened at the clinic was that the rectal thermometer had a, um, laxative effect on Peter. Remember what I said about stinky and copious? Right there on the table. Ha ha.

Bill kept him for four hours and the total bill was $16 — for the two glucose tests.

Not only that, but he gave me a bunch of these as well:

Homemade dog treats. With frosting and sprinkles. His assistant makes them herself. There was a big bowl of them on the counter, free for the taking. Another client and I almost ate a few ourselves before we learned what they were. Don’t they look delicious?

This is Peter — the black one, the placid old neutered tom. He metabolized the extra insulin without any trouble at all. At one point Bill gave him some oral glucose just to be safe, but that was it. He’s fine. Good boy, Peter.

And thank you, Bill & staff. Thank you for the loving care of our precious Peter. Thank you for not charging and arm and a leg. Thank you for the homemade dog treats. Here’s his website, if you’re in the area and looking for a vet. If I haven’t already convinced you, his office just happens to be right across the street from the best ice cream in town.