Forty years ago, my husband, Charlie, was at a Jimmie Hendrix concert in Hampton, Virginia. It was supposed to be the first of two that evening, but the second one was canceled because Martin Luther King had been assassinated.

I was living in Houston, Texas, around Rice University. I didn’t know anyone who wasn’t stunned and didn’t grieve and didn’t feel that the world was sadly diminished when Dr. King was shot. I suppose there were plenty of people who did not feel that way, but fortunately I didn’t have to know them.

I’ve read several enormous biographies of Dr. King. He…

Thanks so much for the help. This is fun! I found the rules and here they are:
1. The rules of the game get posted at the beginning.
2. Each player answers the questions about themselves.
3. At the end of the post, the player then tags 5 people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know they’ve been tagged and asking them to read your blog.

1) What was I doing 10 yrs ago?

I was living in a trailer in the woods in Amherst County, Virginia, working in a co-curricular life at a woman’s…

Sometimes blogging is such a challenge to me. Robin and Linnie tagged me–which just makes me glow, for I love feeling part of bloggersphere.  The problem is, I’m not quite sure what this means. Since sobriety means honesty, I thought the best thing to do would be to admit my ignorance and say (loudly and clearly): HELP!

Happy Monday, everyone.

I was driving back from going out on a story, tired of listening to my book on tape, in the mood for a little vintage rock and roll, punching the radio dials–and, suddenly, there were the Animals singing “We Gotta Get Out of this Place.”

I was right back in 1965, dancing my toes off a huge college parties, arms waving over my head, singing along. Beside me is Tom Spear–a friend of my eventual first husband’s–tall, dark, handsome, drunk out of his mind, singing “we gotta get out of this place” with the fervor of a true believer.

Tom was the…

You know, it struck me while e-mailing a friend that once I stop talking about whatever’s going on in my professional life, I have very little new to report. I could get by with cutting and pasting a pre-written paragraph that goes something like “Charlie and I are both fine, our Head Cat (who has feline HIV and so is in precarious health) is taking a nap in the sun, our other cat is causing trouble, the gardens are doing well, and I plan to eat three square meals, work out, and, if I’m lucky, take a nap.” And how…

It’s a little after 8 in the morning, and I’ve just put the final tweaks on an NPR story. It’s a wonderful feeling to work and work, push and push, and then–poof!–the story’s done and there it is. I like working in intense bursts that actually end with a real sense of completion.

At home my desk sits directly in front of a window that looks out to mountains over our back gardens. The early daffodils in those gardens are just beginning to pop open, the day lilies have begun to peak out of the ground, the lawn is greening, there’s…

Charlie, my husband and most tremendous pal, says there is no such thing as an inanimate object–that every blasted one of the “machines” in this sweet old world are periodically out to get us!

No, he’s not paranoid, just experienced. And this weekend, when my computer failed to save a whole afternoon’s worth of sound editing and script writing, I was ready to agree with him.

This is what happened. I’m on deadline on a national story, so I make myself keep slogging Friday afternoon when I am dog-tired. I save the files, slap them on my zip-drive, take them home to…

Okay, I got really steamed at work a couple of days ago. It was a bad day in the office all around for all of us–which I should add is highly unusual.

So, in time-honored sober-person fashion, I took myself to a meeting right after work.  What was unusual for me–in fact I can’t remember ever doing (unless called upon to do it) in 17 years of sobriety–was that I brought up a topic. I sat there and splatted out a bunch of words about how frustrated I was with my colleagues and how awful and un-sober that frustration made me feel.…

I met a truly extra-ordinary person today through my job. Working as a gad-about reporter, I’ve met everyone from Tom Cruise to Desmond Tutu, but the young woman I met today made as strong an impression as anyone I’ve ever shaken hands with.

She’s 23, African-American, works full time in non-profit, is the mother of two, guardian of 2 more, in recovery on several fronts, as well as being a survivor of some really horrific abuse in her childhood.

But none of this is not what most impressed me about her.

What got to me is that this young woman’s heart still sings.

By…

I’m really really interested in what sobriety does to one’s spirituality and faith. So, I’m asking anyone who wanders by this blog to take a moment and describe their sober relationship with H.P. and the changes that have come from it. And in the spirit of openness, I’ll go first.

I had no faith at all in H.P. when I got sober. I came to an acknowledgment of God retroactively–by tracing my sober life backwards, seeing all the good changes that had happened in my life (and my head) with God riding shotgun that I’d never been able to pull off…

I suppose there’s no greater gift that sobriety has given me than my regular Sunday morning yack with my daughter who lives in Colorado.

I give myself about an overall  D+ as a mother (I had my good moments, but stability wasn’t my forte when she was growing up), but over the last couple of decades of my sobriety we’ve re-discovered each other as people. I made amends, she forgave, and then we both put the past behind us and got on with enjoying each other as parent and child.

I believe we best express our relationship with H.P. through our relationships…

Before I became a broadcast journalist, I co-owned a couple of restaurants –one of which, for a brief time, was the Blue Moon Diner in Charlottesville, Virginia. My partner was a glorious woman named Maggie Cox; friend supreme, chef supreme, character supreme. We had a blast, serving a combination of traditional diner food and whatever we could dream up in the decrepit kitchen. I baked fresh apple pies and biscuits every day and if there was any apple pie left over from the day before, we gave it away at breakfast.

The place was too small to support two family units,…

I enjoy all elections, but I’m particularly enjoying this one ! Yesterday was my state’s (Virginia’s) primary, and I was on the road all day–driving almost 300 miles, visiting out-of-the-way polling places, phoning in hourly reports to my station. I don’t think I’ve ever seen people waiting in line as cheerfully as the voters I talked to within the collection of elementary schools, Ruritan Halls, and Rescue Squads I visited. We were all so engaged with our country’s political process–as though, somehow, we were at the beginning a grand housekeeping of our country’s ethos. I felt like high-fiving the world!

Come…

It’s 4 o’clock Friday afternoon. I’ve been on deadline all week and, man, am I pooped. I spent the day (after filing my story) cleaning up my e-mail and trying to clean up the inside of my head. I think, you know, that I must be really, really tired. I have a tendency to push myself to keep going. The more I get done, the more there seems to be that I want to do or try.

My office at work has a window. I sit facing it. with my back to the door and, as I have a very friendly…

“Underneath the fume and fuss, Life is just asparagus.”

I wrote it years ago, but don’t you think it soooooo describes a sober attitude???

. . . even though I thought it was just a great game–everything, that is, except the outcome. I did want the New England Patriots to achieve perfection since that is denied to the rest of us humans.

What I want to write about is the novel experience of stability. Before I got sober my life was tumult on two feet. Without drugs and alcohol, I’ve managed to live with the same guy for fifteen years, have the same job for 8, the same cats for over a decade, and live in the same house for 5 years. And I have…

What’s new? I’m really, really, really busy at work. But, as this is my day to lift weights and prance atop the elliptical for 30 minutes, you know what I’m going to do right now?

Go to the gym, that’s what.

I came to the realization long ago that my head stays as sober as my body stays fit. May not be true for everyone, but it is only too true for me. Going to the gym on busy days such as this one is just another of the lengths I must go to to stay sober.

Time to stop blogging and start…

You know, weekends are easy for me. I hang out at home with Charlie, together we give the house its weekly cleaning, the two of us socialize a little with friends or do some relaxed shopping or maybe have a Sunday lunch date, I do my own writing and play with the cats. If there’s any stress involved, it comes only from my own propensity to manufacture it. And I’ve been sober long enough to recognize manufactured stress for what it is and give it the boot.

The problem with weekends is that they end. Now I love my job–really. I…

. . .not in the program, but a fellow writer. We had lunch, talked about writing and life, and I felt as comfortable in her company as I do in my own (which is, in itself, a gift of sobriety). One of the great wonders of sobriety to me is that I’m able to let myself simply like someone, without either making the relationship complicated or else worrying about what the other person might be thinking about me. In other words, I pretty much assume these days that if I like someone, the feeling is mutual.

My goodness, it feels good…

Yesterday was a beautiful day for both one big, important professional reason and many small, cozy personal reasons. The big, important reason was that I had an essay published on the “Lives” page of The New York Times Magazine about which I allowed myself to be flat-out thrilled. The small reasons were that Charlie and I celebrated by eating a big, unhealthy breakfast at a diner, having an orgy of football watching, and baking bread. Oh, and my daughter called, and we had our usual lively weekly chat.

Here’s the deal for me about wonderful things that happen. When I was…

None. Nada. Zilch. Zip. Zero.

However, today it was not because I was avoiding it, but because other stories took priority. As a sober person, I have learned to prioritize, particularly when what I put first is more interesting.

You can’t hear tone of voice in posts, but hopefully you’ve realized that the above is delivered with my tongue firmly in my cheek. Sobriety has also made it so much easier to laugh at myself.

I came into work this morning determined to focus on a story I’ve been neglecting, because it involves hours of tape transcription, and this, to me–Ms. Flibbertigibbe–qualifies it as the current Big Yuck! Then the phone started ringing, someone dropped by, a couple more interesting story possibilities reared their enticing heads, and here I am at 5 p.m. with not much done on the Big Yuck.

So, what does this have to do with sobriety. Progress, not perfection, that’s what! At least I’m willing and able to recognize my own journalistic shortcomings, instead of fooling around with the kind of stupid…

I’ve been passionately, emotionally involved with the yearly doings of the Washington Redskins (American football for those of you who ignore sports) since the 1950’s. Pop, you see, had only sisters and only daughters; and, as the younger of the latter, it became my thing to watch–and play–sports with him.

Eddie LeBaron, the Little General, led the team back then–mostly to nowhere. In truth, except for two bright epochs under George Allen in the ’70’s and Joe Gibbs first tenure (’81 through ‘92), the Redskins have not done very well. Some years, in fact, they’ve been terrible.

But my passionate hope, belief,…

I just got back from my niece’s wedding in California. As I live in Virginia, that means my brain is still somewhere over Kansas. But who cares, for yy heart, –wherever it is–is very happy.

Here’s the deal: When I got sober I got my family back. It took time, patience and plentiful amends. It took letting past grudges go and giving up worrying about who was to blame for anything. It took recognition on some profound level that while none of us are perfect, we all have done the best we can.

This was the moment for me at that wedding.…

I’ve spent this morning in a frenzy of multi-tasking as it was both my first day back at work after winter holidays and my last day at work before I fly to California for a family wedding. So, I found myself doing such things as simultaneously reserving a seat on the Super Shuttle and posting an essay to my station’s automation system.

I was off for ten whole days and it was wonderful. I wrote, yakked with my family, played with my cats, worked out at a leisurely pace, watched a lot of football (go Redskins!), read books for pleasure, and–most…

On my third try—after a long lay-off—I got marriage right. Charlie and I have been together for fifteen years, and I don’t hesitate to say we are happy.

The two of us own land in the middle of a logging forest in Amherst County, and this year our tax assessment jumped an alarming 250%. Charlie got up at five this morning to drive down, meet with the county tax assessor and politely ask why. Then he’s going to chainsaw some downed trees into firewood. He plans to be home about dark.

Here’s the deal: with happiness comes the possibility of the…

A couple of months ago, I was having a rare, terrible day at work. I was annoyed at everyone, overwhelmed with everything I had to get done, and in general in full-blown eek mode.

I also had to get in my car and drive somewhere. My thoughts, of course, ran something like this: I’m never going back to that stinking rat hole of a public radio station again! Never!!!!!

I was not in the mood for my current book-on-tape, so I turned on the radio and pushed the scan button. The numbers flipped upward and then, all of a sudden, Johnny Paycheck…

I hate cold weather. Hate it! Hate it! Hate it! Always have; always will. So, naturally, I was outraged yesterday when it snowed. And, of course, since I live in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, the wind whistled and roared, as well.

I started shivering yesterday as soon as I got out of bed. It only got worse when I got to work as my office sits at about 63 degrees. So, I spent the morning trying to concentrate on editing a story while wearing two sweaters and a scarf, and, naturally, feeling grumpier and grumpier. I simply could not get…

Last night I was at a wonderful party held upstairs at my favorite restaurant in Charlottesville, Virginia, a town in which I used to live when I was still drinking and using. The restaurant has still got the same understatedly elegant ambiance, the food is still just as creatively respectful of its high-quality ingredients as I remembered, and I’m sure the wine that went around was still just as carefully and knowledgeably chosen as ever.

I wore my black floaty pants (which I love and never get to wear) and a pair of new black, open-toed heels (a real rarity in my…