Still LIfe

Warning: Mutiple Mixed Metaphors Ahead


Although they don't come around as often, I still get those pangs for my old life. Yesterday, the whole day was basically a pang. Actually it started on Friday night when I was at a friend's house for dinner and we were all listening to music. Jimmy Buffet. Kenny Chesney. Beaches, Bars, and Booze.

My friend said, "Some nights we just drink and put on the music and dance the night away, just the two of us."

Pang! The cap'n and I used to do that.

Yesterday I drove down to Chelem to spend Easter with my friends there. I have a house in Chelem, I used to call it home, but this year I've been a gypsy traveling back and forth across the Yucatan while strangers pay money to live in my houses so I can pay for them.

Anyway, I arrived here in the late afternoon and another friend was here and they were all sitting around the pool having drinks.  Little pang.   Then they got to talking about a recent overnight trip a whole group of them took to Merida. Bars. Booze. Laughter. Stumbling into the hotel courtyard at 5:30 am singing so loud they woke up all the other guests.

Big Pang!

I  used to be in that group.

"I'm just the boring old sober person," I told my friend later. "I can't think of the last time I did something wild and crazy and...fun."

"Sober is not boring," she said.

She wasn't very convincing.

Mexico is party central during the Easter Holidays, the locals use Holy Week as an excuse to go to the beach, rent a one room house for themselves and their 36 closest relatives, sling hammocks, and stay up all night laughing and playing loteria and drinking vast quantities of tequila.  Pang! As I made my many sojourns along the outside verandah to the bathroom through the night last night, I could look down at  my friend's neighbors yard next door.  Tarps were tied up and lights were strung, and kids were chasing each other through the sand while their adult counterparts milled about eating and drinking until 5 am.

This morning, I was up before anyone else. I sat out on the verandah with my rosary and put on Pachelbel and watched the sun come up over the water.  Listened to the birds stir and sound their first notes.  I often listen to the Canon in D and wish I could give the world something as beautiful.  A legacy. A piece of me to leave behind in remembrance

As I sat listening this morning, I realized, I don't want that old life to be my legacy. I never did. When I was living it, I kept trying to convince myself it was beautiful.  I tried to wedge the beautiful parts in where they would get more notice.  Tried to make the ugly bits prettier than they were. The dark swaths more vibrant. The unsteady lines look as though they were intentional.

Maybe it looked beautiful to others. But it didn't to me.

And, hey, I'm the one that gets to choose.

So I took it down and stuck it in a closet somewhere and decided to start over.

My life now is a Still Life.

Simple, burnished days.  An open window. Sweet, sun-warmed fruit.  A dappled window seal.

I never get tired of looking at it.  From every direction, it fascinates, yet soothes, me.

It's a legacy I can live with.





Happy Easter! Happy New Day! Happy New Life!

Cone Of Uncertainty

Top Ten Reasons Hurricane Season is Like Christmas 10. Decorating the house (boarding up windows) 9. Dragging out boxes that haven't been used since last season (campinggear, flashlights) 8. Last minute shopping in crowded stores 7. Regular TV shows pre-empted for "specials" 6. Family coming to stay with you 5. Family and friends from out-of-state calling 4. Buying food you don't normally buy . . . and in large quantities 3. Days off from work 2. Candles And the number one reason Hurricane Season is like Christmas . . . 1. At some point you know you're going to end up with a tree in your house! 

Day 49 of abs
Six years ago I was living on my sailboat in the Abacos, Bahamas when Hurricane Jeanne decided to pay a visit. I'd never been through a hurricane before and I'll admit this girl from Kansas where tornadoes wreak their havoc usually in the middle of the night with little advance warning, held some disdain for a storm that announced its arrival well in advance. One of the first questions you encounter when you decide to live on a boat is "What are you going to do if you find yourself in a hurricane?" so you read everything you can get your hands on about the subject in the hopes that you'll never have to use that knowledge but there I was with a hurricane bearing down so now it was time to put the disaster plan in action. We were in Marsh Harbour at the time, at a little marina called the Port of Call. Jeanne was still about a week out and in all probability would veer from its expected path and miss us all together. There was a big party planned at a deserted beach on another island that everyone, and I mean everyone, was going to. For a change the cap'n and I decided to listen to our heads instead of our livers and decided to skip the party. You see, we weren't supposed to be in the Abacos still, we were supposed to have been long gone from that chain of islands. We were supposed to be clear down in Venezuela waiting out hurricane season somewhere south of latitude 12. Alas the tides of friends and parties had kept our docklines tied firmly to the Abacos and now we found ourselves without a prearranged hurricane hole to "hole-up" in. We knew we didn't want to stay at the dock, we'd seen enough videos of marinas during a hurricane on the weather channel and we didn't trust the holding well enough to anchor in "Mushy Harbour." Luckily, we managed to score the last mooring ball available in Hope Town on Elbow Cay and instead of putting off the inevitable for one more day (or two or three depending on the severity of our hangovers) we skipped the party and started making our boat hurricane ready. We used the information we'd gleaned from years of reading about the upcoming momentous event and more importantly we listened to others that had been through hurricanes before. We moved the boat to the safer harbor of Hope Town while all of our friends were moving theirs to Man-Of-War cay which was considered to be safer. We had waited too long to secure a place over there. We took all of the sails down and stowed everything that was possible down below. If it could move, it was tied down, if it could chafe, it was wrapped. With Jeanne still a couple of days out, we found ourselves sitting in our bare cockpit with nothing left to do but worry while all of our friends were still scurrying around moving their boats and making ready. We watched as self-appointed harbour masters shoo'd late-comers desperately seeking shelter from the storm back out of the harbour entrance, only a handful of boats were allowed into Hope Town and we were lucky to be one of them. We finally accepted that there was nothing more we could do and what would happen would happen and decided to take the ferry back over to Marsh Harbour and our friend's house where we would be staying even if it was two days before Jeanne was supposed to arrive on the scene. That decision was just another lucky happenstance since the ferries which had been assuring everybody that they would be running the next day, all of a sudden had the keen insight that maybe they out to secure their own boats, and announced the next morning that they would not be running after all trapping people on whatever cay they happened to be on.

I won't go into the details of the hurricane itself because I've already been long-winded enough and I've already told you in an earlier blog about the plight of five alcoholics stuck in a house during a four day hurricane and the desperate measures they take when the booze runs out. Envision "Lord of the Flies." But there were lessons which that bitch Jeanne taught me that have helped me weather other storms including the storm that alcohol and I have brewed up together. Here they are in no particular order:
1. Find a safe harbour. One where the holding is good and you are protected from the brunt of the storm. No matter how rough that safe harbour gets, no matter how much it tosses you around and leaves you sick and feeling like you might die, don't sail back into the storm. Ride it out. The storm will eventually pass over your harbour but if you cast your lot with the storm you can't know how far she will carry you from safety or to what depths she will drive you.

2. Surround yourself with people that are concerned for your safety and will help do whatever is required to help you get secure because they know that if you are not secure, you could break loose in the storm and drag into them, doing damage that could cause them to sink or lose their own safe holding causing both of you and whoever is in your path to end up broke and battered on the rocks. Don't let other boats that could be a threat to you in your safe harbour.

3. Listen to the advice of the people that have weathered storms before. You may receive different and even conflicting advice but listen and discern which advice is applicable to your situation and your "boat" and then apply it. It's great to read and listen but it only works if you do the work. All of it. No skimping and no half measures allowed, because the storm will find any hint of weakness you have left unprotected and that's where she'll take her opportunity to destroy everything you've tried so hard to fortify.

4. Use every lifeline you have, even if it's a little frayed.

5. Stow or get rid of anything that could become a missile and cause a hole or do damage to your "boat".

6. The friends that stick with you through the storm will be there afterwards to help you clean up and will be there to guide you away from or see you through future storms.

7. When the storm has passed, stick your head out and assess what damage it has wrought and then get off your ass and start cleaning up and rebuilding. Find the weak spots and make them stronger so they can withstand the next storm, if it comes. Don't wait for someone to do the work for you, your friends are there to help but it's your boat and it's up to you to make it seaworthy again.

Our boat made it through the storm with no damage and was as dry as a bone inside. Although it did look like someone had picked her up and shook her real good and not everything I though was stowed securely was.The Port of Call Marina that we were docked at before the storm was destroyed. Several of the boats that crowded into Man-O-War dragged and did damage to each other. A couple of weeks later, Hurricane Frances was hovering on the scene and while the weather forecasters said she was not going to be a threat, we were skeptical so we kept everything stowed and tied and sure enough she swept in. Once again the boat did fine but I learned another lesson.

8. There are always more storms on the horizons, you have to watch out for them and keep your defenses in place.

So today I'm out there doing my best to check my defenses for signs of fatigue and sending out my karmic lifelines to my friends in the Abacos even if some of them are a little frayed.

The Bottle Is Not Redeemable

Day 6 of abs’ing. Last night I was busy beating myself black and blue. In the last year I’ve managed to pretty much humiliate myself in front of most of my family members with my drinking. Up to now, I’ve always been able to comfort myself with the fact that all my friends and family still love me. And I think they still do but they’ll probably start avoiding me. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a mean or confrontational drunk but I’m a stupid drunk and an annoying drunk. I used to be a funny and clever drunk, at least I thought so. Maybe it’s because I’ve had more sober moments in the last year, I am able to see myself more clearly. I was definitely a more functional drunk and I can no longer claim that lofty title. Before, I could say I never let anybody down and I can’t say that anymore.


So, yep, this morning I was pretty black and blue. I dropped the cap’n off at work and headed to mass. It’s becoming a habit. Now that religion isn’t being forced down my throat I’m finding I like it, I even crave it. I’m not so sure it’s the mass that I crave though, this morning, unbeknownst to me, there was no mass. I stayed anyway. There is just something about sitting in that quiet old church with the sun glowing through the stained glass that makes me feels so safe, so loved and, for lack of a better word, so serene. Actually there is no better word.

So I was sitting there in all my serenity this morning staring at a stained glass window of the crucifixion made brilliant by the morning sun and I started telling my Co-Writer about how I felt last night and trying to shut up long enough to hear what he had to say about it. “Redeemer!” I swear to “You-Know-Who” the word flashed in my head. This is how I know when he is talking to me. A thought I never would have thought of is just there, in my brain. I’ve heard the word “Redeemer” a million times but I always thought of it in general “Savior of the Masses” terms. I’m sure I’ve said, “God is my Redeemer” a hundred times but I never thought about how it could apply to my life. (Help me out here, God, I’m having a hard time explaining this). I guess I always thought of “Redeemer” in the broad term of only redeeming my soul to get me that ticket into heaven. I never thought of God as being able to help me redeem myself to the people I love or to myself down here on terra firma.

How is he going to do this? I’m not sure but I’m going to ask him to. I think it might be as simple as asking for the strength to be the best person I can be. Over and over and over again. If you don’t believe in a higher power, just keep asking yourself to be the best person you can be. Over and over and over again.

I am redeemable!

So today I’m out there doing my best to rack up some frequent sober miles towards my trip to Redemption.

P.S. I keep telling my Co-Writer to lay off the religious stuff because He’s driving away the masses but sometimes he insists.

Paths

Okay, back on the path. And speaking of paths…I went for a walk in a new park today. It had a great path. One that was, of course, unfamiliar to me. Parts of it were wooded and curved and I couldn’t see what was beyond the next bend. There were some straightaways where I could see far enough ahead that I could see that they were taking me in the direction I wanted to go, others, I could tell, were going to take me far out of the way and I turned back. Several times I ended up in places I’d already been before. Some of it was shady, some of it was sunny. Part of the path was on uneven ground and some of it was over smooth walkways. Tomorrow I’ll be a little more familiar with the path, but I’ll probably still stumble a couple of times. I might get lost and end up in a place I’ve been before. I can only pray that it is a place I want to be or if it’s not that I can find my way back to the right path.


The new path I’ve decided to take in my journey to control my drinking is: A 30 day abs and then one more, very committed, very structured, very determined, very disciplined attempt at moderation. If I fail then I will permanently abs. I’m sure I’ve probably planned this route before, but I’m going to try it one more time. It’s kind of like a dream vacation that I’ve dreamed of taking for years and it keeps getting cancelled for one reason or another. I still believe if I’m determined enough it will happen.

So today I’m out there doing my best to map this path out.

God Don't Make No Junk

I give praise because I am wonderfully made. Psalm 139:14


This was the responsorial psalm this morning at mass. The actual full psalm is “I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.” I’m glad that they left the “fearful” out this morning, I’m tired of being fearful. I want to be brave and sure. I want to be confident that I’m doing the right thing because it makes everybody’s life better, mine included, not because I’m afraid of the consequences.

Yes, I went back to mass this morning. Why? I wanted to. There have been few times in my life that I attended mass because I wanted to. I’ve gone out of obligation. I’ve gone because my parents made me. I’ve gone because I needed to for my kids. I’ve gone because I was afraid of what might happen if I didn’t go. This morning when I thought about going I got a pang of that old nostalgic guilt. I started thinking, I really should go. This after attending one weekday mass. Wow, that Catholic guilt is powerful stuff. It may be in remission but it ain’t gone. Then I thought, I don’t have to go. If I’d rather take a walk, that is fine. Nothing bad is going to happen. I’m not a bad or weak person. God isn’t going to punish me. If I want to go to mass, then that’s okay, too. It’s my will. So I went because I want to see what I can willingly learn. I want to see how I can willingly grow.

Why am I trying to moderate or give up my drinking? The same holds true. I want to. I’ve tried before because other people thought I should. I’ve tried before because I was afraid of what might happen if I didn’t. Now I am trying because I want to. Alcohol stole my will. Now I am willing, eager even, to discover what my life can be without it. I am willing to discover how wonderfully made I am. People already tell me quite often that I’m a piece of work. LOL

So today I out there doing my best to just be my most wonderful self and damn the consequences

Melancholy Baby

I woke up to snow this morning, the day before the first day of summer, and I’m not smiling. I’m down in the dumps and just don’t want to do anything. It’s not because of the weather, I think it’s beautiful. I think it’s because I had 2.5 glasses of red wine last night. I’m not hungover in the least. I just am not happy. And that pisses me off. I can honestly say for the first two weeks of this month, I woke up with an eager smile in my heart but in the last week, when I successfully moderated 3 times, my eagerness has dulled. Is it fair to blame it on the alcohol? Is it all in my head? I really don’t know. I know that even if I abs permanently, I’m still going to have bad days but right now I think I need to take alcohol out of the equation to see if it is the cause of my present lingering melancholy.


Before I viewed the 30 days abs prescribed by moderation management as a time to take a breather from drinking. A time to clear my head and actually think about something besides drinking all the time. Now I also see it as a time to experience a different life. I see it as a valuable experience that I can look back on and compare to whatever life have chosen. Today that comparison is definitely in favor of a permanent abs. I think in the last week I’ve discovered that even if I moderate successfully, I didn’t go over the limit and I didn’t drink two days in a row, there is still a lingering hint of depression the next day. For me, that more than I want. On the mmlist the other day someone used the term “a delicious melancholy”. I’m not finding anything delicious about the way I feel. Now that I have tasted an enriched way of life, I don’t care for the bland flavor of days like today at all. So I’m back to abs’ing.

So today I out there doing my best to dig my smile out of a snowdrift and figure out a way to add a little spice to my day.

P.S. The picture is the view from my deck this morning, the day before the first day of summer.

Bless You!

I love this blog. Attitude of Gratitude  Unfortunately, the author, Scott, has stopped blogging but he wrote it daily for 5 years and there is a huge archive.  I like to hit on a random day and read what he has to say. This is what I found on the blog I chose today.

May You Be Blessed

It may be a little sappy but sometimes sappy speaks to me. I also encourage you to go to the blog site link under the movie.

So today I'm out there trying to see everything and everybody as a blessing and lesson to be learned.

One Is One Too Much And One More Is Never Enough

Ain't that the truth! I was watching Kenny Chesney on Today this morning and the title of this blog is a lyric in his new song. That boy sure does do a lot of singin' about drinkin'.
We are meeting up with some friends, Phyllis and Not Phyllis (Neil) from the Bahamas today. They are in Denver so we're going to meet in Frisco for the BBQ Cook-Off. It will be so good to see them and catch up. We had so many good times together.
Every Saturday night in Hope Town a bunch of us cruisers would head to Sea Spray Resort to party and dance the night away to the Islanders band. We always called ahead for a van to pick us up at the Post Office Dock but half the time they forgot to send one. We would take off walking across island but it wouldn't be long before we'd hitch a ride on a golf cart going our way. The gals squeezed into the back seat and the guys hanging off the back. A couple of us would have to jump off when we were going uphill. We'd get to Sea Spray, have a few drinks and kick off our shoes, if we had any on, and dance like fools. About 1:00 am we would load into the van, yes we were loaded otherwise too, to be transported back to the docks. We'd climb down into our dinghy's and drift under starlit skies back to our boats. The next morning we'd feel like shit…except for Phyllis and Not Phyllis because they didn't drink that much. Sometimes Not Phyllis didn't drink at all. Yet they danced and had more fun than the rest of us. They set my first examples of being able to go out and have a good time and not get drunk. The problem with me is I'm too much like the title of this blog. One or two is never enough. The truth is I drink to get drunk otherwise what is the purpose? That being said I'm waging an inner battle of whether to have a beer with my BBQ today. I've always had a beer with BBQ. Why? I don't even like it that much and I sure don't like the bloated feeling it gives me. So I think not…but I'll let you know.
So today I'm out there doing my best to not to have "too much" of anything and trying to remember drinking is "Better as a Memory".

Eas’n Up

Day 1 of abs. The sun warmed my back on my morning walk this morning. I took a new path, one that is a little more remote. I was outfitted in my usual way. Doggy biscuits in one pocket for my friendly dog pals I meet on my way, pepper spray in the other pocket for the not so friendly bear pals, and lipstick in case I run into George Clooney. I took my time.

You've probably noticed that I was back at the starting line of another abs stretch. I didn't blow it last night but I did have 1.5 glasses of wine. I was getting ready to prepare a new recipe and it promised to be fantastic. But I was tense and snappish and I decided a glass of wine would smooth me out. It didn't. So I decided to pour another one. I got halfway through that one and I knew that two glasses wasn't going to be enough. I was afraid that I'd hit that WTF mode, plus my disappointment in myself for having that glass of wine was making me even crankier so I threw it out and started trying to figure out why I was so stressed that I felt I needed a drink. I think I figgered it out.

When my grandson came to visit a couple of weeks ago he wanted to squeeze every possible activity into that first day. Likewise, since I have been sober I have been trying to squeeze every second out of every day. Trying to catch up. Trying to make up for all that time lost to drunkenness and hangovers. I've been trying to live a regimented schedule. Up by 5: 30 am, squeeze in a walk, way too much time wasted on the computer, 1 hour to do this blog, 3 hours for other writing, 1 hour of housework, 1 hour of garden work, 2 hours to prepare these gourmet meals I've been fixing since I'm not drinking and have an appetite. …It doesn't sound like much but I've been used to a pretty sedate lifestyle. Oh, I forgot to mention exercising—50 crunches every time I go to the bathroom which reminds me I also need to cut down on my Diet Pepsi intake but then I won't have 6 pack abs by the time I get back to MX and my swimming suits.

Something has to give. I'm thinking it will be the housework. LOL But really I need to try and relax. I can't get that lost time back. I need to take a breath and enjoy the moments I have today and not rush through them. I will have tomorrow.

So today I'm out there doing my best to stop and smell the wildflowers and ignore those dirty windows.

P.S. The copycat recipe of Pappadeaux's Fish Alexander delivered on its promise and was delicious.

I Need A Plan

Of the 1000's of obstacles that somehow find their way into your life to test you, none is greater than the fear of inadequacy in overcoming them.

2 weeks of abs'ing under my belt. Again. I joined the mmabsers http://health.groups.yahoo.com/group/mmabsers/ board yesterday. This is a board dedicated to people who are considering abs on a long term or permanent basis. I went through the usual newbie protocol and introduced myself and said that I was considering permanent ab'sing but, at this time, I am undertaking a project that is very important to me and I knew I had to abs long term for it to be successful. A member wrote back to welcome me and said he also had an important project that required abs'ing to be successful. The project was himself. That really struck a chord with me.
Now I have been involved in many projects in my professional life and I was very involved with the toy drive in my little village in Mexico last year. Most people would say I'm a take charge (some would say take over), get things done girl. I detest sitting around discussing things to death, I want action. I had never thought of myself as a project. Wow! This is a concept I can grasp. I'm going to start on an outline today. It will include areas of my life such as health, spirituality, relationships, self-concept, dreams… There will be goals and deadlines, of course. The hard part comes in between, the steps or plan I will follow to reach the goals and meet the deadlines. This will be a perpetual plan because I'll keep reassessing and adding on. And of course, I'll share it. I'm excited.
Sorry Alcohol, got no room in my life for you today.
So today I'm out there doing my best to not keep procrastinating living the life I want and kicking the shit out of those obstacles.

Hey Lady, Can I Get You To Sign For This

Day 14. I’m just really not feeling the whole drunk blog today so I thought I’d share one of my humiliating experiences with you. This one is without any alcohol added. Yes, I still manage to embarrass myself when I am stone cold sober.


It was a beautiful summer day and I was out pulling weeds in my front flowerbed. The cap’n had decided to run into town to run some errands. We have a gate at the end of our drive and he left it open since he would be back in a few minutes. As I said, it was a beautiful day, the sun was shining, and we’re pretty remote out here so I decided the sisters would like to catch a tan. I shucked my shirt and Floppy and her twin, Flappy, were unabashedly out for some fun in the sun. A little while later I heard a vehicle pull into our gravel drive. Thinking it was the cap’n returning, I didn’t even look up…until I heard a car door slam and Stanley the blind killer bichon start barking. Lo and behold, there parked in my drive was a FedEx truck. Yeah, that made for an awkward moment and a Floppy-Flappy dash to the front door. I’m sure the poor guy was scarred for life. I guess that’s just one of the not so perky perks of his job. LOL

So today I’m out there trying my best to laugh out loud at myself (not hard to do and beats the hell out of crying) and keeping an eye (and nothing else) out for strangers bearing gifts.

P.S. Maybe next week I’ll tell you about the time the Mormons wandered up the drive.

P.P.S. Sorry no pic for this one. ;)

Rainy Days and Mondays

Day 13 of abs. The sun is shining up here in the Rockies at 6 am this morning and it looks like a gorgeous day ahead. However, that was not the story yesterday when I took my gambol up the mountain. As I started out there was a lovely mist shrouding the mountainside but soon the mist turned into big fat droplets of rain. My first instinct was to turn back to my cabin and the comfort of the fire in my woodstove but then I thought, "What's a little rain?" It reminded me of a movie I watched a long time ago. "Instinct" is a movie about a man, played by Anthony Hopkins, who goes to live with the gorillas in Africa. In one scene Hopkins has finally won the trust of the gorillas and is sleeping with them in their "camp". It starts to rain and Hopkins grabs a large banana leaf to cover his face. He looks over at his gorilla friend and sees that he has his face turned up to the rain with a blissful look on his face. Old Tony then removes the leaf and does the same. (At least that's the way I remember it, it's been a long time since I've seen the movie.)
For me that banana leaf is alcohol. Anytime I feel a little discomfort I want to pull that leaf over me to shield me. Bored, unhappy, stressed, hungover…I'd better go pick a leaf. Pretty soon I was wearing that leaf all the time. The problem with that is not only does the leaf keep the rain from getting in, it also dims the sunshine just like alcohol prevented me from fully experiencing all the good things in my life. So now I'm throwing off the leaf. I know I'm exposing myself to all those unpleasant feelings but a plant not only needs sunshine to grow, it needs rain. Likewise, those undesirable feelings are necessary for my growth because only after I have endured them can I fully appreciate the wonderful things in my life.
Did any of this make sense?
Oh well, today I'm out there doing my best to let the sunshine in but singing in the rain, if need be.

Home Sweet Home

Happy Sunday Y'all! I slept late and I'm feeling lazy and I want to spend the morning on the couch reading the paper and the afternoon in my flowerbeds so I'm taking a day off from being a drunk and I'm cheating on this blog and stealing a blog from another blog I write. Wow, the word "blog" three times in a sentence. As I have posted in earlier blogs, I do believe my Co-Writer does reward me for trying to stay sober and writing this blog and just for being one helluva a gal. (My mother would say I'm full of piss and vinegar this morning. I'm just in a good mood. I'd forgotten what that was like. Those bogus good moods brought about by several Jack and Diet Pepsi's just don't measure up) I have a requisition of miracle requests that I expect to be filled. One was already delivered this week when my foster dog Daisy was permanently adopted. I wrote a couple of blogs about Daisy, Walking Miss Daisy and Saturdays Spent With Daisy. Even though I tried hard not to, I fell in love with Daisy and it was hard to leave her behind but it for many reasons it just wasn't feasible to bring her back to the states with us. That being said I was scrambling and writing feverish emails trying to arrange her shipment here as the time was nearing that she was going to have to walk that Green Mile but luckily my prayers were answered and, I hope, a loving family agreed to take her in. So there's one miracle I can check off the list. The next one is that I figure out a way to keep both my cabin here in CO and my casa in Mexico. Here's the blog:
Before we left Mexico a month ago, a friend of mine gave me an assignment. You see, she knew I was beginning to feel the pressure to move to Mexico full time. The cap'n is getting tired of working full time and would like to retire completely. I can't blame him. Thanks to him, I basically retired fourteen years ago. Unfortunately, while we could live like kings in MX on our retirement income, we can't continue to support two households (plus that freaking boat). So the time for making a choice is drawing near. I'm not ready. So my friend gave me the assignment of writing a blog of why I love my home in Colorado.
Several of the reasons are simple:
1. The ease of living in my own country. The familiar language and laws. And if you are an expat from Mexico, the cleanliness and the plethora toilet seats.
2. The music. No, not the stuff coming out of the radio, although I do miss that, too. I miss the gurgle of our stream, the chatter of the squirrels, the scolding of the blue jays and the whisper of the wind through the pines. Mexico has its own music, beautiful and exotic. It's just not my music… yet.
3. The smell. The early dawn air scented with woodsmoke after a fresh snowfall. The musty perfume of sun warmed pine needles on a summer afternoon.
But the BIGGIE, the main reason is harder to explain, but I'll try.
My Grandmother died when I was very young. Lucky for me and multitudes of cousins, we had Aunt Irene and Uncle. Aunt Irene and Uncle Paul had no children of their own but they helped raise hundreds. Their modest country home was a monument to continuity. Through all the years I visited, with the exception of new photographs of great nieces and nephews taped to the glass front of the china cabinet, it never changed. The same pictures adorned the walls, the coloring books were always in the same drawer, the toys were in the closet in the first bedroom and the cookies were in the same Dutch Girl cookie jar on top of the refrigerator. More importantly, the rituals remained the same. Mornings started in the kitchen breakfast nook with the toaster on the table amid an array of homemade jellies and jams to choose from. The day was filled with trying to catch rabbits or fish or each other as we played hide-and-seek in the cornfield. When the stars came out the grown-ups would be on the front porch watching as we chased fireflies. I'm sure I complained many times of being bored but I loved that house and the people that peopled it. There was solace in knowing there was one place in my ever changing, growing-up world that would remain the same. A place where I could expect the expected.
That's what I want for my children and grandchildren and, possibly, their children. I want my cabin in the mountains to be their haven from this frenzied world. I want them to know the comfort of coming up the drive and know that there will be a welcoming fire in the woodstove. The coloring books are in the buffet, the old favorite board games are in the closet in the first bedroom, and the fishing rods are leaning in their corner of the living room. Mornings will start with hot chocolate out on the deck. The days will be filled with trying to catch chipmunks, fish or each other as they play hide and seek among the bristlecone pines. When the stars come out the grown-ups will warm themselves by the fire in the fire pit while the young ones roast marshmallows and tell ghost stories in the night shadows of the forest.
Idealistic? Probably. But more than possible because I've already lived it . I just can't see Mexico with all of its strangeness and its distance fostering these kinds of memories. I worry that it will always seem an adventure instead of a homecoming.
But I'm greedy. I want them both. Good thing I have tonight's winning lottery tickets in hand.
Update: The lottery tickets were bogus!
So today I'm out there doing my best to wage war on the scourge of dandelions in my flowerbeds and waiting on a miracle or two.

I Want To Be 7 Years Old Again

Day 11 of abs. Don't you hate grandparents that talk about their grandchildren all the time. LOL I promise this is the last time for a while because mine went home yesterday. I'm proud of myself for not having one drink the whole time he was here. I may not have been the funny wacky grandma that he was used to, but I don't think he missed her. This Grandma was out of bed way before him every morning, ready to go hiking or fishing or whatever he wanted to do. As always he taught me some lessons while he was here. I had to admire how he tried to pack every moment of every day full of adventure and fun. Hey, I could learn to do that.

I want to:
Turn on cartoons when I wake-up and laugh first thing in the morning.

 Have my biggest decision of the day be whether I have Captain Crunch or Frosted Flakes for breakfast.

Think that Kraft Mac-and-Cheese is way better than any gourmet meal without worrying what it's doing to my arteries or waistline.

Spend hours performing magnificently goofy jumps into a swimming pool without worrying about what anyone watching might think.

Spend hours running back and forth kicking a soccer ball without getting winded or having my knees hurt.

Run away shrieking and screaming when the lion roars at the zoo.

Think that every person I meet is a prospective friend.

Make a flag out of a stick and be my own parade marching down the street.

Love rain because that's where mud comes from.

Read "Curious George" at bedtime and laugh last thing at night.

Dream dreams that make me smile while I'm sleeping.

I want to be 7 again!

So today I'm out there doing my best to channel my inner 7 year old and cherish every one of the adventures this day holds for me.

Starting All Over Again

Happy Sunday! My grandson is coming today to stay for a week. I shouldn't say he is my favorite human being on the whole planet, but he is. It is just easier to love children than it is to love their adult counterparts. He is my main incentive to getting sober. He is 7. He doesn't know Grandma is a drunk. I hope he never does. I went to visit him a couple of weeks ago. I went to his first baseball game. Of course, I was hungover because I'd had a few too many while watching him do a series of brilliantly idiotic jumps into the hotel pool the night before. And then I couldn't sleep as usual. But I was doing okay at the game because I'd had a little hair of the dog to get me through. He'd come up to bat and slyly give me a little wave before he took his stance. He loves me. Sometimes I deserve it.
In comparison, the baseball game wasn't that bad. There was his soccer game when I had to go to the bathroom and vomit. There was the time it was just him and his Grandma up here on the mountain and I was too hungover to get off the couch and I had him fix himself a bowl of ice cream for dinner. I am so ashamed to write this. Believe me, I really didn't want to write this. But I promised to be honest.
Of course, there are good times, too. But the bad ones are the ones I replay over and over and over. I don't want any more sequels. So today is a day for new beginnings. Actually every hour, every minute, every second, every breath is a chance at a new beginning. I'm taking mine right now.  .
So today I'm out there doing my best to make wonderful memories and thanking God for fresh chances.

Simple Pleasures

A wonderful meal with a new recipe (Artichoke Chicken).
A restful night's sleep.
An early morning walk up a mist shrouded mountain.
A hot cup of tea on my sunny deck while I watched the morning battle at the bird feeders.
These simple pleasures are my reward for not drinking for the last 3 days. Not monumental but still miraculous.
For once in life, here's your miracle,
Stand up and fight.

That was the song that popped into my head as I was walking up my mountain this morning. As you know, I don't believe that random thoughts that pop into my head are accidents. I think they are my Co-writer talking to me.

"Cautious Optimism" is what popped into my head when I shut up long enough to listen as I had my nightly conversation with him last night. May was a difficult month for me. Although I abstained half of the month, the rest of the month was the shits. But while I was still back in MX I found my journal from last May (When I die and my kids or grandkids find all these journals and scribbled notebook pages tucked everywhere they are going to think I was really wacko but at least they'll know I was trying.). Last Mother's Day I had written in the journal that my goal for this Mother's Day was that my relationship with my boys would be closer. My son who struggles with his own demons didn't call last year. The next day his excuse was that he was in jail. I guess he thought that would make me feel better. This year I got a card from him thanking me for always being there for him. I think my relationship with my other two is getting closer also. So I guess things have improved. So far I have abstained all of June (3 whole days) and I'm approaching June with "Cautious Optimism" and a quiet hope.

Another thing that my Co-writer explained to me last night is that while he may reward me when I am trying my hardest and not drinking, he doesn't punish me when I fall. The repercussions I suffer from my drinking are my own self-inflicted punishments.

So today I'm out there trying not to be carelessly optimistic but also not to be stiflingly cautious either.

Act Like A Normal Person Day

Today I am grateful that it is a perfectly normal day.

Yesterday was stew in my own juices day. The rush of relief and joy that I had on Day 1 had given way to the usual recriminations. I kept thinking to myself, how many times have I done this, how many times have I told myself this was the last time, how many more times will I do this? I have no right to feel hopeful. Stew, stew, stew. Fester, fester, fester. Rot, rot, rot!

In the afternoon I decided to go for a walk up the mountain to get out of my funk but my funk decided to come along. About half way up the mountain, God decided to join in too. I guess he's never heard the bit about three's a crowd.

Me: "I'm walkin' here."

God: "Can't you ever leave your drinking behind?"

Me: "Whaddaya talkin' about? I'm not drinking. Although a cold beer sure sounds good."

God: " I mean your constant dwelling on it. Can't you just look around at all this and think how beautiful it is instead?

Me: Uh-huh
God: You've got tunnel vision. Just like the only part of you that you can see right now is your drinking. It's such a small part of you. Maybe that's been your problem. Instead of concentrating on your drinking why don't you start concentrating on the rest of you. It's time to move on. I command you! Think of something else!

Me: Nice try. Okay, okay. I'll try.
And I spent the rest of the day trying. I really did. But even last night as I was watching High Times At Ridgemont High I flashed back to a high school dance and me down on all fours puking my guts out on the shoes of a policeman ( I kid you not. You think he would step back.) and thought "Jesus! I'm a grandmother and still drinking 'til I puke. How pitiful is that?" Did I really think after 30+ years I was going to be able to do this? Who was I kidding?

And then I thought, "What is my other option? Stop trying? It's Day 2 again for me, but you know what? One of these Day 2's is going to be my last Day 2. This could be it.

So I declared today "Act Like A Normal Person Day" I gave myself the day off from dwelling on my drinking past and worrying about my future drinking. It's quite liberating. Maybe everyday will become "Act Like A Normal Person Day". I hope so. God, I hope so.

"Are you listening?"

Sneakin’ Around

Congratulations to me! I've made it to Day 6. I'm not going to get too excited because, as they say, I've been here before but still it's good to be here. I have a confession to make. I'm sneaking around behind the capn's back. I haven't told him about this blog yet. Heck I used to sneak around when I was just writing in a journal. It's not that he would be mad or stop me from doing this because, as he likes to say, I'm gonna do it anyway. But he wouldn't be 100% supportive either. Not yet. He'd be concerned. He'd be a little afraid of who he's gonna end up in bed with when this journey is done (of course, he's also skeptical, with good cause, that I'll even complete the journey). It could be a stranger. It could be somebody he doesn't like. I'm a little afraid, too. But I already know I don't like who I am right now and I want to finally reacquaint myself with the real Kary May. I want other people to get to know her too. People have such a one dimensional view of drunks. You're a drunk, that's all they seem to see. They can't see around that image to see the rest of you. I'll admit,I didn't mind pointing my own finger at someone and labeling them as nothing but a drunk, not giving them any other worth until I saw all the fingers that were pointing at me. I am more than a drunk. I always have been. Now it's time for me and everybody else to discover how much more I am. I'm pretty sure the cap'n will still love me.

Hitting the Road

Alright, I lied again. I said I wouldn't be blogging this weekend but it seems my co-writer has other plans. I thought he was the one that made that rule about not working on Sundays. I guess not. He also has other ideas about how to handle this blog. I was content to sit here and blog away and have no readers and I guess no commitment. Kind of like I was doing in that stack of journals that I've been collecting for the last several years. That way if/ when I fail nobody is there to witness my downfall. But noooooo… he decided I need to "share" so I started searching for moderation forums and I found one, moderation.org, and I joined, and I posted, and I committed to 30 days of abstinence.
So, I'm starting on a journey today. I've started down this path before but something always draws me back. The fear of the unknown? The comfort of the familiar? Probably a little of both. This time I really want to make it to my destination. I have no road map, just a path I must stay on. I know there will be mountains and valleys. I know there will be potholes and times that I will want to detour and take an easier route but if I veer from the path I could become lost and it could take me a long time to find the path again.
I'm traveling light. I'm leaving all the excess baggage behind. It costs me too dearly and slows me down. Sometimes the idea of packing it up and taking it with me keeps me from taking the journey at all. All I'm taking with me is a comfortable pair of shoes and hope. That's all I need for now.  I'll pick up anything else I need on the road.
My shoes are laced, and I've got some extra hope in my backpack and I'm hitting the road. Wish me well. I'll write. Gonna do my best to get to where I'm going.

This Old House

I just got back from my morning ramble. The area our hotel is in has a lot of old stately homes and I love to walk past them and people them with happy families. The homes are about 100 years old and I imagine how proud and excited their original owners must have been when they moved into their dream homes. I imagine the table set for Thanksgiving in the formal dining and I can see the Christmas tree in the parlor and the wreath on the door. Such a loved and well taken care of home.
And then right smack dab in the middle of the block will be one that has been forgotten. Neglected. You can see that it once was lovely but now the weeds sprout through the cracks in the sidewalk and the paint peels. It's off kilter windows are so dull with dirt and grime that sunlight barely filters in. I always wonder how someone could let such a beautiful home get in this state. Where are its happy people?
I imagine it happens insidiously at first. A few dandelions go unnoticed. There isn't enough time or money for paint this year. It snowballs. Upkeep becomes daunting and the repairs overwhelming until the very foundation of the once treasured home starts to rot and crumble. The happy family thinks the house is hopeless and walks away. Soon someone comes in and declares that the house is no longer safe for habitation and it is condemned. It will be torn down and forgotten except for wispy memories of laughter around the Christmas tree, the smell of turkey wafting upstairs from the kitchen on a Thanksgiving morning.
Unless. Unless someone sees that under all those layers of neglect is still something beautiful. Something worth saving. First we'll have to rid the house of the pestilence that is eating away its foundation and the foundation itself will have to be replaced with stronger, hardier stuff that can better weather the attacks that will be inflicted on it. It will be stronger than it ever was. Next we need to tear down some walls to make its spaces more welcoming and comforting to its inhabitants. Finally, we'll paint it with bright colors and plant beautiful plants so we can show the world that we are proud of this house and it is loved, once again. It'll be hard work, sometimes it will seem insurmountable, but it'll be worth it.
I am that house.
Out doing the best I can today.
P.S. I've said that I believe in most if not all the beliefs that AA professes. My favorite belief is that if you get "better" the miracles will start happening. I totally believe this. One of these days I'll explain my relationship with God but anyway my writing this blog was kind of a bargain with him. I live in a poor village in Mexico for part of the year and I have become very involved in a Christmas Toy Drive down there. I have started an online raffle to raise money for the drive but it has been difficult getting prizes donated. Since I have started this blog the donors for prizes have been coming out of the woodwork. This morning I really didn't want to sit down and write this so I was wasting time on the computer as usual and there in my email was a major prize donation. So I got the message. Thanks, God.