An Incarcerated Christmas Story

by Tony

My mother loved the holiday Season.  Her normally bright smiling face was a little brighter, her smile a little bigger during the holidays.

She suffered from macular degeneration among many other things, and was legally for several of the last years of her life.

I had the unique experience of spending 2-1/2 years of time on the world in Florida with her and my stepdad – Pop – who had a stroke at the end of 2004.

My duties included yard and house maintenance, cooking, shopping, shuttling them to their myriad of doctor appointments, and among other things, putting up the Christmas decorations when that time of year rolled along.

Mom was an incredible woman, and dealt with her physical limitations with as much strength and determination as any person could expect to – more than many would.  She went to the “Lighthouse for the Blind” in Ft Lauderdale to learn how to deal with her disability and she learned her lessons well.

In fact, with her ability to maneuver around her home including the kitchen and with the relaxed look on her face as she looked directly at you when she spoke with you, it was often easy to forget she really couldn’t see much at all.

I recall setting up their artificial Christmas tree, which had to be 15 years old – Pop always got his money’s worth out of something.  It had been shortened a little through the years, and some of the color-coded tags had fallen off, and the whole process of just setting up the tree itself and getting it all fluffed up was a task in and of itself.

The first Christmas I was there my stepsister, Adrienne – ‘yo Adrienne’ to me – set it up, in fact so she can offer first hand testimony to the challenge.

The lights would come next, and there were a lot of them, in fact 1,000 for a 6’ tree, and they had to be wrapped on each branch, from tip to trunk.

Pop would put most of the ornaments on, and when it was done it was a pretty sight.  A lot of depth to the lights, what with them placed all the way to the trunk and all. And bright. Possibly bright enough to be seen from space if placed in the front lawn.

But what exactly, could Mother see?  As she sat with her signature smile across her kind face, I asked, “What do you think?”  “It’s beautiful” she would say, rocking back and forth and hands clasped in front of her not unlike a child.

I would laugh and tease her “what the heck are talking about, you can’t even see!”

She would feign ignorance and say “Just stop it! That’s not true!”

“Ok, then – tell me, exactly what do you see, really?”

“Well”, she would say hesitantly. “I can see a bright light, like a halo, along the outline of the tree”, and she would draw the outline with her hands out in front of her.  She continued, “the inside of that outline is black”.  She sat back and looked up at me.

“That’s it?” I asked.  “That’s all you see?  No ornaments or anything?”

“Pretty much”, she said.

“Then, why do we go though all of this?” I asked tactlessly.

“Because I remember”, she said, looking at her past with a smile on her face, as she sat in her favorite chair.

I love my mother immensely, as do my children, my siblings, their children, and just about anyone else who ever met her.

She was the gentlest, kindest, most loving person I have ever known and any capacity I have for love I got from her.  I miss her tremendously, as we all do.

I am also thankful, in a way, that she is with God and not alive today for as much as I love her , I don’t think I could have faced myself in the mirror knowing how she would have been during these holidays that just past.

As it is, I am confident she is with all of us all, watching from Heaven, with the perfect vision  the Lord has given her back, and that she is reassured by him that this too shall pass and we will all get through this my children, my brothers and sisters and their families, my friends, and myself.

She helped me to see all the lights and decorations on the tree that wasn’t there this year.

Was this a horrible holiday, this Incarcerated Christmas?  Not at all.

And I’ll tell you all about it next time. . .

A Holiday Recipe from the Big House

by Tony

(Note from Anthony: I don’t know what my dad does better than design recipes for good ol’ backyard cookin’. We chatted about a prison food series, and this looks like a start.)

A Holiday Recipe From The Big House To Your House
Tony’s “A Little Bit Of Fire From Inside The Wire” Special Sauce
Like the Mothers of my wonderful children – “Sweet, yet hot tempered”
1/2 cup honey
1/2 cup Louisianna Hot Sauce
1/4 cup Juice from jar of pickled jalapenos
1/4 cup minced pickled jalapenos
1/4 cup coarse red pepper
( I used cayenne peppers I ‘found’ in the garden, dried and crumbled)
1/4 cup Lawry’s seasoned salt
1/8 cup Garlic powder
2 packets SazonGoya Seasoning Con Azafran
(1 packet = 1 tsp)
2 packets Sweet ‘n Low
Combine all ingredients in an empty 12 oz. jar and shake it, baby, shake it!
Best to let flavors cavort for 24 hrs before use.
Epecially good mixed with prepared Ramen noodles and diced chicken!

TOC via Social Media

by Anthony

Social media helps anything and everything, these days — even if you think I’m full of crap, it’s a reality (you’re using SM right now). So, to further promote my dad’s blog, I’ve created a simple Facebook page, and I’ve tweaked the website. You will notice social media sharing buttons above and below each blog post: one for Facebook and one for Twitter. To instantaneously — or close to — share a post on your Facebook or Twitter accounts, simple click the appropriate button(s).

Via Facebook, you will be able to get fast updates about what’s going on with my dad from Oakdale as well as family reactions (i.e. from me). Not everything, as is quite obvious, is published on this blog; I’ll make use of my frequent Facebook-ing and Twittering, and you should take a look.

Enjoy!

More Evil

By Tony Casson

We human beings are a curious lot.

We go places we shouldn’t go, look at things we shouldn’t look at, and wonder about things that have no business entering our minds.

We have a natural tendency to develop our own sense of morality and then we convince ourselves that everything we do is OK.

We pick and choose what profanities we will use, and when it is acceptable to sue them.

Somehow we have managed to program ourselves into believing that if it is shown on TV during primetime, then that exact behavior is acceptable in realtime.

Somewhere along the line making love was replaced with having sex and “looking slutty” was substituted for “being sexy”.

Morality and decency were displaced by our “freedom of expression” and our individual God-given Civi Rights, but it’s not OK to pray or have a relationship with God. And if you do, you’d damn well better keep it to yourself. Continue reading “More Evil”

Laughter: Our natural recharge

By Anthony

Sad moments come and go. Happy moments do the same. And which do we remember the most?

Maybe we recall extremes of both sides–the time I received my first true “A” on an essay, or the night my grandfather died on Christmas Eve. Everything else is fuzzy, a half-true, perhaps malleable under the force of our powerful minds–those moments we know happened, but the details have long since vanished, and we bend and shape our imagery.

Which would we like to remember more? I have trouble answering the question, because there are two important, necessary truths: good moments energize us and keep us moving; bad moments deplete that energy but strengthen our being. But if we remember sad times as well as we remember the good, we become not unlike a rechargeable battery.

Now faced with a long-term pain, my dad and I have learned to energize our depleted stores. It’s part of human nature to adapt, and that’s what we’ve done.

My dad and I irrigate conversations with laughter every time we talk on the phone; it shows in letters, too. Glazing reality feels good, because it doesn’t have an opaquing effect; we see and feel the pain, but we also live that “silver lining”. It does wonders for our lives–no lie. Not everyone possesses optimistic tendencies, but we do; and I’m DAMN thankful for it.

Squirrel Day

I was surprised by my reaction when my dad told me that Louisiana has a “Squirrel Season”, where permitted residents are allowed to hunt squirrels like dear or turkey: it was believable. The South is an entertaining place; living in Northeast Texas for many years offered a detailed glimpse.

And yes, we had a 15-minute conversation about shooting squirrels.

With my dad, it’s always about anecdotes, and he wasn’t short of any with the start of Squirrel Season. He said he could hear gun fire in the distance. He detailed one moment, describing a silence of arms and then a sudden, thunderous lash of a firing squad. “They musta cornered one,” he said. I laughed a deep laugh, and it lasted for a minute; he laughed with me. We’re good at recreating sound effects, Casson men are; the imagery, coupled with sound, was wonderful.

We stopped our conversation after he told his squirrel massacre story. It’s a funny recollection. Weeks pass, and we don’t talk to one another–I’m not the best son, considering I’ve sent just ONE letter since he surrendered his rights. And when we do speak, for a short 20 minutes, it’s all about the good things, the funny things.

My dad made many mistakes in life, but he made many more great decisions. One was teaching me how to stay optimistic, even if he wasn’t saying it directly. He lead by example; people don’t usually do that, especially as parents. But now that I think about it, he’s a writer at heart, and one of the most important lessons in writing is to show, don’t tell. Telling is forceful and overwhelming, at times; showing gives more power to the interpreter. It’s surprising how smart people can appear, if given a chance–I was given that chance by my dad.

Laughter is one of my few necessities; laughter is one of his few necessities. We’re simple people.

When friends comment on my smile and my laugh, or my ability to light the darker parts of life, I say, “I get it from my dad.”

Turn On Your Lights!

By Tony Casson

On the subject of the viewing of child pornography via the internet, it is important to TRY to understand–and for many, I realize it will be very difficult TO understand, which is why I said TRY–to TRY to understand that in many, many of today’s prosecuted cases for possession of child pornography obtained via the internet, the behavior is not so much criminal intent as it is a moral meltdown of major proportions. Continue reading “Turn On Your Lights!”

Evil is Seductive: Part 5

By Tony Casson

I did not wake up for about 24 hours, and when I did, I was in the intensive care unit, and I was conscious for just a moment, long enough to be aware that I was still alive, that I was connected to all sorts of machines, that there was something stuck down my throat, and my hands were encased in these really soft, really thick gauze mittens. Continue reading “Evil is Seductive: Part 5”

Evil is Seductive: Part 4

By Tony Casson

I know I asked God to look after my mother, and I thanked him for giving her to me. I also asked him to look after my children, and thanked him again.

Apologizing for being less of a human than I should have been, I then asked him for forgiveness.

I prayed for all of the people who looked up to me–who respected me–who loved me, and would now feel betrayed by and disappointed in me. Continue reading “Evil is Seductive: Part 4”

Finally, a happy post

By Anthony Casson

An English lit. course evokes a deep feeling of creativity, a desire to pour out one’s feelings. But do not think this because of beautiful conversation, the cool focus of 20 students, or dissipation of shadows heeding to what could possibly become an intensely pleasant afternoon in the Willamette Valley in Oregon. No, definitely not.

Instead, my cause for writing comes at a time where the heat grows uncomfortable; the 20 students’ focus lies not on the professor–leading conversations about a “wandering Jew”–but on the glossy screens of their iPhones. I do not wish to pay attention to discussing The Monk. I wish to look back at what readers care about, my father. Continue reading “Finally, a happy post”

Evil is Seductive: Part I

By Tony Casson

August 18, 2009 began  for me pretty much like any other day in recent memory. I had just returned from dropping off the dirty linens from the tiny, rundown motel where I worked and lived.

It was a typical day in south Florida for that time of year. It was warm early, the sun was shining, and I was looking forward to finishing my “tour of duty” at the front desk and enjoying the day. Perhaps a little afternoon kayaking, a hobby I had taken up about a month earlier and taken an immediate liking to.

After I had returned from dropping off the laundry, I walked to my room at the other end of the parking lot to do something, I’m not sure what. I had moved into unit #4 a couple of months earlier after my siblings and I had sold our parents’ house, where I had lived since December 2004.

I had moved into their house in December. “Pop” (our step-father) had a stroke the day after Thanksgiving while visiting one of my sisters and it was felt that they needed some help if they were to continue living in their own home. It worked out that I was available to move in and help, and I did exactly that for several years until they both passed away within months of one another–9 weeks to be exact–earlier in 2008. Selling their home had caused me to move into the motel I had worked at, which was inherited by a neighbor and his sister when their Mother was hit by a car crossing the busy street in front of the motel. I had decided to stay there until I could decide a new course of action.

Finishing whatever it was I had gone to my room to do, I walked out the door and turned the corner to cross the parking lot and return to the office, roughly 80-feet away.

As I turned that corner, I noticed activity at the other end of the lot, in front of the office. Apparently, a couple of vehicles had pulled in while I had been in my room and I noticed several people moving about. On the backs of two of the jackets, I noticed the letters “FBI”.

I knew then that a new course of action was about to unfold, and I also knew it would not be pleasant for me, my friends, or my family.

The FBI had come to arrest me, and I was about to let down everyone I had ever known or loved…

(To be continued…..)