BREASTS
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Having Breasts
The other day an underwire bra saved a woman's life. A bullet hit the wire and bounced off. No getting around it, having breasts saved her life. But I'll bet her tit was sore later on that night. Other than that one instance, though, I can't think of a single advantage to having breasts.
For one thing, I am sick and tired of strapping myself into a bra every morning. The damn thing is tight and uncomfortable. And breasts are definitely in the way when you lay on your stomach. You have to check constantly for lumps, and the annual mammography is just plain nasty. And no matter how diligent you may be about checking, breast cancer is an ever-present threat, which incidentally gets worse with age. The entire reproductive system is this way. When you stop using it to produce babies, it turns against you.
And after all, what are they? They are mammary glands. Considering you have to put up with them for your entire adult life, their functionality is really quite limited. I remember being a young mother with a baby at my breast. Frankly, it was painful when the baby was suckling, and being engorged was decidedly uncomfortable the rest of the time when she was not. Other than that, they're useless, bulky and consist almost entirely of fat.
Guys, of course, love them. I remember being a skinny 16 year old in a t-shirt. I felt inadequate, unattractive, deficient because I didn't yet have breasts. I looked like a boy. I felt cursed, left out, deprived. And you can bet, the boys wanted nothing to do with me. And when I finally got breasts, the guys noticed immediately. Sometimes, it seemed like they were so busy noticing my breasts, they didn't have time to notice the rest of me. Even when I was talking to them. Or when they were talking to me.
During the sixties, when I was in my twenties, I had perky little breasts. They were perfect 32 B's. In the spirit of the times, I threw away my bras. I wore peasant blouses and pocket t's, and tried to ignore that the men were mesmerized. But being liberated wasn't all it was cracked up to be. I couldn't help but wonder if all these breast-fixated guys respected me as a person. If I could get them to look me in the eyes, maybe I could ask them. But even in the bedroom, there wasn't a lot of eye contact. I mean, one day I realized I was making love to the tops of their heads. What the hell were they doing down there, anyway?
Eventually, I got tired of that particular kind of attention, and I bought myself some bras again. Like magic, men everywhere began to hear what I was saying. I could tell because they were answering me again. Just like in the old days when I was flat-chested. Well, almost. Unless it was cold out, in which case my nipples would get hard and then all bets were off.
But hey. The world has a way of evening things out. After all, men do have breasts. They are called "pecks." And yes, they too sag.
For one thing, I am sick and tired of strapping myself into a bra every morning. The damn thing is tight and uncomfortable. And breasts are definitely in the way when you lay on your stomach. You have to check constantly for lumps, and the annual mammography is just plain nasty. And no matter how diligent you may be about checking, breast cancer is an ever-present threat, which incidentally gets worse with age. The entire reproductive system is this way. When you stop using it to produce babies, it turns against you.
And after all, what are they? They are mammary glands. Considering you have to put up with them for your entire adult life, their functionality is really quite limited. I remember being a young mother with a baby at my breast. Frankly, it was painful when the baby was suckling, and being engorged was decidedly uncomfortable the rest of the time when she was not. Other than that, they're useless, bulky and consist almost entirely of fat.
Guys, of course, love them. I remember being a skinny 16 year old in a t-shirt. I felt inadequate, unattractive, deficient because I didn't yet have breasts. I looked like a boy. I felt cursed, left out, deprived. And you can bet, the boys wanted nothing to do with me. And when I finally got breasts, the guys noticed immediately. Sometimes, it seemed like they were so busy noticing my breasts, they didn't have time to notice the rest of me. Even when I was talking to them. Or when they were talking to me.
During the sixties, when I was in my twenties, I had perky little breasts. They were perfect 32 B's. In the spirit of the times, I threw away my bras. I wore peasant blouses and pocket t's, and tried to ignore that the men were mesmerized. But being liberated wasn't all it was cracked up to be. I couldn't help but wonder if all these breast-fixated guys respected me as a person. If I could get them to look me in the eyes, maybe I could ask them. But even in the bedroom, there wasn't a lot of eye contact. I mean, one day I realized I was making love to the tops of their heads. What the hell were they doing down there, anyway?
Eventually, I got tired of that particular kind of attention, and I bought myself some bras again. Like magic, men everywhere began to hear what I was saying. I could tell because they were answering me again. Just like in the old days when I was flat-chested. Well, almost. Unless it was cold out, in which case my nipples would get hard and then all bets were off.
But hey. The world has a way of evening things out. After all, men do have breasts. They are called "pecks." And yes, they too sag.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
100 Days
Personally, I wasn't counting. But the media has made it impossible not to notice that Barack Obama has been President for 100 days. I guess it gives them something to talk about. A way to justify their existence. So I may as well chime in.
I am proud of my country for electing a black man President. It took imagination and guts. The bigots are still reeling. They may never get over it. And I for one am getting tired of listening to their carrying on about everything Obama does. The way the right wing tells it, this man never does anything right. Every single thing he does is wrong, un-American, un-Godly, and probably part of a larger conspiracy to undermine the American way of life.
Personally, I can't wait for all Americans to have health care. I like the stimulus program. And Obama's overtures to hostile world leaders give me reason to hope for world peace. I'm delighted with every one of Bush's executive orders that he has reversed, and I couldn't be happier that we won't be torturing prisoners or detaining them unlawfully anymore.
I'm not particularly happy about Afghanistan, but I don't know what is to be done about the Taliban and Al-Qaida. The thought of those fanatics having a nuclear weapon is chilling to say the least.
I'm also dismayed by the bailouts, though I don't understand the problem well enough to say for certain what the alternative would be.
But the latest ranting about the good old USA becoming just like Europe, as if that would be such a terrible thing, just strikes me as laughable. And if I find something to laugh about, well then it's a pretty good day.
I am proud of my country for electing a black man President. It took imagination and guts. The bigots are still reeling. They may never get over it. And I for one am getting tired of listening to their carrying on about everything Obama does. The way the right wing tells it, this man never does anything right. Every single thing he does is wrong, un-American, un-Godly, and probably part of a larger conspiracy to undermine the American way of life.
Personally, I can't wait for all Americans to have health care. I like the stimulus program. And Obama's overtures to hostile world leaders give me reason to hope for world peace. I'm delighted with every one of Bush's executive orders that he has reversed, and I couldn't be happier that we won't be torturing prisoners or detaining them unlawfully anymore.
I'm not particularly happy about Afghanistan, but I don't know what is to be done about the Taliban and Al-Qaida. The thought of those fanatics having a nuclear weapon is chilling to say the least.
I'm also dismayed by the bailouts, though I don't understand the problem well enough to say for certain what the alternative would be.
But the latest ranting about the good old USA becoming just like Europe, as if that would be such a terrible thing, just strikes me as laughable. And if I find something to laugh about, well then it's a pretty good day.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
How People Think
Just the other day, Spokane slaughtered an untold number of ground squirrels, who had the audacity to live in the Finch Arboretum. Apparently, somebody tripped and fell. The paper covered the story of the mass extermination as if it was a great victory for the community. People were pleased that the "vermin" were eliminated from their parkland.
But here's the way I see it, which apparently is not mainstream...like that's a surprise! To me, the squirrels have first rights. They live there. And if we value life, we value the life of ground squirrels.
So why not try to come up with a solution that provides for the ground squirrels to live and at the same time, provides access for people to view and enjoy the arboretum? For instance, we could build a boardwalk. That way, we could all enjoy the squirrels. They would become one of the attractions of the park. We could all enjoy observing them.
If that would be more expensive than just killing them all, so what? If we value life, then we value life. Put up or shut up.
But here's the way I see it, which apparently is not mainstream...like that's a surprise! To me, the squirrels have first rights. They live there. And if we value life, we value the life of ground squirrels.
So why not try to come up with a solution that provides for the ground squirrels to live and at the same time, provides access for people to view and enjoy the arboretum? For instance, we could build a boardwalk. That way, we could all enjoy the squirrels. They would become one of the attractions of the park. We could all enjoy observing them.
If that would be more expensive than just killing them all, so what? If we value life, then we value life. Put up or shut up.
Monday, April 27, 2009
The Pandemic Possibility
This is turning out to be a more than usually stressful week. The collapse of the world economy was enough for me, personally, given all the ongoing debacles and disasters humanity is engaged in around the globe at any given moment. But now we have to be concerned about a possibly viral pandemic. All through the past few days, every time we do something in public, I think this may be the last time for a long time.
We went to a play and I thought, will we be going to any event like this if there is a pandemic? Nope. We'll all be staying home. We went to the gym to take Tre swimming this afternoon, and I thought we won't be doing this kind of thing if there is a pandemic. We'll be staying home. Somebody in the pool sneezed right next to me and I thought, oh hell. We went to the circus, and I thought about it there too. Everywhere we go in public, I think about what will happen if there is a pandemic.
How many lives will be lost? How many lives will I lose? Will people close to me die? Will I myself die? Who will be left to pick up the pieces?
I can't get it out of my mind.
And faced with these recurring thoughts, what comes up for me is how precious my life is. How spectacular it is to go to the gym and go swimming as a family, playing and frolicking in the pool together. And how special it is to go to a good play. And even how precious it is to crowd into a tent with hundreds of other families, so the kids can all go for rides on the elephants and see the clowns and the acrobats. And even the dancing dogs and horses. There really is this element of the carnival in our life. We'd best be enjoying our revelry while it lasts.
We went to a play and I thought, will we be going to any event like this if there is a pandemic? Nope. We'll all be staying home. We went to the gym to take Tre swimming this afternoon, and I thought we won't be doing this kind of thing if there is a pandemic. We'll be staying home. Somebody in the pool sneezed right next to me and I thought, oh hell. We went to the circus, and I thought about it there too. Everywhere we go in public, I think about what will happen if there is a pandemic.
How many lives will be lost? How many lives will I lose? Will people close to me die? Will I myself die? Who will be left to pick up the pieces?
I can't get it out of my mind.
And faced with these recurring thoughts, what comes up for me is how precious my life is. How spectacular it is to go to the gym and go swimming as a family, playing and frolicking in the pool together. And how special it is to go to a good play. And even how precious it is to crowd into a tent with hundreds of other families, so the kids can all go for rides on the elephants and see the clowns and the acrobats. And even the dancing dogs and horses. There really is this element of the carnival in our life. We'd best be enjoying our revelry while it lasts.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Sweden on the Hudson?
Jon Stewart had a segment last night about turning America into Sweden. They sent a correspondent (comedian, granted) to Sweden to take note of the evils of living in a Socialist state. The entire segment featured interviews with Swedish citizens, all of whom are happy, look healthy and live well. In fact, it looked to me like things in Sweden are BETTER than they are here.
Shit oh dear.
Shit oh dear.
Monday, April 20, 2009
San Antone Bone
San Antone is a very cool town. Especially if you hang out in the north side, where the walled and gated communities are, where the white people live. Houses set back from well-maintained roads, trim lawns and flower bed borders. No trash in sight. Unbroken mailboxes. Fresh paint. Solid, substantial, and in perfectly good taste. A little above our economic level, we felt, but we're happy for Tish that she lives in this beautiful upper middle class place. Kinda wishin we had what they have, but we don't.
Then today we went sightseeing. You start at the Alamo and work your way down into south San Antonio along the old MissionTrail until you are utterly lost in the poor sections of town, because that is where the missions are. I mean, even the cows are emaciated in that part of town. The people destitute, the garbage is piled up in the street and you can't help wondering if there is really anybody planning to come and pick it up. The people look like they are out of work. The cars are all beaters. The graffiti is pervasive. The buildings are in many cases falling down.
By navigating through these neighborhoods, we get to see the beautiful, serene, spiritually inspiring missions. And when we are all done looking at the missions, we happily turn around and head back to the north side...where everything is clean and neat and planned.
I have a bone to pick with San Antonio now. A bone to pick. They keep themselves separate in their walled off communities and they don't ever mix with those other people who live in the old part of town. They don't ever have to look at them or at where they live. They can focus on how nice it is in the north end.
In San Antonio I didn't see a lot of middle ground. There are the walled and gated communities with the beautiful homes on the manicured streets, and then there is the slum. downtown is between. The buffer. Hell you can pretend it doesn't even exist if you just stay in your own part of town.
Then today we went sightseeing. You start at the Alamo and work your way down into south San Antonio along the old MissionTrail until you are utterly lost in the poor sections of town, because that is where the missions are. I mean, even the cows are emaciated in that part of town. The people destitute, the garbage is piled up in the street and you can't help wondering if there is really anybody planning to come and pick it up. The people look like they are out of work. The cars are all beaters. The graffiti is pervasive. The buildings are in many cases falling down.
By navigating through these neighborhoods, we get to see the beautiful, serene, spiritually inspiring missions. And when we are all done looking at the missions, we happily turn around and head back to the north side...where everything is clean and neat and planned.
I have a bone to pick with San Antonio now. A bone to pick. They keep themselves separate in their walled off communities and they don't ever mix with those other people who live in the old part of town. They don't ever have to look at them or at where they live. They can focus on how nice it is in the north end.
In San Antonio I didn't see a lot of middle ground. There are the walled and gated communities with the beautiful homes on the manicured streets, and then there is the slum. downtown is between. The buffer. Hell you can pretend it doesn't even exist if you just stay in your own part of town.
Obama Drama
Yesterday I heard Obama called a Fascist and a Socialist in the same conversation. They called him everything but an American. They were so angry and escalated, you didn't dare attempt conversation, it would just have been a huge fight. Pointless in all regards. I guess it's understandable. The right is not used to losing elections. Their party is in disarray. They're scared that their way of life is under attack. Glenn Beck is their spokesman. Oh dear. I mean, what can you say? What do you call it? The politics of pee your pants terrified?
Meanwhile they are stocking up on assault weapons because they're afraid somebody is going to try to take them away from them. Though Obama says he has no intention of re-instituting the ban. And Socialist is the new nasty.
I'm concerned about the bailouts too. I think we all are. But the stimulus package just isn't socialism, not by a long shot. Although in a country where capitalism has gone so far wrong, a little injection of socialism wouldn't hurt anything.
But when that old pendulum swings the other way, people sure do panic.
Meanwhile they are stocking up on assault weapons because they're afraid somebody is going to try to take them away from them. Though Obama says he has no intention of re-instituting the ban. And Socialist is the new nasty.
I'm concerned about the bailouts too. I think we all are. But the stimulus package just isn't socialism, not by a long shot. Although in a country where capitalism has gone so far wrong, a little injection of socialism wouldn't hurt anything.
But when that old pendulum swings the other way, people sure do panic.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Texas Tea
We took a stroll along San Antonio's Riverwalk yesterday, and got to following some stairs the rose beside terraced fountains to the main street level above. It was serene and all we could really hear was the sound of the water flowing over the stone waterfalls and cascades, making its way down to the river as we made our way up to the center of town. A peaceful scene.
But there at the top of the stairs we spilled out into a crowd of demonstrators, gathering for a rally. I looked around at the signs, some of them calling for Texas secession from the union, many of them straight anti-government, anti-taxation, anti-universal health care, and anti-Obama. I couldn't help wondering if this was a pro or anti-American rally. Just about everything I saw was AGAINST something. What are these people "for?" Well, one thing they are for is guns.
Now don't get me wrong, I have guns and I'm not interested in giving them up. I like my guns. Though it's been quite a while since any of them were fired. But I still like them and I like having them. Did I miss something? These people at this rally seemed to think somebody was going to try to take their guns away. How could I have missed that? Oh, right. There is some talk about restricting assault weapons. Well, frankly I don't care to own an assault weapon. I don't know what I'd do with one. Yet people are determined to own them. At least these people at the Tea Party in Texas were determined to own them. I keep wondering what they are getting ready for. It doesn't sound so good.
Should we start stockpiling canned food and beans? And clean water? Maybe we should dig some fallout shelters, like they did back in the 50's during the Cold War. Get out of the cities and off the grid. Take all our money out of the bank and sew it into the mattress. Buy a foot-pedal sewing machine and dig a well. Run like hell.
Nah.
But there at the top of the stairs we spilled out into a crowd of demonstrators, gathering for a rally. I looked around at the signs, some of them calling for Texas secession from the union, many of them straight anti-government, anti-taxation, anti-universal health care, and anti-Obama. I couldn't help wondering if this was a pro or anti-American rally. Just about everything I saw was AGAINST something. What are these people "for?" Well, one thing they are for is guns.
Now don't get me wrong, I have guns and I'm not interested in giving them up. I like my guns. Though it's been quite a while since any of them were fired. But I still like them and I like having them. Did I miss something? These people at this rally seemed to think somebody was going to try to take their guns away. How could I have missed that? Oh, right. There is some talk about restricting assault weapons. Well, frankly I don't care to own an assault weapon. I don't know what I'd do with one. Yet people are determined to own them. At least these people at the Tea Party in Texas were determined to own them. I keep wondering what they are getting ready for. It doesn't sound so good.
Should we start stockpiling canned food and beans? And clean water? Maybe we should dig some fallout shelters, like they did back in the 50's during the Cold War. Get out of the cities and off the grid. Take all our money out of the bank and sew it into the mattress. Buy a foot-pedal sewing machine and dig a well. Run like hell.
Nah.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Pirates of the Somali Coast
A see a movie! So it turns out the Captain did try to escape, and the assholes fired at him in the water. And he was tied up. And they held a gun to his head and threatened to kill him. What an amazing story. I can't wait for this guy to start showing up on the late night talk shows.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Five men in a boat
There was good news today. Navy Seals shot and killed three of the four pirates holding an American ship's captain hostage off the coast of Somalia. The fourth pirate was taken into custody and the captain was freed unharmed, well as "unharmed" as you can be after being held hostage in a life boat for three days at gunpoint with four idiots who probably didn't even speak English. I mean, what would that be like?
I want to hear the story from him. He looked happy enough after his rescue, but I have to know what went through his head out there in that boat. An American naval warship was in plain sight. The pirates must have been edgy, to say the least. Did they have fresh water to drink? Anything to eat? Was the sun beating down? What did they do about bodily functions? Did he sleep? Did the pirates take turns sleeping, or were they all awake and totally sleep-deprived the whole time? Was he tied up? What did he think about? Did he consider trying to escape? Did he try to escape? Did they hurt him? Were they mean? Was one of them clearly in charge, or did they vie for control? Was there a mutiny? Did they start to panic? How did the captain behave? Was he outwardly submissive, conciliatory? Or defiant? Or aloof? Did he display amused bravado? Was he terrified inside? Did he show it? Did he expect to die? I have so many questions.
I want to hear the story from him. He looked happy enough after his rescue, but I have to know what went through his head out there in that boat. An American naval warship was in plain sight. The pirates must have been edgy, to say the least. Did they have fresh water to drink? Anything to eat? Was the sun beating down? What did they do about bodily functions? Did he sleep? Did the pirates take turns sleeping, or were they all awake and totally sleep-deprived the whole time? Was he tied up? What did he think about? Did he consider trying to escape? Did he try to escape? Did they hurt him? Were they mean? Was one of them clearly in charge, or did they vie for control? Was there a mutiny? Did they start to panic? How did the captain behave? Was he outwardly submissive, conciliatory? Or defiant? Or aloof? Did he display amused bravado? Was he terrified inside? Did he show it? Did he expect to die? I have so many questions.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
There are always possibilities
And if you're in a "possibility" frame of mind, you can usually see some. The first thing we tried was to change the dates for our trip to San Antonio. But when it turned out that changing the tickets would more than double the cost, I started to look for other options. If Richard can't see his sister for ten days from the date he started taking antibiotics, then we would be in San Antonio for three days before he could see her. The hotel, as it turns out, costs less than half as much as it would cost to change the tickets. Now you gotta ask yourself, is there really something terribly wrong with having three days in San Antonio BEFORE we visit our family? I mean it's not like SA is a terrible place to be. True, Fiesta doesn't start until the weekend, but even so, there is always the Alamo. I mean there MUST be something fun to do in San Antonio. So I went ahead and booked the hotel.
Now it turns out that Gary and Carmen, our cousins from Colorado, are going to meet us there. So those first couple of days just got themselves an awesome agenda. We get to hang with our favorite cousins.
So the only thing to do now is check out the San Antonio webpage and see what's going on.
Now it turns out that Gary and Carmen, our cousins from Colorado, are going to meet us there. So those first couple of days just got themselves an awesome agenda. We get to hang with our favorite cousins.
So the only thing to do now is check out the San Antonio webpage and see what's going on.
"Wild Women Of The Blues"
Tonight is the annual "Wild Women Of The Blues" show in Spokane. Put on your dancin' shoes, girls!
Friday, April 10, 2009
Back to School
Well, school has started again. Yesterday was our first Acting class of the quarter and Migratory Words started this morning. So I'm working on a scene from "The Birthday Party" between Meg and Stanley (played by David McCallum). I'm committed to memorize the scene and take my acting to a new level. The writing prompt for this week is "the full moon."
I immediately thought of the Tarot card "The Moon." What's coming up from the unconscious, in dreams or fantasies? What monsters lurk in the deep waters of the soul? What is it that you can't see clearly in the moonlight? Is it a mirage? Is it alive? What is it saying to me? Tonight the moon will begin to wane. But in dreams it is always full. When somebody gets this card, I usually tell them to trust their intuition.
What story or script could I write about this?
People say when there's a full moon, it's as bright as day. Not really.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Burn It
Just take three one hundred dollar bills and light a match. Torch them. Poof. Up in smoke. It's been an expensive day, considering all I got for my money was the headache it gave me to sit on the phone with the airlines for an hour or more. But if the doctor says he can't be around his sister, then the trip had to be changed. And the $300 burned. Okay everybody, adjust.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Empty and Meaningless
There is nothing in the future. There is nothing in the past. There is only the present. Try to grab it. You can't hold on. As meaning-making machines, we populate our past with memories and stories about them. We clutter up our future with predictions and fears.
To get to nothing is to be present, holding nothing and holding nothing back. Without a past that matters to the future. At the very least, to take it all less seriously. Less and less.
The less that is left of you, the better.
In the opening that is nothing, you can create something. The first thing that will arise is love.
To get to nothing is to be present, holding nothing and holding nothing back. Without a past that matters to the future. At the very least, to take it all less seriously. Less and less.
The less that is left of you, the better.
In the opening that is nothing, you can create something. The first thing that will arise is love.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Collapse
Early this morning, several towns in central Italy collapsed in rubble. A great many people apparently woke up and ran outside. An awful lot of people didn't. According to the news reports, they are digging with their bare hands to get them out. I was reading this story while my grandson was here, and he wanted to know what I was talking about. So I called him over and showed him a picture of some people digging in a pile of rubble. I told him that pile of rubble used to be a house, and they were digging to get the people out who were buried when the walls fell down.
My grandson is five years old. He's a wise five, but this information was a lot for him. The look on his face changed to a deep concern, almost outrage. "The world is a hard place," I said. He just frowned.
My grandson is five years old. He's a wise five, but this information was a lot for him. The look on his face changed to a deep concern, almost outrage. "The world is a hard place," I said. He just frowned.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Jack Kopp Was My Friend
Tell you the truth I had completely forgotten how uptight DOC people are. I was so relieved that a number of my friends were there. And some people I took a look at, to see if they've changed at all. Well, maybe next time. But nice to see some of the other retirees, showing up for Jack's memorial service. He was a good friend to some of us, especially in the "old days."
I remember and will never forget the way he looked out for Richard and me. He kept calling to offer me this job in Spokane, and I kept saying not without Richard. So finally he calls and he says, "I've been holding this job for you for seven months. How long do I have to hold it?" "Not without Richard," I said. So he worked it out to where there were three openings and he told the other two supervisors that one of them had to take Richard or he wouldn't get me. They interviewed together for the three jobs. Tanya Marlton took Richard into the Sex Offender Unit and Jack took me into Level 6, as it was known then, aka Minimum. I told him at the time if he could pull that off, I'd send him flowers. When we got to Spokane I did just that. Boy was he embarrassed!
Then there was the "Gretchen Era." There weren't many of us who stood up to that. Jack and I both did though. It's another one of those things you don't forget. Who stands up when it's downright dangerous to do it.
I remember when Jack initiated the Drug Unit in Spokane. He'd already decided on Jack Brucick as Lead and Gheorghe Turcin as one of the CCOs. He comes to me and says, "Why haven't I gotten your letter of interest yet?" "You're not going to," I said. "Why not?" "I don't want to work with those two MCPs," I said. "Well," he says, "then I guess I'll know who to appoint, won't I?" This is called the handwriting is on the wall. So I put the letter in. It was inevitable anyway. And those two were in my office right away, suggesting that they should do all the field work and I could be the "administrative" officer and do all the reports and filing. I said exactly six words. "Guys, I am a field officer." And that was the end of that. I guess it really worked out okay. I was a good officer. I didn't need either of them to help me do my job.
One time when minimum was on the third floor at the Broadway Office, he called me in to his office. I knew it was a chewing out, but I couldn't imagine what for. "Why," he said, "are you going down to the second floor all the time to help them make arrests?" "Because they asked me," I said. "They have other female officers," he pointed out. "Oh." "Stop going down there. You work up here." "Yes Sir."
And then when they were investigating the sex offender Coughlin, and I was refusing to be interviewed by Personnel, he called me in then too. "Why aren't you telling Personnel what you know about that situation?" he said. "Because, it would ruin my life," I said. "Woman," he said, "get your feet on the ground! You can't let that woman hang out there without support. What are you thinking about?" Basically, he shamed me into it. And I was right. I remember when Dave Savage called me after it was all over. "Why," he wanted to know, "didn't you ever report this?" "Because," I said, "I knew it was going to ruin my life, and I was right!"
I know that in the end, he was the one who decided I wouldn't go back to a CCO position in the field. My years of reasonable accommodation had run out, and I was losing my Headquarters job. Nanette wanted to hire me as a CCO in the Valley Office, and it was looking better to me all the time. I was sitting in Nanette's office when she called him about it. He had no idea I was sitting there. She never told me what he said, but I guessed he didn't want a disabled CCO. Maybe he thought I couldn't handle the job anymore, which was probably true. I probably couldn't. My health was shot, even if I wasn't ready to admit it. But it felt pretty bad to be left out in the cold by one of my oldest friends. So instead of going back to the field, I ended up at Pine Lodge, where I could barely do the job. It was a disaster. The only part I was any good at was Grievances, and of course counseling the offenders. But I never even started to understand prison policies and rules. It was torture for me to feel like such an idiot.
I was a little angry with Jack about that. But when I saw him at Bill Quayle's funeral, it was like none of that had ever happened. He walked up behind me and leaned over my shoulder and said, "Hi." I turned to see who it was, and when I saw it was Jack, I just beamed. I was happy to see him. He was hollow-eyed and gaunt and he didn't have any hair left to speak of. I was happy to see him, but I was also shocked.
I kept hearing how sick he was from my friends who worked for DOC, so one day when I was in town I went by to see him. He looked terrible. I took a long look at him and said, "Jack, what the hell are you doing?" "I'm working," he said. "I work for a living." He was really steamed. Of course, there was nothing unusual about Jack yelling at me. I remember one time he was in my office and we were having an argument about something. Lois came in and told us we needed to keep it down. I remember he just turned his head toward her, and made this hand movement that amounted to brushing her off. He was right, of course, there was nothing wrong. We were just talking, like we talked. So it was loud.
He was the best Supervisor I ever had, and I had a couple of good ones along with the bad, which was what I mostly had. While I worked for Jack, I never doubted myself or my ability, and I didn't worry about what was happening at HQ or anywhere else for that matter. He had us covered.
As a human being, I saw that Jack was far from perfect. He was pig-headed for one thing. Once he made up his mind about something, he was a pain in the ass about it. He didn't doubt himself quite enough for my taste. He could have been more open to other points of view. But in spite of our differences, which were many, he always respected me and my abilities. And I always respected him.
When Jack hired me, he told me he needed two things from me...one was to work hard, and the other one was loyalty. Once I gave him that, I never took it back. I don't think I ever turned down a direct request from him, regardless of who I actually worked for. And my loyalty, well he had that all the way to the end.
Jack Kopp was my friend.
I remember and will never forget the way he looked out for Richard and me. He kept calling to offer me this job in Spokane, and I kept saying not without Richard. So finally he calls and he says, "I've been holding this job for you for seven months. How long do I have to hold it?" "Not without Richard," I said. So he worked it out to where there were three openings and he told the other two supervisors that one of them had to take Richard or he wouldn't get me. They interviewed together for the three jobs. Tanya Marlton took Richard into the Sex Offender Unit and Jack took me into Level 6, as it was known then, aka Minimum. I told him at the time if he could pull that off, I'd send him flowers. When we got to Spokane I did just that. Boy was he embarrassed!
Then there was the "Gretchen Era." There weren't many of us who stood up to that. Jack and I both did though. It's another one of those things you don't forget. Who stands up when it's downright dangerous to do it.
I remember when Jack initiated the Drug Unit in Spokane. He'd already decided on Jack Brucick as Lead and Gheorghe Turcin as one of the CCOs. He comes to me and says, "Why haven't I gotten your letter of interest yet?" "You're not going to," I said. "Why not?" "I don't want to work with those two MCPs," I said. "Well," he says, "then I guess I'll know who to appoint, won't I?" This is called the handwriting is on the wall. So I put the letter in. It was inevitable anyway. And those two were in my office right away, suggesting that they should do all the field work and I could be the "administrative" officer and do all the reports and filing. I said exactly six words. "Guys, I am a field officer." And that was the end of that. I guess it really worked out okay. I was a good officer. I didn't need either of them to help me do my job.
One time when minimum was on the third floor at the Broadway Office, he called me in to his office. I knew it was a chewing out, but I couldn't imagine what for. "Why," he said, "are you going down to the second floor all the time to help them make arrests?" "Because they asked me," I said. "They have other female officers," he pointed out. "Oh." "Stop going down there. You work up here." "Yes Sir."
And then when they were investigating the sex offender Coughlin, and I was refusing to be interviewed by Personnel, he called me in then too. "Why aren't you telling Personnel what you know about that situation?" he said. "Because, it would ruin my life," I said. "Woman," he said, "get your feet on the ground! You can't let that woman hang out there without support. What are you thinking about?" Basically, he shamed me into it. And I was right. I remember when Dave Savage called me after it was all over. "Why," he wanted to know, "didn't you ever report this?" "Because," I said, "I knew it was going to ruin my life, and I was right!"
I know that in the end, he was the one who decided I wouldn't go back to a CCO position in the field. My years of reasonable accommodation had run out, and I was losing my Headquarters job. Nanette wanted to hire me as a CCO in the Valley Office, and it was looking better to me all the time. I was sitting in Nanette's office when she called him about it. He had no idea I was sitting there. She never told me what he said, but I guessed he didn't want a disabled CCO. Maybe he thought I couldn't handle the job anymore, which was probably true. I probably couldn't. My health was shot, even if I wasn't ready to admit it. But it felt pretty bad to be left out in the cold by one of my oldest friends. So instead of going back to the field, I ended up at Pine Lodge, where I could barely do the job. It was a disaster. The only part I was any good at was Grievances, and of course counseling the offenders. But I never even started to understand prison policies and rules. It was torture for me to feel like such an idiot.
I was a little angry with Jack about that. But when I saw him at Bill Quayle's funeral, it was like none of that had ever happened. He walked up behind me and leaned over my shoulder and said, "Hi." I turned to see who it was, and when I saw it was Jack, I just beamed. I was happy to see him. He was hollow-eyed and gaunt and he didn't have any hair left to speak of. I was happy to see him, but I was also shocked.
I kept hearing how sick he was from my friends who worked for DOC, so one day when I was in town I went by to see him. He looked terrible. I took a long look at him and said, "Jack, what the hell are you doing?" "I'm working," he said. "I work for a living." He was really steamed. Of course, there was nothing unusual about Jack yelling at me. I remember one time he was in my office and we were having an argument about something. Lois came in and told us we needed to keep it down. I remember he just turned his head toward her, and made this hand movement that amounted to brushing her off. He was right, of course, there was nothing wrong. We were just talking, like we talked. So it was loud.
He was the best Supervisor I ever had, and I had a couple of good ones along with the bad, which was what I mostly had. While I worked for Jack, I never doubted myself or my ability, and I didn't worry about what was happening at HQ or anywhere else for that matter. He had us covered.
As a human being, I saw that Jack was far from perfect. He was pig-headed for one thing. Once he made up his mind about something, he was a pain in the ass about it. He didn't doubt himself quite enough for my taste. He could have been more open to other points of view. But in spite of our differences, which were many, he always respected me and my abilities. And I always respected him.
When Jack hired me, he told me he needed two things from me...one was to work hard, and the other one was loyalty. Once I gave him that, I never took it back. I don't think I ever turned down a direct request from him, regardless of who I actually worked for. And my loyalty, well he had that all the way to the end.
Jack Kopp was my friend.
Totally Phenomenal Good Luck
I have been lucky in love. In particular, my current husband of 20 years. The man has a hard time seeing that I have faults. Luckily for both of us, I am not given to any such illusions about myself or my current state of enlightenment or perfection. I'm clear that I am a most ordinary specimen, right in the big fat middle of the bell curve. No better or worse than most. Not a monster, not a saint. I do my best and it frequently falls short.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
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