Last week I wrote about Molly and Goldie, two friendly dogs that had adopted the Taft Prison Camp as home. I enjoyed seeing these dogs, as did all the other prisoners. The men fed the dogs, played with them, gave them attention and affection. Unfortunately, someone with decision-making powers decided the dogs had to go. Guards rounded them up, and no one has seen the dogs since.
The disappearance of Molly and Goldie leaves the prisoners, including me, a little sad. We’ve all lost so much with our imprisonment, and seeing the expressive eyes of those dogs each morning, their wagging tails, their playful enthusiasm used to cheer us up. They belonged to us all, but like so much else in our lives, now they’re gone.
I’ve trained myself to accept such loss. As a prisoner, I know that gratitude must accompany every blessing that comes my way. Tomorrow can bring change, and the decades have conditioned me to roll with whatever comes. Still, I’ll miss those two dogs, Molly and Goldie.
I woke this morning at 1:24 am, and at 1:34 I sat at my round table to write. Well, today I edited. I worked through my first draft of chapter four of Earning Freedom, then I edited the proposal. I feel very good about the proposal because Peggy, my new writing mentor, made some suggestions that really helped me strengthen the proposal. She is a magnificent educator, helping me at the precise time that I need this guidance.
I ran 10 miles, boosting my tally to 2,052 miles over the past 232 consecutive days. Then I spent two hours talking with Steve, the sole friend I have here at Taft Camp with whom I share all of my work and current projects. To everyone else, I must resemble a ghost, because I spend so much time alone.
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