12/22/2014
It is 3 days before Christmas, and without further adieu, I make the following confession:
I am ashamed of myself.
That was an easy one, right?
I got a letter from my lovely step-daughter the other day, offering all manner of encouragement and praise. I have been rolling it around in my head since. She said, "...I couldn't have asked for a better step-dad....". You mean, except for the being in jail part, right? Except for being the disbarred, disgraced, disaster that I am, right? And, that isn't even why I'm ashamed! Seriously. Though that offers me plenty of opportunities for shame, that isn't the worst.
I'm blessed with having the most wonderful sort of woman for a wife. She's the perfect blend of sweet, and "good crazy". The years and choices have taught me that all women are crazy, at least in part, or, they are boring. I will take, (and have taken), crazy, over boring, most of my life. The key is to find, good crazy.
This is a rare commodity.
Finding good crazy is akin to finding a good mechanic. They may screw you, but you trust them to do it for a good price. I have no idea what that means. My wife is not a prostitute. This is a family blog.
The reason I am ashamed is because, lately, I have been so busy feeling sorry for myself, that I have forgotten how my senseless behavior has affected Lesa. Yes, I am in jail, and it sucks. But, whatever the circumstances, I did it. I have nobody, but myself to blame.
Lesa, on the other hand, is blameless. In fact, she told me on several occasions she was worried about me and asked whether she should switch to days to be home with me at night. Translation: switch to days to keep an eye on me, and keep me safe. Despite her concern, she now has to manage 2 houses, 3 dogs, 2 kids in college, 1 in high school, who is as moody as a magic 8 ball, 2 cats, 2 cars, 2 motorcycles, a full-time job, a lawyer for her husband, and her husband, commissary and phone costs, and his ailing mental health.
And she does it all with no "I told you so", or anger, (like I said, good crazy). She focuses so much on me and others, that she often forgets to take care of herself. She does an amazing job, but I am ashamed of her having to do that job. I'm ashamed that I put us and our life at risk- no matter what the circumstances.
Total dick move.
Thanks Obama.
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Monday, December 29, 2014
Vacation with the kids. by Lesa
12/29/2014
I apologize for the grand space in dates and posts. I am struggling in energy and motivation. I find myself alone and lonely tonight. It has been a whirlwind event, working a bunch of days together, to be able to take a vacation with minimal days off, to be able to recover when I get home. Vacation was bittersweet. Second to my husband, nothing brings me more joy than my children, and they are still, my "Magnum Opus". I was overwhelmed at times during vacation, and coming back, as the emotions of the generosity of them hit me, I was humbled, grateful, and exhausted.
In getting ready for vacation, I had to be ready for Christmas a week early. The money rolled in slowly, and had to go right into my jeep to get it ready to make the trip to New Mexico. As the time drew closer, I finding myself down, because for the first time in my adult life, I had nothing, NOTHING to give for Christmas. I had managed to save enough to make calendars for the kids, and the project kept me busy. Their new step-mom, on her Christmas list, had asked for a calendar of pics for the kids from their childhood. I have all the kids photos and thought it would be a fun project, and the kids would enjoy. I counted that we needed 10 calendars, to include both grandparents, me, and the ex, and of course each of the kids.
When I got married to the kids dad, and we moved, for a while, to Shreveport, he let me take a photography class. I was hooked for life, and our kids, were my favorite subject. I have ridiculous amounts of pictures of them. Which means I had to dig through and pick favorites. Jessica gave me an idea of how to organize it. I spent hours and hours, laughing, crying, reminiscing, Finally it was done and I sent the order off, having it delivered to my son's house, where we would gather for Christmas with mom on the 23rd of December. I will come back to this on Christmas day post.
Isaac, the youngest of my kids, and 15 years old, and I took off for vacation, after working a 12 hour shift. Isaac took the wheel and I could chill. As we get close to my son's, a stopping point to get ready to go on to New Mexico, I sent him text that we were close. He replied with a confused text back. I, apparently, had showed up a day early. It was great, I got to relax a day, do the cooking I had still wanted to get done, and got to spend a day with Luke and his darling girl Jackie. Everyone comes in that night, the excitement is building. It was wonderful just to have them all around. We divided into two cars and hit the road. Wesley and I were able to have moments alone to talk on the phone, it is always embarrassing for him when I am with the kids, he feels awkward and embarrassed and cuts the conversation short.
My feelings were strange, having my kids pay for everything. I kept praying that God would keep me from feeling anxious and awkward, to just enjoy the break, allow them to take care of me, to learn something.
We finally get to Red River, New Mexico about 8pm. The boys jump out and start throwing snow around. The two youngest had never seen so much snow. The rest of us were tired and ready for sleep.
When you are married to someone in jail, there is a guilt, and something else, not sure yet, but, you are locked up too. There is this empty hole that exist constantly, a part of you missing. Its not guilt, its just hard to enjoy life, with half of yourself missing. Its like, you can't fully enjoy, or even understand, because part of your senses is missing. The next day, everyone is up early to get going. Me and the two youngest, all new to snow, get put into lessons. They snowboard, me ski. And while I could look around and enjoy the beauty and awe in the atmosphere, my soul was detached. I threw myself into learning the skills, a nice distraction, especially since, at 47, I didn't bounce back from falls in quite the same way. At the end of the lesson, I was exhausted. Not just from the physical exertion, but emotionally, I was overwhelmed from holding all I was feeling inside.
Day two, we slept in awhile and then played until the lodge/ski lift closed. I worked back and forth from the bunny hill, to the next step up, which seemed way more difficult. By the end of the day, I felt I could sort of turn and control my ski's enough to not run over anyone. We get back to the cabin, I start dinner, waiting for the more experienced folks to get back from another mountain. Time alone, I tried to figure out my feelings. Wesley would call at the end of the day, we would talk for a bit, but he would cut it short, knowing I was with the kids. I kept all the emotions inside. I was missing my time with my husband, I knew he was ...well, he even stopped me on the first day. He couldn't stand the conversation anymore, me on a ski vacation, with the kids, and it was Christmas week. He was miserable. I also wouldn't be visiting him that week, I had never, missed a visitation. There was guilt, but more, I was just missing sharing the joy with my best friend. Several of the kids were playing a video game, distracting and giving some laughs. We were all exhausted and fell to sleep quickly. My mind at night, wondering what Wesley was thinking about.
Day three, the kids all went together to the mountain, I finally able to control myself, a little, down the hill, crashing every few feet. I worked on my stops more, learned to get up without taking off my ski's. By the end of the day, the kids wanted to take me 1/2 up the mountain and go down together. I felt I could stop myself enough to try. Holy crap... It was a fantastic challenge. I fell hard, got up, fell again. Phil gave me tips along the way, and they all followed behind and around me. I would at times rest a few minutes. They would show me the cushioned spots of snow to fall into. I cry as I write this...
I was not alone. I had worked on the skills to survive the challenge. Met with curves, and rocks, and crazy cliffs. Fell onto hard snow. If I wanted a hand they lent it, they picked up my sticks...my darling daughter-in-law, Kiersten, passed me my sticks, patiently, gracefully, lovingly. I stubbornly got up. They would do tricks, play along the way, as I rested, distracting me. I never felt cold, warmth and love abounded. We laughed. They cheered me on...I get to the last steep small hill. Kiersten sees I am exhausted, gives me some advice how to just take it slow and go sideways, a step at a time. And at last, we are back to the last hill I had been practicing on the last two days. Kiersten tells me to go first and let the ducklings follow behind, the video is priceless. The last kid, quack, quacking on the way down. My son's girlfriend, Jackie is at the bottom with her camera to take pictures. I feel happy. I survived.
My heart is so heavy, my burden, at times, feels so alone. I didn't even have to look....there are my kids. Sending my husband letters, books, magazines, LOVE! Calling to check up on me, buying my gas and dinner. My one son, buying my ski lessons, rentals, lift tickets, the other gas, and dinner. My daughter buying my gas, food, I am sure, they all got together at the end to split the cost, of me and the two youngest kids. And although I felt self conscience having my children pay for my vacation, God taught me in such a precious way, that last hour of the skiing, something priceless. It was one of the hardest things, physically, I had ever done. The beauty was all around, the danger, all around, but each step, each fall, each move forward, backward or sideways, painfully fallen, or successfully skied, was met with cheers, encouragement, a helping hand, a empathetic word, to let me know I was not alone, I would not struggle, ever, alone. The road to life is not easy, but with God's gift of family, it is bearable. As a Christian, we are to put our trust and lives in God, but I know, God puts people in our lives, to help us for him. I don't know why God loves me so much, but I am so glad he does. I have the most amazing kids, and the love on the most primal, concrete , simplest ways, that touches the very core of who I am. I am truly, truly humbled by them.
I apologize for the grand space in dates and posts. I am struggling in energy and motivation. I find myself alone and lonely tonight. It has been a whirlwind event, working a bunch of days together, to be able to take a vacation with minimal days off, to be able to recover when I get home. Vacation was bittersweet. Second to my husband, nothing brings me more joy than my children, and they are still, my "Magnum Opus". I was overwhelmed at times during vacation, and coming back, as the emotions of the generosity of them hit me, I was humbled, grateful, and exhausted.
In getting ready for vacation, I had to be ready for Christmas a week early. The money rolled in slowly, and had to go right into my jeep to get it ready to make the trip to New Mexico. As the time drew closer, I finding myself down, because for the first time in my adult life, I had nothing, NOTHING to give for Christmas. I had managed to save enough to make calendars for the kids, and the project kept me busy. Their new step-mom, on her Christmas list, had asked for a calendar of pics for the kids from their childhood. I have all the kids photos and thought it would be a fun project, and the kids would enjoy. I counted that we needed 10 calendars, to include both grandparents, me, and the ex, and of course each of the kids.
When I got married to the kids dad, and we moved, for a while, to Shreveport, he let me take a photography class. I was hooked for life, and our kids, were my favorite subject. I have ridiculous amounts of pictures of them. Which means I had to dig through and pick favorites. Jessica gave me an idea of how to organize it. I spent hours and hours, laughing, crying, reminiscing, Finally it was done and I sent the order off, having it delivered to my son's house, where we would gather for Christmas with mom on the 23rd of December. I will come back to this on Christmas day post.
Isaac, the youngest of my kids, and 15 years old, and I took off for vacation, after working a 12 hour shift. Isaac took the wheel and I could chill. As we get close to my son's, a stopping point to get ready to go on to New Mexico, I sent him text that we were close. He replied with a confused text back. I, apparently, had showed up a day early. It was great, I got to relax a day, do the cooking I had still wanted to get done, and got to spend a day with Luke and his darling girl Jackie. Everyone comes in that night, the excitement is building. It was wonderful just to have them all around. We divided into two cars and hit the road. Wesley and I were able to have moments alone to talk on the phone, it is always embarrassing for him when I am with the kids, he feels awkward and embarrassed and cuts the conversation short.
My feelings were strange, having my kids pay for everything. I kept praying that God would keep me from feeling anxious and awkward, to just enjoy the break, allow them to take care of me, to learn something.
We finally get to Red River, New Mexico about 8pm. The boys jump out and start throwing snow around. The two youngest had never seen so much snow. The rest of us were tired and ready for sleep.
When you are married to someone in jail, there is a guilt, and something else, not sure yet, but, you are locked up too. There is this empty hole that exist constantly, a part of you missing. Its not guilt, its just hard to enjoy life, with half of yourself missing. Its like, you can't fully enjoy, or even understand, because part of your senses is missing. The next day, everyone is up early to get going. Me and the two youngest, all new to snow, get put into lessons. They snowboard, me ski. And while I could look around and enjoy the beauty and awe in the atmosphere, my soul was detached. I threw myself into learning the skills, a nice distraction, especially since, at 47, I didn't bounce back from falls in quite the same way. At the end of the lesson, I was exhausted. Not just from the physical exertion, but emotionally, I was overwhelmed from holding all I was feeling inside.
Day two, we slept in awhile and then played until the lodge/ski lift closed. I worked back and forth from the bunny hill, to the next step up, which seemed way more difficult. By the end of the day, I felt I could sort of turn and control my ski's enough to not run over anyone. We get back to the cabin, I start dinner, waiting for the more experienced folks to get back from another mountain. Time alone, I tried to figure out my feelings. Wesley would call at the end of the day, we would talk for a bit, but he would cut it short, knowing I was with the kids. I kept all the emotions inside. I was missing my time with my husband, I knew he was ...well, he even stopped me on the first day. He couldn't stand the conversation anymore, me on a ski vacation, with the kids, and it was Christmas week. He was miserable. I also wouldn't be visiting him that week, I had never, missed a visitation. There was guilt, but more, I was just missing sharing the joy with my best friend. Several of the kids were playing a video game, distracting and giving some laughs. We were all exhausted and fell to sleep quickly. My mind at night, wondering what Wesley was thinking about.
Day three, the kids all went together to the mountain, I finally able to control myself, a little, down the hill, crashing every few feet. I worked on my stops more, learned to get up without taking off my ski's. By the end of the day, the kids wanted to take me 1/2 up the mountain and go down together. I felt I could stop myself enough to try. Holy crap... It was a fantastic challenge. I fell hard, got up, fell again. Phil gave me tips along the way, and they all followed behind and around me. I would at times rest a few minutes. They would show me the cushioned spots of snow to fall into. I cry as I write this...
I was not alone. I had worked on the skills to survive the challenge. Met with curves, and rocks, and crazy cliffs. Fell onto hard snow. If I wanted a hand they lent it, they picked up my sticks...my darling daughter-in-law, Kiersten, passed me my sticks, patiently, gracefully, lovingly. I stubbornly got up. They would do tricks, play along the way, as I rested, distracting me. I never felt cold, warmth and love abounded. We laughed. They cheered me on...I get to the last steep small hill. Kiersten sees I am exhausted, gives me some advice how to just take it slow and go sideways, a step at a time. And at last, we are back to the last hill I had been practicing on the last two days. Kiersten tells me to go first and let the ducklings follow behind, the video is priceless. The last kid, quack, quacking on the way down. My son's girlfriend, Jackie is at the bottom with her camera to take pictures. I feel happy. I survived.
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
Doesn't everyone deserve compassion? by Lesa
I have just read my husbands blog on justice. It, in my opinion, is the best entry he has wrote. When we as society, try to blindly, like a formula in math, try to punish a criminal, or pass judgement, it is ignorance that blindly leads us. I have learned a lot in the time since we have been together. I was raised in a conservative, christian background. In my previous life, white, conservative christian(more of a moderate my children will tell you, especially as I got more of a sense of self), married for 25 years, raising 6 children, and living in the bubble of the suburbs, I was ignorant of a lot of injustices of the world. Justice is not equal for the black, white, and brown. The poor and rich absolutely have different types of justices available to them. I have heard enough of similar experiences and charges having different outcomes with those who can afford counsel, especially good counsel.
I have heard of incidences of deals getting offered to folks, unable to afford bond, pleading guilty to deals that they may or may not have been guilty of, because the sentence is "time served". Including, felonies, which is particularly sad, because they are ignorant of the consequences of having a felony on your record.
I can think, like my husband does, of both sides of a coin. If it was my daughter being robbed at gun point, at a Jack in the Box, she may not be physically hurt, but I assure you, she will be emotionally traumatized to some degree. But I can also look with compassion, at the circumstances that might have led him to make a one time bad decision. He appears remorseful, has his faith, that appears genuine, and supportive family, to assist him with rehabilitation, but no crime comes without any consequences. But deciding the appropriate punishment, with balance, fairness, and consideration of all the facts, is a difficult decision. I guess that is why we should be choosing Judges that we know have a history of doing just that.
My husband, for example, has admitted his guilt. For someone who has been harmed by a drunk driver, they can be angry, unforgiving, and without any reserve, want him locked up for life. But my husband is not the person who committed the first DWI. He has been to rehab, has learned better coping skills, been humbled, not only by losing his esquire, but by learning to understand people better, no longer considering himself better than those he represents. He is capable of making mistakes of judgement, of not thinking through the consequences of his choices. His severe ADHD as added to his spontaneous bad choices. He takes medication, has learned to decrease his impulsive decisions, and to trust in another person, me, his wife, to help him.
We humans are complicated. Life is complicated by childhood baggage, by race, by our environment. Throw in religion, abuse, addiction, there are endless complicating circumstances. In normal life, I hope that I can always provide compassion, care, and hope to those who cross my path. I know my husband, in his current residence, has to also apply good judgement to his choices, but also does the same. He has wrote stories of some of his fellow dormmate's circumstances, and while we are not the judges, it is still up to us to treat one another with respect, and hopefully compassion. Wesley states there are many who cause him to feel revulsion, but still, there are some, even accused of terrible crimes, that require a second look. And while justice is to be decided by others, we can still choose to be compassionate. I have donated books, put money for inmate on commissary, or phone, I have been a pen pal to one, a female, who is in a similar circumstance as my husband. Except in this instance, she is innocent. I will save her story for another day. Tell me what your opinion is on how justice is handed out, or should be? I am curious to what others, in different situations, may think.
Lastly, as a teaser, I will tell you, that I have a special guest blog entry coming from an inmate. I hope it to be a learning experience for us all, but mostly, a way to healing for him. Keep tuned.
I have heard of incidences of deals getting offered to folks, unable to afford bond, pleading guilty to deals that they may or may not have been guilty of, because the sentence is "time served". Including, felonies, which is particularly sad, because they are ignorant of the consequences of having a felony on your record.
I can think, like my husband does, of both sides of a coin. If it was my daughter being robbed at gun point, at a Jack in the Box, she may not be physically hurt, but I assure you, she will be emotionally traumatized to some degree. But I can also look with compassion, at the circumstances that might have led him to make a one time bad decision. He appears remorseful, has his faith, that appears genuine, and supportive family, to assist him with rehabilitation, but no crime comes without any consequences. But deciding the appropriate punishment, with balance, fairness, and consideration of all the facts, is a difficult decision. I guess that is why we should be choosing Judges that we know have a history of doing just that.
My husband, for example, has admitted his guilt. For someone who has been harmed by a drunk driver, they can be angry, unforgiving, and without any reserve, want him locked up for life. But my husband is not the person who committed the first DWI. He has been to rehab, has learned better coping skills, been humbled, not only by losing his esquire, but by learning to understand people better, no longer considering himself better than those he represents. He is capable of making mistakes of judgement, of not thinking through the consequences of his choices. His severe ADHD as added to his spontaneous bad choices. He takes medication, has learned to decrease his impulsive decisions, and to trust in another person, me, his wife, to help him.
We humans are complicated. Life is complicated by childhood baggage, by race, by our environment. Throw in religion, abuse, addiction, there are endless complicating circumstances. In normal life, I hope that I can always provide compassion, care, and hope to those who cross my path. I know my husband, in his current residence, has to also apply good judgement to his choices, but also does the same. He has wrote stories of some of his fellow dormmate's circumstances, and while we are not the judges, it is still up to us to treat one another with respect, and hopefully compassion. Wesley states there are many who cause him to feel revulsion, but still, there are some, even accused of terrible crimes, that require a second look. And while justice is to be decided by others, we can still choose to be compassionate. I have donated books, put money for inmate on commissary, or phone, I have been a pen pal to one, a female, who is in a similar circumstance as my husband. Except in this instance, she is innocent. I will save her story for another day. Tell me what your opinion is on how justice is handed out, or should be? I am curious to what others, in different situations, may think.
Lastly, as a teaser, I will tell you, that I have a special guest blog entry coming from an inmate. I hope it to be a learning experience for us all, but mostly, a way to healing for him. Keep tuned.
The scales of lady justice. by Wesley
12/5
I have spent the bulk of my adult life defending the underdog. At times, that meant I represented an injured party against an insurance company. Plaintiffs often are unfairly judged by the general population because of misunderstood judgments (of juries) that are bandied about by the willfully ignorant for political parties. Some really are injured parties that deserve compensation. They can not be painted with one broad brush.
Other times, I have represented the accused against the state. I have believed that the state is often tyrannical and that "justice" is often perverted by vengeance and that our system is broken and the lady with the scales is not blind and that those who vote are also willfully ignorant and that the suburbs are a Truman Show and instill in wide swaths of the population, a warped view of the world.
I believe these things because I'm liberal AND because they are all very true.
But, there is more to it than I have been willing to admit.
In here, this very room, there is an 18 year old kid. He's funny and light-hearted and playful. He gets mad when the Texans lose, and he calls his mother every night. He leads a prayer group at night and often, when he thinks no one is watching, he weeps.
He also has confessed to being a part of a conspiracy of armed robbers who targeted restaurants. They stuck guns into the faces of hard working poor people, threatened their lives, and stole thousands of dollars.
The state has offered him 40 years in prison and told him they will seek a life sentence if he doesn't accept the deal.
That means for his admittedly horrible behavior, he can not reasonably expect to be home before he is 45. He will go to prison for at least 27 years for crimes in which no one was hurt.
I wish I could say I knew what was just. I wish I could say with absolute certainty that my suburban friends are right, that such a judgement is just. That a child with no criminal history should be cast into the prison system to become an angry 45 year old, who has never lived, unleashed upon the world in 3 decades.
At the other end of the spectrum is the violent gang member I share a cell with. He is happily a career criminal and has no desire to be anything but. He is prone to violent outbursts, he gets no mail, no visits, and makes no phone calls. He alludes to murders in his past, that may be true, or may be lies intended to inspire jail cred. He has spent the bulk of his life in prison and will continue to do so, and in my opinion, he is why we build jails and should build more.
But what is a just punishment for him attempting to steal a truck in the Woodlands?
And what is a just punishment for people who commit property crimes when they are dumped homeless onto the streets of Houston with no money, family, resources or skills at urban outdoor living.
What is justice? I know that I have been as blind as I have accused other of being. But I still do not claim to know what is just.
I do know this: Life is too complicated to paint the accused and the convicted with one broad stroke and either condemn or mitigate our sins as one. But, I can say, strongly, that the people I have encountered, people in here that inspire revulsion, is far rarer than those that inspire compassion, and that may be the strongest statement of all. In any case, I realize that I really have no answers, despite all the evidence I collect.
I have spent the bulk of my adult life defending the underdog. At times, that meant I represented an injured party against an insurance company. Plaintiffs often are unfairly judged by the general population because of misunderstood judgments (of juries) that are bandied about by the willfully ignorant for political parties. Some really are injured parties that deserve compensation. They can not be painted with one broad brush.
Other times, I have represented the accused against the state. I have believed that the state is often tyrannical and that "justice" is often perverted by vengeance and that our system is broken and the lady with the scales is not blind and that those who vote are also willfully ignorant and that the suburbs are a Truman Show and instill in wide swaths of the population, a warped view of the world.
I believe these things because I'm liberal AND because they are all very true.
But, there is more to it than I have been willing to admit.
In here, this very room, there is an 18 year old kid. He's funny and light-hearted and playful. He gets mad when the Texans lose, and he calls his mother every night. He leads a prayer group at night and often, when he thinks no one is watching, he weeps.
He also has confessed to being a part of a conspiracy of armed robbers who targeted restaurants. They stuck guns into the faces of hard working poor people, threatened their lives, and stole thousands of dollars.
The state has offered him 40 years in prison and told him they will seek a life sentence if he doesn't accept the deal.
That means for his admittedly horrible behavior, he can not reasonably expect to be home before he is 45. He will go to prison for at least 27 years for crimes in which no one was hurt.
I wish I could say I knew what was just. I wish I could say with absolute certainty that my suburban friends are right, that such a judgement is just. That a child with no criminal history should be cast into the prison system to become an angry 45 year old, who has never lived, unleashed upon the world in 3 decades.
At the other end of the spectrum is the violent gang member I share a cell with. He is happily a career criminal and has no desire to be anything but. He is prone to violent outbursts, he gets no mail, no visits, and makes no phone calls. He alludes to murders in his past, that may be true, or may be lies intended to inspire jail cred. He has spent the bulk of his life in prison and will continue to do so, and in my opinion, he is why we build jails and should build more.
But what is a just punishment for him attempting to steal a truck in the Woodlands?
And what is a just punishment for people who commit property crimes when they are dumped homeless onto the streets of Houston with no money, family, resources or skills at urban outdoor living.
What is justice? I know that I have been as blind as I have accused other of being. But I still do not claim to know what is just.
I do know this: Life is too complicated to paint the accused and the convicted with one broad stroke and either condemn or mitigate our sins as one. But, I can say, strongly, that the people I have encountered, people in here that inspire revulsion, is far rarer than those that inspire compassion, and that may be the strongest statement of all. In any case, I realize that I really have no answers, despite all the evidence I collect.
Sunday, December 7, 2014
Struggling with the holidays. by Lesa
I am exhausted. I have spent the day getting caught up on chores, that I only got half way done with, I still have not started on Christmas projects, although I did put up a few Christmas decorations, including a sad two foot artificial tree, I always get a real one, it is pathetic, but still somewhat festive. I am fighting depression, some days it gets away with me and I give in, other days I fight it off, with Wesley's help and phone calls. I am working a lot of hours, I am overdue on maintenance on my jeep, and it needed new tires too, and in December, it is eating up all my Christmas money. I am taking a ski vacation with the kids in New Mexico, so everyone is making Christmas a little scaled back to have vacation money. But, it is incredibly difficult that it is December 7 and I have not bought one single solitary thing for Christmas. Payday is Thursday, but again, all the extra money will go to the jeep, and bills. I am not sure what, if anything will be left. When I start trying to add it in my head I start getting overwhelmed and getting upset. I am sure when my children read this they will all say the same thing, no worries mom, we are just glad to all be together, they are awesome that way.
I have some surprises that I hope to get done, might have some Jessica help, but if it doesn't come along everyone will understand. Most of us are broke for one reason or another. But its Christmas, and its my tradition to overdo it. lol. I keep praying that God will help me through this lesson. I have had broke Christmases as a child, I was fine. But as an adult, I have always gone overboard and crazy, we love Christmas. But Christmas is NOT about the stuff. We all know that, but the love behind the stuff. And I wouldn't care one bit if I did not get anything from anyone, well, except that one special thing from hubby. Don't be crass, I mean that he is wearing, right now, a new t-shirt, decorated with messages of love....getting his scent all over it. Yes, for Christmas, my most precious present will be a smelly t-shirt from my husband. Oh, it won't stink, but, as you have maybe seen someone smell a worn shirt when they are missing a loved one, I so miss his smell, its comfort. It is incubating as we speak. I am very excited.
I did get some interesting news at work. I was offered a job. A straight 8-5 M-F, no holidays or weekends, kind of job. I officially interview this week, hopefully tomorrow. I am afraid I may not be able to meet my current pay, especially when times are tough, I can always pick up a shift for overtime. I will no longer be able to do that, or I am exempt from it, I no longer get paid for working overtime. It is for a new program, so there will be overtime getting it started, but probably not excessive.
Back to Christmas...Wesley and I usually watch "Love Actually" every week, some times twice a week, it is our tradition together. I did not make it through the intro without crying, I tried three times, so I am not going to do it. I am miserable without him here. Our life does not work without him. Isaac is down too. I chewed his butt out for his drop in grades, he was grumpy, but went up stairs, spent all night and further getting caught up with stuff and finishing a project. The next few days he got his work done sitting with me after I got home, I got home early this week since I am working in a clinic for the week. Regular hours, it seems, made a difference to having me home with him. I had not realized that working and not getting home til 8 pm. was giving him a bit of a challenge. New job would be good for that too, will just have to pray and see how salary negotiations go, after the interview, of course.
Well, I have procrastinated on the Christmas projects enough, better get back to it. Keeping my head up, for today anyways. Keep yours up too, it can be overwhelming. Everybody has life issues, but remembering that friends and family are a text away, or call, or if I am not really wanting to talk, I can get on Facebook and just read about how everyone else is doing. It usually picks me up. And, I have mentioned before, do something for someone else. Giving time, money, thoughtful gestures to another takes your mind of your own troubles, and allows God to work through you.
God bless.
I have some surprises that I hope to get done, might have some Jessica help, but if it doesn't come along everyone will understand. Most of us are broke for one reason or another. But its Christmas, and its my tradition to overdo it. lol. I keep praying that God will help me through this lesson. I have had broke Christmases as a child, I was fine. But as an adult, I have always gone overboard and crazy, we love Christmas. But Christmas is NOT about the stuff. We all know that, but the love behind the stuff. And I wouldn't care one bit if I did not get anything from anyone, well, except that one special thing from hubby. Don't be crass, I mean that he is wearing, right now, a new t-shirt, decorated with messages of love....getting his scent all over it. Yes, for Christmas, my most precious present will be a smelly t-shirt from my husband. Oh, it won't stink, but, as you have maybe seen someone smell a worn shirt when they are missing a loved one, I so miss his smell, its comfort. It is incubating as we speak. I am very excited.
I did get some interesting news at work. I was offered a job. A straight 8-5 M-F, no holidays or weekends, kind of job. I officially interview this week, hopefully tomorrow. I am afraid I may not be able to meet my current pay, especially when times are tough, I can always pick up a shift for overtime. I will no longer be able to do that, or I am exempt from it, I no longer get paid for working overtime. It is for a new program, so there will be overtime getting it started, but probably not excessive.
Back to Christmas...Wesley and I usually watch "Love Actually" every week, some times twice a week, it is our tradition together. I did not make it through the intro without crying, I tried three times, so I am not going to do it. I am miserable without him here. Our life does not work without him. Isaac is down too. I chewed his butt out for his drop in grades, he was grumpy, but went up stairs, spent all night and further getting caught up with stuff and finishing a project. The next few days he got his work done sitting with me after I got home, I got home early this week since I am working in a clinic for the week. Regular hours, it seems, made a difference to having me home with him. I had not realized that working and not getting home til 8 pm. was giving him a bit of a challenge. New job would be good for that too, will just have to pray and see how salary negotiations go, after the interview, of course.
Well, I have procrastinated on the Christmas projects enough, better get back to it. Keeping my head up, for today anyways. Keep yours up too, it can be overwhelming. Everybody has life issues, but remembering that friends and family are a text away, or call, or if I am not really wanting to talk, I can get on Facebook and just read about how everyone else is doing. It usually picks me up. And, I have mentioned before, do something for someone else. Giving time, money, thoughtful gestures to another takes your mind of your own troubles, and allows God to work through you.
God bless.
Thanksgiving. by Wesley
Thanksgiving
Today is Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday of the year. It is a day to appreciate your friends and family and take joy in just being together. No commercialism, no nonsense, just love and companionship.
And football, of course, but clearly the Cowboys didn't get the friggin' memo this year!
The dorm (I'm not comfortable with the word- too collegiate- but everyone else uses it) is quiet.
People lounging around. People deal with the holidays in here in 2 ways: They are either festive or they sleep all day and ignore the calendar altogether.
The kitchen staff, I must admit, did not poison us. I realize such a conclusion is premature but the signs are positive. In any case, we have turnkey roll slices with mashed potatoes roughly every two weeks, so they have plenty of practice with the meal.
Nevertheless, this is an important day on my annual schedule and I am positively scandalized at the lack of effort! Accordingly, I vow, VOW, I tell you, that I will never come to the jail for Thanksgiving dinner again.
Despite the lackluster meal in my current location, I am thankful. I am thankful that I have wonderful kids that keep me entertained through the mail. I'm thankful that I have wonderful brothers and sisters, and a mother who love me.
And I'm thankful for my wonderful wife. She struggles in my absence with doing both of our jobs and chores,but always makes sure I have what I need and that I know I'm loved.
I love you all and I appreciate you all so much.
Today is Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday of the year. It is a day to appreciate your friends and family and take joy in just being together. No commercialism, no nonsense, just love and companionship.
And football, of course, but clearly the Cowboys didn't get the friggin' memo this year!
The dorm (I'm not comfortable with the word- too collegiate- but everyone else uses it) is quiet.
People lounging around. People deal with the holidays in here in 2 ways: They are either festive or they sleep all day and ignore the calendar altogether.
The kitchen staff, I must admit, did not poison us. I realize such a conclusion is premature but the signs are positive. In any case, we have turnkey roll slices with mashed potatoes roughly every two weeks, so they have plenty of practice with the meal.
Nevertheless, this is an important day on my annual schedule and I am positively scandalized at the lack of effort! Accordingly, I vow, VOW, I tell you, that I will never come to the jail for Thanksgiving dinner again.
Despite the lackluster meal in my current location, I am thankful. I am thankful that I have wonderful kids that keep me entertained through the mail. I'm thankful that I have wonderful brothers and sisters, and a mother who love me.
And I'm thankful for my wonderful wife. She struggles in my absence with doing both of our jobs and chores,but always makes sure I have what I need and that I know I'm loved.
I love you all and I appreciate you all so much.
Losing a dear friend. By Wesley
The blog has suffered of late. Both Lesa and I have suffered through a series of events that threatened to overwhelm us. Personal, financial and other set backs that came over us like waves. One after another and each stronger than the last.
My lawyer died.
I'm in jail and I have entrusted my well being to a man, and he died. This is a scary scenario, believe me.
But Brad was so much more than my lawyer. He was my employer. I worked with him for a couple of years and we were just starting to understand what our mutually beneficial relationship would look like.
But he was my friend and much more. He calmed me. He made me feel like everything was going to be okay when I was overcome by fear. He was a huge bear of a man: 6'10 400 pounds, with a deep voice that washed over your panic and soothed you.
Every time I beat myself up, he would assure me that I would eventually get my license back, that he would not give up on me.
After my efforts resulted in a big win for him and his client, he called me brilliant and it lifted my spirits because I knew him to be one of the smartest lawyers I have ever known. And despite all of this, despite the fact that I loved him like a brother, I knew he was flawed.
He had long since stopped preparing the way he should. He'd lost some confidence, and losing when he'd not fully prepared was easier on the ego than losing when fully prepared.
He drank way too much, smoked too much and was deeply depressed.
And I was planning on firing him. While he was falling to the floor, paralyzed by the stroke that ended his life, I was leaving a message, begging him to call me, asking about his health, and giving instructions. When I hung up, I made snide comment about whether I would still have a job when this was over if I fired my boss.
He was always there for me, and while he was dying, I was jumping ship.
I am such a dick.
My lawyer died.
I'm in jail and I have entrusted my well being to a man, and he died. This is a scary scenario, believe me.
But Brad was so much more than my lawyer. He was my employer. I worked with him for a couple of years and we were just starting to understand what our mutually beneficial relationship would look like.
But he was my friend and much more. He calmed me. He made me feel like everything was going to be okay when I was overcome by fear. He was a huge bear of a man: 6'10 400 pounds, with a deep voice that washed over your panic and soothed you.
Every time I beat myself up, he would assure me that I would eventually get my license back, that he would not give up on me.
After my efforts resulted in a big win for him and his client, he called me brilliant and it lifted my spirits because I knew him to be one of the smartest lawyers I have ever known. And despite all of this, despite the fact that I loved him like a brother, I knew he was flawed.
He had long since stopped preparing the way he should. He'd lost some confidence, and losing when he'd not fully prepared was easier on the ego than losing when fully prepared.
He drank way too much, smoked too much and was deeply depressed.
And I was planning on firing him. While he was falling to the floor, paralyzed by the stroke that ended his life, I was leaving a message, begging him to call me, asking about his health, and giving instructions. When I hung up, I made snide comment about whether I would still have a job when this was over if I fired my boss.
He was always there for me, and while he was dying, I was jumping ship.
I am such a dick.
Visit from my probation officer. by Wesley
My new bunk mate is ethnically indigenous Hawaiian Islander. He was born and raised in Maine. He is covered in tattoos that look like the state of Texas and statements like, "Southern Pride". These thoughtful ink proclamations are crowded by swastikas and "ss" bolts. He redefines multiculturalism.
He also smells bad and is just a bit smarter than a cold brisket. Owing to his Pacific Island heritage, he is huge, so I keep my clever judgments to myself.
I was visited by my probation officer and received what some might call some staggeringly bad news (by "some" I mean "I"): it seems that on 9/3 when I went to court it was made clear to my now deceased lawyer that I would not be allowed to leave until everything was worked out in Harris County.
On some level, I already knew that, and had been begging him to use the game of "keep away" to work out a deal in Harris county to grease the skids. That did not happen. That's the good news. The bad news is that nothing happened at all so I have essentially been sitting here for about 110 days for no reason.
So I got that goin' for me. which is nice.
I recognize that every day I sit is a day closer to going home. Allegedly. This is true only in the most chronological of ways. The reality is that the sooner everything gets worked out, the sooner I will go home.
In the meantime, I will avoid my Nazi Hawaiian bunk mate and his strangely stained under garments that make me throw up, just a little.
He also smells bad and is just a bit smarter than a cold brisket. Owing to his Pacific Island heritage, he is huge, so I keep my clever judgments to myself.
I was visited by my probation officer and received what some might call some staggeringly bad news (by "some" I mean "I"): it seems that on 9/3 when I went to court it was made clear to my now deceased lawyer that I would not be allowed to leave until everything was worked out in Harris County.
On some level, I already knew that, and had been begging him to use the game of "keep away" to work out a deal in Harris county to grease the skids. That did not happen. That's the good news. The bad news is that nothing happened at all so I have essentially been sitting here for about 110 days for no reason.
So I got that goin' for me. which is nice.
I recognize that every day I sit is a day closer to going home. Allegedly. This is true only in the most chronological of ways. The reality is that the sooner everything gets worked out, the sooner I will go home.
In the meantime, I will avoid my Nazi Hawaiian bunk mate and his strangely stained under garments that make me throw up, just a little.
Disgusting behavior. by Wesley
11/12/2014
My daughter will tell you I'm squeamish. She watched me toss my cookies once, years ago, when I drank milk that had expired. Expired that very day, as a matter of fact.
Almost everyone who knows me well could share a tale of me retching or vomiting while people giggled away at my squeamishness. I get it, it's my thing. Yet, I was enlisted in the Navy for nine years, so I'm accustomed to men being boys when they think no one is watching. And by "no one", I mean no women they might want to have sex with.... And by "no woman they might want to have sex with", I mean "no women at all".
We do things. I have seen a grown man eat a live cockroach in the barracks because he wanted to gross me out- and he is from West Virginia. (I'm not certain which of these two factors was more relevant to his food choices that day).
In 9 years I saw a lot of gross boy behavior. None of what I saw prepared me for what I saw in jail last night.
One man dug his finger into another man's nose and pulled it out. His fingertip glistened with first-cold-front-of-the-year-snot. He put that fingertip into his mouth and sucked it clean. That was nothing. Amateur hour. Kid's stuff.
The picker complained of a painful zit on his ass. The picker told him to turn over and he popped the offending zit on the ass cheek of another man and licked the results from his fingertips.
Yes, he did. You can't make this shit up.
Stress in the tank. By Wesley
There are times when the events in our lives happen quite unexpectedly. Not because we are careless or because we are willfully ignorant, but because sometimes shit just happens. There are other times when events are as predictable as sunset, yet we are surprised.
If I began an anecdote with: "I'm playing poker with guys who are members of the Bloods, the Aryan Circle, and the Aryan Brotherhood...." There are endings that are predictable and endings that might surprise you.
I'm playing poker with guys who are members of The Bloods, The Aryan Circle, and the Aryan Brotherhood. There are a smattering of independent violent felons who come and go, but we have a core group of guys who play. It takes our minds off where we are and it passes the time.
We play tournaments, winner take all. It is a format we developed over the last couple of weeks and it was working well. The buy in is a soup and a stamped envelope. They cost $1.45
The games have been highlighted by laughs and camaraderie and general pleasant times since we began. Cracks have been developing. Some I have seen and some I have missed. I try to keep an eye on events and relationships so that I can avoid trouble. I have a pretty good track record of predicting events, and I began to feel like I needed to quit playing poker.
It began with the coffee shots the "Aryans" do. They put 10 or more teaspoons of instant coffee into Dr. Pepper with cinnamon candy and suck it all down. To this day, I have no idea why these guys do this. Why would you want to get pumped up on caffeine locked in a small room packed with men? I just want to go to sleep and wake up in 40 days....pee....and go back to sleep.
Mostly, only white guys with little hair and "ss" tattoos do this. Yesterday, they were pumped on their shots and insults were being hurled around by one of the Aryan Circle guys who is obviously convinced that he is the smartest guy in the room. he is constantly insulting people and would probably be beaten up on a daily basis if he weren't a steroid junkie no one will challenge.
He and a small time dope dealer nearly went into a fist fight over the disposition of $.15 cents. Yes, the proper allocation of one dime and one nickel nearly had them throwing punches. I decided it was time for me to quit.
Later, the leader of the Bloods was head to head against one of his underlings. He decided, when he was short stacked, that he wanted to end it right then and split the winnings. His underling refused and subsequently won the pot.
He also won a serious beating for refusing to do what was demanded and share the soup and envelopes. Then we all were rewarded with a couple of hours of a shouting that the beaten man was not really a blood, was weak, probably gay, and a man with a painful immediate future. He was called a "bitch ass ho" and a "Ho ass bitch" and many more terrible accusations that I can neither confirm, deny, or accurately translate. But they must be bad.
In any case, my card playing days are over.
Chess anyone?
If I began an anecdote with: "I'm playing poker with guys who are members of the Bloods, the Aryan Circle, and the Aryan Brotherhood...." There are endings that are predictable and endings that might surprise you.
I'm playing poker with guys who are members of The Bloods, The Aryan Circle, and the Aryan Brotherhood. There are a smattering of independent violent felons who come and go, but we have a core group of guys who play. It takes our minds off where we are and it passes the time.
We play tournaments, winner take all. It is a format we developed over the last couple of weeks and it was working well. The buy in is a soup and a stamped envelope. They cost $1.45
The games have been highlighted by laughs and camaraderie and general pleasant times since we began. Cracks have been developing. Some I have seen and some I have missed. I try to keep an eye on events and relationships so that I can avoid trouble. I have a pretty good track record of predicting events, and I began to feel like I needed to quit playing poker.
It began with the coffee shots the "Aryans" do. They put 10 or more teaspoons of instant coffee into Dr. Pepper with cinnamon candy and suck it all down. To this day, I have no idea why these guys do this. Why would you want to get pumped up on caffeine locked in a small room packed with men? I just want to go to sleep and wake up in 40 days....pee....and go back to sleep.
Mostly, only white guys with little hair and "ss" tattoos do this. Yesterday, they were pumped on their shots and insults were being hurled around by one of the Aryan Circle guys who is obviously convinced that he is the smartest guy in the room. he is constantly insulting people and would probably be beaten up on a daily basis if he weren't a steroid junkie no one will challenge.
He and a small time dope dealer nearly went into a fist fight over the disposition of $.15 cents. Yes, the proper allocation of one dime and one nickel nearly had them throwing punches. I decided it was time for me to quit.
Later, the leader of the Bloods was head to head against one of his underlings. He decided, when he was short stacked, that he wanted to end it right then and split the winnings. His underling refused and subsequently won the pot.
He also won a serious beating for refusing to do what was demanded and share the soup and envelopes. Then we all were rewarded with a couple of hours of a shouting that the beaten man was not really a blood, was weak, probably gay, and a man with a painful immediate future. He was called a "bitch ass ho" and a "Ho ass bitch" and many more terrible accusations that I can neither confirm, deny, or accurately translate. But they must be bad.
In any case, my card playing days are over.
Chess anyone?
Saturday, December 6, 2014
Guilt or innocence. by Wesley
10/28/2014
Today, for about the 10,000th time, I heard the stories. They are heard at every table in this cell, every bunk area conversation, every whispered talk after lights out.
They are variations of the same theme, but they all boil down to one thing. Not guilty! Innocent! Everyone here, (ok, lets say ALMOST everyone) , is innocent. And they will tell you that every single day unless you find ways to escape the cloisters of conversation that endlessly abound.
There are also boundless conspiracies against everyone. If you have lost your job as a trustee, it isn't because you were stealing, it is because that guard is out to get you. (Actually, this one tickles me most of all, some of these guys actually believe that guards go home and scheme and plot against them instead of eating, having a drink, sex, and a life. I beg my peers to understand that the guards do not give a rat's piss about inmate drama when the doors close behind them at the end of the shift); if your mail ended up in the courtroom instead of distributed at mail call, it isn't because your family misaddressed the envelope, it's because they are "fuckin'" with your mail.
I would rather drive a tent peg through my balls than listen to just one more protestation of innocence when I heard you brag about the behavior 20 minutes earlier.
Unfortunately, I have been outed by a former client so I'm inundated with questions and people wanting advice. I don't mind, I like to help ease people's minds, and my advice is usually, "do what your lawyer says." But it does mean I hear the same stuff more than your average resident.
I spend more and more time hidden in my bunk behind the wall of paperbacks, because I think many of these guys forget my troubles are the same as their troubles. I have all the same fears, all the same problems with attorney communication (and he is my friend!) and all the same stress.
Only one difference: I am guilty.
Today, for about the 10,000th time, I heard the stories. They are heard at every table in this cell, every bunk area conversation, every whispered talk after lights out.
They are variations of the same theme, but they all boil down to one thing. Not guilty! Innocent! Everyone here, (ok, lets say ALMOST everyone) , is innocent. And they will tell you that every single day unless you find ways to escape the cloisters of conversation that endlessly abound.
There are also boundless conspiracies against everyone. If you have lost your job as a trustee, it isn't because you were stealing, it is because that guard is out to get you. (Actually, this one tickles me most of all, some of these guys actually believe that guards go home and scheme and plot against them instead of eating, having a drink, sex, and a life. I beg my peers to understand that the guards do not give a rat's piss about inmate drama when the doors close behind them at the end of the shift); if your mail ended up in the courtroom instead of distributed at mail call, it isn't because your family misaddressed the envelope, it's because they are "fuckin'" with your mail.
I would rather drive a tent peg through my balls than listen to just one more protestation of innocence when I heard you brag about the behavior 20 minutes earlier.
Unfortunately, I have been outed by a former client so I'm inundated with questions and people wanting advice. I don't mind, I like to help ease people's minds, and my advice is usually, "do what your lawyer says." But it does mean I hear the same stuff more than your average resident.
I spend more and more time hidden in my bunk behind the wall of paperbacks, because I think many of these guys forget my troubles are the same as their troubles. I have all the same fears, all the same problems with attorney communication (and he is my friend!) and all the same stress.
Only one difference: I am guilty.
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
Wake. Read. Eat. Sleep. by Wesley
10/23/2014
Wake. Read. Eat. Sleep.
My days are simple enough. There are few variables. The biggest variable is the faces I share space with. I don't even know many of their names. I know their alleged crimes (still a criminal defense attorney inside). Why learn their names...
Wake. Read. Eat. Sleep.
They may be here for a day or two before they disappear? Most arrive when I'm sleeping and are gone in hours. Others stay for a day or three or five. Faces blending together out of relevance to me.
Wake. Read. Eat. Sleep.
It is nothing that can be said to adequately describe the tedium. The T.V. is on from 9 am. until 10:30 pm. on every day, except Friday and Saturday- which days it stays on till 1:30 am. The programming is either football or car shows.
Wake. Read. Eat. Sleep.
I got out to "rec" today. Only one other person from the tank went out with me. I looked forward to some quiet time walking in the crisp autumn morning in solitude. Instead, I was regaled with the minutia of his family and legal troubles. I am acquainted with his situation well enough I could finish his sentences and point out facts he wasn't considering. Sadly, I didn't want to hear it the first time.
Wake. Read. Eat. Sleep.
Wake. Read. Eat. Sleep.
Wake. Read. Eat. Sleep.
My days are simple enough. There are few variables. The biggest variable is the faces I share space with. I don't even know many of their names. I know their alleged crimes (still a criminal defense attorney inside). Why learn their names...
Wake. Read. Eat. Sleep.
They may be here for a day or two before they disappear? Most arrive when I'm sleeping and are gone in hours. Others stay for a day or three or five. Faces blending together out of relevance to me.
Wake. Read. Eat. Sleep.
It is nothing that can be said to adequately describe the tedium. The T.V. is on from 9 am. until 10:30 pm. on every day, except Friday and Saturday- which days it stays on till 1:30 am. The programming is either football or car shows.
Wake. Read. Eat. Sleep.
I got out to "rec" today. Only one other person from the tank went out with me. I looked forward to some quiet time walking in the crisp autumn morning in solitude. Instead, I was regaled with the minutia of his family and legal troubles. I am acquainted with his situation well enough I could finish his sentences and point out facts he wasn't considering. Sadly, I didn't want to hear it the first time.
Wake. Read. Eat. Sleep.
Wake. Read. Eat. Sleep.
Faith, God, and Religion. by Wesley
10/17/2014
I have mentioned before my interest in how incarcerated people turn to God. "No Atheists in foxholes" extended to jail. I have always had an interest in religion(s). As a child that manifested itself in a lifestyle that revolved around the church and its activities. All my friends were members of my church and I went so far as to make missionary trips.
Now, my interest is more of an academic pursuit. I won't address why I don't believe. I don't think that should be the starting point of a debate. If you believe in the God of the Jews, Christians, and Muslims, and the zingers you support your argument with are biblical/Koranic quotes, then we have nothing to talk about. That is not an argument. It is a circular logic and means nothing. I could choose any book, tell you that it is true and, when asked, tell you , it is true because the book says that it is true.
There is another aspect of belief that doesn't attempt to rely on rationalizing the irrational: It is simply having faith.
My loving wife has faith. She won't engage in debates about the history, science, zoology, astronomy, archaeology, geology, etc., because she doesn't need evidence to support her faith. That's a good thing too, because there isn't any.
What she does have transcends any of that. She has a quiet faith that gives her strength. Her faith soothes her, it lifts her spirits and calms her. it is her Polaris when she is lost, every present, guiding her when she is lost; a constant. In my mind, attempting to rationalize faith and argue the evidence of any religion accomplishes two things: first, it makes the proponent of rationalization look like a buffoon; More importantly, rationalization casts doubt on a person's faith, there is no need to demonstrate the rationale supporting. There ought not be a need for rationale at all. Lesa would listen to my arguments, shake her head and say something along the lines of "I don't know enough about that to argue, I just know I have faith."
I respect that.
All of that said, I found myself this morning with my hands clasped together on the verge of prayer, and tears when I was feeling particularly helpless. It was a visceral response, I had no epiphany. It's no surprise that a product of western civilization, as I am, would think of praying. When I feel sad, impatient, and powerless.
There will be no prayer for me. I have no faith and I'm okay with that. I actually envy those who can close their eyes and find strength from their faith. The quiet strength and peace in the face of all we have to fear is a gift.
Disclaimer: saying "faith" is a "gift" is an intentional use of irony. Please do not attempt to use my rhetorical device against me!
~note by Lesa.
I never write during my husbands blog entries, but this one begged for it. God has poured love into me, loved me, protected me from evil, sent beautiful people in my life to pray for me, help me, support me, my life is full and forever changed by God and his people who have loved me. My husband who has had to run from emotions, and love, his whole life to protect his broken heart, desperately needs to feel God's love and protection. I could never argue with his intellect. I can only share my humble experiences. I don't remember ever feeling God not being there. As a little girl, I remember sitting in church, working hard to not be distracted, to sing to God, to talk to him. I remember, crying, at the tender age of 8, about to be raped by a neighbor, crying quietly alone in my bed, to be saved....moving, that next day, suddenly, out of state. I could go on and on with stories of love that God has shown me. I want my husband to know that love. To not use his intellect as an excuse, or his pride, to accept the love he was always meant to have, and deserves. I think, he still thinks he doesn't deserve it, or perhaps is afraid of accepting love from a Father God who will never fail him, as his own father did. Please pray for Wesley, that God would reach him, in a way that only God can, or by using the many loving people who love him and know the Lord. I thank you.
Our rollercoaster month. by Lesa
As I scramble to get caught up on my husbands blog entries I thought I would take a moment to share a tiny bit of the insanity of our lives. The last month has been quite stressful and I have been on overload. I apologize for not writing and sharing and keeping up with my side of this blog.
In order to make my bills and pay for phone and commissary and such, I usually work my usual 3 days with 1 extra day every other week. My sweet mother-in-law, and sister-in-law who lives with her, needed to move from her home to an apartment. I assisted some with packing, but getting ready to move it was apparent they did not have sufficient help. I took a day off and called off for my extra day. They also had tons of stuff they couldn't take with them and was going to hire an estate person to sell for them, at the charge of 35%, but they back out. So my daughter and I stepped in, and for two weeks, every day off was spent there getting everything organized, priced, advertising, etc...it went very well, but after three weeks, I was exhausted, broke, emotionally drained missing my husband, it was getting close to Thanksgiving, and I wanted to do anything to avoid it. It is my husbands favorite holiday. A day of nothing but love, food, fellowship...beautiful. I was so tired, and depressed and overwhelmed after neglecting my own home for 3 weeks. My beautiful daughter Jessica, after her own full work week, came over and helped clean, brightened the world with her smile, energy and beautiful spirit. She also told me she is moving to Maryland with her boyfriend, soon to be engaged. My heart is torn. I am happy to see this kid grown, healthy, happy, in love...and heart broken she will be so far. It is completely selfish. I thought I had ground it into my children's heads that they were not to move out of state, since they were children...but I guess it was bound to happen, that at least one of them would move away. It seems that my emotional state around the holidays makes it worse. And since I know my children read this, I want to say, I am truly, supportive in my daughter moving, it is what makes her happy. She is ready to be away from Houston and its bad memories, past mistakes, I totally get that. I am happy that she has found someone to love and to love her, but I would be lying to say I am not a little sad too. Perhaps that just comes with children growing up.
Also around this time, my husbands attorney, good friend, and boss died. I can't even begin to explain the week of emotional turmoil. For someone in jail, who's lifeline to freedom, dies, it devastating. Never mind that it was his friend and mentor, the one person who would tell him he was awesome and would practice law again some day. To look in his eyes, through the visitors glass and tell him that his friend had died....we didn't talk for 10 minutes, I was a mess before I got there, much less telling him that I loved him and it would be okay, he could just hold it together, wipe an escaped tear or two, it sucked not being able to just hold his hand, our hands touch on either side of the glass, with our hands in the sign of I love you in sign language....both of our heart hurting and neither able to just hold and console the other...it just sucked. I went to work, and Isaac and I ate a lot of take out that week. Good thing my son is easy going. He is happy to just sit together, eating our burgers and watching Family Guy, just happy to have me there with him in the evening.
I am still very emotional. Incredibly emotional patients who have touched my heart, all suffering and struggling, and I could just hold their hands and cry with them and tell them I was there. I love my job, I love this part of my job, but it has been draining.
Tonight, as I am trying to attempt to get caught up on all the entries my husband has been sending me and I am rereading them and feeling the struggle of the last few weeks, several things are apparent. One, I am so loved and cared for by my family, especially my kids, and my husband, as he saw me struggling, put his own grief aside, called often to encourage me, wrote loving thoughtful letters everyday, even though I was unable to write much during those three weeks, my beautiful children filled in the gap, THANK YOU kids!! They wrote my husband, sent him books, called to check on me, I have been so loved...so preciously loved, I can't explain the surprise of getting flowers, just because, on a rotten week, a Christmas CD, there are so many thoughtful things. Two, I love my job, most days, I always trust that God puts me where I am supposed to be, to minister to those who he needs me to love. Three, so many people in this world, in MY world are suffering, and the simplest acts mean so much. It doesn't take someone overly sensitive or sympathetic to see the needy of the world, change someone's life, in a small, or a big way. It helps, when you feel overwhelmed and sad, to instead of focusing on that, to give of oneself, you are blessed. God is good.
In order to make my bills and pay for phone and commissary and such, I usually work my usual 3 days with 1 extra day every other week. My sweet mother-in-law, and sister-in-law who lives with her, needed to move from her home to an apartment. I assisted some with packing, but getting ready to move it was apparent they did not have sufficient help. I took a day off and called off for my extra day. They also had tons of stuff they couldn't take with them and was going to hire an estate person to sell for them, at the charge of 35%, but they back out. So my daughter and I stepped in, and for two weeks, every day off was spent there getting everything organized, priced, advertising, etc...it went very well, but after three weeks, I was exhausted, broke, emotionally drained missing my husband, it was getting close to Thanksgiving, and I wanted to do anything to avoid it. It is my husbands favorite holiday. A day of nothing but love, food, fellowship...beautiful. I was so tired, and depressed and overwhelmed after neglecting my own home for 3 weeks. My beautiful daughter Jessica, after her own full work week, came over and helped clean, brightened the world with her smile, energy and beautiful spirit. She also told me she is moving to Maryland with her boyfriend, soon to be engaged. My heart is torn. I am happy to see this kid grown, healthy, happy, in love...and heart broken she will be so far. It is completely selfish. I thought I had ground it into my children's heads that they were not to move out of state, since they were children...but I guess it was bound to happen, that at least one of them would move away. It seems that my emotional state around the holidays makes it worse. And since I know my children read this, I want to say, I am truly, supportive in my daughter moving, it is what makes her happy. She is ready to be away from Houston and its bad memories, past mistakes, I totally get that. I am happy that she has found someone to love and to love her, but I would be lying to say I am not a little sad too. Perhaps that just comes with children growing up.
Also around this time, my husbands attorney, good friend, and boss died. I can't even begin to explain the week of emotional turmoil. For someone in jail, who's lifeline to freedom, dies, it devastating. Never mind that it was his friend and mentor, the one person who would tell him he was awesome and would practice law again some day. To look in his eyes, through the visitors glass and tell him that his friend had died....we didn't talk for 10 minutes, I was a mess before I got there, much less telling him that I loved him and it would be okay, he could just hold it together, wipe an escaped tear or two, it sucked not being able to just hold his hand, our hands touch on either side of the glass, with our hands in the sign of I love you in sign language....both of our heart hurting and neither able to just hold and console the other...it just sucked. I went to work, and Isaac and I ate a lot of take out that week. Good thing my son is easy going. He is happy to just sit together, eating our burgers and watching Family Guy, just happy to have me there with him in the evening.
I am still very emotional. Incredibly emotional patients who have touched my heart, all suffering and struggling, and I could just hold their hands and cry with them and tell them I was there. I love my job, I love this part of my job, but it has been draining.
Tonight, as I am trying to attempt to get caught up on all the entries my husband has been sending me and I am rereading them and feeling the struggle of the last few weeks, several things are apparent. One, I am so loved and cared for by my family, especially my kids, and my husband, as he saw me struggling, put his own grief aside, called often to encourage me, wrote loving thoughtful letters everyday, even though I was unable to write much during those three weeks, my beautiful children filled in the gap, THANK YOU kids!! They wrote my husband, sent him books, called to check on me, I have been so loved...so preciously loved, I can't explain the surprise of getting flowers, just because, on a rotten week, a Christmas CD, there are so many thoughtful things. Two, I love my job, most days, I always trust that God puts me where I am supposed to be, to minister to those who he needs me to love. Three, so many people in this world, in MY world are suffering, and the simplest acts mean so much. It doesn't take someone overly sensitive or sympathetic to see the needy of the world, change someone's life, in a small, or a big way. It helps, when you feel overwhelmed and sad, to instead of focusing on that, to give of oneself, you are blessed. God is good.
"Jailhouse Ink". by Wesley
10/16/2014
The second I get out of here, I am flying directly to LA, or Miami, or New York to pitch the most amazing reality show. It will be "Miami Ink" meets "County Jail". We will call it "Jailhouse Ink" or "Rorshach Tats" but the theme is simple. It will follow the trials and tribulations of the jailhouse tattoo artist and will highlight their work.
Those pansies on the current crop of shows with their equipment and talent will pale in comparison.
The don't even have much to fear from Hepatitis A-D!
The diseases, the lack of equipment, the (illegality!), are all compelling, but once the show focuses on the work the show's star quality will shine. Walking the cells, halls, and "yards" of any correctional facility will reveal tattoo work that is so colossally bad, so cringe inducing, you would think the tattoos were the punishment.
I see this guy regularly that has a faceful of tattoos. He's about 19 or so, and looks hardened. His tats look like a child drew them on his face with a pen. There are chains and hearts and the occasional treble clef and musical note. He has one that says, "Hug Life" upon first glance until you notice the misshapen "T" in the background.
I prefer "hug Life". Makes me think the kid has just gotten a raw deal; he's just misunderstood. How could you lock up someone that invested in the "Hug Life"?
I will not even address the myriad swastikas, "SS" designations, and other symbology. I wonder whether other dead genocidal maniacs are envious of the uushy (?), nostalgic treatment the 3rd Reich receives in American jails. How come Joe Stalin doesn't have a crew running around with a Hammer and Sickle stamped on their chest? Where are Pol Pot's boyz?
The "Aryan" iconography extends beyond the 3rd Reich. Some have extended it to Northern European gods, gremlins and such. One of my neighbors has what appears to be an Ewok with horns on his arm. This not so fierce tattoo has sharp teeth and claws, but how scary is an Ewok?
It's probably not an Ewok, of course, but damn, it looks like one to a guy my age.
Quick question: What's worse?
a)Jar Jar Binks and all of his kind
b)Ewoks
c)nothing is worse than A&B
This is just the beginning of the show I have planned. Ordinary reality show drama will pale in comparison to the drama in here. "Artists" being sent to segregation just for their art will add an element of Artistic suppression that will make this show a sure fire hit- and never mind the everyday beatings and shankings.
The second I get out of here, I am flying directly to LA, or Miami, or New York to pitch the most amazing reality show. It will be "Miami Ink" meets "County Jail". We will call it "Jailhouse Ink" or "Rorshach Tats" but the theme is simple. It will follow the trials and tribulations of the jailhouse tattoo artist and will highlight their work.
Those pansies on the current crop of shows with their equipment and talent will pale in comparison.
The don't even have much to fear from Hepatitis A-D!
The diseases, the lack of equipment, the (illegality!), are all compelling, but once the show focuses on the work the show's star quality will shine. Walking the cells, halls, and "yards" of any correctional facility will reveal tattoo work that is so colossally bad, so cringe inducing, you would think the tattoos were the punishment.
I see this guy regularly that has a faceful of tattoos. He's about 19 or so, and looks hardened. His tats look like a child drew them on his face with a pen. There are chains and hearts and the occasional treble clef and musical note. He has one that says, "Hug Life" upon first glance until you notice the misshapen "T" in the background.
I prefer "hug Life". Makes me think the kid has just gotten a raw deal; he's just misunderstood. How could you lock up someone that invested in the "Hug Life"?
I will not even address the myriad swastikas, "SS" designations, and other symbology. I wonder whether other dead genocidal maniacs are envious of the uushy (?), nostalgic treatment the 3rd Reich receives in American jails. How come Joe Stalin doesn't have a crew running around with a Hammer and Sickle stamped on their chest? Where are Pol Pot's boyz?
The "Aryan" iconography extends beyond the 3rd Reich. Some have extended it to Northern European gods, gremlins and such. One of my neighbors has what appears to be an Ewok with horns on his arm. This not so fierce tattoo has sharp teeth and claws, but how scary is an Ewok?
It's probably not an Ewok, of course, but damn, it looks like one to a guy my age.
Quick question: What's worse?
a)Jar Jar Binks and all of his kind
b)Ewoks
c)nothing is worse than A&B
This is just the beginning of the show I have planned. Ordinary reality show drama will pale in comparison to the drama in here. "Artists" being sent to segregation just for their art will add an element of Artistic suppression that will make this show a sure fire hit- and never mind the everyday beatings and shankings.
"1 is the loneliest number". by Wesley
10/14/2014
My neighbor in here is afraid. A lifetime of mistakes has put him in a very bad position and he may never leave prison again. he is 43, and he considers his life over.
Every night, he tells me, he finds himself awash in a dream that repeats itself. He sits alone in a chair with only a lamp fighting off total darkness. The burden of his fear crippling him, he is unable to move. He says that his daughter appears from the darkness and crawls into his lap. She snuggles his chest and whispers, "everything is going to be okay, daddy."
His daughter is dead. He wakes up trembling nearly every morning. Whether the trembling is a result of fear or relief, who can say?
With the exception of the visits he receives from his dead daughter, he is alone in this world. He once had a wife, two daughters, a mother, a father....you know, a family.
His daughters are both dead, their passing a burden his marriage could not carry. His mother indeed too. His father somewhere in Massachusetts and his brother, in the prison system.
He has never heard the call of his name for a visit. Never felt the moment of joy. He has never waited in line to use the phone. There is no one to call. No one will put money on his books so he can buy a soup, or deodorant, or a chocolate treat, but, once in a while, every other week or so, he gets mail.
He reads it and he reads it, and he gets so animated and excited as anyone can be when someone reaches out to let them know that they are not alone. The letters come from about 100 yards away, but they may as well come from the dark side of the moon. The writer is another isolated soul, a woman who also is alone, who somehow got connected with him.
The information gets passed about. People say, "write to me" in passing to members of the opposite sex, or someone with the person's information passes it to you so lonely people can connect.
Who else will understand how it feels to be completely alone, in your mid 40's, facing the prospect of a long time in prison- maybe even the rest of your life? No one, but someone in the very same situation.
It is so easy to lose hope behind these walls. To forget the value of your existence. To feel insignificant. I feel that way often, and I have a supportive family and a particularly amazing wife.
There was a time I would have looked down my nose at contrived relationships like these. I would have smiled and smirked at them. Pathetic!
But I see things differently now. The greatest love can come from the unlikeliest places. No one can judge the genesis of love, of commitment. And why would it matter anyway? If two people can find love and solace (for you Lesa, inside joke), in the words of a stranger, then I salute them.
To find comfort in our often brutal world is a gift enough-- no matter where you find that gift.
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