LINK TO ARTICLE

Here's the link to the article written by Alex Brizee of the Idaho Statesman. This relates to the court hearing mentioned in the previous post.

https://amp.idahostatesman.com/news/local/crime/article298651418.html

UPDATE: MILO WARNOCK WRONGFUL DEATH

Milo Warnock 1979-2023

Readers may know that our son Milo died at the hands of his cellmate at the Idaho State Corrections Center on December 10, 2023, just weeks short of his 46^th birthday. Milo was a non-violent offender sentenced to prison on a DUI charge.

Shortly after arriving at prison and receiving classification as a minimum security inmate, Milo was harshly punished for trying to regulate the time of day in which he swallowed his medication and subsequently placed in maximum security with violent offenders. He was confined to a cell for 23 hours a day and lost all privileges – no educational advantages, church services, socialization, etc. Plus -- his cellmate, James M. Johnson, appeared to be delusional and schizophrenic. (I wonder about that now as James sits quietly in court and answers the judge politely. Was he just intimidating Milo?)

At any rate, Milo didn’t know how to cope. “If I take any action at all, it will be wrong,” Milo wrote to me. And the fact that his last hours were spent in anguish with no help from the prison staff troubles me more than his death.

After a prolonged investigation by the Idaho State Police, the Ada County District Attorney charged James with first degree murder and evidence tampering with regard to Milo’s death. Initially, James entered a plea of not guilty, but the “tampering with evidence” charge was dropped, and he changed his plea to guilty in hopes of receiving a fixed sentence of not more than 35 years. However, at court this morning, the judge stated that she will review his record and the pre-sentence investigation before determining the sentence.  There will not be a trial. Sentencing has been scheduled for April 4.

In Milo’s name, we will continue to work to make the public aware of the need for judicial, corrections, and mental health reform. Too many – both men and women – are incarcerated. More appropriate sentences should be imposed on non-violent offenders. KW

PASSION PROJECTS – 2025

The mostly dark and dull days of winter are upon us. We have no excitement and given the state of  the world, we deem this a good thing.  

The New Year’s retail promotions are full of suggestions.

·      “New Year, New Projects”

·      “Find your 2025 passion project”

·      “New year, new skill”

“I wish!” I say to myself. I’d love a fresh start, but I have a plethora of wonderful projects and ideas from previous years on my bucket list and some that I would be happy to de-list. I’m a dreamer, not a realist; a starter, not a finisher. And a part of me is happy with that, even though it’s an undisciplined approach and my conscience occasionally bothers me.

It's interesting that online sellers seem to think that crafting is neat and tidy. Finish one project, move to the next, and by the end of the year, you’ve finished everything you started and are actually looking for something new to do. Does it work that way for anyone? A few of the quilting gurus give the impression that they make many quilts in a year, but I suspect that staff members provide support. Wouldn’t I love to assign problematic seams to my team! Unfortunately, I don’t have one. but if I did, I might chug right along, too. I have to rip and restitch my own seams and do my own finishing.

A dull winter's day along the Clearwater River

And sometimes I wonder – don’t these crafters (quilters, crocheters, knitters, etc.) have anything else to do? Suggest a sew-along, and six people will show up tomorrow with the finished project. What about the cooking, cleaning, grocery shopping, and walking the dog? What about eight hours of sleep? Forgive me, but even a husband detracts from project work with his suggestions of geocaching and requests for cookies and banana bread.

I had planned to do some simple, fun projects in the first weeks after Christmas, but the ones I chose were neither simple nor fun. Frankly, they don’t even qualify as unfinished because I couldn’t make a start, and the one I did start turned out to be difficult and sits as a “buffalo” on my sewing machine. I wonder if I’m losing my touch, my cognitive abilities, and/or my patience. Perhaps it’s all three. (I really think that I’m the way I’ve always been.) KW

FIRST GEOCACHE OF 2025

 

It was Monday afternoon, January 6.

“I’m bored,” said Mike. “I want to go geocaching this afternoon. Do you want to go with me?”

I wasn’t bored, but I said I would go – that is, until I stepped outside. It was “41 feels like 36” with a stiff breeze and no sun. “Are you sure you want to go today?” I asked.

“Maybe not,” Mike agreed.

So the next day, the sun was out (sort of) and it wasn’t quite so cold, and we agreed it would be good to get out. We parked the car off Hwy 12 / 95 directly across the Clearwater River from the mill and walked east to one cache which was simply the coords for the next cache in the series. It was faded to the extent that we couldn’t read it. On the way back to the car, we stopped at another elaborately planned cache where we were supposed to pour water into a tube so that the log book would float to the top. Mike tried valiantly, but the desired item was stuck in gunk at the bottom of the tube and wouldn’t float.

“These caches feel ‘déjà vu,’” I commented, and Mike laughingly agreed. We tried these caches unsuccessfully last year. We couldn’t read the first one, and we didn’t have the necessary water for the second.

So, we drove on east for a couple of miles to the “Goose Pasture” where we walked along a trail to access three recently-placed caches. Mike found each of these rather quickly, but they were elaborate, and putting them back to the original condition was time-consuming. Bess had such a good time running around, but in the end, even she complained about staying in one place.

As we arrived back at the car, the Ada County prosecuting attorney called to give us an update on the pending case against the inmate who murdered our son Milo, so we sat and listened for ten minutes or so. Progress has been made, but the current status is not yet final, so announcements won't be made for several weeks. And on the way home, Mike and I reviewed again the "what ifs." KW

A HOLIDAY MEMORY

I don’t write much about my holiday memories. They are simply too personal, whether positive or negative. So, I write about Grandma Ina instead, based on her letters to my dad. It’s historically interesting for me and I’m not emotionally invested in what happened in those years that don’t include me.

Hallie’s comment on a previous post reminded me of how difficult Christmas was when I was the mother of young children. Christmas 1979, Milo was just turning two and Clinton was two months. I had volunteered to bring peanut butter fudge to the Christmas Eve gathering at the family home. The recipe is simple:

Peanut Butter Fudge

Semi-sweet chocolate morsels (one package)

Butterscotch morsel (one package)

1 cup creamy peanut butter

1 cup peanuts

1 10-oz. package of mini-marshmallows

Melt the morsels and peanut butter in the microwave. Stir in peanuts and marshmallows and spread in a buttered 9x13 pan. Allow to set in the refrigerator for half an hour. Voila!

So, you see, anyone can make that tasty, melt-in-your-mouth fudge in five minutes, but I couldn’t find that five minutes. Clinton had a bad day. The only time he wasn’t crying was when I held him, but I could tell he was uncomfortable. And of course, the two-year-old still needed my attention, too. And I had to pack for the overnighter at the family home. Bottom line: I failed to make that super-simple fudge.

Arriving at the Christmas Eve party that evening, I fessed up to my mother that I hadn’t made the fudge. “Vance, Vance,” she called to my dad. “Kathy didn’t make the fudge,” whereupon, my dad set to work to make Fantasy Fudge when he really had more important things to do. I felt so small. It’s not like they didn’t have a plethora of goodies, but I had certainly misjudged how important that plate of fudge would be.

I drew a number of lessons from that simple failing that helped to shape the kind of Christmas we have today. Be flexible. Keep it simple. Nothing matters but that we’re together. KW

MOVING INTO THE NEW YEAR

Christmas and New Years are both history again after all the feverish making and planning and mailing. It did keep us going before Christmas, but it was fun and we surely made several somethings out of quite a lot of nothings. I decorated the house with lots of boughs and the mistletoe from the aunts in Drain, and your holly added so much to the window curtains. We still have our decorations and Christmas tree and I think I won’t take them down for a few more days. – Shirley Dobson

I find it a little depressing to put away the holiday decorations, so I say with Aunt Shirley, “I think I won’t take them down for a few more days.” In fact, I like to think of the holiday cheer as lighting the way into the dark months of the new year. We should have hope for peace and prosperity in the future, but for our family and the world at large, these are not peaceful times. KW

[The inmate who murdered our son Milo is scheduled to be tried in February on charges of first degree murder and tampering with evidence. His pleads “not guilty.”]

COPING WITH THE HOLIDAYS

 

“I got through it all just fine,” says Ina, or “I stood all the Christmas doings just fine.” She writes this once or twice every Christmas season, so I know that in the past, she had not stood it so well. I can relate, and it’s one reason that Ina’s skimpy, low-key celebration resonates with me.

Even though Ina’s celebration seems simple, it took an emotional toll just the same. Perhaps she couldn’t make it as wonderful as she would have liked. Or maybe she experienced a letdown after the big push to finish all that wrapping, carding, and mailing. Above all, she missed her children, her extended family, and the way it used to be. But – she learned to cope, and so have I.

This year, we rented an AirBnB as a gathering place for our family Christmas celebration. Son Murray cooked dinner for us on Christmas Eve, roasting a delicious turkey breast. He said that my dad’s roasted turkey in days of yore was his inspiration.

Our focus was a fun Christmas for three-year-old Silas, and he was a delight as he passed out and opened gifts under his mother’s supervision. As we played with his new toys, he confided to me that he would like to have more gifts.

We checked out of the AirBnB Friday morning (Dec. 27), and I commented to Silas that he would soon leave to go home with mom and dad. “Mama and Papa,” he corrected. Silas and I don’t like “good-byes,” so I watched from the house while his parents bundled him into the car. He is growing up all too fast, and yet, it’s what he must do.

So, it’s mostly back to life as usual, and I say with Ina, “I stood it all just fine.” KW