What is consensus?

An article in December's Grapevine spoke of a group that wrestled over the issue of whether to hang a sign with the letters "AA" on it so that people could find them. One member of the group threatened to leave the group if the group did so. With a slight majority, the group voted to do so.

I found it interesting that on an issue as contentious as hanging the AA sign outside the meeting room apparently was to this group, that it was comfortable doing so without a great deal of discussion, possibly discussed through several consciences, not just one. People often suffer from contempt prior to investigation, but a thorough discussion of the issue at hand may allow them to develop new ideas or better state their case. We can’t push change down people’s throats.

Without the group, AA ceases to function. When discussing issues that are controversial in our home groups and at other service levels, our experience shows that we should strive for unanimity, meaning the group’s decision is one every member can live with. In this case, with one member threatening to leave and others turning the sign over at every meeting, it’s clear that this issue is far from resolved for group members.

While of course we rarely achieve unanimity on controversial issues, we continue to strive for it and only settle for consensus. Consensus, according to common usage, means we seriously consider all members’ opinions, even the dissenting voice. Consensus is not simply a slight majority imposing their will on the group on important issues.

When there is controversy in a group, it may be best to keep working at unanimity rather than settling for consensus. Just because a group has reached a very shaky majority doesn’t make it a good decision.

For an excellent analysis of consensus, try this link http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Consensus

I find this part particulary relevant to our society because of the importance of our groups, for without the groups, our program would cease to exist.

"Achieving consensus requires serious treatment of every group member's considered opinion. Once a decision is made it is important to trust in members' discretion in follow-up action. In the ideal case, those who wish to take up some action want to hear those who oppose it, because they count on the fact that the ensuing debate will improve the consensus. In theory, action without resolution of considered opposition will be rare and done with attention to minimize damage to relationships.

Consensus usually involves collaboration, rather than compromise. Instead of one opinion being adopted by a plurality, stakeholders are brought together . . . until a convergent decision is developed. If this is done in a purely mechanical way it can result in simple trading — we'll sacrifice this if you'll sacrifice that. Genuine consensus typically requires more focus on developing the relationships among stakeholders, so that they work together to achieve agreements based on willing consent [emphasis mine]."

Perhaps if this group had worked longer at building consensus, they could have found another way to help out-of-towners (the original purpose, according to the article) find their meeting. We hang a coffee pot outside our hall, and visitors often remark with a smile that they know they've found the meeting when they see the percolator.

I've seen groups torn apart by issues such as smoking and it always hurts my heart. I think we too often see a simple majority as "consensus" when it is not; it's a majority. It's very important that on issues which threaten to drive members away from the group, we keep working toward a true, studied consensus if we can't achieve unanimity.

There but for the grace of God . . .

It's another slow news day in Missouri. I had another job interview today and it did not go too well. Does the word "overqualified" mean "too old"? I'm beginning to wonder. I keep thinking God has some other plan for me and I keep slogging along on my book, so I guess as long as there's food on the table, and there always is, and the lights are still on, and they always are, and I can pay for my health insurance, and I do (barely) every month, then all is well.

Tonight we went over to the septegenarians for dinner. I cooked a big fat ham with the same cranberry glaze I made when I almost set my s/o's house on fire. As we were getting ready to put the food on the table, my s/o's mother told his father to help. "I'm not going to do another thing today," he said as he sat at the head of the table waiting to eat.

"Well, I worked," his mother said.

"Yeah," he asked, "When?"

"While you were in Korea," she said testily.

"Right," he said, "Rosy the Riveter," although he used her first name instead of Rosy.

We fell out laughing. They are a comedy show, those two.

I'm heading for Phoenix on Wednesday for five days and while I hate the travel, there's nothing like seeing my friends that I got clean with who remember me when, or "back in the day" as they say now. I've lived in a bunch of areas and regions and traveled extensively throughout the US attending meetings wherever I went, but I can honestly say that Phoenix has the best Narcotics Anonymous meetings I've ever been to. I'm sure you feel the same about your area.

So until tomorrow, have a great day.

How much are we giving back?

For those of you who have been clean awhile, or maybe those who got here in the shape I got here, which was pitiful and feeling lucky to be alive, do you ever wonder if you're giving back enough?

With my 22nd sobriety date looming December 13th, I am examining where I am in my recovery and where I'd like to be on my 23rd birthday, one day at a time. I know that I've reached out and helped a few women find recovery. But I've wanted to do more. For years, the idea of reaching out to women on the streets has been in my mind. I've admired those who dedicate their lives to helping women at that level, but I've never been willing to sacrifice my former income to follow that path.

Getting sick a few years ago did a few things and one of those things was to disrupt my stream of income, allowing me to learn to live more frugally. It let me slow down enough to figure out what I, twodogsbarking, wanted to do with the rest of my life. One thing I knew for sure -- I wanted to write in a way that helped a lot of people. I hope soon, my daily meditation book will do that. But wait, there's more!

For the past few years the idea has been on my mind of doing street outreach and working with women to help them live a more balanced life without drugs and the corollary crime it takes to support a habit. A half-formed idea, I find it attacks me as I drive by a run-down, boarded-up motel thinking "that would make a great half-way house," is to open a half-way house for street gals wanting a better way of life.

It strikes me when I read articles, like a recent one in the New York Times by Bob Herbert in that talked about the lack of outrage when the man who invaded the Mennonite school in Pennsylvania shot only girls. What outrage would we have heard if he had chosen Jews or Hispanics, or Blacks, he asked rhetorically. He tied this to the absolute degradation of women and girls in our culture through the media, clothing designers and advertising. Unless our society wants to put emphasis into the disposability of women in today's society, I believe we as a nation are truly lost. Our girls stand to become victims much the same way many of us who drank and used were victimized. I don't believe any mother or father who has children would want that for their child.

And yet, who patronizes strip clubs and prostitutes or lingers on website devoted to pornography, torture and rape? Not too many women, I don't think. Until men become educated to the fact that the sex industry is not a victimless industry, as many would have us believe, both men and women alike who stand to profit from it, then this trade will continue.

What moves me, as I've blogged before in after watching "Born into Brothels," is the plight of these women and their children, who have little or no alternative to entering into the same life. The apple, in my opinion, can't fall far from the tree. It doesn't have the resources.

I feel like I've been twice given the grace of life, both through my recovery and through the transplant. When I look at the picture the donor family sent me of the 6-year old who died and who gave me life, I think I owe her and those like her more than I'm currently giving.

I believe if I make other people successful, I will be successful. I also believe if I want to do something badly enough and pray about it and it's God's work and God's will, great things will come to pass. Am I brave enough? More will be revealed as I continue to ponder and research this idea. Until tomorrow, enjoy your daily reprieve from the disease.

And I thought Romy was smart

The Missouri River

Here's a great pic of an old boat on the Missouri River which runs a mile from here. The water level is so low, a lot of interesting things are turning up. Have a great day!

The trip went something like this . . .

As we drove through rural mid-Missouri, here is what we heard all day.
(Names deleted to protect the dead and innocent)

Who lives there now?

Oh that's ___ ___ place, remember her? She died and her son bought it.

Oh, right, well what about the old ________ place?

______ bought it, and they turned it into a turkey farm.

A turkey farm?

Yep.

They're putting a lot of money into that place.

Yeah, must be some commercial turkey farm.

Prolly.

Would you look at that mess!

Yeah, they just take everything in the back yard and dump it.

I'll say!

What about ______. Is he still living there?

Yeah, but he got divorced and married a one-armed woman from Arkansas.

That's no surprise.

Nope.

See that rock house? Used to be the poor house. Boy, did it stink.

Who bought it?

I dunno, someone and they fixed it all up. Prolly never did get the stink out, though.

Remember _______?

Yeah. I remember him [inflection of disgust missing here]. Isn't he dead?

Yeah, but his kid moved in. I bet he's got the first nickel he ever made. There he is now! [red truck exits driveway].

Prolly does. He works days in St. Louis and makes $50,000. Then he has two side jobs and makes cabinets.

I'll be.

What about ______? They still live over to ________?

Nope, sold out, not sure to who.

Wasn't he a second cousin?

Yup.

There's ___________'s house. They go to church in _____.

She won the lottery.

No.

No, but she tells everyone she did.

There's ________'s barn; did they fix up the house?

Yup. He fixed up the house then he died. Then he left $300,000 to the Catholic church. Boy.

I'll say.

[Aside to me from Aunt ____]. We weren't allowed to talk to the Catholics when we grew up, you know?

[Me, hearing my mother roll over in her grave] Really?

Yup. We went to school with 'em, but we didn't talk to 'em.

[Me, thinking, you still don't much, as I discretely tuck my St. Christopher's medal into my shirt.]

Really.

What about _______? He still working for the railroad?

No, retired.

Retired, huh? He retired the day he showed up for work. I worked with him at the electric coop and believe me, he never worked a day in his life.

Did you use to have to wear those big life jackets when you was on the river?

Yup, boy, they was heavy.

[My s/o and I look at each other and roll our eyes.]

There's the _____ house.

Yup, that's the _____ house. They put up new siding.

After he died, she never married again. She was about ten years younger than him.

Yup, she was.

I saw her at church a few weeks ago, I don't know who she come with.

Don't say.

Yup.

That's the bank my nephew works at. Boy, they have good food. Twice a year they invite you in and boy, what a spread.

Well, look there. What's that?

That's an alpaca.

A what?

An alpaca.

What's that?

It's like a llama; they sell its wool [I offer.]

Hm.

Slow down, this road is dangerous. They straightened it out some after the ______ boys died here in the 70s. I always test my brakes before I come down this hill. If they're gone, I'd just drive into the ditch.

[I slow down and prepare to die.]

Look at the old _______ place. It's still got the original aluminum siding on it.

Yup.

[My s/o look at each other and snicker.]

What about ____ _____?

Oh, she died and her daughter, you remember her daughter. She wasn't right. Anyway, she's living in a house they built her on the back of their parcel. They gave the ________'s some land to live there and look after her. She's living by herself, though.

I bought this van from ______.

I know you did.

Don't know what she wanted with this big thing. She liked it though.

What year is it?

It's a '97.

How many miles on it?

About 12,000.

Don't say.

Yup.

********

Now I'm not judging, I'm just reporting. But I'm sure you get the idea. Three hours up and three hours back. But the food was great, it was great to see my s/o's daughter, who is so sweet and such a good gal. She teaches high-school English, God bless her, in an inner-city school. I remember how we tormented my sophomore English teacher, who was dumb enough to play us Burl Ives records and get all dreamy-eyed while we laughed hysterically, and I think "she's a warrior!"

There were two high school foreign exchange students from Germany. They were such good kids, so polite, they spoke about four languages each, and so very smart. We had a great discussion about their country, their view of WWII, their views of Americans and how we (a few of us in attendance, anyway) feel about the state of our nation and how we must be viewed abroad. It was so neat to meet these kids and learn about their country and their ambitions. When I meet kids like that, I get hope for the future.

It's funny; I guess I wasn't the only one worrying about a safe trip. My s/o's aunt said when we parked her van at her house, "Boy, I prayed for a safe trip." I guess great minds think alike.

Letter from my donor family

At the year anniversary of my transplant, I wrote to the donor family to thank them for their courageous donation. It was especially difficult to know what to say because my donor was only six years old. Today I received an answer from the family.

The family simply thanked me for writing. They told me that their daughter was so sweet and loving that they took many pictures of her and wanted me to have one. She is a very beautiful little girl and all I can think at this moment is that I have to live a good life to bring credit to this gift.

I am so grateful, both for the gift of recovery and for the gift from this loving and brave family. Please remember them, and their daughter, L.A. in your prayers. Thanks.

We can smell our hypocrites

I went to another lively meeting today where the topic was taken from our daily meditation book. We discussed, from the Big Book, not interfering with another's growth. Sometimes, as some of our members are learning, it means we let those we love hit their own bottom.

Whether you term it "codependency," a too-frequently used term, I believe, or just "relationships," we all have those we love who aren't hearing the message. It is very painful to watch them hit their bottom, especially those who have children with the disease. That must be the worst, because I understand in my head but not in my heart since I've never had children, that the pain of a child in pain is so great it can almost break you. But watching any loved one struggle is hard.

I remember, though, that the process of "letting go with love," and it is a process, takes time. We have to, just as when we drank or used, usually hit our own bottom trying to fix, control or otherwise get family members sober. I know in my case I had to accept that my loved one has a God just as big as my God and there is nothing I can do but pray and stay clean myself.

The only 180 degree turn we must make in recovery is to stop drinking and using. The rest of our changes, in behavior, in outlook, in spirituality, are processes, a series of incremental turns that ultimately lead us often to 180 degree changes in these other behaviors. But few of us do it overnight.

Our relapsing friend was absent from the meeting. I wasn't surprised, knowing how hard it is to get back here. I always tell newcomers "The first time is a gift." After a relapse, it seems we have to work that much harder, I'm not sure why. That was my experience, anyway.

We hear so frequently today when people share about relapsing and coming back then finally getting sober. I also like to remind newcomers when people share that experience, they never have to drink or use again, one day at a time. It's just that profoundly simple.

I was reminded of something Black Wally, a legend in AA in Phoenix, used to say. "We're lucky because we can smell our hypocrites." He was of course referring to the smell of alcohol on people who are still drinking and coming to meetings. I don't really think they're hypocrites; they just aren't ready. As long as they sit down and are quiet, most meetings are more than welcoming.

I'm baking zucchini/pumpkin bread for Thanksgiving, which we're going to spend at my s/o's daughter's house tomorrow. We'll be going there in a van with four octogenarians or at least septuagenarians. My big fear, of course, because I'm not driving, was that we'll get in a horrible crash on I-70 and wipe out about four gene pools. Then I looked at our combined ages, which is about 400, and I started laughing. I don't think there'll be much procreating going on, so I'm sure my fears are in vain, as are 99 percent of them.

In case I don't blog tomorrow because I'm in a tryptophan daze, have a great day. Maybe I'll publish my bread recipe; it is good, if I do say so myself. One thing about Missouri, these German women can cook!

Having a bad day?

If you're having the kind of morning I'm having, take a break and go to www.despair.com and create yourself a masterpiece that best sums up your mood. Good luck. I know I feel better already.
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I just spent a couple hours working on my daily meditation book and it has really adjusted my attitude. Today's reading I was working on was about courage. The quote I like about courage is "Courage doesn't always roar; sometimes it is the quiet voice at the end of the day that says "I will try again tomorrow," by Mary Anne Radmacher.
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How can we overcome doubt? How can we strengthen our faith? These are questions I continue to explore as I continue to trudge the path. Have a great day.

Gossiping or venting?

I went to a fundraiser a few nights ago with one of my friends and had a really great time. My table mate was a woman who is about as goofy as me and she seemed to want to strike up a friendship. On the ride home, my friend, who was my table mate's coworker, vented about her the entire ride home.

This friend called me today to tell me she felt a bit uncomfortable about ranting about my table mate, but that today she was able to talk with this woman about what her beef with her was. I told her my rule of thumb is to ask a person who is ranting if they are gossiping or venting. In this case, my friend felt that she was venting and it ultimately enabled her to talk with the other person about what was bothering her, which was my table mate's lack of commitment to a board she had nominated her to. Ah, the ego is involved, I see. Now that's no surprise.

The bigger rule of thumb I use when I'm irritated with people is that I need to talk to them directly about what's standing between us, and if I'm unwilling to do that, then I have no right to talk to third parties about my difficulty or irritation with that person. As I read recently in some self-help book, when anyone tells you about a situation in which they are all right and the other person is all wrong, they are inviting you into a triangle. I don't want to be in any triangle nor create any myself.

If I don't have fortitude or courage to talk to the other person about what is bothering me, if I tell someone else, unless it's my sponsor and specifically for guidance or to sort out my feelings and needed actions, then I'm gossiping. It's seems pretty simple, really. Now, if I can live up to that.

According to psychologists, gossiping is used to vent and to establish solidarity. It's used shamelessly in the workplace to trade information. Want to know why a particular worker, usually a non-manager or low-level supervisor, is so powerful? It may be because they control a flow of information that is dished out to others when it suits their goals. Gossip in the workplace is a powerful tool for workplace dominance. Gossip is traded like baseball cards for various purposes which are ridiculous if looked at in the light of the spirit.

I love this quote from Eckankar clergy member James Perry:

"An important spiritual principle and practice is this: Always see the good in other people and speak highly of them at all times. In doing so, we see them as fellow Souls."

One time in pretty early recovery I was saying something negative about a fellow NA member to another NA member. I mean, I was really ripping them. The person I was talking to said, "Well, that's funny, because she always speaks so highly of you!" That stopped me in my tracks.

I think we sometimes look for the worst in people before they see the worst in us; it's a strong mechanism of self defense practiced by those of us with low self esteem. The only way to improve our self esteem is, I think, to practice love, not judgment. Until tomorrow, keep trudging and practice love. I think it's a verb.

I love program functions!

Last night my home group held its monthly potluck. A few of our members were out of town (one was in New York singing at Carnegie Hall! How's that for a miracle from where she came?). Each month someone volunteers, usually months in advance, to fix the main dish and we all bring side dishes. Last night one of our newer members made chili. Not too sure that he knew what he was doing, one of our female members went in three hours early to help him.

There was a nursing student who arrived, sent there by her instructor to sample what AA has to offer. They usually arrive twice and year and we welcome them, because, of course, they want to spread the message when they see someone who is hospitalized and in need of our help. A few of our members sat with her and patiently answered her questions about the program and shared about themselves. I always love watching the way we greet the professional community, with such warmth and respect.

Today Mary's Home, a small group near us with a lot of long-term sobriety, is hosting its annual potluck. People will come from miles around to support the group, but more, to see friends that you sometimes only see at the holidays.

New Years Eve we're holding a speaker meeting and dance. Last year's didn't go so well because, unlike any program function I've ever been to, they didn't have a speaker. So instead of complaining, I got on the committee this year to help. We're having a speaker, an Alanon, and we hope an Alateen speaker as well. We think, because we're really promoting unity, attendance will probably well exceed last year's.

I don't know how it is in your area, but when I got clean in Phoenix, I lived for the functions, the dances, the conventions and the Unity days. Each night, in my first few years, I was lucky enough to go to coffee shops in Phoenix after the meetings where we'd sit until 2 or 3 a.m. drinking coffee and telling really bad jokes. I'm not sure that I could have made it without the support I received from my fellow members, some of whom should have been home sleeping because they had jobs.

The first thing I noticed when I moved here is that after the meeting, no one hung out, they just went home. I'm not sure why, but that's how it goes here. I think it's kind of bad for the newcomer, but some of them seem to make it anyway.

Well, that's all for today. I have two casseroles to bake and two dogs to walk. Guess which I like better? Until tomorrow, party on. Clean and sober, that is. That way you can remember who you talked to.

If you're loaded, you can't hear the message

Has this ever happened at your meeting? This is not the first time it's happened at this women's meeting I go to about every Saturday. We have a few chronic relapsers who come in and out like it's a swinging door and we always greet them warmly and try not to judge. We never know when someone's going to "get it" and stay clean and sober. However, on more than one occasion, it's obvious that they are loaded and they take up at least ten minutes of meeting time talking about whatever it is they are focused on that particular day, and it's normally about what everyone else is doing to them, not about "Hey, I'm struggling here."

I guess they think we don't notice they're blasted and assume we just fell off a turnip truck. I may have been clean awhile, but hey, I know a dope fiend when I see one. This morning was no exception. One of the gals had just gotten out of a 21-day treatment program (again) and it was obvious, as she nodded out during the meeting, that she was loaded. Now I didn't make it overnight, and people put up with me. But when I got clean we usually had a disclaimer that was read at the beginning of each meeting that asked that if you used in the past 24 hours, to refrain from sharing. Then, if she wants to talk, that's her decision, but at least we've done what we need to set the message that sharing is for when you're clean, not loaded.

Maybe I'm being selfish, but I don't want to waste precious meeting time for someone who may sorely need to hear the message of recovery to listen to someone who's loaded blather on for ten minutes about how tough her life is. We had a newcomer there with eight days and I would have rather spent that ten minutes talking about the first step.

I was taught that the secretary of the meeting is responsible for keeping it on track. After the meeting I spoke with the secretary, who is stymied about what to do. We could, I suppose, as one of my sponsors told me, take a quick group conscience about "do we want to continue to listen?" I'm frankly not sure what to do, but I do know this -- it would not have been tolerated 24 years ago when I rolled in. We were polite but firm. If you were loaded, we really didn't want to hear from you.

I planned to talk to this gal at then end of the meeting but she slipped out the door before I could grab her. I know it's her path. But it's "my" meeting, too, as well as all the women there with a year or two weeks or ten years who are trying, one day at a time, to stay clean.

Anger and insulation

Today we insulated the attic. My utility bill has been abnormally high, and when my s/o inspected the attic, it's clear why. There was almost no insulation. So he rented a machine and we've been blowing insulation for two hours.

I wish there were some way I could insulate myself against others' anger better. It's been two years coming, but this morning one of my relatives blasted me for something that happened two years ago. Yes, it was significant, but he'd never said word one about it until now. It was a situation arising out of my parents' death and as often happens in families when parents die, things can get downright crazy.

I took care of my mom for many years before she died. The stress of caring for her and the guilt that I wasn't doing it right took its toll on me and within weeks of her dying, I was told I would need a liver transplant. In my heart, without that stress, I don't believe I would have gotten sick, but that's all water over the dam.

All that notwithstanding, I handled her care the best I could. In retrospect, yes, I could have done it better, but given all the circumstances, I did it the best I could at that time. Now, two years later, one of my family members just sent me a pretty hateful email. That's the way people often deal with anger. We don't show it, then a few months or years, whatever time it takes to come to the surface, it then all blows up and is directed at everyone else. It's everyone's fault but ours. Frankly, it wears me out.

Family dynamics are hard. I try to deal with things by thinking: "I may not agree or even at this moment like my family members, but they are all that I have that's truly tied to me. They are my blood." My program friends are so much closer to me than family members precisely because I don't find this recurring family theme of "act like I want or I'll blast you or worse, cut you out of my life." My program friends accept me just the way I am, which is a flawed but still striving to be better human.

I don't deal well with anger, either, and hopefully my family member will forgive me for how I handled things, which definitely wasn't perfectly. Perhaps to avoid a confrontation of this nature I made decisions regarding my parents' wishes taking a softer, easier route. As we know, that never, in the long run, works. But I know I did the best I could under very stressful circumstances.

I will review again how I handled things and make whatever amends I need to make. But for today, I'm bone tired. And feeling in need of some insulation.

Gratitude

One exercise that I practice is to try for a full inventory of my blessings and then for a right acceptance of the many gifts that are mine -- both temporal and spiritual. Here I try to achieve a state of joyful gratitude. When such a brand of gratitude is repeatedly affirmed and pondered, it can finally displace the natural tendency to congratulate myself on whatever progress I may have been enabled to make in some areas of living.

from As Bill Sees It

I woke up feeling good today; Romy was stretched out at the foot of the bed waiting for me to rub her stomach, her morning ritual upon awakening. She looks at me upside down and her lips hung down, showing her teeth. It's too funny, but I guess you have to be there. That's the time of day when she's most friendly, unlike her handler. I'm most friendly about noon then it goes downhill from there. But I digress.

Since an oldtimer kicked my butt the other day about my lack of gratitude, I thought I'd write my gratitude list to see what exactly I might find to be grateful about. Here's my list.

• There is a cardinal on the tree outside my office window, a bright red spot in an otherwise gloomy day.
• We hung vintage curtains a few nights ago and they look great. It's amazing what I continually find at thrift stores that other people give away.
• My s/o gave me all his change he saved for two years to put toward a couch. The result? Over $400. I was blown away. The couch, incidentally, is beautiful. The dogs already like it. I brought home a pillow to be sure the color works, throwing it into a chair. Romy immediately laid her head on it. That's the doggy paws of approval.
• The sun is trying to shine.
• I am healthy this morning.
• I have health insurance.
• I was able to finish an article for a local paper that was due and emailed it just in the nick of time. My editor just wrote me and still wants me to write for her publication, although her job has been "outsourced." (Welcome to America.)
• I'm taking Oz to the cemetary to play later. I love to watch him run and jump.
• I have finished the process of registering for graduate school. I should start in January.
• I have a few great sponslings that really brighten my days.
• I went to a great meeting on Monday where the topic was "judgment."
• I baked three loaves of zucchini bread (with some pumpkin since I ran out of zucchini). They tasted great and the dogs ate the skins of the zucchinis like they were steak).
• Thanksgiving is coming, my favorite holiday.
• The bathroom is almost painted.

I have nothing to complain about. How's your day?

AA in a nutshell

I recently read this article in the February Grapevine and am republishing it here with their permission. After having a few-month-long upset with my own home group, I found this article and felt like this person summed up perfectly, for me, the beauty of AA and how it operates. I reprint it in its entirety.

Alcoholics Anonymous is a fellowship designed and administered by a bunch of ex-drunks whose only qualification for membership is that we finally realized we couldn't hold our liquor and wanted to stop trying to impossibly learn how to hold it successfully. It has no rules, dues, or fees, nor anything else that any sensible organization seems to require.

At meetings, the speaker starts on one subject, winds up talking about something entirely different, and concludes by saying he doesn't know anything about the program, except that it works. The groups are often broke, yet always seem to have money to carry on. We are always losing members, but seem to grow. We claim AA is a selfish program, but always seem to be doing something for others.

Every group passes laws, rules, edicts, and pronouncements, which everyone blithely ignores. Members who disagree with anything are free to walk out in a huff, quitting forever, only to return as though nothing happened, and be greeted accordingly.

Nothing we discuss in AA is planned in advance, yet great results are born from the things we share with each other, and our lives get better.

How can we survive like this?

Perhaps it's because we have learned to live and laugh at ourselves and with each other. God made us. He made laughter, too. Perhaps he is pleased with our disorganized efforts and makes things right no matter who pushes the wrong buttons.

Maybe God is pleased with our simple yet sincere efforts to do what's right for us and others. Maybe He is pleased with our trying to be nobody but ourselves. We don't know how it works, but it does, and members keep receiving their dividend checks from their AA investments.

It is wise to be sober, and it is much easier, my friends, to stay sober than to get sober.

Anonymous

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Well, you're looking very natty yourself!

Romy tests new couch

She gives it her "Two Paws of Approval" rating

So you're ungrateful for what?

I was going to blog about the total rip to society of the slap on the wrist Enron's Fastow just received, which is basically a few years in a federal prison. Steal millions, go to Club Fed. Possess a vial of crack, go to a state prison for years, especially if you're unable to hire private counsel.

I was going to rant, that is, until I received the October issue of The NA Way. I read the short essay "Eighty-four days," written from an addict incarcerated in an Iranian prison, and it made me remember why I am so grateful to have been born in this nation. I'd like to reprint it here. The letter reads:

"My name is Habib and I am an addict. Greetings to all the addicts at the Central Prison of Qazvin, and to all NA groups around the world.

"I am writing this letter as I pass the final moments of my life. I am very close to death. I wish to send a message to all fellow members: I got clean through a Narcotics Anonymous meeting in jail, and through attending these meetings, I stopped using drugs [widely available in jail, according to a member of the H&I subcommittee in Iran]. I have become very close to God. I feel good, and I am at peace with myself and the world. I have accepted the will of God.

I'd like to ask you fellows to stay clean and be of service. Try to help other addicts stay clean physically, mentally and spiritually. Please continue this path to save other addicts. I have nothing else to say. My name is Habib, and by dawn my life will end. I will be hanged for the crimes I committed, but I have been clean for eighty-four days beside you [Emphasis mine]. I wish success for all addicts . . . members and non-members. God bless."

Habib, Qazvin, Iran.

If don't know how you're feeling, but I've lost the desire to rant today.

Maybe they should call them "Womenatees"

"Hey, I'm smarter than I look!"

Manatees May Be Smarter Than We Think

The Associated Press (AP) has found new information on manatees, you know, the big hippos of the sea? Since the early 1900s, one particulary mean scientist examining the small brain of a manatee compared the manatee's brain to that of an "idiot's brain." This remark set the stage for a general disdain for the intelligence of manatees, who, according to AP, "have generally been considered incapable of doing anything more complicated than chewing sea grass."

But there's a manatee in a Florida marine laboratory who's sharper than he looks. When a buzzer sounds, Hugh, a stocky 1,300 pound manatee mammal noses one of eight loudspeakers placed in the water. If he noses the correct speaker, he gets a treat. You might say he has a nose for music.

According to lab personnel, Hugh is no smarter than the average manatee. This experiment, along with other recent studies, are revealing that sea cows may not be as dumb as they look.

***

All kidding aside, the West Indian Manatee has no natural enemies (except humans, and I'm not sure how natural we are). They can live to be 60 years old but they are endangered, however, mainly due to entanglements with fishing enterprises.

Currently, there are only about 3,000 in the U.S. They are protected here by the Marine Mammal Protection Act of 1972 and the Endangered Species Act of 1973, which make it illegal to harass, hunt, capture, or kill any marine mammal.

Just as female intelligence has been underestimated for years, it's now confirmed that our brains have larger corpus callosum. The corpus callosum is the interchange that links the right and left hemispheres, which probably makes us stronger communicators. Man smart, woman smarter?

Our fine fighting 101st Airborne

This was sent by my s/o's employee, who is serving in Iraq, standing in front of a Ziguratt (a temple), according to his email.

"This is pretty impressive," he writes. "This temple was built to worship some moon god.It was a great experience and I'm sending pictures over a few emails. One of the attached two pictures is me standing in front of the Ziguratt, and the other is me standing near some ancient tombs where previous kings were buried. That's all I've got for now. I appreciate the prayers and emails and will be home soon. Take care."

Keep these brave guys and gals in your prayers.

They didn't know when to quit

"I think of the loneliness, the greed, the overwhelming arrogance of this administration and its stupidity, not knowing when to quit. They've won the game. Ninety-five percent of the pie is theirs; but they want a hundred. And that's where they flopped it up: they didn't know when to quit."

Studs Terkel, from an interview in the November Sun Magazine

The elections are over, thank God. It's been, overall, one of the ugliest elections I can remember. The first election I can remember ever rejoicing over was the Clinton election. I was raised by Republicans, at least my father was a staunch one. My mother, as a Catholic, often wanted to vote her conscience, but I think my father's opinions overpowered hers. So my childhood was steeped in Goldwater, who now looks like a liberal in comparison with the neo-cons of today and the Republicans who pander to the golden cloak of the Christian right when it suits them. Later, Reagan was the family icon, although I always walked to a different beat.

So the Clinton election was the first election where I felt like my voice was heard. And after last Tuesday's election, too, I was glad. However, we can't forget that the Democrats didn't win the election; the Republicans lost it. So unless the Democrats can return to their roots, which to me is rooted in social justice, then we will be no better than what we have just defeated.

I wish I could print this in its entirety, but there is a link I'd like you to take time to read. It's by the respected journalist and social commentator Bill Moyers. He articulates so beautifully and with such great detail the path our country is on, if those in power would just admit it. But of course, as defenders of their status quo, they will not. If you think the trait of denial is strong in addicts and alcoholics, try cracking it in the very rich.

Please read it. I'm mailing a copy of this to my conservative friends and asking them, as they often ask me of their rhetoric, to read it. It begins with education; covers deficit spending (our fiscally conservative Republicans are spending like drunken sailors); covers the concentration of wealth and its impact on us; touches on the reality of our tax system that targets the poor and middle income, letting the rich continue to get richer; and circles back to the need for a true education about politics in our schools. Take a few minutes out of your life and see what Bill Moyers has to say about the direction in which America strides. If it doesn't scare you, and if you haven't thought about this yourself in one form or another, then this blog probably isn't for you.

When I drank and used, my world was limited and I was, as one of my friend's sponsor told him after he did his fourth step, a "public nuisance." Today I owe society a greater debt. I took for a number of years and I owe more than I took. There is interest due on the cost of the years of my addiction. Maybe that's why God kept me alive.

I think, if we keep voting our conscience and hectoring our appointed officials, and make a difference, albeit even a small one, in our communities, then we can do great things. If we don't all try, we as a nation are truly doomed.

http://www.commondreams.org/views06/1101-33.htm

Hedgeapples

The beautiful chartreuse hedgeapples, the fruit of the Osage orange tree dotted throughout Missouri, are spectacular. Yesterday I picked some to make a Christmas centerpiece. I'm getting in the season, I guess. Anything to avoid thinking about the elections. For more information on the hedgeapple, visit www.hedgeapple.com.

Inadequacy

Well, I'm back, at least sort of. I took a few days off to rest from a cold I'd aquired. It seemed to work because the last cold I got lasted two weeks; this one is about over. My immune system, from the anti-rejection drugs, is a bit depressed so I'm more susceptible to illnesses than some, I suppose. I hate it when I'm at meeting and people come up and give me a big hug then say "I'm sick." I need a t-shirt that says "If you're sick, stay away from me," but no, I wouldn't want to hurt anyone's feelings, would I?

Well, it's another one of those days. I'm feeling inadequate. I googled "feeling inadequate" today and came up with a pretty interesting post. It talked about creating chaos in your life to avoid having to slow down and take a look at yourself. I could easily fit in that category. Further, it said that fear is the absence of love. That's a new one on me. Our Basic Text says that "fear is lack of faith," but in my experience I can be both fearful and have faith, I think. There's plenty of times, especially in the past few years, that I haven't had a clue what was going to happen next, and I've still trusted my Higher Power to come through in the end.

God has always come through. I assume He's going to continue. So why do I struggle so much? Part of it stems, I guess, from childhood. I was the youngest of three brothers and my mom really wanted a girl that was, well, girlie. I was anything but. I was a tomboy, hung out with my brothers, junior rodeo'd, loved big dogs, wore my brothers' hand-me downs and in short drove my mother over the edge. I grew up feeling that I'd never be who she wanted me to be.

Part of the recovery process is looking at our childhood and feeling the losses associated with it. I had great parents, don't get me wrong, but like all parents, they were human and subject to great failings. Their parents were pretty dismal in many respects so they hadn't a clue how to parent. But before I could come to any peace about my childhood, I first had to grieve the losses associated with how I was raised.

When I had three years, a major change occured in my relationship with my mother. I was going to college in California at the time and I came home over Christmas to spend time with my family. For Christmas, I bought her an answering machine since they didn't have one. She opened the package on Christmas eve, took one look at it and said "Take it back; it's too expensive. Get me something that costs $10." I was devastated.

I took the machine into my room and fumed, basically, although I didn't say anything to her then. I figured I had two options. 1) I could take it back. 2) I could put it in the driveway and back over it, and that sounded like the better of the two options.

I called my sponsor and wailed about the situation. What I realized after talking with her was at the core of my feelings was the sense, the feeling that no matter what I did, I would never be enough to her. Who I was just wasn't enough.

The next morning, I told her that I loved her and that I would take the answering machine back. I also told her, though, that she had hurt my feelings. Her eyes welled up and she said "I never meant to hurt your feelings; it's just that you can't afford to give me such an expensive gift (they cost about $30 then, but hey, she didn't know.) We had a good cry and I came to the realization that the way our relationship was might never change. But I accepted the fact that how is was might be the best it would ever be. Acceptance brings about peace, and our relationship, of course, grew so much beyond my dreams for how I wanted it to be.

My adult life, though, this core belief, my friend used to call it the "believeable lie," that I was unlovable, has followed me. There are times when I feel loved and know in my heart that I'm a good person and that basically, as Stuart Smalley says, "People like me." But most of the time I struggle with feeling unlovable. It's my core misconception, I think, about myself. I think that's what makes me such a gypsy.

Yesterday I was talking with a gal who wants to move from Missouri back to New Mexico. I encouraged her to save money and move back, if that's what she wanted to do. "But then I'd be broke," she said. "Yes," I replied, "But you'd be broke in New Mexico."

I realized last night that picking up stakes and moving is a big deal to most people, filled with risk. It never has been for me. By nature, I'm a risk-taker. Moving and starting over is second nature I've done it so much. I never throw away packing boxes, just in case.

I have no idea what I'm rambling about. I do know this. I'm tired of the believable lie ruling my life. I'm tired of saying "Someday someone will love me." I have to begin by loving myself.

Step 11

I am baking pumpkin bread and watching election predictions on MSNBC. It looks like Kinky is really trailing in the polls, big wonder. He may split off a bit of the Texas vote, however, which can be problematic for other candidates. Perhaps he'll make a statement win or lose. What does this have to do with Step 11? Probably nothing.

I went to a meeting yesterday where the topic was the 11th Step . Step 11: Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for His will for us and the power to carry that out.

One member commented that he spent a lot of time praying while on his treadmill. The next member, a newcomer, said, "Well, I spent a lot of time on my treadmill, too. Unfortunately, I don't have one." Of course, he was referring to his treadmill mind, the squirrel cage, the committee, however you may refer to that interesting chatter our brains provide free day after day.

I don't know about you, but some nights when I lie down to sleep, the chatter in my brain forces me to get up and decompress somehow before I go back to bed. I always thought it was because I was a night owl, but lately I've been wondering. How in heck have I stayed sober almost 22 years when my brain tells me so frequently what a flawed person I am? I have run on self will much of my recovery and it's really hitting me that it's time to make a change. I guess it's back to that thing called sponsorship and working with one, not just being one. My sponsor has been 1500 miles away for about six years and I think it's time I find a local one.

I shared with a woman with 37 years yesterday after the meeting about the kind of day I'd had on Wednesday, complete with quotes. She really chewed me out, giving me an earful about how badly I need gratitude in my life and why there's no excuse, especially given the miracles that have occurred in the past eighteen months with near death then a transplant, to be anything but grateful. She told me to write a gratitude list each day, not just to write one and forget it. She dished out a bowl of tough love and it really gave me something to chew on.

When our elder statesmen and women came into the rooms, they received tough love. When I got here, things weren't quite so tough. I have a theory that we've "untoughened" our program because we take it for granted. In the early days, there were few recovered alcoholics and few meetings, so early members seemed to need each other more than we do today. They clung together like men and women in a lifeboat.

Maybe it's the push by treatment centers to offer a kindler, gentler AA. Maybe it's all the psychobabble we hear spouted so frequently in meetings: "I came from a dysfunctional family," etc. But I can't imagine, for example, people coming into an early AA meeting and identifying as an addict/alcoholic. They would have been set straight pretty quickly. I'm not judging, because the softer, gentler program I received when I came into the rooms kept me here when tough love might not have. I'm just saying it's easy for me to get caught up in stinking thinking such as self-pity. Thank God there's still other members not afraid to tell me what I need to hear, not what I want to.

So I'm clean another day, the dogs are having a great day and the pumpkin bread, I hope, will be edible by humans, at least. The dogs, however, hovering near the kitchen, have other wishes. Until tomorrow, take it one day at a time.

This Vale of Tears

I looked like that yesterday. Have you heard the saying that when a normal person has a flat tire they call Triple A and when an addict has a flat tire they call suicide prevention? That pretty much sums up the kind of day I had yesterday.

I had lunch with my s/o yesterday right after I got off the phone with a very frustrating situation. I was totally jacked up and lunch didn't go well. This issue that came up is one (health insurance. Does it ever make you wonder why we have the money to go bomb the crap out of some country but no money to provide even catastrophic health care to our citizens?) that has no resolution for the next year or so. I was really upset and told him it seemed like it was just one thing and then another, you know, "life on life's terms" and that I was overwhelmed.

As lunch drew to a close, my s/o reminded me that there was an answer. "Yes," I said, "death." He was not amused. I reminded him of the phrase "vale of tears," and that life, in every religion and philosophy I've studied, is a struggle. At least, my life always has been.

It seems like things go well for awhile, then life kicks me right in the butt. While I know it's no different from anyone else's experience, I seem to get tunnel vision at the times and veer into self-pity, thinking I'm the only one that keeps getting her feet kicked out from under her. Even though, in my head, I know that's not true, my head and my heart don't always experience gratitude simultaneously. Sometimes the gratitude stays in my head and not my heart. My job is to get the gratitude into my heart, where it belongs. When the joy in my head hits my heart, that's when I feel joyous.

He hadn't heard the phrase "vale of tears," so I thought I'd try to find its origin. Here's what I found on www.everything2.com

"Blessed is the man whose help is from thee; in his heart he hath disposed to ascend by steps in the vale of tears, in the place which he hath set. Since happiness is nothing else than the enjoyment of the Supreme Good and the Supreme Good is above us, no one can enjoy happiness unless he rise above himself, not, indeed by a bodily ascent, but by an ascent of the heart. But we cannot rise above ourselves unless a superior power raise us."

Bonaventure, The Soul's Journey into God

Wordsworth, too, had thoughts about the vale of tears:

Down the broad Vale of Tears afar

The spectral camp is fled;

Faith shineth as a morning star,

Our ghastly fears are dead.

From The Beleaguered City

That certainly says it much more eloquently than I could. I'm off to a noon meeting then working a fifth with a sponsling. I feel much better today after taking last night to decompress by watching a dumb movie, Failure to Launch, with my ever-suffering s/o. The animal bites were pretty funny.

I knew when I woke up that today is going to be a good day. The dogs, of course, thought so too. They always do.