My Saturday was quiet. As was Friday, the day before.

Slowing down in my old age.

I spent a part of yesterday afternoon continuing research for this week’s KONK Life column.The subject mater sand. The world is running out of usable sand. Comparable to the world’s water problem.

So bad, a black market in sand already exists in certain countries.

I look forward to writing the article this afternoon. Few are aware of the sand problem.

Got out last night! Dinner with Donna and Terri at Hurricane Hole.

Hurricane Hole is a hole. Therein lies its charm. A small marina on a small bit of water surrounded by mangroves. An open air bar and tables. Nothing fancy. Food good, however.

Not easy to find. Hurricane Hole sits on US 1. Less than .2 of a mile outside Key West. Just over Cow Key Bridge going north on US 1.

My ladies were tired. Getting ready to move. In a week. Still packing boxes. Their new abode will be in Bahama Village. At the corner of Whitehead and Petronia Streets.

Terri is doing well and not so well. Her eyes get worse by day. She needs assistance walking. An arm on her arm. She has a walking stick. Uses it well.

Some vision available for minor uses. Like eating. She wears two sets of glasses. One upon the other to get minimum vision. Soon, there will be no vision.

They have had Bear to the seeing eye dog trainer to determine if he qualifies. He does. Soon, the training will begin.

BOB an excellent learning tool, as well as informative.

Bob and Ann Smith were having lunch at Road Kill Cafe. Before my time. Never heard of it.

The waitress an acquaintance. She came up to Bob and asked if he had a smoke. He offered a cigarette. She was looking for a joint.

A conversation ensued re the high cost of grass. The question arose as to why? Because of golf, Bob said.

Bear with me. I am not sure even after reading the chapter several times how the two are interconnected. The story however interesting.

Bob explained that when they lived in Buffalo, there was a lot of snow. Everyone carried jumper cables in their cars. In the middle of the night, Bob’s front door bell rang. It was the police. A passer by had seen someone steal Bob’s jumper cables. The police were able to quickly apprehend the culprit. They wanted to make Bob aware.

Bob obviously was pleased. He asked the officer to hand him the jumper cables. The officer refused, explaining that the theft of jumper cables in New York was a Class A Felony and had to be retained for evidence.

Two weeks later, Bob received a notice to appear in court. The notice further advised that if he failed to do so, a warrant for his arrest could be issued.

Bob appeared. Directed to a large court room and told to take a seat. Bob estimates 300 people in the room. Bob was dressed suit and tie for the occasion. Most others, not.

Soon several of the others began asking him about the proceedings. Bob explained he was not a lawyer. Merely like them. Which he was not. Most were defendants waiting to go before the judge. Bob had been directed to the wrong room.

He went into the hall. Saw the public defender representing the man who stole his jumper cables and the arresting police officer. He went over and chatted with them.

Bob was anxious to get out of the place and asked them what had to be done. They said the action was on the floor above. Nothing really moved on the floor they were on.

So upstairs the three went. Into a maze of offices with a lone secretary sitting in the middle. Several assistant district attorneys plea bargaining cases. Bob described the scene as chaos.

The public defender and police officer knew what to do. Soon the guy who stole Bob’s jumper cables case was resolved.

Bob was free to leave.

He asked how plea bargaining came to be.

At first plea bargaining was used to get one defendant to turn on another in order to get a sweet deal. Flipping. The system worked well. Cases moved.

One judge said, in effect, hey this works terrific! Why don’t we use it to negotiate sentences so a sole defendant will agree to plead to a lesser charge. His motivation was that judges could get out of work earlier and have time each afternoon to play golf. In fact, he thought they could be out by lunch.

Plea bargaining born to provide judge’s with the opportunity to play golf. What all this had to do with the high cost of pot, I still do not understand.

Children separated from parents at the border. Commonplace recently in the United States. We read and talk about the impact on the children. To hear about it first hand from a person it actually happened to impactful.

The New York Times began an OPINIONS section this morning. It will run every Sunday. People writing about first hand experiences.

Victoria Smolkin today a history professor at Wesleyan University and an author. Thirty years ago, 8 years old. She, her parents and family were escaping Communist Russia. They had necessary papers. They reached the crucial point at the border. Theirs bags searched. The mother’s contained an inexpensive broach that was a family heirloom. The Russian guards thought she was taking expensive jewelry out of Russia.

The mother was taken away. The problem resolved two days later and her mother returned.

Here it is 30 years later. Victoria recalls how she developed a huge bald spot on the right side of her head and wet the bed for two years.

Trauma? You bet. Imagine what the immigrant children in the U.S. are experiencing and will suffer therefrom  for years.

Victoria wrote: “…..separating families at the border…..not about law and order…..about power, and the abuse of power – because if, in the collision between border and body, no one protects the body, the border always wins.”

Enjoy your Sunday!