A Letter to Elmo

Concrete Magazine

I want to thank you all for writing to Elmo. It's not everyday that one takes pen to paper to write to a convicted killer, regardless of their circumstances, and this has endeared me more to each and every one of you for the simple fact that you have treated him as the human being that he is.

I've included some links that will take you to sites about him. I hope you enjoy them. I have talked Elmo into writing a blog. He use to be the Editor for the San Quentin paper and has a degree in journalism. He's a great writer.

He doesn't write much lately as he spends a lot of his time reading law books. So, I told Elmo if he writes the stuff I will post his blog and then send him any comments. Letters? He said. This intrigued him as he loves to know what is going on in the outside world. Those of us who are obsessed with checking every five minutes to see if anyone has commented will think the time constraints would drive a person crazy. But, after 28 years, he still has amazing coping skills.

In High School, Elmo built a grandfather clock that took several years of wood shop. So, yeah he's pretty got with patients. Unless you're ignorant. Then he has no patience.

So any words of encouragement will be greatly appreciated.

Poetry by Elmo and other Inmates

Okay, It's Official

I'm possessed by a Minnesotan. I can hear that voice from Fargo in my head and suddenly I think it would be a good idea to vacuum the dog.

Now it's not the scarey little fella from Fargo, but a prim and proper housewife who makes casseroles, like calico beans, and goes by the name of G.M. Ford.

I mean, how else can you explain me cleaning the house on a Wednesday night and we're not even expecting company. Exhibit A


My husband walked in while I was making a crank call to Sandy, who I think joined a cult, and I was laughing like a loon.






Note to self: The State bird of Minnesota is a Loon.




I'll take "what to wear to a Fairy Fellowship, for $1,000.00 Alex.

Things I'll Never Get Use To

People who use the word Nigga, like it's a good thing, is one of them.

Whenever I’m feeling blue, I get a call from Elmo which serves as a constant reminder as to what a whiner I am. He's in prison and has been for 28 years.

He calls last night after I had posted about my week. The highlight yesterday was when I went to get an x-ray only to discover I had driven, parked my truck and walked up to the stairs to Unilab where I get my blood work done.

Okay so back to Elmo. Were talking about the changing dichotomy of the prison yard and how he had to set a White man straight after he said “pass the ball, nigga” or something to that effect. Now it has been explained to me by my children that when the R is removed from the word it holds new “meaning”. Like for me as a youngster, bad meant good. Well, bad didn’t represent a group of people that had been oppressed and were deemed less than human. I was shocked when Elmo told me that my son Joseph greets him on the phone with “whassup, my nigga?” Elmo can’t reach through the phone and kick his ass. I wonder if he would like to. But it pissed me off and next time I see Joseph I’m opening a can of whoop ass on him!

I don’t care how you say it or spell it, I don’t like it and I will never get use to it. I was raised not to say it as it was a sign of ignorance and now everything I and my parents worked for has flown out the window. I raised my children not to say it and now the call each other nigga.

If someone calls me a cunt without the T, I’m going off and they are fair game. I slit a man’s eyelid open after I clocked him with my right hook (I was wearing my mothers ring) for calling me that word 10 years ago in TGIF’s. A couple of months ago I was in a two lane that merged into one and a guy that had a bigger truck than I did tried and failed to gutter snipe me. I saw him form the universal symbol for the C word and I put my truck in park, got out and ranted and raved like a lunatic while the light was green because that is just bad fucking manners.

Maybe it is alright and I’m just getting old. Maybe the more it’s said in a “friendly” manner the less “hateful” connotation it will hold.

But somehow I doubt it.

Late.

Read Me a Story, Grandma

Like music to my ears.

And so it went through the night as Tarzan discovered Jane.

And Pooh and the gang went to search for a lost Christopher Robin only to discover he had been at school. Oh, the horror!

Dinosaurs roamed the earth again, boom, boom, boom (sound effects provided by Grandma) and we lost Grandpa to the sleep fairy before the dinosaurs made it to the nesting grounds just in the nick of time. I'm talking edge of the seat here people. You should have seen Eli's eyes.

Tigger searched for his family tree only to find out that his friends are all the family he needs.

And somewhere during Robin Hood and Little John saving the day Eli drifted off to sleep safely in my arms.

Damn near broke my back trying to pick his ass up though, but I will cherish this moment forever.

Have you ever had a week that you just wanted over?

Well I do in the worst way and here are just a few reasons why.

I haven’t had a vivid dream since last Saturday.

I’ve been working on a project at work that I thought up myself (for weeks I've been working on this thing) and now one of the “guys” at work calls me out of the president's office and into his smoke filled office (which use to be mine, but that's another rant) and states, “you, me and your boss need to get together and revisit these estimates because they’re obsolete.” No fucking shit! Hence, my impersonation of a pack mule you fucking neanderthal.

Today is my boss’s birthday and I didn’t remember to get him a gift this week. Sorry about the F-word, though. He's as old as Israel btw.

Last night I went to pull a tampon out of my purse only to discover I had a yellow highlighter in my hand. What am I a magician?

I went on-line to pay my DMV registration and suddenly there has been a change to my bill and “call this number”. Which I did only to have a machine hang up on me. I hate the fucking DMV. Last time I was there they explained to me that I was a threat to homeland security because my last name on my drives license was different than what was on my social security card. It's always a nightmare at that place. Apparently it's frowned upon to change your name when you get married. How was I to know!

Heather didn't show up for Thursday Night Knitting. :-(

I didn’t have a fire on the Summer Solstice, like I always do.

Next weeks just gotta be better, right?

The Summer Solstice

Okay, so everyone who knows me knows I’m full-blooded Swedish and has heard me carry on ad nauseum about our pagan influence intermingled in religious practices.

But the celebration of the Solstice is not unique to Scandinavians.

Today is the summer solstice, the longest day of the year, where the power of the Sun is at its height. The day Baulder is said to have been sacrificed only to be born again at Jul. Baulder is One of the Aesir, his name means "The Glorious". He was also called the "god of tears" and the "white as". Some consider him to be a god of light since he was so bright, light shined from him.

Plants and water hold special healing powers tonight. Evil spirits run free on this night, so be sure to have a fire burning for protection.

The tradition of burning bon fires was “Christianized" when the “church” set June 24^th as the day celebrating the birth of John the Baptist said to be a “a burning and shining light”. Sounds like Baulder to me. John the Baptist is the only saint (as far as I know, I could be wrong) to have his nativity celebrated which seems to place him rather high.

Women would roll naked in the morning dew to become fertile, hence, a June wedding.

Because Solstice is one of the times of the year when magic is believed to be the strongest, it is a good night to perform rituals to look into the future.

If you missed the sun rise like I did be sure to catch the sun set.

The sun provides for us the light of life, honor this life giving power.

Why Even the Christians

Who stole our traditions

Partake in this glorious fun

My Knitting Book Collection

I thought I would list my knitting books. If anyone wants to borrow one, please let me know and I will have Jeeve's get it down and bring it to Tuesday or Thursday night knitting. There is no rhyme or reason to the order.

They are as follows:

Knitting with a Smile by Inger Fredholm
Vouge Knitting Stitchionary One and Two
Sarah Dallas Knitting
The Pattern Companion Knitting by authors too numerous to name (I'm lazy)
Knitting out of Africa by Meryl Streep
(just wanted to see if you were paying attention.
It's by Marianne Isager)


24-Hour Knitting Projects my ass by Rita Weiss
Country Inspirations by Sasha Kagan
Antlers in the Ceiling by Who Goosed The Moose
Pursenalities by Eva Wiechmann
Socks Soar on Two circulat Needles by Cat Bordhi (sadly, mine didn't quite soar)
Spinning by Lee Raven
Knit Along With Debbie Macomber
The Pleasure of Knitting by Ann McCauley
Ripped Sheets by Mr. Completely
Knitted Shawls, Stoles, & Scarves by Nancie M. Wiseman
Knit Ponchos Wraps & Scarves by Jane Davis
Knitting School A Complete Course ( they kicked me out)
Easy Afghans for Knitters
Big Book of Knitting by Katharina Buss
Afghans to Knit & Crochet (BH&G)
Weekend Knitting by Melanie Falick (which will take more than a weekend to make and strangely everything looks like a penis!)
Men in Knits (more penises) by Tara Jon Manning
Knitting Nature by Norah Gaughan
Fabulous Felted Hand-Knits by Jane Davis
Alterknits by Leigh Radford (ironically there was nothing for my alter)
Gorgeouts Knitted Afghans that are BUTT UGLY (Sometimes I gotta admit it. I crack me up)
Alpaca Silk by Debbie Bliss (and so ending with a knit row)
Alpaca Silk Two by Debbie Bliss
Cornelia Tuttle Hamilton Hand Knitting Collection Book Number Two (Noro)
Simply Noro by Jane Ellison
Vintage Knits by Sarah Dallas
Hats Gloves Scarves and wheres my fucking hat by Louisa Harding
Mother of Purl by Edith Eig
Book 3: Color by Sally Melville
Designers Choice Book Two the Sentimental Journey Collection by Elsebeth Lavold
The Knitted Rug by Donna Druchunas
Last-Minute Knitted Gifts by the inconsiderate knitter by Joelle Hoverson

Okay I have more but that's all for now. I'm sleepy now.

Girls, I have just discovered a cure for insomnia. Just start typing books from your library it's a real snooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooze

Father's Day Sunday Supper

I can't get The Kinks out of my head tonight. After spending the day taking photo's and singing along with Jacob and his guitar I guess it's only apporpriate.

Picture book, a picture of your mama taken by your papa a long time ago.

Picture book, of people with each other, to prove they love each other a long ago.

Na, na, na, na, na na.

Na, na, na, na, na na.

Picture book. Picture book. The Kinks aka
The Village Green Preservations Society.
God save Donald Duck, Vaudeville and Variety

The Lovebirds aka Roger and Heidi. Roger learns to make his moms famous cheesy potatoes and manages to eat all the olives and the pickle juice. Heidi looks healthy again.

Little John bbq'd the chicken after he had already put in a days work in the heat. What a trooper!

Jacob charmed his way out of work (as usual) with his guitar this time. He has his oldest brother mesmerized.






Hugs for a hard working dad. Worlds best dad hands down and he has the t-shirt to prove it. I know cuz I helped make it.

The boys with their dad.

Eli rides Bubba bareback for the first time

All Is Right With The World

I went to see Bubba tonight and all is right with the world again. When I arrived at 6:30 PM it was a cool 98 degrees. Bubba took me for a nice ride, we meandered along the trail, cantered up a few hills and watched the rabbits as they munched on dinner.

'We heard a few coyotes howl in the distance.

And he listened to my day. And with ears like those, you know he's a good listener. He tolerated my rantings, nodded his head in agreement and before I knew it I was enjoying the scenery and forgot what the hell I was so mad about.

There's nothing like a walk through nature to clear your head and a Bubba to take you there.

Reason Number 492 Why I shouldn't Own A Gun

I woke up this morning fully intending to go for a ride on my horse. I had my coffee, got dressed and screwed around on my computer and then I realized I had promised my mother that I would pick up her television from Best Buy today. I really wanted to ride my horse. I need to ride my horse, but although my mother is now 75 years old, I still fear all five feet three inches of her. I know there is no way I could ever take her and she can get down-right biblical on your ass if you cross her.

So, reluctantly I went to Best Buy.

I bought some DVD’s for my husband while I was there and crap for my camera and then I was instructed to wait in the Geek Squad Line. This is a very long line with various people who are bringing in defective products they too had been sold.

I stand there in line for quite awhile, my back starts aching and I try to patiently await my turn. I really do. Some yahoo turns around to inform a lady with a vacuum that this is the Geek Squad line and is for computers only. I try to burn a hole though his head because by now I have been subjected to blaring televisions and some asshole who doesn’t know how to work a surround sound systems and his choice of music has placed me near the edge of homicidal maniac. I can overhear the employees at the customer service counter chat about tonight’s party, whine about their schedules, while they are servicing NO ONE. This is bullshit! I walk over to some peon in customer service and make his life miserable for a few moments. I rant about how things should be done. There should be two lines one for dropping off and one for picking up and why do I have to stand in the Geek Squad line to pick up a television set? I’m wearing my Born Again Pagan t-shirt and he keeps looking at it and then back at me again like I’m going to make him levitate or something.

I go back to the line and strike up a conversation with the lady with the vacuum. She informs me she had to hire some one to watch her kids as she had heard from so and so about the length of time you are made to wait. I decide not to give up. We decide to keep an eye on the guy in the camouflage gear that is so NOT in the military. To create a distraction, I look through the plate glass windows out into the parking lot where I spot my pick-up truck and am reminded that my vicadin isn’t in my purse, but is nestled amongst other crap in my glove box. Now I’m cranky again.

This is bullshit. I had to stand in line when I brought the television in and now I have to stand in line again. Why? Because they don’t give a fuck.

I then fantasized about crashing my truck through the front doors, glass shattering everywhere, taking out the fucker that insisted he had to look in my bag at the shit he saw me purchase, taking a gun to the head of the asshole in customer service that wouldn’t help me and politely ask “will you help me now MOTHER FUCKER?”

And then someone says, “Next?” and I am startled back into reality, but I’m still pissed.

The lady with the vacuum cleaner is next and she is pleading my case about how I am there just to pick something up and can’t someone help me?

This touches me and when it is my turn I am actually downright civilized.

If we are truly a Christian nation why the hubbub about immigration?

The Bible says “when a stranger resides with you in your land, you shall not wrong him. The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as one of your citizens; you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God.”

Okay so if you believe in God, I think that’s pretty self explanatory. They are the same as us and should be treated the same while in our land. If they break our laws they get punished and if they mind their own business they should be left alone.

The Christian right says it has other issues at the moment, such as the battle against same-sex marriage. Yeah, that’s important.

The Bible says in Leviticus 18:22,”Do not lie with a male as one lies with a woman: it is an abhorrence.” Which means it is loathsome. It doesn’t’ say it is punishable by damnation and it doesn’t say they can’t get married. Which in itself can be a living hell, so I say let them suffer like the rest of us.

And strangely no mention of a woman lying with another woman which proves that even God likes to watch. What a dude!

Okay somehow I got off the subject. But I didn't say that word once!

Next up, Job and God's addiction to gambling.

Objective Evidence that I am Retarded

This is the baby blanket I've been working on. I cast on four increased every row until I arrived at the width I wanted and then started my decreased back in. Sounds, easy right? I've already made four of these damn things. Oh and there's a yarn over along the edge. This one for some reason was taking an extremley long time to finish.

So, I decided to lay it out and take a measurement and needless to say the mystery has now been solved.

Doctors Suck

I went to see the doctor the other day and he tells me I have a bulging disc and degenerative disc disease in two other discs. There is something wrong with my hip that is unrelated to my back problem. I will need xrays for that.

And by the way, you shouldn't be riding a horse. What?

This news really sucks! I waited until I was in my forties to get a horse because I put motherhood first. (Kids are way over rated by the way. ) But grandkids, now that's another story.

I mean I love my kids and all, but they're no Bubba. Look at his face. He's ready to take me anywhere I want to go anytime I want to go. I can barely get my kids to pull weeds on Mother's Day. And that's because they are grown up and have lives independent of mine.

I don't think doctors understand the connection humans have with their animals. I couldn't give up my horse anymore than I could give up my kids.

I can't explain the feeling I get when Bubba hears my voice from a distance, raises his head in recognition and walks to the gate to greet meet me.

I feel downright special.

Riding atop Bubba, I see the world from a totally different perspective. The wild animals on the trails don't run away in fear. I've seen bobcat, deer with their young and coyotes. Bubba never shied away nor did the animals. Bubba doesn't like humans on bikes, though. He steers clear of them as he isn't quite sure what to make of them. He know a predator when he sees one.

Eyes in the front of the head, ears back. And they are quiet and quick.

Or maybe, it's just those crazy outfits. I haven't figured it out.

So, this Sunday morning I'm off to see the world atop Bubba. He's worth the pain. He never complains about my gaining weight. He's a great listener. He never interrupts my boring stories. Before Bubba, I had anxiety attacks on a pretty regular basis.

He's cheaper than therapy.

Women and the Lunar phase

I work in an environment that is predominantly male. There have been women off and on, over the past couple years, but they never stay very long. Either some swinging dick runs them off or drives them crazy.

Literally, I’m not exaggerating. I've been in the courtroom.

Today the girl that has been there about a year comes and tells me “this isn’t working” and I ask “what isn’t working?” and she states us, the new girl, and this whole thing! What fucking thing? We have a thing? So I ask her to shut the door because I don’t want new girl to hear. And she goes on to tell me that her feelings are hurt because I’ve been having lunch with the new girl and I’ve never asked her to lunch and whine, whine, whine.

I’m trying to wrap my brain around what the fuck she is talking about? She has never once asked me to lunch and suddenly out of left field she’s acting like I’m dating and she thought we we’re exclusive! This is very freaky behavior coming from a co-worker whom the only time I’ve seen away from work was at a cemetery and she asked me “what are you doing here?” Doing stand-up, what the fuck do you think I’m doing here?

I don’t understand why some women are like this. Is it the phase of the moon? Tonight is the full moon and women’s moods and emotions tend to peak during the full moon. I’ve even heard that it is the busiest night at the emergency room. And the phase of the moon is 28 days and so is a woman’s cycle. The term menses comes from the Latin menses which means month and the Greek word for moon is mene, so yeah it’s all making sense now.

I just can’t envision any man I work with telling another man that they have hurt their feelings because they didn’t get asked if they wanted something off the fucking roach coach!

Is it any wonder men don’t want us in the workplace?

Maybe that’s why women are paid less.

Those bastards are getting emotional hazardous pay.

Why the Stonesetter's Wife has no tile

This is an example of the work my husband does.

I fuss and moan and groan because I don't have a completely tiled house. We only bought the tile 2 years ago. He's been laying a little every week or so. He says he's working on somebody's backyard and a fireplace for the past few months. So I'm thinking a little brick with a pattern here, a wooden hearth. Ta da!


Now where's my fucking tile.

Then I come home tonight and he's doing laundry and these pictures are casually lying on the coffee table. What's this? I ask. That's the fireplace I've been working on, he casually tells me. And that's not all. There's a u-shaped bbq, and an olympic sized swimming pool edged in brick. Who has an olympic sized swimming pool? And beautiful steps that lead to the house entrance which is ever so grand. With stone pillars on either side.

I can't believe how talented and yet so humble he is about his work. If I could do half of what he can do with just his hands you wouldn't hear the end of it. And the scanner I have at home sucks so this doesn't even do it justice. So now I'm moaning about that.

He spends his days working so hard and creating such beauty only to come home to listen to me bitch about how he doesn't work enough.

Okay so the tile didn't get laid tonight, but...........

Do you suffer from Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia?

I can't even prounounce it, but I found out that it is the fear of the number 666! Personally, I like the number and I can't believe all the hubbub about a fricking date. My boss says I say fuck too much. Are you happy now? Anyway don't be scared. There are more frightening things in the world than numbers. I mean, have you taken a good look at the Republican partly lately? If there were a beast, I bet it's Karl Rove. He's just beastly.

In musical harmony, 666 is the string ratio of the perfect harmony. Can someone explain how that is scarey? It's sounds kind of nice.

666 can be intriguing. It's the mysterious combination in Pulp Fiction. All the clocks are set at 4:20! Nobody gets freaked out about that.

The pentagon uses, on average, about 666 rolls of toilet paper every day. Now that's funny shit.

A character in Stanley Kubrick's A Clockwork Orange gets accosted by two police officers who are identified as 665 and 667. Apparently they were roughing up a 666.

HR 666 sets a constitutional double standard for protection of privacy that violates the 14th Amendment right to equal protection of laws. In effect, it says it's O.K. to play loose with the rights of home marijuana gardeners, but not gun, alcohol, or tax criminals. HR 666 subverts the Fourth Amendment, the bulwark of our constitutional right to privacy. We call on the Senate and President to reject this grotesque perversion of justice. Okay now that's scarey because it's true. The bill is also nicknamed The Beast. How that's original.

Did you know that 665.9999954 is the number of the Pentium Beast?

Did you know that Apple I sold for $666.66 in April of 1976?

Or that 0.666 is the number of the Millibeast?

If you call 1-666-666-0666 right now you can talk to live Beasts! Get hot nasty beast on beast action. Call Now before the Rapture. Only $6.66/minute. Over 18 only please. Prohibited in Utah.

Did you know the Beast drives a 666i BMW? I saw him at Phillips 666 pumping ethyl. Said he was heading to Route 666.

You can roast Beast at 666F.

Okay, I'll stop now, but really I couldn't resist. I think somebody made me do it!

Okay, who moved my cheese?

I clean headstones at the cemetery.

I clean headstones at the cemetery. It's very therapeutic.

It started when I first went to visit my dead child. I had blocked that part out of my memory, his gravesite, so I was searching. I remembered he was under a tree.

While I searched for his headstone, the traditional Jesus with a flock of little lambs, inlaid with copper, I think, (strange how I still can't remember)
I was taken by the beauty of the old headstones, the kind they don’t make anymore because they’re just too hard to mow around, you know? The marble headstones standing like testimonials. A dying tradition. They were so beatiful and peaceful.

Then I started to search through the ones on the ground, you know, the doormat headstones that are easy to mow and weed whack around. Because there are more important things to be done than tending to a gravesite.

Parks were created with cemetaries in mind. Did you know that? People use to spend an entire day with their dead. Picnic blankets would be spread and the children would run and play in the grass. Now we don't have the time. We have replaced works of arts with doormats because we have more imortant shit to do.

I could tell that no one tended to the doormat headstones and I felt some duty or perhaps I was stalling and didn't want to admit that I couldn't find my own sons headstone. I mean, what kind of mother doesn't know wher her child is buried? So I tended to the headstones as if it were a garden. Brushing dead leaves aside. Pulling crab grass. There were husbands and wives. Sons of the war! Spouses, sadly, still waiting. As I cleaned I said their names out loud. I don’t know why, but it made me feel better. Not so lost anymore, and neither were they.

And that's how it started.

I found my son. He was near a tree. His headstone bowed from the roots of the tree.