my golly, i can't stop journaling

I live near a ritzy area that was once a retirement village. There are restrictive covenants out the wazoo for this town that caters to the rich.  The area has attracted younger families, now.  Mind you, they're well to do families, but gosh darn it, they have kids.  How inconsiderate.

Basketball courts have to be positioned in such a way that they aren't eyesores.  That's all well and good - but this past summer, there was an uproar over those noisy kids who played basketball in their back yards past 7 p.m.

Someone complained about all that riproaring ball bouncing and laughter, and the town council imposed a curfew of 7 p.m.  Of course, the parents raised their own ruckus, and that curfew was extended.  I forget by how much.

This same town refused to allow churches to set up facilities to house and feed the homeless during a particularly harsh winter.  Their reason was, they didn't want that element near them.  It was inviting trouble.  That could be!  Don't get me wrong, there's risk everywhere you go...but to me, it was unconscionable to deny a warm place and a hot meal to someone down on their luck.

Last week, I read an article concerning a petition for child-free sections in upscale restaurants.  This petition was initiated by people who do not want children to ruin their night out.

I realize that some children can be unruly, but I have to wonder...do these people read the paper, beyond the wall street journal?  Do they watch the nightly news?  Have they put up invisible gates to their community to keep out the riff-raff and the realities of the world?

It seems money can build walls so thick that they seal out the laughter of children.  It can purchase glass so frosted that the hungry can't be seen through it.  It can buy houses that are as silent as tombs, and certainly, it can buy a thick skin that can't be penetrated by memories of being young, or pierced by the imaginative thought of what it must be like to sleep in the cold.

If that's what money gets you, I'd rather be poor.

 

Watching the Scales go up, up, UP

There are few things that frighten me.  I can go into a prison full of criminals, wade through and greet them like they're neighbors I don't quite know.  Can stand toe-to-toe on my front porch with someone who shot my dog, and had a few years ago served time for terrorizing an entire street full of people, demand to know what the hell he thought he was doing and tell him he has to pay the vet bills.  But you could not pay me to go shopping on Black Friday.  I'll cower under the bed, whimper like a child while clutching my bank card and making the sign of the cross against anyone who wants me to go out there in that crowd where at least one person in it will knock you to the floor and walk over your prone body for a $29 dollar microwave. 

One year, I did it. Got up at 4 in the morning the day after Thanksgiving and headed for the Nameless In This Blog Retail Store.  It was 18 degrees, there was a half-mile long line of people who must have camped out overnight in the parking lot, and when the doors finally opened (i could see the sales associate's hand shake while turning the key), they rushed in like a tidal wave.  I lie to you not - within minutes, everything on my short list was washed clean from the shelves. I was jostled and bumped.  An 80 year old woman tried to run me down with her shopping cart, and I ended up buying items that were not on sale, then stood in the checkout line for twenty minutes.

The deals are great, if you can find any left, and I admire anyone with the temerity to face the crowds with unabashed determination, but it just isn't for me.

About six years ago, Another Nameless Retail Super Store had turkeys for 10 cents a pound.  When word reached me via telephone hotline at work, I left a little early in hopes of getting there before they were all snatched up and baking in someone else's oven.  I sprinted to the meat section, but lo and behold, they were gone.  I asked a sales associate if they planned to restock.

"No ma'am," he said dolefully.  "We sold out about an hour ago.  Two women came to blows over the last bird in the freezer, and we don't feel it would be prudent or responsible on our part to contribute more to holiday violence."

I could understand that.

But did you know, while Black Friday is touted as the biggest shopping day of the year, it really is not?  More people are off from work that day, so foot traffic in stores is way up, but the most profitable days for stores are the Saturday before Christmas or December 23?

Y'all be safe out there.

listening to pachelbel

and so, the house is still standing.  the turkey is great - had to taste it. and the work week is finished.  it was a crazy day, but the day before a holiday usually is.  it's understandable - the inmates are far from home and family.  we sent one out to the hospital in respiratory distress, another with kidney stones. we were short staffed, no PA, no doctor until late this afternoon.

i screwed up an appointment today.  i ran down to operations, crouched by the desk and asked - did you guys have an appointment for wake med?  no, they didn't. i banged my head on the desk.  it was all my fault, you know.  i must not have printed the screen.  sgt. weber teased me - HOW do you sleep at night, with all that blood on your hands?  and as i was turning to go, he taunted - blood on your hands, blood on your hands! (weber is slightly strange).  from out of nowhere, for no reason, unless i've finally rounded the bend, too - i wiped my hands on my shirt and in my best lady macbeth, said - out, OUT, damned spot!  if nothing else, i left them laughing.

i received hate mail from an inmate.  the frantic nurse was on duty.  everything, including med pass, is an emergency to her.  and here it is, 6:42 p.m. and i'm recounting the day and listening to pachelbel for some sense of calm.

it wasn't such a bad day...and tomorrow will be nice, a small group at my parents' house, laughter.  and music.

happy thanksgiving.  :-)

so it happened

but it wasn't my fault this time.  luckily, there were at least two firemen in the house.

at noon today, as i was sitting outside enjoying my lunch in the park - the phone rang in the lobby.  my son was on the other end.

what the hell is wrong with this turkey?

well, aside from its untimely demise, i had no idea, so i asked - why are you asking?  is it trying to escape the fridge?! 

about that time, i heard him shout - "GARRET!  HIT THE FIRE EXTINGUISHER! IT'S  COMING UP THROUGH THE BURNERS!"

seems son was going to surprise me by baking the turkey while i was at work.  unfortunately, he didn't wrap it well enough, and the pan was a bit shallow.  the result was an overflow and a kitchen fire.

everything's fine - the turkey is fine, the stove needs a lot of cleaning, but...the house is still standing and i didn't do it.

man. 

enduring my blessings

good morning!  i've been visiting over at liza's place and she has tagged us all.  you can read her here:

http://journals.aol.com/philadlfiagrl/lizaslife/

anyway, liza wants us to list 10 things we're thankful for.  that's always a good idea, because in the rush and roar of holiday preparations, we tend to forget, except in some quiet moment after the family has descended on the table like locusts (*grin*), or wrapping paper is strewn across the floor like leftover tinsel.  so liza - here's my list.  and i'm thankful for you, for reminding me.

1.  i'm thankful my father's cancer is gone.  he had a helluva battle this past year, but he rose to the occasion like the fighter he is.  and after the chemo and radiation treatments, he can finally eat again and is weaning himself from painkillers.

2.  i'm grateful my mother is doing as well as she is, and for her sweetness.  she truly is the glue that holds the family together.

3.  i'm SO thankful my son has decided to go back to school.  he quit this semester...but finally, he has seen the light.  and i'm also glad his girlfriend was NOT pregnant, like she thought. 

4.  i'm grateful for my family - king sized can of mixed nuts that we are.  we're close, even when we're feuding (which doesn't happen much anymore), and if one needs the other, we're there.

5.  of course, i'm grateful for my friends - especially my women friends, because i have seen that as we grow older, those relationships with other women take on a new importance.

6.  for my job, now that ava has calmed down.  where else could i work that offers so much diversity and adventure?  and for my coworkers, who for the most part, come together like a family.  there are times when i see an outpouring of love and support that makes me bow my head at the enormity of spirit.

7.  for my canine family, loving little souls that they are.  and they shall have their own thanksgiving dinner.  i'll see to it.

8.  for the firefighters at station 7 who refuse to let me burn down my kitchen.

9.  for all of you, out here in cyberspace, who have touched lives and closed distances.

10.  for the opportunity to thank everybody for the gifts of love, friendship, lessons taught and examples set.

and now it's your turn.  following liza's lead, i tag you all.

 

rambling into the day

my father was a colorful man - he was a not so small legend in the county.  to this day, officers at work approach me and say - you're mr. marshall's daughter?  and they'll recount their days working as deputies when they were called out to my dad's store.  we knew when we got there, mr. marshall would have the situation well in hand.

well, my brothers, sister and i have followed dad along the reputation trail.  one brother is a fine, upstanding citizen.  the other...well, he has a LOT of personality, and my sister is an ex-con.  and me?  what's my claim to fame?

the other night, there were five firefighters in my living room.  they SAID they were there for a visit with my son and the daughter, who are on the fire department, but i have it on good authority that the fire chief, whom i've known all my life,  was reminicsing about my kitchen escapades just a few nights before.

see, every 20 years or so, i set my kitchen on fire.  i get distracted and leave a pan on the stove, and before i know it - there are flames.  and smoke.  the last time it happened was 12 years ago.  it was 8 degrees out, the kids were small, and i was cooking and cleaning. 

to make a long story short, i called the fire department, herded my kids into the car to keep them warm, as opposed to being roasted inside the house, and then pinehill was there - an entire crew of firefighters stormed into my house, doused the flames and left an incredibly large extinguisher behind.  on purpose, i'm willing to bet.

since more than a decade has passed, i'm willing to bet the fire chief has put his crew on watch at my house.  he knows my history.  and oddly, a member has stopped by every evening since then.  at supper time.  sound like coincidence to you?

but anyway, that's my claim to fame in these parts.  that, and i'm mr. marshall's daughter.

y'all have a good sunday.

 

 

 

ahhhh, saturday

you would think saturday involved nothing but play, i'm so happy to see it.  actually, i had planned to work today, but frankly am wiped out this week.

easing into the day mundane topics:

the ads at the tops of the journals:

i'm not thrilled about 'em.  perhaps part of the advertising profits aol is making could go toward reducing our monthly bills.  they should have to give US a kickback, and let us approve which ads can be displayed on our page.  no, that won't happen...but neither will they be removed, now that they're here.  i doubt i'll leave...unless, of course, texas holdem poker appears in flashing lights.

i have this thing about texas holdem - mainly, because they have spammed my internet journal as many as 250 times in a day with their ugly ads.  if they can't buy the space, they'll take it in the comments section.  i was having a carpal tunnel relapse from deleting so many of their "responses" to entries.  and they get sneaky about it - they'll try to disguise themselves by publishing profound quotes.  they made interesting reading, but....*click*.  they're gone, now.  and comments are closed.  the internet journal is for more private entries, anyway.

i did follow some former j-landers to blogger.com, just in case aol slaps texas holdem at the top of the page.  it's called...Letters to the Internet, of all things.  if you decide to move your journal, please let me know where you go.  i've enjoyed reading all of you so much.  feel free to post the link in here somewhere.

glasses and socks

does anyone have a problem keeping drinking glasses?  if so, have you noticed the mysterious cracks that appear in what you thought was heavy glassware (they usually fall apart in the dishwater), or do your glasses suddenly and  simply go where socks disappear to?  i think my problem keeping them is a direct result of having them IN the dishwater, and then someone else comes along and tosses a plate or something else heavy on top of them, not sure.  but i've come up with a solution.  libby, and all those other kitchenware people, should make pyrex glasses. pyrex lasts forever, and would be MUCH more preferable than (ick) plastic tumblers.  and they should be ugly, so that no one wants to be seen in public holding one, and therefore, leave them in the kitchen where they belong.

well, i've rambled enough for one morning.  it's time to start the day - holiday cleaning, laundry, grocery run, visit the folks..

wonder why i'm so wiped out.

 

Undue Familiarity

Every now and then it's bound to happen, even though it isn't supposed to, and there's nothing to do about it but stuff it down where it belongs and live within the scope of policy.

I met a young man at work several months ago. He's the barber on I Block. He is soft-spoken and wears Muslim head dress that brightens the medium custody brown he wears, has always been respectful of staff and others, as far as I have seen. There's something gentle about him that does not belong within the confines of razor wire and concrete. And yet, he committed an act that landed him there.

We speak in the hallway. Occasionally, we talk in the park area just off of Central. Once, the conversation concerned pinto bean pie, and just yesterday, we spoke of the weather. He told me about Hurricane Hugo, how he hunkered down under a table in a restaurant, and while all else around him was blown about, the table stayed steady and he was safe. He told me about last year's tornado that was the cause of 500 pairs of soiled underwear at the facility, spoke of the power of nature shearing limbs from trees like a high powered chainsaw, yet it didn't touch him.

I told him - you'll just have to spend the rest of your sentence here. Sounds like you're awfully lucky! He laughed and agreed that a higher power was waching over him.

And then he went his quiet and unobtrusive way.

If it had not been for the crime he committed, we never would have had yesterday's encounter. And certainly, I will not seek him out for conversation. Policy justly calls for separation between staff and inmates. Yet we're thrown together, sometimes. And sometimes, observation tells more than what color clothes a person wears and why. No, we wouldn't have met had he not been in prison - I don't know when his sentence is up, but perhaps it is soon, and if it means he'll  make it on the outside with that gentleness he exhibits, I hope I never see him again.

understanding...

It feels like I'm intruding on them, or him, so I avert my eyes as the screen name logs in and out.  I hear the door creak open, hear it slam.  And I know what they (he) are (is) doing.

I remember a customer from the restaurant.  Handsome man - quite a gentleman with gorgeous blue eyes.  He was a Viet Nam vet who worked with Special Forces.  Civilian.  He was the picture of health - came in every morning for a large black coffee.  We dubbed him Twinkles because he had twinkly blue eyes.  He didn't show up for a few mornings, and then, one day, one of the POW instructors told us Twinkles had died of lung cancer. He had been exposed to Agent Orange in Viet Nam.  It was very quick - he didn't even know he was sick until he was climbing stairs and had to sit down.

Anyway, months later, a lady walked in and introduced herself as his wife.  She was retracing her husband's route, seeing what he saw, meeting the people he knew.  It was almost like a pilgrimage for her.  She asked us - did you know him?  what did he like best, here? 

I think that's what they're doing tonight.  Retracing my uncle's steps, so to speak, through his screen name.  Going to the places he went, seeing friends he might have made online.  Maybe telling them the sad news about the funeral today.

I'm not sure which of his sons it is - Ken, or Terry, or both...but I think I know what they're doing, and it moves me.

Turning Points

The smile must have been the turning point, but still, I didn't trust her.  Something was up, and I wasn't sure what it was.  But suddenly, Ava was confiding in me.  Gossiping TO me.  It was more observation, actually.  Ava had been a psych nurse for years before she came to DOC.  But her observations were about other staff members.

Maybe that was it.  She and I both liked to observe people.  We both like working in corrections because it fills the need for puzzling over certain behaviors, unusual behaviors.  Or perhaps she finally decided she had read me wrong, and I was not a spy sent to infiltrate the nursing department by my cousin, the superintendent.  I had proved my loyalties to my department, and suddenly, slowly, Ava and I were becoming not only supervisor and employee, but friends.

I have a great deal of respect for her, now.  Over this past year, we have opened up to each other, shared our observations, and she has become something of a mentor for me.

She doesn't put up with bull.  Period.  She'll stand up for her employees in the face of Every Power That Is, if she knows beyond doubt that they're innocent of whatever they've been accused of.  She has a sense of humor that is bawdy and graceless, and I love it.

During one meeting, she announced that although she is female, she has balls.  That was an unnecessary revelation.  She has shown that in every aspect of her being.  For example, we had an inmate who had been taken off of his psych meds, and was rapidly decompensating.  He had been given a rock to rub when he felt anxiety creeping up, and the poor man had rubbed the stone smooth.  She notified mental health - the psychiatrist wouldn't be back for a month, and he wouldn't do a telephone order for the meds, even though the man was bordering suicidal.  Ava hopped on the computer, zipped off an email to Somebody in Charge, in which she stated:

All I can say is, I certainly hope mental health has a large supply of rocks, because the one the patient was given has been rubbed to death.

How can you not respect a woman so defiant?  The next day, she brought in a bag of river rocks and presented them to the mental health director.

This week, one of our staff members, Lorraine,  had an unthinkable tragedy.  Her 19 year old daughter was gravely injured in a car wreck.

When Ava found out that Lorraine was alone at the hospital, she jumped in her car and headed to the hospital, 45 miles away.  She had just left when we got the call that Lorraine's daughter didn't make it.  And when Ava got back to the unit that afternoon, she spearheaded a drive to collect funds for funeral expenses because Lorraine, a single parent, didn't have the money to bury her child.

Ava walked into my office with tears in her eyes.  This is the saddest thing I've ever seen, she said, and she turned her head upward as if to keep the tears from falling down her face.

I wanted to comfort her, but still am not quite sure how to deal with Ava.  I rubbed her shoulder with a short, circular motion, a reaching out.  And suddenly, Ava's arm went around my shoulder and we hugged.

I believe the distance has evaporated.

*note:  tonight, the nursing department will attend the wake for Lorraine's daughter, and we will be led by Ava.  Her drive for funds between the two prison facilities as of yesterday has raised well over $600.  That says a lot about Ava, the staff, and how well thought of Lorraine is. 

Mean Spirited Classless Broom Wielding Harpy

I couldn't figure it out.  Why did she hate me so much?  I hadn't had time to screw up that much, had only been on the job for a couple of months and was learning as fast as I could, was working as hard as I could.  But every day, she glared or yelled at me, and every day I went to work with my stomach churning, waiting to face The Wrath of God.

She stayed on my case like it was winter and she was a blanket. I considered going over her head to the superintendent. It was harrassment, pure and simple, and I'd be damned if she was going to force me out of a brand new job that I hadn't had a chance to prove myself in, yet.  But then, one day, I walked into her office and it was obvious she had been crying. 

Are you ok?  Is there anything I can do?

No, I'm fine. I'm fine...

Well, Ava was not fine.  She was exhausted from caring for her dying, elderly mother.  She was in pain because of her knee, and the concrete floors and four flights of stairs at the prison certainly weren't helping.  No, she had a lot on her plate, and I wasn't going to add one more crumb to it by going to the superintendent, no matter if I threw up all the way down the hall in nauseous anticipation of her next fit of rage.

It's hard to believe, now, that it was only a year ago that an incident pushed me into an anxiety attack so severe that I found myself on my front porch, crying, with no idea how I had gotten there.  I simply didn't remember. 

It was two days before the Thanksgiving holiday - two days off from work!  But that night, I decided I was calling out and taking a break from Ava to get myself together and decide what to do - stay in misery, or simply quit.  It was that bad. The woman despised me, and there is nothing worse than having a supervisor with a razor blade tongue and a broom for transporation.  Would I go back?

Yes.  I pulled myself together, steeled myself for work the following Monday, and found out that Ava's mother had passed away.  She would be out of work for the next two weeks.  Not only that, she would be going out for surgery, and wouldn't come back until February.  I was sorry for her loss, but so relieved she wouldn't be there.  It was a reprieve.

Well, February came around quick - the months passed so fast, and I knew there was a decision to be made.  I couldn't put it offone more day.  But while she had been out, I had learned a lot, made friends at my new workplace, and had become the charge nurse's right hand - her words.  It wouldn't be an easy decision.

And then, the day she returned, Ava walked in and scared the holy hell out of me. 

She smiled.

to be continued

 

 

i am back from lunch

and fresh from one of polly's stories. 

when polly first got married in 1968, her husband decided she needed a sewing machine.  she told him - i don't like to sew!  the only reason i can sew at all is because home ec was a required course in high school, waaaay back then, and i can't do it.  but he insisted, and he bought carol's sewing machine, which was conveniently for sale, for miss polly to use.  she would make all the children's clothing, do all the mending, etc - no matter that she didn't like to do it and wasn't good at it.

one day, on the way to the beach, her brother dropped off a pair of $20 pants for polly to cut off and hem for him.  back then, 20 bucks was like 100.  and so polly proceeded to cut them, hem them, and on his way back home, he picked them up.  an hour later, polly's husband got a phone call.

"your wife owes me $20."

"excuse me?"

"your wife owes me $20."

"who IS this?"

it was the brother.  polly had indeed done the required work. unfortunately, she cut off the same leg of the pants twice.

but you never know - had he worn them in THIS day and age, he might have started a new trend.

shortly after that, polly mended her husband's pants.  all looked great - he put them on, tried to stick his hands in his pockets and lo and behold, she had sewn all the pockets closed.  "the sewing machine," said polly's husband, "has GOT TO GO!"

it's not like she didn't warn him!

lunch was great - i can't remember laughing so much, or having such good company.  the carols and roberta picked me up at the prison - you haven't lived until you've ridden in carol's back seat because the woman is a maniac behind the wheel.  she threw on brakes, my butt slid forward three inches on the seat.  no, you haven't lived until you've ridden with carol - and you've never believed you were so close to death at the same time.  roberta and i hung on to the handles in the back, and breathed a sigh of relief upon arrival at the restaurant.

what i wouldn't give to have gone back to the office with them.  maybe one day!

this and that

every now and then, a person - especially women (i'm saying that in order to rationalize my irresponsible actions), needs to take some time for him or herself.  to be completely reckless and wild.  oh yeah, we all need that.

so tomorrow, i'm gonna be completely wild and take a half a day off from work.  man, people won't KNOW me like this.

the ladies from the hospital have decided on a lunch date for tomorrow, and i'm going with them.  and knowing them as i do, there's no telling when or if we'll get back to the office.  i probably never told you about those ladies - there's carol, the medical record assistant IV.  very classy, elegant, very much the southern belle who can be as gracious as sunday morning or wither you with a glance.  i'll never forget the day she called the doctor on the phone and told him - i did not appreciate the way you said what you said, and if you don't mind - or even if you do, don't EVER do that again.  he apologized.  profusely.  then there's roberta, who is a minister/transcriptionist.  she prayed for us a lot during my days at the hospital - mainly during the lunch hour gossip/joke sessions.  she's a wonderful person, and i love her dearly.  and then there's the other carol, who is the medical record manager.  she's from new york - and when she first came to our little office, she didn't let us forget that we cannot drive in snow, that we talk weird, and that there is NO decent italian food anywhere in the state of north carolina.

oh wow..i didn't realize how much i missed those ladies until just now.  we were a mixed bunch.  there was libby, the clinical social worker who finally told carol manager that if she didn't like the way we talked down here, she should carry herself back to new york. but libby has a heart bigger than any i've ever encountered.  there was polly, who was a big elvis fan.  she had the calendar, the earrings, the watch, the posters..you name it, and during those lunches in medical records, she danced in front of the copier, and regaled us with stories that would have made us blush if we hadn't been laughing so hard.

i dubbed us - mainly them - the ladies of mccain.  there are times i wish i was back there with them, and then i realize that where i am has actually been good for me.  i found confidence.  i learned not to let people push me around, and if they tried, i pushed back...and the adventure is great, for however much longer it may or may not last...but tomorrow, i'll be a lady of mccain again, for a few hours, and that  is another one of those best feelings.  :-)