New Year's Revolving Resolutions

And here it is! Time to drag out the same old resolutions, dust them off, and give them a little exercise. If history is any indication, the workout will last until about mid-February. With a bit of a push, maybe even by the Ides of March. But thankfully, they'll be tucked safely back in the vault by my birthday.

There's a sign at the prison prominently displayed between the sliders so you have something to contemplate while you're trapped in that No-Man's-Land where you're completely at the mercy of someone you don't know and can't see. He/she literally has your life in his/her hands because he/she can sit for agonizing minutes with a finger poised over the button that can perform daily minor miracles. He/she actually has many options. Among them:

a. Ignore you completely as you stare expectantly at the steel bars of your little prison.

b. Push the button, but release it too soon, so you're left looking at an opening that would admit a runway model, but no mature woman carrying a midsection that represents the knowledge and experience of 60 years of living and learning.

c. Activate the slider for entry, but start it closing before you've managed to complete your passage through. They're not like garage doors that sense a solid object and stop before they crush you. Oh no, these doors can (and gruesomely have) literally squeezed the life out of the not-quick-enough.

d. OR, on a good day, the unseen operator opens the slider promptly, waits while you pass through, closes it comfortably behind you, and anticipates your arrival at the next gate. On a REALLY good day, a disembodied voice might actually greet you and insist you have a good day.

ANYWAY, while you consider the possibilities concerning the reinforced sliders, your eye falls upon the sign. It says:

INSANITY: Doing the same thing over and over again
But expecting a different result.
Do Something Different!

My eye is drawn to the sign probably a dozen times each day. I can't even stop my mind from reading it a dozen times each day. And yet........I make the same tired resolutions every year! Why am I surprised that convicted felons don't get the message when an educated, well-intentioned, insightful person like myself can't make the mental leap?

Oh well, uncork that bottle of champaign, wipe the dust off those damn scales, and let's try this once more.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!

Ahhh......Christmas is ready, now open the wine!

Okay, it's Little Christmas Eve (a term I learned in Norway), the presents are wrapped, the house is decorated, the food has been purchased, the forecast is for snow, and I'm ready for a PAR-TAY!!!!! I hate it when Christmas is brown, or just wet from a drizzle of rain. It's supposed to snow! However, I do have this nagging fear that the coming storm will be more than Currier & Ives, inching (literally) toward white-out. Then what would I do? And God forbid my guests should arrive, get snowed in, and have to spend the night. THEN what would I do???

We did last minute shopping today. We got there 4 minutes after the 10 o'clock opening, figuring we'd get in and out and beat the rush! Duh!!! At 10:04, we had a hard time finding a place in the parking lot. And it's a big-ass parking lot! But I steeled myself with determination and a holiday smile on my face, and joined the throngs. Like Santa, I went straight to my work, steadfastly making my way to exactly the right aisles. The problem was, I forgot about laying a finger aside of my nose and keeping track of Big D (so slow he goes!) And he's so nice! He waits for anybody and everybody who'd like to cross infront of him. The result is, I end up standing there holding a lug of oranges, a bag of apples, and the only bunch of bananas that are actually ripe enough to eat, all of which I've picked up in the blink of an eye -- and he's still waiting to merge with the cart traffic!

"Keep moving," I say. I want to hold up a sign that says, "We're walking, walking; we're walking this way." There's a special way to shop on the day before Christmas Eve, and it doesn't include browsing. We finally decided it was easier to "station" him someplace that was relatively free of foot traffic while I made short hops here and there to gather my goodies, which worked better anyway. I could move faster in and out of traffic without having to maneuver a cart, and he became my "go-to" guy. Now if we could just remember where we parked the damn car!

Anyway, the rush is over. It's time to start cooking and settle down with a nice glass of wine. My day would be complete if they'd just show "A Christmas Carol". I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas and Santa brings you just what you want. Yes I still believe! And I still love the magic of Christmas morning. I wish we could spend it with ALL of our family, but alas, they're scattered hither and yon and insist on having their own lives.

Love to all.

CRIMINAL COUNTDOWNS

People in the real world countdown the number of days until Christmas.

Prisoners countdown the number of Christmases until Parole.

But that doesn't stop them from making the best of the season. Inmates can be extremely resourceful when they have limited supplies at their disposal. Let me give you a couple of examples:

1. This is a picture of a Christmas card given to me by one of my inmate-students. He's about 45 years old, has virtually NO sense of humor, tends to get angry with ME when HE doesn't understand something, and doesn't work and play well with others. The inside of the card carries a Biblical verse, a wish for a Merry Christmas, and a personal message of thanks for what I do.

To say I was surprised to receive it would be an understatement. He waited until no other students were around before presenting it. They apparently have to be careful about showing their "soft" sides, lest they be seen as weak and tender-hearted. (Where do guys get these misguided notions?) Of course, a Christmas hug should be out of the question, but I did it anyway. I am, after all, a nurturer and a sucker for anyone who appreciates what I try to do. (I will say, however, that I was careful about limiting boob contact! Can't take too many chances, don't ya know!)

He made the card by drawing the picture on the front and then melting down Jolly Ranchers to use as paint. It gives a raised, slightly sticky feel to the image and creates a sheen that makes you want to slant the card to catch the light. Resourcesful, no?

2. Now here's the other, less delectable, result of their resourcefulness. This one even has a fairly good "Eeewweeeeh" factor to it. 'Tis the season for a little bubbly, and when you're incarcerated you have to get creative.

So they designate one guy's toilet as a non-flusher, beginning about mid-November. This guy has to become poop-buddies with a neighbor -- apparently not an issue for some. Then everyone saves their fruit cocktail from meals. This is easy because all meals are now served in their individual cells. (This practice eliminates the infamous culinary brawls you see in the movies.) Anyway, this toilet full of fruit eventually begins to ferment, and Voila! you have the beginnings of homemade Yuletide hooch!

You have to stop now and give free rein to your imagination as it tries to picture the night (or more likely the afternoon) of harvest. Do they all gather around the commode and ceremoniously dip in? Do they congenially toast one another as they raise their plastic cups of porcelain perfection? Do they get tipsy? Over toilet bowl aperitifs? Do you think some social-climbing newbie thinks, "Wow this is great! Next year I want to host a soiree in MY shitter!"

And, by the way, what DO you say on the last day of school as you're waiting for the iron bars of the slider to activate, thereby making possible your daily escape, and an inmate who you know is facing a 12-year minimum says, in all sincerity, "Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!"

The Deluded Druggist

One of my favorite prison characters is one I'll call the Dubious Deluded Druggist. A nice mild-mannered guy who worked at a major pharmacy here in Salt Lake. Even as a pharmacist, I think he disappointed his father who is an aspiring politician. He's also ... um...rather...um...diminuitive (he's a short little shit) who suffers from that elusive short-man-syndrome where he thinks he has to try harder than anybody else to be asgoodassmartascool to be accepted.

Consequently, he likes to impress you with how much he knows (which too often is a load of crap), who he knows, where he's been, and what his plans are.Anyway, in his quest to be cool in his lofty social circle, he apparently became the go-to-guy for OxyContin. Most of the time, you can tell he's just dying to tell you who he supplied, so naturally I'd die before I'd ask!

So he made-the-wrong-deal, or supplied-the-wrong-person, or whatever the excuse-du-jour is, and found his skinny little ass in prison.Papa wouldn't bail him out because the deluded druggist ruined his chance to run for public office, so he cooled his jets at the point of the mountain.

He ended up being a math tutor in my class because he has more than an 8th grade education, although I've seen him give some really weird "help" in basic pre-algebra! I decided I didn't need or want his particular brand of usefulness, but he was close to parole, so I let him just kind of hang out until he could get out.

Now here's the really funny part, and also the part that made me tag him "deluded".

Before his release, he came to me and said his license was being reinstated, his father was lending him $250,000 start up money for his own pharmacy, and he sure hoped I'd come to him for my pharmaceutical needs because he's reliable, trustworthy, and honest! I'm not exaggerating; those were his words......reliable, trustworthy, and honest.

So I couldn't help but add,

"Yeh, but you're also a convicted felon. Under what legal snag will your license be re-instated?"

He didn't appreciate my concern for the general public, so we didn't part on very friendly terms.And anyway, he was back in prison within 3 months on a parole violation. Surprise, surprise, surprise!

He doesn't talk to me anymore, he doesn't walk as tall (as if he could anyway), he doesn't talk as boldly, and he sure as hell doesn't tutor in my math class!

But remembering him brings a smile to my face. I swear, he's even shorter than he used to be!

Queen LaTeacha catches the technology bug...

So....I guess I'm officially a techie now.

Like so many other people, writing has always been therapy for me. But I haven't had great luck with diaries or journaling. So I thought I'd see how I do with blogging. I tend to write the way I talk -- sometimes without thinking first! For as many times as I've said to both my students and my kids, "You need to think before you speak!", it's something I don't practice very well myself.

I've never been one of those writers who labors over a piece, writing and re-writing, catching every mistake, weighing very nuance, checking a thesaurus for a better way to say something. I'm not that good, and I'm definitely not that much of a perfectionist. If you get it, you get it; if you don't, there's something wrong with you. Simple.

I'm not passionate about very many things. But I am passionate about my grandkids and my job. These are the things about which I have something to say. If my thoughts on these subjects (and probably a few occasional sidebars) don't interest you, go find a good book to read or make yourself a nice snack. But whatever you do, BE NICE! The opinions expressed here are mine, and mine alone. They don't represent my family, my gender, my profession, my country, and in some cases probably not even my species. You will find them to be scattered, based on nothing more than my own observations, sometimes random, and on rare glorified moments, insightful and profound. If they touch you in any way, my life is worthwhile; if they don't, there's something wrong with you. Simple.

I believe very few people fully understand what day-to-day life is like in the prison. It's a microcosm -- like the clear plastic ant farm with the green plastic border you had when you were a kid. With careful observation, it didn't take long to identify the workers, the caregivers, the bullies, the slackers, and yes, the Queen. Enter.......humble me. One of my roughest, toughest, gang-hardened inmates (BIG black guy with "COMPTON" tattooed across his neck) dubbed me "Queen LaTeacha" while I was using every trick I know to teach him the concept behind dividing fractions. And the name stuck. (Sidebar: so did the concept of fractions once I related it to buying and selling drugs. "You start with an 8-ball and sell a quarter-gram to the guy that owes you a slick fifth from the day you split a nickle bag.")

So, the adventure begins. I'll take you with me into that literal den of thieves where reside some of the nicest people who have done some of the nastiest things. I hope you'll come along with me to a place you'll probably never experience first hand.