Monday, September 13, 2010

My Favorite Birthday Memory Of All Time

Today marks yet another 365 days that the earth has rotated on its axis since I have been alive. I am 41 years old. My body often feels 90, while my mind sometimes behaves as if it is 12. People tell me I am an old soul. Other people tell me I look younger than my years. Clearly, I have an ongoing age identity crisis.


When my birthday rolls around, I usually think back to past birthdays and reflect on where my life is going. Usually I'm quite optimistic about my future, but lately, I've been depressed (which is unusual for me) and I'm not feeling so optimistic. Maybe I'm having a mid-life crisis. Maybe I'm just under too much stress. I'm sure it will pass.


One thing I'm happy about is that I have had a very full life, rich in experiences. Some of them have been horrific, others have been wonderful, and still others have been just downright bizarre with some clearly a mixture of all three.


My favorite birthday memory of all time happens to be one of such combinations of horrific, wonderful, and bizarre.


Horrific: because I was in a county jail with my life on hold, waiting for the feds distorted idea of justice to play out in the case they had brought against me before I was sent to prison.


And now, let me explain the wonderful and bizarre aspects of this cherished memory...


September 13, 2005, my cell-mate was a bankruptcy attorney who was serving a short federal sentence for bankruptcy fraud. Her sentence was less than six months, so she didn't get sent to a prison, but was to serve out her sentence in a federally contracted detention center, in this case, a county jail.


She had three young children, (including a set of twins) and one of them was a "special needs" child with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder and other issues. Since she was a single mother, she was allowed to break up her sentence over two summers so that her sister could keep her kids while she was locked up and then she could be there to take care of them when school was back in session.


She and I became very close as we got to know one another. Like many who feel the walls of despair closing in on them while confined in a drab environment, she tortured herself with despairing thoughts, including that she was a bad mother (very few who have that fear are ever actually bad mothers) and I did my best to keep her focused on the positive things she had going for her.


She was a beautiful woman, very attractive, kind-hearted, intelligent... she was within a year of my age, and it was hard to imagine how she could end up in this situation. Of course, many people have said the same thing about me. I assure you, it can happen to anyone.


One thing I knew was that she would be fine once she got out. She took over the jail within a few weeks, teaching everyone from accused murderers to crack addicts new card games and making it clear to them that she wasn't going to be bullied. She always had the upper hand, and I was sure she would somehow maintain it throughout the rest of her life. (I should get in touch with her and verify that she has, though there is no doubt in my mind.)


The week before my birthday, she, knowing that I didn't have a steady source of funding with which to purchase items like shampoo and lotion from the commissary, had me make a list of items I wanted for my birthday. I was thrilled!


She was going to be going home in a couple of weeks, so she was planning a farewell party and also ordered about 35 Hostess cupcakes, one for every inmate in our pod. (This never happens. Ever. Nobody does this. Except Shannon.)


So, on my birthday, we were all released from our cells for breakfast. I went about my usual routine of taking my shower afterwards and returned to one of about ten four-person tables where several of us normally played cards until it was time to be locked back down. When I got to my usual spot at the table, I got the surprise of my life. Not only was there a Hostess cupcake waiting there for me, but there was also a birthday card, (you could purchase those from the commissary list to send to loved ones) signed by everyone, and a "candle" she had somehow managed to fashion out of paper. (Keep in mind, inmates have no access to scissors.)


Before I even had a chance to react, the pod of about 35 women who had just been going about their business were suddenly all turned in my direction and the room swelled with the sound of everyone singing "Happy Birthday". That's when I realized that I was experiencing my first-ever surprise birthday party. In jail.


Growing up, I had enjoyed throwing my father a surprise birthday party just a couple of years before he got sick and died. Many surprise parties had been thrown in my family, and I was always enamored with the idea of sneaking around in order to bombard someone with expressions of love and happiness. The fact that someone would go to that kind of trouble  seemed to me to be the ultimate validation of the fact that the person being honored at such a party was deserving of love.


Like many who are in the black sheep role in their family, I struggled with feelings of unworthiness. I never thought anyone would go to that kind of trouble for me unless it was a matter of necessity, but there I was, turning 36 in jail, and experiencing the most amazing (and unexpected) surprise birthday party anyone could ever imagine, in the most unlikely of circumstances.


My brother and I always had nice birthdays growing up. My parents went out of their way to make it special with what little resources they had, and they always succeeded. I cherish those memories, but, as birthday surprises go, nothing, not even winning the lottery on my birthday, could ever compare to what Shannon, a friend I had known for only a brief time, did for me.


So there you have it, horrific, wonderful, and bizarre all rolled into one bittersweet, delicious experience with a paper candle on top. I challenge you to beat that combination in a true story. I just don't think it can be done.


A.

Friday, September 10, 2010

Media Mayhem - Lies, A Dash of Truth, and More Lies

This post is long overdue, but my standard "better late than never" will have to do for now, as I have not found the time to get many things done in the past few weeks. I'm feeling a bit "off" lately, and don't seem to get but a fraction of the things on my "need to do" list done, much less anything on my "really want to do" list.


I also have many other things I'd rather write about right now, but this is something I must write about, because it demonstrates a point, although the means by which that point occurs is not something I'm particularly proud of...


I have always prided myself on questioning everything I hear. I try to live by the motto of "Believe none of what you hear, and only half of what you see.", and yet, even I can be completely fooled by repetitive lies.


Like everyone else, I've been hearing the story about the proposed mosque to be built in New York City. And, the way I've been hearing it referred to is "Proposed Mosque at Ground Zero". Not "Proposed Mosque Near Ground Zero", mind you, but AT Ground Zero.


After a couple of weeks of hearing this, I grew tired of everyone chanting "tolerance". I'm all for tolerance, but there comes a time when tolerance becomes denial of justified outrage. If we turn off our ability to become outraged at in-your-face disrespectful behavior by others in the name of tolerance, we can lose our identity. I will always maintain that position, and I am very skeptical when I hear the word tolerance, as I feel it has become more of a mindless chant and an escape from anger that should be acknowledged and expressed more often than an idealistic concept of acceptance.


Having said that, there are times when even I, a diligent skeptic, am fooled. A couple of weeks ago was one of those times.


I had grown tired of hearing everyone say that we were wrong for being upset at the prospect of a mosque AT Ground Zero, that somehow we were being racist and/or bigots for not wanting a mosque AT the location where religious zealots of the same religion represented by said mosque terrorized our country and murdered thousands of people.


I came up with what I considered to be some brilliant analogies... KKK headquarters on Martin Luther King Boulevard does not belong, a bar next to Mothers Against Drunk Driving (M.A.D.D.) does not belong, etc. And I was right... I was also right that a mosque AT Ground Zero does not belong. But then, I was also wrong...


I was wrong because there is NO mosque proposed AT Ground Zero, never has been. There is a proposed mosque that is considered "near" Ground Zero, but then, just about anywhere in New York City is going to be considered "near" Ground Zero. Does this mean no mosque should be allowed anywhere in New York City? How far away does it have to be? Keep in mind, a hundred yards in New York City is the equivalent of several MILES anywhere else, especially when you consider how small an area of land comprises the New York City area.


I was gently led in the direction of this truth by a couple of dear friends, @TomDark9 and @EdgarHopper, some very strong truth-seekers who are very active on Twitter. Edgar lives in New York City and was actually a clergy first-responder on September 11. If there was a reason to be offended by a proposed mosque, he would know. The fact that he isn't offended is reason enough for me to take a second look, but he also pointed out what anyone who paid close attention to the details by researching the story by means other than the mainstream media should have been able to clearly see: there is no mosque being proposed at the Ground Zero site, contrary to what many have been misled to believe.


What is significant about this incident is that when a skeptic exercises his or her skepticism, it is usually in the direction of the story itself. However, I learned from this most recent lapse in diligence on my part that it is every bit as important to focus on the TITLE of a news story as it is the story itself.


The lie wasn't just in the story, it was in the TITLE of the story. "Anger over proposed mosque AT Ground Zero." already puts the assumption in one's mind that the location being proposed is AT the Ground Zero site. Everything else is just a trip down a dead-end street that leads us all to be easily manipulated into a quick rage toward Islam, Islamic people, and, as was so astutely pointed out to me, leads us all to become primed for yet another war.


It is also worth considering that very few people actually hear the stories behind the headlines. The headline itself is repeated so often in news teasers and read so frequently when passing news stands that it BECOMES the entire story in the minds of those who don't have or take the time to listen to the details or read the entire story behind the headline, even if it IS accurate.


Whether you believe there is a motive towards planting acceptance of yet another war in the minds of the American people in such misleading story titles or not, it's bad enough that there is such inaccuracy to begin with. Misleading the public in such a way even for simple story selling purposes is unprofessional journalism at best, riot-inciting sabotage of any chance of peace at worst.


I studied broadcasting in college, and I remember getting lectured on many occasions about the importance of accuracy and professionalism in the industry. I took that advice to heart, but I don't see a lot of others who have done the same thing.


I sometimes allow myself to be misled, but I do try to correct my thinking when I see evidence to the contrary of my opinion. I have begun to FINALLY hear "proposed mosque NEAR Ground Zero" in news story teasers and have read the same in recent headlines, but it's too little too late when we have violent attacks by Americans against random people merely suspected of being Muslims and people all over the country upset over imaginary insults from terrorists who are actually just as upset over the mosque as anyone, since the extremists don't approve of the mosque themselves. (Too many non-head-cover-wearing females involved in the cause, apparently.)


Don't be upset at the imaginary insult you are being told is taking place. Be upset that your own citizens in the media of your own country are exploiting the victims of the September 11 attacks by creating the illusion of a proposed mosque "AT" Ground Zero, ripping off the slowly-healing scabs from that awful day by inciting such outrage.


'Nuff said.


A.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

A lot on my mind...

Ok, so it's 5:30 a.m. and I still haven't slept. I've got awful pain all over, but especially in my neck and shoulders. I'm tired, but the pain keeps me from sleeping.


I've been depressed lately, and that's not something that happens to me often. I don't like to talk about it much, because I try to stay positive, but I'm hoping that writing about it will help it move on. Except, well, I don't know what to write, because I don't know what's behind it.


I suppose part of it is just the antsy-ness of wanting fall to hurry up and get here, and part of it is possibly hormonal, and then there is the P.T.S.D. that I struggle with from time to time.


I have a lot of things going for me I suppose, and I feel that I have much to look forward to in life, yet I feel as though I've been kicked around so much sometimes that I just don't have much left in me. I'm overwhelmed in some ways, and that's adding to it I'm sure. Stress has built up and is probably expressing itself in the form of depression.


So, I think what I'll do is make a peanut butter sandwich and pour myself a glass of milk, watch some "Married, With Children" on TBS, and go to sleep for a couple of hours before I start my day. I'll let you know if it works!



After the Wedding - A Peaceful Sunday and a Hectic Monday

The day after the wedding, I slept in, and my grandfather and his new bride drove up to see me before I left. We had a nice visit, and they seemed just as happy after the wedding as they were before.


Once they left, I started packing - my flight was at 7 a.m. the next morning, leaving from Hartford, CT. To keep us from having to get up at 4 a.m. my uncle put me up in a nice hotel in CT so I could just take the shuttle from the hotel to the airport.


I had a lot of pictures and my grandmother's jewelry box full of costume jewelry and doo-dads, a couple of afghans, and some other what-nots, and Jim had an old Samsonite suitcase he thought it would all fit in. The problem: nobody knew the combination. Jim, overestimating my abilities, thought I might be able to get it open if he printed out directions from the internet on how to "crack" a luggage combination.


I followed the instructions, and when that didn't work, I followed the next set of instructions. I figured it wasn't going to work, but went on with the tedium of it for the sake of being able to say that I had done my best, and then, suddenly, it opened! Wow. Who knew?


I, never being one to read the instructions until AFTER I play with something, didn't realize they might actually serve a purpose! ;-)


So, feeling like a seasoned transit authority luggage-combination-cracking specialist, I opened and wiped the suitcase down and was amazed at how big it was inside. Not even Samsonite makes huge, durable suitcases like this anymore. What's better, it has wheels and a handle, something I didn't realize they were putting on suitcases when this one was probably made.


To our amazement, everything I needed to put in the suitcase fit, and after I got everything packed we moved my grandfather's old grandfather clock, which was going to be discarded, into their house where they will keep it until I drive up and take it back to TN along with some of my father's old things.


Afterwards, we headed to CT and I got checked in at the hotel. Then, we went to Union Street Tavern in Windsor, CT where they treated me to dinner (great food) and then back to the hotel, where my uncles dropped me off and drove back to MA.


I was up later than I should have been, simply because I love hotels... it always seems more permissible to linger in a nice bubble bath and goof off when you're in a hotel by yourself. When I'm at home, there's always something I feel I should be doing.


At 5 a.m. I got up and got to the lobby so I could catch my ride to the airport. It's a good thing I left early, because the security screening line was so long I had just the right amount of time to catch my flight at 7:20 a.m.


Of course, we sat on the tarmac for half an hour before we left, and another half an hour when we arrived in Detroit. At that point, many of us had to scramble to catch our connecting flight. I almost knocked over a couple of pilots, who looked askance at my rudeness, but I wasn't about to spend the entire day in an airport ala "The Terminal" just because the airport couldn't get its act together and get us off the plane in a reasonable amount of time.


When I got to my connecting flight, they had already closed the doors, but hadn't left yet, and the flight attendants let me on. This plane was even smaller than the other one I had been on. In fact, I think it was the first time I had been on a plane that had a row of two seats on one side and a row of only single seats on the other. I was in one of the single seats, so I had a window seat and an aisle seat all in one! LOL


I had an AMAZING view of the most beautiful, HUGE cloud formation I've ever seen, but I didn't get the picture in time. I did manage to get a picture that was still pretty, though.


Head in the clouds!
When I arrived, I had a friend pick me up from the airport, and I was already feeling jet-lagged. (I'm always amazed that it doesn't matter whether you're traveling in the same time zone or not, it's the altitude that gets you, especially on smaller planes.)


I felt like I'd had two weeks of vacation in four days, and I really hated for it to end, but when I got home I was very happy to see my big Booger (70+ pound puppy, for those who don't know) waiting and wagging his tail happily. There's just something about being greeted by a happy dog that can't be beat!


~A~