June 28 & July 5, 2009 and my second Blog.

June 28, 2009  Late

Please forgive me.  I know I have been a horrible pen pal.  For what it’s worth, that is not my intention.

No excuses, things have been so hard on me these past few months, I mean, really my life has been miserable!  And I’m that type of person that doesn’t like to burden those special to me with negativity of this place.  And happy thoughts have been touch and go.  Fleeting to say the least.  I only request that you bear with me a bit longer?  In a few weeks, I’m going to another unit to begin rehab on my knee.  Things should be multitudes better there.

Rest assured that your letters, cards and photographs bring me joy, even through the darkness I’ve been all but consumed by.  J The pictures are great.  I love the wildlife, especially the rhinos.  Oh and how I envy you and your “wascally wabbits.”  How I long for life’s simple moments.

It’s easy to admire your compassion and kindness towards others.  You seem to be “Mother Earth,” providing for all of the children one way or another.  How refreshing to see you, your husband and family, so warm and close.  You provide me with fond inspiration and hope that my trials will soon come to pass.

I just returned from Galveston again.  That’s wearing me down.  Won’t even tell you how awful a trip it was!

This is just another short one, but I beg you to understand hot and unpleasant it is down here, even in the middle of the night, I’m sticky with perspiration and drained of energy.  Just know that you are on my mind every day and your good wishes are most appreciated!

Warmly,

July 5, 2009

Hello!  How are ya?  I really do hope that all is well with you!  I never can quite find the proper words to express my gratitude for your role in my life.  I mean, in here, it is so easy to feel all alone, be devoured by the darkness and forgo all hope.  You have no idea how your kindness and unselfish ability to share your joy helps to keep my spirits high.

Wow!  You and your husband have made me a part of your very very active and interesting lives.  One day, I too hope to live to the fullest as well, to be comfortable, in a healthy relationship and able to travel.  I admire what ya’ll have, deeply.

I must be honest; my life has been pretty much off axis since my injury.  It’s been one drama after another.  And all of the back and forth to the hospital has taken its toll.  The last time I went, when I came back, they housed me on a cell block for inmates  who can’t think for themselves, guys who are G-4’s while I’m a G-2, guys that are Line 3’s while I’m a S-3.  I know that makes no sense to you, but trust me, I didn’t belong down there.  G-2 is a custody level; “G-2” is minimal custody.  “G-3” is for guys with over 50 years, “G-4” is medium custody, “G-5” is closed custody.  The line class thing is more complicated.  You enter the system a “Line-1” and work your way up.  As a “Line-1” you aren’t allowed contact visits or certain jobs.  From a “Line-1” you go up to a “S-4” which is a state approved trustee.  Every six months you go with no cases, your line class advances until you get to a “S-2” which means you  are eligible for outside jobs unsupervised and all contact visits.  Any major cases you receive can knock your class and status down, then it takes you a year trouble-free to move back up.  Pretty boring stuff, but it gives you some idea of just how much I didn’t belong on a medium custody cellblock, especially not on crutches.  All types of nonsense goes on down there….from riots, fights with officers, fires…you name it.

My family has been kinda off and on, too.  Like my mom, she doesn’t write very often, so I worry about her.  But no matter how much I try to explain that, it doesn’t get through to her.  My ex-wife is still acting stupid with me about my kids, so I’ve not seen them. 

I’m going to send you a few pictures.  Unfortunately, I’ll need them back because I don’t have copies, but you are welcome to make copies.  (I hate asking for the pictures back, it seems so tacky!

If you’re wondering why I have so much time and energy to write, there’s an interesting explanation.  This kid got into a fight the other night on the recreation yard.  The next day his eye looked like he’d been hit with a sledge hammer.  His friends were able to keep him hidden in his cell yesterday, but today he popped out like he didn’t look like he’d lost a bar fight and the officers noticed.  So my cell block is on “lockdown” for 24 hours while the “incident is investigated” which basically means “less work for the officers…free day!”

So I’ve rested, allowing my mind to wander, cleaned up and done some reading.  Now I’ve written you.  Well, I better wrap this up and settle in for the night.  I’ve got a Patricia Cornwell book to get into.  As always, I thank you for your friendship and your kindness.  You have no idea the impact you have on me.  Hope you enjoy the pictures!

Like family,

BLOG # 2

                              Smiles

It’s 1:20 a.m.  It’s cold.  I’ve been writing letters for hours….I’m tired and I’m lonely.  The penitentiary consoles no man.  The consolation and rehabilitation is done within.

My writing hand aches, though not as much as my heart, so I write on.

Am I sad?  No.  I’m beyond the sadness.  Actually, I’m quite content considering my circumstances.  Incarcerated, yet that is life, for now.  Not all of me is here though, and my soul tickles my flesh to a smile.

I just got off of my good knee, saying my prayers, most of which were the usual, then many thanks for plenty of blessings.  These last few nights though, I’ve made an amendment to my prayers.  Towards the closure of that brief but sincere monologue, I’ve begun to ask God to touch my children’s hearts, just for a moment, and let them know that they are loved.

In my mind, I can see them smile slightly in their sleep in response to that touch.  Sweet, pure and so innocent.  It doesn’t matter where their little minds think the love comes from, just as long as they feel it.

And with those smiles floating above the stratosphere of my thoughts, tranquilizing the pain laden tumultuous clouds, I’m able to enjoy a period of peace.  I can crawl under my shabby blanket already warm, comforted by the slightest silken caress of my spirit, reminding me of the joy that was and preparing me for the joy that will be.

They’re still smiling.

Two more letters - April & May, 2009 - and my first BLOG

April 26, 2009

I’m sure you think I’ve forgotten you?  Never!  The past few weeks have been “one thing or another.”  Yeah, there was the lock down when I couldn’t buy stamps.  Then I bought stamps, but the commissary lady stole them, like I’ve got money to throw away.  It’s been rough, to say the least.  But I have received your letters.   Thank you for including me in your life and your thoughts.

How are you?  Hopefully you’re better than I am.  I am exhausted.  I spent all of last week shackled and traveling on pissy buses.  Very unpleasant.  Tell me why it takes two days to get to another city, from where I am, like two hours away?  It took two days to get there, two days to get back, all for the doctor to look at my knee, frown and say, “Dude, your knee is jacked up!  You need major surgery.”  She couldn’t operate because there was too much swelling.  So I have to go back in a few weeks.

I may have gotten about 15 total hours of sleep last week.  My body is on “shutdown.”  So forgive me for this short letter?  I’ll owe you a long one and those pictures (have to dig them out) but I wanted to let you know how I was so that you don’t worry.  You treat me like family, it’s only right that I respect and love you as a son respects and loves his mother.  Can’t have Momma worried.

Isn’t it a shame that it took those people a month to get me to the hospital, and my leg is still messed up?   This great state and its billion dollar prison industry.  There is no justice—just us.  And they don’t care what happens to us as long as the Big Wigs get paid.

Oh, I had to send the address labels back to you.  Sorry.  Thank you though.  They wouldn’t let me keep them.  These people are so stupid.  They police the insignificant things while guys run around here with knives, weed and meth.  Noooo, don’t fingerprint them when you find them, just stop the stickers coming through the mail.  Crazy.

Anyhow, Mom, let me rest my poor body and expect a real letter by the end of the week.  I’ve not forgotten you.  You and your husband are constantly in my thoughts and always in my heart.  Smile. J

Sincerely,

May 24, 2009 early morning

Here it is 4 a.m. and I’m writing you because you’ve been on my mind, plus my body decided to grant me a moment free of the torturous plain I’ve been living in.

Where are my manners?  How are you?  I did receive a few letters from you, but my mail is like two weeks behind because I’ve been traveling, and it takes time for the mail to catch up.

Yes, I finally had the surgery (left patellar tendon reconstruction).  I was supposed to have the “scope” but the doctor said that my leg was too messed up.  Honestly, I almost wish I hadn’t had that surgery.  Never in my life have I felt so helpless, and the pain is beyond words!

At the hospital, I was ordered two Tylenol #3’s every four hours, for 30 days.  These hateful people at this facility have cut that to one pill three times a day, because they say I can sell the pills.  Well, maybe I could, if I wasn’t in excruciating pain! J  There’s nothing any of these guys could give me that’s worth that medicine to me.  And the meds don’t give me complete relief, but I’m learning to find contentment with shades of comfort instead of seeking the big picture.

Despite all my complaints and suffering, I’m becoming stronger, more patient and more thoughtful of others.  People, for the most part, have been compassionate and understanding.  That has surprised me.  Still, some folks will always be jerks.  That does not surprise me.  Overall though, folks have been helpful and kind.  Everyone seems to be genuinely concerned for my well being.  They frown when they see me hopping on these crutches, sweating, wincing at the pain.  Their faces tell me what they’re thinking.  Women say it aloud, “Oh Baby!  What did you do?”  The attention is a gift and a curse.  For three years in this facility, virtually no one knew who I was.  Now, in 90 days, everyone knows me.  That’s not my choice status.

Please forgive me for my transitions?  My intentions are to be a better pen pal than I have been.  It’s just been one thing after another.  I was gone ten days when I left for surgery!

7:00 p.m.  Wow! I adjusted myself to get more comfortable and passed out.  It was 9 a.m. when I woke.  That’s crazy, but that is my life right now. 

Thank you so much for being constant and not wavering!  Really, continuous love is hard to come by in here, yet you treat me like I was one of your own children.  You are always positive and your letters always bring a smile to my face.  Even before I read them, on seeing the return address alone, I know that you’ve “tucked in some good wishes” for me inside. J  You are amazing and I’m thankful for your role in my life.

Right now I’ve got on a knee immobilizer and a splint that goes from my hip to my ankle.  Talk about uncomfortable.  I can’t even shower.  It’s bird baths for me.  Then I’ve been blessed with a very sweet cellmate.  I know, “sweet” is not a word you’d commonly use among guys….straight guys in prison, but this guy is the exception.  He changes my sock, brings me food, changes my sheets, goes out of his way to make sure that I’m comfortable.  He’s protective too, seeing as how I’m not really in much of a position to defend myself. J

Basically, it’s a physical and emotional rollercoaster.  Gotta learn to take the good with the bad and use it all to become a better person.  Isn’t that what it’s all about anyway?

It’s all humbling and empowering at the same time.  Realizing that you aren’t as strong as you thought, realizing that you’re stronger than you ever imagined all at once.  Maybe that’s confusing for some, but for me it’s a tragic yet beautiful revelation.  Maturity sought by overcoming strife.

Well, allow me to hope that you are as happy to hear from me as I am to hear from you.  I will be in touch.  For the present, there may be delays, but you will always have a letter coming sooner or later.  I’m sure that you by now trust my good motives and patiently await the following actions. :)

From my heart,

P.S.  No, these people won’t allow you to send postage either.  They sell them to us at the commissary, charge us for them, then don’t give us the stamps and call us liars when we complain.  Yeah, I know.

Blog #1      Happy

Believe it or not, I’m happy.  No, I’m not overjoyed, not ecstatic or delirious with glee, and I’m not depressed, withdrawn or suicidal.  I’m merely happy.  I’m happy and it disturbs people because I guess maybe they feel I shouldn’t be.

Happy is what I am though.  Other inmates, some with less time than me, some with more time than me, ask  “How much time to you have?” or “You ‘bout to go home?” or “Ready for the world, huh?” or many similar questions.  I do not relish telling them the truth.

The time doesn’t bother me nearly as much as it bothers them.  I respond stone faced, voice devoid of any emotion, “40 years.”  Their reaction is always the same.  They move closer, staring at me with huge bugged out eyes as if I’m some fascinating creature beyond the limits of imagination, voices drop to an intimate, conspiratorial tone, as if willing me to cease with the shenanigans and tell the truth.  “Four years?”  They inquire, too enthusiastically, like nodding “yes” and smiling they can make me give the answer they seek.

It’s the same routine, and me being the stand up guy that I am, I never stray from the script.  Still without emotion, betraying only the slightest impatience, I make the dreaded correction.  “No, forty.”

If the sun and stars were hung on the angles and eaves of peoples’ face, I would be witness to the countless fallings of the sky.  What really sucks is that it hurts me to hurt them.  I become the loathed executioner betraying the hopeful human heart, delivering a merciless blow, slashing out the throat of an innocent bystander.  Seconds tick by in silence while the nimble fingers of reality perfectly repair the damage done to their voice box, their good as new throat flexing as they attempt to swallow disappointment.

Still, I expertly mask my feelings, angry for being forced to even briefly injure a total stranger.  Not angry at their obvious plummet from Mt. Hope, but angry at myself for being here to pull them to their peak, then shove them off, angry that I’ve failed myself and countless others….add one more.

Relentless as a stubborn old fisherman down to this last worm, they press the release on the reel and cast way out between the stumps, where bass have been splashing all morning.  “It’s non-agg, right?”  Here my anger abates, draining from me like rain down a storm gutter.  What does it say about me that people who barely know me want me to be free?   It’s a credit to something, because I’ve encountered several people within these walls whom I pray are never freed.

With a warm smile worthy of comforting a pouting child, I confirm their fears.  “It’s aggravated.”  Despite my efforts, their faces always make that split second transformation from expectant to empathetic on the brink of pitying.  Some, I reassure with promises of time cuts and appeals, others try to reassure me, not realizing that I’ve accepted it for what it is, dreamed every dream of release and envisioned every doomful other possibility.

Not all of them have the courage to continue, but those who do, sober up, look past my eyes, through my vision, searching my soul.  I’ve never asked what they find, but the following words are guaranteed.  “Man….you don’t act like you’ve got 40 years.”

That statement I never respond to, at least not verbally.  What’s the point?  Is there a prototypical behavior or M.S.R.P.  (Municipal Suggested Reduction of Principles) for people with absurd amounts of time?  Would it be more fitting if I fought every day, repeatedly slammed my face into a wall and wailed like a wild banshee?  Would any of that make my time more acceptable to others?  Perhaps, but it’s not logical.  I’m very much like I was in the free world, the changes in me are for the better but in essence.  I’m still Jason.  I’m still my momma’s baby.

Yes, I’m still a Momma’s boy and a dreamer to boot.  Of course, my dreams are no longer the lavish, flamboyant dreams of an adolescent like too many of my “peers.”  My dreams now are simple, reality based, corny even.  While other guys promise themselves mansions, millions, Mayhachs and immoral Malaysians maidens, I subtly shake my head and hope that I don’t see them when they come back.

Mentality and lifestyle are like hand and glove.  I wanted a Benz and a Range Rover….by any means…which means exactly what it means.  Now my dream car is a Toyota Camry or a Honda Accord.  That’s funny to some, probably just as funny as incarceration.  Ha!  I’m cracking up….not.

No my new fantasies are very attainable, and for me, that much more appealing.  So yeah, as cheesy as it sounds, that cottage with the white picket fence and dog look real damn good when you live in the alternative.

I’ve lived the “Dope Boy” life, both sides, and none of it impresses me anymore.  What does impress me is how much my babies have grown since I’ve been gone.  Being away from them saddens me and strengthens my resolve.  Their smiles outweigh my grief.  Using that scale as judge, I push on.

True dreamers know to always look for the silver lining.  All the storms endured in my time, I’m impervious to rainfall, immune to cold, impregnable to high winds.  My head is high, eyes fixed on the heavens, vigilant in my wait for the bruised pregnant clouds to give birth to just a glimpse of sunshine.  I’m never disappointed.

Although I have not held either of my children in over two years, it is not because I do not love them.  I love them fiercely, with every particle of my being, to the marrow.  And they are healthy.  Lord forbid, they could be in a cancer ward, or laid up in a trauma center somewhere, helpless. Though I can’t be there for them now, God have mercy on anyone who tries to stand in the way of me being there in the future.

There is a future, and so I’m happy.  I’m happy because there is hope.

The past is in the past.  Past sins and crimes are already committed and cannot be undone.  But today I have a choice, an option, a perspective….potential.  Peace within, and therefore, I’m happy.

Background and Early Letters, February - March, 2009

Background

The note below was posted on a SendOutCards website under Random Acts of Kindness. 

December 4, 2008

This is a very common story.  He grew up without a father and his mother was not always able to care for him, but he has always been loved and cared for by others in the family.  Early in his life we realized he was very bright, but we also noticed that he was either depressed or on top of the world.  Although he had several great role models, he always seemed to make the worst possible choice available.

Over the years he was in and out of correction systems but none of his problems were addressed.  He is now serving a very long sentence for acts of stupidity and desperation.  He has two beautiful children but his wife will not allow him to correspond with them.  He is in school but has very little contact with the outside world and is a very lonely young man who has lost his way and his faith.

Please let him know that even though you don’t know him personally, he is still important and his life does have value.  Maybe that will help restore some of his faith and hope for the future.

Thank you for your kindness.  Peace be with you.  His Aunt

One woman responded with a simple card of encouragement to a stranger in prison.  The letters posted here are in response to her continued correspondence with him and the friendship that developed.  No names or locations are used to protect each one’s privacy.

January 6, 2009

Okay, I know, here it is nearly a month later and I’m just now writing back.  Honestly, I was caught completely off guard by your letter/card, and although moved and warmed by it, unsure of what to do next.

At first, I kinda floated on the high that your card provided, then I blew it off, assuming that you to writing me was maybe some small charity that you’d done to make yourself feel good.  But I caught myself, realizing that I’m in no position to question your motive.  Not only did I feel ashamed, I felt as if you somehow knew the secrecy of my bitterness.

For weeks the guilt has eaten at me, you’ve even become a regular in my prayers.  Yes, we may be strangers, we may be from two different worlds, but you brought joy into my life, no matter the degree.  It’s not obligation as much as it is gratitude and a need to return that internal warmth that is the driving force behind this letter.

I am thankful for the time and effort you took to come into my life, and for your well wishes.  Positive people are like diamonds in the rough these days.  If indeed you do wish to be my pen pal, I welcome that relationship, and if not, I’m glad to have exchanged words and smiles.

Smile,

P.S.

Are there mountains where you live?  I flew over Colorado once; it was beautiful even from up there!!! J

February 2, 2009

Well, it seems that we’ve created a game that we could easily title “Wow Me.”  How are you?  Fine, I hope.  It still moves me that you find time and kindness for a complete stranger, but I’m glad that you do. J

I feel like such a complete jerk because it takes so long for me to write back.  Please understand though, I have almost no free time.  Contrary to the common television depiction, I hardly get a peaceful moment to myself.  What, with work, my vocation and school, there is really no such thing as “me time.”  My “me time” is spent in slumber, recuperating from the day before and preparing for the day ahead.  It’s not really a bad thing though, because the time flies.  Still, it’s a strain, mentally and physically.  I was supposed to graduate from the culinary class this past week, but the teacher is holding me for another month as a teacher’s aide.  Three more weeks and I’ll have a much needed 30 free hours a week.

Here I am blabbing about me….thank you for the beautiful card and the beautiful and understanding words within! J  As a child, on a trip to California, I flew over the mountains, but the pictures you sent are breathtaking.  Open nature in the rawest purest form makes you really appreciate life and creation on all scales.  Thank you for sharing.  The only pictures that I have of something beautiful are those of my children.

It sounds like you and your husband have definitely lived interesting and purposeful lives.  And you guys look happy.  I envy you in a most innocent and honest fashion.  Sure, I’m still somewhat young, but my marriage was a mistake from the word go.  You guys seem to have what some folks only dream of.

Please, do forgive me for the mixed emotions?  It is a great relief that you understand.  But does that justify or validate my ugliness.  I’ve just grown so wary of people, living in an environment where there is no such thing as a good deed or kind act.  In here EVERYTHING is repaid.  One tends to forget that there are good people in the world.

Oh well, I don’t want to take up too much of your time, so I’ll get going.  You will remain in my prayers and your words and photographs are always welcome.  You’ve given me a sense of peace and a piece of your world all at once.  Thanks again, until next time.

Fondly,

March 4, 2009

Thank you for the awesome card and pictures!  Yes, I know I stink as a pen pal, but my intentions are good! J  Really, the past few weeks have been more hectic than the normal craziness.  The facility was being inspected and I had no days off, no rest.  That’s the worst of it though and that has passed.

The good news is I graduate in three days.  J  Even though I’ll still have work and college, I’ll have much more time to do things that I enjoy, like writing to you!

The photos you sent were beautiful!  Thank you!  Lord knows how much I miss nature’s beauty.  Isn’t it amazing what God has created for us to marvel at?

You and your husband lead a very fascinating life.  Africa does indeed sound like a dream vacation.  I can only imagine.  The wildlife photos look so clear and close up that they could be mistaken for pictures from National Geographic. I’ve always been into wildlife and now my son is too.  He’s six now, but at the age of three he could tell the difference between a cheetah, a leopard, a jaguar and a spotted cat.  He even refused to believe that the Star War’s character Chubaka (however it’s spelled) was a wookie, insisting that it was a bear, then not wanting to totally go against Daddy, settling for a “wookie-bear.”  One of my favorite things, and things I miss the most is sharing nature with my children.

Well, again I thank you for continuing to be a friend to me.  Remember that by the time you receive this letter I will be a man with a great deal more free time.  I’ll be able to share more about myself, and even pictures of my blessings (my kids).  Until next time, I wish you well and the good wishes are always well received.

With gratitude,

March 29, 2009 5:15 p.m.

I must say, I was twice as delighted to receive your letter!  Hate that it’s taken me so long to get back at you.  You wouldn’t believe how chaotic my life has been in the weeks past.  It’s been like the script of a low grade soap opera, I swear.

Goodness, forgive my manners?  How are you, kind lady?  I hope that all is well in your world.

Honestly, I am flattered by your compliments of my writing, and your eagerness to know me better.  Most people see “us” as “no good criminals,” “the filth and refuse of society,” and “outcasts.”   So it’s touching that you have the understanding and intelligence, not to mention compassion, to see beyond the mythical politics and separation of incarcerated and free.  Thank you.

Thank you for writing me on the computer this time.  I do enjoy the cards, but knowing that this correspondence was composed in your home definitely adds a personal touch.  (He wasn’t aware the cards were also composed on the computer at home.)

My birthday, believe it or not, is that date on my mailing address.  Yes, I’m a 9/11 baby.  My ex-wife phoned to wish me a “happy birthday” on that morning, instructing me to turn on the news.  I witnessed the second plane crash into the second tower.  Happy birthday, huh?  Actually, it only adds more intrigue to who I am.

Well, I’m glad you enjoy me as a pen pal!  I try.  The truth is, it is rare to have people on the outside take and keep a genuine interest in someone’s life caged in.  I’d be lying if I said that there was not some degree of affection towards you from me.  Despite my tying to be tough and scare you off with harsh craziness, you understood and stood your ground.  How admirable. 

My reason for not responding faster is legitimate this time.  I participated in a basketball tournament conducted by the unit.  Well, it didn’t work out like I planned.  A shame, too, because I sensed the impending doom.  My first mind told me not to play in the tournament.  Mama told me as a child that “Your first mind is God.”  I didn’t know how true it is,…..still, I chose to give my all to the teammates.  Mistake.

In five minutes, I had two blocks, five rebounds and two assists.  On my third block, I crumbled to the ground in agony, trying but unable to regain my feet.  I had to leave the gym in a wheelchair.  It was a Sunday; there were only a few L.V.N.s in the infirmary.  They gave me some ice, crutches and IBU 800s, assuring me that the practitioner would pop my knee back in place Monday morning.

Monday morning three female doctors flinched at the sight of my left knee.  My knee had swollen to the size of a honeydew melon!  Turns out that I have a “detached patella” or something.  Basically, the muscle that secured my kneecap from the bottom snapped.  I can stand, but I can’t bend my knee.  It really sucks.  Between discomfort (I have a cast on), pain, pain med and muscle relaxers, I’ve not been able to write a positive and comprehensible letter until today, and that’s because I skipped the meds until I could fulfill my pen pal obligations. J

They say I may need surgery.  It’s not a becoming thought, but I don’t want to be a 30 year old cripple.  Nope.  That’s unacceptable.

Anyhow, that incident has been the consuming force in my life since then.

I appreciate your congratulations!  That class was a battle.  The kitchen is my second home.  As a boy, my mama, aunts and grandmother would sit me on a stool while they cooked, feeding me morsels of meat pies, dirty rice, gumbo, whatever.  I watched the colors, smelled the smells, felt the textures.  By the age of eight, I was shopping for groceries and preparing meals.  (That’s another story in itself.)

But this teacher is like no other I’ve eve r met.  A man so hateful and emotional….he made my life more of a hell than what it already was for 10.5 months.  I hung in there and finished with a 97 average, the highest he’s ever had in 17 years, but I loathe him as an individual.  He made inappropriate comments about parts of his anatomy that no longer function due to illness, his failed marriage, his drug use.  He said things like, “I’ve got to be at least part Black, because I love fried chicken and watermelon.”  It really was an exercise in patience and growth for me, being Creole, and being human.  I made it through.

Despite my knowledge and experience cooking, I did learn about food safety, holding temps, different preparation methods and mastered the basic sauces, even picked up plenty of garnishing tips.  It wasn’t all bad, but I feel that it would have been much more pleasant, had there been another teacher.

As of now, I’m medical unassigned, due to my knee, but I work in the kitchen, in the dish room.  We wash the trays and silverware for the entire unit.  It’s busy, hot work, but relaxing.  I get some of my best thinking done as I go through the motions.

I’m already enrolled in college, just waiting for the next semester to begin.  Once I get my Associate’s Degree, I’m going to do a four year college.

Yes!  I’d like to be a chef!  I was enrolled at a culinary academy but the financial aid failed.  If I could have completed that 15 month course….I still dream.  The tuition was ridiculous, $41,000, but I could have gone to Italy, Australia, anywhere after my graduation.  I don’t blame my family, but I can’t understand why they wouldn’t co-sign for me?  Can’t cry over spilled milk.  Well, you can, but for what?

I think that cooking is one of this world’s great unappreciated arts.  Well prepared food can bring people of all races and all walks of life to the same table, get them to communicate, then send them away full and smiling.  I love the look on someone’s face when they taste something I’ve created from a little of this, a little of that, just the right amount of love and care, it’s worth it.  I’m a renegade, my imagination is richer than the bland black and white a cookbook provides.  If you remind me, I’ll share some of my favorites with you in the next letter.

Your husband is a great photographer.  I love pictures.  They are as powerful as food, if not more so.

You sound like a phenomenal woman!  Just goes to show that you can’t judge a book by her cover.  I envisioned you as this wealthy born lady who’s always been as happy as she is now.  You show no signs of the adversity that you’ve overcome or the changes that life has dealt you.

I love cookies!  Always have, always will.  My grandmother used to make icebox cookies with ginger and almonds that were to die for.

The kids look healthy and happy.  I hate seeing pictures of neglected and sad children.  My kids are absolutely the biggest part of who I am, and why I try so hard to keep myself separated from the “usual suspects” in here.  I figure, if I rise above the pitiful expectations set forth for us, create a legacy and sustain it, who can hold my wrongs against me when they are grossly outweighed by my rights.  It’s a theory, but it works well for me.

I love to read and write.  Words are as large a part of me as anything.  I’ve written several short stories and a few novels that I hope to one day get published.  I want to sit on the shelves beside my favorite author, Dean Koontz.  Not only would that be a huge accomplishment for me, but it would be a way for me to provide for my babies and myself.  Eventually my time will come.  I admire you for achieving what I aspire to do.

You know, the first that you wrote, you said there were people thinking and caring about me.  Honestly, I thought you were so full of it at the time.  Forgive me?  This place breeds negativity.  Now, I believe you.  You are evidence, and I am very grateful to have someone out there who cares.  Who am I to turn down a surrogate Mother?  Smile!

Sincerely,