The journal of Todd Reed

Table of Contents:

1 January 2005

I guess the start of a new year is as good a time as any to start a journal. Not that "new year" even means anything beyond changes at the top of my letters that I probably won't remember till May or June. The people I write are used to it.

I mostly read magazines rather than newspapers. Daily's are too depressing nowadays. I keep reading about new years resolutions. Here's the question though: What does an inmate resolve to do in the coming year?

Write more letter? Watch less T.V.? Go to church? Work out more? Write the great American novel? Ok, so the last there's pretty unlikely. But the way I figure it, I have about the same chances to carry through as non-inmates do. If I'm going to miss, might as well aim high.

The hardest part in writing a journal is getting started. Well, that's done at least. Really though, for me this isn't a journal. Journals are either for yourself, like a diary. Or for the record, for others to read afterwards. Let's face it I'm no Lewis or Clark. Maybe someone reading what I've written will try to learn something from it. That would be nice. My journal though I think will be more of an open letter.

A letter is directed to someone. So here it is, my letters from the front. Sometimes for you, and sometimes I'll admit, for me.

But at least were started. All down hill from here, right?

8 January 2005

I fallen into habits when I write. No, not the poor spelling and the worse punctuation. Ok, that too. No, what I'm writing about is the times I do write. Pen rarely meets paper before midnight, and if it does, it's almost always Sunday morning.

Until I started this it was my personal letters being written. I expect these pages will be no different though. Quiet, and no interruptions are the best reason for late night. Sunday morning? Well, that's usually when my cell mate goes on a visit. 2-3 hours all to myself. So I write.

It's amazing really. I've managed to get through nearly two full entries and not actually said anything. I reread and checked. I can tell already if I'm going to get anything done it's going to have to be with a focus, a definite subject. Have to work on that.

For today though I guess I can finish as I should have started. There've been no introductions.

My name is Todd. I'm blond haired & blue eyed. I'm sitting at the end of "mid 30's" that's closer to 40. I stand at 6'1". I am never getting out of prison.

So now you know something of what I look like and where I'm likely to be this time next year. I guess facts rarely tell us what we entirely want to know.

15 January 2005

Where do you live? Is it your house? Is it your city, neighborhood, street? Is it in your loved ones heart? Is it in the moment? There's actually a subject tonight. I've been thinking about where we inmates live. And there are a lot of answers. Two of the most obvious and most often heard are living inside, and living outside.

Living outside is buying onto prison culture. Dealing with everyday life through the prison lens. We've all seen the same movies I won't waste time stating attitudes we both understand. Living outside though, now that can be a life preserver or a lead weight.

Living outside is trying to hold onto that life you had before. That freedom. That connection. That attitude. Unfortunately, too often what a guy tries to hold onto is a still photograph of what it was like. Prison stops time. Prison ends at the wall.

Some people grasp at their previous lives, trying to stay afloat as everyone they know loses them to time and a world that continues to move on. At first there are letters, and cards, and phone calls, and visits, and, and, and. And then it slows. For some the day comes and then it stops.

Do not misunderstand me. I'm neither looking for some sort of pity for inmates, or casting some blame on the friends and loved ones. The world moves, and we do not for the most part move with it. We've been kicked off the ride. The ones left behind on it should only have to wave so many times around...

Is it any different than the friend you went to high school with? Or that friend from college? When your family moved how many times did you call your old best friend? More to come.

22 January 2005

I've been thinking more about my question from last time: Where do you live? I think I oversimplified it last time. Or, at least didn't go far enough. After a week thinking on it I realized that for most in prison it's not a question of inside or outside, but rather past or future.

More and more often I find myself living in my head, in my memories. Both the real ones and all the should of, would of, could of, that would have made things different than they are. Perhaps not so different from many on the outside. I just have a great deal more time to do it.

Since my future is prison walls, it's my past I tend to play in. for others it's their imagined futures. I hear so very many plans. Good ones, quiet ones, impossible ones. It's sad that so many will be distracted from their planned futures. People forget just how much future is built from their past baggage.

I was in prison before. I got out started college again, got a job, juggled both. But the distractions. Many places now check for a criminal record before they'll rent to you. I personally filled out 47 apartment applications, and never heard back from any of them. And this is just one possible distraction.

Funny though, how little the difference in the end between convict and non-convict. How many dreams have you let go for all the distraction?

For the most part I've been relieved of that danger. As for the rest of you, well, take it from me, get distracted too much and all you'll have left will be a should of, would of, past.

29 January 2005

Once you write about some aspect of yourself you're almost obligated to then think about, even dwell on it. Last time I wrote that I lived in the past. Then I started thinking about the when I frequented most. It's weird really. And I don't think that I'm the only one in this, but some of my best memories are all attached to difficult times. Or, rather those few sweet shining moments amid all the problems.

One of my two sweetest times was with my ex. Things were really tough when we first started out. We were young, living in a studio apartment, I was working full time but still nearly broke. It was tough, and we weren't none too bright. She was also pregnant. Now that's enough to scare the hell out of people a lot better prepared than we were. And there were times, bad moments when we couldn't see or touch each other that it could be nearly overwhelming.

And then we could see each other. There would be some casual brush of a hand, and everything would be at least survivable, if not really ok. We knew we'd make it through. I have never shared that with any other person in my life. That total trust that as long as there was the two of us it would alright.

Naive? Probably. We felt safe where we had no right to given the situation. But we did feel it.

Is it any wonder that I still lay like spoons with a woman long gone now. Listen to U2 on the radio as we slowly drift off to sleep holding each other? Could life be sweeter than that small span of time?

There are fewer shining moments now, and those less bright. Sometimes you have to find safety where you can.

5 February 2005

Tonight I've been thinking about writing. Unfortunately more thinking than actual pen meeting paper.

Once upon a time I used to write a great deal. Lots of letters, even short stories and poems. All that despite the fact I can't spell. I till write a few people, even jot a poem or two down.

When I was younger I'd go to the poetry slams and local open mike's. the first time I stood up on a stage I was petrified. Then again it wasn't all that much better the second, third, or even the 20th. Once I got started all the fear would drop away, but that walk up there...flat gut twisting.

Mostly I wrote to try to either figure something out or once I thought I had it figured, put it out there to see what everyone else thought about it. Maybe I stopped writing because I had it all figured out. Maybe I stopped because the things I needed figuring on I didn't want to figure.

It's sad really, to think that once you look you realize how much of what's important to us can be lost from pride or fear. How many of our decisions are based on these. How much of our lives can be defined by these.

Perhaps the reason I've started writing in this journal is so that I can again attempt to figure a few things out. It just seems now that when I write there is so much more walking to the stage, and so much less of "once I get started."

I guess it comes down to the hope that once I'm done it will be worth it. Because I'm telling you now, that walk up may have been scary, but after, sweet.

19 February 2005

Sometimes when I sit down to write I have no idea what I'm going to have at the end of the page. After 2am this can make for some interesting letters.

For myself this isn't all that different than when I was on the outside. Well, less booze.

Not enough people take the time to write anymore. Sure telephone is quick; email is convenient, but in the end you don't have anything to hold onto. Me, I like letters.

Now, if I could just fix my spelling, punctuation, and handwriting...Everyone's gotta dream.

One of the hardest things about prison is its changelessness. It can become so easy to just let go of time, stop thinking, and let the days begin to run together. There's less distinction in here.

Take this last holiday. Feb. 14 really doesn't mean a whole lot from here unless, of course, you still happen to be married. Not a lot of that around here. Most days that order your year on the outside are just T.V. holidays in here. We see 'em on T.V. but they don't mean anything in our day to day lives.

I really miss St. Pat's. Easters used to be something too. Now, these days don't even rate a different meal in the chow hall. It messes up your year.

The only way to combat it all is to keep yourself challenged. Keep yourself thinking. Writing's good for this. You can read, too. TV's about the worse. Talk about something conducive to not thinking! Of course, inmates aren't the only ones who should remember this. Till next.

12 February 2005

I have come to the conclusion that beaurocrats run the entire world. In clear language, you can't get anything done around here. Since the end of October I've been sidelined from work because my hands have gotten messed up. Something like a real bad case of eczema.. no, not life threatening but a real pain in the...On top of that since I work in food service, I no longer work. No work--no pay.

Gee, just like the real world.

I don't blame anyone about the whole work thing

21 February 2005

I have come to the conclusion that bureaucrats run the entire world. In clear language you can't get anything done around here. Since the end of October I've been sidelined form work because my hands have gotten messed up. Something like a really bad case of eczema. No it's not life threatening, but a real pain in the... On top of that since I work in food service, I no longer work. No work--no pay.

Gee, just like the real world.

I don't blame anyone about the whole thing. I wouldn't want me handling food either. Here's the thing though. Medical keeps saying I was having a reaction to the bleach and disinfectant. Ok, a reasonable assumption except for the fact that I haven't been around the stuff in over 3 months.

On top of that I can't get a new job without going through the PCC. (They assign the jobs.) The problem is you can't get through the PCC without first going through your social worker. Mine is useless. I even wrote PCC, telling them my social worker hadn't answered or moved on any of the four requests I'd written to him. There answer? Do not write us; go through your social worker. Arrrgggh!

Reality check. All in all it could be worse. You have to tell yourself that sometimes. Sure it's a major frustration, but just like the real world, you've got to learn to roll with it. The pocketbook is just going to be real light until I can get this straightened out. I'm just grousing I guess.

Well, that's about the best I can do this week. Till next.

26 February 2006

One of the purposes of this journal project, I suppose, is to give people out there some glimpse of what life is like for an inmate. Although I will try to get some of this across, the people reading this should know just how much prisons vary; not only in this country, but even within states.

Now, we've all heard of minimum, medium, and maximum prisons. My experiences have shown me that there is less difference than you'd think, at least when it comes to the medium versus maximum. For the most part they seem to get lumped all together. I am a maximum security inmate who will never get out of prison. My neighbor will be out in about 5 years. We are treated exactly alike.

Prisons have attitudes, distinct from one another. Older prisons seem to hold more of a good 'ol boy mentality. Sometimes you may even have more privileges than a newer prison. The prison I was housed at before this was all state of the art. But here I can have a television in my cell if I buy one, a word processor, a jig saw puzzle, art supplies should I suddenly become talented. Ok, so that's not all that likely.

Then there are the mice I have to work at to keep out of my cell. Oh yeah, there's also these huge roaches that I swear are coming from a mother-ship around here somewhere...

Yeah, eeew .

It's not as bad as it may sound. It's probably better than some of the living conditions people have to deal with in this same city. Now there's a sad thought.

You won't hear to many complaints. Sure, I'd like a yard with grass, but at least I have a yard. It could always be worse, right.

Do not get me wrong, prison is not ok. It is not fun. It is not a vacation. It's just that the hardest parts of prison have nothing to do with locks, bars, or television sets. When you are in prison you lose years; you lose people; you lose that sense of connection with the world. This is the real punishment. All the high walls and wire come to nothing more than incidental window dressing.

A parent loses the childhoods of his children. A husband loses the day to day events that are real ties between a married couple. Families, once close, no longer share the same flow of time and drift apart. This is what the real consequence looks like. Do not get distracted by the opinions of other people who've never been in here.

All the activities in the world amount to no more than a gin game at the bus station while waiting to move on. It asses time, but what nothing really matters until they call your boarding call and you can be on your way. Until then it's all just waiting...

5 March 2005

a friend of mine asked me why I write this stuff. Why I started sending stuff into the journal project. He seems to see it as a waste of my time. Not that he doesn't write, mind you, it's just that he seems to only see use in writings meant for sale.

what struck me when he asked me though was that I really wasn't sure...scratch that, it's more like there are a lot of reasons to choose from. I'm just not sure which one is more right than the others.

I recently read an interview with an actor who when asked why he did certain films replied that he had certain questions and that by doing the film he had been able to answer them. I think that's why I write. It settles things in my head. Sometimes it even settles things I didn't know I needed settled.

The bad side if this is that I sometimes can get a bit of preacher in my voice. Usually you can put this off as me just convincing myself. A little crazy maybe, but I can live with it if you can.

This project may be somewhat of an outreach program. Snapshots of men, and women behind the walls. But if people on the outside really want to see people on the inside, perhaps it's not bad to see us coming to conclusions and not just after we've arrived.

My God, I'm writing a travel log.)

No, I'll never be able to sell any of these entries, but I don't see any harm in taking the trip anyway...

12 March 2005

Ok, no it's not actually the 12th yet, but give it another forty minutes and we'll be good.

It's another weekend her and I have to admit I'm at a loss as to what to write. So! Today we fudge it a little and look at the handy-dandy list of possible subjects I have in front of me. (I don't write without it!)

What makes me laugh: See! A good one.

To tell the truth, I really adore humor. A good joke, a funny show, but most of all situations that a re rarely funny at the time, but somehow seem to age well. We all have them. We all tell them. And I think, for the most part, we all love to hear them.

The best ones are the ones we tell where we are the. The poor scraps stuck in the middle of it. I can still get a laugh out of the guy from the time I made it all the way out to the yard gate, past all the guards wearing my shower shoes. At this point it's all been attributed to the fact that I was raised off on the west coast and never wore anything other than sandals anyway.

Only half true by the way: shoes--winter, sandals--summer.

Humanity is just plain funny. Robert Heinlein wrote the book, Stranger in a Strange Land, that we laugh because it hurts. I think it's our own clumsy way of throwing all by into the teeth of creation. Let creation chew on it; we're moving on and are doing, or will be doing just fine.

So, find something funny. You'll be the better for it.

19 March 2005

Have you ever had a morning when you roll out of bed and realize that you have passed from "getting old" to that point where you've arrived?

God, I hate mornings...

It's cold here in New Jersey. It seems like it's bee going on for about a year that way, though I know better. The funny thing is I usually love the winter. The crispness of the air. The closeness of the house when the fire's up and going.

Once upon a time ago I'd do an occasional winter camping trip. Even if it weren't for all these walls though, somehow I doubt there would be a lot of that in my life now. 40 is just around the corner for me, and although I haven't slowed much as I've gotten older, I have some. Winter is less of a friend these days. My mind more and more drifts towards things I'll be doing once the season changes.

I have never minded the thought of getting old. At least that is, until it actually started happening. For the most part it always seemed ok. The thought of my kids growing up, and then grandkids, retirement, maybe travel a bit, all of it, it didn't seem that bad.

A great deal has changed though.

Growing old in prison is less of a gentle decline that I would have liked to look forward to.

The last couple of years there's been three on my housing unit alone that have passed. Generally, poor diet, spotty medical care, and the whole mental environment make old age behind the walls less a quiet retirement from life, than a steady slipping away. All loss and no gain.

I probably sound morbid as hell. Should know better than to write first thing this morning. Not enough caffeine yet.

Perhaps the weather will turn soon, taking my mind in a different direction. But for this morning, in the quiet before the noise and bustle of the day begins, I'm missing my younger winters. Try not to let me get down though. The other side of the coin says that at least there were those younger stronger winters, yes? And memory, no matter the wistfulness of it, is still more than a little comforting.

I guess it's not so bad. Then again it could just be the caffeine today.

Enjoy your winter, or if not that find a warm fireplace.

Till next.

26 March 2005

I let someone read my journal entries that had been collecting on the front of my legal pad. He wanted to know what kind of things I wrote about. His critique, after the comments like, "My god, can't you spell?!?", and, "What language is this? Is that an 'a' or a 'g'?" came down to, I wander too much, I'm not clear or concise.

So my trains of thoughts get de-railed sometimes. I always end up somewhere, just not where I thought I was going. How's that saying go? Wherever you find yourself, There you are? Well, something like that. Maybe it's the one about not being the destination, but the trip. It's probably just senility anyway.

Onward!

A few weeks ago I wrote about funny. I wrote a lot, said a little, and gave little by way of example. So to patch the gap I offer the following:

My wife-now ex-was not one for grocery shopping. She worked days, I nights, so having me do it was convenient. Now I've always been one to keep lots of snacks and stuff about the house. Fruit, of course, but also chips, Twinkies, and above all cookies & ice cream. Fattening, yes. Bad for the kids, yes. A Absolute necessity at 4am after a long tough shift at work, also yes!

Now, one of my all time favorites was the Oreo. No, not the standard ones, I had to have the double-stuffs. This stuff is like cookie-crack. Like I already wrote, I bought lots of snacks, even more than one bag of Oreos. All so there would be one back all mine to have after work a handfull at a time.

One night I came home after a particularly bad night, go to the cupboard to find a bag with only 2 Oreos in it.

(I will preface this next part with the statement that I know I was wrong. I will admit for the record that I probably deserved anything I got.)

I marched into the bedroom, woke my wife, and made far more of it than I should have. Ending it all by loudly asking, "Is it too much to ask of you not to eat all my damn cookies!?!?"

O.K. not the smartest move a man has ever made with the woman he loves. I get it.

All was well for three or four weeks until one night when I come home to a little surprise.

Thinking I'd read for a bit before turning in, I made a small bowl of ice cream, grabbed the bag of Oreos and sat down. Not really looking while reading, I reach in grab a cookie take a bite... problem...

Off again to the bedroom, again wake wife. "What's this?" "What the hell?"

Calmly she takes the bag, looks at the cookies, looks at me.

"I don't know what the hell your problem is. You'll notice I didn't eat a single cookie... just the cream." She hands the bag back, rolls over and tells me to hit the light on the way out.

How do you win with someone like that. I shut up, and turned off the light on my way out. I also let her eat whatever cookies she damn well pleased. I'm not completely brainless.

Real life. You just can't beat it for funny.

'Till Next.

3 April 2005

The guy I share my cell with likes "reality" T.V. Big Brother, Survivor, you name it. Not that he's stooped to watching America's Top Model yet, so I guess there's still hope. Me, I may be going over to the dark side...

The one that's finally hooked me is the Amazing Race. In my defense it's the only reality T.V. show that happens in the Real world. All over the real world in fact. What can I say, no one's perfect.

I don't own a television of my own. My cellie does, and for the most part we like the same sorts of shows. Sports though, are not my big thing, while he watches anything and everything. Luckily, I tend to read a lot.

It's easy to watch too much T.V. on the outside. It's even easier inside. Figure you're locked in your cell for 20-22 hours a day, really easy to let yourself go brain dead watching court TV & talk shows all day. Here, at least I'm lucky in that my cellie won't watch daytime T.V. unless it's public. I hear some guys in here who get upset if they miss their soaps. It's sad really...

That's really one of the biggest problems for a lot of inmates I think. Too much time and not enough worth while to fill it. For myself, I get by with reading, logic & math puzzles, and of course, writing. This project is good for that. But letters are the backbone of my writing. It's the connection that's important. Being involved, however vicariously, in another's life can be a real mental life saver.

Personally, I've never been a phone person anyway. I like letters. And you really can't beat the feeling of getting a letter, in or out of prison. Inside it's a treat and outside, in this world of instant everything, a actual letter that someone took not only the thought but the time and effort to write, well, it's unfortunately a rare thing.

It's a thing to think about. When was the last time you sat down and wrote a nice long letter to someone instead of just calling. There was a time when I'd write a letter to my wife and she was usually in the next room. Any of you guys out there, a well timed letter out of the blue can be better than flowers or a nice dinner out. Not necessarily full of mush and too much sweetness, mind you. All you need to put down is sincere genuine thought & feeling. She'll get it. And in all likelihood never throw it away. That's the difference between a phone call and a letter. We know they're special in some way. Even if it's hard to define just how.

So, here's an idea. When you get done reading all this turn off your machine, find a pad, a pen , and a comfy spot a remember someone you might not have connected with in a while. Can't hurt, and besides, did you really have something so important going on that you couldn't?

And don't tell me it because Survivors' coming on...

10 April 2005

Well, it's time to pull out my yellow pad and get to writing. However, at the moment I'm a bit struck as to just what to write. A carryover from last week are two new Survivor series a few of us have come up with.

Survivor: New York.

Contestants give up all but one change of clothing, 3 coats, and a shopping cart. After which they must live on the streets of New York for 6 weeks. No coconuts or clams here. That, and the wildlife of New York is a while lot more dangerous than any shark.

Our other one was Survivor: Takrit. It would be funny if it were not so tragically true.

Would it surprise you that inmates think about the work? With some it's a pretty big thing. There is a large Muslim community at this prison so there's the obvious controversy there, both for and against. But even beyond that are a lot of people who are just plain tired of all the politics of the situation.

Maybe it's that we have less of the distractions that you people who have, well, lives. We're not picking up kids from soccer practice or having to work that double shift. Look at a tape of the evening news 90 days after we hit Bagdad, and look at the one tonight. We have more people dying on a daily basis, but we're lucky if we hear more than a few minutes of news about it. Can we be so easily sidelined.

Frankly it pisses me off. Congressional hearings on steroid use in baseball on the same days kids are getting sent home in boxes?!? Am I the only one who finds this obscene? Now it's true, I'm just some convict. It's easy for me to criticize, right? I've heard that from a few guards around here. My question is, am I wrong?

You can't win a guerilla war by fighting guerillas. Russia learned it in Afghanistan. Hell, Great Britain learned it right down the road from here about two century or so ago. So why is it we're still mostly fighting and everything else business as usual?

My own father was a Vietnam vet, and I know what those years cost him. Let's hope we're not just making old mistakes under the guise of new reasons. They're already talking about the years alone it's going to take before we're out of Iraq. My eldest son turns 17 years old this year. My family has a tradition of service. Yes, I want my sons to learn the value and lessons of service one way or another. But what I'm having trouble with is the thought that my son could end up dying in a war that, even while it's going on, seems to be forgotten by so many.

Whether you agree or not with the war or the politicians and their policies it seems somehow immoral to forget those fighting for us. It may not be a "noble" war. It may not even be a moral one. That's not my debate. To serve though. To sacrifice time, family, jobs, and sometimes their lives. This is noble and deserves more recognition than some pithy newsmans' sentiments or a parade. It deserves the efforts of everyday people to think about it and remember...

16 April 2005

O.K. Last week I may have ranted just a bit. But some things just get under my skin.

Onward!

Well, the weather has at last decided it was going to act like spring. We started to have night yards out again. Any extra time outside is great. Mostly I just go out and lose at cards. On most nights though even that's better than sitting in a cell. It's only every other night though.

As much as I enjoy the change in weather. There is one drawback, allergies. It seems with the late spring all the trees are working overtime in the pollen department. Since you can't buy allergy medication on the commissary I'm trying to get into medical to get something. I never had this problem in the great North West, it's all pine trees out there.

As I'm writing this I have food porn on the television. No, nothing x-rated, just all those cooking shows they run on the public channels. On the outside I did a lot of cooking. It's one of the things I got from my mom. A good cook without any daughters don't ya know...

Cooking is one of the things I really miss about the outside world. Of all things that one may seem a bit strange. If you come from a food oriented family though, you understand. Cooking is more than putting a meal together. Good cooking is rarely done along for one thing. It's an effort by at least two if not more. It can be family, community, friendship, laughter, closeness. Some of my best times with my wife, my children, even friends was in the kitchen or at the table.

My sons were practically raised in the kitchen. Mostly I did cooking from scratch and since I did work at produce companies, I used a lot of fresh vegetables. A nice side effect was neither of my sons were what you might call picky eaters. Basically, if it didn't move faster than they did, it was fair game.

Having friends over though, that's the best. A good meal, maybe a bit of wine, and the conversation races. And the later it gets the better the talk, the better the feeling. Of course, that could be the wine...

People don't cook enough now. I'm not counting a nuked dinner, or some pan out of a box. I mean real cooking and not for any special occasion. It should be an everyday thing. Or at least not a rare occasion. Because the thing is it's not really about the meal. A good meal is just a great side benefit. The real value is in the talking to your kids; the closeness with your family; and yes, even that certain tension that can be so sweet when your wife brushes past you.

Eating is life. Shouldn't you at least try to put some effort into it. Just a thought from someone who's past able to do it. Sure it all sounds a bit P.S.A. but that doesn't make it also true.

'Till Next...

23 April 2005

I was born and raised out on the west coast. Pacific Northwest actually. Since coming out here I've learned something new about all these trees you've got out here in the east... They're full of pollen. Growing up I was surrounded by pine trees. Even as an adult, I never had a problem with allergies. Out here though, oak, beech, ash, and poplar everywhere.

Don't find yourself in a prison if you suffer from allergies, or any chronic illness for that matter. Granted, in the grand scheme of things a bit of allergies isn't really such a big thing. A miserable pain in the backside, yes, but not exactly life or death.

Health care is getting hard to come by everywhere nowadays. And it's no different in here. It's been a couple weeks now since I asked about seeing someone for an allergy medication. It costs $5.00 to see the doc plus a buck per prescription. So there I know I'm better off than a lot of people out there. No complaints there, sometimes though you have to ask about who you're seeing when you get into a doctor just like the outside.

It's been near a year now that I've been trying to get this thing with my hand fixed and get it fixed. Mostly so I can go back to work.

I see other guys in here, getting older, falling ill, and then just keep on falling. All the usual suspects: heart disease, cancer, diabetes. It's a little scary really. Most of us know that if you start down that road there just won't be any safety net to save the day. Once you start down it all ends the same.

It may be why you see so many people in here working out and trying to stay fit. Somehow I doubt that gym memberships were to high on any of our lists of priorities before we go here. Perhaps that may be part of the problem.

It's funny really; we wait until it's mostly too late to watch what we eat, and try to take care of ourselves. Then again maybe that's not so unusual. Maybe it's just human nature not to worry enough until it's too late.

Don't get me wrong here. I'm not saying anyone should feel sorry for inmates medical problems. Especially when there's such a general problem in this country with health care. The thing is too often people think in terms of us-on-the-outside and them-people in prison. I think the first steps in really seeing and each other as people is to look at all the things in common, even the small ones. Concentrate enough on those things and you may even start to lose focus on things like walls and barb wire, or nationality, or color, or religion. Concentrate enough and we may even start to see the people. Just a though.

28 April 2005

The weathers been nice here of late. Cool mornings that aren't too cold and pleasant evenings with a breeze. Who could ask for more? My nose is still communing with the gods of pollen. Just like energizer bunny... still running. That should be calming down soon though.

With the weather getting so nice I find my thoughts turning more and more towards my sons. Were I in a position to we'd be at the coast, or maybe hiking around the Columbia Gorge. Or, more probably, stepping on legos, picking up shoes and clothes and yelling about unmade beds and messed up rooms. Yeah, still miss it.

\par

Some people might be surprised about how devoted some inmates are to their children on the outside. Less surprised perhaps at the men at the other end of the spectrum.

Children of inmates and the issues surrounding them can be tricky to discuss. As much as any of the incarcerated can talk about how much they love their kids there's always that unspoken question, "If you love them so much, what are you doing in prison?" It's hard to get past that one, not least of all because in many ways it's true. No bull here, if we thought half as much as we say we do about our children we wouldn't be here. People, I, lose sight of what's important. Most of us do on occasion.

\par

I don't think a person can make up the hurt done to a child when we go to prison. Not the past retrieving, the stigma they feel, or the brand it puts on them as our children.

Then there's the joys of visiting your parent at the prison. All the happiness of seeing someone you love and miss tainted by prison walls and security. Visiting a person in prison is rarely made to feel so welcome as to want a second visit. It's really a no win situation. You want to stay attached, be a part of your children's lives, but always second guessing yourself on whether or not your doing the right thing.

My sons still live out west. So seeing them isn't really a practical thing. My brother sees to them which is a good thing. My ex-wife and I made a dogs dinner of the whole thing, my brother though is about the best person I know. It could be a lot worse.

Thinking forward I worry about how much my mistakes will shape their lives, the men they will become. I worry about that possible day when the man who was my little boy sits across from me looking for answers that even now I'm not sure I have. Reasons why that sound suspiciously like excuses; promises left unkept and now revisited; these are the things that haunt the back of my day dreams about sandcastles and mountain trails. What will I say if that day comes and if it might just be worse if that day never in the end came.

I think a lot about my sons, and hope if/when they think of me, its also about good times, at least some of the time.

'Till Next.

7 May 2005

There are times when trying to fill in the hours here can be a chore in itself. Guys do all sorts of things to fill the days. Some good, like arts and crafts, reading, writing; others not so good, cough potato T.V. addiction. My cellie paints. I've tried drawing and the like, really tried. Frankly art just isn't a skill I was destined to have. Sad really I've always wanted to be able to do something like that. Alas, it just is not to be.

For me it seems I'm stuck with reading and writing. Or, when I feel like getting frustrating logic and math puzzles. A good book and I can lose whole days with my buddies having to remind me about things like meals. The worst are those nights when I'm, "just going to read a few pages before I go to sleep." Later when the wake-up call goes over the intercom I get that it's now morning. Good book though...

There's a lot of cards, too. Spades, pinochle, cribbage, gin, and gin-rummy, hearts. We play a lot of hearts for push-ups. 25 push-ups if you get stuck with the queen of spades, another 50 if you lose a game. I've really learned to hate the game of hearts... I mean really really hate that game.

Any new game is worth trying just for the variety. Right now I'm trying to pin down a set of rules for bridge and canasta. My mother played canasta, but I never learned. Bridge has started to gain a following just because of its complex and variable. Even pinochole gets old after a while. So you're always looking for new things.

Of late a friend of mine has started playing a game called Magic. It's with cards, but instead of Ace through King, it's values, points, abilities. Think something like that cartoon Yugio, it's based on a game somewhat like this. Yeah, I realize this comes with a serious amount of hokiness. I try to ignore it though and go with it, it's new and different after all. I try to look at it like a real complicated game of war.

Some might be surprised at just how large a following chess has behind the walls. A lot of guys play. Quite a few are really good. A few times a year Princeton sends a few guys to play the inmates here. Very good ranked sorts who for the most part destroy us poor class mortals. But every year there are a handful of guys who, if not beat them out right, at least play them down to a stale-mate. Not a small feat at that.

For myself, I love the game. Have since I was 10. Unfortunately, my cellie doesn't play or want to learn. So I play only on occasion. Only being a yard 2-4 hours a day this time a year you can only do so much. Work out, cards, walk, chess. Got to mix it up.

Keeping busy. That's about half of it when it comes to staying sane in here. Just keeping busy. Distractions are your friend. They keep you from thinking too much. Maybe it's like that for most people. How sad would that be...

Well, I'm in danger of turning maudlin so here I will close. Take care.

14 May 2005

Well, welcome to Trenton, N.J. where all hell has broken loose. It seems there were some weapons found in the prison. Not firearms or anything like that, but street weapons just the same. From everything I hear some brass knuckles, a switch-blade, and such. If it were just something home made, as it were, there wouldn't be such a huge mess around here. But weapons from the outside mean someone bringing them in. I.E. guards or some of the civilians that work here.

Some, not all, prisons have problems with the outside finding its way where the powers that be don't want it to be. Usually, the things that find themselves inside are pretty innocuous: sunglasses, a prohibited magazine, a decent pen. Things here at Trenton have gone beyond that sort of thing. Cell phones are found on a pretty regular basis. Often enough it's not even that unusual. Now it's been bumped up to weapons.

So now the place is locked down tighter than all hell. Actually scratch that. On the one hand, yes, it is locked down. All yards are cancelled, no gym, religious services, visits, education classes, laundry, shops. On the other hand they let us go out to go to the chow hall. But that and our showers are the only time we get to leave our cells. If these were real lockdown days there wouldn't be any food service workers being let out. We wouldn't be let out to go to any chow hall either. The guards would not only be doing all the cooking, they'd also be doing the feeding in out cells.

I guess it could mean that it could be worse.

Searching is next. They'll empty the unit, put us all in the gym or the chapel. After that they'll toss the whole unit. And then we'll go back and clean up the mess.

Fun times.

Personally I don't have anything to worry about but the inconvenience of it all and the missed yards. And that's not even that bad because truthfully I won't miss it all that much anyways, Been feeling a nip under the weather lately. Started with the allergies and went to coughing. So I've felt a bit under the weather. A few days off and I'll be right as rain.

All in all there probably won't be a lot to say about my days here for a while. But it will all blow over before long and it will be same old, same old. I mean if they were actually serious about all this they would have done something meaningful to catch the people who hid the contraband in the first place. I don't know, maybe by taking fingerprints off the weapons instead of running around in circles tossing cells and locking everyone down asking whose is this.

Of course, that would make sense... never happen.

So there you go the latest from the front here in beautiful Trenton, N.J.

'Till Next Time.

19 June 2005

Too often I am not much of a planner. For instance this paper I'm writing on now. Usually, I use the big yellow legal pads. Mostly because my cell has never come with a desk, or anything to sit on. When I write then it's either while writing in bed lying down, or as often sitting my door way, it's raised up about 15'' off the floor.

It's not a great seat, but it is the only one I've got. A legal pad just fits better on your lap than these small while ones. Like I said though, not always a good planner. So we'll all have to deal.

Summer seems to be working its way into N.J. at last. Crowding out spring and it's more comfortable days. It's not anywhere near the heat due come end of July or August. I'm sure though it's just a matter of time though before summer's bags are completely unpacked, and like any visiting relative seems like it will never go away.

\par

I have never been a summer person. Not that I've enjoyed all the fun of summer. Beach trips; no school; practically living at the river as a teen ; all this and a thousand other things made summers great when I was younger. But in my head I've never been a summer person.

Fall has always been my favorite season, with winter following a close second. It's this entering summer season that always seems farthest from home.

\par

Some of my friends think it's all because I prefer cold over hot days, and I do, but it's not the reason I prefer winter over summer. I think it's not the cold but the bundling against it. Not the cold frigid nights, but the warm glowing home to return to. Not the rain and chill when the last of the leaves fall; but the taste of hot soup and fresh bread, a cup of tea and a good book.

Maybe it's a strange way of looking at things. So be it. It doesn't really matter much I guess. Some people are summer people. Now that's strange! I try to be patient with them.

After all summer people are not half as annoying as those people who are all bright and cheery at you before coffee in the morning. For them there should be a law.

26 June 2005

I have bad habits. Everyone does I suppose so there shouldn't be too much self-incriminations, but I know what mine are and I still don't do anything about them. Not good.

For instance, hygiene. Now don't get me wrong, I am clean. I shower at least once a day, even use soap. Plus, I usually find at least one occasion a day to wash up at the sink with a wash cloth. There's a passing familiarity between myself and my stick of deodorant. Although frankly, I'd rather just wash up than use it. The stuff stains my T-shirts. No, my problem has ever been and will be... hair.

The problem is two-fold: hair on top of the head and hair on the front of the face. I hate shaving and I hate having to deal with the stuff on top. Even more so the longer it continues to go awol on me. Somehow my hair has come to hate me.

I have never had what you would call a nice looking beard. On a good day, well trimmed I might get away with, "slightly unkept amish dude." On a bad day we're talking crazy lumberjack dude. "My god! Is that a chainsaw!?! Aaaagh!"

Anyway.

The problem is that clean shaven doesn't fly all that much better. Blessed with good genes, if you take off the beard you take off at least 10 years. I was still getting carded at age 30. Not good in your 20's but as 40 begins to rear its ugly head perhaps not all bad. Still, babyface is not a good look for anyone.

Beside, like I said I hate to shave. It's a pain in the ass. There's no hot water in my cell so its try to shave in the shower with 5 other guys and a steamy mirror - you can bleed to death that way. Mostly I just get the barber to trim it really short then forget it until the grizzly adams jokes start to get pulled out. Sort of the same thing I do with the hair on top of my head.

Pure Lazy.

Like I said though, bad habits.

It could all be so much worse though. I don't smoke, don't do drugs, I'm not in here trying to make alcohol. Sure it could be worse. Maybe, this isn't a thing to worry about. After all, in here who do I have to impress?

Most days you would want to sit next to me on the bus, but at least if you had to you wouldn't have to hold your breath! It could be worse...

3 July 2005

After reading my last entry I realized that before I went off on a tangent I actually had a point to make about bad habits. Mine specifically. My most concerning habit is laziness. It can all too easily go from a habit to lifestyle here behind the walls. The consequences can be far more quickly a problem you can't get out from under in here.

Any lazy person, in or our, can have health problems. Couch potato wasn't meant to describe inmates, but if you lock a person in a cell 21-22 hours a day, like as not that's what you're going to get. Let me tell you it's always potato season in Trenton.

Why would anyone out there care?

Money. Pure and Simple.

It costs YOU money, by way of the tax bill. Poor diet and not enough activity causes as many health problems in here as it does out there. So, in the end you pay for it. We pay, too, but it's more a price of health: mental and physical. Guys in their 30's who've got cholesterol through the roof and health signs of a 55 year old. And there are a lot of older people who, when you talk to them, you almost immediately notice how diminished they are.

Once you stray from a handful of subjects, sports, prison subjects, etc, they simply lose all traction. they've lost all the ability to adapt.

Even knowing this I fall into the same easy trap as anyone else. Last week I spent an entire day simply laying in my rack, not watching TV, not listening to the radio, not even sleeping ; just laying and drifting on my own stream of thoughts and memories. An all too easy habit to get into.

A certain inwardness of thought is not necessarily a bad thing. Many people in here could have probably used a bit more before they ended up here. It can be addictive though, disengaging. Escapism can be a sweet song to follow.

I try to stay "wide awake" y reading and puzzles, and even this, writing for this project. With this, writing really bad poetry, starting...not finishing a great many stories, and the time I spend with my buddies I figure I'll be able to keep my head above water.

The trouble is that day, just lying there, felt good. So, where do you put a feeling like that? Where do you go to get away, and not play escape?

7 July 2005

I always try to keep in mind that no matter how bad things might be; it could after all be worse. Then I saw my volleyball team in action...

Sigh.

It isn't all bad and with a little work we could be decent. I'm not looking at a championship team. Sure and some of us are just not good volleyball players, but the real problem is an attitude that I've noticed all through the prison system and the inmates. We don't play well with others...

It really doesn't make any difference what game you talk about it seems that the biggest motivation to play anything is that if you win you get to talk trash. Sometimes even when you don't win. There aren't allowed to just enjoy a game win or lose. It's all or nothing. Not only is it just sad, it's also a problem.

Thin about it, the attitude, the only reason to do anything is to be on top. Not to do a good job, not to have fun, but to be able to strut, brag, and talk down to others. So, forget games. If I can't read well, quit. If I can't be good enough to trash talk almost from the get go, give up and do something else. If I'm not the best at my job. If I'm not good and math or relationships, don't work to get better, just move on to something else, and something else, and, and, and.

Very few of us find that our natural talent isn't really all that natural. It take real work and often quite a few instances of real failure. what's left is a whole group of people who do what's easy because they can talk trash about it. life once you leave prison is not easy. Old habits, quick money, and other short cuts are.

Am I reading too much into all this? Who am I to say. But I worry about it some. For one I have to live with it here everyday. One the other hand you out there will have to live with it in the future.

Maybe, a way...actually I don't know how to help fix it. Maybe it's more wide spread than in prisons. Maybe it's spreading. Think work ethic people. Promote it. Spread it. Require it. Ok! Break! Till next.

14 July 2005

My radio listening is changing season again. Mostly I listen to classic rock, some new rock, and I get some off mainline stuff on the Princeton College channel. Sooner or later I always end up on the NPR channel. My local is WHYY in Philadelphia. For a long time I couldn't get the channel at all and I really missed it.

Now though I have found a sweet spot in my room, and if I have my radio just so, I can get NPR without static. Static drives me up the wall like fingernails on a chalkboard. With the sweet spot though I can listen to all the news and specialty shows I want without having to stand by my door with my radio held up into the air.

Good Times.

I was already listening to "Thistle and Shamrock" even with the arm in the air. It's been a long time favorite of mine. Now thought I'm listening to Garrison Kellor, Car Talk, Morning Edition, and This American Life.

A week ago I wrote a little about my own mental laziness and my worries about it. Trying to listen to not only varieties of music, but also varieties of subjects. Some guys in here listen to/watch a lot of news, some others do a lot of sports radio, and TV shows. Personally, this just doesn't seem to be enough variety. Ask what a person heard on the news a week later and they probably won't be able to tell you. Sports, well names change, and games evolve some, but basically the changes in say, football now as compared to the football of my father could be completely covered in a relatively short conversation.

It can leave you in as big a rut as the show "Law and Order." A great show; I like it, but there's not enough variety. Ruts in the TV, ruts on the radio, ruts in your head. All part of the same thing. So I try to do more NPR if only for the variety.

The real question: is this a prison problem, or is it a people problem. How many do you know or have met who, though far from stupid or ignorant, were nonetheless completely one sided. Too much, I think, we tend to specialize, and that in areas small and of little volume. I mean it's hard enough reading these pages with the hand writing and spelling. Could you imagine if it were all about cars, or sports, or my god...prison? Wish me luck on the variety from...

21 July 2005

It seems this is my year to visit medical. Somehow I got a real bad infection in my right arm, right around and in my elbow. Once I got a lot of heat in the joint I went down to medical. No big deal really, or so I thought.

The doc was great, wrote me a script and sent me on my way. the problem was some snafu in getting my prescription from the pharmacy to my cell door. I saw the doc on Friday. By Monday night the infection had gone south quick and I had a rupturing blood and ick boil about he size of a 50 cent piece.

Not good times.

No doc to see until Tuesday morning and then he was talking about hospital stays and intravenous antibiotics. Needles...eeewwwww! Take into account the fact that Tuesday morning I still hadn't seen my prescription, which if I had I probably wouldn't be in this fix in the first place.

So now I'm on 20 days of meds and twice a day bandage changes, nothing you want to eat right before. Totally stinks this situation. And on top I still don't know how I got it or just which little beastie is causing the infection. No one cultured it.

On the bright side, the new meds seem to be taking a firms hold of things even after just a few days. And as long as I don't lean on my arm or bump it I'm good.

Why is it when you don't want to hit something that part of your body becomes 10 times its normal size and seems attracted to every hard surface and sharp corner? I mean really, what's up with that?!? I've woke up 3 times this week in the middle of the night, chocking back words I won't repeat here, when I hit my elbow on the wall turning over.

I'm sure I'll be laughing about this someday. It's just not someday yet. Now it's just really annoying, especially since I'm right handed. So, if my writing is even worse than my usual scrawl, you'll know why.

And with that I think I'll close. Sot much going on right now. So the news from Trenton is for the most part uneventful, if a bit distracted.

Till next.

25 July 2005

Well, here we are firmly in July and it seems to be determined to a stomp all over we poor humans foolish enough to live here. Heat and humidity. If this was the weather back in pilgrim days it must have been pretty terrible back in England. If not they would have packed it back to Europe!

Sure, back in the beautiful North West it got hot but usually didn't have all this humidity. That and our tap water was always cold. Not this tepid stuff that comes out of the spigot. One good thing is that here we are allowed ice chests in our rooms. So if I want to buy ice--we do get some free ice every other day) I can have a cold soda, or more usually a cold water or even better: ice tea.

what is it about iced tea that makes it the perfect summer drink? Lemon, mint, or straight, it's all good stuff. Besides I have to get my caffeine somehow. If I boiled a cup for hot tea in my cell I'm afraid in this heat my cellie might charge me. Humidity and a steamy drink in a small place just don't mix.

I shouldn't complain though, soon enough this will pass and move on to fall.

The arm is better and the bandages have come off at last. Thank God! With my arm wrapped from half way to my wrist to halfway up to my shoulder I was stuck in my cell. No chow hall, yard, or gym. A pain, but bearable. This year is different though, I put together a volleyball team, and although they've been going down and playing I haven't been able o go down and watch what's going on. Second hand info just doesn't cut it.

Now thought I'll be off to my first game tomorrow. Love the change of pace, love the game. Not that I'm any kind of volleyball superstar. I do get those digs though.

So, all in all, the news form Trenton is not much. the only new into I've gotten was that the doc seems to the think the whole arm thing was caused by a couple of bites form something that REALLY did not agree with me. All this from the two little pits (little is a relative term) in the center of the two wounds. So this month we've learned I taste good to bugs, and don't count on a prescription showing up...

Well, till next. Take care.

7 August 2005

On most days I can find myself content to be still. I listen to a lot of radio, both talk and music, so it's not that hard to be still. There's been more that one whole afternoon passed that way. Not that even a radio is required.

My cellie listens to a lot of sports talk on his radio, especially in the mornings. Lights off and him plugged in, and me left with the choice of turning on the light and doing "something" or just laying back. More often than not it's the latter. God, that sounds so lazy. Don't get me wrong though I'm napping. Most times I'm not even thinking much. It's not like daydreaming or contemplating "deep" thoughts. I can't even say it's any kind of meditation, and make it sound good.

No, I seems I spend a lot of time simply being there. Probably entirely too much time...

Maybe it's just a case of ignorance is bliss, and I'm a pretty blissful camper. Always a possibility.

OK, so we've determined that I probably have a bad habit of turning my head off and going on cruise control. The thing is, and I actually had a appoint when I started today, is that it's also extremely mind clearing and restful. Really. Especially the mind clearing part.

I don't know how your mind works, but for myself things tend to work better if I look at a problem real good and then, if the answer isn't immediately obvious, walk away. The phrase "Sleep on it," comes to mind. That actually works for me. I can't count he times a name I can't remember will pop up in front of my head out of nowhere hours later.

I guess I've learned to just go with it. And one of the ways I do is to just turn off for a but now and again. It seems to make the rest of the day a whole lot easier and pleasant, even I here. It also seems to make me sharper at cards, but that may just be my opinion.

Up front I'll grant you the environment around me is less than restful. Nowadays though, who is?!?

So here's what you do: block out a couple of hours in one of your days. Find a quiet spot where you won't get bothered and turn off your head for a bit. No sleeping. What could it hurt?

Till next.

13 August 2005

Perhaps it's natural to a see ourselves in the mirror of our children. At first it's a color of hair or perhaps a shape of the face or eye. Later on it's maybe their height or build. But the thing that we all try/hope to see in them in the real us. Our values, way of thinking, skills, preferences, those 101 Things that make us; us; and hopefully in some way make them what they are.

But what happens when your life leads to a place like this? What happens when you look out on a person so much you, when you look behind you and see only a cell?

Far to few people here think about that, or at least don't admit it. How many people in prison right now have made the same mistakes in deeds, or thinking that led to deed, that in the end landed them behind walls and bars?

On the other hand what can you do?

My eldest, lived his first years always hearing how much he was like his father. Not just in looks, which is almost scary, but in his temperament, his attitudes, his emotions. And I should be honest here, it didn't exactly displease me. It's not that I ever wanted a mini-me or anything, but for a man to have a son who he can understand, talk to, and interact with on a level they both understand unspoken is something that is hard to put into any words.

Not that there aren't differences. Off the top I'm a big Sci-fi reader, while he's simply not interested in those kinds of books, although he does read quite a bit. And that's just lone way in which we differ.

Now though I worry. Once you make the kind of hash I've made of my life that I have to start looking at where it went wrong. And then, which one of these 101 things that you and your child share are also one of those things that pushed the current of the river that got you dumped in a place the likes of this.

The real problem though isn't even what I'm thinking or not thinking. No, the problem is these are also the questions our kids ask themselves. If I'm just like dad, (and really am in so many ways) won't I end up just the same?

If there are any answers to the problem of such questions, I still don't know them. All you can do is try to figure it out. And maybe hope.

21 August 2005

Ok! So now a few weeks back I wrote about my being too often still and blank of mind. Well, as for blank of mind there's probably not a good deal we can do at this point. At least that's the consensus of friends. But the picture of myself as a ;lazy lay about we can do some repair anyway.

I have never been a hyper kid. I didn't bounce around in class or run all through the house at the drop of a hat. On the other hand I've often needed at least the feeling of motion. Long drives even as a kid have always felt good to me. The world streaming by, here and gone, none of it held onto but seen and let pass. That's the best I can describe it.

Once I got old enough I learned the joys of walking and hiking. Some of my best memories are out in the back and beyond in the middle of a big patch of nowhere. It's been remarked though, that there's a lot less conversation when I'm moving. Not sure why that is. Normally there's no shortage of talking where I'm concerned. But whether it's driving across town or to the store; or if it is a day kike under Mt. Hood, the talk dries up and the quiet takes hold.

It annoyed the hell out of my wife. Then again, to me, all the talk was a distraction. So it didn't make either of us happy.

My mother has told me that from crawling age I wanted to go "see" more than I wanted to play or even be cuddled. Now much of that is family folklore memories and the way things really were I can't tell you.

Here's what I do know. Some of the worst days here in prison are those odd occasions when stillness won't cut it. when you find yourself half-pacing in your cell consumed with a powerful urge to be moving somewhere, anywhere. And there's no place to go.

Sure and there is a the yard and walking for hours in a circle, but at best it's a poor substitute for the urge to go. Got to go out. Got to go on, somehow, someplace.

But they aren't all bad days. Sometimes it's just got to go. Till next.

29 August 2005

Here's something that I just do not understand. How can people invest so much of their self-esteem in a game?!? Now I'm not talking about professionals here, or am I limited to just inmates; although it does seem to be even more a thing here than it is on the outs.

We've all heard of poor winners and poor losers, but here it seems so much deeper a problem. Too many guys make all the stupid games we play be it cards or volley ball into something, well, important. It is always just a game. It is not a comment, one way or another, win or lose about anyone as a person. Why is that so hard to get?!?

It seems that to lose a game of cards or ball means that you are a "loser." So anything a person has to do to avoid that is ok. Argue, play dirty, don't play at all, whatever it takes. Am I the only one who "plays" just to play?

Sure and you're right, I'd prefer to win than lose. But then I'd also prefer to play than not. But here's what I mean when I say self-esteem is invested, it may actually be part of this culture I'm part of. Too big a part.

It's all stupid one-upmanship and crap. And here you have to think, if a guy is so desperate to find some self-worth for himself that he'll get into a shouting match over a ball game. What the hell kind of life is he going to make for himself on the outside. He needs external examples of his value.

Some of you might just put it down to bad sportsmanship, but we're not talking about a bunch of little leaguers here, but a large group of what should be grown men. So all these fall out issues you'd face with a poor loser little leaguer are magnified by all the adult interactions and situation an adult has to successfully deal with...or not.

And the "winners" are nearly as bad. "I won a ball game, I'm a great person." Until the next time, or until the day they realize how little real value that ball game is in the real world and they haven't bothered to develop anything else.

what to do about it? No idea. But it is frustrating. And if I think on it too much...scary.

4 September 2005

There is a problem with being an inmate when it comes to relating to the outside world. There is, after some time, a disconnect between what's real here and what's real in the larger world. We see things on the television sure, but it gets harder and harder to relate to it.

Some do fight it. Especially the disconnect that happens with there friends and family. There's calls "home" every other day when they first find themselves in prison. Or the same calls to every friend they can think to call, and who will keep accepting the calls. Before long the expense of the call begin to cool the acceptance at the other end. two to five dollars for a local call from the prison, it adds up.

It's not just the cost though, it's this separation. By definition prison is not a fun place. And it's unchanging. Or, at least it is when things are going well. Change, more often than not is a bad thing you don't want to discuss with the folks back home. So, it's, day in day out, pretty much the same.

The real world isn't like that though, not really. Even if your life is in a bit of a rut the world intrudes itself into your life. you have to react to it. Which is good, really. Unfortunately, there isn't a lot of world free to intrude on us on here. When a bit of time passes we lose touch.

Wives move on; kids move on; friends...

You try to hold to some of it, through the more and more infrequent phone calls, letters that also become shorter and less often sent; the holiday card.

I'm not sure if I really have appoint here. Or rather, there is an idea I want to try to understand. I mean isn't that, at least partially what this whole journal project's all about? Ideas gotten across and connection?

Maybe that's why I agreed to write in the first place. I realize I'm losing that feeling of connectivity, that being a part of a world larger than the grounds of a prison, larger than the mindset that seems to be part of the bars and fences.

Maybe this is a thank you, or a t least a n acknowledgement. Maybe just an idea across.

9 September 2005

About half the time I listen to the radio it's NPR. The format for public radio news is more to my taste. News--facts, mixed with news--human interest. Add in a lot of call-in discussion and it's a fairly informative mix that doesn't either bore you to death or beat you over the head with the same story over and over again with no real information added.

It's strange, last week I was writing about separation between in here and out there. Even while I was writing it the news was talking about the hurricane hitting New Orleans. And now with a handful of days past it's hard even for someone in here to be completely separate form the dog's dinner that whole situation has become.

Poor planning, worse response and we've managed to bring the 3rd world right here to our own back yard. It's been 5 days now and people still don't have food and water? Children have died for lack of food and water! People lie dead in the streets of a major American city near a week after a natural disaster that we have "planned" for. That we knew could happen, has happened before. We pay people to be prepared, to make sure we are prepared.

If you're wondering about me using the "we" bit it's because I am just a s responsible. Sure I'm in here now, but what about before I was here? I did vote, and I did on occasion put a bit more effort out for a cause I believed in. But did I do enough? Did you? Did anybody?

We put people in office, but why aren't they held responsible. Why isn't that time and time again we find ourselves in the drink and afterwards some scapegoat gets the blame, but nothing really changes.

How long since 9/11? Do you feel like we're less likely to be hit with an attack? And if you don't feel safer then why did we let all that money get spent on Homeland 'Security'?

Too often the victims get blamed and the people who are supposed to be watching the ball are swinging at balls and watching the strikes go right by them. So what is the problem? Has it all just gotten too big for any of us? Or are the people we've been putting in charge just smart enough to get where they are, and not do enough to do what needs to be done. Me, I don't know .

13 September 2005

Here's an exercise for you: Ask everyone you know what December 7th is. Don't put it in any context or give clues. Just ask what December 7th is. Do you know? Can you guess?

For the past couple days I've been thinking about it. I've even asked a few people up and down the tier here, even a couple guards. Not one person knew it.

My last entry (read that as a rant) was all about our letting the big guys go unaccountable when they drop the ball. But it got me thinking about how much our country, people, culture is shaped by these bad things that happen. This last Sunday I listened to the list of names being read one after another to memorialize a moment when a symbol for some of the best things about our country went from a building to a pyre.

Will this be the event that shapes so much of us now> For how long?

As the names were read I started thinking of another lit of names, from another memorial, from another such moment in history. That moment shaped a great deal in this country and how it viewed the world. It is in many ways night and day.

Have you guessed about the date? December 7th, the day the U.S. Naval base at Pearl Harbor was attacked. Also the day our country shed, probably for the last time, our attitude of isolationism. On that day our people shifted from "I don't care, it's not our problem," to what would one day be the world's policeman.

Of course, this is all an over simplification. But you get the gist.

Here's the two things I'm wondering: One, just what, if anything, will we learn form 9/11. Not what we say will be learned, but rather those things we'll carry in our culture as we move forward.

The other is, for how long?

Will out children remember September 11th? Their children?

How many people know what, December 7th was?

I don't know if there are any answers, or if there are, if they can be articulated in the end anyway. But this is what a person can find themselves thinking about at the end of long list of real names read aloud...

18 September 2005

The newsletter arrived this last week. Who knows when it was sent. I also got a Hamilton book paper dated in July, I'd already gotten one for the end of August. So you there at the news letter please don't get too discouraged by your dealings with the prison mail system. We live here and we can't figure it out.

I'm trying to get on track again. I work better within habits and routines. Journal day is generally on Sunday when my cellie is at his weekly visit. On those days he gets one on Saturday I just adapt. I write better without distractions (reasons to procrastinate.)

My friend just celebrated her 40th birthday. Yeah, it's a big one. As yet I haven't gotten all the glory details, parties, and such, but soon enough. She's my connection to the outside reality. Not the big things really, but those thousand and one things that everyday life brings. Lately it's been the saga of the kitten dilemma.

Anyone who has taken a stray , or more importantly, had said cat have kittens in your bedroom closet and all over your Keds, knows where the story goes. She's such a beautiful soft touch with animals. Then again I have no room to talk with all the strays I've had. Hell, I don't think I've had a cat that wasn't since I was ten. And I've had a lot of cats over the years.

If it's not pets, it's school since she's gone back, or her daughters, or well, just everyday stuff. It helps her too having someone to rant to.

I like to give her a bad time with a healthy dose of flirting once in a while just to throw her a curve. Not that anything could ever come of it even were I on the outside. We're not of a type, but it's still fun. Half the point of a good flirt in the first place.

I may have just wanted an entry here. At least if there is a subject in this, I can't find it. Kind of like most of my letters to my friend. Maybe the whole point is just communication. No grand schemes or big thoughts, just me and thee connecting with a few jotted words and not a lot else. Till next.

18 September 2005

I wish things were easier. I wish more of the world were as black and white as everyone acts. As so many seem to believe.

Did you ever debate when you were in high school? Never did myself. Did take a college course called human communication though. One of the things taught was that if you really want to win a point in an argument being discussed it's best if you can at least see the other guys point of view. You don't have to agree, mind you, just try to understand it.

why doesn't anyone seem to understand that? It all seems to be whoever gets loudest wins. It's everywhere. They should teach this stuff to kids in kindergarten. At least that way we'd have a chance of a civil political body in about, oh.. forty to fifty years.

Sigh...

Take education in prison. The pro camp, mostly inmates, want education and vocation and anything else they can squeeze in. The opposition has a fairly convincing argument stated simply as: Why should my tax dollars pay for educating the guy who stole my T.V. when I can't afford to send my own kid?

Let me warn you now, state that to a bunch of pro-education inmates and you're going to get some pretty dirty looks. Really.

The problem though is that there is so much more grey, than it is black and white. Why should a tax payer care? Because what else is a thief going to do besides steal when he gets out? Because money doesn't grow on trees, and you need it to show it will do some good. And even this is pretty black and white.

Maybe though, if people would just start to try to understand the other side there'd be, if not perfect solutions, perhaps a road to some solutions. If a guy coming out of prison can't pass a 9th grade Reading/ Math test and has no skills, what's he going to do to survive in the real world if not through crime? If so much money gets thrown down the same hole without any way to show it's doing any good how can you ask to have more thrown in?

God, I wish I lived in a black and white world.

24 September 2005

Have I mentioned I do a lot of puzzles. No crosswords though, I'm fairly sure they're evil. Ok, so they just make me feel evil every time I try to do one. First you want tot rip them in itsy bitsy pieces...Then you want to burn the pieces. But this may just be me.

Logic and Number puzzles are my thing. Lately it's been the Soduku number puzzles. There's one in every paper now it seems. Part of it is the challenge of it al. Trying to stretch your head around a new problem. Trying to not only figure out the problem, but how to get to the solution.

Another part of it, perhaps is the greater part, is pure escape. I get lost in the lines of reason and logic. Hours can pass unnoticed. Start and it's lunch, an interruption ad I'm suddenly told it's dinner. what more can a person ask?

I've been told I can over analyze and over think things. That's a warning by the way.

Escape. Not the physical kind, mind you, but all those escapes we engineer to get away from what's occurring in our lives or heads. I'm thinking I do it, have done it, perhaps more than I should. There's this great song by some 90's group I can't remember the name of that goes something like, "All I can do is read a book to stay awake, and it rips my life away but it's a great escape..." I read a lot too.

All the things I've even enjoyed to do can be seen this way. The reading, the puzzles, but also the hiking and long walks, solitary drives. When things wouldn't be going well in life it seems as if often I wasn't there. 20/20 hindsight? Overthinking? Just dealing with my life? Too much of the last I think.

What I'm wondering is, is it just me? Am is the minority, or in the bulk of it? T.V., magazines, radio, books, empty conversations whose only redeeming quality is the fill the silence, and pass time. How much of your time is just filled and not used?

Ok, so I am probably over thinking it. But since I've already strolled this far...

What I'm trying to get is a handle is on where the consequences start and end. How would things be different; how would I be different.

What if there wasn't any? Would you be different? Would either of us be better?

2 October 2005

They haven't sprayed the weeds of late. Probably figure it will turn chill soon enough and take care of the problem for them. Walking to and from the yard is the only green life I see. Our yard is concrete with no plants, but what trees you can see over the stone walls and wire. Those are beyond reach though.

There was a time when I took care of dozens of plants. Put in bulbs and spent evenings looking through seed catalogues debating this over that seed for spring. Now I get all warm and fuzzy over weeds. Granted, there are some fairly cool looking weeds...

It is sometimes the unexpected thing that catches the heart of you the hardest. The small thing, the forgotten thing. You all hear or know how people in prison miss all the big things, kids, family, the big idea of freedom. But day to day I don't think it's the big things that are really the ones that get to you. They're too big and constant. You have to put some distance between yourself and all this huge absence in your life.

No, it's the unexpected that gets you. The things not so big that you can distance yourself from. Not your children, but a cartoon they watched. Your family is missed, but it's a plate of overcooked turkey that reminds you of a real bad meal they're still laughing about a decade later. Sometimes it's the weeds.

People will ask an inmate what it's like in prison. You hear the same clichés. And though true, I don't think they really connect with those who ask. Too big.

Don't get me wrong. Prison is not meant to be fun. There is a reason for it. There are people who belong here. I don't want to sound all boo hoo, woe is me. It isn't pity or some similar feeling cloaked as understanding that I want. "Understanding" what I miss won't do me or you any good. But if you want others at risk to understand what prison is like, forget those big things in your life. Forget home and forget family. Forget freedom and choice. If you want to understand prison start with your smallest and most impoverished joys. Those are the ones that will trip you up is you get here. Those small inconsequential smiles you get everyday that you will no longer.

In the meantime, till the frost hits, I'm going to enjoy my weeds.

Till next.

9 October 2005

It is almost that time of the year folks! Yep, come mid-October the annual heating of the radiators! Granted, it really hasn't gotten all that cold as yet. A bit chilly early on in the day, but nothing to be concerned about. Radiator heat in my wing though is the only way to get heat. And since Spring the only way to get warm was a hot shower or a hot drink. These cells don't come with hot water.

to be honest it's not bad in general sort of way. It's not really the heat I've missed. You see for me it's all about the toast...

I like toast. (This is about time all the other people in the church basement great me and wait to hear how I hit rock bottom.) When I had my last job I could bring back toast nearly every night. for nearly two years I never once went to breakfast in the chow hall. Tea and toast, three pieces and I was good.

Toast though, cold and rubbery is not exactly appetizing. With a radiator though...man, we are in business. I bit of foil and about 15 minutes and voila refreshed toast ready to be buttered, or when feeling particularly decadent--peanut buttered.

I am the first one to admit I am easily impressed.

It is a simple thing, but not having to deal with all the noise and people first thing in the morning is a god send. People before some form of caffeine is just, well rude. I have never been accused of being a morning person. Luckily my cellie doesn't even consider communicating or getting up until after I've already been moving for some time. It's a good thing.

It's all supposed to come on the 15th. It won't but within a week, barring leaks, stuck valves, or general boiler breakdown, I'll quietly crunching away hunched over my morning cup. Who could ask for anything more, right?

Ok, maybe decent jam, but beggars can't be choosers.

Last week I may have gotten a bit more maudlin than I'd have liked. But I think that there is a flipside to it all. If it's the little things that really hit you in the bones and blood here, it's also the little things that make it bearable It's the recognition that's overlooked.

For now, go away, it's early; I need tea.

Till next.

16 October 2005

There's another inmate here who also writes for this journal project. He has trouble knowing what to write. He asked me what I've been writing about looking for ideas. When I told him a couple weeks ago I wrote toast he looked at me funny. It happens a lot sometimes.

Haven't you had that ever happen though? You start at A and by the time your done writing or talking you've landed at Z not necessarily all in order, you may have skipped a few letters altogether, and one or two of those may have been crylic. Welcome to my life.

Sometimes I have an idea about what I'm going to write before I ever pick up a pen. That's great and all, organized, maybe even coherent. For myself, though, I think I get more form those other times when my head just starts making like the girl in Exorcist and shoots stuff across the room. Not pretty but you might be able to discern what I was having for lunch. figuratively anyway.

Babbling, right?

Ok, focus. Or rather most of us don't really do that. We think in this rush of to do, got to remember, going to say oh she's cute, what was I going to say, manic stream of thoughts. Focusing is a chore sometimes.

The fancy phrase, when taken to extreme, is stream of consciousness writing. All well and good but maybe too lose to comprehend outside and ant house or a shrinks. But it can be informative. And why am I writing all this but to inform and connect. Maybe a little self-examination? Hey, anything can happen.

Where our head heads has been on my mind a bit. A friend of mine recently went to the hole. A small skirmish between two older guys that I still don't understand. I saw it and I still don't understand. Why would he, seemingly out of the blue, just go off like that?!?

Maybe he should start writing.

Well, I'm not sure if I said anything this week, but I managed to take two pages to say it. Neat, huh?

A great quote from a mediocre movie.

"Where are we going?!?

"I don't know, but we're making good time!

I had a girlfriend like that once.

Till next.

29 October 2005

This last week I received a nice letter from Stephanie, one of the two overseeing this whole project. I re-read my entries getting ready to send them out and then her letter. You can actually read her handwriting. Very strange.

Anyway, a formal thank you for the thought and the time. As always, greatly appreciated.

In the letter she referred to some of my early journal entries. Which set of a thought after that it's all cascade effect. Understanding what it's really like in prison. Ms. Stephanie wrote about that. That is such a tall order for even someone truly committed to such a course. It's hard to see past cliché's and preconceptions. I'm not living here on the set of Prison Break, or The Shawshank Redemption, nor is this OZ.

It sounds like I'm being funny, but it really isn't the case. When people inside try to express to people outside what the inner and outer life of an inmate is like, it's these that I have to compete with. Mostly prison is boring, so are a lot of other lives. But to go beyond that, stripped of all the ooohs and aaahs, leaving out any dirt or gory details is hard. And, at first thought, less horrible or cautioning than they should be I think. I mean who cares, right? So, he misses gardening and hiking? He should have thought of that before!

It's hard to defend against such logic if only because there's more than a grain of truth in it. It's the highest wall separating us.

So, if all I can do is throw crumpled notes over the wall, I guess that's what I'll have to do. Without some basis for understanding for the problem there will be no solutions. The best you can hope for is some kind of stay of execution until someday the same problem comes knocking.

when our founding fathers were forming our country the question of slavery was hotly contested. Eventually it was tabled in the name of expediency in order to form the union. Eventually that decision ended in war.

There are problems in our corrections system. Everyone knows it. Discussion is the first step to understanding. And so, even it all my discussions are one sided whistlings in the dark, it's a start.

Till next.

30 October 2005

A friend of mine has ended up in the hole.

Not good.

About the worst thing about going to the hole, besides the snazzy new accommodations, is that you tend to lose a great deal of your property. By the time you get your property it's been gone through at least 3 times. Procedure. Unfortunately, like all the magazines that never seem to find their way from the guards to the people who actually ordered them, things like cigarettes, chips, sodas and candy bars mysteriously disappear somewhere between being packed and arriving. Funny that...

Some things simply aren't allowed in Seg. Hord bound books, cans of tuna fish, hair clippers, etc. So, now I've got two boxes and a cooler full of his stuff so that when he gets out--120 days--he'll still have a lot of stuff he had beforehand. It's situations like these that make having friends so important. I've seen guys stripping a guy of his stuff, radio, food items, toiletries. It's easier when you know a guy will be in lock up for a while. It doesn't help when some of the guards, not all mind you but some, promote it by kicking guys property to "their" guys. Rewards, bribes, call it what you want. The only real concrete result is more tension and division and conflict among inmates. Oh, now there's a reason...

It's good to know that there are people who'd look after my interests if I end up in an unavoidable situation, or just become really really stupid.

Good neighbors. Best thing in the world. Not so different form the outside world, really. Treat people right, be polite when you can, considerate. It's not so hard really. And pay attention. Most neighborhoods have a few who just will always be a huge pain in the ass. Usually the form of some guy who's always borrowing this or that, but never seems to be available when you need something, or even need to be paid back.

Like anything else, it's a case of getting back what you put our there. Yeah, even in a prison. I mean if you want to be miserable every waking moment fine, but why? Granted, prison sucks. But, if you're here, or anywhere for that matter, why not at least try to be decent to those around you? Give one good reason. It seems too many have reasons. They just aren't good ones...

5 November 2005

How many of you know that Halloween was once considered New years Eve? Really. Of course, if you were one of the people looking at it that way you were probably a Celt a long time ago.

Honestly, I have nothing against the Christian family of faiths. But I sure wish they wouldn't have gone around hijacking my ancestors holidays left and right. If nothing else it's just plain lazy. They should have done their part and contributed their own fair share of days we all get off of work. I'm sure the post office would have appreciated it.

Just plain lack of creativity. It's a shame.

Never was a big Halloween guy. Sure enough, when I was a kid, me and my brother would be out and about collecting our extortion candy. We were never tricksters though, just treaters. It's sad really, but it seems we were around at the end of the care-free Halloween. Before the fear and caution of all the dangers of the world slowly bled the fun out of the holiday.

How many kids have even had a Halloween popcorn ball? How many of those were poor stale store bought things? Homemade candy? Even giving it out to kids would cause some parents to be suspicious.

No, it could be said we've "lost" something in our Halloween nights, but that isn't exactly true, we traded it away. Now we're all the proud owners of more fear.

It's affine line really. You and yours safe, but also you and yours free to live. Listen to any news cast. Flip it on and listen, not to the info they give you, but how they phrase it. "New medical info you have to hear about." "The weather 's changing are you as prepared as you think?"

It's not really all that subtle. The problem is for some reason it is important information. A new medical procedure that might help 100 people in a major viewing audience is important, but is it to the 2 million also watching. Crime is actually going down for the most part, but people are sold the opposite story. People are living longer and better lives, but every other day I'm given three new health crisises to look out for.

I think that there was a time we were bolder as a people. Our everyday lives were going to have bumps and bruises and accidents that were no ones fault. Have we forgotten that? Did we ask for safe and get fear? Do you miss popcorn balls as much as I do?

Till next.

13 November 2005

Ok, so I've gone and done it. Me, a man of nearly 40 years has finally broken down and read all six Harry Potter books... Yeah, I like 'em, so sue me.

There were a few comments about my reading "kids" books. But really, they weren't that bad. It's not like I was sitting down getting engrossed in the Curious George collection... Some of the people here in Trenton won't read fiction at all, which I never understand. I would think any escape from this place would be welcome; even it it's only for a short time among pages of a story.

"Kids" books. They can be surprising. If that is, your capable of forgetting who you are and letting yourself sink into the story. Who said that? It's the story, that the thing. It's true a story, that's written for young adults (publisher speak) might have to be approached differently, younger people just don't approach or understand things the same way adults do. They understand a lot more than we give them credit for though.

If any of you have ever read, The Little Prince might see what I'm getting at. There's a lot of important things being talked about in there. C.S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia was another series I enjoyed both when I was younger and again years later, when on a whim, I read them again.

Dismissing things out of hand for being too young is so sad. Sure they're simpler, but what was that guy out of Walden pond doing and writing about it if not a search for some measure of simplicity? When did simple become bad?

Intricacy is all well and good. If all my puzzles were easy I'd quickly change my subscription, but you can do a lot with simplicity.

So, if you're in need of a bit of winter reading here on the upcoming beak, or when ever, try letting go of being so locked into what you can do as an adult and try something younger. The C.S. Lewis books would be good. It's got is all, good and evil, internal and external conflict. All good stuff.

If you've got a little one of your own, all the better. Invite 'em along. The books are always better than the movies. Trips shared, usually better than walks alone...

Till next

20 November 2005

One of the real cool things they do here is the chess tournaments they hold about three times a year. It's more an exhibition than regular tournament, but it's still pretty good fun. Not to mention a nice break from monotony.

I went down this last week and it was set up as usual. They brought in 4 students form Princeton University, and each of them played about 15 of us. This was my third or fourth trip down and I don't think I've done any better one time over any other. Totally outclassed here. Still fun though.

The trick is not to be too attached to winning. I'm playing a master or grand master here after all. Heck, I'm honestly happy is I can just keep alive on the board long enough to make it to the "catered" lunch. (Sandwiches form prison cookhouse, pound cake, and juice, oh my!)

Plus, there's the fact that all participants usually get to keep that chess sets they play with. They're a lot nicer than the ones we can get through the recreation department. They're also made for indoor and outdoor use, whereas the rec. dept. gives us the ones with the cardboard type boards. First time you get caught outside in the rain your board is toast. Soggy toast.

Already had a good chess set so a passed that one on to someone else. The sandwich was good though. There were actually a couple of inmate wins and stale mates. There are some pretty players in here. I'm just not one of them.

Another good thing--it's been a good week--is that I'm finally getting to go back to work on Monday. Out of the cell everyday and a bit more brass in my pocket. Not much more though as it wasn't the job I was really trying to get. But, all things the same, it's still a whole lot better than nothing.

Best of all is the fact I can start adding a book or two myself to my inventory. I'm starting to feel like a librarian. Guys come up to me asking for specific titles and authors. It's funny.

All god. in fact, a better than average week. So you out there take care. Me, I'm going to try to hold onto this good mood.

Till next

26 November 2005

This is the most depressing time of the year. While other people are thinking, "Hmmm, maybe just one more nice fat leftover turkey sandwich." Instead, I'm looking at my dinner tray and thinking, eeeww." Thus, prison thanksgiving weekend. Yippee!

The meal could have been worse. It just seemed to lack a certain thanksgiving atmosphere. There seems to be very little thankfulness in prison. And a whole a lot more of, "I'm going to get mine." and to be honest I'm not always excluded from that latter group.

It's hard sometimes to be a good person in a place where so often trying to be that person simply means you're walked on and taken advantage of. You get sick of always being the giver and never the receiver; of being the helper and never helped. You get fed up when all you see are hands out, especially when it's always the same hands time and time again, and they're starting from the same place you are. I mean what did they do with all of there whatever that they're at your doorstep?!?

Like I said, it can be hard.

The fact that remaining, or even more impressive, becoming a helpful generous person is so difficult here is what can give it such impact. I'm not exactly living with a wild tribe of rogue altruists here. My first week here though had people I didn't know offering me books to read; cards to play with; even my first chess set; so I'd have something to do in my empty cell. No payment was ever asked, no advantage taken later. A few people, inmates, criminals, were simply trying to do good for a guy in a little need.

Ok, it's no selfless work at a soup kitchen, but is it so different a motivation in spirit?

In some ways prison is like a smaller version of the larger world. We say, "What comes around goes around" a lot in here. With it being a smaller world the coming and going seem to happen fairly rapidly in here. You see it in your life, you start to believe it. You stop just mouthing the words.

When I was out there I was mouthing a lot of words. Oh, I put my spare change in the bell ringers bucket or the occasional outreaching hand. But blind reflex, unthinking habits no matter how generous seeming are not really all that meaningful at the end of the day. You don't care, and the receiver knows it.

The flip side of the thankfullness may be a sort of mindful generosity. An acknowledgement of hat you've received, and the urge to pass that good fortune on.

I'm probably not making a great deal of sense here...

The long and short of it is that the meal could have been a lot worse, as could many things in my life. I guess that's more than enough to be thankful for , right?

Till next