Last week, the Department held a luncheon on the lawn at the regional
office for all the secretaries at the surrounding units. Before
we left ours, the assistant superintendent of programs tracked us all
down and pinned corsages on our blouses. And not only that, the
other two superintendents waited at that gate beside vans they had
reserved for the day and held the doors open for us to enter - and then
they drove us to the regional office. Man, did we feel special as
we rode in the inmate transport vehicles. We did, really.
It was a nice gesture, and we were appreciative.
And then they fed us, made speeches, gave us gifts and let us socialize for two hours. The socializing is the best part.
When a person leaves one unit in DOC and goes to another, you can bet
your bottom dollar you will see him/her again. There was the
psychologist who was riffed to another unit. He was fun when we
worked together. There was Janet, who stopped me and said -
You've worked with us for a long time, now! And she's
right. Actually, I worked with them before I worked with
them. I was once their lunchtime waitress. So I knew a lot
of people before ever stepping through the gates.
One of those was a man I call Uh huh Johnny. He was a splash of
color in all that dull concrete - always spoke of himself in third
person, and always preceded a sentence with "uh huh!"
"Uh, huh, Johnny knows, yes he does!"
He was great, no matter how strange he sounds. He worked with the
mental health crew in rehab and ran the greenhouse. He told me
once that he used to sprinkle the pepper seeds from the shakers at
pizza restaurants, take them home in a napkin and plant them at
home. Of course they grew. There was nothing he planted
that did not.
I knew him years before I worked with him, and when I went to Real
Prison, there was Johnny, wanting to put me at ease. And he did.
I was reading over my domain weblog tonight, and came across an entry
from four years ago. I had chronicled a hot July day when
everything was crazy, and Johnny was in it.
One thing I've learned, also, about DOC employees is that when they
retire, they never look back. They seem to disappear from the
face of the earth. I haven't seen Johnny once in the two years
since he retired, and I know why. He was done with all of it,
people included.
I did some checking today...If I'm very good and sock back the amount
of cash I think I can sock back (God willing!), I can retire in 10
years. Not sure I'll fall of the earth and never be seen again, but I
do know I've seen enough over the last decade and won't want to see
anything else from prison.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Another Lovely Saturday
The weather was perfect for Springfest - not too hot, not a bit chilly,
just comfortable. We started out on the street where all the food
was NOT, and visited with the vendors there. I met a older woman
who repairs jewelry. She had some gorgeous vintage pieces, and a
bracelet that made me catch my breath, BUT...we were on our way to the
train depot where the annual library book sale was being held, and I
was saving my dollars for the Must Have Bargains waiting there. I
asked for the jewelry lady's card, and will find her another day.
We went past a street where children were riding ponies and clamoring for toys. We passed people who had brought their dogs out for the event - all groomed, wearing bandanas around their necks and eagerly sniffing the Italian sausage scent that was wafting in the air. We ordered two cokes and damn near died when the price was 10 bucks (I could have bought that bracelet), and I plan to keep that ugly yellow and red rubber tumbler to remind me of my foolishness.
But oh, the books at the depot. There were thousands of them. I found a few prizes - the complete works of Robert Frost, a volume of Carl Sandburg, a Susan Isaacs novel (don't you just love her fiction? The woman has a range that is enviable), and then I picked up some titles by authors I had never read, but were irresistable: When I was Five, I Killed Myself. I mean - is that a hook or what?
It was a really good day. The company was good. And after the coke fiasco, we decided not to dine at the festival, but went to a Mexican Restaurant where we lounged and lazed and I started reading my Susan Isaacs book, which I finished by evening. Guilty pleasures. Nothing wrong with indulging in them every now and then.
We went past a street where children were riding ponies and clamoring for toys. We passed people who had brought their dogs out for the event - all groomed, wearing bandanas around their necks and eagerly sniffing the Italian sausage scent that was wafting in the air. We ordered two cokes and damn near died when the price was 10 bucks (I could have bought that bracelet), and I plan to keep that ugly yellow and red rubber tumbler to remind me of my foolishness.
But oh, the books at the depot. There were thousands of them. I found a few prizes - the complete works of Robert Frost, a volume of Carl Sandburg, a Susan Isaacs novel (don't you just love her fiction? The woman has a range that is enviable), and then I picked up some titles by authors I had never read, but were irresistable: When I was Five, I Killed Myself. I mean - is that a hook or what?
It was a really good day. The company was good. And after the coke fiasco, we decided not to dine at the festival, but went to a Mexican Restaurant where we lounged and lazed and I started reading my Susan Isaacs book, which I finished by evening. Guilty pleasures. Nothing wrong with indulging in them every now and then.
Friday, April 27, 2007
beautiful
Last week, I had stopped at a gas station, and there were all these
kids, dressed for the prom. they were beautiful in their tuxedos
and gowns. one girl in particular stood out. she was
wearing a pale green diaphenous creation that made her look like a
princess. beautiful. her hair was upswept, she wore a
tiara. her eyes were luminous and she had this little mona lisa
smile. she held her dress up at the sides to keep from stepping on the
hem as she exited the store. a gentleman held the door for her
and said, good evening ma'am. lovely, she was. she had an
ethereal glow about her, and then...her eyes swept the parking lot and
she cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted - CHAZ, YOU F***ING MORON!
it was a rude awakening. i had to laugh at the irony in green, and i felt a little sorry for Chaz, who surely must've been embarrassed for a packed parking lot to know how his date regarded him.
I didn't think about that incident again until this evening. I went out for dinner (barbeque at a fast food place) and the young lady who took my order was telling me she was tired...she had been in school all day, was working tonight and tomorrow night is the prom! Her eyes lit a little when she told me that, and she didn't look quite so tired anymore. If there had been time, I would have loved to hear about her dress, her date, how excited she was. There's something so sweet about a young lady who is anticipating her first prom.
A bit later, another young lady delivered my barbeque to the table. I asked her, are you going to the prom tomorrow night, too? She had this shy little smile on her face and she said, yes. She said she was excited, and she thought her date was picking her up in a limo.
i hope so.
Tomorrow evening, I might haunt the downtown area, just to see the kids in all their finery and shining faces, heading for a real, honest to goodness important event in their lives. And I bet they have the time of their lives.
Unless they're Chaz. *grin*
she cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted - CHAZ, YOU F***ING MORON!
it was a rude awakening. i had to laugh at the irony in green, and i felt a little sorry for Chaz, who surely must've been embarrassed for a packed parking lot to know how his date regarded him.
I didn't think about that incident again until this evening. I went out for dinner (barbeque at a fast food place) and the young lady who took my order was telling me she was tired...she had been in school all day, was working tonight and tomorrow night is the prom! Her eyes lit a little when she told me that, and she didn't look quite so tired anymore. If there had been time, I would have loved to hear about her dress, her date, how excited she was. There's something so sweet about a young lady who is anticipating her first prom.
A bit later, another young lady delivered my barbeque to the table. I asked her, are you going to the prom tomorrow night, too? She had this shy little smile on her face and she said, yes. She said she was excited, and she thought her date was picking her up in a limo.
i hope so.
Tomorrow evening, I might haunt the downtown area, just to see the kids in all their finery and shining faces, heading for a real, honest to goodness important event in their lives. And I bet they have the time of their lives.
Unless they're Chaz. *grin*
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
I guess it's just a week for ranting. Is it full moon?
You know - the older I get, the less tolerant I become. Case in
point - I was transcribing away when one of the ward clerks came
bursting through the door wielding a piece of paper like she was going
to beat me with it.
LOOK at this, she ranted. It has THIS name on it, and the inmate number belongs to someone else.
And so I stopped what I was doing (it's always Dr. E on the machine when someone bursts in), took the piece of paper, pulled up the state network and looked at the diagnosis on the sheet and compared it to the online problem list. Sure enough, it belonged not to the number, but to the name. And he wasn't even housed at our unit.
No problem, I'll just send it back to where it came from, I told her. Another Unit, the only other hospital unit in the state. And so she picks up the paper, lays it down on the transcription desk where it does not belong, and walks out.
That ticks me off. People walk into our office countless times a day, expect us to stop what we're doing to fix the copy machine, get them paper, help them fax something or...any day, I expect to be asked to give directions on how to flush the toilet.
Somewhere along the way, Health Information Management has become INFORMATION/SECRETARIAL SERVICE. And I don't mind helping people, but we don't go to THEIR offices and disrupt their work day.
After the ward clerk stalked out like some nurse's error was my fault, I typed up a nice little landscape oriented bolded and 36 pt. font sign - TRANSCRIPTIONIST WORKING. QUIET! PLEASE! and taped it to my door.
Sheesh. I wonder if anyone will notice.
But that's only one instance of my intolerance. Years ago, I would have kept my mouth shut and thought something like...well, she's just overworked.
NOT ANYMORE! No more excuses for the thoughtless. Just signs! Signs, I tell you! Signs that say what I mean!
I can see them now: THERE IS A PHONE BOOK AT YOUR WORK STATION. or...COPY MACHINE PRINT SIDE UP, FAX MACHINE PRINT SIDE DOWN. FAX MACHINES ARE DEDICATED LINES - DO NOT DIAL 9 FOR AN OUTSIDE ONE! and...I MAY NOT LOOK LIKE I'M HAVING A HORMONE IMBALANCE/ SURGE, BUT TRUST AND BELIEVE IT'S HAPPENING AS WE SPEAK! and possibly, as a warning - PREMARIN AND LEXAPRO RENEWAL PENDING.
I'm kidding about that last one. But you know, it might not be a bad idea to check into geting the scripts.
On the bright side...my position has been upgraded a pay grade. Comes with a raise - oddly enough, it's the second one this year, and the new fiscal year is about to start.
I'm going shopping.
And now...y'all have a good week.
I feel much better now!
LOOK at this, she ranted. It has THIS name on it, and the inmate number belongs to someone else.
And so I stopped what I was doing (it's always Dr. E on the machine when someone bursts in), took the piece of paper, pulled up the state network and looked at the diagnosis on the sheet and compared it to the online problem list. Sure enough, it belonged not to the number, but to the name. And he wasn't even housed at our unit.
No problem, I'll just send it back to where it came from, I told her. Another Unit, the only other hospital unit in the state. And so she picks up the paper, lays it down on the transcription desk where it does not belong, and walks out.
That ticks me off. People walk into our office countless times a day, expect us to stop what we're doing to fix the copy machine, get them paper, help them fax something or...any day, I expect to be asked to give directions on how to flush the toilet.
Somewhere along the way, Health Information Management has become INFORMATION/SECRETARIAL SERVICE. And I don't mind helping people, but we don't go to THEIR offices and disrupt their work day.
After the ward clerk stalked out like some nurse's error was my fault, I typed up a nice little landscape oriented bolded and 36 pt. font sign - TRANSCRIPTIONIST WORKING. QUIET! PLEASE! and taped it to my door.
Sheesh. I wonder if anyone will notice.
But that's only one instance of my intolerance. Years ago, I would have kept my mouth shut and thought something like...well, she's just overworked.
NOT ANYMORE! No more excuses for the thoughtless. Just signs! Signs, I tell you! Signs that say what I mean!
I can see them now: THERE IS A PHONE BOOK AT YOUR WORK STATION. or...COPY MACHINE PRINT SIDE UP, FAX MACHINE PRINT SIDE DOWN. FAX MACHINES ARE DEDICATED LINES - DO NOT DIAL 9 FOR AN OUTSIDE ONE! and...I MAY NOT LOOK LIKE I'M HAVING A HORMONE IMBALANCE/ SURGE, BUT TRUST AND BELIEVE IT'S HAPPENING AS WE SPEAK! and possibly, as a warning - PREMARIN AND LEXAPRO RENEWAL PENDING.
I'm kidding about that last one. But you know, it might not be a bad idea to check into geting the scripts.
On the bright side...my position has been upgraded a pay grade. Comes with a raise - oddly enough, it's the second one this year, and the new fiscal year is about to start.
I'm going shopping.
And now...y'all have a good week.
I feel much better now!
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
ok, so i WANT to journal.
When my son was small, I would take him grocery shopping with me.
And for his amusement, I would do my shopping personna, Natasha, who
talked with a Russian accent, especially at the marked down bin.
Looook, there ees special keck (cake). Looooks like dead clown.
and it did. i distinctly recall that cake - it WAS a clown design. It had X's for eyes, and and reminded me of something out of the Stephen King movie, It. Hard to imagine a kid getting that cake and not being traumatized. But..Natasha made the obvious observations and one little boy laughed because of it. He also laughed when Natasha talked with the cashier.
Ees HOW MUCH? Are you sure? Dead clown cake was better deal!
It has been a while since Natasha was set free in a grocery store, but the other night, I took my mom shopping. I was pushing her in one of those wheelchair carts, and suddenly, Natasha was there. Poor mom laughed so hard she started coughing - not to mention, I was drawing some stares from other shoppers, so I had to chase the accent back into segregation.
Someone I loved died today...we all gathered at mom's and dad's house and we reminisced about beach trips, visits to his house in New York, all the things we did together with him. Things he said and did. We cried. We laughed a little. And now later, I'm in such a mood...
Life is much too short. Just look at what happened in Virginia yesterday - a senseless, horrific tragedy. And that's an understatement.
You know, none of us know how much time we have left on this earth, but I, for one, plan to resurrect Natasha. When it comes to leaving ANY mark, I don't think I would mind so much being remembered as the crazy lady who shopped with a Russian accent. If I leave nothing else to this world, let it be a smile. And perhaps a dropped jaw or two, and a shaking of heads..
Looook, there ees special keck (cake). Looooks like dead clown.
and it did. i distinctly recall that cake - it WAS a clown design. It had X's for eyes, and and reminded me of something out of the Stephen King movie, It. Hard to imagine a kid getting that cake and not being traumatized. But..Natasha made the obvious observations and one little boy laughed because of it. He also laughed when Natasha talked with the cashier.
Ees HOW MUCH? Are you sure? Dead clown cake was better deal!
It has been a while since Natasha was set free in a grocery store, but the other night, I took my mom shopping. I was pushing her in one of those wheelchair carts, and suddenly, Natasha was there. Poor mom laughed so hard she started coughing - not to mention, I was drawing some stares from other shoppers, so I had to chase the accent back into segregation.
Someone I loved died today...we all gathered at mom's and dad's house and we reminisced about beach trips, visits to his house in New York, all the things we did together with him. Things he said and did. We cried. We laughed a little. And now later, I'm in such a mood...
Life is much too short. Just look at what happened in Virginia yesterday - a senseless, horrific tragedy. And that's an understatement.
You know, none of us know how much time we have left on this earth, but I, for one, plan to resurrect Natasha. When it comes to leaving ANY mark, I don't think I would mind so much being remembered as the crazy lady who shopped with a Russian accent. If I leave nothing else to this world, let it be a smile. And perhaps a dropped jaw or two, and a shaking of heads..
Saturday, April 7, 2007
Talking trees, anyone? Goodbye for now.
About 10 years ago, I discovered an online world of writers. I
thought I had died and gone to cyber heaven - here in such an unlikely
place were those of my kind - people who wrote and shared, and many of
them were very good. Among those was my friend, Joshua, who could
well be Indiana's next Poet Laureate - IF he wanted to be. But he
doesn't. His talent is his own, and aside from an online archive,
he does not show his work, although he is prolific.
Over the last year or so, I have not been as productive as I was in the past, and I have to wonder if journaling has led to that. It's so much more fun, but then, I remember when disciplined writing was fun, too. It was a challenge I did not always conquer well, but I enjoyed trying. I want so badly to get back to that, and am taking my leave of you to do it. And for some reason, I'm compelled to leave you with a couple of talking trees. A parable, if you will.
The Tale of the Magnolia and the Mimosa
Let me tell you a tale
of a wish to be free,
the tale of a magnolia
and a wild weed tree.
Once upon a magic time
a mimosa seed tumbled along the wind
and came to rest by a magnolia twig
and he cried, "this is it! my tumbling's end!"
he rooted beside the gangling magnolia;
sprouted beside his new found friend.
Side by side, stronger, they grew,
and their friendship flourished
in the sandy soil, too.
They murmured their dreams on the southern breeze,
drank dew drops and morning light
when day had awakened from darkness of night.
"I want to be supple", Mimosa said,
"to lean in the tempest's driving power,
to feel my boughs come near to break,
but for my bending strength to save the hour.
I'll rally after the punishing winds,
and victorious, face the sun again!"
Magnolia rustled a whispered reply
to Mimosa's dreams of enduring strength.
"I have no great aspirations", she sighed.
My wants and dreams are precious few;
I know if my limbs should ever break
'twould be the the weight of love for you."
Time flew past and their roots intertwined,
Magnolia was wreathed with fragrant cream
while Mimosa's flowers were silken, refined.
Yet in the budding was something amiss;
Delicate fronds showed signs of wilt
and shrank from Magnolia's feathery kiss.
"Our interlocked roots are strangling me,"
he grieved aloud his static fate,
"but only their wrenching would make me free.."
She stilled the sway of whispering branches
and murmured a quiet "I see."
The skies grew dark one summer's eve,
Thunder exploded from heavens, high
gusts grew harsh with wrathful might
Lightning split an angry sky
Nocturnal creatures shivered and quivered
and hid from the tempest's assault on the night.
Mimosa reveled in the fray,
swayed and bent low in the tempest gales
but Magnolia stiffened to meet the fight,
went rigid in the storm wind's wails
and broke...
with a splintering, thunderous crash.
Lightning receded to occasional flash,
thunder ebbed to a distant sky
and the only sound filling the rain washed air
was Mimosa's mournful, sighing Whyyyy?
..in a final whisper Magnolia replied
My wants and dreams I gave no voice,
for they were never grand, but precious few.
I don't regret I made this choice
to fall with the weight of loving you.
Just know, sometimes it isn't in bending
with love we give, or a stand we take,
but often our might lies in making the choice.
Sometimes, it takes more strength to break.
Mara - maybe 2000, I can't remember.
Over the last year or so, I have not been as productive as I was in the past, and I have to wonder if journaling has led to that. It's so much more fun, but then, I remember when disciplined writing was fun, too. It was a challenge I did not always conquer well, but I enjoyed trying. I want so badly to get back to that, and am taking my leave of you to do it. And for some reason, I'm compelled to leave you with a couple of talking trees. A parable, if you will.
The Tale of the Magnolia and the Mimosa
Let me tell you a tale
of a wish to be free,
the tale of a magnolia
and a wild weed tree.
Once upon a magic time
a mimosa seed tumbled along the wind
and came to rest by a magnolia twig
and he cried, "this is it! my tumbling's end!"
he rooted beside the gangling magnolia;
sprouted beside his new found friend.
Side by side, stronger, they grew,
and their friendship flourished
in the sandy soil, too.
They murmured their dreams on the southern breeze,
drank dew drops and morning light
when day had awakened from darkness of night.
"I want to be supple", Mimosa said,
"to lean in the tempest's driving power,
to feel my boughs come near to break,
but for my bending strength to save the hour.
I'll rally after the punishing winds,
and victorious, face the sun again!"
Magnolia rustled a whispered reply
to Mimosa's dreams of enduring strength.
"I have no great aspirations", she sighed.
My wants and dreams are precious few;
I know if my limbs should ever break
'twould be the the weight of love for you."
Time flew past and their roots intertwined,
Magnolia was wreathed with fragrant cream
while Mimosa's flowers were silken, refined.
Yet in the budding was something amiss;
Delicate fronds showed signs of wilt
and shrank from Magnolia's feathery kiss.
"Our interlocked roots are strangling me,"
he grieved aloud his static fate,
"but only their wrenching would make me free.."
She stilled the sway of whispering branches
and murmured a quiet "I see."
The skies grew dark one summer's eve,
Thunder exploded from heavens, high
gusts grew harsh with wrathful might
Lightning split an angry sky
Nocturnal creatures shivered and quivered
and hid from the tempest's assault on the night.
Mimosa reveled in the fray,
swayed and bent low in the tempest gales
but Magnolia stiffened to meet the fight,
went rigid in the storm wind's wails
and broke...
with a splintering, thunderous crash.
Lightning receded to occasional flash,
thunder ebbed to a distant sky
and the only sound filling the rain washed air
was Mimosa's mournful, sighing Whyyyy?
..in a final whisper Magnolia replied
My wants and dreams I gave no voice,
for they were never grand, but precious few.
I don't regret I made this choice
to fall with the weight of loving you.
Just know, sometimes it isn't in bending
with love we give, or a stand we take,
but often our might lies in making the choice.
Sometimes, it takes more strength to break.
Mara - maybe 2000, I can't remember.
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
salsa chicken
I just came off of lockdown. No kidding - first time in a long
time. The count was off at work. They had to recount five
times - kept coming up one short, but they couldn't put a name with the
number. It finally cleared.
And it's a sunny, summerish day in Carolina. I'm waiting for the salsa chicken to finish cooking (it's great! just dump a jar of salsa over a parboiled cut up chicken and let simmer for 30 minutes, serve over rice. If you haven't tried it, you should!), decided to journal a bit while having a huge glass of iced tea, and to wish you all a safe and happy Easter. If you're traveling, be careful.
Wishing you lots of Cadbury eggs. :-)
And it's a sunny, summerish day in Carolina. I'm waiting for the salsa chicken to finish cooking (it's great! just dump a jar of salsa over a parboiled cut up chicken and let simmer for 30 minutes, serve over rice. If you haven't tried it, you should!), decided to journal a bit while having a huge glass of iced tea, and to wish you all a safe and happy Easter. If you're traveling, be careful.
Wishing you lots of Cadbury eggs. :-)
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