Thelma and Louise

Thelma: Hey Louise, better slow down, I'll just die if we get caught over a speeding ticket. Are you sure we should be driving like this, I mean in broad daylight and everything?
Louise Sawyer: No we shouldn't, but I want to put some distance between us and the SCENE OF OUR LAST GOD DAMNED CRIME!
[Thelma laughs and screams]
Thelma: Oh man! You wouldn'ta believed it, it was like I was doing it all my life, nobody woulda believed it.
Louise Sawyer: Think you found your calling?
Thelma: May-be... may-be.
[gets up in her seat]
Thelma: The call of the wild!

Days of Sobriety: 338

I have been trying to talk myself out of writing this blog all evening and now it's time to go to bed and I could be curled up reading Fifty Shades Of Gray (to my commenter, grateful:  Of course, I'm reading that book, and we'll compare book reports later), but this damn thing just won't be put to rest.  Mainly because I'm worried about my best friend, Sherry, who just got evicted from her apartment.

I was out for a walk this evening and I passed a neat little older home, two story with a wrap around porch and a stained glass transom light over the front door, and I thought to myself, "If I won the lottery, I would buy that house for Sherry."  And then, of course, I started making stipulations.  The list kept growing.  She couldn't move her dogs in, especially the one that poops on the floor every time it barks which is every 37 seconds.  She couldn't move her kids in, especially the one that steals her money so she has to put it in her robe pocket and sleep in her robe every night.  She couldn't resale the house for cash.  She couldn't drink.

Well, there goes that deal out the window, we all know that last one's a deal breaker.

I think I've told you about my best friend.  We're so alike in so many ways.  We were both born in this same little dusty cow town.  We grew up in middle class neighborhoods with parents that stayed married and older brothers and sisters.  In high school we both existed on the fringe of the popular crowd, we weren't friends then but we knew of each other.  Later on we both worked at the hospital but in different departments, then Sherry transferred to the OR and we found out we had one more thing in common, we both loved to drink, and our friendship was forged.

We lived in the same neighborhood, we both had three boys and unhappy marriages.  By day we were dedicated scrub nurses, by night we were two boozy bosom buddies trying to escape our humdrum lives.  Thick as thieves we were, lying and cheating and covering each others tracks no matter where they led.

But there were always differences.  I won't go into them but I think if Sherry and I were Thelma and Louise, I would be Louise and Sherry would be Thelma.  It was as if, like Thelma and Louise, we were both on the same road trip but there were different views out our windows.  My side had pastoral meadows, gently rolling hills, babbling brooks and all kinds of bucolic shit while hers was all craggy cliffs, sharp drop offs and beware of falling rocks signs.

I don't know about you, but when that movie ended, I always liked to imagine that Louise jumped out of that car before it went flying over that cliff.  At the last minute, she saw there was no way in hell they were going to make it, she looked over at Thelma and said, "Sorry babe, you're on your own.'' and then threw herself from the car, did a couple of somersaults and then stood up, dusted herself off and walked back to the Harvey Keitel character and rode off into the sunset in an RV.

As for Thelma, I always thought even if she jumped from the car and saved herself that time, she was going to end up back at the edge of that cliff over and over again, and someday she was going to wait too long to save herself.

And I know, that no matter how good the view was on my side of the road, that if I hadn't quit drinking 338 days ago someday I would have ended up at the bottom of that cliff with Thelma.

I'm glad I jumped out of that damn car.

As for my friend, Sherry?  I need your help.  I don't know how to keep her from plunging off that cliff.

Home Bound

Peace - that was the other name for home. ~Kathleen Norris

Day 8
Out of bed by 5:00 am, that's usually my target time to greet the day so I can get an hour or so of alone quiet time but I didn't sleep well last night so I'm a little groggy. I'm at that mind racing stage of withdrawal where my Co-Writer keeps me up late with new ideas for blogs and answers to the universe. I kind of miss this period when it fades away. Anything you want to know? I can ask him tonight and we'll probably come up with an answer. My sleep and beauty routines were disrupted in my latest little experiment and that pisses me off. At this stage in my life I can't afford to skimp on those since I totally ignored them for 30 years. Damn! I was 2 weeks into a lash serum regimen that I'm going to have to start over. I think it was working. The lashes that kept right on falling out looked a little thicker and longer.

But anyway. The stars are still twinkling in the sky, a fire is crackling in the woodstove and I've got a hot cup of tea at my elbow. Once again, my world is upright on its axis. I told you I learned a lot of lessons in those two weeks SOB and one of them is that this little cabin on the mountain is my home. It is wear my soul sings and laughs and can be at rest. I know a physical place isn't supposed to make a difference if you're at peace in your soul but I think there are places where it is easier for us to find that peace. This is my place and there were tears of gratitude when I unlatched the gate last week. I'll still wander, in fact I'm leaving in a couple of days to accompany the cap'n to a new workplace, (It's a workplace so it will be a safe place.)but I will always find my way back here. And when I head to Mexico this winter, which I have decided will never be a permanent home for me, I will have the means in place to get back here. There will be no more talk for me of moving to Mexico permanently or of selling this place. I will do what I have to keep it. It is my soul's home after all. Too many years I let life happen to me, alcohol made me powerless to stand up and claim my stake. But this year of fighting for my sobriety strengthened some other fighting bones, too.

My soul has found another home, though. It has found a home in sobriety. Sobriety for me forever hereafter will be defined as total abstinence because Kary May + alcohol never, ever = sober. I know some of you are still looking for that homeplace and I pray you find it whether it be in moderation or permanent abstinence. But for me, sobriety is where my soul sings and laughs and can be at rest.

So today I'm just out there doing my best to strengthen my home ties and exercising my fighting bones.

Laughing All The Way

Laughter is the sun that drives winter from the human face. ~Victor Hugo

Dad always thought laughter was the best medicine, which I guess is why several of us died of tuberculosis. ~Jack Handey, "Deep Thoughts," Saturday Night Live

Day 54

The cap’n and I are staying at a not-quite-seedy little hotel in a not-quite-seedy little town while the cap’n again works to support me in the manner to which I’ve become accustomed. It’s 8:00 am on a lazy Sunday (every day’s kind of a lazy day for me). Let’s make a register of what I’ve already accomplished today.

1. I woke up, (that’s always a good start to the day).

2. I knitted a few rows, trying to keep the clicking of the needles to a minimum (the cap’n is a very light sleeper).

3. I combed my hair and put on a tank top and shorts. Sans bra because it’s a lazy Sunday. I have to admit that it is the height of laziness when you can’t be bothered to put on a bra but the sisters deserve a day just to loll around, too. I may be almost 50 but I’m not stepping on them or tripping over them yet.

4. I slicked on some lipstick (I may go out without my bra but never, ever, ever without lipstick).

5. I walked a block down to the convenience store to get the Sunday paper. On my way, I passed a McDonalds where several men were sitting outside at the one of the concrete tables. I drew several appreciative looks. I’m sure I would have received a couple of whistles if any of they’d been able to claim two teeth between them to whistle through. We all know what kind of men are sitting at a McDonalds at 7:00 am on Sunday morning. Old ones.

6. I continued to the store, laughing all the way.



Doesn’t seem like I’ve accomplished much this morning does it? Let’s review a typical Sunday about 8 weeks ago.

1. I would probably already be back in bed. I would have spent the night trying to sleep. I probably finally got up at 2:00 am. By about 6:00 am, I would have probably drank enough wine to pass out for a couple of hours.

2. I wouldn’t be interested in knitting (or anything else for that matter) but if I tried either my hands would be shaking too bad or if I ‘d drank enough to still the shaking I’d probably have to rip out what I had knitted once I sobered up.

3. Probably wouldn’t have combed my hair, probably wouldn’t shower, probably wouldn’t put on clean clothes. Probably still wouldn’t wear a bra.

4. I still would have smeared on some lipstick. Combined with my uncombed hair and the mascara that I’d been too drunk to wash off the night before ringing my eyes, I could probably get a job as the understudy for Heath Ledger as the Joker.

5. Probably wouldn’t make it down to the store to get the paper… unless I’d been fortified with more wine. If I did, I would definitely draw some stares.

6. There would be nothing at all to laugh about.



If I had to choose between the two, I’d pick today. No probably about it.

So today I’m out there just doing my best to keep on lolling and lazing. And laughing.all the way.

Trepidatious

To be hopeful in bad times is not just foolishly romantic. It is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty, but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness.

What we choose to emphasize in this complex history will determine our lives. If we see only the worst, it destroys our capacity to do something. If we remember those times and places -- and there are so many -- where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction.


And if we do act, in however small a way, we don't have to wait for some grand utopian future. The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory.



- Howard Zinn



Day 51   I completely skipped over Day 50. Who da thunk it?

Last year about this time, I was in the middle of my first attempt at a 30 day abs and I was feeling trepidatious (I'm pretty sure that's not a word but it working for me this morning). I had entered the 30 day abs with trepidation because I knew I had a trip to MX planned smack dab in the middle of it, but there was another newcomer to the MM forum that asked me to buddy up with him so I did. I did great until the night before the trip when I thought I could have a couple in the hotel. Uh-uh! It was a fast downward slide and the trip will forever be remembered as the "Trip to Hell" To Hell and Back.
So here I find myself with 50 days of abs under my belt and another trip to MX on the horizon in about a week. I was feeling really great about it. Strong enough. Then I was fb'ing with one of my gal pals down there last night. She was plastered. She warned me she was but I would have been able to tell anyway especially after I told her we would be down there Thursday and she said, "Great! What day is that?" She and her husband had just had another couple that are mutual friends over for dinner. The last time I had dinner at their house, her husband had to drive me home. That's okay because about a month later she and her husband were expected over at our house for dinner. The cap'n and I spent two days cleaning and cooking. The time of their expected arrival arrived and no sign of them but that's okay TIM (This Is Mexico). We waited another hour and there was still no sign of them so we called them. Her husband answered the phone and the cap'n asked, very casually what they were up to.

"Just cooking dinner for some friends of ours," her husband replied.

"That's funny," the cap'n replied. "That's exactly what we're doing…cooking dinner for you guys."

"JUDY!" I could hear him yell as the cap'n held the phone away from his ear.

Judy (not her real name) had forgot. You see we had come up with the plan while fb'ing one late night when both of us were sloshed. By some miracle I had remembered. I signed off last night with the promise we would meet them at Las Dunas, a local watering hole, on Friday, Sept. 9, 2011 and told her to write it down. She is still apologizing to me.

Do you understand why I'm trepidatious? I don't think I'll drink. No, I know I won't drink. I've got too much to do. A fundraising rummage sale that I'm in charge of, fundraising Bingo that I'm helping out with, a brunch for a few of my close friends that has expanded to their close friends. I thought I was too busy last year to waste time getting drunk too. I wasn't.

I am indeed trepidatious. Not just about the drinking, but about the not drinking. I'm actually not telling any of my friends that I'm not drinking because I don't want to be excluded from any fun drinking bashes they might have. I don't want to be blackballed. What kind of f'ed up thinking is that? What kind of friends do I have? I hate to say it but I'm guilty of doing the same thing to friends that stopped drinking. My friends will figure it out, they've seen me abstain before but they know that I've always eventually cratered and they'll be counting on that.

I have a secret weapon, though. I just read a really sad story about a girl that wanted something so bad but she just kept failing. She was so humiliated but she refused to give up. I'm going to carry it around in my pocket and pull it out anytime I get the urge to drink. I posted the link to it in the first paragraph. I think it needs a new ending.

So today I out there doing my best to find refreshing recipes for success and non-alcoholic beverages to serve at my brunch and reinforcing those lifelines for my friends in the Abacos. They could use some extra lines if you've got any you can spare.

P.S.  That is the "Hope Town", Elbow Cay, Abacos, Bahamas lighthouse above.  I just received a report from a friend at 1400 and it's blowing 100 knots.

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.

Taking Time

Day 46

Love the moment. Flowers grow out of dark moments. Therefore, each moment is vital. It affects the whole. Life is a succession of such moments and to live each, is to succeed.

Corita Kent

Yay! It’s another Saturday, another “act like I’m not a drunk” day. Funny thing is, “act like I’m not a drunk” days are starting to feel kind of normal to me. I no longer feel like I’m a gate crasher at an exclusive party.

I tend to want to hurry through things. As a matter of fact I found myself hurrying through the process of finding quotes about slowing down and savoring the moment for today’s blog. LOL

But let’s get moving. The other morning I was out for my walk and I was trying to negotiate with my Co-writer for a couple of weeks off from this blog. I pointed out that I have been writing this blog for a year and I think I deserve a couple of weeks’ vacation. Okay, I know there have been several weeks throughout the year (May was cringe worthy) that I have not written a blog but those were during binges and I’m not counting those, I consider those times research for this blog. I also kind of hinted that he was hogging all of my mornings by having me do this blog. As I mentioned in an earlier blog, I’m trying to write a book but by the time I get this blog written my creative juices have turned to syrup and flow about as fast as molasses. (I can hear some of you saying that they don’t seem to be flowing all that fast when I type this blog either) I reminded him that this was supposed to be a trade-off. I would write this blog for him and he would provide me some inspiration and arrange a movie deal for my book. Alright, he nixed the movie deal but I keep throwing it back on the bargaining table.

I didn’t think he was listening so I hurried on down the path, intent on getting my walk done so I could get back to the cabin and type out this blog, complete my other duties like laundry and dinner and dishes, and maybe manage to eke out a few words of my book. Suddenly I heard, “Don’t Rush.” I thought he was talking about my book which I am determined to have to a publisher by my 50th birthday in March so later that night when I took out what I had typed so far I took my time and reread all of it. I could see myself rushing through it, racing from one big event to the next in a hurry to get to the end, afraid I was going to run out of time. I was skipping past all of the little messy, wonderful details that make a story and its characters real. The things that seem insignificant but give depth and texture to a life. I stopped and wondered how often I skimmed or hurried through the little messy, wonderful details of my own life. How many hugs were ended before they reached their full potential? How many smiles were not allowed to fully bloom.

But today I found myself hurrying through the gate for my walk again, eager to get it over with so I could get on with the duties of the day again when the gentle reminder came again. “Don’t Rush.” So I slowed down and breathed in the moment and thanked Him for the day and its beauty and asked him to allow me to recognize what his plan was for me today and to give me the time to accomplish it and pay special attention to the details. He assured me he would.

So today I’m out there doing my best to stop and smell the pines (God, they smelled good this morning after the rain last night) and let all my hugs reach their expiration date and all my smiles bloom into their full glory.

P.S. I went to a friends blog the other day and tried to comment but blogger wouldn't let me no matter what I tried.  I haven't gotten a lot of comments on this blog :(  but I've received a few. None lately though. Is there a problem submitting comments?  If so email me at karymayhickey@gmail.com and I'll look into it.  Thanks.

Ripples

Prayer of Saint Francis of Assisi

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there is hatred, let me sow love;

where there is injury,pardon;

where there is doubt, faith;

where there is despair, hope

where there is darkness, light;

and where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek

to be consoled as to console;

to be understood as to understand;

to be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive;

it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;

and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen

Day 43
I had a new friend accompany me for a short time on my walk this morning. I'd guess he was about 9 years old with too short jeans, a baseball cap slammed down on his uncombed shock of hair and a couple of ungainly teeth that hadn't found their rightful places in his mouth yet. I fished a dog biscuit out of my pocket for his buddy Sherman, a rambunctious black lab bounding with joy to be out on an early morning adventure. We talked about our dogs (the boy and I, not Sherman) and he was sad to learn that Stanley, the killer bichon, was blind and old. He explained he was on his way to a friend's house who, he excitedly told me, he would be spending the day with and the next day his friend would be spending the day at his house. We parted waving as I headed down the "broken down bridge" road back to my house and he continued on to his friend's. I doubt that our chance early mountain morning encounter will have any lasting effect on him but it sure started my day off with a smile. And perhaps some day when the boy is older he will carry dog biscuits in his pocket and he'll take the time to stop and share his morning with another young boy and he'll be better for it.

On another recent morning, Jeremy Henwood took a break from his job and stopped in at a McDonalds to grab something to eat. While he stood in line, a 13 year old boy came up behind him and asked him for a dime because he wanted to buy some cookies and didn't have enough money. Jeremy bought the young man three cookies and asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up. The boy responded that he wanted to be an NBA player and Jeremy advised him that he would have to work hard for that. As he left the building I'm sure Jeremy didn't wonder if his short conversation or his small act of kindness would have any lasting effect on the boy, he might have given himself a little pat on the back and felt a little better about himself or it might have been such a common occurrence for him that he never gave it another thought. He could not dream that his random act of kindess would end up effecting hundreds of people, maybe thousands, maybe millions. 3 minutes after leaving that McDonalds, war veteran and rookie policeman, Jeremy Henwood, was shot and killed as he sat in his patrol car . And today, because of a restaurant surveillance tape that captured his actions just minutes before his senseless death, the ripple effect of his last, seemingly insignificant, act of kindness is spreading in ever widening compassionate circles.

The above Prayer of Saint Francis was always one of my favorite hymns in parochial school. I'm sure I didn't pay adequate attention to the words back then but recently one of my mmabser friends, colparker who is a proven demonstrative disciple of that much esteemed plea from St. Francis, has been featuring it in the signature line of his posts and it has served as a familiar gentle instruction for me.
When I started this blog, I don't think I was thinking of the ripples I would make with it. Instead I think I was "lead" to do it in a desperate attempt to help myself. Like Jeremy Henwood, I am employed in a helping profession, nursing. It is a profession that has more than its share of addicts and alcoholics. We nurses are much more comfortable helping others than asking for and accepting help for ourselves. So I presented this blog to my stubborn "I can do this myself without any help from anybody else" mind as a way to help others but somewhere along the line while I was extending my hand out to others, I started hanging on to theirs for help and support. Just like in the prayer above while looking to console, I was consoled, when trying to provide understanding, it was given back to me, in loving others, I was loved. I sent out a call only to have it return to me in caring echoes and the ripples I was making were bouncing off distant shores and coming back to me in gentle swells, raising me up slowly and steadily. When I drank I liked to make a big splash that resulted in an immediate, fantastic effect. It could be awe inspiring but also devastating. I couldn't see the turmoil and menacing undercurrents it was causing under the surface and the magnificent waves that resulted were unpredictable and could destroy or erode anything or anyone that was trapped in its path. I couldn't see how far those waves would go or how wide their storm path was.

I can't see how far my caring little ripples will travel either but I'm content to know they carry no threat with them and that whatever or whoever they wash up against will not be harmed and they will be sent back to me a hundredfold.

So today I'm out there doing my best to honor Jeremy's memory by keeping the ripples flowing and St. Francis's prayer echoing.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Quiet Grace

Perhaps the most important thing we bring to another person is the silence in us, not the sort of silence that is filled with unspoken criticism or hard withdrawal. The sort of silence that is a place of refuge, of rest, of acceptance of someone as they are. We are all hungry for this other silence. It is hard to find. In its presence we can remember something beyond the moment, a strength on which to build a life. Silence is a place of great power and healing.

- Rachel Naomi Remen

Day 41

I have a friend named Barbara who is the most popular person I know. She is invited to every party, brunch, or girl’s day out. When she is out at a social gathering, she is the person people gather around. If I’m out with another friend we’ll turn to each other and say, “Let’s call Barbara.” She brings with her a quiet grace that comforts us, she discerns the strengths in us that even we don’t know we have, she recognizes our secret talents and emboldens us. She is a cancer survivor many times over and her serene courage is solace for our own fears. She is our wishing well, our reflecting pool, our place of sanctuary. She listens.  Don't get me wrong, she's not timid or retiring, she's a Texas southern belle and she defines fiesty.  She just does not need to draw attention to herself, it is effortlessly drawn to her like a weary traveler to the welcoming glow of a lamp in a familiar window.

There were several responses to my “Giddy-Up” blog on the mmabser’s list. The responses reflected a fear that I was very familiar with, the fear of losing the perception I had of myself if I quit drinking. The self that was the life of the party, the confident, outgoing self. The chatty, funny self. The self that was the” lampshade on head” center of dubious attention. The self I had created with the help of alcohol to disguise or camouflage my real self. I remembered my real self as unsure, awkward, and withdrawn. The shrinking violet. The wallflower. Now I have to wonder if during my formative years when I started drinking, I managed to drown a self that could have matured into a woman of quiet grace like Barbara. A woman who has the respect and genuine affection of others instead of the momentary fleeting attention forced by an “in your face,” desperate brashness. Can that quiet, caring, sincere self be resuscitated? I hope so. I’m sure as heck going to try because she’s worth saving.

So today I’m out there doing my best to put on my listening ears and become a place of quiet grace for myself and others.

Giddy-Up

Mother Nature is wonderful. Children get too old for piggy-back rides just about the same time they get too heavy for them. ~Author Unknown

It kills you to see them grow up. But I guess it would kill you quicker if they didn't. ~Barbara Kingsolver, Animal Dreams

Now the thing about having a baby - and I can't be the first person to have noticed this - is that thereafter you have it. ~Jean Kerr

Day 36
A year ago yesterday I started writing this blog. All day yesterday I kept thinking, "I've got to sit down and write a blog." But there was so much other work to do. The cap'n just got home on Monday and his son and family are arriving today for a visit. There were sheets to wash and tubs to scrub, groceries to buy and cookies to bake and by the time I sat down to write this blog I was exhausted and the words just wouldn't come. But all day long a phrase kept whispering in my ear, it is a phrase that popped in my head the first time I didn't feel like blogging and it nags me every time I don't feel like writing, which is just about daily. The phrase is "First, do the work of the Lord." Or in my case, "First, do the work of your Co-Writer."
So this morning I'm here at the keyboard first thing and ignoring all those other duties that are calling my name. What a different girl is sitting at this computer this morning than was sitting here a year ago. A year ago I was despairing over a disastrous visit from my brother and his family in which I spent the first two days drunk and the next week withdrawing. That visit was a blessing in tormented disguise, it was what spurred me down the trail to my arrival at this morning where I am anticipating yet another family visit. Happily, hopefully, and unburdened.

I think I've mentioned that "Kary May" is not my real name, "Kary May" is not the real me. Kary May is more like a child that I have been carrying around on my back for years, decades actually. She is not my mother's child (my mother would have whipped her into shape a long time ago), she is a child that was born of my love affair with alcohol. She's the child I never talk about. I try to keep her from family gatherings because I can never predict how she's going to act. She can be the life of the party and make me glow with pride one moment and the next moment she can have me cringing with shame, wishing I could disappear. "She's not mine," I want to shout. "She's not me." She saps my strength and my will and she steals devotion from my other children and people and things I love. I start to resent her and then she'll do something endearing and my heart reignites with love for her. She has such a good heart. She'll call a friend at the spur of the moment, or send them an email just to say she was thinking of them. She'll make some over-the-top gesture for a friend, or even stranger, in need. She tries so hard but then she becomes an embarrassment with her over-zealous, and desperate theatrics to draw attention to herself and she humiliates me. She makes promises she won't keep and she shames me. I wish sometimes that I could just abandon her but she's mine to bear, she's my creation, an inescapable part of me.

A year ago I told Kary that she was getting too heavy for me to carry. I was bowed from her weight and I couldn't stand up straight anymore. She was slowing down my progress until I was at a standstill. I told her to get off. She clung with arms around my neck and legs wrapped about my waist, choking the life from me until I managed to loose her hold on me and leave her lying in the dust with her arms outstretched for me. I knew she was trailing behind me, but I was in the lead. There were times that I came upon an obstacle or a fork in the path and had to stop to figure out how to proceed and she managed to climb back up on my back. I would carry her until I stumbled and fell and couldn't get back up with her weight pinning me down. So I would buck her off and get back up and continue on. She's falling further and further behind now but I can still hear her calling for me to slow down, wait up, but her pleas are getting fainter. I know that there will be times that I'll miss her and there is a part of her I'll always carry with me but there are places I want to go and I can't take her with me.

So today I'm out there doing my best to widen my distance, avoiding the ruts in the road and keeping alert for any signs of an ambush. Gotta go, I hear the call of the toilet brush beckoning me.

Thirty Days And Counting

Day 31

"Life is meant to be a celebration! It shouldn't be necessary to set aside special times to remind us of this fact. Wise is the person who finds a reason to make every day a special one."

Overcoming Addiction Quote by Leo F. Buscaglia (March 1924 - June 1998)

Can you believe it? I took the hill and conquered the 30 day abs but I know this is just one skirmish in my battle and I have yet to begin to fight. I didn’t really have a strategy this time but I think several things fell into place. One was the cap’n was working so the daily cocktail hour schedule was disrupted (that never stopped me before), my grandson and son came for a visit (as much as I wanted it to, that never stopped me either) and I decided on day 11 of this attempt at a 30 day abs that instead of another doomed attempt at moderation I was turning all my forces towards permanent abs’ing (done been there, too) So I don’t know what the magic spell was, maybe it was those early mornings spent with my Co-writer in his house mapping out our battle plan and letting him take command that worked (hadn’t tried that in a long time). Victory is sweet but I know it can be fleeting so I’ll be on guard. Thanks for sticking with me in the foxholes.


The cap’n will be home in 3 days and I’m a little frantic to get everything done I want to get done before he gets here but I’m going to take a moment to savor my triumph and celebrate with a pat on the back and I invite you to join me whether you’re on Day 1 or Day 1000, whether you’re shaky and feel like crap but you’re still not going to take that drink that will give you instant relief, whether you’re weaning off and today you’re going to drink one less or one-half less than you did yesterday, or whether reading this blog is your first step. Celebrate the fact that you’ve discovered the truth that you have a problem and that you have the desire to do something about it. That in itself is a huge victory. Take a moment but then jump into the fray because if you’re not advancing you’re retreating.

So today I’m out there honing my battle wits and hoping my varnish dries before it rains or I get off this computer and varnish before it rains.

If I Had A Hammer

Hope is the foundation to change, commitment is the framework, so get out your tools and start building and don't forget to wear your hardhat and steeltoe boots because your framework might collapse on you a few times and have to be rebuilt or reinforced but just keep trying until you get it right and it's strong enough to support your goals and most importantly, your dreams


Kary May

Day 29 Looks like I’m finally going to make that elusive 30

I am stiff and sore this morning. And exhausted. But I’m smiling. The last two days with my grandson and his idol, Uncle Josh, have been non-stop for me. Plus I have been busy trying to whip the house and yard back in shape for the next round of family, the cap’n’s son, his wife and 3 yr. old grandson, that will be here next week. So between cooking and cleaning and weeding and planting and mowing I’m reinforcing my framework, mentioned above, and tentatively starting to nail some goals and up to the skeleton of my new “real” life. They seem to be holding. The secret is to go slow and make sure my foundation is set and won’t sink and that my framework can hold all my goals and won’t crack under the strain. I need to remind myself I can always add on later on down the road. Of course, while I’m doing all this some rain and maybe some snow, depending on how long it’s going to take, is going to get in until my structure is strong enough to hold the roof of my dreams.

Yep, it’s going to take a while, and I’ll make some mistakes that I’ll have to redo, some problems that I’ll have to fix, some new skills I’ll have to learn, but in the end what a strong, safe, and wonderful shelter I’ll have.

So today I’m out there doing my best to hammer those nails straight and true and adding a few extra just in case.

P.S. I’d like to take all the credit for that gem of a quote above but I have to give credit to my Co-Writer. I just tap the keys on the keyboard.

Another Day, Another Letter To Myself

"I am not bound to win, but I am bound to be true.

I am not bound to succeed, but I am bound to live up to what light I have."

                                                                 Abraham Lincoln


Day 27 of abs


Good Morning Monday! It’s 7:00 am, my son and grandson are still sleeping, the house is quiet except for the birdsong I can hear through the windows and I’ve got cinnamon rolls rising in the kitchen. Life is just as it should be. I found this letter laying on my desk this morning, I haven’t seen it in months and I don’t know how it got there but I’m taking it as a sign that it should be my blog this morning. (Plus I can’t think of anything else to write about) I wish I could take credit for it but somebody else posted it on the list when I first joined and I grabbed on to it wholeheartedly with both hands. I apologize if I posted it before but you know how us drunks are, can’t remember a damn thing and I’m too lazy to look back through the blog. So don’t stop me if I’ve told you this one before…

Sweetheart,


Don’t worry, you’ll be okay


Slowing down is good


Wisdom simmers and steeps and grows with time


Stop pushing yourself




You are enough just as you are


There is no need to perform


Just relax


Let life unfold





You have what it takes to handle anything


Anything


Good things come from patience, not pushing


Let space and time reveal something miraculous
 

Trust life


Accept where you are


Right now


Stop the judgment and internal lectures





Just be here


Don’t run or think or eat or scheme (or in my case-drink ;)


Return to yourself in this moment.


Where life is perfect and peaceful and safe





Amen!



So today I’m out there doing my best ignore the “to do” list I just wrote out and slow down and savor this perfect, peaceful and safe day.

The Things We Do For Love

Day 26 of abstaining


It was 6:30 Friday morning and I was at my usual park for my morning gambol. My head was bent and my eyes are darting back and forth and I’m stopping to study every mud puddle I come across. I am steadfast in my pursuit. Finger to my lips, “Be vewy, vewy quiet. Because I’m out hunting. I’m not hunting wabbit, though, I’m hunting those bug-eyed, slimy, wart-pissin’ creatures we call frogs.” Why? Because my grandson wants one, that’s why. Nuff said.

Every summer during my “tween” years my dad would organize a frog hunt. It was a boys only expedition that consisted of a half dozen of my dad’s friends, theirs sons, and a couple of our home town minor league baseball players that stayed with us during the summer. They would head out on a Friday evening in a caravan of a couple of cars and Tommy Hines pickup camper loaded down with kids, and frog gigs and coolers full of pop and beer and a few of my dad’s bottles of homebrew thrown in. They’d return in the wee hours of the morning with the adults sporting hangovers, Tommy’s pickup camper sporting inexplicable dents in the side, and at least one kid sporting a gigged foot. As I look back, I wonder why I was always jealous of my brothers who got to go. A few days later we would have a big frog leg fry in our backyard, the mothers would load our picnic table down with potato salad, deviled eggs and chocolate cake, the dads would drink beer and we kids would run wild, relishing the rare furlough from our parents’ watchful eyes. I loved those nights. They are one of the treasured memories of my childhood. Unfortunately, while for my parents and their friends those nights were a once a summer special celebration, as an adult I tried to replay those good times on a nightly basis until they were anything but special.

But back to my own amphibian quest. You see, I love my grandson beyond measure and would do just about anything in my power to make him happy even if that included carrying a squirming, sticky-slick creature across the park to where he was conducting his own search. That’s always been the case, or so I tell myself, but then I remember last summer. There was a recent post on the mmlist from a father who had left his 2 yr. old daughter alone asleep at his home while he ran down the street to the convenience store to get some beer….again. His first post to the list was several months ago and it detailed the exact same scenario, his wife found out that he had left his daughter alone and he was in deep shit and was feeling like shit. Well, it was déjà vu all over again. Here is my response to him.

I thought someone resurrected your old post when I read this for the first time. Oh JC, I have to admit I was disgusted when I read you left your daughter again, I thought, "Doesnt' he know what could happen in five minutes?" I know you do know what could happen but that damn lizard convinced you that it was more important than your daughter, that old lizard whispered, "Nothing bad will happen." I tend to get very judgmental when I have a few sober days under my belt which explains my knee jerk reaction to your post, then I remembered about a year ago when I had my 6 yr. old grandson to myself up at my cabin. I thought he would be a great incentive to keep me sober. Yeah, right. It started out okay. I had a few cocktails the first night and we roasted hot dogs and marshmallows and told ghost stories. The next day we fished out of the stream, Grandma was a little hungover so she nursed wine all day. By the third day Grandma was wasted and by the fourth day I was sick and suffering those lovely palpitations wondering if my six year old grandson would know how to call 911 and tell emergency crews how to get to us. Nothing "bad" happened that week either but it damn sure could have and if it had I would have I'd never be able to live with myself. My grandson is staying with me again right now and I will not be drinking, last years visit taught me that my grandson means too much to me to throw him into the pot when I'm gambling with the lizard.

I didn’t receive a response from JC but I did receive several pm’s from people thanking me for posting my response. One was even from another grandmother who had made the decision to join Moderation Management after an incident when she passed out while babysitting her granddaughter. She had put the child down for a nap and woke up to the baby red-eyed and crying, the grandmother had no idea how long the child had been awake. I posted another post to JC.

JC,


I don't know if you are still reading the posts on this lists but I wanted you to know that I have received several private messages in response to my post. You are not the only one that has screwed up and put people you love at risk. You have been given the opportunity to change your actions now before there is any damaging memories for your daughter, your wife or you to live with. My grandfather was a mean drunk Kraut and I remember my mother telling me of a time he chased her and my grandmother with a knife. They had to hide from him in a shed. That is the memory that stuck with me as a young girl and I lived in fear of that man. A few years ago one of my mother's cousins told me another story of how my grandfather had stayed up all night rocking a very ill child of one of his relatives, I'm sure that was my "real" grandfather but I never got to know him because the "real" him was overshadowed by the monster that overpowered him when he drank. I want the people I love to be able to remember the "real" me.

So today I’m out there doing my best to keep it “real” and thanking God that my oldest son, the much idolized “Uncle Josh” has arrived to r

Whatever Works

Day 21 of abs.

I'm really busy today, busy itching.  I have been spending most of the last month in a hotel room and other than a couple of weekends at home we have been in the same hotel and the same room.  I noticed the first week that I stayed here that I developed some really itchy bites but I was in the throes of a vicious HO and withdrawl and had other maladies that required more of my attention.  I just thought they had some high testosterone mosquitos up here.  The next couple of weeks I might have noticed a few bites but they were small nuisances.  This week I have bites all over my torso and they don't go away in a couple of days like mosquito bits they just get worse.  They get hard and even more itchy.  I peeled back the sheets on the bed this morning, I had done this before and found nada, but this morning paydirt. You guessed it. Bedbugs! Two of the little suckers.  They don't look like the pictures I googled but they're bugs and they're in my bed and I'm itching like crazy.  On a better note I did find a great antedote for the itchy bites.  Yesterday I was scratching myself to death and didn't have a car and was wondering what I had in my toiletrie bag that would relieve the itching and painful swelling.  Hmmm. Ah-ha! Hemorrhoid cream! (Hey even though I'm not drinking life can still be a pain in the ass sometimes and I travel prepared.)  It worked like a dream.  Okay I know you're thinking "Ewww!" But hey, whatever works. 

So today I'm out there doing my best not to scratch where it itches no matter how much I want to.

Oh, the trials of life in soberland.