Halloween has passed. October went somewhere. A lot has gone on since the last posting. I couldn't enter the prison for three weeks due to the entrance of scabies. Yes, those little mites had gotten through security, carried on the skin-contagious critters causing severe itching to those affected. The outbreak didn't spread widely but everything shut down. No classes. Staff did the cooking.
When the writers finally met again they were eager to write, even about the scabies. In this post are their thoughts on that experience, plus other scary things like teachers, getting back to "square one," even writing a blurb about themselves.
Let's start right here and get those scabies out of the way!
Wow, what a two weeks I had sitting in a dorm
with no T-shirt or panties on.
Just the brown uniform.
Locked down with no property.
Nothing to do but watch movies all day.
Nowhere to go and nothing to see
but what the scabies has done to me.
This all was very scary-but when it was over
I was so happy to be free.
I was ready to be all I could be-
and just be me.
-Brooklyn
10-day treatment
didn't cure the cause
Month's long adventures
Because it's not over y'all
Washed in the wrong treatment
But who would ever guess
The ones who gave us the OTC
Would be responsible for this
Back to square one
We've got to do it again
Don't they understand-
We need a vaccination, man?
-Determined LN
My prison world, as I know it, was turned upside down. All my clothes, personal belongings, including my children's pictures were taken away from me. Before this, I would have said something like this could never happen in a prison: shut down because of scabies.
I also would have said I couldn't live without my personal belongings, but I did.
This event made everyone equal. No one person had more than another. It was a big change and a nice one, especially to see who hid behind material things. But now the games of "who has what" begins again. Back to Square One.
-Princess007
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Changing our Minds
A soft rain fell over Georgia during the night. As midnight approached, the Supreme Court of the United States sent a final ruling to a death sentence appeal down this way and Troy Davis was executed before this day began. He proclaimed his innocence until the end. Who knows the truth?
For me, Truth is a Person and only when we are accountable to Him can we hope to change. The philosopher and playwright George Bernard Shaw said, "Those who cannot change their mind cannot change anything." This statement rings with truth. But, how do we change--especially our minds? It's not so easy, especially when conflict, our pride, our lack of knowledge or examples to follow are factors. We need help!
I was at the prison yesterday from 1- 6PM, a little longer than usual. The Authors Club was interviewing new members, about twenty in all. It's quite an interview process with the members asking their own prepared questions of the interviewee. Those prospects who have had a DR or Disciplinary Report within the last three months are dealt with first. Out. Those who can't handle thinking of themselves as professional enough to report every other week on one project at a time by showing visable page progress, are eliminated. This "supreme court" of the Authors Club had to make these very important decisions in order for the group to go forward, to grow in unity. Above them is a Deputy Warden who has given the group this freedom to function and be productive. Law, Decency, Order--words we sometimes don't like to hear.
I sat with the nervous prospects in another room while they waited to be called. They face their fears and insecurities at times like this in different ways. In the main, they were quiet, some writing, some talking--if they came back into the room after their interview they weren't supposed to give the process away. That's why I was there, The Proctor in this dynamic. Not a good role for me.
We waited in a classroom for those getting their GEDs--the walls covered with information about the basics: reading, writing and arithmatic. I listened to one of the newer inmates complain to a guard about what was lacking in the prison system. Meanwhile in New York City, President Obama was speaking to the United Nations about Israel and the creation of a Palestinian state and asking the majority of nations to change their minds.
I picked a book off a shelf and began to read. It was Nancy Reagan's story of her life as First Lady, My Turn. It really took me back to the 80s when our country was much, much less divided than it is now--when we could actually pray for a President when he was shot whether we were Democrats or Republicans. I found myself getting a little angry at how divided we have become.
"A house divided cannot stand." Abraham Lincoln used those words spoken by Jesus, the One from Israel, the One I believe is the Truth. For healing and reconciliation in ourselves, with others, in our families, in our nation, in the world, the ability to change has to be accepted and embraced as the right way to go. We have to want to not be divided. At times like these--we who have inherited the belief that we, the people, can govern ourselves--we wonder if there are Supreme Absolutes? Higher, more Solid Thinking we can rest in? But do we want to change?
"Those who cannot change their mind cannot change anything." George Bernard Shaw. Before GBS and Jesus, Aristotle, another philosopher, said, "One may go wrong in many different ways, but right in only one way." Wisdom is wisdom no matter what the age we live in.
Before the Authors Club meeting ended and I followed someone with a key out of the prison into the coming night to rest in whatever decision the Supreme Court of the United States would make about Troy Davis, I gave the women a challenge to write a response to George Bernard Shaw's statement.
I look forward to what they have to say.
For me, Truth is a Person and only when we are accountable to Him can we hope to change. The philosopher and playwright George Bernard Shaw said, "Those who cannot change their mind cannot change anything." This statement rings with truth. But, how do we change--especially our minds? It's not so easy, especially when conflict, our pride, our lack of knowledge or examples to follow are factors. We need help!
I was at the prison yesterday from 1- 6PM, a little longer than usual. The Authors Club was interviewing new members, about twenty in all. It's quite an interview process with the members asking their own prepared questions of the interviewee. Those prospects who have had a DR or Disciplinary Report within the last three months are dealt with first. Out. Those who can't handle thinking of themselves as professional enough to report every other week on one project at a time by showing visable page progress, are eliminated. This "supreme court" of the Authors Club had to make these very important decisions in order for the group to go forward, to grow in unity. Above them is a Deputy Warden who has given the group this freedom to function and be productive. Law, Decency, Order--words we sometimes don't like to hear.
I sat with the nervous prospects in another room while they waited to be called. They face their fears and insecurities at times like this in different ways. In the main, they were quiet, some writing, some talking--if they came back into the room after their interview they weren't supposed to give the process away. That's why I was there, The Proctor in this dynamic. Not a good role for me.
We waited in a classroom for those getting their GEDs--the walls covered with information about the basics: reading, writing and arithmatic. I listened to one of the newer inmates complain to a guard about what was lacking in the prison system. Meanwhile in New York City, President Obama was speaking to the United Nations about Israel and the creation of a Palestinian state and asking the majority of nations to change their minds.
I picked a book off a shelf and began to read. It was Nancy Reagan's story of her life as First Lady, My Turn. It really took me back to the 80s when our country was much, much less divided than it is now--when we could actually pray for a President when he was shot whether we were Democrats or Republicans. I found myself getting a little angry at how divided we have become.
"A house divided cannot stand." Abraham Lincoln used those words spoken by Jesus, the One from Israel, the One I believe is the Truth. For healing and reconciliation in ourselves, with others, in our families, in our nation, in the world, the ability to change has to be accepted and embraced as the right way to go. We have to want to not be divided. At times like these--we who have inherited the belief that we, the people, can govern ourselves--we wonder if there are Supreme Absolutes? Higher, more Solid Thinking we can rest in? But do we want to change?
"Those who cannot change their mind cannot change anything." George Bernard Shaw. Before GBS and Jesus, Aristotle, another philosopher, said, "One may go wrong in many different ways, but right in only one way." Wisdom is wisdom no matter what the age we live in.
Before the Authors Club meeting ended and I followed someone with a key out of the prison into the coming night to rest in whatever decision the Supreme Court of the United States would make about Troy Davis, I gave the women a challenge to write a response to George Bernard Shaw's statement.
I look forward to what they have to say.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Where is home...if that's where the heart is?
"Home is where the heart is" is a trite phrase used often by people in daily life--and twice by writers featured in this blog. In writing we are to avoid using these kinds of words or, at least, put quotation marks around them to show that we know they are overused and have lost meaning. But, home was a theme these women prisoners wanted to write about--and that is where their hearts are.
These days in our nation, home and home life appear often to be a disaster. Soon we will remember September 11, 2001, when, ten years ago, our nation was attacked by those who did not think of America as their "home." Soon after that horrible event, we were introduced to the concept of this country as our "homeland." The words seemed strange, as if a truth we knew, perhaps took for granted, was being forced upon us.
H.O.M.E. Those four letters form a very powerful word: soldiers are coming "home," a family loses its "home" to foreclosure, a little Jewish boy in Brooklyn on his way "home" gets lost and is killed by a stranger, a 100 year-old prayer warrior goes "home" to Glory.
What is home really? A dwelling place of wood or brick? A particular spot on earth? People? A concept? A feeling? If we, like the prisoner, have to give up everything or if we sell all we have like Jesus urged the rich young man to do, do we have no "home?"
The great American poet, Robert Frost, said, "Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in." The prisoner knows this and the writings in this blog reflect that--or show the difference.
These days in our nation, home and home life appear often to be a disaster. Soon we will remember September 11, 2001, when, ten years ago, our nation was attacked by those who did not think of America as their "home." Soon after that horrible event, we were introduced to the concept of this country as our "homeland." The words seemed strange, as if a truth we knew, perhaps took for granted, was being forced upon us.
H.O.M.E. Those four letters form a very powerful word: soldiers are coming "home," a family loses its "home" to foreclosure, a little Jewish boy in Brooklyn on his way "home" gets lost and is killed by a stranger, a 100 year-old prayer warrior goes "home" to Glory.
What is home really? A dwelling place of wood or brick? A particular spot on earth? People? A concept? A feeling? If we, like the prisoner, have to give up everything or if we sell all we have like Jesus urged the rich young man to do, do we have no "home?"
The great American poet, Robert Frost, said, "Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in." The prisoner knows this and the writings in this blog reflect that--or show the difference.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Crashing and Burning...
On Wednesday of this week, I met with The Authors Club. For a few minutes we spent some time working with three thoughts the group called out and I wrote on the board: home, I love you, and crash and burn. They all make sense when you think of who is saying them and where they are.
Then we brainstormed for attendant words. "I love you" produced tranquility, euphoria, passion, safety and even cliche; "home" produced freedom, ready, children, love, heart, food; "crash and burn" produced assault, aspire, fire, scary, depression, failure.
Then the women wrote for about 15 minutes and shared what they had written. In this issue of our bi-monthly blog you can read some of the results. The theme of crashing and burning had the most results.
And this certainly has been a week for dealing with crashing and burning: London and the riots, the Dougherty Trio, the Navy Seals lost in Afghanistan coming home.
We've also seen leaders step up to the bat, speaking to young people with a firm calm, a mother's prayers answered: although her children may spend many years in prison, they didn't kill anyone, and incredible stories of belief in freedom and being willing to lay down your life for it.
It's all working together towards some kind of good.
That's what faith is all about.
Then we brainstormed for attendant words. "I love you" produced tranquility, euphoria, passion, safety and even cliche; "home" produced freedom, ready, children, love, heart, food; "crash and burn" produced assault, aspire, fire, scary, depression, failure.
Then the women wrote for about 15 minutes and shared what they had written. In this issue of our bi-monthly blog you can read some of the results. The theme of crashing and burning had the most results.
And this certainly has been a week for dealing with crashing and burning: London and the riots, the Dougherty Trio, the Navy Seals lost in Afghanistan coming home.
We've also seen leaders step up to the bat, speaking to young people with a firm calm, a mother's prayers answered: although her children may spend many years in prison, they didn't kill anyone, and incredible stories of belief in freedom and being willing to lay down your life for it.
It's all working together towards some kind of good.
That's what faith is all about.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Happiness, Hope and Help
My husband and I are busily tidying up the house and grounds for a visit by his children and their children. The house will be full of little ones so everything four feet and under has become child-friendly: grown-up books have been replaced with those for children, table tops cleared of anything little hands can reach, a space for a small, plastic pool and toys created because (hooray!) water play can last for hours--and years! Even the dog is running around trying to avoid a bath!
The Authors Club at the prison met yesterday to hear a visiting speaker, the author Haywood Smith--you can find her website at www.haywoodsmith.net. It is such a blessing when someone comes to visit, whether we are in prison or not, isn't it?
Haywood regaled us with true (and hilariously funny) life stories that are the inspiration for her novels--and while she talked, she gave us a glimpse of the writing life, with all its discipline, as well as the realities of the publishing business. For instance, Haywood has had to take almost one-third less on her new book contract. Self-publishing, e-publishing, the closing of bookstores, small and large, have created a whole new and to-be-discovered world for writers.
One of these emerging writers is Goldilocks, the president of our Authors Club. During the country's time of recession, while incarcerated, Goldilocks has written novel after novel--two are now for sale through Amazon. She also has more contracted with a publishing company. In addition, she is currently putting together a book of poetry featuring the women in the club. As its editor, Goldilocks asked me to write the forward. This is what I have written so far:
Summer, 2011
The Authors Club at the prison met yesterday to hear a visiting speaker, the author Haywood Smith--you can find her website at www.haywoodsmith.net. It is such a blessing when someone comes to visit, whether we are in prison or not, isn't it?
Haywood regaled us with true (and hilariously funny) life stories that are the inspiration for her novels--and while she talked, she gave us a glimpse of the writing life, with all its discipline, as well as the realities of the publishing business. For instance, Haywood has had to take almost one-third less on her new book contract. Self-publishing, e-publishing, the closing of bookstores, small and large, have created a whole new and to-be-discovered world for writers.
One of these emerging writers is Goldilocks, the president of our Authors Club. During the country's time of recession, while incarcerated, Goldilocks has written novel after novel--two are now for sale through Amazon. She also has more contracted with a publishing company. In addition, she is currently putting together a book of poetry featuring the women in the club. As its editor, Goldilocks asked me to write the forward. This is what I have written so far:
Summer, 2011
Four years ago, when I became a liaison for and participant in The Authors Club at the prison, I began to know Goldilocks. During this time the club has grown and changed, always for the better, mainly because of Goldilocks who is a natural leader.
Goldilocks' personal discipline affects us all. Under her leadership we are kept on task and not allowed to begin a new project until the one we are committed to is finished. Oh, we can write as much as we want about anything we want to, but we better be able to report—and show evidence—of the progress on our stated projects at the meetings. In other words, Goldilocks is a taskmaster--but a benevolent one.
Goldilocks' knowledge and understanding of the writing process and its discipline is an inspiration to all of us. She has taken bold steps in becoming a published author and has not left us out--this book is the result of her care for us and her desire that we, too, succeed. This book is a result of her leadership in our lives, but we hope that soon these writings will become a kind of “farewell gift” from us to her.
We wish Goldilocks God’s speed on her hoped-for journey that will take her out of prison and into the wider world--and then we can all say, “We knew her when…”
Here is a poem she wrote:
Murderer
They say I'm a murderer
because I did what I was told
with a cold barrel in my face...shakin'
in fear for my life I drove
When I came to--it was tragic
a family gone
The devastation of being responsible
definitely left me blown
Define the assault he delivered
upon by body
stealing a part of my soul
The sentence I serve is life
In my heart the story unfolds
Daily...I awaken...
remembering what all was taken
My Creator above said He
would never leave nor forsake me
Through Him,
I'm not a murderer
I'm not a murderer
I'm a conqueror
Thursday, July 21, 2011
The Mind is a Terrible Thing to Waste
When I was growing up there was a public service "commercial" on televsion. It was simple and pictured a young person bobbing around in some waves. The figure's little voice cried, "Help, help, help" as it moved in the water. A voice came on and said, "A mind is a terrible thing to waste." I hope I remember correctly--I think the ad was to raise money for college funds for African-Americans.
This week a family member had an incident that has affected the mind. This person is older. These things happen one doctor said. Another mentioned dementia. I asked about that. I must have showed some fear in my face.
"Dementia is nothing to be afraid of," the doctor said. "Many people experience it. My own mother and grandmother, for example. The terrible thing about dementia is if the person has no one to care for them."
I didn't like hearing those words. But when I thought about my love for this person, I felt strengthened to provide whatever care is needed, for whatever the duration may be.
I wrote this poem in response:
When the Mind Fails
Like worms, words don't surface
Like trails of snails, sentences stop
Silence and sleep become a place to slip
to slide...to burrow...to hide
Blessed are those who have someone:
so many don't.
Most of the women I've met in prison are surprisingly intelligent. Somewhere along the way education failed to reach most of these women and they "fell between the cracks." More education isn't insurance against dementia but there is growing evidence that it can help delay it. I'm a true believer in life-long learning: ee can be changed by the "renewing of our minds."
These days it's easy to find things to rail about--but, at least in this country--at least from what I observe firsthand in Georgia--a prison can become a setting for the wasting of the mind to stop.
How I admire these women I meet for not giving up.
How I admire those who work in prisons teaching and encouraging these women to carry on. They have someone who cares.
This week a family member had an incident that has affected the mind. This person is older. These things happen one doctor said. Another mentioned dementia. I asked about that. I must have showed some fear in my face.
"Dementia is nothing to be afraid of," the doctor said. "Many people experience it. My own mother and grandmother, for example. The terrible thing about dementia is if the person has no one to care for them."
I didn't like hearing those words. But when I thought about my love for this person, I felt strengthened to provide whatever care is needed, for whatever the duration may be.
I wrote this poem in response:
When the Mind Fails
Like worms, words don't surface
Like trails of snails, sentences stop
Silence and sleep become a place to slip
to slide...to burrow...to hide
Blessed are those who have someone:
so many don't.
Most of the women I've met in prison are surprisingly intelligent. Somewhere along the way education failed to reach most of these women and they "fell between the cracks." More education isn't insurance against dementia but there is growing evidence that it can help delay it. I'm a true believer in life-long learning: ee can be changed by the "renewing of our minds."
These days it's easy to find things to rail about--but, at least in this country--at least from what I observe firsthand in Georgia--a prison can become a setting for the wasting of the mind to stop.
How I admire these women I meet for not giving up.
How I admire those who work in prisons teaching and encouraging these women to carry on. They have someone who cares.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Politics, Power and The Playboy
It continues to be hot--all seasons bring their trials, but it cooled off a bit during the night. I woke up--yet again-- at 3AM and did my usual "walkabout." We keep the air-conditioning set to go on at 78 degrees. I thought of the women at the prison with none of these options: walking around and staying cool. After checking email--no messages from the kids, I settled down on the couch with the cat and the dog and turned on the television.
CNN. Repeat of Piers Morgan's earlier show. Guest: Hugh Hefner. I don't want to like him. Hef's been an almost constant background presence throughout my life: on the American scene, seeming to skulk, vulture-like with a haughty, detached look, always surrounded in photos by the kind of blonde most women will never be--or want to be. When you hear their stories most women, it seems, are in prison because they did something stupid for a man. But, in the middle of the night, The Playboy was making some quiet,calm sense. He didn't have the pipe in his mouth, but you could see the place it might fit as he talked.
"We need to get back to who we were," he said when Piers asked him about the present power struggle between President Obama and the Republicans. Soon, they contrasted our present state to that of China's. Hef and Piers agreed China is what we used to be: high ideals, desiring competition, open to change and suggestion. We shouldn't fear China--we have inspired them; they are trying to be like us, Piers and The Playboy seemed to be saying.
I suddenly remembered I had been awakened by a startling thought: Have we Americans--and other countries following our example--become slaves? And, if we have, who or what are we slaves to? Materialism? Credit? Wanting what we want when we want it?
Betty Ford is in her grave. Cokie Roberts told us Mrs. Ford wanted us to remember what government officials--those we elect to make decisions for us--were like in our past. A mother, a grandmother, a great-grandmother has died.
President Obama and Congress are dancing around the ring, jabbing and stabbing, meeting again for the fifth day in a row. Now, as I write, on C-Span I hear the Chaplain of the House of Representatives praying for peace and calm for its members. Now I hear the Pledge of Allegiance being recited...one nation under God.
Our present American economic situation, the up-ticking of indebtedness was bringing it all home--and it was waking me up! I went to the folder where I keep the writings of the ladies who are only half-an-hour away and are, most likely, awake as well.
Here's a poem by inmate Maisha Mahalia that spoke to me in the night:
A Changed Mind
I'm not working for the State for free.
I refuse to let this place change me.
These are the thoughts that controlled my mind from the start.
Then when my Grandma died, it did something to my heart.
I hate to get up for Stand Up Count.
I don't want to hear what the Officer's talking about.
I began to see it's not working for free, but for Freedom.
I realized I need to follow the rules and listen to some.
I realized I have to change the thoughts in my mind.
To learn not to let The Time do me, but to do The Time.
I will not change the way I think that I have for years.
I can't let this place break me, bring me to tears.
So what if I had to shed a few tears and let others see?
Tears help me let go of pain, anger and set my soul free.
Sometimes you need others to lean on, to vent what you feel.
You need someone who isn't fake, but knows how to be real.
I can never get a peaceful sleep or moment's privacy.
I will not let this place take away my independency.
Your Time can be hard and make you angry and hateful--
Or you can use Your Time to learn and be grateful.
Grateful that you are alive and get to see another day.
Thankful God spared your life so you can turn the other way.
Being in prison is not where I would choose to be.
But, honestly, prison has made me a better me.
CNN. Repeat of Piers Morgan's earlier show. Guest: Hugh Hefner. I don't want to like him. Hef's been an almost constant background presence throughout my life: on the American scene, seeming to skulk, vulture-like with a haughty, detached look, always surrounded in photos by the kind of blonde most women will never be--or want to be. When you hear their stories most women, it seems, are in prison because they did something stupid for a man. But, in the middle of the night, The Playboy was making some quiet,calm sense. He didn't have the pipe in his mouth, but you could see the place it might fit as he talked.
"We need to get back to who we were," he said when Piers asked him about the present power struggle between President Obama and the Republicans. Soon, they contrasted our present state to that of China's. Hef and Piers agreed China is what we used to be: high ideals, desiring competition, open to change and suggestion. We shouldn't fear China--we have inspired them; they are trying to be like us, Piers and The Playboy seemed to be saying.
I suddenly remembered I had been awakened by a startling thought: Have we Americans--and other countries following our example--become slaves? And, if we have, who or what are we slaves to? Materialism? Credit? Wanting what we want when we want it?
Betty Ford is in her grave. Cokie Roberts told us Mrs. Ford wanted us to remember what government officials--those we elect to make decisions for us--were like in our past. A mother, a grandmother, a great-grandmother has died.
President Obama and Congress are dancing around the ring, jabbing and stabbing, meeting again for the fifth day in a row. Now, as I write, on C-Span I hear the Chaplain of the House of Representatives praying for peace and calm for its members. Now I hear the Pledge of Allegiance being recited...one nation under God.
Our present American economic situation, the up-ticking of indebtedness was bringing it all home--and it was waking me up! I went to the folder where I keep the writings of the ladies who are only half-an-hour away and are, most likely, awake as well.
Here's a poem by inmate Maisha Mahalia that spoke to me in the night:
A Changed Mind
I'm not working for the State for free.
I refuse to let this place change me.
These are the thoughts that controlled my mind from the start.
Then when my Grandma died, it did something to my heart.
I hate to get up for Stand Up Count.
I don't want to hear what the Officer's talking about.
I began to see it's not working for free, but for Freedom.
I realized I need to follow the rules and listen to some.
I realized I have to change the thoughts in my mind.
To learn not to let The Time do me, but to do The Time.
I will not change the way I think that I have for years.
I can't let this place break me, bring me to tears.
So what if I had to shed a few tears and let others see?
Tears help me let go of pain, anger and set my soul free.
Sometimes you need others to lean on, to vent what you feel.
You need someone who isn't fake, but knows how to be real.
I can never get a peaceful sleep or moment's privacy.
I will not let this place take away my independency.
Your Time can be hard and make you angry and hateful--
Or you can use Your Time to learn and be grateful.
Grateful that you are alive and get to see another day.
Thankful God spared your life so you can turn the other way.
Being in prison is not where I would choose to be.
But, honestly, prison has made me a better me.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
A New Beginning
The heat index was 105 degrees yesterday. To protect myself from the sun, I carried an umbrella in my clear plastic backpack--clear plastic because getting through security at the prison is much easier if the guards can see what they're going to be sticking their hands into! The umbrella and I got through, but I didn't have to use it.
A woman with a key came to the final gate into the education wing at the same time I did. "You're my hero of the day," I said. Often I have to stand for a while before someone comes to my rescue. With one hand she held the handle of an open box filled with vials for taking blood, in the other some files --and she opened the gate embedded in sky-high fencing topped with razor wire. I had already come through 1,2, 3 locked doors and gates, each one letting me know I was going deeper and deeper into life inside a prison.
"Are you a phlebotomist?" I asked. She was indeed. A phlebotomist in a prison--what an interesting job! I asked her if it had been hard to get her job. "No," she said--and this particular certification was all she needed to get her job.
I've been doing some investigating into jobs related to medicine knowing this is a growing field of jobs for the future. I know it costs about $999.00 to do a Phlebotomy Course at a local college. Not a bad investment for a marketable skill.
After we got inside the education wing I was taken to my new classroom. Other than the students wearing uniforms of beige, the education wing feels and looks like any other school--in fact, this school was originally built for incarcerated minors.
Signs on doors revealed classrooms filled with women learning new skills--it's a new quarter of learning, an exciting time for the "cream of the crop" I was told these women are: making the effort, taking the time to improve themselves. They could do assigned duties and stay in their cells, but these women have chosen to learn! The education building is also air-conditioned and the dorms are not!
The first session of the "Becoming a Mentor" course went well. There were ten women living in the Faith and Character dorm who participated. Here are links to articles I wrote about the course: http://www.intrepidmedia.com/column.asp?id=3584 and http://www.intrepidmedia.com/column.asp?id=3588
The dynamics are different every time I do the course because we are all different, but I give them the same information--the best I've gotten, the most useful information, gathered in my lifetime--history, psychology and people skills are some of what they'll be offered. I tell them, "With this information you will be plugged into everything that is happening out there in the world!"
It's a bold statement, but I believe it. I believe these women can find a place in this world and be productive--if not always physically, then mentally and spiritually.
More than anything, at this point, I want to learn their names. I want to know their stories.
We do an Icebreaker, an activity designed to reveal group dynamics, to let us see how we function in "up close and personal" situations with others. I lay the small blanket my sister-in-law cut up for me so that I can cover myself on the train ride from Georgia up and down the East Coast. I tell the ladies it's a boat. The blue carpeting surrounding it is water full of sharks and alligators. I think of President Obama and members of Congress struggling to settle conflict over our nations's budget.
"Now," I say, "you have to figure out a way to turn the boat over without anyone falling off."
I step back to watch.
A woman with a key came to the final gate into the education wing at the same time I did. "You're my hero of the day," I said. Often I have to stand for a while before someone comes to my rescue. With one hand she held the handle of an open box filled with vials for taking blood, in the other some files --and she opened the gate embedded in sky-high fencing topped with razor wire. I had already come through 1,2, 3 locked doors and gates, each one letting me know I was going deeper and deeper into life inside a prison.
"Are you a phlebotomist?" I asked. She was indeed. A phlebotomist in a prison--what an interesting job! I asked her if it had been hard to get her job. "No," she said--and this particular certification was all she needed to get her job.
I've been doing some investigating into jobs related to medicine knowing this is a growing field of jobs for the future. I know it costs about $999.00 to do a Phlebotomy Course at a local college. Not a bad investment for a marketable skill.
After we got inside the education wing I was taken to my new classroom. Other than the students wearing uniforms of beige, the education wing feels and looks like any other school--in fact, this school was originally built for incarcerated minors.
Signs on doors revealed classrooms filled with women learning new skills--it's a new quarter of learning, an exciting time for the "cream of the crop" I was told these women are: making the effort, taking the time to improve themselves. They could do assigned duties and stay in their cells, but these women have chosen to learn! The education building is also air-conditioned and the dorms are not!
The first session of the "Becoming a Mentor" course went well. There were ten women living in the Faith and Character dorm who participated. Here are links to articles I wrote about the course: http://www.intrepidmedia.com/column.asp?id=3584 and http://www.intrepidmedia.com/column.asp?id=3588
The dynamics are different every time I do the course because we are all different, but I give them the same information--the best I've gotten, the most useful information, gathered in my lifetime--history, psychology and people skills are some of what they'll be offered. I tell them, "With this information you will be plugged into everything that is happening out there in the world!"
It's a bold statement, but I believe it. I believe these women can find a place in this world and be productive--if not always physically, then mentally and spiritually.
More than anything, at this point, I want to learn their names. I want to know their stories.
We do an Icebreaker, an activity designed to reveal group dynamics, to let us see how we function in "up close and personal" situations with others. I lay the small blanket my sister-in-law cut up for me so that I can cover myself on the train ride from Georgia up and down the East Coast. I tell the ladies it's a boat. The blue carpeting surrounding it is water full of sharks and alligators. I think of President Obama and members of Congress struggling to settle conflict over our nations's budget.
"Now," I say, "you have to figure out a way to turn the boat over without anyone falling off."
I step back to watch.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
First Day Back
Welcome friends and family of women writing from prison. Welcome ALL to this blog! I want you to read what your daughters, mothers, sister, aunties, cousins, nieces are writing and thinking.
Today I head back into the prison to meet with ladies living in the Faith and Character dorms. A course I teach called "Becoming a Mentor" is beginning again. When I get back home I'll post links to articles I've written about this course. It will be a whole new group this time and I'm looking forward to meeting them.
Prisoners who live in dorms where they can work on their faith (whatever it is) and character are shown to have reduced recidivism.
I'll also join the Authors Club which is meeting again today for the first time in a while. I function as a member, but also do a bit of instruction in the discipline of writing. Actually, these writers help keep me on track with my own writing. The group is very disciplined, requires accounting of work done between meetings. I'll write more later about the--at least--two women who have published books.
In fact, this blog has been inspired by these women writing from prison. I want their children to be able to read what they are writing and thinking about. By writing these women are overcoming so much. I want their children to be overcomers as well.
Link to article about how I got into prison work: http://www.intrepidmedia.com/column.asp?id=3632
Today I head back into the prison to meet with ladies living in the Faith and Character dorms. A course I teach called "Becoming a Mentor" is beginning again. When I get back home I'll post links to articles I've written about this course. It will be a whole new group this time and I'm looking forward to meeting them.
Prisoners who live in dorms where they can work on their faith (whatever it is) and character are shown to have reduced recidivism.
I'll also join the Authors Club which is meeting again today for the first time in a while. I function as a member, but also do a bit of instruction in the discipline of writing. Actually, these writers help keep me on track with my own writing. The group is very disciplined, requires accounting of work done between meetings. I'll write more later about the--at least--two women who have published books.
In fact, this blog has been inspired by these women writing from prison. I want their children to be able to read what they are writing and thinking about. By writing these women are overcoming so much. I want their children to be overcomers as well.
Link to article about how I got into prison work: http://www.intrepidmedia.com/column.asp?id=3632
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