Every year thousands of bodies are found and no one claims them. As of July 1, according to one study, there are 13,500 unidentified bodies in the U.S. alone. They are thusly named Jane Doe or John Doe. It’s a big family. Though the reunions are poorly attended.

This Jane Doe from Castro Valley in 2003 inspired an entire town to create a lovely funeral for her:Jane Doe. She was estimated to be between 14 and 18 years of age and was found in a bag behind a restaurant wearing pajamas and snowflake socks.

Some show up just as torsos, stuffed in trash bags and thrown in dumpsters. Even with interesting tattoos, they are impossible to identify. http:Bits and Pieces. Though in Long Island there is the stigmatic history of the mob sending one to “sleep with the Fishes.”

We live in a disposable society. Though we are trying to recover from our addiction to “use once and throw away” plastic bottles. It appears a harder addiction to break than heroin. Our attitudes toward the stuff of matter seems to be rather callous. And it seems to extend to, in at least 13,500 cases, people.

The next time you are in line for Starbucks, or at Target, or, if you’re lucky, Nordstroms – check out the people around you. One of those people could be a Jane or John Doe killer. Many times they look just like us. I can’t imagine what on earth possesses someone to commit murder and then throw out the body, much like downing a case of single serving Arrowhead and tossing the empties. Brings to mind Captain Barbosa from Pirates of the Caribbean saying to Elizabeth Swann, “Here, there be monsters.” And “here” would be everywhere.

Health insurance companies do not want to pay for us to have health care. And if we pay, we are supposed to have to pay so much money that we can no longer afford to eat. At least eat healthy. So we become obese and die early. The House and Senate are more interested in posturing their “positions” than figuring out how to help us not only afford health care, but daily life in general any more. It would appear that a large portion of the American public is now “disposable,” I would say. Not that we would end up dumped behind a restaurant in a black trash bag. And we’d still have our names. Though these deaths would, I suppose, not seem as “senseless.” Whatever that means. (if there are “senseless murders” does that mean there are “sensible murders?”)

Today I am going to hold thoughts of blessings for these “Does.” They probably did not feel they were disposable. Or maybe some did. And the tragedy of their story, this side of the ground, not being completed with their name properly applied is as senseless as their murders.

And I will suck it up from a stainless steel water container.

I.B. Crabby

Tell Mrs. Crabby all!

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