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

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 a conqueror

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.

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.

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.

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