Boy - not bringing home a paycheck is beginning to get on my nerves a bit…ya know?  Here I am, a grown woman, not very far away from the time in her life when she should be thinking about retirement, and, instead, I have no health insurance, and no job.  Makes a girl think about buying a bottle of wine.  I could just sit on my back porch and enjoy a quiet evening all by myself sipping and smoking.  What would that first sip taste like?  Would it linger on my tongue, and soak all my taste buds with the solid force of a nice Merlot, or would my mouth giggle with the tingle of a Pinot Grigio?  Maybe a beer would be better.  Yeah - the no nonsense, in your face splash of a Heineken.  Instead I sit here with a generic bottle of diet tonic (6 litre bottles for $3.00) and take swigs right out of the bottle.

I went to a meeting tonight.  I hadn’t been in over a week - a pattern that I have developed over the last month or two.  Let me say that it is not serving me well.  Consider the following equation:  being unemployed + accruing bills that have to be paid + interviewing for jobs that I am overqualified for and not getting them and divide by random attendance here and there at an occasional meeting and what do you have?  I’ll tell you what you have…..a recipe for disaster.  When I went to the meeting tonight there were only 5 other people, so it was very informal.  I told them that I was there to whine.  Two of the people there said that there used to be a meeting in town where the home group members always carried pacifiers and if anyone whined, they would throw them at the whiner.  Actually, the people were very responsive and every one of them knew exactly how I was feeling.  I didn’t want a cure or any advice and they knew it.  They shared their experience with the same feelings in their lives and we ended up laughing…..a lot.  I felt lighter when I left the place.  I always feel lighter when I leave a meeting.  That’s why I usually attend 3 to 5 meeting a week - that is, until lately.

With my usual routine of work, exercise and meetings being changed because of lack of a job, I’ve found that I haven’t had the discipline of organizing my day into a productive set of priorities.  I’ve been staying up later and later, and as a result, I’m getting up later and later.  This is not a good thing for someone who needs to be productive at finding gainful employment.  Last Saturday I decided to re-do my living room and dining room.  After all, a gallon of paint is $25.00 and the change would do me good.  I have gotten in WAY over my head and today I tried to strip off wallpaper that had probably been there since the beginning of time.  Now I have to rent a steamer to try and get the damn goo off that the paper left behind.  My $50.00 project is growing and I’m  spending money that I had not planned on.

Life is not going the way I planned it. You wouldn’t by any chance have anything to do with this change in direction, would you, Murph?  Is there gonna be some big learning experience from all this change?  Knowing you, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised.  That’s one of the reasons I love you.

Till Next Time -

Your Humble Road Warrior

It’s been a long time since I’ve written.  After my doggie died I was in a funk and didn’t do much of anything.  Then I got some kind of flu and was laid out for 2 days.  I’m feeling fine, but I’m in a kind of  no-man’s-land lately.  I have no income, have been looking for a job, have been trying to do some writing, but I feel like I’m just floundering.  Here I am, a grown adult who should be retiring in a few years, and I have no financial security in place to ease the burdens of monthly bills.  Ever since I met you, I’ve handed a lot of my life over to you - you know that.  When I didn’t have a job, one showed up…..when I was going to miss a mortgage payment, an unexpected check came in the mail.  I have friends who can’t believe that I live this way, especially since I’m approaching the end of my 5th decade on earth. But ever since I let you handle the big stuff, the little stuff has been a piece of cake.

When I was hired for The Second Road I had just received my last unemployment check.  You were right on time and for the next 3 years I had a steady income.  When the economy forced The Second Road to stop paying its employees, I was disheartened, but I knew that I could still keep writing and connecting to people on the site, even without getting paid.  But I couldn’t pay programmers, web designers, special writers or myself anymore, so what was I to do for an income?  I’ve left that in your hands, as I’ve applied for different positions having to do with recovery, outreach, web management and the like, but no bites so far.  I must admit that I love being unemployed - I spent a lot of times with my doggies - taking them to the river or hiking, and I get to go to the gym almost every day - racquetball and Nia as much as I want.  I’ve been watching a lot of foreign films and have found a whole new media that interests me, makes me thing, and entertains me in a way I hadn’t experienced very often.  I’ve turned into a Netflix Junkie - things could be worse.

I just would like to feel that I have a daily purpose, like being accountable for something…ya know?  I’m trying to write daily, but I have found that I don’t have the discipline needed to be a consistent “writer.”  The book I was writing is in a rough (and I mean rough) draft and I was told by a writer friend of mine to change the entire focus of the manuscript.  So I’m kind of starting over, but not with the drive that I had hoped would ensue.

I’m not complaining (well, maybe just a little bit), but I’ve been through a lot in my journey to recovery and I thought that at my age, I could take life a little easier.  It doesn’t look like that is going to be happening.  I’m okay with that, but I would appreciate a little sign that everything’s going to be okay.  I’m very good at telling others, “It is what it is,” and “Everything will turn out.”  And I really do believe that those two statements are true.  It’s the timing that’s getting me right now.

There’s a scripture that says, “Be anxious for nothing.”

Did you have something to do with that one?

I love you, Murph

Till Next Time -

Your Humble Road Warrior

Dear Murph,

I knew it was coming…..I knew it for a long time.  She’s been slowing down with a steady rhythm that always ends at the same place.  Even though she was a spitfire way beyond her years, the last couple of months have been a constant deterioration in her movement, her eating patterns and her interest in anything beyond the small comfort zone of her bedding.  She has been blind, yet her eyes constantly oozed a mucous goo that had to be treated several times a day with special drops.  She was on a regimen of five pills in the morning and five in the evening for her collapsed trachea, her incontinence, her congestive heart failure and her spasmodic coughing.  Last night she coughed so long and I couldn’t get her to take her pill.  I had to shove it down her small throat with my large finger. and it felt as if I was ripping open her esophagus just so I could do something to try and get her to stop gagging and calm down.  It reminded me of my mother’s last days when the doctors told me that I had to approve the insertion of a peg tube down her throat so she could be given her medications.  She was barely conscious and the minute I signed the order I knew it was a mistake.  They shoved a hose down her throat into her stomach and then made an incision where the tube came out and attached some kind of spigot where they could administer her meds.  I can only imagine what she must have gone through, suddenly having a large tube thrust into her stomach, gagging, coughing, not being able to breath….just so the doctors could have another entry into her already emaciated body.  In the end, it was nothing more than practice for some residents - my mom died the next day.  Is this what I was going to do to my dog…a 12 pound mutt, blind and deaf, in an advanced stage of doggy dementia, just so she could stay alive another day?

She would not eat this morning and would not even step off her blankets to relieve herself.  There she lay, in urine and feces, looking out into space - somewhere - maybe nowhere.  Maybe in pain.  Maybe not.

I went to my Nia class and the focus of the class was on the two senses of tightening up and letting go.  In one of our dances, we kept on repeating the movement of gathering something into a tight ball and holding it close and tight to our core, squeezing, clinging, holding on for dear life.  This was immediately followed by a total release of our body, legs and arms spread open wide, releasing our heart, body and soul and releasing whatever it was that we needed to release.  This movement was repeated over and over and all I could think of was holding on to my sick, aging dog, trying to keep her here with me, followed by the release of setting her free, letting her fly to the other side where colors, tastes, sounds, smells and movement were made new again.  Do I hold her for my sake or do I let her go for hers?

When I got home I called the vet.  He said to come right over.  I scooped her up in her fluffy beige towel and put her in the front seat of the car where I kept my hand on her head for the 15 mile drive.  The room was ready.  There was a blue towel on the table, but she would die in my arms.  She was quiet and safe there, wrapped up in her favorite smells and in the arms of her mom.  My vet asked if he could say a prayer - he thanked God for the life of this animal and the joy she had given me and asked that her transition be gentle and calm.  He gave her an injection to calm her down and when she closed her eyes, he inserted the blue liquid and I rocked her, kissed her and stroked her head and back.  Then she was gone.  No more medicine, no more falling down stairs, no more getting knocked over by the other dogs, no more being startled whenever I bent over to pick her up, no more just existing on her doggy blankets.

I was left alone with her as long as I wanted.  I cried and cried, knowing that my life was going to be severely altered by not having this little creature to take care of anymore.  I left her in the room, wrapped up in her blanket, went into the car and had several good screams at this particular part of life on life’s terms.  We will go back on Saturday and pick up her body, where it will be buried with her 3 other friends who have preceded her on their journey.

Drinking isn’t the issue here.  The issue here is continuing to live life with all its ups and downs, without the numbing agents.  This issue here is experience real life pain - pain that we all go through, pain that tears our hearts wide open, pain that we think we will never be able to overcome.  But we do.  And we do it sober.  And it will get better.  And then there will be some more pain and we’ll get through that as well.  The circle of life continues to roll and sometimes we’re on the bottom and sometimes we’re on the top.  And that, my friends, is just what it is.

Murph, thanks for sending Moo-moo into my life, 12 pounds of piss and vinegar, with the body of a miniature piglet and the courage of a lion.  She showed me how to stand up for myself, not take crap from anyone and taught me that it’s the size of your heart that counts.  Take care of her and if there are any moles in heaven, tell ‘em to run for cover!!!

I love you, Murph

Till Next Time -

Your Humble Road Warrior

I just spent a wonderful afternoon celebrating my dear friend’s birthday.  A small group of women gathered at her home, in the middle of The Blue Ridge  Mountains - at 59 I was the youngest.  This was not your typical group of “mature women .”  One of them, previously an IBM Executive’s wife, now speaks to dragons, reads crystals, and follows many Native American practices and spirituality.  One of them is a reflexologist who always must consult “spirit” before she does anything, is completely organic,  is a walking encyclopedia on anything that comes from the earth, and a couple of the women use astrology and numerology to help determine their courses of action.  These very strong women gathered on the front lawn of my friend’s home and spent an hour blowing bubbles, jumping rope, spinning hula hoops and making whirling noises from some plastic tube that had been purchased at the dollar store!  We had a ball! Although we usually play in different sandboxes, today we all shared our sand and made one giant playground where everyone was welcome and all were comfortable just being who they were.

We ate hamburgers stuffed with Gorgonzola Cheese - both of which had been organically grown, salad that contained everything from dried cranberries to walnuts and homemade potato salad with all natural ingredients, of course.  The birthday cake was made with some kind of organic flour and although it did contain some butter, the cook used Stevia (an organic sweetener) instead of sugar. But also on the table were two containers of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream!

But there was one thing that was missing - alcohol.  All the women present drank water, tonic, decaf coffee and tea.  Some of us smoked, some sat on the porch and just enjoyed the view of the mountains.  Others walked around the gorgeous surroundings and just stopped to smell the roses. It was a spontaneous, delightful gathering of strangers and friends to celebrate the birthday of someone dear to us all.

Eleanor, the birthday girl, has been my rock for 10 years and when others judged and  scorned my behavior when I was in active addiction, she accepted with unconditional love,  just who I was at any given time.  And to this day I know that I am totally loved - no questions asked - no judgment - ever.

I’ve lived years of total chaos, years when I wanted to be someone I didn’t even know…..where I ran and ran - not even knowing where I was going - just had to keep moving.  Everything was done in the extreme - drinking, drugging, work, play - it didn’t matter.  I was on overdrive all the time and never thought about reaching for the emergency break - until one day it hit me right in the head.   I’m a slow learner, but the longer I stay sober, the more I know what is important and what is not.  And spending the afternoon with a bunch of wild, crazy, wonderful, spiritual, strong women beats another drunkalogue where I know I had fun but can’t for the life of me remember any of it anyway.  Reality is pretty damn cool, Murph.  Thanks for helping me remember that.

I love you, M -

Till Next Time

Your Humble Road Warrior

I spent this morning cleaning my boyfriend’s apartment as he is now in long term rehab.  I went there a couple weeks ago and got most of his belongings but today I had to do the dirty work….you know….cleaning the refrigerator, toilet, cabinets….you know……always save the best until last.  I was just a little resentful about having to scrub the toilet, not knowing who had done what in that area.  I found various objects that definitely did not belong to my boyfriend, but that comes with the territory of going through the wreckage of someone’s past.  People must have felt the same way about me when my dirty laundry was hung out to dry.  I tried to understand that the state of the apartment was just the remnant of the disease…the filth of the addiction….the mess of what becomes of us when we are insane.

It brought me back to a place where I started to remember some of the dirt in my active addiction, and it was not pretty.  I will not go into detail here, because at this point in my life, I have worked hard to address, correct and/or live with the wreckage of my past.  Now I must do the same for my loved one.  I like to think that my wreckage wasn’t nearly as disastrous as his, but it was.  I hurt those I loved most, did things I never believed I would do and felt little remorse until I was forced into that dark pit where you introduced yourself.  Some of those same old behaviors hang around and I’m often not the person I would like to be (yeah, like who is?), but I know that YOU know I’m trying.  It really doesn’t matter if anyone else believes me or not.  Not many people believe that my loved one is serious, but only you and I know the hell he has been through and how long and how hard he has fought to get well.

This damn disease is tailor-made to fit the unique characteristics of each individual addict.  That’s what makes it so hard to diagnose and to treat.  It is like a glob of nefarious silly putty that takes the shape of every one of us and becomes the sick, self-centered, yet self-destructive clone of a worthy member of the human race.  We are covered, head to toe, inside and out, with a repulsive replica of our own very being.  But underneath all that dirt, there is a seed, waiting for a drop of clean water - just one drop -  to start the process of growth.  It’s your seed, Murph.  You put it there.

Only you know what is in the heart of an addict……and you know how to keep secrets.  That’s why I love you.

Till Next Time -

Your Humble Road Warrior

I’m back home in Virginia tonight.  My luggage, unfortunately, is not.  I assume it will arrive sometime…..who knows?  It could be sitting in Newark.  There’s not much I can do about that anyway, so I’m giving that one to you.  I’m also giving you the resentment of the day….disappointment.  I’m really letting that emotion rule my life lately.  I’m disappointed that my son kept something from me.  I’m disappointed that when I came home from Chicago, my house was a mess.  I’m disappointed that someone I love is in long term rehab because of his own choices and actions.  I’m disappointed that I don’t have a job.  I’m disappointed that I had cravings to drink when I was in Chicago with family and friends…and I’m disappointed that people aren’t running to rescue me from my own disappointments.

My last night in Chicago I went to my old friend’s house with my brother and his wife.  Everyone was having a glass of wine or beer.  I went into the kitchen to replenish my soft drink and I suddenly had this urge to pop the cork from the wine bottle and take a very large guzzle.  Who would know?  Why wasn’t I allowed to get a little mellow, like the rest of the people there?  What the hell is wrong with mellow?  Mellow is good.  I deserve mellow.

I also know that for me, mellow is never enough.  Mellow is only the first step toward total oblivion.  I’m disappointed that I have this disease that does not allow me to use alcohol “just to take the edge off.”  I’m on the edge a lot and sometimes I would just like to slip off without having to work so hard to do it.  I want to be taken away, just for a little while, to a soft, blurry place where my breath is slow, my muscles are relaxed and my body softens into one big smile.  And I want to get there through outside means.  I want to get there fast and easy, without any effort on my part.  I want to be in that place right now….right this minute…..and I’m not.

I know this will pass, but I sometimes still wish I could drink like other people.  Like the people I was with last night.  But I cannot.

I love you, Murph

Till Next Time -

Your Humble Road Warrior

Thanks so much for giving me this wonderful week with my family and friends and for allowing me to fill my soul with memories I had not thought about for a very long time.  Thanks for the healing that has taken place and for realizing, once again, the importance of family.

Today, Saturday, my brother, sister-in-law and I went to see my nephews and their families.  I had not seen them for many years and one of my nephews has 3 phenomenal children, age 15, 13 and 9.  Although I hadn’t seen them for almost 6 years, they greeted me like I had been part of their life on a regular basis.  My nephew has been sober for 7 years and quit smoking 3 years ago.  He is a devoted father and husband and the love they share is nothing short of a miracle.  My other nephew, his brother, has been sober for 3 years and quit smoking 7 months ago.  He has a good job, lives alone and even though he is usually not a talker, he and I shared a wonderful conversation.  We went to my grand nephew’s little league game where I saw the family all supporting, rooting and praising this little 9 year old kid while his dad proudly stood at his position as first base coach.  It was a day that I will keep in my heart and cherish.

We spent the evening with my oldest friend, Mary and her partner, Ron, looking over old pictures, eating pizza (Chicago pizza is the best) and laughing at some of the many experiences we’ve shared over our 45 year friendship.

I am now packed and ready to catch my morning flight back to Virginia, but this time I am going back with so much more than what I arrived with.  My soul is full of the goodness of people, the triumphs that my family members have acquired on their often tumultuous journeys through life, and the gratitude for the opportunity to be able to witness these blessings first hand.

I am so honored to be part of my family…..to see it grow through many dark times and yet bloom into this beautiful bouquet of respect, kindness, devotion, and total love for each other.  Although the flowers are all different, the arrangement is vibrant, alive and being watered every day.

My brother and his wife still love to be in each other’s company after 16 years of marriage and my nephew and his family are one big bundle of contagious devotion and love that has been made stronger by addressing their trials and tribulations with love and commitment.

I leave this place a different person from the one who arrived her a week ago…one who has witnessed the miracle of love in person, and one who has re-connected with the wonderful people in her life on a deeper level than ever before.

I am tired - a very good tired.  My family is growing and they are such gifts in my life.  I wouldn’t have this if I were still using and their sobriety has made me grateful that I can count myself among them.

It’s been a very good trip home.

I love you, Murph

Till Next Time -

Your Humble Road Warrior

Hey Murph,

Not so good at writing every day, huh?  But being back in my hometown of Chicago has been a very emotional experience this time around.  For so long I have put my youth on a shelf and don’t go there very often.  I spent a lot of years in therapy going through all that stuff and I’ve blocked out many years that I didn’t consider important to what was happening to my in the present moment (how zen of me!).  But coming back this time has really done a  number on me - a very good number.  I am realizing all the wonderful times we had in our little neighborhood…how our entire world revolved around this teeny area of a very large city.  It was our playground, our battlefield, our fairyland, our new land that we would go out exploring every day.  It was our entire world.  I have opened myself up to re-experience that absolute fantasy of growing up in this phenomenal piece of land during a time where imagination and innocence reigned.

I have also started to re-realize how much of who I am (or who we all are) has its foundation in how and where we grew up.  I am the person I am now because of all the experience I have had since I’ve been born.  They have all added, in some way, to this human being who is sitting in front of a computer right now, writing to you.  Whether I remember those events or not, they are all somehow disseminated in my being and each have had a part of making me who I am today.

During this visit I have allowed myself to relive many of those early days where life revolved around a game of stick ball and Barbie Dolls…..where there were always kids running in and out of our home, where dinner was always at 5:15 cuz that’s when dad came home and where your mom always knew that even though she didn’t know where you were, she knew you were safe.  I have opened myself up to the insouciant joy of that time in my life where everything was fun, where there were no worries, where I knew everything would be all right and where my family and friends surrounded me like cotton candy on a stick.

I also have realized what a treasured childhood I had in so many ways.  There was no abuse, no fear, no worries, no fighting and no concerns that forced me into the adult world ahead of my time.  I was able to be just another kid in the neighborhood, where life was simple, where I was loved and where I was able to just be.

Murph, being in Chicago this time has been such an unexpected gift.  Thanks for telling me it was time to come home.

I love you, Murph

Till Next Time -

Your Humble Road Warrior

The past two days in Chicago have been a constant ride on the “life is great” bus line and I don’t want to get off.  From the moment I arrived on Monday night to right now (Wednesday at 11:00pm) I have had some absolutely extraordinary experiences.  For the longest time I have put my youth in a drawer and making sure it stayed locked.  I had always figured that it was over and chose not to take the time to remember all the “good stuff” that happened to me growing up.  You know there was more than enough hard times, but I am starting to remember the innocence, the naivete, and the hilarious escapades of my youth.  I have been visiting with old friends, walking through my old neighborhood and reminiscing with people about what they remember from that period in my life and I am slowly bringing back all those Laurel and Hardy adventures that every kid goes through, only mine are really the best!

Another blessing in this trip is that I have been able to spend one-on-one time with my brother.  For the last 22 years he and his wife have been raising their sons and my only contact with him has been on holiday visits and sporadic phone calls.  He drank heavily for many of those years and even though he was always the life of the party when I came home for visits, there was always a darkness that he would hold on to and never let anyone even try to get close.  So he rarely spoke about “inside” stuff and I had lost the connection we had as kids, sharing the same bedroom, endlessly blaming each other for anything that went wrong, constantly calling each other names, and yet defending one another from anything or anyone who might dare say a derogatory comment or try to physically harm the other.

At the age of 58 my brother is a man who has worked very hard his whole life, who has kept to himself and who, I have just found out, is a man with so much wisdom and who has his priorities in exactly the right place.  He has no time for the pettiness of gossip, nor does he speak any negative about situations or people.  He accepts life on life’s terms and seems to have come to the point that he is very content with his lifestyle, which, by the way, is not dependent on material things, status or the accolades of others.  And, above all, he is kind. Hearing him reminisce about periods of our youth I saw a little 9 year old boy in the Northern Woods of Wisconsin where we spent summers with our grandmother.  I saw a 5 year old kid who was always spinning like a top, running in and out of the house, followed by a bunch of friends, cleaning out the refrigerator in a nanosecond and then disappearing into the whirlwind of their activities like a tornado.  And I saw my mother - her gentleness, her unconditional forgiveness and her willing to just let things go, and just love…..period.

We laughed so hard at dinner I think we may have embarrassed the other customers in the restaurant, but for that small moment, we were just a brother and a sister, exposing their love for each other just like it was 1960.  He, drinking a glass of water…..I drinking tea.  He looking like I remember him as a young boy scout and me, being the slightly older sister who still wore loafers and v-neck sweaters.

When we were both drinking, this never would have happened, but the walls are crumbling and all that is left is what was always there to begin with - a brother and a sister who love each other a lot.

Murph - you have really surprised me with what you’ve had in store for me on this trip.  And I still have 3 more days to go.

Whatcha got up your sleeve for tomorrow?

I love you, Murph

Till Next Time -

Your Humble Road Warrior

My boyfriend call me for the first time since he left for long term treatment.  He sounded healthy, hopeful, grateful for this opportunity to enter a long term rehab program where he can take the time and address his issues.  It was wonderful to hear his voice.  I pray that this will be the turning point.  One never knows, but I still can’t give up 5 minutes before the miracle.

I’ve check out a bunch of meeting in Chicago and I can’t wait to see if they’re like the ones in my home town.  I’m sure they are and I have no doubt that I’ll feel right at home.  The gift of recovery is everywhere and in a big city like this, there are literally thousands of meetings a week.  If I can’t find one, it’s my own fault.

I have to get up in 5 hours to get downtown with my friend so this will be short.  Thanks for giving me the opportunity for this trip.  There is going to be some amazing events that will open up for me this week…..I just know it.

But right now, it’s not my usual sleep pattern, so I’ll be consuming mass quantities tomorrow.  I can’t wait for this adventure to begin.  Thanks for getting me here and making this happen.

I love you, Murph

Till Next Time -

Your Humble Road Warrior

This blog needs to be about sex. But, like my life, it has constantly been sidetracked by my addiction.

I live with an emotional abuse and incest survivor. This fact colors every single day of my life. It taints and poisons the most basic and honest of my human impulses – love, affection, intimacy. I need to be growing in patience and love for my wife, learning how to meet her needs and open her heart. I need to be nurturing a place where she can redefine sensuality, in her own time, with someone who loves and cherishes her. This can’t happen when she can’t trust me.

Shortly after therapy uncovered my wife’s abuse, I bought the book Ghosts in the Bedroom, subtitled “A Guide for the Partners of Incest Survivors.” I was desperately looking for help for ME, the guy who felt like a rapist every time he tried to make love to the woman he adored. Instead, one of the first things I read was that most survivors marry people with serious core issues like addiction. The author didn’t know me, but he already knew I was an alcoholic.

I was frustrated and angry. I wanted to get to the part that told me how to FIX my wife so she would have sex with me. Instead, I read that our situation could not improve until I took care of my own core issues. I had to deal with my alcoholism before we could learn intimacy.

Here’s why this made me mad: because I believed that my drinking problem was her fault. The reason I drank myself to sleep every night on the living room couch was that she was doing her avoidance thing: falling asleep in the kids’ rooms, getting a stomach ache, suddenly remembering unfinished paperwork, getting stuck on the phone with a friend. (Her demons were remarkably creative.)

I began the journey of recovery, only to find it much more complex than I’d anticipated. My addiction was “cunning, baffling, powerful.” And it was permanent. I would either be actively working to beat it, or painfully succumbing to it, for the rest of my life. I also learned that it was not Linsey’s fault. She could not stop it nor could she cure it. My addiction was, and is, mine.

I never really read beyond chapter three, titled “My Core Issues.” I had a book about supporting an incest survivor, a book that was supposed to help me be the kind of husband who could love her through her hurts and rebuild her understanding of intimacy. But I got hung up on the chapter about MY problems, MY addiction.

And that’s what my life feels like. I am angry and disappointed in my marriage. My sexuality and my adoration of my wife feel like heavy, frustrating liabilities. And our progress as a healing couple is repeatedly trashed by my slips.

You might find it really arrogant for me to be complaining. I know I’ve been the bastard that keeps fucking up. I’d like to stop now. I’d like to allow the books and marriage therapy to work in our lives. There is no shortcut to get there, just a daily choice to stay sober.

[Photo by oba-bobalina under C.C.License]

Murph, I can’t stop…..I can’t stop thinking, moving around, obsessing, eating junk food in the middle of the night, running here and there, doing all the “stuff” I’ve convinced myself has to be down right now.  I feel like a hamster caught in a wheel that is stuck on fast forward. I’ve traded in my serenity card for a lotto ticket and I’m scratching, scratching, scratching and nothing is  matching!  And yet I keep scratching the damn ticket, hoping to win the big one and cash it in for a some peace and quiet.  Well, ya know what?  That ain’t gonna happen, so I’m writing you to ask for a little direction here.

I can clearly see what I’m doing - I’m getting bogged down in all the little “details” of life, when times get a little more crazy than their regular level of hectic.  I’m trying to take care of too many things, too many people, too many animals and too many of everything else.  And in the background I hear Dr. Phil smirking, “So how’s that workin’ for ya?”  Damn him!  This is the first time today that I have actually stopped moving for more than 5 minutes and have stayed in a chair (Oh wait…I’ll be right back….I have to get the laundry….see what I mean?).

Some of the busyness in my mind/body is good stuff, some is very sad, some is making me angry and resentful and some is neutral, but it’s all snowballing into this huge, knotted ball of chaotic yarn that I can’t seen to unravel.  The knots keep getting bigger and bigger and every time I pull, the ball gets more  distorted and I can’t find one single strand that I can hold on to.  I know exactly what I would tell someone else to do, but why is it that we can seldom heed our own advice?  Someone I love very much always tells me, “You got a head so  hard a cat can’t scratch it,” and I’m beginning to understand what that really means.  Ya know, there’s something very addictive about all this tumult - in its own contorted way, it’s like a drug that keeps me from facing the here and now….facing what’s really going on.  I’m not looking in the mirror right now - got too much else to do.  And I’m going so fast that when I do finally stop…..I collapse.  This is not good, Murph and I know way down deep that I don’t want to be  here, yet  here I am, unable to pull the emergency brake and stop the madness.

What?  Did you say, “Get your ass to a meeting?”  Did I hear you just whisper, “Pick up the phone, you silly girl?”  Wait just a minute, here! Was that you that just sent the little boy from across the street over here to ask if he could come over and visit the dogs?  You devil, you…..

I gotta go.  Detryk and I have to play for a while.

I love you, Murph.

Till Next Time -

Your Humble Road Warrior

I’m gonna get right to the point.  I’m leaving for Chicago on Monday (my hometown) to visit family and friends and to do some networking in the publishing arena.  I have an older sister who has not spoken to me for nearly 5 years, primarily due to the fact that I fell in love with someone who has a rough road trying to stay clean.  As you know, this disease puts us on the emotion roller coaster and gives us the ride of our lives.  Bottom line - my sister has refused to speak to me since this man has entered my life.  I’ve tried some contact but it was fruitless.  She has been in my hometown many times without even telling me she was here.  I wrote her an e-mail the other day saying I was coming home and it was time for healing and getting rid of the resentments of the past. And I point blank asked her if I could see her.

Late this afternoon I received a scathing reply saying that I have done nothing but drink, drug and lie ever since I was released from jail 7 years ago and that I am a master manipulator and am incapable of telling the truth.  She will have nothing to do with me and refused to see me.  The bitterness almost rose from the computer screen and as I read the words, my stomach turned to sour milk.  She knows nothing of my recovery, my involvement in The Second Road, my endless work to end the stigma of addiction and has focused on the fact that I have continued a relationship with someone who is not in recovery (and who is, at this very moment, in a long term rehab program, thank God).  I just sat in front of the computer…numb….trying to feel anger, rage, any sort of emotion that I could throw back at her.  And you know what?  Nothing came.

I went to a meeting tonight and shared about it and received lots of support, which I knew I would.  That’s one of the many reasons I go to meetings - to be around the people who have this disease and who can help in times such as these.  I am sad that she is depriving us of renewing a relationship that was very close, but she has made her decision.  I have taken responsibility for my behavior when I was in active addiction and don’t have to beg anyone to accept me.  I work a good program, try to help others and be kind (this characteristic is very, very important to me - just be kind).

I have worked hard for my serenity and I cannot allow anyone - even some I love as much as my sister - be a source for darkening my path.  As far as I am concerned, there is only one truth - be kind to one another.

Thanks for getting my butt to that meeting tonight, Murph.

I love you,

Till Next Time -

Your Humble Road Warrior

Once again it’s the end of the day and I this is the first moment I’ve had to actually sit down.  I was talking to a friend today at the clinic where I volunteer and he asked me if I thought time was moving at mock speed as we get older.  I had to agree.  I seems like just yesterday it was February - the weeks go by faster than I ever remember.  As a child, it used to be eons between one Christmas and the next and now it seems as if seasons change in an instant.  I don’t know if I’m “doing” more these days, if my brain is processing more or if I’m aware that the reality is that I have lived a lot more days than I have left….and also the reality that I abused my body and my mind for many of those days.  That can bring me to a place where I wallow in the wasted time I spent in the numbness of addiction - a place that is very dangerous for anyone to visit.  It can also bring me to a place where I can have such joy in knowing that I can go through the ups and downs of life and that I will get through it and come out on the other side.

Right now I have no income, am in extreme debt, have many high maintenance animals to care for, have friends and family members that are in very emotionally, psychologically and financially dependent upon me and instead of slipping under the weight of it all, I find myself just doing what has to be done next - the next right thing, if you know what I mean.  And I’m also feeling that there are very few things that are REALLY BIG DEALS anymore.  I can remember times when I would toss and turn over a comment someone made to me at work that I thought might be derogatory and trying to decide if they were right, if I should make a firm stand and confront them, or if I should pack it away in some compartment of my mind and keep the trigger cocked just in case I could use it in the future.  What a waste that all seems to me now.

Being sober is so much easier than carrying around all that garbage that really never served any purpose in the first place.  When I can act without judgment, do what needs to be done and sneak in a little time for me, things seems to work out.  This is NOT rocket science - it’s just sobriety.

Thanks for a productive, fun day, Murph.  I couldn’t have done it without you.

I love you, Murph

Till Next Time -

Your Humble Road Warrior

I can barely keep my eyes open, but as I promised, I’m writing you.  Today was another one of those “where is my brain?” days.  Too much to do…..didn’t get it all done, but I got to have lunch with an old friend who always lifts my spirits, and that was delightful.  I just found out that the office that we used to rent for TSR is being listed because we’ve not been able to pay the rent.  That was actually okay with me.  I’m not there much these days, and since I’ve been looking for a paying job, I’m actually just kind of taking up space there anyway.

I did go to my Nia class today and we did a new routine by one of the founders, called “Alive.”  Nia is a dance-body movement-mind-spirit-aerobic experience that I have been addicted to for about 4 years now.  It is a place where I can release my energy, fill my soul and sweat my brains out.  The new routine is wonderful and it focuses on the sense of being alive in everything we do.  When I left the class I thought about what it often means to be alive.  Sometimes it is feeling pain that you don’t think you can survive (physical, mental or emotional)…..but you do.  Sometimes it is smelling the glorious purity of a little baby.  Sometimes it is doing the same things over and over again and often forgetting that even the mundane aspects of life can be opportunities where we can grow, learn and experience anew, even though the physical actions themselves may be repetitive.  Sometimes it is hair raising.  Other times it is peaceful and quiet.  But no matter what is happening, being alive is always a participation activity, if we so choose.

When I was drinking and drugging, I shunned the idea of actually being involved in the events of my own life.  I numbed anything - good or bad - it didn’t matter.  Was I afraid to feel all the endless possibilities of being alive?  Was I afraid that being truly alive might force me to look at myself through the eyes of awareness?  Could I face whatever life threw my way?  Was I just lazy?  Was I unable or unwilling to take responsibility for my decisions and actions?  The answer probably lies somewhere in the middle of all those questions and I will never have a definitive reason for why I drank and drugged.

But today it doesn’t matter.  Today I can weather the problems and inconveniences that arise, and I can rejoice in the gifts that are constantly being bestowed upon me.  And it’s always a juggling game, isn’t it, Murph?  But  I’m getting a lot of practice at that activity and I find that I can sometimes add another ball and still stay on my feet.  And that’s a good feeling.

Can’t wait to see how many balls I’ll get to juggle tomorrow.  It’s nice to know that you’ll be there, just in case I need 3 hands!

I love you, Murph

Till Next Time -

Your Humble Road Warrior

Well, here I am, as promised, so at least I’ve made it to day 2!   As you know, things have been quite shaky the last few days.  My boyfriend entered long term rehab in a moment of total surrender, so making  and instituting all the necessary decisions was nothing short of frenetic. But I had a funny feeling you may have had a little something to do with all the arrangements, because within 36 hours, the decision was made, the plane tickets were purchased and he was on his way.  I’ve heard that he is doing very well and that he seems to have a sense of relief that the madness may finally be over.  I now have to deal with the details left behind and, I must say, I have periods of anger and resentment but they are always overtaken with a peaceful feeling of gratitude and thanksgiving that he is where he needs to be.

Today, though, I felt that an enormous colony of ants was building an empire under my skin.  I got up early and didn’t get back home until 6:00….running, running, running.  I couldn’t get still, and my mind was never on what I was doing in the present, but instead, on the next piece of business that I had to take care of.  When I got home I took care of the animals and realized it was 30 minutes until my meditation class.  Ahhhh!   Meditation!!!! Silence, reflection, mindfulness - but if I wanted to make it I had to get my butt in the shower and get out the door.  I got showered, got dressed and realized that I had 6 minutes to get there.  Here I was, running around like a lunatic to hurry up so I could sit still for an hour.  I looked at my dogs sitting on the couch with that “Are you going out again?” look in their eyes and turned around, got in my comfy clothes and watched a movie.  I realize that I am suffering from A-L-T.  I don’t have much of an appetite these days, so I’m really not hungry, but the angry, lonely and tired make up for the lack of my ability to eat right now.

So, here I sit, relaxing and actually eating.  I just had a long phone conversation with my dear friend, who always makes me feel better and I have realized that I not really angry at all - just a little afraid of the future, which I can’t do a damn thing about anyway.

Today is also my sister’s birthday.  This is the sister who has alienated herself from me ever since I started dating my boyfriend almost 5 years ago, and who has been battling the disease of addiction for many years, stating that I had caused enough suffering on the family with my own addiction and if I stayed with this man, she knew I was going to go back to my old ways. So she has chosen not to communicate with me as a way to deal with that fear on her end.  It seems she cannot get past the wreckage of my past - something I just may have to accept. I sent her an e-mail tonight, asking her to pray about what is really important in her life and that not one good thing has come out of her choice to exclude me from her family - only more pain.  I asked her to please see me when I go home (to Chicago) next week.  We’ll see.

In the meantime, buddy boy, all I can do is the next right thing.  Thanks again for helping me this 6 days.  You have a way of showing up at the damnedest places and your timing is exquisite.

I love you, Murph

Till Next Time -

Your Humble Road Warrior

I was just sitting here thinking about the first time we met.  Do you remember?  It was almost 7 years ago - doesn’t seem that long and somehow it seems like we’ve been best buddies forever.  I was sitting in a jail cell - had been there 9 months for all the crap that comes with active addiction.  Remember that little Black Woman who came to pray in tongues over anyone who wanted?  Remember how I walked up to the bars and she put her hands on my head through the steep pipes and the most beautiful clear sounds came out of her mouth, like cool water over lapis?  And then remember when she told me to live from my heart and not my head?  At the time I had no idea what she meant.  And then when I was walking back to my bunk she called me back and said, “This just came to me……Psalm 91……that’s yours.”  I bet that’s when you started smiling.  I didn’t have my reading glasses on but I asked my bunk mate to read me Psalm 91 and as soon as she started, I knew something was happening.  Although I didn’t know scripture very well back then (don’t know it much better now) when she started reading “He shall raise you up on eagle’s wings….” I lost it.  That song, “On Eagle’s Wings” has always been one of my very favorites - I sang it at my mother’s funeral.  That’s when the tears started - my head in my hands, sobbing uncontrollably and asking, “Who are you? Who are you?”  And then you were there, standing right behind me on the bunk, all white, blurry, big, burly and gentle as a lamb and you spoke the only words I’ve ever heard directly from you.  “You can call me Murph,” you whispered gently.  I suddenly felt safe, known, forgiven, blessed and loved like I had never known before.

That was seven years ago and you’ve never been far away from me ever since.  I know that sometimes I’m too busy to say “hello” or even to acknowledge that you’re still by my side, but, deep in the recesses of my heart I always know that big old Murph is beside me, behind me, in front of me, and often, wrapped around me.

The last seven years haven’t been easy.  Work was hard to find, there have been many family problems, financial woes and a relapse in there somewhere.  But all I have to do is just think your name and your soft, bulky, gentle loving forgiveness and strength is right there.  When I look back at the tough times that I’ve come through, I always see your shadow.  You know it’s been especially rough this last week, but you made sure that things fell into place almost seamlessly.  You know when I have failed and you don’t ever judge.  You know when I shine and your joy is almost palpable.

I just wanted to thank you for coming to me in my hour of darkness in that ugly place those many years ago and showing me that the light is always waiting……all I have to do it step into it.

I love you Murph.

Till Next Time -

Your Humble Road Warrior

They’re cleaning out my grandparents’ house – the rooms are full of boxes and the walls are bare. Grandma’s a collector, of things beautiful or sentimental or remotely useful, so there’s a lot to go through. The depression generation, or “The Greatest Generation”, according to Grandpa and Tom Brokaw, tends to save things that I would throw away. But they can only fit so much into their new “home”, an assisted living rental, so most of their stuff has to go.

Mom found a flower pot I made for Grandma in the fifth grade. Money was tight that year, so we bought a rainbow set of permanent markers and several white plastic pots, and did the homemade gift thing. We sat on the red brick porch of my childhood home and colored the pots together. To this day, I still get a little zing of excitement when I see a brand new pack of red and yellow and green Sharpies, like a kid opening a new box of Crayolas. Mom doesn’t remember making the flower pots at all. She was me – parent of a ten-year-old, broke and overwhelmed, making the best out of what she had.

My Ashley is in the fifth grade, and I see her becoming a little person, moving out of my shadow and into her own world. At her age, I was organizing my desk and books and Star Wars collection, building my own little organized kingdom. I was winning piano competitions, composing music, getting straight A’s, and making flower pots. I had my own clock radio and I set the alarm early so I could look handsome for school in my gray corduroy pants and button-up shirts. Like Ashley’s, my world was full of possibilities. Like Ashley, I thought I was hot stuff. I knew I could accomplish anything.

I accomplished something this month. I directed a musical. Into this task I poured everything I know about arranging music, staging transitions, working with artistic people (not easy), scheduling rehearsals, audio and lighting and video projection, publicity. It was my magnum opus, so far, and it turned out absolutely incredible. We drew the highest attendance our church has ever seen for a single event, and everyone seemed thrilled. What I was most proud of was this: a few people who have never really connected found their place to shine, and truly became a part of our church family. That’s what it’s all about. That’s why I work at a church – it’s more about the people than the art.

Then I took a week off, and instead of going back to all the recovery meetings I’d been missing, I slept and tuned out. So halfway through the week I used, which shouldn’t really be any surprise. I spent a month ignoring my sobriety, suppressing my anger and resentments until the show was over. What did I expect? If you’ve been reading me for a while, you might be sick of my broken record life story, but not as tired of it as Linsey. She asked me what I would do different this time, and I didn’t know what to tell her but this: I have to keep doing the right things, even after the first couple of weeks. I can stay sober when I’m go to meetings and pray, when I do my step work and my reading. I can’t when I don’t. I’m grateful to be back.

So the next blog you see here will be my first letter to Murph - I can’t wait to see what I write!!!!!

Till Next Time -

Your Humble Road Warrior

Whenever my grandpa got into a tizzy about something, my grandma used to say, “Patience is a virtue.  Possess it if you can.  It’s seldom in a woman, and never in a man.”  Yeah, yeah, yeah.  Well, patience was the topic at the meeting I attended this evening.  There was a relative newcomer in the group and he was saying how he had just come off his pink cloud and wanted to get these steps over NOW.  He was just working on his 3rd step and was told to read the 3rd step chapter in the 12 and 12 every day for a month.  He had missed several days and was starting all over.  He he was scared to death of Step 4, and wanted to stay at Step 3 as long as possible, so he wouldn’t have to get to the scary stuff.  But at the same time, he wanted what other people had, and he wanted it today……

We want what we want when we want it.  That’s one of the defining symptoms of our disease.  My disease would rather have me take a handfuls of cake mix out of the mixing bowl, rather than waiting for the cake to be baked and gorge myself on a gigundo piece of the finished product.  I had four boxes of Girl Scout cookies in my kitchen.  The other night I woke up for my usual 2:00 am feeding and went downstairs, opened up a box of those caramel delights, brought the entire bag up to my bedroom and, in the dark, proceeded to eat every one of those delightfully caramel cookies.  Two would not do, and fifteen were not enough.

I have had it in my mind lately that I need (want?) a new bed.  The one I have is 25 years old, but it is still very, very comfortable.  But I WANTED a big, high, deep new bed that I had to almost get a step stool to crawl into and it obsessed me until I finally went out and bought one.  It doesn’t feel any different from my old bed, except that in about 10 years, I’m going to have a hell of a time climbing up into the damn thing!

I have been very ill-tempered lately and I’ve realized that it is because I have no patience for the minutiae in my life - the endless trips to the vet, the constant chauffeuring of people who do not have vehicles, the errands I run for those who are housebound and the things that I commit to that I instantly regret.  Yesterday I lost it.  I spent the whole day doing things that needed to be done, and finally had a racquetball game that I was really looking forward to.  I played with a woman who was 71 years old and she beat me to a pulp!  For the rest of the day, I made sure I told everyone of my horrible, horrible day.

When this kid brought up the topic of patience tonight, I realized that my patience level was directly proportional to my gratitude index.  When I took the animals to the vet, they were all brought home and their conditions were manageable and I had the funds to pay the bill. When I drove people around, it was I who had the vehicle and the money for the gas and the luxury of a license. And when I ran to the grocery store for a friend, I forgot to be grateful that I was not the one home with two broken bones in my leg from slipping on the ice.  And when I played racquetball, I was playing someone who had 40 years of the game under her belt.  I got a tremendous amount of exercise and learned much from her.

Patience is indeed a virtue.  To possess it, take a minute a remember the things you are grateful for.

Till Next Time -

Your Humble Road Warrior

I relapsed. I was prescribed Vicodin for a back injury and I thought I could handle it. I was proud that I told my wife immediately about the prescription, gave her the bottle and let her dole out the pills. But I started banking them, saving them up and taking handfuls at the end of the day so I could get a little rush.

Years ago we volunteered with a foster child, a tough one who stayed in the highest security group homes. They’d give him his little cup of anti-depressants and anti-psychotics and then check under his tongue to make sure he’d swallowed, rather than pulling the pills back out and selling them on the group home black market. If I ever have an injury severe enough to justify something more than ibuprofen, I guess that’s what I would need.

During my Vicodin time, me and Linsey had a huge fight, and I went on to a couple nights of porn and dextromethorphan, and that’s all I really want to say about that. If you’ve read my blog before, you know I’ve struggled to find “long term sobriety”, but I’ll keep trying.

There’s been so many other blog-worthy things going on, but I’ve been avoiding this place because, well, you know – just didn’t feel like saying “relapse” again. So now that it’s out of the way…

I’m learning about codependents. I’m beginning to understand my wife, and the way that we work together, two parts of a twisted machine. It occurs to me that I’ve been frustrated for years when I watch her defend the drug-addled antics of her family. As a card-carrying addict, it is so very obvious to me when somebody is using.

When we met my brother-in-law Jason at a restaurant this weekend, everyone was excited about his birthday except Jason, who was so stoned that he didn’t even know it was his birthday. He told us the stories, all true, about his road-rage fist fight (he put a guy in the hospital), the nerve damage, the prescription morphine. His ex, the one that he’s sharing the house with until they’re evicted, told us he’s seeing two different doctors (who don’t know about each other) and taking eight pain-related prescriptions.

Jason recently admitted he’s an alcoholic, but he’s not working any program. He’s “trying to stop drinking”, but he’s currently going through a separation, losing his kid, losing his house, already lost his job, has uncontrollable rage, and is on eight different painkillers. I love him, my heart breaks for him, I want to be there for him when he’s ready to get help, but let’s call a spade a spade – he’s in active addiction. My wife kept explaining to me at the restaurant that he’s just on a strong prescription, and that’s what was causing the profuse sweating and inability to make eye contact or complete sentences.

No wonder she’s put up with me so long.

I believe any knowledge, any perspective-increasing glimpse, is progress. Have I benefited from Linsey’s tendency towards denial? Yes and no. I’m still living at home, I keep getting “second” chances, she’s showed me patience while I’ve continued to work. I am not giving up on me or us, and I’ve learned from each of my relapses. (Lesson #47: No Vicodin, no matter what.) But I know what Jason needs to hear right now: We love you and we want to help. Let’s go to a meeting together. I know what it feels like to be trapped in your world. Not denial. Not justification.

Besides the obvious, this has been a great few months. I’ve felt joy – real joy – more than I have in a long time. It’s like it just bubbles up, out of nowhere. My sponsor says it’s because I’m really working the steps and making progress. He says you can’t really explain the inner workings of the black box, but when you put good stuff in, good stuff comes out.

That’s what I’m focusing on. And those nagging little signs that foreshadow a slip.

[Image by happyjester32]

Never is there a begin…nor an end

Counting the days,

For whom or what?

Marking the time. WHY?

Whether monthly, daily, or by the hour.

Attitude never should be dour.

For even so–it is LIVING which we are all still doing.

And where there is life…there is, yes……..

…….HOPE!

A lot of people don’t like changes.  They keep their living room furniture in the same pattern for years, never even thinking of moving a table, or, God forbid, a couch, to give the room a different feng shui.  Many people would never try foods that they can’t pronounce, nor would they ever think of vacation in a land that does not know what a McFlurry is.  I was raised in such a household, as were many of my peers in the 50’s and 60’s.  Our living room never changed, neither did our menu or our vacation destinations.  I was raised on a diet consisting of meat, starch and some over-cooked vegetable smothered in butter.  Soups were thick, pies were sweet and dense and when I was about 10 years old and my parents changed my bedroom, I couldn’t sleep for weeks. Our summers were spent in Wisconsin, staying with my grandmother in the north woods, an absolutely idyllic setting that I never was able to appreciate until it was gone.

But I have grown to accept, even embrace the many changes in my life.  I have traveled extensively, moved from my hometown of Chicago to the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia.  I absolutely love going to exotic restaurants and will excitedly tell the waitperson to bring me the most ethnic items on the menu.  Right now I am attending different churches, just for the experience.  My dear friend, Eleanor, loves to experience “alternative” practices and this has allowed me to be introduced to persons like shamans, people who channel, reiki masters, visionaries, holistic practitioners of every kind, and even those who have alien alliances.  I find all these experiences to be part of my ever broadening path through this short window of life on this planet.

But those are changes I chose to make.  When I lost my profession in laboratory medicine after 25 years, due to my active addiction, it was not a change I initiated (well, I guess I technically did initiate it by my behavior).  So after 25 years, there I was, looking for a “job.”  Even the term “job” was distasteful to me.  After all, I was a health care professional.  I was reduced to finding something that would pay the mortgage…and fast.  But, when I look back on the last 10 years, my “jobs” have opened doors that I would have never even seen if I had stayed in my little laboratory.  I have worked as an aide/editor for a blind lawyer.  I have been a Section 8 housing counselor; I helped to turn a small independent business into a large corporation, and for the last 3 years I have been the general manager on This Second Road.  I have been in situations I would have never, ever have imagined 10 years ago, met an amazing number of very interesting individuals and have learned so much about different types of businesses, organizations and communities.  My horizons have been expanded and I have welcomed each new experience as a gift to learn, grow and absorb all that has been placed in my path.

And now I am once again at the precipice of change.  The Second Road, being a small non-profit organization depending on contributions/donations for its survival, is experiencing the economic difficulties that have plagued our country and its population in recent times.  As a result, our operating expenses have had to come to a halt, at least temporarily.  So, while I continue to put my energy into this place that I have helped build and which has become my home, I once again have the opportunity to see what other adventures The Universe has to offer.  I’ll still be here at TSR every day - but there’s another change waiting for me and I can’t wait to see what it will be…..

Don’t worry, fellow road warriors…..you’ll be the first to know….

Till Next Time -

Your Humble Road Warrior

At once I am bombarded with a multitude of thoughts, crashing in from all sides.  I go to more meetings than ever before for a number of reasons.  Mainly is that I may see how others are doing, to meet out-of-town Peeps, and new, freshly sobered guys, scared, shaking, wondering things like, “What in the world have I done to deserve being in this Fk’d-up place (Alcoholics Anonymous)?”

Then there ARE the friends I have made through years of meetings, and the new friends always coming and going. One such friend, sober 18 months, sat in a meeting Sunday morning, suddenly got out of his chair, and walked around the rather large meeting room.  He deposited in each girl’s lap a little Valentine box of some chocolate.

Thus it came about that 40 faces at 7AM on a Valentine Sunday morning suddenly burst forth in smiles, which translated into 75 smiles all-told–the men smiled also, but sans the little red boxes of candy.  And by the looks on the faces of the females, young and older, a load of happiness was driven into that AA meeting room.  I believe this is one way God works in me/us, allowing me to take a risk, and if no one is hurt…to DO-IT.

The meeting topic was “Expectations”, and nearly everyone who “shared” discussed how our expectations are never met, hence we become immediately disappointed.

Dave, by passing around chocolate Valentines, reminded me that sometimes our expectation are exceeded, and it might be that God is saying then, “Job well done, Faithful Servant”.

I KNOW the young man Dave, He is a really spiritual fellow, so that even after a sobriety just short of two years, when he talks, Peeps listen!  Because he has always something worthwhile to send into the room, and later, out of the room, but foremost, to within himself.

When, to myself I made that decision to stay sober at my first AA meeting, I had no idea I would meet peeps like this…at LEAST not that I’d enjoy their company and be so proud to know them.  Oh My God, what a splendid path You have set here before me, that I may live to be useful to You, My Creator. And I may soberly live…and love.  Is there another way?

Sober today.

Happy today.

Free today.

Live today.

Love today.

So I cancel out a couple of patients and take him with my mother to the ER and wait for an evaluation. Can’t wait all day, so I leave my mom with her phone. Gotta’ go. Let me know what happens.

It’s a terrible feeling, leaving your 84 year old mother in an ER with your sick 89 year old father. Like you want to say, Be good.

Anyway, today FD and I visit him, he’s in the hospital dialysis center and tubes of streaming blood are everywhere.

I’m kind of squeamish.

But Dad is happy to see us, startled out of sleep. We only stay a few minutes then both of us have to be off to work. FD drops me off at my office and I’m thinking, I’ll walk home. It’s an hour walk, but it will do me good.

We’re quiet in the car, but we pass a bar, a neighborhood bar. I know a lot of people see this place as a home away from home. There’s a marquis, a big white sign outside that announces Jan’s Birthday!, or Billy’s 300 bowling score.

Today’s announcement: We Fix Broken Hearts.

We fix broken hearts, I read to FD. That’s what they do over there at the bar. Valentine’s Day is bringing out the best in advertising. He starts to sing the BeeGees song, How can you mend a broken heart? How can a loser ever win?

Such a chutzpah (such gall) I say, to encourage people to mend a broken heart with boozy company, to drown sorrows. Join the club. Misery loves company.

I can’t blame the barkeepers for trying to attract customers. A person has to make a living. You just wonder, you know, how that must feel, enabling alcoholism. Therapists like me, who are forever telling people, DON’T go to the bar, just DON’T, aren’t much competition for friends at the ol’ watering hole.

Lately I’ve been telling people with drinking problems to stay home if they’re not going to go to a meeting. Read recovery blogs like this one, or therapy blogs (even mine). But not the bar, you’ll never mend a broken heart over there.

Of course, if the economy gets any worse, the bar will have to close up shop. If they do, maybe the marquis will say, Stay Home, Read Blogs– That’s What We’re Doing.

therapydoc

During my final year of drugging, drinking, and anthing-ing, an incident occurred which I will remember always.  I had been working the night shift at a very busy bar in North Naples, FL.  My hours, 6-2 six nights a week, I tended a very busy bar, and played also my violin to sort of entertain the Peeps.

By the time I got to work, I was pretty much bombed, and by the end of the night (2 AM) I was speeded up like a jet plane.  Ten minutes of cleaning the lounge, actually took me two hours, as I drank whatever I wished–had to be able to tell customers what each brand of scotch tasted like, the difference in the essences of bourbon brands, and liqueurs–well I loved every single loving bottle of them!

Outside in the darkest of night, finally, I put my violin (worth about $60,000) on top my car, to find the key and unlock the vehicle.  About 10 non-traffic miles later, all the way downtown, something made me to reach over where my violin lay…and it was not there.  An incorrect flashback let me know, it must have dropped off the top of my car back at the bar, in the parking lot.

Oh my God! Someone could roll over it, not knowing what it was.  I made a fast two-wheeled U-Turn, raced back to the uptown lounge clocking 80 miles per hour, drove over the potholes, and parked.  Didn’t see my fiddle.  So it must have fallen out on the highway.  My heart was racing faster than the car…as i got out –to unlock the bar, go in and have a “nerve-quieting” drink (A glassful of vodka).

Guess what! I spied my violin sitting right there atop the car, just where I had placed it one-half hour before.  Even today 36 years after, I consider what was a miracle, at least to me.

Soon after, I stopped drinking (Loooong story).  It was the night before my first meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous.  And I stayed stopped, became what we call sober, began to help others in my own way, and tried to not die.  And one after another, the miracles began piling up in my life, in my mind, in my heart.

True, I tend to forget sometimes that it was God brought me here to AA, and He Who helped me along the way.  But it really was God working through YOU Peeps, which made the difference for me. I could not stay sober, ever…alone. It is the “WE” which saw me through the most difficult of times.  “WE” brought me to here, today, where I see myself happy, at PEACE, and Loving and Living.

It was not always thus, and may not always be this way, but for now, today, I shall enjoy the gifts God has granted me:  Sobriety, Family, Lots of Friends, Health, and yes, Happiness, and Peace.  These are mine. And you can have them also.  They are for the taking…Please accept them.

Love,

Steve E.

Twelve years ago I was rushing into a grocery store, trying to get a few things on my way to my next errand.  I, as usual, was moving at the speed of light, thinking about what I had to do next….when I saw her.  There she was, a big, black, furry dog with small deep set brown eyes and a face that reminded me of a black bear.  It only took one look, for both of us.  I knew.  She knew.  She was mine.  I was hers.  I brought her home to my little town house which already was home to 3 other dogs.  She walked in slowly and laid down in the dining room.  The other dogs sniffed, pawed, barked - “Who the hell is this, and she is she doing here?”  None of this seemed to bother her in the least.  She was not haughty, afraid or aggressive.  She just looked at me.  “I’m home now.  Everything’s gonna be okay.”  And it was.

As some of you know, I have a lot of dogs.  They have come to me in every way possible and each one has been a very special gift from The Universe to teach me, to care for me and to give me total bliss.  Irish, however, was a very old soul from the beginning.  She was steady, always present and never gave me a bit of trouble nor did she demand anything from me.  All she asked was that I love her.  And that I did.  I would sit with her head nuzzled under my chin, kissing the top of her head for what seemed hours and she never moved.  Tail gently wagging, she would just sigh every now and then as if to say,”This is what I came for.  This is why I’m here.  Isn’t it good?”

When I was sad she would absorb my pain.  Just holding her gave me a release that was always calming and rock solid.  I would grab her around her deep chest and bury my tears in her fur.  She never moved until I let go, my sadness, anger or frustration having been dissipated by her serene presence.

When we would all go to the park or the lake, I would love to see her lope ahead of me, always looking back to make sure I was there.  She was not a petite dog, nor was she feminine in appearance. She was often mistaken for a male, simply because of her body structure.  But she was neither male or female - she was Irish - a temporary gift sent by God to let me know that I am loved.

You have taught me well, my gentle giant. I will miss you so -

Till Next Time -

Your Humble Road Warrior

]]> http://www.thesecondroad.org/tsr/2010/02/09/5646/feed/ http://www.thesecondroad.org/tsr/2010/02/08/5637/ http://www.thesecondroad.org/tsr/2010/02/08/5637/#comments Mon, 08 Feb 2010 18:10:31 +0000 Steve E. http://www.thesecondroad.org/tsr/?p=5637 SOME MORE STUFF!

Winter will soon be but a memory…WHAT a memory!  Having lived in Naples, Florida 45 years, I can tell you, yes, I still remember.  Even now, when I allow a thought of those 32 years I spent in Cincinnati to live a moment with me–I can “feel” my fingers frozen, my body shaking with the cold.  And I might be exaggerating here, but I seem to recall being often in a gloomy or semi state of depression–the SO many overcast days of bleakness.

It is sort of like having been alive on December 7, 1941– Pearl Harbor–you can never…

Well, once again it is snowing like @&$%# where I live and I am homebound.  It also looks like no one will be moving out of their abodes for several days, due to the “inclement weather” we are experiencing in the Mid-Atlantic.  Being hold up in my home with six dog and two cats makes for some interesting circumstances and it is a constant effort to keep the back deck shoveled so the dogs have somewhere they can walk and not get totally lost in the snow.  That cats, on the other hand, could care less - after all, they are cats.

I have spent quite a bit of time on the phone as a result of this imposed confinement and I have realized what social creatures we really are.  I have spoken with many friends in recovery, since no one can get out to a meeting and have found how much I really need to connect on a daily basis with those who share my “situation.”  I go to several meetings a week and have come to depend upon the community that my recovery has afforded me.  I often choose to be alone, but when it is forced upon me it can sometimes feel like an oppressive heaviness that darkens my spirit and weighs on my soul like a smoke-filled room in which I cannot find the door.

We so often hear the worn out phrases like “We can do together that which we cannot do alone” and in times like this I come to hold those words close to my heart.  A call from a friend, a text, an e-mail - our modern technology has made it easy to connect when we cannot physically come together.  Like writing this blog.  I don’t know who will read it, but just knowing that I am communicating with someone is a reassurance that I am not alone.  And if you are reading this, you are not alone either.  I don’t consider myself a “technie” in any sense of the word but I am grateful for venues like this when I just need to get out of my head.

Thanks for letting me share.

Till Next Time -

Your Humble Road Warrior

“Never ever plan to NOT go to a meeting.”  It is alright to not go, for one reason or another–just do not PLAN it that way.  Ya never know!

When I take some time out to meditate–somehow I always ALWAYS end up with more time that day.

Out of the 86,400 seconds in a day, did I bother to take even ONE of them to thank my Higher Power?

“Don’t die on Third” (Third Step, that is…)  Too many of us go back out, because we stayed for months trying to work perfectly the Third Step.  Guys, let’s get ON with it.  The Third Step is REALLY worked by doing the REST of the steps.  PLEASE believe me on this.

“I’m ‘pretty sure’ I’m an alcoholic”…

Yesterday’s ANGER is
Today’s RESENTMENT is
Tomorrow’s FEAR…
And could possibly be my next DRINK!

Some Peeps are “morning drinkers”
Some are “night drinkers”
I was BOTH!

At 3 AM…
Husband to wife:  “My friend got stinking drunk and puked all over my shirt.”
Wife (putting his clothes into laundry basket):  “And I guess it was he also who crapped in your pants???”

On giving a lead at an AA meeting:
Remember that how I GOT here is not nearly as important as how I STAY here.

How to stop behaving like a fool:
Daily I must do a check-up…from the neck up.

The “second moment of silence” at an AA meeting:
You can tell the depth of the topic, by the length of the silence….
Been to jail.  Been sober.  SOBER is BETTER!

There are two kinds of alcoholics:  WOMEN and MEN!

Peeps in Recovery from whatever:

Stay clean and sober with me today.
Let’s find happiness in this day’s activities.
Today….Let us LOVE!
We shall at PEACE today!

God loves you all, and so do I,
Steve E

A “good” blogger I am NOT.  I got really hooked, became obsessive, and spent 8-10 hours a day writing, reading, and commenting…for a year-and-a-half.  Three weeks ago I stopped blogging, just left it–with a goodbye message, of course. http://steveroni.blogspot.com if anyone’s interested…

In my blogging “career” I went from reading ONE blog post daily, to checking on about sixty per day, commenting on as many as I could. During this time I went from enjoying 1 follower to 164.  (How many really followed I don’t know.) But my daily readership went from 1 to 101, then leveled off at about 70-80 per day. Daily comments began at a rate of 3, went up to the final, 50.  Here is the punch line:  I lived for the comments, positive and negative. Whether this was out of a certain pride, or self-imposed, sick need for validation I do not know, nor care.

I chose to begin posting here on The Second Road, because of course, I know the lovely, wonderful, friendly, helpful, generous, managers.  But more, I agree–finally–with the concept of learning about and helping more than just my Druggie-and-alcoholic Peeps. I feel at home in a group of addiction Peeps who suffer from many uneasy diseases, and suffer from results caused by them.

My point here–I guess–is that comments, even discussion in commenting, are for me, what MAKE a blog worthy or not.  If there is not an exchange, I might as well be writing emails to myself.  I–and others–spend the time to pour out our hearts, our most hidden secrets in the postings. At this time, I have not the slightest notion whether anyone but ME has read my blog post. (Well, a few comments lately are happening!)

A law of averages must declare some readership is involved here, but who, how many, and from where do they come here? And the larger question I might have is:  Why do they not leave a comment, if only to write, “I was here. Thanks for your effort. Although I disagree with everything you say.”

It may even be an anonymously posted comment.

Some could well believe I am way off base with my rant, and disagree. That is fine. OK!  But please tell me, OK?  While surfing yesterday I came across this paragraph in a posting by a photographer/blogger named Owen, lives in England.  He can be visited HERE at  his THE MAGIC LANTERN SHOW.  He wrote this, and I have his written permission to copy:

“PLEASE FEEL FREE TO LEAVE COMMENTS ! Comments are the icing on blog-cake… Comments are the UFO in the twilight sky bearing news from other planets… Comments are raspberry vinegar in salad dressing… Comments are the cool balm of after-sun moisturizing lotion… Comments are the moment the band comes back out on-stage to play an encore… Comments are the gleam in the eye across the room in a smoky bar… Comments are the rainbow after the rainstorm…”

In the spirit of what I wrote here, I have been trying to comment substantively  (maybe with MUCH TOO LENGTHY substance–grin!) on each new daily posting.  I sincerely hoped some others would follow suit…or not.  After all, we are now happy, joyous, and FREE!!!! …it says here.

Today, with me–PEEPS!
Be FREE
Be HAPPY
Be LOVING
Be at PEACE
PLEASE!!!

Our roommate recently purchased an XBOX 360. He and my husband play and play and play, all day. Here are the things that I fear around the XBOX 360:

I am afraid my husband will pawn it for drugs. We have few fancy electronics left, and I keep the ones that I have under my guard at all times. No matter how well my husband is doing, I am always wary of expensive electronics left unattended. He has paid for lots of heroin with other people’s electronics, and it feels pornographic to see fancy, electrically alive things sitting around, waiting to tempt him into a relapse.

I am afraid of the way my husband checks out when he is playing video games. I find it upsetting whenever he is mentally or emotionally absent, as it’s similar to when he checks out to addicted fantasy land, or when he checks out because he’s nodded off from being too high. I am afraid of the way he looks when he’s playing with their new toy, and I’m afraid of the way he doesn’t seem to be able to hear me talk to him while he’s playing.

I am afraid of how testy he is around the video game. If he’s playing and has to stop, it makes him incredibly grumpy and nasty. I hate watching him get wrenched out of that checked out state…it’s like seeing a worm squirming after you lift a rock off of it.

Mostly, I know these things are not my business, and I know that as long as I’m trusting in my Higher Power to take care of me, I’ll be fine. I know that it’s normal to have these kinds of aftershocks from the trauma of addiction, and that I should go easy on myself in the meantime.

I’ve had the same experience with religion. I had bad experiences with Christianity growing up; it’s just not a good fit for me. And I’ve had people evangelize me over the years: “You’ve never tried my church. It’s not like your church. You haven’t been to the right kind of church. You don’t really understand what Christianity is about. You haven’t been approaching it the right way. Try this. You’ll like it.” But I haven’t. Fortunately, there are a lot of other belief sets and practices in the world (from Hinduism to atheism) that allow people to connect to something beyond themselves, and to practice many universally beautiful principles, in a way that does work for them. In my experience, there’s no one path to the good and the divine.

And I’ve been thinking of this recently, as I’ve encountered a few situations where I want to (or have) 12 Step evangelized. When a book says Al-Anon is bunk as it repackages powerlessness as powerfulness, or when an article says that addicts need to look into the origins of their addiction and claims that it’s psychotherapy and not 12 Step that does that, I start saying all of those same things: “You don’t get it. You’re not approaching it the right way. If you really understood the concepts, you’d see that what you’re talking about is already included in 12 Step. Give it a chance. You’ll see it does have what you want and need.”

But 12 Step doesn’t work for everyone, not even me or my husband. It’s been a part of our toolkit, but we’ve used it in conjunction with other therapies and spiritual practices. My husband can recognize that fish has lots of excellent nutrients, but that they just aren’t presented in a way that is most palatable to him. I can recognize that Christianity incorporates the principles I hold most dear, yet they aren’t presented in a way that works for me. And while I can see that 12 Step has great tools, they aren’t presented in a way or in language that works for everyone. Nothing does. There’s no one path to recovery. Fortunately, there are lots of different foods and religions and recovery programs that give us all those same basic nutrients — whether they support our physical, spiritual or mental health — in a way that works for each of us as individuals. And for that, I am grateful.

“Every day is not Christmas Day
Every night is not New Year’s Eve
Some days, chill and dreary,
Some nights cold and unlit, Steve” :

The night has fallen
Dark has descended.
My whole f****ing life
Seems so upended.

Will there be ever
New, better ‘morrow?
Will there be never
One without Sorrow?

One day, all I ask
Happy, Joy and Free:
Day without your mask
Happy, Joy for me!

Sobriety…Yes
Serenity…No
It’s a time for change,
It is  time to go.

The time to withdraw,
To be a recluse.
Finally I saw…
No longer of use

To the sufferer.
To the one in pain,
Nor e’en another.
Not ever again!

TOMORROW WILL BE A BETTER DAY!

Peeps!
Please stay SOBER and CLEAN
Please…with me, KNOW
That every day is a NEW BEGINNING!

Yesterday it snowed all day.  It was as if there was a giant flour sifter in the heavens that just endlessly dusted layer upon layer of light, pure, dainty snow powder all over the land.  I stayed in the house, the grey sky telling me to be still, enjoy the quiet and just listen.  I did as I was told.  I spent most of the day in my bed, reading and just being quiet - letting the stillness speak.  This is what it said:

Our time in this place is temporary.  We do not know when we will leave, nor do we know the circumstances that will cause our departure.  We have so little control over so many things that enter our path and change the direction of our journey.  Some will teach us well and will provide a platform from which we can learn to fly.  Some events will lift our spirits and our hears will fill with a tenderness and joy that we don’t think our bodies will be able to contain. Others will overwhelm us like an unseen tsunami, throwing us into a whirlwind of emotions, thoughts and actions that we never saw coming.  And many will make their appearance as the normal day-to-day joys and struggles that compose this life, each appearing on a regular enough basis so that balance can be maintained and we can continue to stand upright and steady and walk at a comfortable pace that will keep us moving forward with the peace that comes from knowing we are doing the best we can with what we have.

This is not an easy traverse - this walking in the middle of the road.  Our given human “beingness” is a perfect venue for the goodness of existence to be absorbed and then released to others in expressions such as acts of kindness, compassion toward each other, laughter and delight in all the gifts we are given, and empathy with our companions as they, too, try to chart their own expeditions without a map.  Sometimes this is a wondrous adventure and sometimes it is like walking into a dark, overgrown, eerie forest, with no protection, no sense of what dangers might be lurking in the shadows, and not knowing if there is an exit.  Sometimes we come upon a beautiful waterfall and splash in its crystal clear, warm waters, refreshed and eager to see what awaits us around the bend.  But at other points in the journey, we find ourselves trying to climb a mountain of rock and ice, alone and naked.  Sometimes we walk in the warmth of beautiful shafts of light, on a grassy knoll that is soft under our feet.  And at times we will stumble and fall on shards of pain and sadness that mark our path of suffering with footprints of tears.

My mind, like that of all of my human sisters and brothers, can be a place of unbridled rapture; a golden chalice where I am filled to overflowing by the delights of creation, a  soft, downy grove where I reside in gratitude, or a Disneyland for all my emotional, spiritual and physical pleasures.  But my mind can also become a courtroom where I am condemned, judged and sentenced by a jury that knows no justice, follows no laws and disregards evidence that does not fit its agenda to destroy me. Sometimes that jury is a group of faceless enemies.  Sometimes it has only one face - mine.

The snow also told me that I have the choice to run like hell from the tsunami, to take time and explore my options before climbing the mountain, and start to remove any impediments from my path or at least walk around them and look for another route.  And if I find myself in the courtroom, demand another jury - one that is objective, will consider the facts and will justly conclude what actions are to be taken which will be in my best interest.

It has stopped snowing.

It is time to get dressed, go out into the cold and shovel my path today.

Till Next Time -

Your Humble Road Warrior

There is no shadow of turning in thee.

Thy changest not, thy compassions they fail not,

As thou hast been, thou forever will be.

For the last few days, I can’t stop singing this old church song, especially the part about “no shadow of turning.” I think of how much I long for that full, unconditional love, without a shadow of turning. I’ve looked for it my whole life. It’s hard to imagine how I’ve always had it if I’d just looked in the right place. Even when I feel as close to God as I’ve ever felt, I only feel that complete acceptance and unconditional love in flashes. There’s so much garbage in the way!

I love that image, too: a shadow of turning. I see it in my husband’s face more than anywhere else, and I fear it. It makes me sick with fear, that slight heaviness around his eyes…that sensitivity to everything I say…that darkness that descends over him and fills my home. There is a shadow of turning.

The phrase is interesting, too, in thinking of the way I show my own love. I have a shadow of turning, too. When I am afraid of being hurt, I begin to turn away. When I am feeling like I’m being taken advantage of, the shadow shows up. It is hard to maintain that perfect, open love while keeping good boundaries. I believe that it can be done. I know it can be done because it is the way God loves. God doesn’t give me everything I want whenever I demand it, as he knows that I sometimes am not ready for what I think I want. God patiently puts up with my whining and fussing and complaining while he tills the soil in my life, preparing me to receive his next gift. God loves me, even when he’s gently shaping me.

I want to learn how to love like that in my marriage - without a shadow of turning.

She wanted to know the answer to the first part, and if I left out that second part, it was easy enough for me to answer: no, I didn’t think she was being unreasonable or crazy in her interactions with her colleagues. I thought she had some pretty healthy boundaries and was sticking to them. But I didn’t want to tell her that, because what I think doesn’t matter.

I know because I’ve been in that place before: tallying up the yes and no votes in my favor. Sure, I could tell her she wasn’t crazy. But her coworkers friends were busy telling them they weren’t crazy either. So, she’d go in to work the next day and say, “My friend Mary says I’m not being unreasonable,” and her coworker would say, “Yeah, well, my friend Tom says you are.” And then she’d have to ask someone else in order to continue having the balance fall in her favor.

To really feel better, I’ve found that I have to be ok with where I am, regardless of how the score stands. So, what I really wanted to tell her, more than that she was being reasonable in this particular situation, was that it was reasonable for her to have her own boundaries, regardless of whether or not I (or anyone else) agreed with any given boundary at any given moment. But I found myself unable to articulate that part. Sure, it seems easy now that I have time and a keyboard, but it’s a different story when I’m fumbling for words on the phone. And it seemed so hard at the time to put what I wanted to say into a nice neat little sentence, rather than launching into a really long philosophical treatise. So, what I actually said was the ultimately unhelpful external validation thing, “No, you’re not crazy.”

Then I thought, “But it doesn’t matter what I think! Oh, wait. There’s a program slogan, ‘What other people think of me is none of my business.’ That’s what I want to say!” That’s never been one of my favorite slogans, but it did state the crux of the issue in a nice simple little sentence. Oh. I guess that’s why we have slogans in 12 Step. They’re pithy and easy to remember.

I’ve had my share of frustration with slogans. They can feel canned. They can be tiresome. But some of them inspire me. Some I repeat daily. And some, even the ones that aren’t my favorites, can come in handy sometimes.

SHORT STORY

Well, I’m still sober after another (umm!) day.  Nights are so good–like an escape. As a child, I would wander about the farm after everyone was asleep, talk to the animals, sigh at the moon, and frighten the hens and hogs.  Sometimes I’d saddle up my horse Mickey (not really mine!) and ride out beyond sight of the compound of house, barns, pens, sheds and  machinery.

Riding under a high and full moon in July or August, was utter heaven for me, the “poor, deprived kid”, who played a violin before he ever even heard of baseball.

After these rides in the semidarkness I’d make it look like nobody had been even near the barns, fields, or animals. Then would begin my 1 AM search for any of the pints of Muscatel or Old Grandad, which had been discarded, or hidden, left over from a cache of one of the live-in hired hands: “room, board, and laundry, and $14 a week for hard work and long hours. Sunday off.” Sometimes in a half full drum of hominy meal I’d discover my elixir for the night–and with a few gulps of Thunderbird or White Port, I’d soon be also sound asleep in my bed, unheard, undiscovered, unnoticed.

Come morning I would recall that lovely and glorious feeling which came to me as the result of a few swigs of muscatel.  I had trouble wading through the day, wanting desperately to renew that feeling, the euphoria, the–well, yep–that intoxicating feeling!

In a matter of few years, I parlayed my nightly excursions into drinking when and where I wanted–most of the time…and everywhere!   All the Peeps became like, afraid of me, or so it appeared to me LOL!  However, I was peace-loving. but I was LOUD about it–grin!

Of course there is much more to every life than drinking some stolen wine in the dark night, and years later walking bruised, beaten and defeated, into the doors of Alcoholics Anonymous.  As time continues its march, how do we say it? Yessss, “more shall be revealed!”

LOVE today.
Be ENTHUSIASTIC today.
PEACE today.
SOBER and CLEAN today.
And do all this with ME, today!

I went to see “Avatar” last night.  I originally hadn’t planned on going, but heard amazing things about how beautiful the movie was and that the message was profound.  I know absolutely nothing  about all the technical voo-doo that went into making this  $300,000 million dollar movie, but I do know that it has left an imprint in my heart.

The movie takes place in the 21st century and tells the story of a mission by U.S. Armed Forces to mine an indispensable mineral that is plentiful on a moon called Pandora, somewhere out in the universe.  The inhabitants of Pandora, the exceptionally tall,  golden eyed, blue skinned Na’vi, live in harmony with their surroundings and a mutual respect exists between the land, the Na’vi and the other creatures that call this sphere their home.

The scientific part of this mission involves creating avatars that are identical to the Na’vi, but that are given life from the transmission of the physical energy from a human, whose genetic code has been duplicated and can therefore, be transferred to its avatar by placing it in a pod and pushing the “red button.”  The head scientist’s avatar has been learning the Na’vi’s lifestyle and even though she is not accepted as one of their tribe, she has been allowed to move freely among them.

Enter Jake Sully - an identical twin of a would-be avatar who was killed in the line of duty and who has been recruited to take his brother’s position as head avatar who will infiltrate the Na’vi tribe, gain their trust, and basically, get them out of the way before the U.S. bombs the crap out of their territory to get the precious mineral.  But, of course, Jake and the scientist come to know and care deeply for these “people” and see the intricate connection of all the life forms on the planet and how each supplies the energy needed for the continuum of life to exist.

I won’t spoil the rest of the movie, but needless to say,  as Jake and Grace (the scientist) and their small group learn to love these creatures and their peaceful co-existence with their environment, there is major tension between the U.S. Mission to get the mineral and the compassion of the few crew members who now see this endeavor as nothing more than a grievous act of greed.

Okay.  So go see the movie to find out what happens.

I left the theater cloaked in a quilt of sadness and hope.  I was saddened by the blindness of those who only think of their own wants, needs, pleasures and overall narcissism, and are unable or unwilling to see the bigger picture that we are all in this together.  But I also was warmed by the hope that there are many who do see the interconnectedness of the energy of life and who respect and maintain a reverence for every living being, even those who play the role of predator.  “Avatar” is not just a tree-hugger,  I love you man, anti-war movie. It is a metaphor for the way we often live our lives, and the way we can change our outlook toward those with whom we share this sphere called Earth, and that includes our own selves, as well.

What does this have to do with addiction and recovery?

You do the math.

Till Next Time -

Your Humble Road Warrior