Last night a group of around fifteen people, including a worship band, came from a nearby church to lead our Saturday night service. The whole service was dedicated to praise and it was the first time since chapel at San Saba that I have been able to truly worship my Lord. It was not so much that the music was more polished, but that an atmosphere of worship was created. The prison choir here creates many musical distractions, but even those would be easily overlooked if the guys made the praise about God instead of self. This group that came last night only comes on the fifth Saturday of a month so the next time will be in May. I hope our choir will learn to praise by that time, but until them I will look forward to the band's return.
When the band was setting up, the rest of the group scattered to talk with us. As I started talking to one woman, she called a friend over to remark at how much I didn't look like I belonged in prison. "If he put on a polo you would think he walked out of Highland Park," she said. (Highland Park is a part of Dallas where many wealthy elites live.) I replied that it may be that I don't belong in prison, but it's not because of my appearance.
We talked some more and I told them much of my background - growing up in church with a family that eventually became missionaries, but not really knowing Christ for myself until my return from Africa; how I have dealt with my crime and he difficulties of probation. I'm certainly not out looking for pity, though the "justice" in my situation is truly pitiful. Both women asked me to write them so they could continue in correspondence, so I will probably have an opportunity to share more of what God has done in my life. That is always a privilege.
On Monday a memo was posted in each dorm that raised a few eyebrows and more than a few tempers. Starting yesterday, the unit was going to begin doing in-and-outs at the top of every hour. In-and-outs are for division of cell and dayroom time. The cell doors are shut all the time, except for getting anything you need out of the cell for the next hour or going to the bathroom.
Immediately, several guys shared arguments against this new policy. First, we don't have any toilets in the dayroom, so for those unfortunate few with poor bladder control, it becomes a messy situation quite easily.
Second, our cells are not equipped with panic buttons like at other units. If someone is in serious medical trouble, there is not a way to alert the guards.
Third, a few guards are so unfriendly toward inmates that they will probably use this as a new form of institutional punishment and leave us in our cells or dayroom. I overheard someone talking to the major about this point a few days ago. The major replied that he could think of some guards who could be a problem and if they did cause trouble, write them up in a grievance and they will be taken care of.
Yesterday the in-and-outs started, at least in some dorms. The team of guards that worked on the trio of dorms where I reside were too lazy to even think about implementing the new policy. We inmates continued to move freely from the dayroom to cell and back until the night shift arrived. The strict rule went in to place, to the chagrin of those of us wearing white.
I didn't mind much because I tend to stay in my cell during the evening. If things work like they did yesterday, hit or miss, in-and-outs won't be so bad. It is pitiful to see the guards here so lazy they won't even follow orders. I'm glad this set of orders isn't followed through very well, though.
I have expressed my affinity for board games in previous entries. I am blessed to have some friends who share the passion and keep me updated through letters with reviews of new games they play. Last week they sent a letter with not only a review bit instructions on how to play a new game called Finito!. The game is similar to Bingo, but does require some thinking.
For those of you who haven't been in prison (probably very few, if any) or had ad overabundance of time to kill in the company of strangers, you may not realize the excitement that comes with the arrival of a new way to slay the interminable hours. Because there are not many activities to take part in around here, the few games we do have tend to last far longer before boredom settles in. This new game Finito! will definitely fill in some time.
After preparing the boards and bits all week, I finally played my first round last night with Alan after rack time (the time at night we are shut in our cell.) That game was so fun and so much of a different experience that we spent the next hour playing five more games, knowing that we had to wake up early this morning. If you can't tell, we are both hooked. I can't wait to share Finito! with some of the other guys. I know they are just as eager to waste time in a fun way.
My het is fulling bubbly.After a few days with a scratchy, dry throat, my body went into overdrive in mucus productions. All that running so suddenly combined with the dry recirculated air of this place has not been a good mix. I have wakened several times over the past couple of nights struggling to breathe due to dry throat or congestion. It feels like a hairy caterpillar in my neck and a slug overhead.
Not too thrilled with the slime in my nose, I decided to try to irrigate my sinuses today. At home I use a glass of water mixed with some slat and baking soda. A funnel guides the solution into one nostril and it drips out the other as I hold my head sideways. This process really felt weird the first few times after reading about Japanese neti pots online, which are the proper tools for the job. But, boy! do your sinuses feel great after being washed out clean and clear.
Like at home, I had to rig together a pouring device. My cellie, Alan, had an empty shampoo bottle so I cleaned it out well and borrowed some salt from another friend for the solution. I didn't have any baking soda but, oh well. When I mixed the salt with warm water and shook up the bottle, I saw a layer of bubbles and thought "uh oh, this is gonna hurt." With a brief hesitation, I squeezed the solution into my sinuses.
"Yes, yes, it's cleaning out, but, oh! it stings!" When I looked up, Alan remarked at my red, teary eyes and I told him, "Yeah, it hurts now, but I can breathe and talk normally for some hours now."
Some home remedies translate well into prison life; others, not so much.
Because of the surplus library aides, I was able to take the afternoon off yesterday to go to rec. This was my first opportunity to go to rec in two weeks due to lockdown and illness, and I wanted to make it count.
The gym was not available for use because court lines were being painted on the floor, so it was outside only. What a great day for it, too! The temperature was in the seventies and the sun was shining. Our lake of a track had dried to run on. The only bad thing was the super-strong wind. Dirt was picked up and thrown in my face constantly and, even with my head bent over, it was a task to run into the gusts. I wasn't going to allow moving air to get in the way of a good run, though. I hammered out five miles - the most I've run at once in a good while.
Little did I know how much that run was going to hurt me. Today my legs are a bit sore, but nothing that keeps me from walking normally. However, my lungs and throat did not fare so well. The combination of dry air, dust and heavy breathing tore apart the lining in my throat, and the stale recirculated air indoors hasn't helped the matter.
I stayed up last night coughing and choking on a scratchy wind pipe, so I set up my hot pot as a humidifier on my bunk. That helped some, but not enough to feel better this morning.
Today, as I was thinking about my throat and the dry air of this place, I realized that this place is like a museum, except we are the ugly paintings no one wants to see. the state preserves us as efficiently as possible - usually to our detriment. the dry air keeps art from decaying and we are even pumped full of preservatives in the dining hall and commissary. Kind of strange.
* "Visiting a museum is a matter of going from void to void" ~
Robert Smithson
Hooray! After three months of waiting I have started working in the library. I did have to ride a couple waves very early, though.
The first day I showed up for work I was told I wasn't needed and would be put on a waiting list. I don't think I have ever been hired and fired on the same day, especially not before clocking in. Needless to say, I was pretty bummed.
Today at lunch I saw the library secretary who had told me that I would be out in the waiting list again. I asked her if she was busy and what time would be good for me to stop by. This afternoon as I was walking to the education department to ask what the confusion was in the library and try to parley the job back, the commissary lady on our hall called out my name. I backtracked and said hi to her, and continued on my way. I heard my name again, so I went back to the window to see what she was calling me for. She just waved, so I waved back and kept going.
"Wait! Come back for a second," I heard from the window.
I walked back to the window again and asked, "What's up?"
"Do you want to work in the commissary?"
I thought for a second. Commissary is a good place to work. I can set aside things to be held until I go to store so I know they will be in stock for me. I'll say yes tentatively and, if the library conversation doesn't bring good results, I'll still have a good job.
"Sure," was the word that came out of my mouth.
When I reached education, I asked the library secretary when I could expect to be put back in the library. She replied that yesterday was a misunderstanding and that I could start right away. The other guys could train me before they left. Cool. That was easy. I got the job back quickly. Now I need to let the commissary lady know I don't need her offer after all.
Uuuggghhh... my immune system let me down. I got the stomach bug on Saturday when we came off lockdown and have been on the bunk or the toilet since. I did have a nice break Sunday, but just when I thought it was gone, it reared its ugly head.
Saturday was miserable. I never threw up but did just about everything else. To ease the pain, I ate and drank nothing, save water, keeping all food out of my belly. I searched for something that would flush my system, but came up empty. Then an idea came to me: coffee is a diuretic and cocoa is a laxative. If I mix a super-strong syrupy cup, maybe I'll be cleared up in a few hours. I drank everything - mud in a cup - several hours before going to sleep and could feel it moving through my system. Once it was out, I went to sleep and woke up feeling much better.
I thought I had conquered the bug with the coffee-cocoa one-two punch, so when my folks came to visit late Sunday, I ate my normal junk food fix. Later that night, I shared a prison pizza with Alan, made with beans, Ramen, corn chips and hot sauce. Bad ideas! Both of them!
Monday I was bunk-bound again. This time I was not rushing anything. It was crackers and water only for this sickee. I let the bug decide when to let up and, even then, allowing it extra time to do it.
One thing that has come to mind is that these nasty insides are really who I am. I often find myself viewing the guys around me as idiots who can't even think about doing any kind of good. Really, I'm the same way; we all are. We are all completely hopeless to do good without God's help, Christ's salvation, and the Holy Spirit inside us. This ickiness has been a good reminder of what i was and also how the guys around me can change. I guess it's not all that bad.
* Francis Bacon
Lockdown has been going on for three days now, and it's actually been quite nice. We have to stay in our cells all day, which has given me a lot of time to read. I've already knocked out two books and am looking for the hat trick. The environment has been much more conducive to reading too, with the TV off and no one stopping by to interrupt. I sure do love the quiet. Alan has been gone to work making sack meals in the kitchen for two days so I even have the cell to myself sometimes.
The sack meals have been far better than the usual johnny sacks of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and prunes. These sacks have potato chips, pancakes, syrup, biscuits, meatloaf, and other cooked meats. I had heard that the sack meals would be better but I didn't expect such a changing menu like we've had.
Unfortunately, some of the food did Alan in. He came back from the kitchen Tuesday not feeling well. A few hours later he was hurling. Yesterday he was bunk-bound except for the times he hopped down to use the toilet. I'm glad I didn't catch whatever it was he got. Maybe it's my cast-iron immune system. I was the only one in my family that did not get sick while we lived in Africa. I hope it stays with me.
I'm not looking forward to packing up all my stuff and hoofing it to the gym, but this lockdown has been far better than previous ones in an open dorm setting. I don't think I'll come out on the flip side quite as batty as those previous episodes because I've been able to use my time instead of having to deal with the silliness of thirty other guys. There is something to be said for these two-man cells.
The Dallas/Fort Worth area has a new publicly-funded radio station, KXT 91.7, that plays indie, alternative and world music. I didn't listen to the radio much before my arrest because my favorite bands were almost never there - and I hate commercials. This new station is almost as if I were hand-picking the play list, full of variety and always bringing something new to the listener.
Several nationally broadcast radio shows also show up on KXT 91.7, one of which is World Cafe. The host has an interview and live performance with an artist in the first hour and introduces a new band or project in the second hour with a good mix of other stuff in between.
Today the guests were the husband and wife guitar duo, Rodrigo y Gabriela. I had heard a couple of their songs, which are fast-paced finger-pickin virtuosities. I knew my dad would like their music as a guy who enjoys great guitar works. I've thought about passing along my recommendation until I heard their live performance today. The two musicians picked up the pace, and their experience as street performers shone as they got the audience involved. The emotion pouring out of the music intensified and the second song extended to an encore-length performance.
This is when I realized I couldn't just recommend listening to these this stuff. My dad has to see these two play for himself, and my concert-going brothers need to see them, too. I don't know what I've had a reaction this strong - with tears of joy and a chuckle at each false ending of a song - to anything I've heard on the radio. I really hope Rodrigo y Gabriela are still around when I get out so I can catch a show.
You may think that an incarcerated person has no chance to party in any way for New Year's Eve. The guys around here would certainly surprise you. I've written before about the drugs that still find their way inside these walls. In preparation for the New Year's Eve festivities last night, several guys spent a week making hooch to go along with the weed. Drunk and high is a situation I want to stay way from, so I planned to spend the evening in my cell doing some reading.
Around nine o'clock Alan came into the cell saying, "These guys are getting stupid." The two of us made a prison pizza to share and had cocoa and cookies for dessert. Looking out of our cell door around eleven, we saw five guys stumbling around a table and yelling crazy stuff. Staying in our bunker on the second floor was a good idea.
Every now and then we would hear shouting, but it was never violent. The noise got louder and louder until midnight when one of the drunk stoners screamed, "Happy New Year!" and ran across the second floor throwing confetti. When he got to the ground floor he ran around, banging tables. He knocked out one of the frosted Plexiglas screens on the showers and kept going. Alan and I looked at each other and laughed with that "what an idiot" tone.
We didn't venture out of the cell until this morning after the chaos was cleared up and all the drunks were lying hungover in their cells. This was the most interesting New Year's I've had while incarcerated by far.
