Sharing a Memory

Finally, I processed the last memory from the Memory Box enough to be able to draw another one. I did that today while DD#2 was here.

I remember when you taught my Brownie troop. There was a little girl named E-- that went to my school and was the daughter of a single mother. You arranged for her to come home with me on the day of the meeting on the bus. You also got her a uniform and covered her snack when it was her turn. You made sure she was included in everything. I wonder what happened to her, but I know you had an effect on her.

Yes, I remember E--- very well. I loved Girl Scouting and what it did for the girls and the adults who were involved in it. I also realize our Council was very special in the way it did things and what it accomplished. Girl Scouting will always hold a very special place in my heart. One year the theme was "Find the Gift in Every Child." I took that to heart and really tried to find that gift. It was hard sometimes.

E--- was one of my challenges. She seemed to live on a different plane and moved through life in a fog. At the same time, she was cheery, enthusiastic, and willing to try everything. She came by this honestly, as her mother seemed to have the same traits. When the mom told me E--- couldn't come to our meetings because she had no transportation, I arranged for her to ride the bus to my home on those days. The first time E--- was supposed to bring snacks for the troop, she "forgot." She insisted on calling her mom who brought the snack over after work. Somewhere along the way there was a communication gap. Instead of snack for 20 girls, her mom brought a small package of chips and a soda for E--- alone. Fortunately, I had snacks in my kitchen that I could pull out. Afterward, it was just less stressful for me to provide something than ask E---. When we were planning to go on a field trip and needed a permission slip, I sent the papers home with the girls to bring back the next meeting with a parental signature. Since E--- never returned hers, I would just meet her mom at the car when she picked her daughter up, have her sign the slip right then, and give her a copy of the details. I am still not convinced the mother knew what her daughter was doing or when.

Yes, I too wonder what happened to E---. All those who work with kids say they feel the time was worth it, if they can just touch one life. I will probably never know whether or not E---was touched. I like to believe she was. Now, even more important to me, I know my child was touched when she saw what was happening.

Thank you for the insight....and the memory.....

Prison Time

I just got back from jail. I have been several times before and in several different facilities, but this was my first time in this one. There were major differences between previous visits and my presence today.

Previously, my visits were monitored by armed guards and detectives, who chatted amicably among themselves but were constantly aware of every movement made by anyone. They stood watch carefully while I collected blood and / or hair samples, or documented body markings / bruises / trauma. Every one of the people I saw protested that they were innocent of any wrong doing.

Today, I visited the jail, with a small group, as part of a ministry from my Bible study class. "Christmas packets" had been assembled form approved items donated by several groups. Each inmate received exactly the same things in her packet - a pair of tube socks, a package of peanut butter crackers, a small candy cane, a set of hotel-type toiletries, and a blank card in a stamped envelope. One of the women dressed as Santa Claus and did a lot of "Ho-ho- hoing."

We visited two different "pods," which were nearly identical in construction. One very large room Divided by a small brick wall into a sleeping side and a sitting side. A guard sat in a raised area, with a divider in front, doing paperwork. The sitting side of the room had tables and benches. The sleeping side had steel bunks built into the walls. Some of the beds were neatly made and their articles stashed carefully at the end. Others looked as if they might never have been made. In one of the pods, almost everyone was in bed when we arrived, about an hour after lunch. There was a T.V. in each pod, but none was turned on. Another low wall separated the toilets from other areas. Our presence did not stop anyone from using the facilities. There was NO privacy.

Our group handed out a donated religious magazine, an apple, and a prepared packet to each of the inmates. We could only distribute "approved" items and everything had to be equal.There were a lot of tears. Just the sight of Santa brought tears. We passed out hugs and good wishes with the goodies, and prayed with those who requested it. I asked the deputy who was shepherding us, about the recidivism rate. She told me that most of the women have been in 5-6 times. She believes they mean well and try to stay on the right path, but when they return to the same dysfunctional situation, they fall back into their old ways.

The things that surprised me:

• Several mentioned how good we smelled and I don't think any of us was wearing perfume.
• They were so happy and excited to receive the small gifts we gave them.
• "Look, real soap and shampoo, not jail stuff!"
• "I heard about the socks and I have been waiting!"
• Almost everyone put on the socks and ate their treats right away.
• How young most of them were.
• How many tears were quietly shed, as they brushed them away and tried to hide them.

I am fully aware these women are reaping the fruit of their bad decisions and we reached them at a very vulnerable time in their lives, but I hope things will improve for them and they have a chance at happiness.

Matthew 25:42-45

I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.'
"They also will answer, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?'
"He will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.'

Whoops!

The serviceman came to check my heater today. I made the appointment weeks ago. It took a long time because I really wanted this particular guy. He has been coming for several years and always answers my questions and does a lot of teaching about my heating / ac unit. He tells it like it is, so I trust his judgement.

As he was preparing the final papers for my signature today, I asked him if he drank beer. He hem-hawed around, shuffled his feet, and looked at the floor. Oh, I thought, perhaps that was not nice. He might be Baptist or something and not want to admit he drinks. Then he kinda' grinned and said "maybe." I still didn't catch on, I admit to a certain naivete in some areas of life. He shuffled some more and I suddenly realized what he must be thinking. I have never watched "Desperate Housewives," but he was probably thinking I could be one.

I quickly grabbed the bottle of specialty beer I had as a Christmas offering for him and wished him a very Merry Christmas. I don't know who was more relieved.

Wordless Wednesday - Hungry?

"Oh What a Beautiful Morning....."

It is hard to believe Christmas is right around the corner. We will soon be 8 years into the new Millennium. Remember when we were worried the world might come to a screeching halt at midnight on the last day of 1999? Would computers stop? Would all the things dependent on computers just quit? People were stocking food and preparing for an unspecified period of isolation as the world waited to see what the morning of the year 2000 would bring. When I was young, I thought about the advent of the year 2000, but I did not think I would be able to live long enough to see it. I simply could not imagine being THAT old. Of course, it doesn't seem so old now.

The old adage - "If you don't like the weather, just wait a minute and it will change" - is especially true in Central Texas this time of year. Yesterday it was 80*F outside, today, at this writing, it is 37*F . When we walked this morning, there was a heavy fog which almost felt like sleet falling and the wind chill was 31*. Yesterday, the gold, pink, purple, and orange colors of the morning horizon heralded the new day as we finished our walk and headed home. The trees were dark silhouettes, and our resident herd of wild deer grazed in the landscaped gardens. We tolerate the deer, having invaded their home, and they retaliate by munching on our shrubs and having babies in our gardens.

I can look out my front door and see the tree across the street clothed in its Fall finery. We don't always have a autumnal show of color and mine is the only house on the street that does not have a tree in the front yard, so I particularly enjoy this one. It is a glorious yellow right now. With the cooperation of the weather, it might reveal some other colors. Soon, the deciduous trees in the greenbelt behind my house, will lose their leaves. They won't change slowly and with dignity like the one across the street. They will just change from green to brown and drop their leaves in a huff of wind. The bare trees have their own beauty against the morning and night skies and they leave behind a treasure only seen when the leaves are gone. Amongst the dark bark and green cedars of the greenbelt area, the possum haw will reveal its red berries which glisten like jewels with dew or ice in the mornings and provide food for the resident and wintering birds until spring.

“This is the day the LORD has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.” Psalm 118:24

Writers Beware

DD#2, aka ABW, had a strange request in her blog comments yesterday. Don't bother to look for it, it has been deleted. There is a web site which I choose not to advertise, but include here the gist of the request.

The info printed below is directly off the website and has not been altered / corrected in any way.

The goal of [info deleted] is to collect stories, doodles and journal entries of military families & spouses.This will give military families a voice, while helping them to stay anonymous. Why would a military spouse or family member want to stay anonymous? You ask...Although, living in America - many military families feel as if they have no one to talk to in fear that they may face repercussion from their service member or the military on different subjects.Share feelings on how you really feel about living the life of a military spouse, the job your spouse has in the military, your FRG or whatever else it is you would like to talk about.You may send photos, snippets, doodles, short stories or anything you feel help you express your feelings as a military spouse.Your information will be kept confidential. In sending your information, this does not mean that your information will be used in our book.

In sending information to us, you are giving us permission to publish your story, doodles etc... with-out compensation of any kind. You are giving us permission to use your original work to publish in our book.We are not here to slam our military or our government. We are here to give you a voice on issues where in other circumstances you would feel unable to do so.

The whole idea is strange and, possibly, subversive. I have contributed to similarly constructed books, but never under such secrecy. I was always given a small compensation, such as a book, or a book, or a book, or the proceeds were to be donated to a worthy cause. The cause was delineated in advance which gave me the opportunity to write & submit or not. This person stipulates "no compensation will be given" but does not say where the money goes. No problem unless s/he ends up on a talk show and / or the book becomes a best-seller.

She doesn't just want to hear the bad, you can send some good stories as well, but it will be edited and who knows what stories will be included. Of course, all this is all anonymous - the story writers, the "author" of the book, and, presumably, the people in the stories. Why not just write a fiction book based on your experiences / gripes / hearsay?

I hope that you will look over any offers such as these that come to you. Chances are that this proposed book is a whim and the author is just a naive, star-struck writer with $$ signs in her eyes or an axe to grind. Still, you can't overlook the other possibilities - maybe Cindy Sheehan is phishing in new territory, maybe a terrorist cell is infiltrating the military through the spouses, maybe there is an attempt to stir up unrest before the elections. Far fetched? So were the events of 911. If Ms. Anonymous wants people to write a book for her, she should show herself!

The Memory Box

I don't really need to celebrate any more birthdays. If I had my way, they would just pass by and be another day. I have to admit, this was a good day.

DD#2 can not keep a secret and she has been chomping at the bit to let me know what she was bringing over today. After I saw it, I understood why. DDs #2&3 put together a Memory Box. It is a pretty little, teal-blue box with a lid, and it is just chock full of memories. Each memory is written on a slip of paper, folded, and placed in the box. I have been instructed to open just 1-2 each week. This sounded difficult at first, but when I opened the first one, a dozen memories came flooding in. I want to savor those memories and the feelings they evoke, so I won't open the slips of paper all at once, I will wait until each one settles a bit.

The first one, extracted randomly, said:
"I remember when you and Dad went out for some business dinner and you wore the maroon dress with the pearl buttons and left in the yellow car."

While I don't recall the specific occasion, I do remember that dress. It was one of my favorites. I also remember the yellow Datsun, but for the life of me, I can't remember why we bought a yellow one. We must have gotten a good deal on it. We didn't leave the children and go out very often, so t shouldn't surprise me that they would remember this rare occasion. We would pay the older children to baby-sit the younger ones, and pay the younger ones a paltry sum to "baby-sit themselves." All were subject to losing their "pay" if there were any unsavory circumstances. If there were, we never knew it.

The few times we had a babysitter when they were very young, I was worried they might cry when we left. Before we went out the door, I would give each of them a marshmallow, something they did not ordinarily get to eat. I told them they could eat it as soon as the car was out of sight. I have memories of them clutching their marshmallows tightly in their little hands , noses pressed to the window, and bright eyes watching gleefully as we got into the car and drove away. They never cried.