Trouble in Paradise

A couple of days ago I ventured out from our ideal little town to go to Hyrum, four miles away, where the closest grocery store is located. An acquaintance who lives through the block from me was also there. "Lock your doors," she said. Well, I never lock my doors unless I'm going to be gone overnight. "Why?" I asked. "There's been a rash of break-ins," she said. She then rattled off the names of five families, most within a block from me, and the rest within a mile. Prescription medicine and cash were the items most often taken. One guy was home during the time of the robbery, watching television. He didn't hear what was going on upstairs, but you've got to know the thief knew someone was there, which in my mind makes him pretty bold. Fresh snow, also gave a clue--a footprint--which the guy took a photo of. I'm not sure if the police asked for it or not. Another older couple were just out for the evening and when they came home, their door was broken in--again pretty bold. Fresh tracks led away from the scene and they believe he may have still been there when they drove up. One elderly woman's Christmas cash was stolen, a sizable sum too.
My guess is that a drug addict is the culprit, probably young, most likely male (sorry for my presumption). I know that women are addicts much of the time, but they will usually get their drugs by doctor hopping. Which bring us back to the tired argument that addicts only hurt themselves. This is almost never true. The addict has to go to great lengths to feed their habit, no matter what that addiction is, at some point they will most likely find themselves breaking the law, or breaking a heart, or breaking the trust of a friend.
I have a lot of compassion for addicts and can easily say, "there but for the grace of God, go I." And no, I wouldn't care to elaborate. Life is hard, even at its best.
This morning while taking my morning bath, usually my relaxing time to sooth my Fibromyalgia pain, I found myself listening for noises. Finally, I got out of the tub, dripped all the way to the front door, and locked it. I hate that I felt like I needed to do that. On Friday night, the night after the robberies, the turnout to our ward party was extremely small. Is it possible that everyone was home watching their stuff? I don't know.
Back nearly thirty years ago now when I was attending Utah State, I was plagued with headaches (not much has changed) and a doctor had prescribed Valium. Yeah, I know hard stuff back then--his idea was to break the cycle. I only ended up taking one and finding out that it did nothing for my headache, but made me so sleepy I couldn't function. Unfortunately after I had swallowed the pill I had gone to the art barn on campus to throw pottery. One of my art buddies, watched me throwing for a minute, and finally said. "What are you on?" "Nothing." I said. They knew me as the sweet Mormon girl who didn't do drugs. "You're high," he said. Well, I persisted in my argument, but then finally admitted to taking a Valium a doctor had prescribed. He started to hoot with excitement, then asked me if I could give him a couple. I adamantly wouldn't no matter what his persistence and told him it made me feel terrible, so I didn't see why he'd want one. He just told me to take another one or two more and find out.
Well the rest of the year he'd try to get the pills out of me, telling me his back hurt etc. I told him to go see the doctor and he let me know that doctors weren't an option for him. He was a drug abuser and we all knew it. We remained friends in spite of his pressure for my meds, which I never used again, and eventually flushed down the toilet. Another friend of his and mine, a potter with a lot of promise, died of an unintentional overdose that same year. Life in the art barn was never the same.
I hope they catch our Paradise thief--just as much for his sake as ours. There's really good evidence that he's one of our own, someone who knows his victims and knows their habits. And that makes it all the more sad.