Not Home Yet: The BOP Ineptitude Strikes Again

Wow, has it really been since October that I've written? I have so much to say and I am so overwhelmed with despair that when I think about writing it out, I become discouraged and just can't.

In my last post entitled "Covid Scare", I was talking about waiting for the RRM to process Tom's referral to home confinement under CARES Act provisions. I had so much hope at that time since we had been told that he was approved. And we were just waiting for the RRM office to give us a release date.

After Tom was released from quarantine, he was told that when it's time for him to leave, he would not have to go through another quarantine because since he already had COVID, he was "safe" for 90 days. Where they came up with that timeframe, I have no idea, but it was good news for us because being in quarantine is pretty much hell, depending on where they decide to house the inmate. When Tom was in the chapel, it wasn't as bad as being in the cell of the main prison. But it was still awful and we could have no contact other than letters. And I've already written about how the BOP delays the mail.

After weeks and weeks, Tom finally got his release date of November 18th. But it was given to him under a pall of uncertainty. Case Manage Alvarez said something cryptic like the RRM didn't approve him for home confinement and he'd have to stay at halfway house. But I thought, "That can't be right. The WARDEN is the decision maker. He has the sole authority to approve CARES Act home confinement and the RRM does not have the authority to overrule the warden." Our prison consultant concurred. There is nothing in BOP policy that gives the RRM that authority. He recommended we let it play out and at least Tom would be out of the prison.

So, on the 29th of October, Tom was ordered to leave work (he worked at the Unicor facility on the prison grounds) and go back to the camp where he was told to pack his things, he was going to quarantine. That's TWENTY DAYS before his release date. He told them, "But I was told I wasn't going to have to quarantine again because I already had COVID." They told him, "There's a new law and you have to quarantine." Well, that was a lie. There was no new law. What we found out later was that they wanted to bring some new inmates into the camp and they needed Tom's bed. Since COVID hit, the camp has been at about half capacity. The prison receives fund for each prisoner. So they're hurting for money.

Tom was sent to the main prison to spend 20 days in quarantine in a small cell. Thankfully, he was able to call me quickly and tell me that he wouldn't be able to talk to me until the day I came to pick him up. Also, thankfully, he was able to tell me the date and time that I was to pick him up. The prison staff was supposed to call me and tell me that, but nobody ever did. 

For the four months that Tom was at the prison, he spent 48 days of that time in quarantine. The prisons are using COVID to inflict all kinds of cruelty on the inmates with impunity.

I picked him up on the morning of the 18th and we drove to the halfway house in Tyler, TX.  Now, mind you, he's supposed to only be going there to check in and possibly get an ankle monitor. Then he was supposed to have been able to go home. But when we got there, they said he had to live there and he could not go home.

We were devastated. Well, *I* was devastated. It's what Tom expected all along, but I refused to believe that the BOP could have been that incompetent. Why would I refuse to believe it when I had seen their incompetence and cruelty for four months, you might ask yourself? Well, I had to have hope. I had to have one little small grain of hope that Tom would be coming home with me that day. That's what got me through those four months of not being able to touch him, those last 10 weeks of not being able to see him at all, and those 20 days of not being able to talk to him at all.

So I drove home alone in tears that day.

Update on the Covid Scare

They kept Tom in quarantine for 11 days. He remained asymptomatic throughout. The other three men had varying degrees of symptoms, but none of them were any worse than a flu.

He went into quarantine on September 20, which was a Monday. I received updates through my contact until that Thursday in which Tom gave a thumbs up sign through the window so that I knew he was okay up until then. After that, I didn't hear anything from Friday until Monday when I got a letter from him. But that letter was written before he knew he got Covid. I didn't hear any updates on his medical status until Tuesday when our prison advocate was finally able to get through to the Unit Manager at the camp. She told him that Tom was still okay. The advocate was also able to confirm that the BOP policy does include providing monoclonal antibody infusions for inmates who contract COVID and might need it. As far as I know, they did not offer it to any of the men that were ill. They all recovered just fine without it, thankfully. It was reassuring to know that they might receive that treatment, but at the same time, I had to wonder if Tom needed it, would we have to fight for it. But, of course, I wouldn't even have known if he needed it because of how they kept him from communicating with anyone outside of the prison.

Those five days were terrifying for me. As I said in my last post, I know that most people survive Covid and all the hype in the media is just meant to scare us so the government can control us, but my heart was screaming that Tom might be one of those one percenters who dies from it. I was scared out of my mind, which is exactly what the media and the government wants. But not knowing anything and the prison staff intentionally, unnecessarily, and cruelly keeping information from me was beyond my comprehension. It's just one more example of how they treat the inmates as if they weren't human, as if they don't have anyone who loves them and cares about what happens to them.

Thankfully, it all turned out alright and he got out of quarantine much sooner than they originally said. I was hopeful that while he was in quarantine, his CARES Act approval would come through and he'd be able to come home right when he got out of quarantine. Since the rule is everyone has to go through quarantine before they get out, it would be reasonable if his quarantine served as his exit quarantine.

But that was not to be. The warden approved his CARES Act request while he was in quarantine, but he did not, and still does not have an exit date. That process there is a long saga.

His case manager told him that after the warden approves him for home confinement, his request then goes to a committee in DC or a "Central Office" for approval. But our advocate was telling me that the Warden has the final decision authority to approve the requests and it does NOT go to another committee for approval.

I found a memo that confirms what the advocate had been telling me. It is a DOJ/BOP memo dated November 16, 2020 from Andrew Matevousian (Assistant Director Correctional Programs Division), David Paul (Assistant Director Reentry Services Division), and M.D. Smith (Health and Services Division). The very first paragraph states: "Please note, home confinement referrals related to the CARES Act will no longer routinely be sent to Central Office for review. Wardens are the final decision authority for these referrals."

So WHY is the staff at the prison telling the inmates that there is another layer of approval that must be obtained? The truth of the matter is that the CARES Act referrals are to be sent to the Regional Reentry Management office and they are the ones who set the release date and assign the inmate to a halfway house which will supervise the inmate's home confinement.

I called the RRM office to see if I could get any information concerning Tom's referral. The woman who answered was a typical government employee, not there to be helpful. She told me she could give me some general information, but couldn't tell me anything about Tom specifically. So through questioning her (because she didn't offer anything), I was able to confirm that I had reached the correct office and they do, indeed, receive the home confinement referrals. I asked how long does it usually take. She said they have 30-60 days to respond. I asked, but does it actually take that long. She repeated her 30-60 day answer. I asked had they received Tom's referral because I wanted to make sure it hadn't slipped through the cracks somewhere. If they hadn't received it, Tom would need to go to Alvarez to see why it wasn't sent. But the woman at RRM confirmed they do have it in their system. She would not tell me when they received it.

So just because they have 30-60 days doesn't mean it takes that long. Our advocate has repeatedly told me that they usually only take a couple of weeks. It's been 17 days since Tom was approved. So assuming the RRM office received it shortly after that, we're past the two week mark. So hopefully, we'll get a release date soon.

The Trauma Never Stops

Yesterday, I got a short email from Tom saying, "COVID has hit the camp. I might have to go into quarantine". That was it. We knew that if he had to go into quarantine for whatever reason, it would be likely that he'd just drop out of communication. Disappear like he did when he first went in. Because the staff wouldn't allow him to make a call to me to tell me what was happening. So we arranged beforehand for me and a couple of other inmate's family members to be in contact. That way, they could get word to me, or I could get word to them if something like this happened.

So when Tom didn't make his usually 11:00 a.m. phone call to me, I knew something was up. I got a phone call from one of the wives telling me that Tom and three other men had tested positive for COVID and were being put into quarantine.

Up until now, I haven't been overly concerned about COVID. I know that about 98% of people who contract it survive it. I'm prepared here at home with the meds we need and there are monoclonal antibody infusion clinics all around that we would have access to. My fervent prayer was that Tom would not get the virus while he was in the prison because the prison will not care for him properly.

All of Tom's CARES Act paperwork is done and is scheduled to be reviewed and approved at tomorrow's staff meeting. The case manager claims that it then has to go to a committee in DC to be approved by them. Since he was already approved previously, we didn't see a problem with getting it approved again...except for the completely arbitrary and diabolically cruel BOP system that might reject it for any reason or no reason. So I was looking forward to that and to getting a date for his release. I don't know what effect, if any, this diagnosis will have on that process. It seems to me that they would go ahead with it. And since he has to quarantine before being released anyway, this quarantine could serve as his exit quarantine and he could come directly out at the end of it.

Having Tom diagnosed in the prison was a blow that I didn't feel like I was going to survive. The terror of the unknown is unbearable. Tom could be one of those who gets a serious case. He could be one of those who will die from it. Especially since he will not be treated until or unless he is seriously ill.

I called the prison and was finally able to talk to someone in medical. She refused to tell me anything about Tom. When I asked what the protocol was in general, she proudly told me about their "monitoring". There is no early treatment. They "monitor" until the inmate is sick enough to warrant some kind of intervention. She wouldn't tell me at what point, or what they would do at that point. Monitor is all they get. I guess they monitor them until they're sick enough to be rushed to the hospital where they let them die because the government has banned the meds that really work.

I called again today trying to get an update on Tom. I spoke with the unit manager, who is the boss of the unit Tom is in. She also would tell me nothing. She was clearly angry that I knew that Tom tested positive. She wanted to know how I knew. I wouldn't tell her because of possible retaliation against the inmates. But I asked her, "Would y'all have told me?" She would only say that they have a policy they follow if an inmate is "sick" and that I would be notified. So I said, "So if he's sick, then you'll tell me. So that must mean he's not sick yet." She did reluctantly confirm that. I asked how they would notify me, by mail or a phone call? She told me they would call me. So now I live in dread of a phone call from the prison telling me that Tom is sick.

I asked were they going to let Tom call me, that I really needed to hear from him. Her answer was that he is in quarantine and will not be allowed any phone calls. Period.

So, the quarantine is going to be 21 days, so they say. That's 21 days that I will not be able to talk to my husband. 21 days of no email contact either. 21 days of not knowing how he's doing unless he can get some letters out to me. He went into quarantine with just a few stamps that another inmate had loaned him. I explained the stamp situation here.

The prison is scrambling to deal with this. The information I've received from my illicit grapevine is that Tom and the three other men are being quarantined in the chapel, which is a small metal building next to the barracks where he lives. I've only peeked in the window of the chapel as I passed it. The room was about 20 x 20 from what I can remember. It has one or two windows. So thank goodness he's not in a small cell in the main facility with no window like he was last time. And he has the other men with him. I have no idea yet if there is a toilet or shower in there or what provisions they will make for them. I can only wait for Tom's letters and hope and pray that he doesn't get "sick".

Today Is a Day for Despair

I visited Tom today. It was the third time I've gotten to visit. Each time is a thrill to get to see him, but the leaving is so difficult that it's almost not worth going, except I wouldn't miss it for the world. Visiting is no touching. Wear a mask. Sit in a chair with a big plexiglass barrier between us. Can't converse without sitting with our faces pressed up to a gap between the barriers. Even then it's very difficult to hear. Other inmates with their visitors all around us talking loud so they can be heard through the barrier.

The two previous times I visited, I was scheduled for noon. Today I was scheduled for 8:30. I had to be there at 8:00. My drive time is three and a half hours, so I got out of bed at 3:00 after having not slept more than a couple of fitful hours. I left at 4:00 so I'd have time for a couple of bathroom breaks and to get some breakfast - not that I wanted to eat, but so that I wouldn't be weak and sick.

I arrived home around 1:50. I need to be taking a nap.

This is what despair feels like. I'm exhausted, but can't sleep. I'm starving, but can't eat. I want to be strong and have a can-do attitude, but I'm not, I don't. I don't even know what my body wants or needs at this point. It doesn't do what's normal. I'm weak and shaky from not eating, but sick when I eat. I'm dropping from exhaustion, but can't shut my mind off so I can rest.

Yesterday a fellow Christian posted something on FaceBook about Christians not wanting to be submissive to government authority because it's too hard. It goes against our nature as Americans. The message that came across to me was that we're bad Christians if we don't meekly submit to every evil whim of the government. I shouldn't have read it. My response was that my husband is currently a political prisoner in a federal prison. He submitted to the authorities even though he committed no crime, as did I when I was indicted, arrested, and jailed. So I don't think I need a lesson in submission today. 

CARES Act for Home Confinement

Today I'm just writing about current events. No flash backs.  I just had an old goat die out in the pasture. Thankfully, my good neighbors -- who came over yesterday to sweat over my lawnmower maintenance and put new spark plugs in it because it was getting ready to quit on me -- came over again today to drag the dead goat into the woods for me.  It put me in mind of the last time I had to dispose of a dead goat while Tom was out of town.  Looking back on it, it's kind of hilarious.  Maybe some day I'll find this day hilarious....not likely. 

Okay, that's not my main topic. That's just one of the joys of living single on a farm. And thank goodness for neighbors!

What I really want to do is explain the early release program that Tom is eligible for. It's called the CARES Act and is part of the COVID relief program for prisons.  It allows for certain, nonviolent inmates to be released to serve out their term in home confinement.  Lest anyone freak out that "CRIMINALS ARE GETTING OUT OF PRISON!" just simmer down. Here are the discretionary factors that the BOP officials have to consider:

(1) The age and vulnerability of the inmate to Covid. So, like, if they're 60+ or have other comorbidities that make them more susceptible to Covid. Tom fits the category because he's 60 and he's had pneumonia twice before.

(2) The security level of the facility, with priority given to inmates residing in low and minimum security facilities.  Tom fits this category because he's in the most minimum security he can be in, a satellite camp.

(3) The inmate's conduct in prison with violent or gang-related activity making the inmate ineligible.  Tom has no violent or gang-related record.

(4) The inmate's PATTERN (this is how they score the inmate's crime and behavior) score with anything above a minimum score not receiving priority.  Tom's score is in the negative numbers, so also as low as you can go.

(5) The inmate has to have a verifiable re-entry plan that will prevent recidivism and maximize public safety, including demonstrating the inmate would be at lower risk of contracting Covid in home confinement than he would in the facility.  Tom is eligible here because he has a home to go to that is isolated from the public if we need to isolate.

(6) Sex offenders and other serious offenses weight heavily against the inmate.  A no brainer here.

So since Tom has an 18 month sentence, the rules say that he has to serve 25% of his sentence.  [The percent is different for different sentences.  I don't even know how they come up with that.  It sounds like something completely arbitrary.  It's like they're sitting around and one guy says, "How much time should they serve before they're eligible to not get COVID in prison?" Another guy says, "Hey, how about 25%!". And they agree, "Yeah, that sounds good."]  For some reason, the first week they go into the prison, they automatically accumulate their time off for good behavior days.  They have some kind of way to calculate that.  And I suppose if you're a bad boy, they take away good behavior days.  So Tom automatically had 80 something good behavior days and those are supposed to count as time served.  It's weird and confusing. But suffice it to say that he will have served his 25% and be eligible to be released for home confinement on September 12, 2021. That's in less than two weeks. Which I would be super excited about if I thought for a minute the BOP would move as quickly as I would.

His case manager has prepared the paperwork and it's ready to go to the review panel for (hopefully) approval. Although, she set the release date forSeptember. I'm not sure how she calculated it to come up with that time frame. However, they also have to get approval from the probation office who will supervise him in his home confinement. They don't move very quickly either. And I found out today that the request has not even been made yet.  So we've been waiting all week to hear from the probation office, but they don't even have the request.  It's things like this that will drive you insane.  I've been on the phone for a long time today trying to figure out what needs to be done.  And this is a holiday weekend, so the person that needs to take action didn't come into work today.

Seriously, you have to stay on top of things to get anything done.  And even then, nobody has any sense of urgency.  You'd think if they were actually trying to prevent COVID in prisons that (1) they wouldn't put people who are eligible for home confinement in the prison in the first place, and (2) they would have a sense of urgency to get them out of there as quickly as possible.  But, no.  And the BOP doesn't even have to approve the request.  They do deny some even without a reason.  Praying, praying that they approve Tom's request and quickly.

Arraignment Day

I don't usually like to post twice in a day. But I've been having trouble with my internet and can't always get it to work so I can post when I want. Besides, I'd like to get caught up on this story. I wish I had pictures of this day.

This is long one.  August 7, 2018:

We had to be at Gibson's office by 8:45 so he could walk over with us to the federal courthouse and surrender to the IRS Special Agent, Stephanie Byrd.  So, it was an early morning for us because we had to drive into Dallas from Athens in the morning rush hour.  Going on what I was told by Gibson, expecting a fairly quick affair in the courthouse, I chose to wear a charcoal colored skirt, white blouse, bare legs, and black pumps.  Seemed appropriate for a court appearance to me.  I left my hair hanging loose and wavy.  I had rose-gold colored waist length hair at the time.

We talked to Gibson for a few minutes and left all of our belongings in his office since we couldn't take anything into the courthouse with us.  Gibson did say we could keep our wedding rings on and carry our DL, which we did.

So, we showed up at the IRS office at 9:00.  It took them a few minutes to finish setting up for our processing.  It turned out we couldn't keep our wedding rings on and Tom and John also had to remove their belts and watches.  We gave our belongings to Gibson and he left.  To begin, they read us our Miranda Rights.  There were six agents - two for each of us, Tom, me, and John.  One asked questions and entered the answers into a computer (pretty much the same questions that the pretrial interviewer asked).  The other sat by and prepared a little kit that contained the stuff to take our fingerprints and DNA.  We were told by Gibson to not make any waves and that the most important thing was for us to get through this and come out the other end of it without being taken into custody. But, John balked at the DNA.  He wanted proof that they had the authority to do it.  I really don't know if he ever got the information that he was seeking, but I complied without question and John eventually did, too.

Stephanie Byrd, who was one of the agents processing me (Tom and John both had two men), seemed nervous.  Frankly, I was glad that she was nervous.  Her hands were shaky and she messed up one of the forms she was writing on and had to open a whole new kit to get a new form.  She also was criticized by one of the other agents there for handling my DNA stick without gloves on.

All of that took about half an hour, then Byrd told us that we were to be taken to the marshal's office upstairs to be processed and would wait there until our court appearance at two.  She said she would get us some lunch from Subway and bring it to us at lunch time.  She asked if we had any dietary restrictions.  Because of John's heart condition, he cannot eat carbs (bread, sugar, etc.) and because of my celiac disease, I can't eat bread either.  I never eat at Subway because, well, they're a sandwich shop and I never even liked their sandwiches anyway.  It was agreed that John and I could eat a lettuce wrap with meat and cheese in it and she would bring Tom a sandwich.

Then Byrd told me to stand up, turn around, put my arms out and she did a cursory pat down, then told me to put my hands behind my back while I saw her reaching for a pair of handcuffs.  I said, "Are you serious?!"  She said, "Yes, I have to do this to take you to the marshal's office."  Of course, I complied.  I suppose otherwise, they would have wrestled me to the ground and put the cuffs on me anyway.  That would have been unladylike, to say the least.

Tom and John were handcuffed as well, although, John was handcuffed in the front. I can only guess that it was because of his recent open heart surgery.  Byrd walked with me with her hands fluttering here and there, touching my arm occasionally to direct me or steady me or something. 

We were led to the elevator to go upstairs  Tom and John stood facing the wall, but if I was told to do that, I didn't hear it and I didn't do it, then into the entry of the marshal's office where we had to stand, cuffed, facing the wall for several minutes.  Then a marshal came in and led us each to a small holding cell, each was about 4x6 with one metal stool attached to the floor and a metal platform above which was a screen and beyond the screen another room just like that one.  I guess it was for inmates and lawyers to talk.

We sat there for quite some time in handcuffs - there weren't any clocks and we had no way to tell how much time passed.  I heard Tom and John being taken away.  The same marshal came back later to tell me that he was waiting for a woman deputy to do my pat down.  He had a heavy accent and people called him "the Cuban", so I guess he was from Cuba.  But, he was very kind and respectful to me.  He tried to explain everything that was going on.  He was apologetic, but told me that he had to do his job.  Then he moved me to a larger holding cell because he thought it would be more comfortable.  It wasn't.

After some time, the woman deputy came to get me out of the cell.  She made me put my hands up on the wall and patted me down thoroughly, even sticking her hands up my skirt to feel my legs, fingers all in my waistband and thoroughly around my bra strap.  I had to take off my shoes and she felt all over them and checked the soles of my feet; pull my hair back so she could look behind my ears, then flip my head down and shake out my hair.  After that, I put my shoes back on, hands against the wall again, then "lift your right foot up and back" and she clamped a metal shackle onto my ankle, "other foot", another shackle with a short chain between the two.  Then I was put in a cell, probably about 12x12 with one other woman.  There was a toilet in the cell with a partition, about 3 1/2 feet tall that shielded the toilet from the hallway, but it was open to the rest of the room.  I'm so glad I went to the bathroom before going in there.  I did NOT want to have to use that toilet. 

I could occasionally hear Tom and John talking down the hall so I new they were pretty close.  They were in a cell with several other men.  We stayed in those cells until just a few minutes before 2:00 when we were led up to the courtroom.

The Cuban marshal came by every once in a while to check on me and explain things further.  I couldn't understand everything he said, but I got the gist of most of it and every once in a while I caught a clearly spoken phrase.  He explained to me that AFTER we went to court, we would be photographed and finger printed, then he'd receive our release papers and we'd be free to go.  I said that I was told we'd be processed BEFORE the court appearance.  He shook his head, "no, this is the way I have to do it because there is an arrest warrant, blah, blah, blah."  So, that little tidbit tells me that somehow the IRS obtained an arrest warrant between late afternoon Monday and early morning Tuesday.  I don't know how these things work, but I strongly believe this is how they were able to detain us in the way that they did and have us treated like we had already been tried and convicted.  Of course, I know the motivation for it...maximum shock and awe, maximum terrorism to break us down and beg to do anything to not have to go back there.

So... lunch.  Cuban brings a little plastic take-out box and tells me this is what Byrd brought for lunch.  It was about a cup of iceberg lettuce, two cherry tomatoes, and about a tablespoon of shredded carrots, a packet of dressing, and...no fork.  He looked rather sheepish and was apologetic.  He said, "we tell them not to bring salad because we can't have forks".  I kind of laughed and mimed eating a salad with my hands like a barbarian.  He also brought me a plastic bottle of water.  I wasn't sure but I think he said they aren't really supposed to give us plastic bottles and he told me just don't flush it down the toilet because it will get stopped up.  I said, "I'm pretty sure I'm not going to flush a water bottle down the toilet."  I didn't touch the salad.  It turned my stomach just thinking about it.  I sipped the water a little bit because I knew it was important for me not to get dehydrated because I'd then be nauseous.  But, I didn't want to drink much because I didn't want to have to pee in that toilet.

After a while, Cuban came and unlocked my door and motioned for me to come out.  Let me tell you, it is hard to walk with those shackles on and heels.  He helped me straighten them out and held my arm so that I wouldn't fall.  He told me, "I'm going to process you".  He took me to a little room, fingerprinted and photographed me.  Then took me back to the cell when we were done.  I don't know why he relented and processed me before going to court, but I'm glad he did. I found out from him that it was 12:45.  I passed that little morsel of information on to my cellmate because she had been there all day and had no idea of the time.  We had talked a little about it before, so I knew she was wondering as much as I was.

So, I knew I only had about an hour to go before I was taken to court.  And, I thought it couldn't get worse, but it did.  When it was time, Cuban came to get me.  He wrapped a chain around my waist twice, put handcuffs on me, then chained the handcuffs to the chain on my waist.  By then, the leg shackles, which were quite heavy, had rubbed a red dent on the front and back of my ankles.  It really hurt to walk because each step, in addition to making me feel like I was going to fall, would dig that metal into my skin.  By the time it was over, I thought if I had them on much longer, my ankles would be bleeding.  I had to walk very slowly, so everyone else did, too.  I figured if they said anything to me, I'd tell them, "well, if you're going to hobble me like a horse, you're just going to have to put up with walking slow."  The Cuban handed me over to the woman deputy and she, with several other men, escorted us to the elevator and up to the courtroom.  Woman deputy warned us very meanly while we were waiting to get on the elevator that we weren't allowed to talk to each other and if there was any family in the courtroom (Keith and Tina came) that we could not talk to them either.  There was some severe penalty for doing so, but I tuned her out by then.  Nobody helped me walk.  I was left to maneuver walking down the hall stepping over thresholds and even walking up and down steps. in heels. in shackles. and not one of those people offered a steadying hand.  If I had tripped, I would have fallen on my face because my arms were pinned to my waist.

When we got to into the courtroom, we were directed to sit in the jury box.  There was one other prisoner there.  He looked to be a Mexican and was in a prison jumpsuit.  Tom was arraigned first, then me, then John.

We each stood at the lectern with Gibson.  He wanted us to just answer the questions with yes or no, don't rock the boat, just get your release and get out of here.  I can't really blame him for that.  It would be nearly impossible to be on trial while locked up because Tom and John wouldn't be able to fully participate in their defense and their input is absolutely critical.  I'm sure the prosecutor knows this and threatening jail is a motivator to get people to lie just to move the process along.

We were each asked if we had read the indictment "yes" and do we understand it "pause".  Do I understand it?  I wanted to answer that question in the most truthful way possible.  The answer formulated in my head was, "To the extent one can comprehend false allegations against oneself, then yes".  But Gibson was by my side urging me to simply say "yes", so I did.  It was not a lie because I can understand the words that are written.  I just can't understand their meaning.  So, there's that.

After a few other questions and admonishments, we each entered a plea of "not guilty", stated emphatically.  Everyone agreed that we'd be released on the conditions that we surrender our passports (already done), submit to supervision by a probation officer, and that Tom and I can talk to each other (obviously, since we are married), but neither one of us communicate with John.

Of course, that is very problematic since it's critical for John and Tom to communicate with each other to prepare for our defense.  Gibson said we can file a motion so that John and Tom can communicate with a lawyer present and that will probably be allowed.  But, for now...no communication.

After the court appearance, we were led, still shackled, back to the marshal's office, put back in the cell for about an hour while they did their paperwork.  When that was done, they came and took us out of the cell, took the shackles off and we walked away free.  Well, free minus a few Constitutional rights.

Tell me.  Is there a presumption of innocence in our justice system today?  No.  No there is not.  We were treated like maniac murderers by our government that is supposed to be serving us. 

Leading Up to Arraignment Day

There is so much to tell, so many emotions to convey, so much horror that it keeps me from writing because I just don't know what to write first. So I'll pop back to what I wrote three years ago which was leading up to a horrible, horrible day.

August 2018

Mike Gibson (Tom's lawyer) had arranged with "whoever" for us to self-surrender and the date was set for August 7, 2018.  What happened leading up to this is important.  Mike wanted to make it as uneventful and easy as it could be, so he arranged for us to have our pretrial interview the week prior to arraignment. 

The pretrial interview was for the purpose of deciding if there should be a bail requirement, if we're a flight risk, and what kind of restrictions should be placed on us (travel restrictions, etc.)  The interviews were done by phone in Gibson's office.  I should mention that there was discussion amongst the lawyers about the questions that might be asked and if they would be considered "inextricably linked" to the case and probably shouldn't be answered (maybe "take the 5th") because whatever we say in those interviews will be seen by the prosecution and could be used against us. 

When Tom asked Mike about it, he talked to Kimmens (the Dallas prosecutor), and Kimmens to Fahey (prosecutor who Kimmens reports to).  We were told that Fahey said if we don't answer every question, he will seek to have us immediately put in jail.  So, there flew our 5th amendment rights out the window. Yeah, you have a right not to answer, but they have the power to take away your freedom if you don't.

We were told that some of the standard restrictions were that we would have to surrender our passports, which we did to Gibson the day of the pretrial hearings.  He would later turn them over to the court.   Freedom to travel...out the window.  Also, that we would not be able to keep our guns.  It's not like we have an arsenal, but we did own some guns for our own protection and for protecting the livestock if need be.  So, before the interviews, Tom packed up the guns and rifles and put them in safe keeping with a lawyer/friend.  Right to bear arms and protect ourselves...doesn't exist when you've been accused of a crime by the government.

Oh, did you think that in the United States of America, you were innocent until proven guilty?  Ho, ho, you are so naive.  There is no presumed innocence in our "justice" system, as you'll see in what's to come now and on arraignment day.

So, we did our interviews.  They were relatively painless - just simple questions about our address, our employment, our family members, etc.  I didn't have a problem answering them.  But, what was ironic was that the interviewer (a very nice guy, BTW) read a statement to me before we began.  A bunch of blah, blah, blah that I don't remember, but I do clearly remember that part of it said, "I understand that I do not have to answer any of these questions".  Oh yeah?  That's a laugh.  No, you don't have to answer the questions.  Instead, you can go to jail.  Tell me, did I have the right to not answer those questions under threat? 

So, we're all set for arraignment.  Gibson tells us it'll be pretty quick, we should be out of there in just a few hours, just go get processed (mug shots, fingerprints), then appear before the judge and the prosecutor had agreed to have us released on our own recognizance.  Sounds pretty simple. Boy, was I wrong.

We still didn't have any notification of the time we were supposed to be in court, so when Tom had his interview (with a separate interviewer), Gibson asked her if she knew what time it was going to be.  I wasn't there and didn't hear, but something about what she said tipped Gibson off about what the IRS agent might have planned.  And, that was, that we would have to surrender to her in the morning, then she would make us sit in the marshal's office all day and have us taken to the court in handcuffs.

So, there was a new fear that I had to worry about over the weekend.  Gibson said he'd try to get it sorted and that he wasn't going to let that happen and that, if nothing else, we would just come early and sit in his office until 45 minutes before court, then he'd take us over there.  That is not what happened, as I will tell you in the next post.

Since I was afraid about the handcuffs, on Monday, the 6th, I texted my lifelong friend who has worked in the federal courts for about 30 years and asked her.  She said, no way, they won't take you in cuffs because you are already scheduled to self surrender and there are no warrants issued for your arrest.  I said, "What if the IRS agent does it just because she can?"  She said, "the judge won't put up with that nonsense".  She has not had her Sydney Powell moment yet.

So, let's review:  As of Monday, Aug. 6th, we were scheduled to self surrender on the 7th, there were no warrants out for our arrest, the prosecutor had agreed that he wouldn't ask for bail requirements or remand and that he was fine with us being released on our own recognizance.  Remember, the IRS has been investigating us for years and years.  They already know what our lives are like and that we have never been in trouble with the law, we're going to show up to court when told to, that we are honorable people and not violent.  I mean, if they thought anything other than that, they would not have agreed to letting us go after arraignment.  Right?  I mean, am I missing something here?

Up next, arraignment day.

Public Service Announcement

 After the month of August, Blogger will no longer be offering the email notification feature.  That means if you've signed up for email notifications from my blog for when there is a new post, that will no longer be happening.  So if you're interested in reading what I have to say, you'll have to just check daily to see if there's anything new because you won't be notified.

Bureaucracy

The prison (BOP) website https://www.bop.gov says, "The BOP encourages inmates to write to family, friends, and other community contacts to maintain these ties during incarceration," and "With the inmate's eventual release, maintaining family ties will improve the likelihood of a successful reentry into the community, thus reducing the potential for recidivism," (not that recidivism is even a consideration since Tom hasn't broken any laws and doesn't intend to).  

So, as I said, I've written to my husband every day and each of my letters have been returned because of the return address label.  As soon as I received the first one back and found out they don't allow labels, I printed out all of the letters I had sent, put them in separate envelopes (because only five sheets of paper are allowed in one envelope) and sent them all at once.

  The BOP website also says, "§ 540.13 Notification of rejections.  When correspondence is rejected, the Warden shall notify the sender in writing of the rejection and the reasons for the rejection. The Warden shall also give notice that the sender may appeal the rejection. The Warden shall also notify an inmate of the rejection of any letter addressed to that inmate, along with the reasons for the rejection and shall notify the inmate of the right to appeal the rejection." And, "The Warden may not delegate the authority to reject correspondence or sign notification letters below the level of Associate Warden."  

Since I was desperate to get letters to Tom who was in isolation, I had scoured the correspondence rules on the website multiple times to try to find these obscure rules.  When I called the prison, they said the rules were on the website.  But they weren't.  So I emailed the prison asking where I might find the rules.  They sent me a pdf of a memorandum that listed all the rules about no colored paper, no labels, etc.  How were we supposed to know that?  How were we supposed to find that memorandum?  In that email, I also told them that I saw on the website that the warden was supposed to be notifying the inmate of the rejected mail and was that being done?  Their response was "yes".  Well, that was a lie.  Tom didn't receive one piece of mail from me until August 3, which was 15 days after he went in.  To this day, he has not received word from anyone, much less the warden, that he had received mail that had been rejected.

It just broke my heart in pieces that he sat there in that tiny cell for two weeks without a word from me as if I didn't care that he was gone.  Either the prison system is run by imbeciles, or diabolically cruel men.

I know it may not seem like much...he didn't receive mail from his wife, nor she from him (because he didn't have stamps, for goodness sake) for two entire weeks.  But, when you're an innocent person and you love your spouse, for him or her to just disappear into a black hole for two weeks, unable to comfort each other in any way, that is torture.  This is America, not communist China...yet.

Fresh Batch of Crying Today

I've been writing to Tom every day.  The very first day was a Wednesday and I just dashed off a short handwritten letter just to let him know I love him.  After that, I've typed and sent a letter and put it in the mail every day except on Sunday.  Many other people have written to him as well. I didn't know if he was receiving the mail because I haven't had any communication with him since the Tuesday that he went in.  But I was hoping that he was receiving his mail so that he would know that we're all thinking of him.

Each day that I check the mail and receive nothing is like a punch in the gut.  So today when I checked the mail, I saw that my first typed letter to him was returned to me unopened.  On the front of the envelope was stamped "no labels allowed".  The only label on it was my return address label.  I called the prison in tears and asked about it, the man said that, yes, no return address labels are allowed.  So that means my husband has been sitting in that prison, isolated from everyone because of the ridiculous COVID quarantine, and he hasn't even received my letters and possibly several others who used return labels.

Seriously?  Who thinks up these kinds of rules.  What's the difference between using a return address label and a stamp? We have to put a stamp on the envelope, don't we?

Do they have a department full of people just sitting around saying, "Hmm, how can we make things even harder?"?

There just seems to be one horrible thing after another.

How Do You Mend a Broken Heart?

 I alternate between grief, anger, fear, and just being plain overwhelmed.  I'm sure I'm not feeling anything that any other woman hasn't been through when she loses her husband in some way.  But that doesn't make it any less painful or stop me from crying about it.  I think of all the women throughout history who's husbands were in the military and were sent away for months or years at a time.  They had even less opportunities for communication than I do (although, I haven't heard a word from Tom since he entered the prison and I'm assuming that it's because the prison staff won't let him write or call). They had to live in fear for their husband's life.  And, indeed, many of those husband never came back.  What a horrible thing to live with.

When I was a toddler, my father, who was a marine, was sent to Japan for 16 months.  My mother had three children under the age of five and the military didn't pay enough to cover our expenses.  So my mother had to move to Arkansas to be near her family so that her sisters could care for us children while she got a job for the first time in her life.

I remember bits and pieces of that.  My mother says I used to go up to different men and ask, "Are you my daddy?"  And, I do remember when he actually came home and he reached out to me and I pulled away, saying, "You're not my daddy."

He had another nine-month tour when my younger sister was a toddler.  And then he died when I was 12.  So I know my mother had a really rough time.

After Tom gets out of quarantine, he's supposed to have access to email.  So that's something to look forward to.  But it just seems unnecessarily cruel to keep him from any and all communication.  I mean, what is the point?  A show of power?  Just a way to cause misery?  I know that prison is not supposed to be pleasant.  But it's very hard to take when you know an innocent man (and his family) is suffering.  Also, the prison website goes on about how important it is for the inmates to maintain their family relationships and contacts.  Well, apparently, those are just words on the website.

So how did we get on this track with the IRS?

I've already mentioned that the IRS started in on us the first year we were married and that we suffered through several audits throughout the years.  Then came a time when Tom hit is big with a company that he helped go public.

I say "hit it big", but really it wasn't just a windfall that fell in our laps.  Tom was a workaholic.  He worked HARD for years.  We, his family, sacrificed time with him.  I think some people see others "hitting it big" as if they won the lottery or something.  No, years of hard work, sleepless days and nights, skipped vacations, weekend work, etc. goes into bringing a fledgling company to the point where you can actually see a return.  And many of those companies never even get to that point.  I rode that entrepreneurial roller coaster with my husband for years.

Then, finally, back in the 90's, the company went public and we were able to sell some stocks.  So when you are in that kind of position, that changes your status with the IRS.  Because we were selling some stock off during the year, we had to report and pay taxes quarterly.  We couldn't wait until April 15th of the following year.  So each quarter we wrote these huge checks to the IRS, trying to comply with their rules, trying to do the "right" thing and obey the law.  Then came the end of the tax season.  We received a notice that appeared to us to be saying that we overpaid and that we have to pay penalties and interest on overpayment.  Sounds outrageous, right?  Well, we WERE outraged.  After years of being harassed by the IRS, that was the letter that broke the camel's back.  Tom said, "There is something WRONG with our tax system."  And he set out to find out what it was.

If you know Tom, you know that he doesn't do anything by half measures.  When he wants to learn something, he learns it inside out.  He studied and researched until he became an expert on the tax system, tax laws, and by extension, the U.S. monetary system.  

That was the beginning.

To start at the beginning of the telling of this saga, click here.

On a lighter note, I've introduced Clodagh the Border Collie and if you want to follow along with her training, you can follow me on Instagram at mos8ics.  I try to keep it light and fun, so I'm not doing a lot of training at the moment because of my grief.  But hopefully, I'll get back into updating it soon.

What Does Terror Feel Like?

July 21, 2018 

When Tom first began being harassed by the IRS years and years ago, it was very scary.  They always managed to send threatening notices right before holidays like Thanksgiving or Christmas.  It would pretty much ruin the holiday for both of us because Tom would go into full on defensive mode and start going through all of his papers to make sure everything was in order and to decide how best to respond.  It was truly awful.

Back then, each time I would panic and start fearing that at any moment someone in law enforcement would come pound down our door and drag us away in handcuffs and seize all of our belongings.  I'm convinced that this was their plan.  They rule by terror and intimidation and I'm quite sure it works most of the time.

After years and years of those tactics and nothing really happening, I became kind of immune to the terror.  I just went on with my day like nothing happened and Tom didn't panic and rush to respond.  He knew what to do, he was prepared.  He did what was necessary and that was the end of it.

I thought I knew what fear was back then.   Let me tell you, now that I've experienced it, I know what I didn't know back then.  And that is, I didn't know what terror was.

I couldn't have imagined what it feels like to be indicted for a crime.  Maybe if I had actually done something illegal, I would have been expecting it and wouldn't be all that shocked that I now had to pay the piper.  Or, maybe not.  Maybe guilty people don't expect to be caught.  Anyway, I'm quite sure that I have never experienced this level of stress in my life.  And, I've had some stress, let me tell you, not the least of which was having my father die of electrocution in the crawlspace under my bedroom at the age of 12.

The minute my husband uttered the words and I incredulously asked for confirmation, "me?  they indicted ME?" my stomach started roiling and heaving.  The stress, the adrenaline, or whatever it was just hit me like a mac truck and it stayed that way for a full 24 hours, except for some stretches of time that I was able to distract myself with work around the house.  Even though I was still thinking about it, something about being up and doing kept the monster at bay just enough so that I could function.

Things I don't know about prison:  do they provide gluten free meals (for when I'm able to eat without heaving)?  is it cold (when I'm cold at night, my hips hurt and I can't sleep)?  can I get a naproxen when my hips hurt?  can I have my pillow that supports my neck when I sleep?  are there prison pajamas or do you just wear the same prison garb day and night?  is there any privacy, or is the toilet really right there in the cell on display for anybody walking by or your cell mate?  what about showers?  can I have my can of dry shampoo in my cell?  can I have my makeup in my cell?  will someone steal my things if I have anything?

How in the world did Martha Stewart survive?

July 25, 2021

These things, when viewed from a criminal's point of view, or that of people in third world countries or worn torn countries who don't even have comfort and things like make-up, special pillows, and special (life-saving) diets may seem trivial, silly, even.  But from the point of view of a law abiding American who has grown up enjoying America's special brand of freedom and comfort, contemplating having that freedom forcibly taken away is no small thing.

And, yes, the make-up and pillows ARE trivial in the scheme of things.  There are many more important things at stake.  Not the least of which, why is our government doing things like this? Why are they terrorizing citizens?  What do they have to hide?  How can one human being do this to another human being?  Because these are human beings perpetrating this evil.

Trying Not to Cry on THIS Day

Yeah, isn't that a pathetic goal? Trying to make it through one day without crying.  It's noon on the fourth day that my husband has been a political prisoner and I've managed to make it through the morning without crying my eyes out.  I've welled up and started to go all self-pity on myself, but choked it back.  I'm tired of puffy, bloodshot eyes. I am not a dainty, pretty cryer.

Yesterday, the second day since my husband became a political prisoner, the A/C in the barn apartment stopped working properly. I called the A/C guy and he came out to check it.  Thankfully, it was only a little low on freon, so that's off my anxiety list.  So far today, everything is running smoothly.

I found this long snakeskin in the coop yesterday morning.  I expect to meet it's former inhabitant sometime soon.  Snake removal was Tom's job.

On July 20, 2018, I wrote:

I'm still sick and shaky, but was able to finally get some sleep last night.  I can hardly eat anything, but I wanted to lose weight anyway, so I guess that's a silver lining (BTW, I never lost that weight despite three years of terror.  So, I guess there wasn't a silver lining after all).

We received a little more information yesterday from Tom's attorney, Mike Gibson.  Still nobody can understand why the indictment was obtained in Fort Worth and moved to Dallas.  I think normally, the indictment is obtained in the district where the accused lives.  Anyway, it's a two count indictment and at the moment I don't really understand what that means, but I'm sure it will become clearer to me as time passes, even though I'd be happy to never know what a two count indictment is.  They are charging us under 18 USC 371 for evasion of payment of taxes and a Klein Conspiracy.

Mr. Gibson also told us that they have arranged for us to "self surrender" on August 7 or 8.  And, also that no bail would be required, and after "processing" - mugshots and fingerprints, people.  This kind of humiliation should not be perpetrated upon innocent law-abiding citizens - we will be released on our own recognizance and allowed to return home.  Isn't it ironic that they know that we are honorable, honest people that pose no threat to anyone and will keep our word that we'll be around for trial.

As a woman, it's hard for me to keep perspective on this and my mind automatically goes to worse case scenario, to minutiae and unimportant things like "will they allow me to have my make-up in prison?"  I'm blessed to be surrounded by friends and family that snatch me back from the edge and help me to get some perspective. (Now that I know more, the answer is "No, they do not let you take your makeup into prison with you.")

First of all, I have the truth on my side.  The problem is, I've seen that often the truth does not matter to the courts and sometimes they won't even let the truth be heard because they disallow evidence and the one and only thing the courts are concerned with is ADMINISTRATIVE PROCEDURE.  But, still, I do have the truth and innocence, so there's that.

Secondly, I know that God is in control.  I don't know the reasons for this and I can't see the end result, but there is a reason this is happening and all things work together for good for those that love the Lord. (Let me tell you, it is a difficult thing to remember during such a trial.)

Thirdly, I'm not going to prison tomorrow.  Each day I can tell myself that.  There will be motions and briefs and hearings and all kinds of possibilities for a good outcome before the actual trial.

My best friend from high school has worked for federal judges, first in Dallas, then in OKC, for years and knows the system.  When Mr. Gibson told Tom that I would need my own lawyer, she recommended a lawyer she knows that used to be a prosecutor and never lost a case.  (I have to wonder if, as a prosecutor, he ever prosecuted an innocent person).  She called him for me as a head's up and I called his office this morning and will be meeting with him next week.

Start at the beginning of this saga.

One Day at a Time.

Yesterday was my first entire day with Tom gone.  I'm trying to focus on THIS day and not the 500+ days and nights left. I become overwhelmed at the thought. Of course, I've been here by myself for times when Tom has traveled without me.  A few days here and there, sometimes a week. That has never been a problem for me.  Except that, without fail, something always breaks or stops working or goes wrong when he's gone.

True to form, the keypad on the entry gate stopped working yesterday. No surprise there.  I'm sure that won't be the last of it.

So, here's how we landed at this place in our lives.  July 18, 2018:

I had the most terrifying news of my life on this day.  That night, I wrote, "It's 11:30 at night and I know I'm not going to sleep, so I may as well write.  I've already tried praying, cleaning house (it's a family trait of ours to clean when we're upset) and playing on-line games to take my mind off of what's to come.  But my stomach won't stop roiling and my eyes won't stay closed."

That roiling stomach has become my constant companion.

So, here it is.  My husband and I, along with an attorney/friend were indicted that day.

Wow.  That's a shocker, isn't it?  I can't decide if it's worse to see it in black and white, or if it helps me feel better to type it out.

We knew very little at that point and the waiting to find out was difficult.  My husband and I were out to dinner with friends when he got a call from his attorney in Dallas, Mike Gibson, who told him that we had been indicted for "conspiracy to defraud the US government".  We didn't really know why or what they were basing the indictment on.  What we did know is that they lied to get an indictment because there is no truth to it.  We never defrauded anybody, much less the US government.  The attorney told us that we were going to be "allowed" to "self surrender" so there wouldn't be marshalls knocking down our door and taking us away in handcuffs.  Thank the Lord for small favors.  

The why?  Well, since we didn't know what this "conspiracy" was, we could only guess that it had to do with taxes and the IRS.  It's a long story.  I don't remember half of it, but it started many years ago.  Maybe as long as 20 years.  Those readers who know us personally know that we've had a long, long battle with the IRS.  Fear not.  We have paid all of our taxes.  But, anyone who has had a run-in with the IRS knows that they don't take kindly to anyone fighting back.  The first year we were married, we were audited and it ended up that the IRS owed us a refund. Since then, we've had several audits (each time with the result of the IRS owing us) and legal battles with the IRS and found them to be, well, evil to the core.  They lie and cheat and do everything in their power to ruin lives.  They are not subject to the same rules that the common man is.  This huge, all-powerful agency decided that they are going to squash us and that is exactly what they tried to do all of these years.

In addition to our fights with the IRS, Tom and our attorney/friend were politically active and the government does not like what they are saying.  I'll say more on that in another post.

For at least the last 10 years, up until about 2016, the Dallas prosecutors office had been trying to indict Tom.  He had been represented by attorney Mike Gibson, and each time this indictment business cropped up, usually around the same time of year, the attorney was given notice and the effort was unsuccessful.  I don't know if they just hadn't come up with enough manufactured evidence that they thought they could make stick, or if the grand jury just never would take the bait. It had become routine for us, so their threats had lost their bite.  They finally had told Mr. Gibson that they were done trying to indict Tom and we breathed a sigh of relief and thought we could get on with our lives.

Then in 2018, they took the case they had pulled together to a Fort Worth grand jury with no warning to any of us, including Mr. Gibson.  So, when he received an email about the indictment, he was completely gobsmacked and so were we.  Not only had they indicted Tom, they also indicted ME (and our attorney friend) as co-conspirators.  We knew right away that indicting me was a way to get to Tom.

Three items:  (1) they got the indictment in Fort Worth and immediately had the case moved to Dallas. I'm not sure how that works or how they could get it done in one day; (2) if you don't know how indictments work, here's a simplified version:  the prosecutor tells a story to the grand jury and presents "evidence" to convince them that there might be something to that story.  Only the prosecutor gets to present evidence.  Even if we knew about this, they would not allow us to present evidence to prove the prosecutor is lying and that we are innocent.  If the GJ is convinced enough, they indict and an arrest is made; (3) An "indictment" is an accusation. We have found that, in general, people believe that if a person is indicted, he/she must have done something wrong.  It's not true, folks.  In the future, when you hear that someone has been indicted, presume innocence and realize that an indictment is only an accusation.

None of us has ever had to face something like this before, so it was new territory and so uncertain.  Government's God-given duty is to protect the good and punish the evil, but in this, and many other cases, they are doing the exact opposite.  God have mercy on us and our nation.

Romans 13:3-4, "For rulers are not a terror to good conduct, but to bad.  Would you have no fear of the one who is in authority?  Then do what is good, and you will receive his approval, for he is God's servant for your good.  But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain.  For his is the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God's wrath on the wrongdoer."

Start at the beginning of this saga.

Going It Alone

Wow, where to start.  My husband is now a political prisoner in a federal prison camp.  How about that?  Yes, in the United States of America.  I don't know exactly how to begin.  I hate those TV shows and movies that start out with a caption "Five days ago" or "20 years ago" and they flash from past to present day and then back again. Ugh. But I don't know how else I'm gonna tell this.

First off, I'm terrified of being the lone caretaker for the next 18 months for this 36 acres of property, 14 goats, 4 donkeys, 21 chickens, 2 cats, and 3 dogs (2 of them are puppies that need training), tons of equipment that breaks down regularly and needs maintenance, a gate opener that regularly stops working, generators that need regular maintenance and sometimes don't work.  But sometimes we don't get a choice in life.  Well, often we don't get a choice about how our life is going to turn out.  Did I ever think I might go to prison or that I might be married to a man who is sentenced to prison? I can't say that it ever crossed my mind.  I mean, I'm a law abiding citizen.  I'm a Christian and I know the importance of living a life dedicated to doing the right thing.  I married a man with the same convictions.  Yet, here we are.

It needs to be said. My husband is innocent. The government prosecuted him because he's been an outspoken advocate a of lawful, Constitutional monetary system for years. Oh, that's not what it says on the indictment or any of the transcripts.  But that's the truth of it.  They had to trump up charges and lie to get their indictment and conviction.  Even after hearing him talk about this for decades, I'm still not really qualified to convey the particulars with complete accuracy.  But, I'll tell things from my point of view and try to be a brief and accurate as possible.

So for the next few days, weeks, months - however long it takes to, I'll tell our story.  And I'll try to intersperse it with what's going on at the farm and how I'm handling things on my own.  We have WONDERFUL family and friends that have rallied around us and ALL of them have offered to help me in any and every way possible. So, with their help, and with God's help, I'll muddle through here.  There will be tears.  There already have been lots of tears on my part. In fact, just thinking about tears makes my tears start to flow.

So, I mentioned two puppies. If there are any of my original readers left, you probably remember our beloved livestock guardian dog, Harry.

We lost him back around Mother's Day. He was old and just walked away one day never to return. Since we need another LGD to work with Ginger, we just bought "Boy" a couple of weeks ago. He's in training and going through that horrible puppy stage where he tears everything up.  So far, he hasn't shown an interest in killing chickens, so that's a good thing.

And one more introduction. Back in October, I got a Border Collie in the hopes that she could some day help me with the goats.

This is Clodagh. Say "Kloh-duh" in your best Irish accent.