"Oops...Did I say that out loud?"

If you're going to see the humor in this little incident, you need just a tiny bit of background information about 2 points.

1. The ConQuest program at the prison is a 12-18 month drug rehab program. It is contained in a separate facility from the rest of the prison and houses about 400 inmates. This is where I teach, and these inmates are my students. ConQuest is a therapeutic community (or TC) where residents (that's what they're called rather than inmates) oversee the day-to-day workings of living, therapy, group sessions, school, seminars, etc. As a TC, each resident is partially responsible for contributing to the success of all members. The residents live in 8 dorms that house 50 guys each. These dorms can be locked down, but there are no bars or doors within the dorm. It looks more like a military barracks than anything else.

2. The high school has a separate site clerk or secretary for each of its 5 sites. I'll call ours Ms. Tayk (because she makes so many of them!) Nice lady, but not the sharpest pencil in the box. Ms. Tayk often enrolls residents in our classes, but fails to let teachers know anything about it. So new guys show up, saying "I'm in your class now." And I say something like, "No, you're not. You're not on my roll, you're not on my sign-in sheet, I don't know what you need, and I'm just not prepared for you!" It's a broken system that makes me look like an idiot 2 or 3 times a week. No amount of remediation or support seems to boost the competence of Ms. Tayk, so we patiently (or, in my case, IMpatiently) limp along and try to keep our classes going.

Okay, so here's the incident that happened last Wednesday. We were in class (that would be me and 18 convicted felons in a room made of cinder blocks with only 1 exit) when all the power went out. No backup generators, no natural light. Prisons have a minimal number of windows, and there are NONE in any of our classrooms. Luckily, I was sitting at my desk, so I had my flashlight out in seconds. Of course, you just sit tight for a few seconds to see if the power comes back on. When I say the lights are out, I mean it's TOTALLY dark, you know, the you-can't-see-your-hand-infront-of-your-face kind of dark.

After about 5 minutes, it seems obvious this is a serious blackout, so an officer shows up and officially sends everybody back to the dorms. Once in the dorms, residents have to lie on their beds for the duration of the power outage because it's the easiest way to keep track of them. You can't let too many of them have free reign in an open area during a blackout, you see.

The majority of officers report to the dorms to make sure everybody is "racked-up" and not getting into mischief. Everyone else just kind of gravitates to the central hallway where there is a bit of light coming from the doors at either end of the central hall. So, while we're mingling there (Ms. Tayk happens to be there with us), out of the Coordinator's office comes BIG Black Dude, who seems to have slipped through the "rack-up" order. BIG Black Dude realizes he's in the wrong place and could face consequences for not being in the dorm. He considers, out loud, whether he should stay with us or make his way down the dark hallway, unescorted, to his dorm.

Now here's the precious part. Ms. Tayk, in her irreverent grating voice, says (nice and loud) to BIG Black Dude, "What do you care? If you stand still, they won't know you're here."

So, now we have not only total dark, but awkward total silence! Almost as if we had rehearsed it, everyone else just walks away, leaving Ms. Tayk there to explain to BIG Black Dude how that was really just a joke, and you're not offended are you? Because you know I was just being funny, and oh, sometimes I'm so dumb, and I say dumb things, but really........I'm.....just......being.......funny........

And her voice trails off as I reach my pitch-black classroom, shaking my head, and muttering, "I don't believe she just said that!"

Happy Birthday, Aubrey!

I just have to share with you the experience I had today. This sweet 10-year-old is my niece's daughter. Does that make her my great-niece? Well, whatever, she IS a great niece. I wish this picture captured her gorgeous eyes and her unbeatable smile.

Her party was at the Make-A-Wish Foundation, a place I'd never visited before. If you haven't been there, you must go. If you haven't learned about the Foundation, you must find out. If you weren't at the party today, you'll just have to experience it through me.

Before the party really got started, the hostess asked if we wanted a tour of the facility. Sure, why not. The building is unimposing, but tastefully done and well designed. Through big double doors you can see a fountain outside with an impressive bronze statue of two small children and a unicorn. Touching to look at, but frozen in the freezing temperatures of January in Utah. In the main entryway, your attention is drawn to the ceiling where you see a huge wrought-iron framework with gentle waves in it that flows across the ceiling for about 25 feet. Hanging from this frame are scores of individual leaded glass stars organized in the colors of the rainbow. Each star represents a wish granted by the Foundation and bears the name of the Recipient. As you watch them twist and turn with the slightest breeze, the colors sparkle and catch whatever light comes through the glass doors at either end of the rainbow. A small lump forms in your throat as you begin to realize the enormity and generosity these stars represent.

Then the hostess took us upstairs to the Wishing Room. This room is locked and must be opened by a key that is given to each Wish Recipient. As the door opens, you see a cool blue-lighted circular room whose centerpiece is a huge standing marble slab with water cascading down both sides. The whole room makes you feel like you're standing on water. Around the outside of the room, the floor tiles are clear and cover a series of lights that change and bathe the room in a kind of surreal light show. At this point, the lump in your throat is keeping you from saying anything, which is fine because this feels like a sacred place that shouldn't be disturbed by human speech anyway.

In front of the cascading fountain sits a cone about 3 ft. high where the actual Wish Cylinder is deposited. When the cylinder containing the wish is inserted in the cone, the entire room turns red and pink, and triumphant music begins to bounce off the round walls. There is no escaping the fact now that you couldn't speak if you wanted to. You look around and realize that everyone has this hazy, wavy look to them because you can't control the tears cascading down your cheeks any more than you can control the water cascading down the marble slab. I wasn't prepared for a spiritual experience for crying out loud!

We solemnly filed out of the Wishing Room and made our way back to the party room, where we sang Happy Birthday, ate cake, and watched an incredible slide show of Aubrey's life. Then Aubrey took center stage and, with Mom's help, told everyone she hoped all our wishes come true. She was so happy, and that smile said everything she couldn't say.

When I was sure I was emotionally drained and couldn't take another tug on my fragile heart strings, they called everyone out into the entry way where there was a small podium set up. On it sat Aubrey's blue star. Attached to the star was a long rope-and-pulley. Everyone got quiet, soft strains of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" could be heard, and Aubrey (again with Mom's help) pulled on the rope hand-over-hand as she raised her star to join the rainbow overhead. Well, I pretty much lost all composure at that point, but it was okay because we were all in the same blubber-boat! Beautiful Mom-Delsa then tearfully thanked everyone for sharing Aubrey's celebration of 10 years of ups-and-downs, triumphs and tribulations, heartache and happiness.

Did I say I had a good time? Did I say how glad I was to have been part of her day? Did I say how much respect and love I have for Delsa and her family? And did I tell you about Aubrey's heart-stopping smile? I meant to say all that.....but I'm all choked up again! It's time to take stock and count your blessings. And after you do that, make a contribution to the Make-A-Wish Foundation. These are people who really do make wishes come true.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AUBREY!

"Bring out your dead.......bring out your dead...."

I take extra Vitamin C. I got a flu shot. I wash my hands obsessively. So how come I still got sick? And I don't mean just "oh-mama's-got-the-sniffles" sick. This has been more like "the-Mucinex-guy-waged-war-and-I-think-he-won" sick. At this point, I think I'm going to live, but the jury's still out on whether or not I'm better.

It seems like everybody I talk to has either been sick or lives with somebody who's been sick. I'm reading World Without End by Ken Follett about the devastation of the plague in 1300's England, (hence, the reference to "bring out your dead") and I figure I would've gone in the first wave of illness. I don't see me as one of those tireless and selfless souls who tends to the sick and injured, and manages to escape the ravages of the dreaded plague. "Take me Lord, take me now. Before I disgrace myself by throwing up in public."

Anyway, that's the reason for my lack of communication. I went back to school a day too soon and ended up spreading my coat out on my classroom floor so I could lie down rather than fall down. I don't know why I felt like I needed to be back. It's not like somebody will swoop in and take my job from me. It's also not as if my students are going anywhere. I literally have a captive audience. I opted not to have students, figuring I could use a prep day to get ready for the new quarter. I posted a sign on my classroom door and locked it, thinking I'd have peace and quiet in which to work. No such luck. The inmates could see my light was on, so they repeatedly ignored the locked door, peaked over my "No Admittance" sign, and generally pestered me until I dragged my sorry sick self to the door and opened it to them. Then they'd say something really perceptive, like "Oh! You're here! Are we having class?" Or "Just wanted to say hi." Or (love this one!) "You been sick? You look sick. You should just lock your door."

Anyway, I persevered until about 3:30 when there was no longer any question about coming back too soon. I came home, crawled back into my bed, and stayed there until Big D had dinner ready. I know all you mothers-of-little-ones out there are saying, "Oh you big baby. Try feeling that crappy and still having to take care of kids, fix meals, buy goceries, and keep the family afloat!" I only have this to say to you........"Been there, done that, bite me!"

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!