My Roommate

My roommate is a self-confessed OCD/phobic cleanliness fanatic. (I don't mind; it is better than the alternative!) But, now that she knows I lived in a tipi, she's convinced I have a secret penchant for bugs, snakes, and all manner of "creepy/crawlies" I don't disabuse her of this opinion. Perhaps she saw me cringe when she mentioned an exterminator aftring seeing seven tiny ant wandering around the cell floor. I thought it best not to tell her about my daughter and me, and how we would carefully and meticulously move the spiders and their babies before cleaning their lacey web curtains from our kitchen windows. Some things are better left unsaid!

My Family Members and Dear Friends

I miss so many family members and dear friends--especially my beloved cousin, Gerry, and his little pal, Ruby Tuesday, the "Admiral." This multi-talented and highly intelligent little pooch thinks she's a St. Bernard! (Well, she certainly saved my mind from floundering in a snow drift!)

Naming Trees

My brother-in-law kindly id'd some Illinois trees for me. (Why does "naming" make something more comprehensible? As Robert Frost says, "Talk fahrenheit, talk centigrade! Use language we can comprehend; tell us what elements you blend!")
(Perhaps the name colors the image? Oh dear. Not another Masters thesis!) At any rate, my thanks to Mark for telling me that I was seeing: "Kentucky coffee legume locusts" and the lovely "Sycamore." (It does mean something in the end.)

Pooping In Prison

My granny always told mem that it was bad form to discuss bodily functions in public. She pointed out that saying one was "full" after a meal called up unpleasant images of digestion, implying that one's intestines were packed. She never went totally victorian by calling a table leg, a "limb" but she always preferred re-naming a chicken "thigh" as a "second joint" to avoid the more lubricious implication. 

This childhood training seems strange and out of place as I write from the Decatur prison for women in Decatur, Illinois.  Here, pooping is not only important, but also vital and, thus, fair game for any discussion. 

One fellow inmate told me that she didn't poop for the first two weeks of her incarceration. "I thought I was going to die," she states, her eyes wide with remembered terror. Another friend routinely interrupts a conversation to run away a couple of feet, the victim of painful flatulence, another result of the inability to poop.

I have not escaped this agony either-no matter how much cake, carbs, or any other food I trade for the meger prison veggies: canned carrots, canned green beans, and, occationally, the miraculous previously frozon broccoli. 

My pleas to the doctor were met with a dismissive hand wave and a shot of Mild of Magnesia. He actually had the gall to say that, if I avoided certain foods, my body would adjust to the prison diet. 

I begged for Metamucil. But I was denied. The doctor explained that, if they allowed me to have psyllium husks, everyone would want them. Then, what would they do?

With this stunning logic, I must admit I was both speechless and stymied. 

Not to fear, however. On the rare days, when I am allowed outside, I have discovered an old friend: the generous and boutiful dandelion. Anyone with any experience with herbs or poverty knows the power of this plant. 

The leaves are fresh, raw, and most preciously, dark green. Used in tea or mixed with other foods, the dandelion leaf can cure, soothe, and detox the body's digestive system. 

ANother helpful and plentiful aid is the purple or white clover flower. We can buy chamomile tea from the commissary and, mixed with the clover flowers, the drink also helps solve digestive problems. 

Some prisoners look at me with horror and disgust, they joke about me "grazing on the lawn." But I know that these are small green gifts are literally saving my ass. (And, of course I wash my food before I eat it. Besides, it's hardly more poisonous than the five leaves of iceberg lettuce on my dinner tray!)

When I was feeling funky as a child, my Grany's first question was always, "Suza, darling, have you had a B.M. today?" My answer in prison is, "Hell, yes, Granny, and, although you would never be in my position, your mother wit helps me along everyday."

Now if I could just get my hands on some chickweed.
 

June 16, 2013

7 days 'till the biggest full moon in years-hold on to your hearts! Thanks to you all for your support.
Love Suza "Your Friendly Felon."

June 16, 2013

The most incomprehensible thing about the world is that it is at all comprehensible. -Albert Einstein

Thank You Alison

Even though I can't see this blog with my own eyes, I send my heartfelt love and gratitude to my beloved sister, Alison, for creating it. Thanks so much, Al. You rock!!