Here's your ticket, and the cost is ... $220

      Took a $220 right turn at a "STOP" sign this morning.
      Received my first ticket in a dozen years for it. Did not deserve it. 
      But Mr. Motorcycle Cop -- excuse me, Mr. Motorcycle Policeman -- said I did. We disagreed, and it was not a pleasant conversation.
      I did not like it. I do not like it. 
      I told him at the end of our little disagreement -- after he handed me the ticket (and he did not have me sign a summons), I would challenge it. He said I had that right. 
      (I ended up not doing so. More on that below.)

The dastardly STOP sign and
intersection, today's troublemaker.

      This is one of life's no-win situations. When you fight the law -- especially on a simple stop-sign violation -- the law is going to win. You can take it to court and challenge it, but the fight is not worth the hassle.
      This was a stop sign we encounter 4-5-6 times a week, less than a mile from our apartments. It is often a busy intersection, traffic rolling off the nearby parkway or headed toward the busy University Drive and/or Interstate 30.
      So I darned well know the stop sign is there, and I always stop, and make sure nothing is rolling past us or turning from the other direction. (It is a three-way stop.)
      At any stop sign, I make sure the car rocks back a bit before I continue on. Have made a habit of that for years. Try to never dart out into the intersection, even delay a count.
      OK, I am coming back to this, and explain why I know I stopped and why I got the ticket. Hint: I was not the only one stopped.
      First, though, we went on to our intended destination -- the Wednesday yoga/stretching workout with Ms. Lorie at the downtown Central YMCA.
      Amazing how well you can exercise if you are a little fired up. I did have a slight pain in the back, but then -- thanks to the ticket -- I already had an encountered a pain in the butt.
      Here is why I know I stopped:      

Stopped here, the angle to the
left is where the motorcycle
policemen were sitting,
clearly within view.

-- As I came to the corner, I looked to my left and saw the two motorcycle policemen stopped at their stop sign as they had come off the parkway. So I knew they were there. You think I wasn't being careful?
      -- At any stop sign, I make sure the car rocks back a bit before I continue on. Have made a habit of that for years. Try to never dart out into the intersection, even delay a count.
      -- Bea, in the passenger's seat, was as surprised as I was. "They're pulling you over?" she asked. I thought maybe I had not turned on my right-turn blinker. To be told that I had not stopped properly was stunning.
      -- These two motorcycle guys, I contend, were intentionally looking to hand out tickets. 
      Moments after I stopped and the one officer -- I know the name, but I will keep it to myself -- approached me, the other officer pulled over two more cars. So there were three of us on the left side pulled over on the left side of the road.
      Maybe it was because it is Fort Worth Invitational golf week at nearby Colonial, and it is a busy, busy area. Maybe Fort Worth needs the money. Maybe these guys were trying to justify their existence. Maybe they were bored.
      Maybe they were being hard asses. My guy sure acted like it. 
      OK, he didn't like it that when he came up, and made his check to see all our licenses/tags were in order, asked for my driver's license and as he was punching in on his hand computer, I asked -- not happily -- "Why did you pull me over?" 
      He asked me why I was asking him that, that he didn't understand my question. I replied: "What did I do? (More loudly) "I STOPPED THE CAR." 
      He did not like that, any more than I liked his attitude. "Because I said you ran the stop sign," he told me. Don't think he appreciated me questioning his judgement and he told me I "was being disrespectful."
      His attitude basically was "because I said so."
      Then he told me to get in the car and wait for him to bring me the ticket.
      When he did, I assured him I was not trying to be disrespectful. I do have a lot of respect for law officers; I know how tough their jobs can be. We all should know that, and respect that.
      I then told him I was not trying to be disrespectful, but I wanted to talk to him about my (non)-stop. It was obvious he wasn't going to discuss it any further.
      He felt, as an officer, he had the right to stop me -- and he does. I felt, as a citizen, he made an incorrect judgement.
      Felt to me, with the others also pulled over, they were on a mission.
      Guess he did not have to explain himself, and I know they should be business-like; they are not there for chit-chat. But my guy seemed pretty full of himself, self-important, entitled, arrogant. Sorry I feel that way. He likely felt that way about me. Obviously he did not like me questioning -- or challenging -- him.
      Also, it seems as if this is a nitpicking violation/situation. No harm done, no one endangered. In basketball, the rule is "no harm, no foul." OK, I am whining.
      I am not a great driver (right, Laurin Baum?), never have been. But I am a respectful and courteous one -- use my blinker even with no one around, try not to speed or switch lanes carelessly (not careful enough at times), never honk my horn at anyone (haven't for years, don't believe in it), let people cut in front (sometimes to my wife's dismay), try not to swerve or crowd the car in front of me, stop at stop signs.
      Swerving caused my last ticket -- also undeserved -- at 12:30 a.m. leaving downtown Fort Worth after work. A group of kids in a convertible pulled up next to me at a stop light, loud and likely to have had some soda pops. So I swerved right to avoid their intrusion; unfortunately, a police car behind me pulled me over. He thought I was the one who had been drinking. I was too tired to be disrespectful that night.
      It was 12 years ago; in fact, the address the Fort Worth municipal courts system -- where fines are paid -- had for us was in North Richland Hills, two residences ago.
      So I have to rationalize this. Figure that one violates driving laws from time to time -- run a red light, go over the speed limit, drive recklessly (but not intentionally reckless) ... whatever. And you are not ticketed because no police is around.
      Today the timing was such that the motorcycle guys arrived at the stop-sign intersection just as we did. That's the way it goes. There was no stopping those guys' intent. 
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      Went downtown in early afternoon, was sent -- after some paperwork -- to the traffic-court judge and she gave me my options.

      A trial date? No thanks. My word against the policeman's word (and if he brought his partner, it's one-against-two).
      The pro tem judge -- let's call her a veteran judge -- was nice enough, willing to set the court date. Said court costs would be involved. Asked her what my chances were, and she told me discussing that was not her task.

      Pay the fine and probation? OK. And the cost is ... ? Answer: court costs $102.10; special expense fee $117.90. That's $220. Go to the cashier window and pay.

      Done.
      It is not so much the money; we have it. It is the principle. The word of a man with an officer's badge is stronger than a 70-year-old driving -- driven -- to exercise.

       Going to cut way back on our driving soon, and planning to give up the car. As for the money, believe me I have found more on my walks this year. But it does cut into the profit margin.

      Told the judge that I was going to write about this. "Be sure you say that you had options," she said. Assured her I would be fair ... "unlike the guy this morning," I added.
      I think she laughed. But if not, fine. I already paid mine.

      Sure that Fort Worth needs the cash. Maybe to pay the police.

A package sent to Europe (on a return trip)

      Today we had two pieces of artwork -- wrapped in a nice package -- sent to our cousin Heleen in Belgium.
      That is a simple sentence. The significance of the artwork and package is more than simple. It is, we think, a good story.
       These are pen-and-ink sketches of two scenes in The Netherlands: (1) a typical Amsterdam canal setting and (2) boats in a small river.
       Nothing fancy, not spectacular. But the sentimental value is -- to borrow a phrase -- priceless.
       What is important to us is that our family -- first Mom and Dad, then us -- has had these longer than I have been alive. So more than 70 years. They came with us from Amsterdam to Shreveport, and after July 2010, to Fort Worth.
       Now they are returning to Europe -- going home, in a sense. We are pleased to send them where they will be as greatly appreciated as they have been by us.
       The artist was Philip Kopuit. He was my mother's uncle; her mother's brother.
       He drew them before the Holocaust. He might have drawn them (don't know this for sure) while he, his wife and his pre-teen son, Maurits Kopuit, were hidden in South Holland, hidden from the Nazis.
       Philip, sadly, died during that time; he was only 39. Heart disease.
       Maurits was my mother's first cousin, her closest relative after World War II (until she married Dad). He would become editor of the Jewish newspaper in Amsterdam; in my opinion -- and I wrote a blog on him three years ago -- a brilliant writer, student of human nature ... and a funny, funny man.
       His mother, our aunt Helena (Lena, we called her), lived two houses over from us in Amsterdam for my first 8 1/2 years. She gave Mom these two pieces of artwork some time between 1945 and 1947. 
       They were in our little house with the paper-thin walls in Amsterdam; they hung for years in my parents' houses in Shreveport; for 41 years in what was my sister Elsa's old bedroom in South Broadmoor.
       Bea and I have been downsizing for years, and we did not have room to hang these two framed pieces. But now they are out of the closet.

With Heleen, April 2013, Amsterdam

       Elsa suggested that we offer them to Philip Kopuit's grandchildren, Maurits' children -- Heleen in Antwerp, Philip in Israel (both named for Maurits' parents). Elsa and I share great grandparents (Kopuit family) with them.
       Heleen gladly, thankfully, accepted.                
       We took the pieces to a nearby art dealer's gallery. Bea has done business there previously, trusted the owner would care for the pieces (at plus-70, they are as fragile as we are), and so he carefully packaged them for overseas shipping, tightly sealing them (varnish was the last step).
      We think Heleen (and husband Jacky) -- so gracious when they came from Antwerp to Amsterdam to spend an afternoon with us on our visit there in April 2013 -- will treasure having these. Would have been the same if they had gone to Philip (and Puah) in Jerusalem.
       We picked up the package Thursday, took it to FedEx today -- and it is on its way. Maybe it is not right to ask for prayers for a package of artwork, but let's do it.
       Happy to keep these in the family. Our sense of pride in this artwork indeed is priceless.
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http://nvanthyn.blogspot.com/2015/08/my-mothers-first-cousin-one-of-my-heroes.html