Every day, as I sit outside my case manager's office, I see the women enter and leave her office. We all just want to get out of here - some to transfer to a different facility, some to halfway house, some just across the street, and some to home confinement or home at the end of their sentence. No matter what, we stand there, waiting, for her attention to tell us our next steps and hear news. Often, many of us leave with frowns. No new news. No known next steps. Just wait.
However, today, I watched many people with smiles. Two women got news that they are being transferred to other facilities. A couple people learned that they will be transferred across the street, to the camp. Among those people, Lola was one of them. That means that before I even leave the prison, Lola will be safely across the street, with no fences. They have a puppy program, and she hopes to be given the opportunity to train a puppy. She'd be great at that. For the longest time, we had imagined her walking me out of here, but instead it will be me, walking her out.
I left with a frown. No new news on how processing my exit is going. My case worker called someone at the region I should have been processed through. They need to call her back. It's the first time we actually reached anyone, so that's progress.
On news about my dad, there's no update. He's home resting. The docs haven't received all his results yet. He'll have a game plan for treatments to extend life on May 15th (if there are any). His voice sounds better. I just hope his hope holds out too.
I will keep going, every day, to my case manager's office for an update. It's the only thing I have the ability to do. I will see many of the same faces that walked out with frowns today, as well. One day, each of us will be the one's with smiles.
Friday, May 2, 2014
Thursday, May 1, 2014
From Dragonfly: Sore from One End to the Other
When I was on the outside, I was told that I should exercise, even if it hurts. Since everything hurts, the docs recommended walking and swimming. I keep going to look for a swimming pool, here, but alas I have yet to find one. So, walking is what I have been doing. On an almost daily basis, I walk around the track. Some say 4x around is a mile, some say 5x. I don't walk fast, but I walk what I can - sometimes two laps, sometimes six. I usually walk with a friend, sometimes on my own.
As I wrote yesterday, I decided to try the yoga video for people with arthritis. Now I know exactly why I was recommended walking and swimming, and not other types of exercise. OUCH! I think every joint I have is inflamed at the moment. Obviously, when you start in yoga, you find muscles you didn't even know you had, but these are not my muscles hurting. It is all joints.
The thing that sucks the most about this, is that I really enjoyed doing the workout. I went with Cali and it's always better to have a "workout buddy," than to go it alone. She even chose to do my video with me. I learned poses - like Warrior I and Warrior II; Standing Mountain was by far the easiest. I enjoyed part of the warm-up, the standing poses, and the reclining poses. The video shows ways to do it with a chair, which would help some with bad balance (like myself), but we don't have chairs in there. So, I grabbed a large blow up "thingy" and used that to help with my balance. It worked. Until last night, when the expressions on my face led everyone to wonder what the heck was wrong with me... "ouch."
Red asked me to avoid the yoga today and to just try it on days I'm getting my injection or just after. It's not a bad idea. I don't know if my injection will help, but perhaps it would. I just got an injection on Monday, though, so a Wednesday workout should be close enough. It sucks when you no longer can make the healthiest decisions concerning your body. I want to be active. I want to run. I can never really run again. At least, that's what the doctor's and websites about my condition, say. I watch softball, kickball, and basketball. I can not play any of the three. I used to play all three. Well, I "could" play anything I want, but paying the price right away during/after, is just not good decision making.
Anyway, it is not going to stop me from trying to be more active. Even if I don't do a video today, I will go with Cali to Inside Rec this morning. I can just do some stretching, or basic mat exercises I learned in physical therapy back home. There's are exercise balls that I know some exercises for. There are steps, where I can continue to strengthen my walking up/down stairs. There are 1 pound weights, that I can use for toning - although I prefer my exercise band for that purpose (it's working, too!). It's been a long, long time since I've been active. I'm going to keep trying to find the right exercises and even stick with the yoga if I can, because being active feels good, even if my joints hate me for doing it!
As I wrote yesterday, I decided to try the yoga video for people with arthritis. Now I know exactly why I was recommended walking and swimming, and not other types of exercise. OUCH! I think every joint I have is inflamed at the moment. Obviously, when you start in yoga, you find muscles you didn't even know you had, but these are not my muscles hurting. It is all joints.
The thing that sucks the most about this, is that I really enjoyed doing the workout. I went with Cali and it's always better to have a "workout buddy," than to go it alone. She even chose to do my video with me. I learned poses - like Warrior I and Warrior II; Standing Mountain was by far the easiest. I enjoyed part of the warm-up, the standing poses, and the reclining poses. The video shows ways to do it with a chair, which would help some with bad balance (like myself), but we don't have chairs in there. So, I grabbed a large blow up "thingy" and used that to help with my balance. It worked. Until last night, when the expressions on my face led everyone to wonder what the heck was wrong with me... "ouch."
Red asked me to avoid the yoga today and to just try it on days I'm getting my injection or just after. It's not a bad idea. I don't know if my injection will help, but perhaps it would. I just got an injection on Monday, though, so a Wednesday workout should be close enough. It sucks when you no longer can make the healthiest decisions concerning your body. I want to be active. I want to run. I can never really run again. At least, that's what the doctor's and websites about my condition, say. I watch softball, kickball, and basketball. I can not play any of the three. I used to play all three. Well, I "could" play anything I want, but paying the price right away during/after, is just not good decision making.
Anyway, it is not going to stop me from trying to be more active. Even if I don't do a video today, I will go with Cali to Inside Rec this morning. I can just do some stretching, or basic mat exercises I learned in physical therapy back home. There's are exercise balls that I know some exercises for. There are steps, where I can continue to strengthen my walking up/down stairs. There are 1 pound weights, that I can use for toning - although I prefer my exercise band for that purpose (it's working, too!). It's been a long, long time since I've been active. I'm going to keep trying to find the right exercises and even stick with the yoga if I can, because being active feels good, even if my joints hate me for doing it!
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
From Dragonfly: The Game Never Ends
Sometimes, once you've jumped through so many "hoops," you think, okay, that's it, I'm done... The game never ends, though. There's always another road block or hoop... just get used to it. Accept that fact. Stay on course. Advocate for yourself - no one else here will!
I write this because we know how hard it was for me to finally get my exit paperwork completed. Then, we know how many mazes I needed to find my way out of to get approval for home confinement. Then, we know I've been doing the waiting game on when will region send back my paperwork --- with my choosing to check in with my case manager on a very regular basis. We are told to wait 45 days from when our paperwork is sent, but some regions only average 26 days, and I'm so close to the date that I needed to see if we could get the process moving. My case manager never complained, she'd look on the computer and say, "not back yet..."
Yesterday was 36 days from when the paperwork was sent. I once again waited in line to find out if my home confinement date of May 28th has been processed by region. While I waited in line, another inmate, who is with me almost every time I am seeing my case manager, came to tell me the update on her wait... She is to be going to halfway house on May 6th. Her paperwork was sent a week prior to mine. She hadn't heard anything. Turns out, her paperwork was never actually mailed. I'm not sure who failed to send it, but now they need to send it off and expedite it. Her sister already checked the halfway house, beds are available... they just need the paperwork processed. A story like hers is not irregular here. We all have so much difficulty getting out.
So, then it was my turn. Once again, my case worker was incredibly kind. She looked up my computer record. "Nothing yet..." It's been over a month, though, so she said, "let's email them..." She looks up my state. Turns out my state has two regional offices - one for the eastern side of the state and one for the western side of the state. She doesn't know whether the right office received my paperwork... so she emailed them... "I hope I sent the paperwork to the right address..." I wish we had known this issue a month ago - because if the wrong region received my paperwork, it could be a couple more weeks to get it processed by the right region. I pray not. I need to go home.
Going home, though, is going to be more of a process than I had realized. Even though I was told that I medically could not go to halfway house, I have to still go "through" the halfway house to home. So, instead of going home, I will spent 2-14 days (approx.) at a halfway house first. I will have to go through orientation. I am not sure why, if I was not allowed to go to halfway house, I am still required to spend time in one. I should have been at the halfway house, going through orientation already and heading home on or before the 28th of May. Now, I will have to go to the halfway house during my home confinement period. Seems really backward. Hasn't that been my entire experience here?
It's hard to not get frustrating at all the bureaucracy. Thank god I can spend some time relaxing and clearing my brain of the chaos. I always feel better after that. I am also starting a video program today, called "Yoga for Arthritis." I'm going to see if it helps me relax even better. It's the only work out video they offer here for people with medical issues (except wheel chair aerobics). Cali wants me to go to the rec center and work the video every morning - while she does a crazy video called Extremes or something like that. Ah, to be fully able-bodied. We'll see how today goes... I'm down over 30 pounds now without doing much for trying, so maybe this will help take off another few before I head back north.
This afternoon, I will be back at my case manager's office. We will see if she received an email back. Steps will be taken depending on what we hear. I will not give up hope that I am leaving here on May 28th. I still have 27 days and wake up to make it happen!
I write this because we know how hard it was for me to finally get my exit paperwork completed. Then, we know how many mazes I needed to find my way out of to get approval for home confinement. Then, we know I've been doing the waiting game on when will region send back my paperwork --- with my choosing to check in with my case manager on a very regular basis. We are told to wait 45 days from when our paperwork is sent, but some regions only average 26 days, and I'm so close to the date that I needed to see if we could get the process moving. My case manager never complained, she'd look on the computer and say, "not back yet..."
Yesterday was 36 days from when the paperwork was sent. I once again waited in line to find out if my home confinement date of May 28th has been processed by region. While I waited in line, another inmate, who is with me almost every time I am seeing my case manager, came to tell me the update on her wait... She is to be going to halfway house on May 6th. Her paperwork was sent a week prior to mine. She hadn't heard anything. Turns out, her paperwork was never actually mailed. I'm not sure who failed to send it, but now they need to send it off and expedite it. Her sister already checked the halfway house, beds are available... they just need the paperwork processed. A story like hers is not irregular here. We all have so much difficulty getting out.
So, then it was my turn. Once again, my case worker was incredibly kind. She looked up my computer record. "Nothing yet..." It's been over a month, though, so she said, "let's email them..." She looks up my state. Turns out my state has two regional offices - one for the eastern side of the state and one for the western side of the state. She doesn't know whether the right office received my paperwork... so she emailed them... "I hope I sent the paperwork to the right address..." I wish we had known this issue a month ago - because if the wrong region received my paperwork, it could be a couple more weeks to get it processed by the right region. I pray not. I need to go home.
Going home, though, is going to be more of a process than I had realized. Even though I was told that I medically could not go to halfway house, I have to still go "through" the halfway house to home. So, instead of going home, I will spent 2-14 days (approx.) at a halfway house first. I will have to go through orientation. I am not sure why, if I was not allowed to go to halfway house, I am still required to spend time in one. I should have been at the halfway house, going through orientation already and heading home on or before the 28th of May. Now, I will have to go to the halfway house during my home confinement period. Seems really backward. Hasn't that been my entire experience here?
It's hard to not get frustrating at all the bureaucracy. Thank god I can spend some time relaxing and clearing my brain of the chaos. I always feel better after that. I am also starting a video program today, called "Yoga for Arthritis." I'm going to see if it helps me relax even better. It's the only work out video they offer here for people with medical issues (except wheel chair aerobics). Cali wants me to go to the rec center and work the video every morning - while she does a crazy video called Extremes or something like that. Ah, to be fully able-bodied. We'll see how today goes... I'm down over 30 pounds now without doing much for trying, so maybe this will help take off another few before I head back north.
This afternoon, I will be back at my case manager's office. We will see if she received an email back. Steps will be taken depending on what we hear. I will not give up hope that I am leaving here on May 28th. I still have 27 days and wake up to make it happen!
Tuesday, April 29, 2014
From Dragonfly: Friends
Friendships are very temporary in prison. People come and go - some are forgotten, some never are. Today, my friend whose bus ticket didn't work 10 days ago is once again leaving. She's one that will never be forgotten, at least by me and many other people.
As much as friend's go, new people arrive daily. Some you immediately 'click' with, others you don't. In just these past couple weeks, I have gotten close to a new handful of people - Cali, Smiles, and a few others. They are just beginning their journeys, while mine is near it's end. I will see if I am allowed to keep in touch, but I know the rules while on home confinement/supervision are very strict about who we can and who we cannot communicate with. Even if I can't send them letters/email, they will be on my mind. I'll be praying that they can go closer to home and that they are out sooner than initially expected. Cali has big dreams - law school, helping others... she needs to be out there and not in here! She's an idealist - reminds me of myself a bit, when I also chased similar dreams.
I spend my nights, now, still with Lola at the Rec, playing RummyKube. Then I am in my unit, and I spend time with my unit friends. I made a game yesterday - a question game. It sits in a box that once housed Gefilte Fish from Passover. So, we call the game "Gefilte Fish" which makes us all laugh. The questions are "getting to know you" type about all kinds of issues. Everyone is enjoying playing it - at one point we had 9 of us sitting on chairs under the staircase playing yesterday. Some women only wanted to answer questions about sex, but there were questions like, "who would you like to meet from history," or "if you could plan the perfect dinner party, who would you invite," or "describe your best friend," or "if you could work any profession, what would it be and why?" Of course, there are questions about body and sexuality, but it is balanced with so many other types of questions. It is kind of like a board game called "Cowgirls," that I play with my best friends back home. I have a feeling we will have many evenings of playing Gefilte Fish and laughing as we get to know one another even better.
If you are headed in to prison, don't worry about friends. It will happen. There are so many different kinds of women here. We all mesh with someone. Even the ones that seem to have severe mental health issues, have friends. If you are not wanting to be friends with people who are unlike you, well, there are people here just like you. It's very diverse in prison, and you will find yourself someone you can spend time with. It's something you really do not need to worry about.
it's 27 days and a wake up now for me (and for Red). Red has her travel plans already, I'm still waiting for my papers back from region. A young woman who is supposed to leave in under two weeks, hasn't received her papers back yet. Stories like those scare me. We both stand often at our case manager's door, waiting for a moment to check --- "Are they here yet?" Then our brains inevitably go to those bad places, "What if they never received our papers?" "What if I won't be released on that day?" What if, what if, what if... The waiting game is hard.
However, even as I wait, I am not alone in my waiting. People are here to support us and understand what we are going through. Friendship happens in prison. Laughter happens in prison. Support happens in prison. A little game called "Gefilte Fish" may even bring new people into your circle. It helps make the wait to leave a little less stressful.
As much as friend's go, new people arrive daily. Some you immediately 'click' with, others you don't. In just these past couple weeks, I have gotten close to a new handful of people - Cali, Smiles, and a few others. They are just beginning their journeys, while mine is near it's end. I will see if I am allowed to keep in touch, but I know the rules while on home confinement/supervision are very strict about who we can and who we cannot communicate with. Even if I can't send them letters/email, they will be on my mind. I'll be praying that they can go closer to home and that they are out sooner than initially expected. Cali has big dreams - law school, helping others... she needs to be out there and not in here! She's an idealist - reminds me of myself a bit, when I also chased similar dreams.
I spend my nights, now, still with Lola at the Rec, playing RummyKube. Then I am in my unit, and I spend time with my unit friends. I made a game yesterday - a question game. It sits in a box that once housed Gefilte Fish from Passover. So, we call the game "Gefilte Fish" which makes us all laugh. The questions are "getting to know you" type about all kinds of issues. Everyone is enjoying playing it - at one point we had 9 of us sitting on chairs under the staircase playing yesterday. Some women only wanted to answer questions about sex, but there were questions like, "who would you like to meet from history," or "if you could plan the perfect dinner party, who would you invite," or "describe your best friend," or "if you could work any profession, what would it be and why?" Of course, there are questions about body and sexuality, but it is balanced with so many other types of questions. It is kind of like a board game called "Cowgirls," that I play with my best friends back home. I have a feeling we will have many evenings of playing Gefilte Fish and laughing as we get to know one another even better.
If you are headed in to prison, don't worry about friends. It will happen. There are so many different kinds of women here. We all mesh with someone. Even the ones that seem to have severe mental health issues, have friends. If you are not wanting to be friends with people who are unlike you, well, there are people here just like you. It's very diverse in prison, and you will find yourself someone you can spend time with. It's something you really do not need to worry about.
it's 27 days and a wake up now for me (and for Red). Red has her travel plans already, I'm still waiting for my papers back from region. A young woman who is supposed to leave in under two weeks, hasn't received her papers back yet. Stories like those scare me. We both stand often at our case manager's door, waiting for a moment to check --- "Are they here yet?" Then our brains inevitably go to those bad places, "What if they never received our papers?" "What if I won't be released on that day?" What if, what if, what if... The waiting game is hard.
However, even as I wait, I am not alone in my waiting. People are here to support us and understand what we are going through. Friendship happens in prison. Laughter happens in prison. Support happens in prison. A little game called "Gefilte Fish" may even bring new people into your circle. It helps make the wait to leave a little less stressful.
Sunday, April 27, 2014
From Dragonfly: Seeing Blue
Most of the time in prison, you don't see outside life coming across the fences. Other than seeing some women from the camp doing their thing, we rarely see anything else. This weekend, though, life is happening everywhere and we get to watch in awe.
The base is hosting an air show and the Blue Angels are here as part of it. In upper 80 degree weather, we are all turning red like lobsters as our faces face up and over the trees to see parachutes (one yesterday had an American flag as he/she fell to the earth), planes flying upside down, water vapor making hearts and circles, and other designs, and formations that are so close it's impossible to imagine how the planes are not touching wings. I imagined "bumper planes" that somehow could bounce off one another and still stay flying.
For the most part, honestly, the air show is boring from our view point. A lot seems to happen below the tree line. It doesn't stop us from watching for a glimpse of something amazing; something that can remind us that there's life out there that we get to return to (some soon, some not so soon).
I'd never seen so many inmates outside at one time before (other than our many fire drills). People were everywhere on the compound sitting in groups and enjoying the sun or shade. I even did some things I hadn't done here before. I played a couple games of horseshoes. Then, I tried Bocce Ball for the first time.
Everyone was out near me - Lola, Freckles, Red (who is living up to her name with the day's craziest sunburn), Taz, Nurse, Curls, and so many others. If we didn't see the fences, it could have been a large family picnic. The mood was generally positive. People played kickball and softball. Small picnic feasts included chips, candy, and a lot of ice cold water.
After my bad news this weekend, it was a perfect day for the most part. I did sneak in, while most were still out, and was able to talk with my father. His voice is very hoarse. He received the pictures of myself I sent him. He has double vision now due to the tumor, so he has double of me with him right now. One of my pictures sits with him at the hospital. They are releasing him for at least a short time tomorrow. We will know if anything can prolong his life in less than a week. I hope that he and his wife get a chance to take that Mediterranean Cruise that they've been planning for several years. Those are the things one should do when they know that time is suddenly shorter than expected. I have seen two of the seven new "natural wonders of the world." If I knew my time was short, I would want to see the remaining five... and perhaps the 7 'man-made' wonders of the world, as well.
It's not my time yet, thank god, so for now, I'll just keep looking up... the Blue Angels fly again this afternoon. Perhaps that is another check off my bucket list.
The base is hosting an air show and the Blue Angels are here as part of it. In upper 80 degree weather, we are all turning red like lobsters as our faces face up and over the trees to see parachutes (one yesterday had an American flag as he/she fell to the earth), planes flying upside down, water vapor making hearts and circles, and other designs, and formations that are so close it's impossible to imagine how the planes are not touching wings. I imagined "bumper planes" that somehow could bounce off one another and still stay flying.
For the most part, honestly, the air show is boring from our view point. A lot seems to happen below the tree line. It doesn't stop us from watching for a glimpse of something amazing; something that can remind us that there's life out there that we get to return to (some soon, some not so soon).
I'd never seen so many inmates outside at one time before (other than our many fire drills). People were everywhere on the compound sitting in groups and enjoying the sun or shade. I even did some things I hadn't done here before. I played a couple games of horseshoes. Then, I tried Bocce Ball for the first time.
Everyone was out near me - Lola, Freckles, Red (who is living up to her name with the day's craziest sunburn), Taz, Nurse, Curls, and so many others. If we didn't see the fences, it could have been a large family picnic. The mood was generally positive. People played kickball and softball. Small picnic feasts included chips, candy, and a lot of ice cold water.
After my bad news this weekend, it was a perfect day for the most part. I did sneak in, while most were still out, and was able to talk with my father. His voice is very hoarse. He received the pictures of myself I sent him. He has double vision now due to the tumor, so he has double of me with him right now. One of my pictures sits with him at the hospital. They are releasing him for at least a short time tomorrow. We will know if anything can prolong his life in less than a week. I hope that he and his wife get a chance to take that Mediterranean Cruise that they've been planning for several years. Those are the things one should do when they know that time is suddenly shorter than expected. I have seen two of the seven new "natural wonders of the world." If I knew my time was short, I would want to see the remaining five... and perhaps the 7 'man-made' wonders of the world, as well.
It's not my time yet, thank god, so for now, I'll just keep looking up... the Blue Angels fly again this afternoon. Perhaps that is another check off my bucket list.
Saturday, April 26, 2014
From Dragonfly: All the Tools of My Program
It's when the worst things happen that I am so grateful for the recovery I've obtained and the new tools I've learned to help me "walk through" life's downs. It's so easy to walk through the ups, but it's the downs that balance those out that are so difficult for so many of us. For me, I found some healthy ways to walk through the bad news of yesterday...
My father has fast-growing, terminal, brain cancer... That word "terminal" just sat with me like having eaten the most foul brick of food in my life. In less than a year, my father will no longer walk this earth. With such a complicated past, this reality made me know for sure that I've forgiven my father. All I want to be is by his side. I hate thinking that he may be alone when he passes.
Of course my step-monster is there. However, when I called last night - at dinner time where they live, my dad's wife was no longer at the hospital. She was in her car, headed to her "bunko" night with her girlfriends. They received such horrible news just hours before, but she couldn't cancel her plans and be by his side. Perhaps he was sleeping, but he'll likely wake in a panic. Only nurses will be there. My dad can't express all his needs since his stroke. Only my step-monster knows his needs.
I can't get too mad at her, though. Everyone deals with loss in different ways. Everyone, especially care-givers, need to take time for themselves. You can't take care of another person if you fail to take care of yourself. But, I am selfish and I don't want my dad to die alone. I don't want him to lie in bed thinking of life's mistakes. I want him to feel loved, cared for, and prayed about. I want him to know that people are and will shed tears for him. If I were there, I would stay. I would help. I would happily be his voice and advocate.
Instead, I am in cinder block walls behind a barbed wire double fence. Never did I wish circumstances were different more than this moment. The powerlessness of loss, while incarcerated, is intolerable. I've learned of women losing children, spouses, siblings, parents, and best-friends. We mourn together and apart. No one here knows the loved one who is dying or died, but we all somehow feel it. We all understand that inability to be by the bedside or at the funeral. The real idea of "furlough" does not exist. It is rarely granted for even 24 hours, and it costs thousands when it is.
I'm lucky though. I have my program to lean on. I have all the tools I've been provided over the years to help me walk through this experience. I am unable to control this situation and I'm not going to waste my breaths trying to. My thoughts and prayers are with my father constantly. I will reach out to others and hold nothing inside. I will get a lot of fresh air. I will feel (something I failed to do for 20+ years). I will accept.
My father has fast-growing, terminal, brain cancer... That word "terminal" just sat with me like having eaten the most foul brick of food in my life. In less than a year, my father will no longer walk this earth. With such a complicated past, this reality made me know for sure that I've forgiven my father. All I want to be is by his side. I hate thinking that he may be alone when he passes.
Of course my step-monster is there. However, when I called last night - at dinner time where they live, my dad's wife was no longer at the hospital. She was in her car, headed to her "bunko" night with her girlfriends. They received such horrible news just hours before, but she couldn't cancel her plans and be by his side. Perhaps he was sleeping, but he'll likely wake in a panic. Only nurses will be there. My dad can't express all his needs since his stroke. Only my step-monster knows his needs.
I can't get too mad at her, though. Everyone deals with loss in different ways. Everyone, especially care-givers, need to take time for themselves. You can't take care of another person if you fail to take care of yourself. But, I am selfish and I don't want my dad to die alone. I don't want him to lie in bed thinking of life's mistakes. I want him to feel loved, cared for, and prayed about. I want him to know that people are and will shed tears for him. If I were there, I would stay. I would help. I would happily be his voice and advocate.
Instead, I am in cinder block walls behind a barbed wire double fence. Never did I wish circumstances were different more than this moment. The powerlessness of loss, while incarcerated, is intolerable. I've learned of women losing children, spouses, siblings, parents, and best-friends. We mourn together and apart. No one here knows the loved one who is dying or died, but we all somehow feel it. We all understand that inability to be by the bedside or at the funeral. The real idea of "furlough" does not exist. It is rarely granted for even 24 hours, and it costs thousands when it is.
I'm lucky though. I have my program to lean on. I have all the tools I've been provided over the years to help me walk through this experience. I am unable to control this situation and I'm not going to waste my breaths trying to. My thoughts and prayers are with my father constantly. I will reach out to others and hold nothing inside. I will get a lot of fresh air. I will feel (something I failed to do for 20+ years). I will accept.
Friday, April 25, 2014
From Dragonfly: A Human Zoo
Yesterday, I was reading "Vanishing Acts" by Jodi Picoult. I was caught by a metaphor she used, that I've often used since being in here --- "a human zoo..." On page 187, Piccoult's character states:
"We walk down the hallway that opens into a large, two-tiered room... What it resembles - what jail always resembles - is a human zoo. The animals are busy doing their own thing - sleeping, eating, socializing. Some of them notice me, some of them choose not to. It's really the only power they have left."
How true that statement is. A couple weeks ago, a group of students from a local university, took a tour of the prison, including our unit. There they were, standing in a group, staring in one of our rooms. They didn't talk to the woman who was laying on her bed - they just stared. I happened to walk by them. Some watched me walk - what were they thinking? Were they wondering what I'd done to get in here? Were they afraid I might be violent? I remember visiting a couple prisons/jails during my undergrad and law school experiences. I was them - I just stared as well. I'd always visited male institutions, and I was scared of the men in cages.
How horrible it is that we are equal to animals at a zoo. There is no respect for us as individuals. Our animal name must be deviant, criminally, opportunistic felon. While we are in there, we are no longer human.
Interestingly, another book that a friend is reading had quite a different paragraph about prisons:
"The American prison system illustrates the philosophical and practical difference between the choice to perceive sin or to perceive error. We see criminals as guilty and seek to punish them. But whatever we do to others, we are doing to ourselves. Statistics painfully prove that our prisons are schools for crime; a vast number of crimes are committed by people who have already spent time in prison. In punishing others, we end up punishing ourselves. Does that mean we're to forgive a rapist, tell him we know he just had a bad day and send him home? Of course not. We're to ask for a miracle. A miracle here would be a shift from perceiving prisons as houses of punishment to perceiving them as houses of rehabilitation. When we consciously change their purpose from FEAR to LOVE, we release infinite possibilities of healing." (A Return to Love by Marianna Williamson, pg. 99).
How different would our prisons look if any of what she says reform should do occurred. Would we no longer be zoo animals, but instead people trying to heal? Would everyone be appropriate for some services, instead of just those with drug/alcohol backgrounds? It was decades ago that our prison system changed from the ideal of rehabilitation to specifically punishment. Yet, how are we to rejoin society, if nothing in us has changed.
I can tell you that just one week in this place would have been enough punishment for many of the people I know. What they really need is help - help with their self-esteem, help with getting over abusive pasts, help with addiction, help with getting a foot up in life. Reform needs to happen. We should not allow our jails and prisons to just be human zoos.
"We walk down the hallway that opens into a large, two-tiered room... What it resembles - what jail always resembles - is a human zoo. The animals are busy doing their own thing - sleeping, eating, socializing. Some of them notice me, some of them choose not to. It's really the only power they have left."
How true that statement is. A couple weeks ago, a group of students from a local university, took a tour of the prison, including our unit. There they were, standing in a group, staring in one of our rooms. They didn't talk to the woman who was laying on her bed - they just stared. I happened to walk by them. Some watched me walk - what were they thinking? Were they wondering what I'd done to get in here? Were they afraid I might be violent? I remember visiting a couple prisons/jails during my undergrad and law school experiences. I was them - I just stared as well. I'd always visited male institutions, and I was scared of the men in cages.
How horrible it is that we are equal to animals at a zoo. There is no respect for us as individuals. Our animal name must be deviant, criminally, opportunistic felon. While we are in there, we are no longer human.
Interestingly, another book that a friend is reading had quite a different paragraph about prisons:
"The American prison system illustrates the philosophical and practical difference between the choice to perceive sin or to perceive error. We see criminals as guilty and seek to punish them. But whatever we do to others, we are doing to ourselves. Statistics painfully prove that our prisons are schools for crime; a vast number of crimes are committed by people who have already spent time in prison. In punishing others, we end up punishing ourselves. Does that mean we're to forgive a rapist, tell him we know he just had a bad day and send him home? Of course not. We're to ask for a miracle. A miracle here would be a shift from perceiving prisons as houses of punishment to perceiving them as houses of rehabilitation. When we consciously change their purpose from FEAR to LOVE, we release infinite possibilities of healing." (A Return to Love by Marianna Williamson, pg. 99).
How different would our prisons look if any of what she says reform should do occurred. Would we no longer be zoo animals, but instead people trying to heal? Would everyone be appropriate for some services, instead of just those with drug/alcohol backgrounds? It was decades ago that our prison system changed from the ideal of rehabilitation to specifically punishment. Yet, how are we to rejoin society, if nothing in us has changed.
I can tell you that just one week in this place would have been enough punishment for many of the people I know. What they really need is help - help with their self-esteem, help with getting over abusive pasts, help with addiction, help with getting a foot up in life. Reform needs to happen. We should not allow our jails and prisons to just be human zoos.
From Dragonfly: The Catwalk
Every morning, our current daytime C.O. yells, "get ready for inspection!" We are supposed to be inspection ready from 7:30am-4:00pm every day, but not every officer does rounds. Our current officer is serious about doing his rounds, taking anything anyone has out that does not belong - even a mug someone is drinking from but not at that second. In order to get your things back, you have to work extra duty (2+ hours of cleaning something in the unit). My room is always inspection ready in time. We all have our cleaning days and we are serious about making sure everything gets done - window, bars, lockers, floor, lining things at the back wall, desk, stool, dusting, etc. So far, so good.
When he yells, "get ready for inspection," everyone upstairs moves out to the catwalk. We sit on the hard, cement floor and read, crochet, talk, etc. Some days we sit there, against the wall for up to three hours, sometimes he will start upstairs and we'll just be there an hour or less. Most days, it's more than an hour. I sometimes take my blanket to sit on, because the cold cement can be horrible to sit on for a long period of time. Some people use their trash can, upside down as a chair. I find that uncomfortable due to the lip - but it's fine if I put a blanket folded on it and then sit. Mostly, I just sit on the ground. Up and down the corridor (which is what I would call the hallway, not a catwalk), everyone around is doing the same as me. We watch as our officer goes room to room - "what is he checking today?" "what did he just take from them?" Our conversations are usually the same questions everyday.
There will be those defiers, who choose to lay in their beds until he shows up. Then he bangs really hard on their locker to wake them up and asks them to step out of the room. His favorite phrase, "get your mind right," is constantly heard as he talks to folks that are in the way of his job. Most of us avoid that, so we tell our neighbor, "get me up when he comes upstairs..." We always do - inmates protecting each other.
It's an odd irony that we spend almost all morning on the catwalk, as our evening guard's favorite phrase is "get off the catwalk." With her, we are not allowed to sit anywhere on the corridor or stand by anyone's rooms. It is a constant to hear her yelling upstairs for people to "move out of doorways," and stop talking on the catwalk. As she walks into work each evening, we all yell, "get off the catwalk," and laugh. I wonder if she is annoyed with it. I think we do it out of respect - at least she is consistent!
On nights that she is not on duty, inmates will sit against their walls, or on their trashcans, and watch television from right outside their rooms. They keep the majority of the corridor free for people to walk, but they are able to avoid having to go up and down the 24 steps over and over again. The downstairs has a hallway/corridor, not a "catwalk," and people tend to go to the tables and atrium, rather than hang by their rooms. That's one of the "culture differences" between being on the second floor, to being on the first, there is more room visiting (against the rules but still happens) and people spending time just outside their rooms. Honestly, it is a more comfortable culture for me. I like being able to relax in/near my room, rather than always having to be surrounded by everyone.
The one thing we cannot ever do is hang out at the edge of the catwalk on the rails/poles that act as a fence to the great fall that would occur down to the first floor. Except during mail time, though, as many C.O.'s have us wait by the poles to see if our names are called. There is always an exception for every rule, and every C.O. does things differently. Otherwise, it is "get away from the rails!"
There are things that will have a hard time getting out of my head once I am back home. I have a feeling that, "get your mind right," and "get off the catwalk," will be statements in my dreams for years to come. It may be that inside joke that is shared by those of us who have survived this experience. In the meantime, I will sit in the catwalk during the day, avoid it at night, and never lean on the rails.
When he yells, "get ready for inspection," everyone upstairs moves out to the catwalk. We sit on the hard, cement floor and read, crochet, talk, etc. Some days we sit there, against the wall for up to three hours, sometimes he will start upstairs and we'll just be there an hour or less. Most days, it's more than an hour. I sometimes take my blanket to sit on, because the cold cement can be horrible to sit on for a long period of time. Some people use their trash can, upside down as a chair. I find that uncomfortable due to the lip - but it's fine if I put a blanket folded on it and then sit. Mostly, I just sit on the ground. Up and down the corridor (which is what I would call the hallway, not a catwalk), everyone around is doing the same as me. We watch as our officer goes room to room - "what is he checking today?" "what did he just take from them?" Our conversations are usually the same questions everyday.
There will be those defiers, who choose to lay in their beds until he shows up. Then he bangs really hard on their locker to wake them up and asks them to step out of the room. His favorite phrase, "get your mind right," is constantly heard as he talks to folks that are in the way of his job. Most of us avoid that, so we tell our neighbor, "get me up when he comes upstairs..." We always do - inmates protecting each other.
It's an odd irony that we spend almost all morning on the catwalk, as our evening guard's favorite phrase is "get off the catwalk." With her, we are not allowed to sit anywhere on the corridor or stand by anyone's rooms. It is a constant to hear her yelling upstairs for people to "move out of doorways," and stop talking on the catwalk. As she walks into work each evening, we all yell, "get off the catwalk," and laugh. I wonder if she is annoyed with it. I think we do it out of respect - at least she is consistent!
On nights that she is not on duty, inmates will sit against their walls, or on their trashcans, and watch television from right outside their rooms. They keep the majority of the corridor free for people to walk, but they are able to avoid having to go up and down the 24 steps over and over again. The downstairs has a hallway/corridor, not a "catwalk," and people tend to go to the tables and atrium, rather than hang by their rooms. That's one of the "culture differences" between being on the second floor, to being on the first, there is more room visiting (against the rules but still happens) and people spending time just outside their rooms. Honestly, it is a more comfortable culture for me. I like being able to relax in/near my room, rather than always having to be surrounded by everyone.
The one thing we cannot ever do is hang out at the edge of the catwalk on the rails/poles that act as a fence to the great fall that would occur down to the first floor. Except during mail time, though, as many C.O.'s have us wait by the poles to see if our names are called. There is always an exception for every rule, and every C.O. does things differently. Otherwise, it is "get away from the rails!"
There are things that will have a hard time getting out of my head once I am back home. I have a feeling that, "get your mind right," and "get off the catwalk," will be statements in my dreams for years to come. It may be that inside joke that is shared by those of us who have survived this experience. In the meantime, I will sit in the catwalk during the day, avoid it at night, and never lean on the rails.
Thursday, April 24, 2014
From Dragonfly: Is it violent?
I was laying in bed last night, reading the beginning of a new Jodi Piccoult (well, a 2005 book well read, but new to me) when my roommate Longwinded asked me a question. I had to take my orange ear plugs out of my ears and sit up to hear her. My bunkie was already asleep. She said, "Do you fear for violence here?" "Do you think the inmates are violent?"
I wasn't sure where the questions came from in her, is she being threatened? Has something happened? So, I started to answer by asking those questions, not direct answers to her questions. Then she explained further. She was talking with a staff member and the staff member had asked her these questions. Since the question, "do you think the inmates are violent?" was inclusive of all inmates (it wasn't just "some" inmates), Longwinded answered, "no, because I am not violent and I am an inmate..." I told her that I do believe some of the inmates are violent, but not the majority of us. There's enough to keep us on our toes, though. There are enough to take threats seriously.
The staff member, I guess, thought she was in "lala land," as he put it. He informed her, and a couple other inmates, that last week an inmate bit the pinky off of another inmate. I hadn't heard about this. Longwinded hadn't either. However, one of the other people in their conversation had. I don't know if it is true, but it does not surprise me. Perhaps it happened on one of the mental health units. They would be deemed "criminally insane." Most of them are not given the freedom to roam outside their unit too often, so perhaps it happened within their unit. However, it could have happened anywhere. There are many people here with substantial mental health issues, who are mainstreamed into the prison population.
This conversation led my roommate to say that she has no idea the truth behind most anyone's crimes. Her bunky could be a murderer (I don't believe she is, but she is right, she "could" be). Her best friend on the compound could have violently attacked a child. She doesn't know and neither do I. That's the thing about this place. We are all together and we look just like each other. We are your tutors, your plumbers, your nurses, your neighbors. No one knows anything, except for gossip or what is shared. People lie. There's no way to know the full truth.
I told Longwinded that many people here scare me, but it is not based on what they look like or even how they hold themselves. I've been around lots of different kinds of people in my life and do my best to never judge a book by it's cover. What does scare me is the eyes. The eyes are the windows to the soul. The person who I believe would have hit me had that meanness in their eyes. I'd never feared her before that moment. Sometimes you can see it all the time in someone, sometimes it just comes out at the moments of their anger.
There is a young woman, from one of the mental health floors, who walks in circles, talking to herself, and punching air. I do not fear her. I am not going to say that she has not done violence, I have no idea of her name, much less her past or crimes. But, she has scared eyes. She acts "out" and doesn't hold back. It's makes it easy to know how to be around someone when they make it obvious as to their need for space. The people that scare me the most are those who hold it all inside, only to one day "break" and the violence erupts from them.
So, it is violent? Yes. However, it is also possible to keep oneself insulated from it. We need to avoid confrontation. We need to spend our time with people who are not threatening. We shouldn't be locked up with violent offenders, but we are. We just need to always keep aware of who is around. I still get scared sometimes. I fear Longwinded is now scared as well. I don't know why the staff member asked her about it, but her defenses are now up. Maybe, just maybe, it will save her from a bad situation down the road. One never knows why we receive the messages we do, only that we get the messages we need at the times we need them.
I wasn't sure where the questions came from in her, is she being threatened? Has something happened? So, I started to answer by asking those questions, not direct answers to her questions. Then she explained further. She was talking with a staff member and the staff member had asked her these questions. Since the question, "do you think the inmates are violent?" was inclusive of all inmates (it wasn't just "some" inmates), Longwinded answered, "no, because I am not violent and I am an inmate..." I told her that I do believe some of the inmates are violent, but not the majority of us. There's enough to keep us on our toes, though. There are enough to take threats seriously.
The staff member, I guess, thought she was in "lala land," as he put it. He informed her, and a couple other inmates, that last week an inmate bit the pinky off of another inmate. I hadn't heard about this. Longwinded hadn't either. However, one of the other people in their conversation had. I don't know if it is true, but it does not surprise me. Perhaps it happened on one of the mental health units. They would be deemed "criminally insane." Most of them are not given the freedom to roam outside their unit too often, so perhaps it happened within their unit. However, it could have happened anywhere. There are many people here with substantial mental health issues, who are mainstreamed into the prison population.
This conversation led my roommate to say that she has no idea the truth behind most anyone's crimes. Her bunky could be a murderer (I don't believe she is, but she is right, she "could" be). Her best friend on the compound could have violently attacked a child. She doesn't know and neither do I. That's the thing about this place. We are all together and we look just like each other. We are your tutors, your plumbers, your nurses, your neighbors. No one knows anything, except for gossip or what is shared. People lie. There's no way to know the full truth.
I told Longwinded that many people here scare me, but it is not based on what they look like or even how they hold themselves. I've been around lots of different kinds of people in my life and do my best to never judge a book by it's cover. What does scare me is the eyes. The eyes are the windows to the soul. The person who I believe would have hit me had that meanness in their eyes. I'd never feared her before that moment. Sometimes you can see it all the time in someone, sometimes it just comes out at the moments of their anger.
There is a young woman, from one of the mental health floors, who walks in circles, talking to herself, and punching air. I do not fear her. I am not going to say that she has not done violence, I have no idea of her name, much less her past or crimes. But, she has scared eyes. She acts "out" and doesn't hold back. It's makes it easy to know how to be around someone when they make it obvious as to their need for space. The people that scare me the most are those who hold it all inside, only to one day "break" and the violence erupts from them.
So, it is violent? Yes. However, it is also possible to keep oneself insulated from it. We need to avoid confrontation. We need to spend our time with people who are not threatening. We shouldn't be locked up with violent offenders, but we are. We just need to always keep aware of who is around. I still get scared sometimes. I fear Longwinded is now scared as well. I don't know why the staff member asked her about it, but her defenses are now up. Maybe, just maybe, it will save her from a bad situation down the road. One never knows why we receive the messages we do, only that we get the messages we need at the times we need them.
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
From Dragonfly: Yelling
I'm not sure why, but some staff (not all) find it so much easier to scream at us, than just talk to us. It is certainly a belittling technique - especially when the person is in the position of power. It is difficult for me to accept yelling as a way of communication. One staff member, here, does a great job of yelling things like "4pm count," but being softer at other times. In fact, when we lost another inmate a week ago, totally unexpected, she held a town hall. Although her voice was raised so we could all hear her (we were surrounding her in the atrium and she stood on a table), she gave words of grief and caring to us all. We lost a sister - someone who'd been here for years and was about to go home. She was close to many, but even those who didn't know her well, found tears in her eyes as this staff member spoke to us.
I heard many inmates say, "I respect that woman," referring to the staff member. I have only heard that about a couple people working here - the teacher that I respect and a couple other folks. It's too bad that most the staff doesn't try to earn our respect. It would only enhance our ability to listen to them and know that, even if we don't like what they are saying, they respect us enough to be kind when appropriate. We are not just inmates. We are women. We are human beings. Some treat us like we are animals, and I am not just exaggerating when I say that.
I have to say that the Warden is one of the people most inmates respect. I've never seen him yelling at anyone. He stands mainline nearly everyday, and will listen to inmate complaints/issues. He reads and responds to his emails. Sometimes he can't do what we want him to, but he's honest about that as well. He has beautified the campus. I, for one, respect him.
I'm not sure why staff don't get that if they are yelling at us, some inmates will see it as an opportunity to also communicate by yelling. There are verbal fights constantly in the unit and on the yard. There is backtalk to the officers. Not everyone hates confrontation, like I do; they fight back, they yell back. Yelling seems to be acceptable, as long as it is not during quiet hours. The only times I see people get in trouble for screaming is when it leads to a more serious fight or if it is right at an officer and includes something derogatory. They will get a "time-out" - perhaps 2-3 days in the SHU to calm down.
So, screaming is everywhere, between girlfriends, between enemies, between staff and inmates... When I say there's no quiet, there's also no time where someone is not yelling something at someone else. Being curious minded, it leads to my roommates and I constantly going to our door or in the hall to see what is going on. I've never been on a school-yard like you see in the movies, where two kids get into a fight and everyone gathers screaming, "fight, fight, fight," until a school teacher breaks it up. But that's kind of like what it's like here, only the crowd watches and says nothing. It is just all in a day's life in prison.
I wonder if there could be a calmer culture in prison. Perhaps the camps have it. Perhaps other institutions have it. I wouldn't know. I do know, though, that I can't wait to be away from all the yelling and screaming. No one listens when you are yelling at them. No one.
I heard many inmates say, "I respect that woman," referring to the staff member. I have only heard that about a couple people working here - the teacher that I respect and a couple other folks. It's too bad that most the staff doesn't try to earn our respect. It would only enhance our ability to listen to them and know that, even if we don't like what they are saying, they respect us enough to be kind when appropriate. We are not just inmates. We are women. We are human beings. Some treat us like we are animals, and I am not just exaggerating when I say that.
I have to say that the Warden is one of the people most inmates respect. I've never seen him yelling at anyone. He stands mainline nearly everyday, and will listen to inmate complaints/issues. He reads and responds to his emails. Sometimes he can't do what we want him to, but he's honest about that as well. He has beautified the campus. I, for one, respect him.
I'm not sure why staff don't get that if they are yelling at us, some inmates will see it as an opportunity to also communicate by yelling. There are verbal fights constantly in the unit and on the yard. There is backtalk to the officers. Not everyone hates confrontation, like I do; they fight back, they yell back. Yelling seems to be acceptable, as long as it is not during quiet hours. The only times I see people get in trouble for screaming is when it leads to a more serious fight or if it is right at an officer and includes something derogatory. They will get a "time-out" - perhaps 2-3 days in the SHU to calm down.
So, screaming is everywhere, between girlfriends, between enemies, between staff and inmates... When I say there's no quiet, there's also no time where someone is not yelling something at someone else. Being curious minded, it leads to my roommates and I constantly going to our door or in the hall to see what is going on. I've never been on a school-yard like you see in the movies, where two kids get into a fight and everyone gathers screaming, "fight, fight, fight," until a school teacher breaks it up. But that's kind of like what it's like here, only the crowd watches and says nothing. It is just all in a day's life in prison.
I wonder if there could be a calmer culture in prison. Perhaps the camps have it. Perhaps other institutions have it. I wouldn't know. I do know, though, that I can't wait to be away from all the yelling and screaming. No one listens when you are yelling at them. No one.
From Dragonfly: Game Play
Somehow, recently, my life has once again changed here. I don't have a new job or a new room, I suddenly have competition. The healthy kind of competition. For the last few nights, I have sat at a small table with a couple women I didn't even know the names of until this week, as well as Red and sometimes Taz, and played Spades (the card game). There are those who play cards, here, all the time. I've mostly stayed away from cards, as too much could lead into some sort of gamble. But these women are not like that, we play for fun, and it is fun!
Two nights ago, as we played, I'd mentioned that I am a compulsive gambler. It came out as I was joking around about something. The woman next to me asked if I ever played Pai Gow Poker. I told her, "that was my game of choice..." She started to say that we should play some, but she didn't even get the words out when I said that I would never play the game again, or any game that I played in the casinos, or anything that would constitute gambling. I explained how sick I became - that I have not gambled in nearly 6 years - and that one day at a time, I pray to never gamble again. I'm glad I still have my guard up. Some people innocuously fall back into old habits. I am reminded every day, here, how low my addiction took me; it brought me to prison and nearly to death.
So, a little competition of Spades is right on cue for me. I enjoy the time with new friends, doing something that makes the time go by quickly. I'm sad that Lola is not in my unit, as she would enjoy it as well. Word is that we are all moving back to our old unit. Really?!?!? It hasn't happened yet, but Lola and I will be together again, until she is officially moved across the street to the camp. It sucks when your closest friends are no longer in your unit.
I've also been feeling a little ill lately. I sweat when everyone is cold (no, it's not my hormones - they've been tested). I'm tired to the point of napping a lot, and still sleeping through most nights. Perhaps my stress is affecting my body. I wouldn't be surprised. With my dad ill, no word yet on my papers from region, and the reality of watching people in here get sicker and/or die, it just gets to you sometimes.
I try to work my program of recovery to help me through it all. It's something that gambling brought to my life, rather than what it took away from me. I've actually learned to meditate. I've learned to breathe away my stress. I've learned to fill my time with things that bring me a smile or laughter. With just a short time left, I've found one of those things - the game of Spades.
Two nights ago, as we played, I'd mentioned that I am a compulsive gambler. It came out as I was joking around about something. The woman next to me asked if I ever played Pai Gow Poker. I told her, "that was my game of choice..." She started to say that we should play some, but she didn't even get the words out when I said that I would never play the game again, or any game that I played in the casinos, or anything that would constitute gambling. I explained how sick I became - that I have not gambled in nearly 6 years - and that one day at a time, I pray to never gamble again. I'm glad I still have my guard up. Some people innocuously fall back into old habits. I am reminded every day, here, how low my addiction took me; it brought me to prison and nearly to death.
So, a little competition of Spades is right on cue for me. I enjoy the time with new friends, doing something that makes the time go by quickly. I'm sad that Lola is not in my unit, as she would enjoy it as well. Word is that we are all moving back to our old unit. Really?!?!? It hasn't happened yet, but Lola and I will be together again, until she is officially moved across the street to the camp. It sucks when your closest friends are no longer in your unit.
I've also been feeling a little ill lately. I sweat when everyone is cold (no, it's not my hormones - they've been tested). I'm tired to the point of napping a lot, and still sleeping through most nights. Perhaps my stress is affecting my body. I wouldn't be surprised. With my dad ill, no word yet on my papers from region, and the reality of watching people in here get sicker and/or die, it just gets to you sometimes.
I try to work my program of recovery to help me through it all. It's something that gambling brought to my life, rather than what it took away from me. I've actually learned to meditate. I've learned to breathe away my stress. I've learned to fill my time with things that bring me a smile or laughter. With just a short time left, I've found one of those things - the game of Spades.
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
From Dragonfly: Dad
It's always hard to get difficult news in prison. Yesterday, it was my turn. I learned that my Dad has a brain tumor. It is on the bone, so even if they operate, they will not be able to get it all out. My father is still in his 60's, yet his Mother passed away in his 90's three years ago, his sister in her 70's two years ago...
Life with my father has been a difficult ride. He was not the kind of father any child should have - angry, abusive, distant... When he left my home in the late 80's, it was months before my sister or I heard anything from him. We didn't miss him. We felt safer and were happy that my Mom was free of the crazy life with my dad.
For a while, I would see my dad every so often. Sometimes, it would be at least monthly, sometimes less frequent. My parents fought in their divorce for four years before it could be finalized. By the time it was, they were both living with the people who would be their new spouses. They married these spouses on the exact same day - forcing my sister and I to attend both their weddings, hold up their Chupahs, and take family pictures twice in the same day. I was too young to drink, but my sister was not... it was the kind of day one would probably want to drink at (although, I've never had that inkling to want to drink...). Anyway, my father and I grew more and more distant. I always had so much anger at him, but was passive in his presence, as I was to anyone and everyone.
As I became an adult, we went for long periods of time without talking, then periods of time connecting. He changed over the years. He became softer. At times, that same old personality came out, made worst by my step-mother, who I refer to as my "step-monster." Perhaps that is enough said about her. But, somehow, my dad and I maintained a distant relationship. There are many ways I am like him - luckily, the good ways... computer ability, analytical thinking, interest in nerdy type things. My dad was never a "nerd," but he could have been. He was just too angry and too "broken" to be much of anything. He is intelligent, though, and always enjoyed finding cool electronics. Although, he went Beta, when the rest of the world went VHS, swearing it would win out, he was wrong...
In recent years, my dad I and have gotten closer. We lost my grandma and my aunt in the last several years, I am the only person who still talks to him in my family. My sister and him have had no relationship for nearly 15 years. He doesn't know her children (his grandchildren). Too many lies, too much hurt, could ever repair that relationship. My first cousins would not call when he had his first bought with cancer last year - bladder cancer. They said that they got it all.
Two days after his surgery for bladder cancer, two days before my sentencing, my dad had his first stroke. Perhaps his only one, but who knows. The stroke was bad, and he was in ICU for a long time, rehab for longer, and then continued with rehab from home. He was doing well, but he cannot verbalize his thoughts well. Phone conversations are difficult. I know he wants to say things to me, but he can't connect his words. His wife helps him communicate. He doesn't even use the computer much anymore. He lived his life on his computer!
He was only told that I was going to prison two days before I self-surrendered. The doctors were concerned that he would have another stroke due to the shock. So he didn't know. I hated that. But, he accepted it when I told him. We'd been tighter since my recovery started. I even spent a week with him in his nice southwestern state a couple years ago. As I said, he's gentler now. I know he cares about me. Other than his wife, I am his only family.
So, when I got the news yesterday, I was incredibly saddened. He does not have the strength he had a year ago, when he fought his bladder cancer. He does not have the words to express how he feels. I fear he will not be able to advocate for himself - something we all must do in today's healthcare world. So, I pray for him, his health, and that I will be able to see him again. The last two times I saw him were funerals, I pray the next time I see him is not his. Although his wife told me that they won't have funerals - "no one would come," she said. Perhaps, but I would be there.
My home confinement date - May 28th, is my dad's birthday. Perhaps that is no coincidence. As my friend in G.A. says, "there are no coincidences, just god-instances." My prayers are that I will be able to get permission to see him after my release. I pray he makes it to then, or beyond for years. One never knows. Don't give up Dad! Stay strong! That's what I told him on the phone yesterday. Perhaps he could tell I was crying. Someone does love him. It is me!
His first procedure is this Friday. It is a procedure through his nose - just an overnight in the hospital. We'll know more after that. Stay strong. That message is for my dad, and myself.
Life with my father has been a difficult ride. He was not the kind of father any child should have - angry, abusive, distant... When he left my home in the late 80's, it was months before my sister or I heard anything from him. We didn't miss him. We felt safer and were happy that my Mom was free of the crazy life with my dad.
For a while, I would see my dad every so often. Sometimes, it would be at least monthly, sometimes less frequent. My parents fought in their divorce for four years before it could be finalized. By the time it was, they were both living with the people who would be their new spouses. They married these spouses on the exact same day - forcing my sister and I to attend both their weddings, hold up their Chupahs, and take family pictures twice in the same day. I was too young to drink, but my sister was not... it was the kind of day one would probably want to drink at (although, I've never had that inkling to want to drink...). Anyway, my father and I grew more and more distant. I always had so much anger at him, but was passive in his presence, as I was to anyone and everyone.
As I became an adult, we went for long periods of time without talking, then periods of time connecting. He changed over the years. He became softer. At times, that same old personality came out, made worst by my step-mother, who I refer to as my "step-monster." Perhaps that is enough said about her. But, somehow, my dad and I maintained a distant relationship. There are many ways I am like him - luckily, the good ways... computer ability, analytical thinking, interest in nerdy type things. My dad was never a "nerd," but he could have been. He was just too angry and too "broken" to be much of anything. He is intelligent, though, and always enjoyed finding cool electronics. Although, he went Beta, when the rest of the world went VHS, swearing it would win out, he was wrong...
In recent years, my dad I and have gotten closer. We lost my grandma and my aunt in the last several years, I am the only person who still talks to him in my family. My sister and him have had no relationship for nearly 15 years. He doesn't know her children (his grandchildren). Too many lies, too much hurt, could ever repair that relationship. My first cousins would not call when he had his first bought with cancer last year - bladder cancer. They said that they got it all.
Two days after his surgery for bladder cancer, two days before my sentencing, my dad had his first stroke. Perhaps his only one, but who knows. The stroke was bad, and he was in ICU for a long time, rehab for longer, and then continued with rehab from home. He was doing well, but he cannot verbalize his thoughts well. Phone conversations are difficult. I know he wants to say things to me, but he can't connect his words. His wife helps him communicate. He doesn't even use the computer much anymore. He lived his life on his computer!
He was only told that I was going to prison two days before I self-surrendered. The doctors were concerned that he would have another stroke due to the shock. So he didn't know. I hated that. But, he accepted it when I told him. We'd been tighter since my recovery started. I even spent a week with him in his nice southwestern state a couple years ago. As I said, he's gentler now. I know he cares about me. Other than his wife, I am his only family.
So, when I got the news yesterday, I was incredibly saddened. He does not have the strength he had a year ago, when he fought his bladder cancer. He does not have the words to express how he feels. I fear he will not be able to advocate for himself - something we all must do in today's healthcare world. So, I pray for him, his health, and that I will be able to see him again. The last two times I saw him were funerals, I pray the next time I see him is not his. Although his wife told me that they won't have funerals - "no one would come," she said. Perhaps, but I would be there.
My home confinement date - May 28th, is my dad's birthday. Perhaps that is no coincidence. As my friend in G.A. says, "there are no coincidences, just god-instances." My prayers are that I will be able to get permission to see him after my release. I pray he makes it to then, or beyond for years. One never knows. Don't give up Dad! Stay strong! That's what I told him on the phone yesterday. Perhaps he could tell I was crying. Someone does love him. It is me!
His first procedure is this Friday. It is a procedure through his nose - just an overnight in the hospital. We'll know more after that. Stay strong. That message is for my dad, and myself.
Sunday, April 20, 2014
From Dragonfly: Easter Weekend
There are many options this weekend for services... 6am - sunrise service; 8am - Catholic mass; 6pm - Resurrection Service; etc. Depending on your beliefs, you have options to celebrate. There's no special meal, from what I understand, but perhaps we'll have hard-boiled eggs available. There will be no egg hunt, but perhaps you'll find something interesting as you help rake the new dirt on the ball field. Easter weekend is here.
It's actually been quite beautiful outside. Yesterday (Saturday), I spent the afternoon at outdoor rec making bracelets for friends. Lola sat with me and made cards for her family. Freckles came and went, as she did many, many laps around the track. Chi was there as well. In fact, just about everyone I know made their way to outdoor rec at some point yesterday.
There is a sound system by outdoor rec and people working there change the radio stations every 20-30 minutes (I don't know why). It started out 70's rock, then some current hits, then it was Mexican polka type music, then Mexican country, then American country music... Meanwhile, more than twenty people were out on new reddish dirt, spreading it evenly on the softball field, trying to make it perfect. Hundreds of people walked the track. At one point, I said to Lola, "It looks like a walk-athon here." It was just that crowded. Of course, there was no festival, but that didn't stop it from feeling festive.
At one point, with the sun beaming down on us, Lola and Freckles were reading magazines, I was working on my bracelets, and the Mexican music was blaring, Lola or was it Freckles or perhaps it was me said, "for just a moment, if feels like we are on vacation in Cancun." Then one of them said, "Service... I'd like a margarita..." Then we laughed. I wanted some good chips and pico. We kept the joke going for a while. Sometimes that happens here. If only we could live such wonderful moments all the time. But if we did, we wouldn't think them so wonderful.
Of course, then it was time for recall, and we all have to leave our places at outdoor rec, or on the compound, and find ourselves back to our units, for rack-up time and standing count. Never forget this is prison. But, it doesn't take away that happiness that we were able to feel, even for a couple moments, on a Saturday afternoon.
Today, as it is Easter Sunday, many people will be very reflective, missing their children and families, and praying to be home for next Easter. While I do not celebrate the holiday, I can understand their inner strife. Everyone has that in common here. Perhaps some nice weather and positive attitudes will help bring those struggling some laughter and happiness. That's what life is all about. Let's make today a good day! Happy Easter!
It's actually been quite beautiful outside. Yesterday (Saturday), I spent the afternoon at outdoor rec making bracelets for friends. Lola sat with me and made cards for her family. Freckles came and went, as she did many, many laps around the track. Chi was there as well. In fact, just about everyone I know made their way to outdoor rec at some point yesterday.
There is a sound system by outdoor rec and people working there change the radio stations every 20-30 minutes (I don't know why). It started out 70's rock, then some current hits, then it was Mexican polka type music, then Mexican country, then American country music... Meanwhile, more than twenty people were out on new reddish dirt, spreading it evenly on the softball field, trying to make it perfect. Hundreds of people walked the track. At one point, I said to Lola, "It looks like a walk-athon here." It was just that crowded. Of course, there was no festival, but that didn't stop it from feeling festive.
At one point, with the sun beaming down on us, Lola and Freckles were reading magazines, I was working on my bracelets, and the Mexican music was blaring, Lola or was it Freckles or perhaps it was me said, "for just a moment, if feels like we are on vacation in Cancun." Then one of them said, "Service... I'd like a margarita..." Then we laughed. I wanted some good chips and pico. We kept the joke going for a while. Sometimes that happens here. If only we could live such wonderful moments all the time. But if we did, we wouldn't think them so wonderful.
Of course, then it was time for recall, and we all have to leave our places at outdoor rec, or on the compound, and find ourselves back to our units, for rack-up time and standing count. Never forget this is prison. But, it doesn't take away that happiness that we were able to feel, even for a couple moments, on a Saturday afternoon.
Today, as it is Easter Sunday, many people will be very reflective, missing their children and families, and praying to be home for next Easter. While I do not celebrate the holiday, I can understand their inner strife. Everyone has that in common here. Perhaps some nice weather and positive attitudes will help bring those struggling some laughter and happiness. That's what life is all about. Let's make today a good day! Happy Easter!
Saturday, April 19, 2014
From Dragonfly: The News
For almost four months, now, I've been receiving the USA Today newspaper - as a gift from a great group of women friends on the outside. The paper arrives Monday-Friday, either on the date of the paper, or a day or two later. It's not the paper's fault, but our mail room is just that inundated with things that sometimes papers only come on some days. This week was especially bad, as yesterday, I received several newspapers. All I can say is "whoa."
A ferry in near S. Korea sinking. The Jewish people in the Ukraine being told to register like in Nazi, Germany. The flight off Australia still not found. All I can say is that the newspaper is full of horrifying stories - especially this week. Reading the lead stories scared me about what's happening outside of here. Nothing changes is here, but so much in the world has changed in just the 8 months I've been inside. In fact, 8 months today!
I am so glad that I get the newspaper, as it continues to be impossible to watch the news and, now, I no longer have a borrowed radio, so I can't hear the televisions at all. I probably should have just purchased the cheap radio my first month here; it serves people well. But now, with the time I have left, I am not going to waste my funds on an unnecessary item. The newspaper, though, shares so few stories of "good," that I'm glad I can offset it with a weekly People Magazine, the entertaining, monthly Reader's Digest, and the 'awe' of a monthly National Geographic.
Additionally, a few people, here, get a small news magazine called "The News." It is filled with articles about the same stories mentioned above, but also has great funny and positive news stories as well. The page of political cartoons is fantastic. I think it gets it's news from all news sources and just provides the best of what's out there. It arrives weekly and gives just enough information to keep you informed on the basic happenings of the world. It is well-written, and as I mentioned, at least a bit entertaining. If you are thinking of sending a magazine to someone in prison, it is a really good option! I may even choose to subscribe to it once I'm back home.
In other types of "news," my paperwork is not yet back from region. The paperwork will officially designate me for home confinement. Once that arrives, my travel plans can be made. I wish there was a time in prison where waiting, patience, anxiety, was not part of the equation, but it always is. Red leaves on the same day I am, May 28th. Her arrangements are all already made. She promises me that I will be walking out of here at the same time. I'm continuing to put that out to the world... May 28th, May 28th, May 28th...
Back home, I'm receiving wonderful news from several of my friends from my program. Traveler is traveling to amazing foreign places and making incredible academic presentations. Another good friend just got a job at the University she wanted to work at. Survivor is going to have a new grandchild. T.S. is about to finish her first year of college, with a service learning trip to Central America. Life really does move forward in the outside world. I am so proud and happy for my friends. I'm grateful that they continue to update me with their news.
In the meantime, it's my job to pray for the missing people, the people facing anti-semetism, the people grieving loss. I tried to talk with a friend last night about what is in the news, and she actually told me that she doesn't want to know anything while she's locked up. How sad. Life goes on out there and we are still part of this world, even if our lives are at a standstill. Never stop connecting with the world; I fear that's one of the reasons so many people become 'institutionalized.'
A ferry in near S. Korea sinking. The Jewish people in the Ukraine being told to register like in Nazi, Germany. The flight off Australia still not found. All I can say is that the newspaper is full of horrifying stories - especially this week. Reading the lead stories scared me about what's happening outside of here. Nothing changes is here, but so much in the world has changed in just the 8 months I've been inside. In fact, 8 months today!
I am so glad that I get the newspaper, as it continues to be impossible to watch the news and, now, I no longer have a borrowed radio, so I can't hear the televisions at all. I probably should have just purchased the cheap radio my first month here; it serves people well. But now, with the time I have left, I am not going to waste my funds on an unnecessary item. The newspaper, though, shares so few stories of "good," that I'm glad I can offset it with a weekly People Magazine, the entertaining, monthly Reader's Digest, and the 'awe' of a monthly National Geographic.
Additionally, a few people, here, get a small news magazine called "The News." It is filled with articles about the same stories mentioned above, but also has great funny and positive news stories as well. The page of political cartoons is fantastic. I think it gets it's news from all news sources and just provides the best of what's out there. It arrives weekly and gives just enough information to keep you informed on the basic happenings of the world. It is well-written, and as I mentioned, at least a bit entertaining. If you are thinking of sending a magazine to someone in prison, it is a really good option! I may even choose to subscribe to it once I'm back home.
In other types of "news," my paperwork is not yet back from region. The paperwork will officially designate me for home confinement. Once that arrives, my travel plans can be made. I wish there was a time in prison where waiting, patience, anxiety, was not part of the equation, but it always is. Red leaves on the same day I am, May 28th. Her arrangements are all already made. She promises me that I will be walking out of here at the same time. I'm continuing to put that out to the world... May 28th, May 28th, May 28th...
Back home, I'm receiving wonderful news from several of my friends from my program. Traveler is traveling to amazing foreign places and making incredible academic presentations. Another good friend just got a job at the University she wanted to work at. Survivor is going to have a new grandchild. T.S. is about to finish her first year of college, with a service learning trip to Central America. Life really does move forward in the outside world. I am so proud and happy for my friends. I'm grateful that they continue to update me with their news.
In the meantime, it's my job to pray for the missing people, the people facing anti-semetism, the people grieving loss. I tried to talk with a friend last night about what is in the news, and she actually told me that she doesn't want to know anything while she's locked up. How sad. Life goes on out there and we are still part of this world, even if our lives are at a standstill. Never stop connecting with the world; I fear that's one of the reasons so many people become 'institutionalized.'
From Dragonfly: Don't Count Your Days
My friend that recently lost her husband left yesterday morning to go to a camp, much closer to her home. She'd worked hard to get medically released and waited months before finally getting a date that she was to be transferred on. She packed out on Tuesday (they mail all your belongings, except for the one bag of stuff you are carrying on the bus). She did her merry-go-round on Wednesday (spend the day getting every major department to sign off on your leaving). She had a small going away party with her roommates on Wednesday night. Her smile was large and she was looking forward to spending Easter Sunday with her family.
Yesterday morning, she woke early, took her shower, and did her hair. She packed up the remaining of her uniforms and sheets, and put them in front of the orderly closet, as told to do so. She hugged so many of us as she walked out the door of the unit around 6am... She went to the doors leading to R&D in the main building, and more of us went to her and hugged her "good luck." I told her, "I'm better for knowing you." She wants us to keep in touch.
So, she was standing at those doors, and a woman from R&D came out and got her. In R&D, she was fully processed to leave. An hour later, she walked out of our doors, our fences, and an inmate from the camp was waiting to transport her to the bus station. Seat voucher in hand, she walked up to the Greyhound window to obtain her official ticket for the bus. "I'm sorry, but there are no seats left on the bus..." It is Easter weekend after all. Turns out that the BOP doesn't actually purchase your bus seat, just gives you a voucher. If there are no seats, you return to the prison.
Late yesterday morning, my friend was back in her room, in tears. She was told it would be another 10 days or longer before they could get her another bus. She needed to be re-processed. Being told, I was speechless (which definitely does not happen often to me). Later in the day, we learned that she will not get her next chance for a bus ticket until April 28th. She will not see her family for Easter. She will not be in a camp environment. She is now, back in her uniform, here, for a couple weeks.
In a weird set of facts, she is also back to being listed as A&O. Since she was processed to leave, she now is back to being a "new" inmate. She will be told to attend orientation again. She is doing the orientation rounds. She was gone less than 3 hours, but she is seen as a newly admitted inmate. Yes, once again, speechless.
The truth is, none of us should count our days. Until we are on a bus, plane, or in a car leaving this place, anything can happen. My friend was being transferred, which meant that the time on her bus trip was considered "furlough." Had she been a higher security level, her transfer would have been through Oklahoma (via official BOP bus), and/or Con-Air. My friends that have had to fly con-air have horrific stories. Anyway, as minimum-out security, we are given furloughs for our travel for transfers to camps. People at camps, who have to transfer to Carswell, regardless of their security level, are put in shackles and flown via Con-Air or bussed via the BOP. These furlough bus travels are only for people going to minimim-security facilities.
Those of us leaving for halfway house or home confinement, are also still considered in BOP custody. Until our official "out dates" (mine is 7/2), we are in custody. So, our travel to home confinement or halfway house is also a furlough. The BOP buys greyhound transfer for most anyone. Those within 550 miles of their institution can be picked up by family (there's a process that should be started early). Those with significant medical issues are flown. If you are not going to be flown by the BOP, you/your family can purchase a ticket home for you. It is more expensive, as you may also have to pay for your own cab fare to/from the airport. Lately, Carswell has been using the same camp transportation to take people to the airport (for free), because cabs have a hard time picking people up at the base/prison. Our time traveling is a furlough, until we get to our designated halfway house/home.
If we are on home confinement, we need to check in with our P.O. immediately, and often. We cannot leave our home, unless we have permission to do so. Most people have "curfews" and can leave home during certain hours without calling in, but it is very strict. Halfway houses are even more strict. We are not fully free, we are still in custody until our out dates.
Anyway, I cried for my friend yesterday. She's really had a hard go with it - losing her husband, and now this. I pray they bought her a real ticket, and not just a voucher this time. She needs to see her family. I don't think she can go through this all again.
Yesterday morning, she woke early, took her shower, and did her hair. She packed up the remaining of her uniforms and sheets, and put them in front of the orderly closet, as told to do so. She hugged so many of us as she walked out the door of the unit around 6am... She went to the doors leading to R&D in the main building, and more of us went to her and hugged her "good luck." I told her, "I'm better for knowing you." She wants us to keep in touch.
So, she was standing at those doors, and a woman from R&D came out and got her. In R&D, she was fully processed to leave. An hour later, she walked out of our doors, our fences, and an inmate from the camp was waiting to transport her to the bus station. Seat voucher in hand, she walked up to the Greyhound window to obtain her official ticket for the bus. "I'm sorry, but there are no seats left on the bus..." It is Easter weekend after all. Turns out that the BOP doesn't actually purchase your bus seat, just gives you a voucher. If there are no seats, you return to the prison.
Late yesterday morning, my friend was back in her room, in tears. She was told it would be another 10 days or longer before they could get her another bus. She needed to be re-processed. Being told, I was speechless (which definitely does not happen often to me). Later in the day, we learned that she will not get her next chance for a bus ticket until April 28th. She will not see her family for Easter. She will not be in a camp environment. She is now, back in her uniform, here, for a couple weeks.
In a weird set of facts, she is also back to being listed as A&O. Since she was processed to leave, she now is back to being a "new" inmate. She will be told to attend orientation again. She is doing the orientation rounds. She was gone less than 3 hours, but she is seen as a newly admitted inmate. Yes, once again, speechless.
The truth is, none of us should count our days. Until we are on a bus, plane, or in a car leaving this place, anything can happen. My friend was being transferred, which meant that the time on her bus trip was considered "furlough." Had she been a higher security level, her transfer would have been through Oklahoma (via official BOP bus), and/or Con-Air. My friends that have had to fly con-air have horrific stories. Anyway, as minimum-out security, we are given furloughs for our travel for transfers to camps. People at camps, who have to transfer to Carswell, regardless of their security level, are put in shackles and flown via Con-Air or bussed via the BOP. These furlough bus travels are only for people going to minimim-security facilities.
Those of us leaving for halfway house or home confinement, are also still considered in BOP custody. Until our official "out dates" (mine is 7/2), we are in custody. So, our travel to home confinement or halfway house is also a furlough. The BOP buys greyhound transfer for most anyone. Those within 550 miles of their institution can be picked up by family (there's a process that should be started early). Those with significant medical issues are flown. If you are not going to be flown by the BOP, you/your family can purchase a ticket home for you. It is more expensive, as you may also have to pay for your own cab fare to/from the airport. Lately, Carswell has been using the same camp transportation to take people to the airport (for free), because cabs have a hard time picking people up at the base/prison. Our time traveling is a furlough, until we get to our designated halfway house/home.
If we are on home confinement, we need to check in with our P.O. immediately, and often. We cannot leave our home, unless we have permission to do so. Most people have "curfews" and can leave home during certain hours without calling in, but it is very strict. Halfway houses are even more strict. We are not fully free, we are still in custody until our out dates.
Anyway, I cried for my friend yesterday. She's really had a hard go with it - losing her husband, and now this. I pray they bought her a real ticket, and not just a voucher this time. She needs to see her family. I don't think she can go through this all again.
Thursday, April 17, 2014
From Dragonfly: Two Mysteries Solved
Sometimes, prison is full of mysteries. They are mysteries, because we are only told what they want to tell us, so sometimes things just happen and we are never made aware of why... this is what leads to incredible amounts of gossip... A counselor gone for a month must be being disciplined, when in reality they are just home, caring for an ill parent. An inmate called to the Lieutenants office must be in trouble, when in fact they are just going on a med-trip or a writ. I can't tell you how in the dark we are about the real happenings of this place. But women are gossipers and are very curious, and so someones story will be altered, changed, and always made to something scandalous for no good reason, before it is disseminated around the full campus.
Well, usually that is how it goes. My new roommate went for a "call-out" at 9am Tuesday morning and never returned to our room. We weren't aware of where her call-out was to, but it was somewhere in the main building. I started to worry when she wasn't back for 4pm count, as missing lunch due to a call-out isn't that abnormal. I went to the C.O. on duty Tuesday night and inquired about my roommate, but she knew nothing about it. In fact, the "bed book" with all our pictures didn't even have her in our room, it still had Blondie, who left a couple weeks ago. When she wasn't back in the room for 9:30pm count, I really started to worry. I went back to the officer, who still knew nothing. Thing was, since she wasn't "missing" during the counts, the prison knew where she was, and we were just left in our room to ponder the possibilities... never a good thing.
Then, yesterday, she was still not back. Some had said, "oh, she'll probably come back in the night," but she didn't. Mexico was missing from our room and no one in the unit seemed to know what happened. So, we conjured up a story that she must have had surgery on her leg, which is broken. However, she was just telling us a couple days ago, that she wasn't allowed to have surgery, due to a weakened heart. So, nothing really made sense.
Then my bunkie, who works commissary trays, said that our roommate wasn't in med-surg (where the people who have surgery go after surgery)... So, that meant that our roommate had to be in the hospital... but why?? Once again, we conjured up the story of a surgery that needed her to stay in the hospital for a while, then she would be going to med-surge. Well, that's what we figured, although, it still didn't make sense.
So, last night, around midnight, as I was finishing a good book, I jumped out of my bed when someone walked into the room. It was Mexico. She was returning in a pink hospital gown and plastic bracelets on her wrists. She'd been in the hospital, due to a heart attack! She was getting an MRI on her leg on Tuesday morning, and she had a heart attack right there on the table. I guess it only required a one-day stay in the hospital, but she sure didn't look too well last night, moving much slower than usual. Poor thing. I wish they had told us she was in the hospital. We could have prayed. Mexico is not old, so her heart attack is definitely connected to whatever is wrong with her heart. It makes me sad, because she is going to be dropped in Mexico, and if she has her next heart attack, she will be alone there, away from her family in south Texas.
The second mystery I solved was not so big. A bag of laundry was in front of my locker last night. I assumed it was my bunkies, my bunky assumed it was mine. When we figured out that we should stop assuming, I reached in the bag and pulled out some pants. The label listed a woman on the other side of the atrium. So, I walked the laundry bag to her room, not knowing why on earth it was in my room. Well, they were her "missing" pants, but it wasn't her laundry bag. So, I reached for another item, a new name popped up. Leaving the pants with its rightful owner, I carried the bag to the new name on the labels. She wasn't in her room, but her roommate was. I left the bag there, saying that I hoped it was in the right owner's room. But the roommate said that her roommate has someone do her laundry (something that happens frequently, even though it is against the rules). So, I thought about who might do this woman's laundry... walked over to her room, and in fact, it was supposed to be there. The woman had accidentally dropped her laundry off in the wrong room. However, I instructed the person who would be doing the laundry that the bag is "sans one pair of pants that found it's owner..." Two mysteries solved at once. I guess that makes me a novice sleuth.
Well, usually that is how it goes. My new roommate went for a "call-out" at 9am Tuesday morning and never returned to our room. We weren't aware of where her call-out was to, but it was somewhere in the main building. I started to worry when she wasn't back for 4pm count, as missing lunch due to a call-out isn't that abnormal. I went to the C.O. on duty Tuesday night and inquired about my roommate, but she knew nothing about it. In fact, the "bed book" with all our pictures didn't even have her in our room, it still had Blondie, who left a couple weeks ago. When she wasn't back in the room for 9:30pm count, I really started to worry. I went back to the officer, who still knew nothing. Thing was, since she wasn't "missing" during the counts, the prison knew where she was, and we were just left in our room to ponder the possibilities... never a good thing.
Then, yesterday, she was still not back. Some had said, "oh, she'll probably come back in the night," but she didn't. Mexico was missing from our room and no one in the unit seemed to know what happened. So, we conjured up a story that she must have had surgery on her leg, which is broken. However, she was just telling us a couple days ago, that she wasn't allowed to have surgery, due to a weakened heart. So, nothing really made sense.
Then my bunkie, who works commissary trays, said that our roommate wasn't in med-surg (where the people who have surgery go after surgery)... So, that meant that our roommate had to be in the hospital... but why?? Once again, we conjured up the story of a surgery that needed her to stay in the hospital for a while, then she would be going to med-surge. Well, that's what we figured, although, it still didn't make sense.
So, last night, around midnight, as I was finishing a good book, I jumped out of my bed when someone walked into the room. It was Mexico. She was returning in a pink hospital gown and plastic bracelets on her wrists. She'd been in the hospital, due to a heart attack! She was getting an MRI on her leg on Tuesday morning, and she had a heart attack right there on the table. I guess it only required a one-day stay in the hospital, but she sure didn't look too well last night, moving much slower than usual. Poor thing. I wish they had told us she was in the hospital. We could have prayed. Mexico is not old, so her heart attack is definitely connected to whatever is wrong with her heart. It makes me sad, because she is going to be dropped in Mexico, and if she has her next heart attack, she will be alone there, away from her family in south Texas.
The second mystery I solved was not so big. A bag of laundry was in front of my locker last night. I assumed it was my bunkies, my bunky assumed it was mine. When we figured out that we should stop assuming, I reached in the bag and pulled out some pants. The label listed a woman on the other side of the atrium. So, I walked the laundry bag to her room, not knowing why on earth it was in my room. Well, they were her "missing" pants, but it wasn't her laundry bag. So, I reached for another item, a new name popped up. Leaving the pants with its rightful owner, I carried the bag to the new name on the labels. She wasn't in her room, but her roommate was. I left the bag there, saying that I hoped it was in the right owner's room. But the roommate said that her roommate has someone do her laundry (something that happens frequently, even though it is against the rules). So, I thought about who might do this woman's laundry... walked over to her room, and in fact, it was supposed to be there. The woman had accidentally dropped her laundry off in the wrong room. However, I instructed the person who would be doing the laundry that the bag is "sans one pair of pants that found it's owner..." Two mysteries solved at once. I guess that makes me a novice sleuth.
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
From Dragonfly: And Sometimes They Return
I met someone last night. She was waring the clothes of a "newbie" and so I introduced myself to her and another "newbie." I asked if they had any questions, and the Newbie was not a Newbie after all, she had broken her supervision. She left a year ago, and the temptation of her drug addiction was too much, she had a dirty UA on the outside. She is now, here, for 18 more months. I did not know her before, I wasn't here yet. I've met many people back in prison, having violated parole. For some, they got involved with another Felon (romantically/sexually), others, it appears drugs win out. I don't necessarily see them actually recommitting a crime, as much as they are right back to their old selves of unhealthy relationships and/or drug addiction. If time in prison is not a time to help them find their way out of these things, then how can we put them back out on the streets to fend for themselves??
As I was talking to this newly returned inmate, I could just see the disgust in her eyes that she is now back here. She is not close to home or family. She is living this nightmare all over again. For some, those institutionalized, it's almost a welcome relief to return to this place - a place where the rules are known and they feel comfortable. For others, it is a reminder of everything that can go wrong in one's life. To have been home, been able to enjoy the freedom of every day, only to find yourself coming back here. I imagine the second time around is actually harder, not easier. Yes, you know what to expect... but, then, you KNOW what to expect. You are stuck in a cycle and you need to ask yourself, how did I get here, again???
When someone walks away from G.A. and goes back out gambling, whether it's been just a couple days or years from their last GA meeting, we always ask the same question, "What will you do different this time?"
Did you not work your steps and/or were you not fully honest with them?
Did you not have a sponsor?
Did you not pick up the phone when urges were starting?
How can we help you find a better way to work the program, so that you don't go back out there? Because, we never, ever, see anyone come back to the rooms and say, 'ha, you were all wrong. I didn't re-devastate myself and my life and my family while gambling. I can control my gambling...' It just doesn't happen. Every person walks in the room more upset with themselves, more in debt, more in self-doubt and self-loathing. I imagine the same is true when someone returns to prison.
So my question is, how will you spend you time in prison differently this time? How will you prepare yourself for life on the outside? There are options, but it is up to you, and you alone, to seek them out. No one tells you HOW to do prison. You can goof off, violate rules, stay in bed all day, or you can work, take classes, earn a degree, do an apprenticeship, take psychology courses, join a drug recovery group, etc. The choice is up to you. You, alone, will have to make similar choices on the outside. I strongly suggest, you start making the healthiest decisions here.
As I was talking to this newly returned inmate, I could just see the disgust in her eyes that she is now back here. She is not close to home or family. She is living this nightmare all over again. For some, those institutionalized, it's almost a welcome relief to return to this place - a place where the rules are known and they feel comfortable. For others, it is a reminder of everything that can go wrong in one's life. To have been home, been able to enjoy the freedom of every day, only to find yourself coming back here. I imagine the second time around is actually harder, not easier. Yes, you know what to expect... but, then, you KNOW what to expect. You are stuck in a cycle and you need to ask yourself, how did I get here, again???
When someone walks away from G.A. and goes back out gambling, whether it's been just a couple days or years from their last GA meeting, we always ask the same question, "What will you do different this time?"
Did you not work your steps and/or were you not fully honest with them?
Did you not have a sponsor?
Did you not pick up the phone when urges were starting?
How can we help you find a better way to work the program, so that you don't go back out there? Because, we never, ever, see anyone come back to the rooms and say, 'ha, you were all wrong. I didn't re-devastate myself and my life and my family while gambling. I can control my gambling...' It just doesn't happen. Every person walks in the room more upset with themselves, more in debt, more in self-doubt and self-loathing. I imagine the same is true when someone returns to prison.
So my question is, how will you spend you time in prison differently this time? How will you prepare yourself for life on the outside? There are options, but it is up to you, and you alone, to seek them out. No one tells you HOW to do prison. You can goof off, violate rules, stay in bed all day, or you can work, take classes, earn a degree, do an apprenticeship, take psychology courses, join a drug recovery group, etc. The choice is up to you. You, alone, will have to make similar choices on the outside. I strongly suggest, you start making the healthiest decisions here.
From Dragonfly: A Wonderful Seder
After nothing seeming to go right for the past 24 hours for our Passover observance here, tonight went wonderful! My friend Red (who claims I'm her girlfriend- although she is straight - ha), spent the entire day in the kitchen making very edible and delicious passover foods. Everything was fresh, tasty, and even the salad had vegetables in it besides iceberg lettuce!!! I spent today reading the entire Haggaddah and selecting the readings and songs for tonight, so that we could efficiently eat, tell the most important parts of the Passover Story, and be finished in 1 1/2 hours total time. We finished 10 minutes early - success! Everyone was so happy the entire evening. There was no in-fighting, no drama. We laughed. We sang. It was really, really nice. We even had the Chaplain sit with us through the meal and he seemed to enjoy himself as well. I was so happy to be able to do something, here, for the small Jewish community. It just felt good!
I did do a tradition that I only started doing about a decade ago. I was at a friend's Seder and she had an orange on her Seder plate. She then told the story... one day a young woman asked the Rabbi to allow her to go to Yeshiva and let her become a Rabbi. The Rabbi turned to her and said, "a woman belongs a Rabbi, like an orange belongs on a Seder plate..." So, now, many of us put an orange on the Seder plate - a little feminist act - which seemed ever so appropriate at an all women's prison.
I have to say that we really owe all our gratitude to Red, who literally worked a job in the kitchen that is not hers to do, to ensure we had a good Passover. She did it because she wanted us all to be happy. She worked a 12 hour day. She made her first matzah balls ever - and they were good!!! There is so much to be grateful for when we are able to really enjoy a good meal here, and Red made that happen! I feel my holiday will continue to go well, as we are all feeling good about our experience now.
So to all out there who are Jewish - Happy Passover. To those Christian - Happy Holy Week. To those Athiest/Agnositc - Happy Day. To everyone, regardless of religion - prison is hard, but you CAN do this, even if a couple tears have to fall every now and then (as they did this afternoon for me).
I did do a tradition that I only started doing about a decade ago. I was at a friend's Seder and she had an orange on her Seder plate. She then told the story... one day a young woman asked the Rabbi to allow her to go to Yeshiva and let her become a Rabbi. The Rabbi turned to her and said, "a woman belongs a Rabbi, like an orange belongs on a Seder plate..." So, now, many of us put an orange on the Seder plate - a little feminist act - which seemed ever so appropriate at an all women's prison.
I have to say that we really owe all our gratitude to Red, who literally worked a job in the kitchen that is not hers to do, to ensure we had a good Passover. She did it because she wanted us all to be happy. She worked a 12 hour day. She made her first matzah balls ever - and they were good!!! There is so much to be grateful for when we are able to really enjoy a good meal here, and Red made that happen! I feel my holiday will continue to go well, as we are all feeling good about our experience now.
So to all out there who are Jewish - Happy Passover. To those Christian - Happy Holy Week. To those Athiest/Agnositc - Happy Day. To everyone, regardless of religion - prison is hard, but you CAN do this, even if a couple tears have to fall every now and then (as they did this afternoon for me).
From Dragonfly: All in Proper Perspective
I met a woman the other night. She'd been talking with Taz, and mentioned that she'd been reading online about preparing to self-surrender. She'd brought all the things she needed. She knew what she needed to do about her health records. She knew what kind of watch she could bring. Turns out, she was reading the site. At some point, Taz asked her, "Do you want to meet her?" and for some reason she was flabbergasted that she could. Taz went to find me.
The woman is older than I by about 20 years, appears very well educated, and like so many of us, had never been in trouble before. This whole experience is causing her much anxiety. Nothing can quite prepare you for being here. She told me about how she read the site almost every day. She actually had tears as she told me how helpful it was to her. This brought tears to my eyes as well; in addition to a softness in my heart. If even one person can be helped just in the slightest bit, then that means that one less person has to be a deer in headlights walking through the gate. I am so grateful to have this outlet and that others have found it helpful to them.
Prior to incarceration, I knew there was a "purpose" for my sentence, a reason I was put so far away from my friends/family, a need for me to be here. I said that I was unsure if it was for someone else, or for me. Now, I know it is for both. I have truly grown through this experience. A quote I recently read stated:
"Success is a result of good judgment. Good judgment is a result of experience. Experience is often a result of bad judgment."
We usually learn more through our mistakes than we do from anything else. It is a process of trial and error throughout life that makes us strong, and who we are.
I'm not going to say that the purpose of my incarceration was just to impact other people, or even to grow myself. I'm here because I committed a crime. I hurt many wonderful people and a community that held me as their leader. The person I became through my addiction is not the person I was meant to be. However, I cannot hold regret. Every trial and tribulation in my life leads me to where I need to be. I am better able to have compassion, better able to help others, better able to teach, and better able to find my own happiness, because of the mistakes I've made in my life; the twists and turns off of my path and goals; and the vast amount of people from all walks of life that I've had the privilege to meet and get to know.
One of those people, is the woman I met the other night. She will be here long after I am gone. Her journey through incarceration is just beginning. If I was able to give her just one less restless night's sleep, or helped her laugh when everything seemed to be coming apart in her life, then I shall know that there's a reason for everything... and there is.
The woman is older than I by about 20 years, appears very well educated, and like so many of us, had never been in trouble before. This whole experience is causing her much anxiety. Nothing can quite prepare you for being here. She told me about how she read the site almost every day. She actually had tears as she told me how helpful it was to her. This brought tears to my eyes as well; in addition to a softness in my heart. If even one person can be helped just in the slightest bit, then that means that one less person has to be a deer in headlights walking through the gate. I am so grateful to have this outlet and that others have found it helpful to them.
Prior to incarceration, I knew there was a "purpose" for my sentence, a reason I was put so far away from my friends/family, a need for me to be here. I said that I was unsure if it was for someone else, or for me. Now, I know it is for both. I have truly grown through this experience. A quote I recently read stated:
"Success is a result of good judgment. Good judgment is a result of experience. Experience is often a result of bad judgment."
We usually learn more through our mistakes than we do from anything else. It is a process of trial and error throughout life that makes us strong, and who we are.
I'm not going to say that the purpose of my incarceration was just to impact other people, or even to grow myself. I'm here because I committed a crime. I hurt many wonderful people and a community that held me as their leader. The person I became through my addiction is not the person I was meant to be. However, I cannot hold regret. Every trial and tribulation in my life leads me to where I need to be. I am better able to have compassion, better able to help others, better able to teach, and better able to find my own happiness, because of the mistakes I've made in my life; the twists and turns off of my path and goals; and the vast amount of people from all walks of life that I've had the privilege to meet and get to know.
One of those people, is the woman I met the other night. She will be here long after I am gone. Her journey through incarceration is just beginning. If I was able to give her just one less restless night's sleep, or helped her laugh when everything seemed to be coming apart in her life, then I shall know that there's a reason for everything... and there is.
From Dragonfly: First Night of Passover
Well, as I imagined, this will be a Passover I will never forget. There is so much fighting between the few Jewish people here (4 people born and raised Jewish, 5 people converting/interested), that it is nearly impossible to avoid non-stop drama. Plus, there is an orthodox woman, and the rest of us are more reformed. Our traditions are very different. Combine that with the drama around the Mezzonites, and you have the opposite of a peaceful evening.
The table looked pretty, the food was edible, the charoset made wrong, TV dinners for our entree, but plenty of other things that I never opened mine. I mostly ate the hard boiled eggs, some potato latkes, and an interesting take on matzah brie (more matzah than eggs... should be the other way around). But, it was Passover, and I was grateful for everything and be around other's trying to tell the story of the feast of freedom.
That became the problem, though, as the leader among us was too disgusted with everything not being how she wanted it, that we never made it past our first glass of grape juice and the four questions... We never even built our Charoset/Matzo sandwich. She then just sat at the head of the table and sulked, while the rest of us just accepted a quick end to our actual service.
By the end of the night, I was sufficiently full, even if it wasn't quite "traditional." The leader, who has been locked up for dozens of years, stated that she would not be doing tomorrow night's Seder and it should be cancelled. I looked at the beautiful haggadah on the table, the eight other women at the table, and said, "well, I want to still have a Seder and I will put it together if I can borrow the Haggadah overnight (technically these things stay in religious services). I was granted the ability to take the book home with me - as the chaplain with us for the evening is really quite kind and I think grateful that someone stepped up to possibly make this all better. So, here I am, in prison, and I will lead a small group of women tomorrow in a Passover Seder. I pray for a little peace, as we take on my favorite holiday. I hope we all leave the dinner tomorrow night, feeling connected to our holiday and happy to have spent two hours together.
I have to say that if you want perfection, you will not get it at prison. I just kept saying how "grateful" for the food I was. We were given many things not usually on the menu. I was allowed to drink 4 full drink boxes of grape juice. I ate matzo. It is passover, and I am a Jew, celebrating it in prison.
The table looked pretty, the food was edible, the charoset made wrong, TV dinners for our entree, but plenty of other things that I never opened mine. I mostly ate the hard boiled eggs, some potato latkes, and an interesting take on matzah brie (more matzah than eggs... should be the other way around). But, it was Passover, and I was grateful for everything and be around other's trying to tell the story of the feast of freedom.
That became the problem, though, as the leader among us was too disgusted with everything not being how she wanted it, that we never made it past our first glass of grape juice and the four questions... We never even built our Charoset/Matzo sandwich. She then just sat at the head of the table and sulked, while the rest of us just accepted a quick end to our actual service.
By the end of the night, I was sufficiently full, even if it wasn't quite "traditional." The leader, who has been locked up for dozens of years, stated that she would not be doing tomorrow night's Seder and it should be cancelled. I looked at the beautiful haggadah on the table, the eight other women at the table, and said, "well, I want to still have a Seder and I will put it together if I can borrow the Haggadah overnight (technically these things stay in religious services). I was granted the ability to take the book home with me - as the chaplain with us for the evening is really quite kind and I think grateful that someone stepped up to possibly make this all better. So, here I am, in prison, and I will lead a small group of women tomorrow in a Passover Seder. I pray for a little peace, as we take on my favorite holiday. I hope we all leave the dinner tomorrow night, feeling connected to our holiday and happy to have spent two hours together.
I have to say that if you want perfection, you will not get it at prison. I just kept saying how "grateful" for the food I was. We were given many things not usually on the menu. I was allowed to drink 4 full drink boxes of grape juice. I ate matzo. It is passover, and I am a Jew, celebrating it in prison.
From Dragonfly: Looking to my Higher Power
Well, if lunch was any indication of how Passover is REALLY going to go here, all the mezzonites in Carswell received a nice Kosher for Passover meal, while 4 of the 7 Jewish people here did not. They say that our names were not on the list. How is it possible that 4 Jewish people were left off the list, but the list needed to be completed a month ago. So, I was fine with that. It's only the most religious of people who start with lunch today. I traditionally start with the sunset Seder.
The chaplains were not as gracious about this as one would home. I actually had to explain that I am a Jew, I was bat-mitzvahed, and that keeping Kosher for Passover is important to me. Others did not have to prove their Judaism. Like really??? Food service, though, was accommodating. While I did not eat lunch, I did walk out with my box of Matzo. I was actually asked by the Chaplain why I hadn't SPO'd my matzo. I explained to him that I had been told that we were each being provided a box. Why do I need to explain myself? SPOing food for Passover is very, very expensive. So, I was going with what I was told, that the BOP will provide me with my appropriate fare. I do not feel as if I need any extra.
Anyway, in the end, food services is going to community stores in the area and picking up what "kosher for passover" fare they can. They have to come up with a way to feed four more people than they planned. They planned for 12, when there's 16 of us. I don't know much about the Mezzonites, but I imagine they would be upset as well, if they were not permitted to eat the appropriate fare for the Passover week. The next issue will be being released with insilin line, because of having to heat up our meals. The memo says we should, but my CO doesn't have a copy of the memo, yet. I pray he gets it and does not make it difficult for me as we move forward.
So, off to a rocky start, but I'm sure that I will be able to celebrate appropriately. After all, I always need to let go, and let my higher power have control. I believe a religious undertaking is the perfect thing to let go of and just go with the flow.
The chaplains were not as gracious about this as one would home. I actually had to explain that I am a Jew, I was bat-mitzvahed, and that keeping Kosher for Passover is important to me. Others did not have to prove their Judaism. Like really??? Food service, though, was accommodating. While I did not eat lunch, I did walk out with my box of Matzo. I was actually asked by the Chaplain why I hadn't SPO'd my matzo. I explained to him that I had been told that we were each being provided a box. Why do I need to explain myself? SPOing food for Passover is very, very expensive. So, I was going with what I was told, that the BOP will provide me with my appropriate fare. I do not feel as if I need any extra.
Anyway, in the end, food services is going to community stores in the area and picking up what "kosher for passover" fare they can. They have to come up with a way to feed four more people than they planned. They planned for 12, when there's 16 of us. I don't know much about the Mezzonites, but I imagine they would be upset as well, if they were not permitted to eat the appropriate fare for the Passover week. The next issue will be being released with insilin line, because of having to heat up our meals. The memo says we should, but my CO doesn't have a copy of the memo, yet. I pray he gets it and does not make it difficult for me as we move forward.
So, off to a rocky start, but I'm sure that I will be able to celebrate appropriately. After all, I always need to let go, and let my higher power have control. I believe a religious undertaking is the perfect thing to let go of and just go with the flow.
From Dragonfly: Prepping for Passover
At sundown tonight, my official Passover week begins. Last week, a Rabbi came and spoke with us about Passover, although the conversation was short, due to our recall, I found it enlightening and was glad I chose to attend it. I don't do everything "Jewish" here for several reasons, but this specific holiday matters to me and is my favorite in the outside world. Last year, 23 people squeezed into my tiny apartment to have a Seder meal with the only three Jewish women in my PhD program. It was so much fun to have so many people experience their first Passover and it felt good to have such a tradition at my home. This year, though, many miles separate me from friends and family, so I am going to have a very unique prison Passover. I'm just so grateful that I can keep "kosher for Passover" for the week. It's about tradition, family, remembrance, and remembering that even the littlest acts "would have been enough."
Tonight, the holiday will start with a Seder. From what I can tell, there are 16 people participating. I'm not sure if all are Jewish, as we have many mezonnites here as well, but it will be a nice size group. The kitchen is preparing traditional fare - matzo brie (fried matzo to me), matzo ball soup, kosher grape juice, even charoset. We will have all the items on our Seder plate and a wonderful haggadah to follow. I'm sure it won't be like any Seder I've had in the past, but it'll be perfect nonetheless!
For the many days of Passover, we are being given special meals - made specifically kosher for Passover. I will be back to warming up my "TV type dinners" from a microwave being used only for Passover. It'll take me waiting for each person before me, as well as an additional 6 minutes at the microwave to be able to heat up and eat my meal. I've been told meals are good - much better than the kosher "sardines" or "spaghetti" I was trying to fare during my early weeks in prison. Also, I've been told that we are each receiving a box of matzo for our locker to have for snacks. I love matzo and butter, but there's no butter here, I can get some in the dining hall if I bring my matzo there. I'll buy some cream cheese at commissary this week, and spread that goodness on the matzo. It will be a great snack! I don't always do perfect with keeping kosher for Passover, but I think it will actually be easier here!
If you remember, I had put out today, April 14th, as the day I wanted to go home by. I really wanted to be home for Passover. I'd put it out to the world, but it was not to be. That's okay, at least I know I'll be home soon. Passover is about "freedom," I'm one of the few lucky ones at tonight's table. I'm going home and will be free very soon, some at the table are not so fortunate, including at least one with life in here. So, I'm going with the flow. I'm going to enjoy my Passover and remember how grateful I am that next year, I will be with my family and friends on the holiday. Perhaps I'll tell a story about Passover in Prison, perhaps not. I shall never forget, though, that I know.
Tonight, the holiday will start with a Seder. From what I can tell, there are 16 people participating. I'm not sure if all are Jewish, as we have many mezonnites here as well, but it will be a nice size group. The kitchen is preparing traditional fare - matzo brie (fried matzo to me), matzo ball soup, kosher grape juice, even charoset. We will have all the items on our Seder plate and a wonderful haggadah to follow. I'm sure it won't be like any Seder I've had in the past, but it'll be perfect nonetheless!
For the many days of Passover, we are being given special meals - made specifically kosher for Passover. I will be back to warming up my "TV type dinners" from a microwave being used only for Passover. It'll take me waiting for each person before me, as well as an additional 6 minutes at the microwave to be able to heat up and eat my meal. I've been told meals are good - much better than the kosher "sardines" or "spaghetti" I was trying to fare during my early weeks in prison. Also, I've been told that we are each receiving a box of matzo for our locker to have for snacks. I love matzo and butter, but there's no butter here, I can get some in the dining hall if I bring my matzo there. I'll buy some cream cheese at commissary this week, and spread that goodness on the matzo. It will be a great snack! I don't always do perfect with keeping kosher for Passover, but I think it will actually be easier here!
If you remember, I had put out today, April 14th, as the day I wanted to go home by. I really wanted to be home for Passover. I'd put it out to the world, but it was not to be. That's okay, at least I know I'll be home soon. Passover is about "freedom," I'm one of the few lucky ones at tonight's table. I'm going home and will be free very soon, some at the table are not so fortunate, including at least one with life in here. So, I'm going with the flow. I'm going to enjoy my Passover and remember how grateful I am that next year, I will be with my family and friends on the holiday. Perhaps I'll tell a story about Passover in Prison, perhaps not. I shall never forget, though, that I know.
From Dragonfly: Little Red Card
It's the size of a business card and has your vital information. It can be used to check out a book, receive goods, and even fly on an airplane. It is your official U.S. Department of Justice I.D. On the bottom right corner, it says, "INMATE" in large capital letters. It has your picture in front of the famous height chart. It lists your name, eye color, and height (although mine says 5'2" and even if you don't take my word for my height being a mere 5', you could just look to that same height chart behind me, where the wisps of my hair get me to that 5' line...). Some older i.d.'s also list birthdays, but for some reason, that was taken off - perhaps women didn't want others to know how old they really were - lol.
The little red card is considered a "part" of our uniform. We are supposed to carry it everywhere with us, and if we can't produce it when asked, we can get in trouble. We must show it upon entry to indoor rec. I find that interesting, as it's like flashing your membership card at a work-out club... but in our case, we are members for the mere fact that we are HERE. It's just one of those rules, and so we do it. The card used to be used at commissary, but now they have fancy fingerprint reading devices, that work for the majority of us, so the card stays in your pocket just in case.
I was mentioning to a friend, yesterday, that we are supposed to take our little red cards out with us when we go home. It's to be used as i.d. for our bus/plane tickets, etc. I have a valid license, so I will not have to use the i.d., but it did get me thinking about ways NOT to use your prisoner i.d. once you are home. The following would probably NOT go so well, if you did:
- obtain a bank loan
- lease a car
- rent a car
- purchase real estate
- lease an apartment from a landlord
- give to an officer when you are stopped for speeding
- hire a stock brocker
- guantee rental equipment
- introduce yourself to your new neighbors
- make business cards of your i.d.
- during your in-person interview for a job
- at your kids' pre-school
- apply for a new credit card
- during a PTA meeting
- meet a new doctor
- on your election promo signs for city mayor
- blown up in your store window
- obtain a bid card at an auction
- the first time you are on a date
- as your photo on an online matchmaking program
- as your facebook profile picture
- actually, anywhere on facebook!
- a new instragram photo with your daily update
- obtain a passport
- travel to a foreign country
- try to get into Canada
Well, once again, you get the drift. I imagine many people dump their i.d.'s as soon as they are out of the gate. Mine will likely go into my box of "things." It's a box with keepsakes of all types. Some people walk out of here and never want to look back. For me, I always want to remember, seeing my frown and the fear in my eyes as they took my picture, as another reminder of why I am in recovery, why I must make the healthiest choices, and that I survived this place.
The little red card is considered a "part" of our uniform. We are supposed to carry it everywhere with us, and if we can't produce it when asked, we can get in trouble. We must show it upon entry to indoor rec. I find that interesting, as it's like flashing your membership card at a work-out club... but in our case, we are members for the mere fact that we are HERE. It's just one of those rules, and so we do it. The card used to be used at commissary, but now they have fancy fingerprint reading devices, that work for the majority of us, so the card stays in your pocket just in case.
I was mentioning to a friend, yesterday, that we are supposed to take our little red cards out with us when we go home. It's to be used as i.d. for our bus/plane tickets, etc. I have a valid license, so I will not have to use the i.d., but it did get me thinking about ways NOT to use your prisoner i.d. once you are home. The following would probably NOT go so well, if you did:
- obtain a bank loan
- lease a car
- rent a car
- purchase real estate
- lease an apartment from a landlord
- give to an officer when you are stopped for speeding
- hire a stock brocker
- guantee rental equipment
- introduce yourself to your new neighbors
- make business cards of your i.d.
- during your in-person interview for a job
- at your kids' pre-school
- apply for a new credit card
- during a PTA meeting
- meet a new doctor
- on your election promo signs for city mayor
- blown up in your store window
- obtain a bid card at an auction
- the first time you are on a date
- as your photo on an online matchmaking program
- as your facebook profile picture
- actually, anywhere on facebook!
- a new instragram photo with your daily update
- obtain a passport
- travel to a foreign country
- try to get into Canada
Well, once again, you get the drift. I imagine many people dump their i.d.'s as soon as they are out of the gate. Mine will likely go into my box of "things." It's a box with keepsakes of all types. Some people walk out of here and never want to look back. For me, I always want to remember, seeing my frown and the fear in my eyes as they took my picture, as another reminder of why I am in recovery, why I must make the healthiest choices, and that I survived this place.
Monday, April 14, 2014
From Dragonfly: Fireworks
I was aware of no large holiday falling on April 12th, but nonetheless, last night, as we started our short walk between the track at outdoor rec and our unit, fireworks!!!! At first, I thought it would be just a couple shots of color sent up in the sky, perhaps a private showing/doing, but as we continued to walk, they continued to be launched. Red, blue, silver, gold, green, changing colors, sparklies, and just the slightest "bang," the fireworks continued to fly and be seen beyond our unit and indoor rec. I sat down on a bench and just looked at the sky - beauty. In fact, the compound became quiet, except for some "oohs," and "ahs," as the fireworks continued to fly.
It left many of us pondering on why, on April12th, would there be fireworks? Was there a festival of some sort going on nearby, perhaps at the Bear Lake campground area? Was it a celebration of the oncoming Easter/Passover/Holy weeks? No one knew the answer, we just all had our heads up and faces of "awe" with unexpected delight.
"Inmate Recall! Inmate Recall!" Hope that they would put off our recall until the show ends, was not to be... we all slowly continued our gait back to our units, slower than usual, looking straight up in the sky. Once I was nearing the main entryway to my unit, the irony of seeing fireworks over a prison building hit me. I wish I had a camera for that image... fireworks over an unattractive building with bars on the windows just didn't seem to fit together. At the same time, it gave the building an aura of beauty for just the short moments of the color streaming down behind it.
In my unit, half the units face North and have South. Mine faces South, the wrong way for the fireworks. Of those with windows facing North, only those who were outside prior, knew to look out their windows. There was no way the sounds of the fireworks could overshadow the constant sound of the unit. So every few rooms, the lights were off and the occupants looked through their bars, to watch the beauty unfold. It kept going for several more minutes. I'm told the finale was really spectacular. I could have risked being in another person's room to watch, but I don't take risks that could give me a shot. I have a goal, to see my next fireworks on July 4th with my family and friends, so anything that would possibly get me in trouble is not worth my while. Instead, out my window, I could see the women at the prison camp, on the other side of the fence, on the north side balcony, watching the fireworks as well. I was too far away to see their faces, but I imagine they, too, were awestruck, by the unexpected show in the sky.
It was almost peaceful, as I sat back for a few minutes and was able to take in the spectacular showering of light. To me, fireworks will always represent freedom, and as hard as it is to imagine, I am still free (even if I sometimes write that I am not). My freedom exists within me, as I am free from an addiction that nearly took my life, an addiction that would not have allowed me to care about the show of lights in the sky, an addiction that held me much more captive than I am each day in this prison. Just a couple days ago, I was listening to a guest Rabbi, as we prepare for our Passover week. He talked, too, about Freedom. I shared my take on being more free here, than I was all those years of gambling. The other Jewish women sat around, thinking too, about how even in the confines of prison, our freedom to feel, react, choose, and live is within each of us.
I have no idea why or where the fireworks occurred last night. I don't know if there was some large crowd enjoying them, if they were set to music, if it was a public or private showing. What I do know, is that for the brief moment of watching the show, I felt grateful to have it. I will never see fireworks the same again.
It left many of us pondering on why, on April12th, would there be fireworks? Was there a festival of some sort going on nearby, perhaps at the Bear Lake campground area? Was it a celebration of the oncoming Easter/Passover/Holy weeks? No one knew the answer, we just all had our heads up and faces of "awe" with unexpected delight.
"Inmate Recall! Inmate Recall!" Hope that they would put off our recall until the show ends, was not to be... we all slowly continued our gait back to our units, slower than usual, looking straight up in the sky. Once I was nearing the main entryway to my unit, the irony of seeing fireworks over a prison building hit me. I wish I had a camera for that image... fireworks over an unattractive building with bars on the windows just didn't seem to fit together. At the same time, it gave the building an aura of beauty for just the short moments of the color streaming down behind it.
In my unit, half the units face North and have South. Mine faces South, the wrong way for the fireworks. Of those with windows facing North, only those who were outside prior, knew to look out their windows. There was no way the sounds of the fireworks could overshadow the constant sound of the unit. So every few rooms, the lights were off and the occupants looked through their bars, to watch the beauty unfold. It kept going for several more minutes. I'm told the finale was really spectacular. I could have risked being in another person's room to watch, but I don't take risks that could give me a shot. I have a goal, to see my next fireworks on July 4th with my family and friends, so anything that would possibly get me in trouble is not worth my while. Instead, out my window, I could see the women at the prison camp, on the other side of the fence, on the north side balcony, watching the fireworks as well. I was too far away to see their faces, but I imagine they, too, were awestruck, by the unexpected show in the sky.
It was almost peaceful, as I sat back for a few minutes and was able to take in the spectacular showering of light. To me, fireworks will always represent freedom, and as hard as it is to imagine, I am still free (even if I sometimes write that I am not). My freedom exists within me, as I am free from an addiction that nearly took my life, an addiction that would not have allowed me to care about the show of lights in the sky, an addiction that held me much more captive than I am each day in this prison. Just a couple days ago, I was listening to a guest Rabbi, as we prepare for our Passover week. He talked, too, about Freedom. I shared my take on being more free here, than I was all those years of gambling. The other Jewish women sat around, thinking too, about how even in the confines of prison, our freedom to feel, react, choose, and live is within each of us.
I have no idea why or where the fireworks occurred last night. I don't know if there was some large crowd enjoying them, if they were set to music, if it was a public or private showing. What I do know, is that for the brief moment of watching the show, I felt grateful to have it. I will never see fireworks the same again.
Saturday, April 12, 2014
From Dragonfly: When Prison Starts to Feel Normal
Last night, I was up way too late reading a book and then walked to the restroom. First, I looked at my watch - 1 a.m., "good, the midnight count is over...," I thought. I'd been so rapped up in my book, I hadn't even noticed the guards walking by and counting us.
As I walked to the restroom, I thought of how normal my life felt right now. They say that it takes a month to make a habit and at least three months to make something a lifestyle change. I've been at this "prison thing" for nearly eight months. If asked what would feel more natural to me - being here or being somewhere else, I would have to be honest that the answer is being here. I am no where near "institutionalized," but I can easily see how it happens.
Yesterday, it felt totally normal for a fight to erupt in the back of my unit. It felt normal to watch a line of people in wheelchairs and walkers, waiting outside the main building until they are allowed in for pill line. It felt normal to have to show my i.d. in order to play games in the rec. It felt normal to look at barbed wire and a car slowly going around the fence, ensuring nothing "funny" is going on. It felt normal to have a conversation with a friend about how she is constipated from the food here. It felt normal to be in bed before 10pm (even though I was not yet sleeping due to my book). It felt normal to walk on concrete floors. It felt normal to use a shared hallway bathroom and to avoid the sinks that are not draining correctly.
It's the changes, here, that don't feel normal. For example, we are all up in arms this morning, as breakfast was served 1 1/2 hours late and we were not allowed to spend time on the compound before/after. It does not feel normal when there's no officer telling us when we can leave the food line and walk into the chow hall (all orderly and stuff). It did not feel normal when only one unit at a time was allowed in the chow hall. These are the things that make us uneasy - yet, they are so insignificant in reality.
It's normal, now, for me to be strip searched after visitations. It's normal to be locked down in the unit for hours. It's normal to stand count. It's normal to avoid the bathroom at certain hours of the day. It's normal to sit on my bed and crochet. It's normal to watch television without any sound. It's normal to fight my way into the right laundry washer at my pre-set time. It's normal to clean my room, wiping down the bars on the window.
Yes, life feels normal now. Normal does not mean good. It does not mean bad. We can all get used to being anywhere, the reality of life changing and our needing to accept those changes. I do not know how long it will take for me to have my new life on the outside feel normal. It could be days, weeks or months. It'll happen, though. And, if you are facing prison, life in here will feel "normal" to you at some point as well.
As I walked to the restroom, I thought of how normal my life felt right now. They say that it takes a month to make a habit and at least three months to make something a lifestyle change. I've been at this "prison thing" for nearly eight months. If asked what would feel more natural to me - being here or being somewhere else, I would have to be honest that the answer is being here. I am no where near "institutionalized," but I can easily see how it happens.
Yesterday, it felt totally normal for a fight to erupt in the back of my unit. It felt normal to watch a line of people in wheelchairs and walkers, waiting outside the main building until they are allowed in for pill line. It felt normal to have to show my i.d. in order to play games in the rec. It felt normal to look at barbed wire and a car slowly going around the fence, ensuring nothing "funny" is going on. It felt normal to have a conversation with a friend about how she is constipated from the food here. It felt normal to be in bed before 10pm (even though I was not yet sleeping due to my book). It felt normal to walk on concrete floors. It felt normal to use a shared hallway bathroom and to avoid the sinks that are not draining correctly.
It's the changes, here, that don't feel normal. For example, we are all up in arms this morning, as breakfast was served 1 1/2 hours late and we were not allowed to spend time on the compound before/after. It does not feel normal when there's no officer telling us when we can leave the food line and walk into the chow hall (all orderly and stuff). It did not feel normal when only one unit at a time was allowed in the chow hall. These are the things that make us uneasy - yet, they are so insignificant in reality.
It's normal, now, for me to be strip searched after visitations. It's normal to be locked down in the unit for hours. It's normal to stand count. It's normal to avoid the bathroom at certain hours of the day. It's normal to sit on my bed and crochet. It's normal to watch television without any sound. It's normal to fight my way into the right laundry washer at my pre-set time. It's normal to clean my room, wiping down the bars on the window.
Yes, life feels normal now. Normal does not mean good. It does not mean bad. We can all get used to being anywhere, the reality of life changing and our needing to accept those changes. I do not know how long it will take for me to have my new life on the outside feel normal. It could be days, weeks or months. It'll happen, though. And, if you are facing prison, life in here will feel "normal" to you at some point as well.
Friday, April 11, 2014
From Dragonfly: Shiny Happy People...
How do you make about 20 inmates excited, cheering, high 5ing, hugging, and crying tears of joy all at the same time? This is not intended as a joke... you inform them that the U.S. Sentencing Commission unanimously passed the new sentencing guidelines to take non-violent drug mandatory minimums down two points. This is what I announced yesterday evening, and that was the response of almost everyone around me.
The mandatory minimums for drug crimes have overfilled our prisons with sentences of five, ten, twenty, and even lifetime sentences. People who have never held a gun, never hit another person, are behind bars (and away from their children) for decades. Many people with drug-related crimes can receive sentences higher than murderers, sex offenders, or other violent crimes. This has been going on for many, many years. In my experience in this prison, nearly half the people I meet here are for a drug-related (conspiracy) charge.
When I announced that the new law passed (Congress could still act on it, but it is not expected) and will go into effect in November, with retro-activity, nearly everyone near me was here under one of those mandatory minimums. The amount of time off their sentences varies greatly, but generally they are looking at years off their original sentence. Some will be eligible for release the minute the law goes into effect, others will still have some time to serve, but the end is much closer. One inmate, standing near me, said, "That means I have only 14 months left... seven months once the law goes into effect. After six years of being here, I will go home next year!" She looked a little in shock and everyone around her gave her a high-five.
Another inmate announced that she will be eligible for immediate release. She received hugs. The thing is, I'm not quite sure there will be any "immediate releases." Imagine the paperwork that will need to be completed by every federal prison in the U.S. for each of the inmates who will be eligible for the reduction. Even if the computer system automatically reduces everyone's sentence, the case managers will need to prepare for each person's release - halfway house, home confinement, or straight home. Each inmate will have to go through all those hoops (especially in a medical facility like this one), to ensure they are medically able to leave. As of right now, no processes, no regulations, are yet written on this tremendous news. People will still need to have patience to see what will happen and the timing of everything.
It's easy for me to just write all that, the law does not affect me. I am a fraud case, a sentencing topic that the commission is also considering a 2-point reduction on, but has not taken action yet. Also, I will already be home when this law goes into affect. For others, this law will allow them to move forward in their lives, hold and hug their babies, and live without a fence blocking them from the rest of the world sooner than they imagine. I was very happy that I was the person who was able to deliver the news. I usually don't just make announcements, but this was news I was not going to keep to myself.
The mandatory minimums for drug crimes have overfilled our prisons with sentences of five, ten, twenty, and even lifetime sentences. People who have never held a gun, never hit another person, are behind bars (and away from their children) for decades. Many people with drug-related crimes can receive sentences higher than murderers, sex offenders, or other violent crimes. This has been going on for many, many years. In my experience in this prison, nearly half the people I meet here are for a drug-related (conspiracy) charge.
When I announced that the new law passed (Congress could still act on it, but it is not expected) and will go into effect in November, with retro-activity, nearly everyone near me was here under one of those mandatory minimums. The amount of time off their sentences varies greatly, but generally they are looking at years off their original sentence. Some will be eligible for release the minute the law goes into effect, others will still have some time to serve, but the end is much closer. One inmate, standing near me, said, "That means I have only 14 months left... seven months once the law goes into effect. After six years of being here, I will go home next year!" She looked a little in shock and everyone around her gave her a high-five.
Another inmate announced that she will be eligible for immediate release. She received hugs. The thing is, I'm not quite sure there will be any "immediate releases." Imagine the paperwork that will need to be completed by every federal prison in the U.S. for each of the inmates who will be eligible for the reduction. Even if the computer system automatically reduces everyone's sentence, the case managers will need to prepare for each person's release - halfway house, home confinement, or straight home. Each inmate will have to go through all those hoops (especially in a medical facility like this one), to ensure they are medically able to leave. As of right now, no processes, no regulations, are yet written on this tremendous news. People will still need to have patience to see what will happen and the timing of everything.
It's easy for me to just write all that, the law does not affect me. I am a fraud case, a sentencing topic that the commission is also considering a 2-point reduction on, but has not taken action yet. Also, I will already be home when this law goes into affect. For others, this law will allow them to move forward in their lives, hold and hug their babies, and live without a fence blocking them from the rest of the world sooner than they imagine. I was very happy that I was the person who was able to deliver the news. I usually don't just make announcements, but this was news I was not going to keep to myself.
Thursday, April 10, 2014
From Dragonfly: The Interested
Okay, best to know in advance and be prepared for it. I've written a couple times about it, but, still, people are surprised. Whether you are tall or short, thin or heavy, black or white, old or young, gay or straight, in a wheel chair, on a walker, or use your own two feet to get around, you will more than likely be approached, flirted with, wooed, and/or considered by another inmate in a "girlfriend" sort of way. Do not project onto the person who seems to like you all your built up homophobia in the world, as you can just easily show no interest. Truth is that people in prison get lonely, they want a "special" friend (sometimes), and they must like something about you. You should be flattered for their attempt, and you have a choice - also show interest or say, "no." There's nothing wrong with you, regardless of which you choose. This is whether you are a lesbian in the outside world, or not. Just because you may be a lesbian, does not mean that you have to choose to be in a prison relationship. Maybe you have someone special at home, or are even married to your wife. Maybe you don't think a prison romance is right for you. No matter the reasons, you have a right to not be in a relationship here.
I have been hit on several times since I arrived. Most of the women are very nice, and are probably "gay for the stay," as they have husbands/boyfriends in the outside world. My disinterest in having "prison romance" has been enough to keep it as a friendship and nothing more. I don't have to explain myself to anyone. I have pictures of all the people at home that are the reasons that I don't choose to be in an unhealthy prison romance. Nonetheless, the fact that someone thinks I'm cute, is something I just smile at. It always feels good to be liked. It's how we react to someone that matters. As long as I know I'm not interested in anything, I am left alone on that front.
Even if you are one of the people that does not wish to engage in a prison romance, please put your homophobic thoughts and responses at bay. There's no reason to lash out at someone who happens to be gay or is in a same-sex relationship, as it has absolutely nothing to do with you. Likewise, become aware of transgender folks and know that they will be housed right along with you. They may carry themselves quite well as guys, but there's a reason they are in a women's prison - sometimes it's for their protection - sometimes because they don't meet the BOP definition of a man - it matters not, what matters is that they are an inmate right along with you and deserve the same respect as anyone else. We are all just doing our time together, trying to get home to our families. No matter how different the people around you are to you, you will find that you have far more in common than you do different. It makes us much wiser and stronger to meet and get to know people who are different from ourselves.
I can't emphasize enough that no one causes your negative reactions to people and their lifestyles, except your own issues. Try to not project that on others. Everyone has a right to live their life the way they need/want to. You can have boundaries, though. You can say that you don't want someone's girlfriend in your room, because if they are caught, you all get in trouble. You can say that you are not quite comfortable with something. Allow it to be a conversation, a learning experience for you both. If all you do is act disgusted by behavior you may not understand or are just not prone to, then you close yourself off to finding peace in yourself. Like I said above, if you don't want to do it, don't do it. No one will force you.
Just this week, a woman I've known since my arrival has started to flirt with me. She's totally "straight" in real life, but it's honestly just playful flirting. I do not encourage it and I am fully able to stay friends with her. While I'm flattered by her attention, I know that I'm not interested and will not "go" there with her. I don't need to make it something about her, it's about myself, my boundaries, my choices, and my commitments to people back home. She can flirt all she wants, we all know that it's nice to be flirted with once in a while. She's not overbearing, stalking, trying to be physical, or putting me in a compromising position. She's just nice. What matters are my choices and my reactions. I choose to laugh, walk away, and be at peace.
I have been hit on several times since I arrived. Most of the women are very nice, and are probably "gay for the stay," as they have husbands/boyfriends in the outside world. My disinterest in having "prison romance" has been enough to keep it as a friendship and nothing more. I don't have to explain myself to anyone. I have pictures of all the people at home that are the reasons that I don't choose to be in an unhealthy prison romance. Nonetheless, the fact that someone thinks I'm cute, is something I just smile at. It always feels good to be liked. It's how we react to someone that matters. As long as I know I'm not interested in anything, I am left alone on that front.
Even if you are one of the people that does not wish to engage in a prison romance, please put your homophobic thoughts and responses at bay. There's no reason to lash out at someone who happens to be gay or is in a same-sex relationship, as it has absolutely nothing to do with you. Likewise, become aware of transgender folks and know that they will be housed right along with you. They may carry themselves quite well as guys, but there's a reason they are in a women's prison - sometimes it's for their protection - sometimes because they don't meet the BOP definition of a man - it matters not, what matters is that they are an inmate right along with you and deserve the same respect as anyone else. We are all just doing our time together, trying to get home to our families. No matter how different the people around you are to you, you will find that you have far more in common than you do different. It makes us much wiser and stronger to meet and get to know people who are different from ourselves.
I can't emphasize enough that no one causes your negative reactions to people and their lifestyles, except your own issues. Try to not project that on others. Everyone has a right to live their life the way they need/want to. You can have boundaries, though. You can say that you don't want someone's girlfriend in your room, because if they are caught, you all get in trouble. You can say that you are not quite comfortable with something. Allow it to be a conversation, a learning experience for you both. If all you do is act disgusted by behavior you may not understand or are just not prone to, then you close yourself off to finding peace in yourself. Like I said above, if you don't want to do it, don't do it. No one will force you.
Just this week, a woman I've known since my arrival has started to flirt with me. She's totally "straight" in real life, but it's honestly just playful flirting. I do not encourage it and I am fully able to stay friends with her. While I'm flattered by her attention, I know that I'm not interested and will not "go" there with her. I don't need to make it something about her, it's about myself, my boundaries, my choices, and my commitments to people back home. She can flirt all she wants, we all know that it's nice to be flirted with once in a while. She's not overbearing, stalking, trying to be physical, or putting me in a compromising position. She's just nice. What matters are my choices and my reactions. I choose to laugh, walk away, and be at peace.
Wednesday, April 9, 2014
From Dragonfly: No Habla Espanol
I have no idea as to the demographics of other prisons, specifically federal prisons, but here, at Carswell, about 50% of the inmates appear to be of Hispanic origin and the vast majority of those speak Spanish as a first language. Depending on how long they've been in the United States, they speak at all levels of English. Some have spent 20+ years, or were born in the U.S. Others never spent a day, before being arrested trying to cross into the U.S. They tend to have the hardest time with speaking English.
Generally speaking, I have no problem with people speaking any language they feel comfortable with. I have traveled internationally, and my language remains English. I think the U.S. is the only country that has one official language. There's actually a joke.... What do you call someone who speaks three languages? Answer: Trilingual. What do you call someone who speaks two languages? Answer: Bilingual. What do you call someone who speaks one language? Answer: American. Bad joke, I know, but true in many ways.
When I was in Junior High, I was given a choice - take French or Spanish classes as my chosen foreign language. Always having had a fascination with Paris, I chose French. There was no talk about practicality. I've been to only two places in my life that speaks any French, and that lasted only a couple days of my lifetime thus far. I did take one semester of Spanish in college, but by then I was so versed in basic French, that learning basic Spanish got confused in my head - I'd start saying the Spanish alphabet, and suddenly be doing the French one. Also, I never could quite roll my r's. Needless to say, I am able to say, "Gracias," and a few other basic terms - count to 20, etc., but Spanish is not my forte. In fact, neither is French anymore. I grew up learning Hebrew, but only how to read and speak it, not understand it. I don't think foreign languages are my strong point.
I mention all this because when Blondie left for home last week, we knew we'd be in for a new roommate. The new roommate is not new to the prison, but seems nice enough. Only thing is that her English is not strong. She speaks Spanish. This has resulted in my being in a room of three strong Spanish Speakers, so 95% of everything said in my room is in Spanish. I am able to pick up a word here and there, but generally speaking, I just am not part of the conversations. I know that they are not being rude, as some of my fellow inmates would claim, they are just leaning on a language they are comfortable with - why should I be accommodated when there's another woman in the room who can not understand the English as well? Whenever they need me, they speak to me in English, and we all get along pretty well. Longwinded often acts as a translator for the new woman to me, who I will call Mexico, as Mexico has difficulty with many words.
Like the others in the room, Mexico is already looking at her out date this year. She is expecting to leave in June. She's one of many Mexican nationals who are forced to go back to Mexico after serving their time here. She moved here with her parents when she was a teen and lived at a border town, which is why she really never learned English. She's had five children, all American citizens, the youngest is only 1 year old. However, she was only here on a visa, and being in prison takes away that visa, so she is forced back to Mexico. Her children will remain here with her parents. They will travel across the border on weekends to see their mom, and then come back to the U.S. for school and opportunities. Mexico will likely never be able to come back into the U.S. again.
So, I'm probably with my last group of roommates now. Of course, anything can change at any time. I have no problem with my room. Everyone is kind. We all keep the room clean. We go to bed early, and no one is mad if someone wakes early. These are the things that matter. As for language, we figure it out a day at a time - but I sure wish I had chosen Spanish as my foreign language! (My friends, Traveler and Joy, know many languages - given the opportunity, that is certainly the way to go!)
Generally speaking, I have no problem with people speaking any language they feel comfortable with. I have traveled internationally, and my language remains English. I think the U.S. is the only country that has one official language. There's actually a joke.... What do you call someone who speaks three languages? Answer: Trilingual. What do you call someone who speaks two languages? Answer: Bilingual. What do you call someone who speaks one language? Answer: American. Bad joke, I know, but true in many ways.
When I was in Junior High, I was given a choice - take French or Spanish classes as my chosen foreign language. Always having had a fascination with Paris, I chose French. There was no talk about practicality. I've been to only two places in my life that speaks any French, and that lasted only a couple days of my lifetime thus far. I did take one semester of Spanish in college, but by then I was so versed in basic French, that learning basic Spanish got confused in my head - I'd start saying the Spanish alphabet, and suddenly be doing the French one. Also, I never could quite roll my r's. Needless to say, I am able to say, "Gracias," and a few other basic terms - count to 20, etc., but Spanish is not my forte. In fact, neither is French anymore. I grew up learning Hebrew, but only how to read and speak it, not understand it. I don't think foreign languages are my strong point.
I mention all this because when Blondie left for home last week, we knew we'd be in for a new roommate. The new roommate is not new to the prison, but seems nice enough. Only thing is that her English is not strong. She speaks Spanish. This has resulted in my being in a room of three strong Spanish Speakers, so 95% of everything said in my room is in Spanish. I am able to pick up a word here and there, but generally speaking, I just am not part of the conversations. I know that they are not being rude, as some of my fellow inmates would claim, they are just leaning on a language they are comfortable with - why should I be accommodated when there's another woman in the room who can not understand the English as well? Whenever they need me, they speak to me in English, and we all get along pretty well. Longwinded often acts as a translator for the new woman to me, who I will call Mexico, as Mexico has difficulty with many words.
Like the others in the room, Mexico is already looking at her out date this year. She is expecting to leave in June. She's one of many Mexican nationals who are forced to go back to Mexico after serving their time here. She moved here with her parents when she was a teen and lived at a border town, which is why she really never learned English. She's had five children, all American citizens, the youngest is only 1 year old. However, she was only here on a visa, and being in prison takes away that visa, so she is forced back to Mexico. Her children will remain here with her parents. They will travel across the border on weekends to see their mom, and then come back to the U.S. for school and opportunities. Mexico will likely never be able to come back into the U.S. again.
So, I'm probably with my last group of roommates now. Of course, anything can change at any time. I have no problem with my room. Everyone is kind. We all keep the room clean. We go to bed early, and no one is mad if someone wakes early. These are the things that matter. As for language, we figure it out a day at a time - but I sure wish I had chosen Spanish as my foreign language! (My friends, Traveler and Joy, know many languages - given the opportunity, that is certainly the way to go!)
From Dragonfly: Loss...
I'd written about it before, and yet, it is something that cannot ever be properly described... when someone loses a loved one while incarcerated, the devastation is just overwhelming. My friend was on the phone, calling home as she does frequently to check in. Her husband has been ill, but stable, and she was looking forward to seeing him soon. In just 10 days, she is being transferred to a camp a short drive from home. They would see each other in less than 2 weeks. They talked frequently and could not wait to see and hug one another. He'd had a health scare last year, and it was truly a miracle, when he got off life support and started gaining his strength again. She kept praying for his health, and it seemed to be working.
So today, on the phone, we heard her scream, "no, no...," and then she just dropped to the ground, the phone receiver hanging down, the total devastation was beyond anything you could imagine. She was staring in space, unable to even see anyone around her, unable to accept anyone's touch, she could only say, "he's gone." Her tears led to mascara lines down her face and she just sat there, unable to get up to a chair, she'd not been able to say "goodbye," he'd been doing so much better. A crowd gathered, most of us her friends, hands over our mouths, tears in our eyes. My heart actually ached. This woman really loved her husband. She was raw and alone and in shock.
The only thing the officer could do, was to offer her to go off to the chaplains. Her good friend and roommate carried her off there, as she was more able to stare into space than see anything in front of her. We all just couldn't believe that she was going to be close in just days, just days...
So today, on the phone, we heard her scream, "no, no...," and then she just dropped to the ground, the phone receiver hanging down, the total devastation was beyond anything you could imagine. She was staring in space, unable to even see anyone around her, unable to accept anyone's touch, she could only say, "he's gone." Her tears led to mascara lines down her face and she just sat there, unable to get up to a chair, she'd not been able to say "goodbye," he'd been doing so much better. A crowd gathered, most of us her friends, hands over our mouths, tears in our eyes. My heart actually ached. This woman really loved her husband. She was raw and alone and in shock.
The only thing the officer could do, was to offer her to go off to the chaplains. Her good friend and roommate carried her off there, as she was more able to stare into space than see anything in front of her. We all just couldn't believe that she was going to be close in just days, just days...
Monday, April 7, 2014
From Dragonfly: Two Old Ladies
Aging in prison is not an easy thing. Aging anywhere is difficult, especially when we get to a certain age. But, what about those who arrive in prison already of a certain age? There are many of those...
In my unit there are many older women. Women who are already on social security before they enter prison, and will be returning to social security after. There are specifically two of these ladies that I'm going to write about right now. They each have short(ish) sentences, health issues, and must use a walker. They both have to stand in the awful pill line at least 2x/day. They live two doors down from one another, and they are inseparable. When you see one of them, or hear their walker coming near, you are bound to see the other turning the corner just after them. They eat meals together, watch television together, and look after one another.
In the outside world, their friendship would be like any two widows, who have formed a friendship so neither is alone in life. They share pictures of grandbabies, stories of ailments, and laughter from tales of woe throughout their lives. There's not a lifetime movie or game show they haven't watched, soaps make up the main part of their afternoons, and they have enough attitude to fight anyone in the unit to be able to watch what they want on television.
So, it's just sad, when suddenly, there comes a time when one of them is seen in the atrium, and the other is not. Illness and pain has caused one to not want to get out of bed, except when necessary. The other looks in on her, best she can, but the confines and rules of prison life, make helping one another difficult when confined to one's room. Hot soup will exchange hands with roommates for sustenance, and homemade cards for laughter.
It's hard to watch someone frail become more frail; to watch their excitement for life fade. I don't think this is anywhere near the "end" for either woman, but it's never good to just curl up in a ball and give up. It's too easy to do here, so the rest of us have to make sure it does not happen. We peek in, give a smile, ask, "how are you?," and actually listen for an answer.
On some days, she has enough energy to go and wait the awful pill line, knowing that the medication will help her feel better, if only she is able to walk to the other building and then sit on her walker chair. Many "friends" are there, glad to see her, the old biddy, kinda back to the person and attitude everyone expects. We hope it keeps up, and this evening, she is at a table, with her best friend, enjoying a movie, or working on a new craft project.
She asks what happened on her soaps? I suppose it's the day she stops caring about those characters is the real day we should worry about her future with us. It must be hard to grow old in prison, but I imagine coming here already in those later years of life, may be worst.
In my unit there are many older women. Women who are already on social security before they enter prison, and will be returning to social security after. There are specifically two of these ladies that I'm going to write about right now. They each have short(ish) sentences, health issues, and must use a walker. They both have to stand in the awful pill line at least 2x/day. They live two doors down from one another, and they are inseparable. When you see one of them, or hear their walker coming near, you are bound to see the other turning the corner just after them. They eat meals together, watch television together, and look after one another.
In the outside world, their friendship would be like any two widows, who have formed a friendship so neither is alone in life. They share pictures of grandbabies, stories of ailments, and laughter from tales of woe throughout their lives. There's not a lifetime movie or game show they haven't watched, soaps make up the main part of their afternoons, and they have enough attitude to fight anyone in the unit to be able to watch what they want on television.
So, it's just sad, when suddenly, there comes a time when one of them is seen in the atrium, and the other is not. Illness and pain has caused one to not want to get out of bed, except when necessary. The other looks in on her, best she can, but the confines and rules of prison life, make helping one another difficult when confined to one's room. Hot soup will exchange hands with roommates for sustenance, and homemade cards for laughter.
It's hard to watch someone frail become more frail; to watch their excitement for life fade. I don't think this is anywhere near the "end" for either woman, but it's never good to just curl up in a ball and give up. It's too easy to do here, so the rest of us have to make sure it does not happen. We peek in, give a smile, ask, "how are you?," and actually listen for an answer.
On some days, she has enough energy to go and wait the awful pill line, knowing that the medication will help her feel better, if only she is able to walk to the other building and then sit on her walker chair. Many "friends" are there, glad to see her, the old biddy, kinda back to the person and attitude everyone expects. We hope it keeps up, and this evening, she is at a table, with her best friend, enjoying a movie, or working on a new craft project.
She asks what happened on her soaps? I suppose it's the day she stops caring about those characters is the real day we should worry about her future with us. It must be hard to grow old in prison, but I imagine coming here already in those later years of life, may be worst.
Sunday, April 6, 2014
From Dragonfly: Women's vs. Men's
As I peered down at the televisions on my way to the restroom this morning, I was struck by the fact that it seems like Lifetime Movie Network is on non-stop in our unit. It made me laugh thinking, "this would never be the case in a men's prison." This of course led me to think of things that I imagine are different between men's and women's prisons:
AT A WOMEN'S PRISON:
- At least one television is always on OWN and another is on Lifetime Movies...
- You will see inmates holding hands and hugging one another nonstop...
- Inmates in their rooms cover up their front side while changing tshirts...
- It's a really big deal when an inmate decides to cut her hair short...
- Inmates will pay big bucks to find a ring for their new life partner...
- Haircare and makeup products are some of the most important commissary items...
- A book with a lot of sex scenes will make its way to dozens of inmates before falling apart at the binding...
- Male staff can be flirted with, female staff are scary...
- At every table in the atrium, someone is either crocheting or doing cross stitch to bide their time...
- Tight clothing is all the rage...
- If someone has nail polish, everyone asks where she got it from...
- A lap dance by one's "partner" is considered a good birthday gift...
- Step class is one of the most popular indoor rec offerings...
- Inmates weigh themselves almost daily to ensure they are sustaining or losing weight...
- New inmates are immediately assessed for whether or not they are lesbian, or at least "gay for the stay"...
- The same inmates that said, "no" to the last item, are re-assessed to see if they've changed their mind after two months...
- Getting hair colored, straightened, or conditioned is the most popular things offered in the cosmo school...
- Caring jobs, such as suicide watch, are so popular, that the hiring team has hundreds of cop-outs all the time for the jobs...
- The throw away panties offered in the SHU sell for big bucks on the compound...
Okay, now read over that list and imagine these things occurred at a male's prison... You can see what I mean :-)
AT A WOMEN'S PRISON:
- At least one television is always on OWN and another is on Lifetime Movies...
- You will see inmates holding hands and hugging one another nonstop...
- Inmates in their rooms cover up their front side while changing tshirts...
- It's a really big deal when an inmate decides to cut her hair short...
- Inmates will pay big bucks to find a ring for their new life partner...
- Haircare and makeup products are some of the most important commissary items...
- A book with a lot of sex scenes will make its way to dozens of inmates before falling apart at the binding...
- Male staff can be flirted with, female staff are scary...
- At every table in the atrium, someone is either crocheting or doing cross stitch to bide their time...
- Tight clothing is all the rage...
- If someone has nail polish, everyone asks where she got it from...
- A lap dance by one's "partner" is considered a good birthday gift...
- Step class is one of the most popular indoor rec offerings...
- Inmates weigh themselves almost daily to ensure they are sustaining or losing weight...
- New inmates are immediately assessed for whether or not they are lesbian, or at least "gay for the stay"...
- The same inmates that said, "no" to the last item, are re-assessed to see if they've changed their mind after two months...
- Getting hair colored, straightened, or conditioned is the most popular things offered in the cosmo school...
- Caring jobs, such as suicide watch, are so popular, that the hiring team has hundreds of cop-outs all the time for the jobs...
- The throw away panties offered in the SHU sell for big bucks on the compound...
Okay, now read over that list and imagine these things occurred at a male's prison... You can see what I mean :-)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)