Too much Thelma and Louise?

The weather is beautiful here today. You can almost smell fall in the air and not a moment too soon. I hate heat and even worse, being an Arizona kinda' gal, I hate humidity.

In the past week, an old acquaintance's wife relapsed after losing custody of their daughter. She drove from Oakland to northern Arizona after the court hearing and jumped to her death in the Grand Canyon. She left behind a five-year old child who will never recover from her loss. I hear sometimes in the rooms that "perhaps my child was better off without me" during one's addiction. Perhaps that's true. But I know this. I've never met anyone whose parent committed suicide who ever really overcame it, not 100 percent, at least. My brother once said it very simply but in a way that made perfect sense to me. You can cut off a person's leg and give him a prosthetic leg but he's still going to limp, he said. Those of us in the rooms still limp, even though many of our wounds were self-inflicted.

Suicide, at least in most cases, is the ultimate act of anger. I know that there are those who suffer from mental and physical illnesses that are devastating. Those I don't judge from making the decision to die. It is, I believe, their right. But it always a terrible wound to those around us.

Last year shortly before and after my transplant I too wanted to lie under the cedars and go to the big sleep from the pain and the loneliness. I had dogs who relied on me, though, and I found as I faced the fact that I was dying, my will to live became incredibly strong.

One night before I returned to St. Louis for my transplant, I was in an Arizona hospital in intensive care, my kidneys failing. The nephrologist, who had the bedside manner of an Asian fruit fly, told my brother and my friend/advocate Pat that I wouldn't live through the night. Pat told the doctor that he discounted me, because he didn't know me and take into consideration how tenacious I was. She was right, thank God, and he was wrong. People die when they choose to die, I think sometimes, and I just wasn't ready. God knew that. He granted me a reprieve.

After my specialist (who ironically was the wife of the doctor who wrote me off in the hospital) predicted I had four months, at best, to live, things became incredibly clear. I prayed often, simply telling God that although I wasn't ready to die, if that was his will, I accepted it. I accepted it because I didn't have a choice. But I also told God that I felt strongly that I still had things to do here on earth. That was the extent of my prayers. But people put me on prayer lists and in a series of miracles, I received a liver.

As I write this, I have lost my father to cancer, my mother to Alzheimer's, my dear friend the great writer and recovering woman Susan Lydon http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2005/07/24/BAGMVDSPSH1.DTL to cancer, another friend to a motorcycle accident last December and another of my friends almost killed himself last week from an accidental gunshot wound. (No, Dick Chaney was nowhere around.)

I think about them, each wanting so badly to live. Then I think of this woman, who drove over twenty hours to get to the Grand Canyon, to jump with such crystal-clear premeditation to her death. I can only recognize the power of the disease of addiction. Addiction could allow her, against every human instinct as a parent, to throw herself into the abyss at the expense of her child's lifetime suffering. It is the ultimate act of selfishness.

Enough gloom and doom. It's a beautiful day, I have an article to write, Hazeldon has my daily meditation book for review (say a few prayers in that regard, okay?) and I have a dog who is wondering "What about me? When's my walkie?" Until tomorrow, rest in the power of our God.

Universal health care

Sometimes I think about how many Americans work in dead-end jobs or in positions that totally stifle their ability to contribute to society because they need health care. I won't bore you with the details of universal health care; they're readily available with a quick Google search. One of the biggest arguments used in America against a move toward health care for all (which we are currently subsidizing anyway through social security disability, Medicare and various state-run medical access programs for the poor, most of them working) is that Canadians, who enjoy universal health care, come to the United States because the medical care in Canada is so poor.

Non-partisan research does not appear to support this conclusion. I think Canadians come to the U.S. because they're freezing their butts off and while they enjoy our warmer winters, they also use the U.S. system of medical care. In a 1996 Canadian study of 18,000 respondents, only 90 people had received treatment in the U.S. in the past year and only 20 came to the U.S. for that express purpose. (See www.amsa.org for more details.)

Much of the wait times in Canada are for elective procedures, according to some research. In America, if you have insurance, you have a shorter wait time. If you don't, you may not even get the procedure which certainly knocks you out of the box for any statistical record-keeping.

I'm not an expert on this subject, but as I struggle each month to pay my health coverage premium, I think about the future, a future where all Americans will have health care coverage, like they do in virtually ever industrialized nation in the world except the good old U.S.A. I also think of the possibility of hundreds of thousands of future entrepreneurs who, if they could obtain health coverage, would leave their jobs in a screaming minute to pursue their dreams. And wouldn't our country be better off for this?

Why dogs really bite people

And on another note

At least Fido won't be talking on the cell phone

BEIJING

A woman in north China's Inner Mongolia region wrecked her car Monday while teaching her dog to drive, according to Xinhua News Agency. The woman reportedly thought because her dog was "fond of crouching on the steering wheel" and often watched her drive, that she would let the dog "have a try." The woman maintained control of the accelerator and brake, but the dog failed the all important steering test. They crashed into an oncoming vehicle. Apparently stupidity is not solely an American tradition.

Which leads to the age-old question: Who let the dogs drive? Woof Woof.

Budget update

How is my budget coming, you might ask? Since it's the fourth week of the budget class I'm taking, I can't say there's much progress at paying off debt, but I'm just about to enter SEPTEMBER when the dreaded budget really begins. I have a budget developed, as you might recall. I have budget envelopes that will be prefunded this week for September for the following categories: food, charity, gas/oil, clothing and sundries. The rest of my bills I'll pay by check and I have done my debt snowball, which is the amount of debt (unsecured, so it doesn't include my house payment) I have starting with the smallest debt to the largest. I'll keep paying the minimums on everything until I pay off the first, then put that $50 payment toward the second debt to add to the payment. It's an easy concept and one that lets you see a light at the end of the tunnel that just might not be a train.

Last week we each gave our facilitator the amount of our debt written on a piece of paper, minus our house payments. The average debt per person/couple in the class was about $25,000, as I recall. That's pretty scary. Reportedly during this class, historically the average class taker person/couple reduces their debt by about $5,000 in 13 weeks. Unless I sell my second car, that won't be my story, but at least I feel like now I have a plan, if I can stick to it. Sticking to anything was never my strong suit, but I finally feel like I either have to look this in the face or live in financial chaos, which just isn't an alternative any longer. Once denial is gone, there just isn't any more hiding from the truth. I guess it's like drinking after you've had, as they say, a head full of the program.

Some small things have changed. I don't drive nearly as much as I used to; I analyze each trip to make sure that I really need to go where I'm going or if it can be combined with another trip. I stay out of stores and go with a list so that I don't get sidetracked by sales. I cook much more than I have in years and I actually enjoy it. I started renting films from Netflix since it's cheaper than renting movies at a store and I don't have to drive there or pay late fees. The first date my s/o and I went on where we rented movies he had to pay my late fees before we could rent the video. He's never let me forget that, in his good humored way.

Romy got a bath today. She loves to be bathed and afterward, she runs around like a two-year old. I'm definitely picking Oz up within the next month. His neck, from the recluse bite, is healing well and I miss him. It's time for him to come home.

Until tomorrow, take it one day at a time.

Oh, the things that slip by editors these days

Updated: Aug. 25, 2006, 2:21 PM ET

Wang doesn't need mound to loom large at home
Associated Press

ESPN printed this stunner from AP on Friday. Chien-Ming Wang, a New York Yankees pitcher from Taiwan, was highlighted in this article. Apparently local broadcasts in Taiwan were all tuned to watch Wang. I just find it hard to believe this headline made it by the editors.
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Because I love puns, I frequently use them in my articles, although my editors are a bit more ruthless about them. Then there's zuegmas, words that modify two or more words, such as "the wind howled and the dogs did, too." I like those, too.
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But one of my brothers, in our writerly family, takes the cake for his journalist coup of headlines. He was a writer for the Flagstaff paper when he was in J-school at the University of Northern Arizona. He was asked to take over the society column for a day, much to his chagrin. The highlight of the day's events was the marriage of a woman from the little Arizona town of Eager, who was marrying a Flagstaff man.
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My brother wrote "Flagstaff man takes Eager bride." Needless to say, the father of the bride was not amused (he was quite influential and a big advertiser in the paper, as I recall). My brother's editor, who didn't catch that headline either, probably heard quite a bit about it from his boss and they printed another story the next day sans his hilarious headline. The best part, he said, was that they never asked him to do the society column again.
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As I get ready to apply for graduate school to work on my degree in Sociology, I wish I had the drive to take the GREs and try to get into Mizzou at Columbia to study journalism. I'm just too lazy, however, so I'm going to take the MATs, which are much easier and which is all that's required at the college I plan to attend. So until tomorrow, be sure to read those headlines closely. You never know what you'll find.

Meatloaf

Our 20-plus pound cat, whose real name is "Oreo." Romy, convinced he's a small rat terrier, loves to chase him. He hates Romy.

I've got news for you, he ain't "asleep"!

Wife Wakes Sleeping Husband in Driveway
From Associated Press August 23, 2006 3:14 PM EDT

ROGERS, Ark. - A man who fell asleep in his driveway woke up when his wife came home and turned into the driveway to park the car.
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Kristine Bolson of Rogers said she drove into her driveway shortly after midnight Tuesday and heard a loud cracking sound, a Benton County Sheriff's Office report said. When she got out of her vehicle, she heard moaning and found her husband, Richard Gonzalez, on the ground near her vehicle. Bolson said she did not initially see her husband in the driveway. According to the report, Gonzalez said he had been drinking and he must have passed out. He was taken to St. Mary's Hospital where he was treatment for abrasions and contusions.
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Who's the genius that wrote that headline? And since when is falling asleep in the driveway news? I've heard probably ten thousand drunkalogues over the years and almost every one, at least the men's, include waking up in the front yard. Most of us were just relieved when it was our own yard, not the neighbor's or somewhere in a bad part of town. It must be a slow news day for AP.
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Things have been pretty crazy around here so mostly I've been posting pics. My s/o's parents are still alive and although I remind him regularly how lucky he is, as parents age it is definitely "each day a new adventure." As those of you who know me remember, we went through a lot of illness with my parents, and it was heartbreaking. They were two of the greatest people I've ever met, but like all of us, their time here was finite. Dad developed cancer and mom lingered for over 11 years with Alzheimer's.
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My s/o's mom had a hip replacement about six weeks ago and just as she was starting to get around pretty well, on Monday his dad's hip (he'd had it replaced a few years ago) went out and he had to go into the hospital to have it redone. Unexpectedly, we've been faced with taking care of his mom who is in mid-to-late stage Alzheimer's. Luckily his aunt, who is about 85 herself, was able to come stay with her so he could go back to work and I could retain what little sanity I may have. But the future looms a bit uncertainly, as it does for all of us. He and his father are getting used to the idea that she needs more help than they can give her at this time.
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The funny thing is that his mom thinks I'm the nutty one. Yesterday as I was driving his mom and aunt to the hospital about 30 miles away to visit my s/o's dad, I was talking to a driver who was having a heck of a time coming on the entrance ramp to the freeway. As my brother once said to me, "He doesn't know how to yield." Anyway, I was coaching the other driver through it verbally, saying, "Come on, big fella, you can do it," when my s/o's mom kind of whistled through her teeth to her sister-in-law, rolled her eyes and communicated quite clearly to her that I was, as she'd obviously been telling his aunt, "out there!" And that's coming from someone with Alzheimer's.
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One night when we were having dinner with his folks I pointed out a fat squirrel sitting on a tree branch right outside their kitchen window. He'd raided the bird feeders and was sitting sprawled over the branch, fat and satisfied. "Look at him," I said. "He's sitting there saying 'I ate so much I could split a gusset.'"
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His mom looked at me, looked at her husband and then asked me "Where'd you come from?" I think I told her "Arizona."
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My s/o is having a hard time watching his parents age, of course. Watching our parents grow old and feeble, especially when they were so strong and vibrant as were his, is heart wrenching. He's almost stunned and although he listens to my thoughts because I've "been there," he has to come to terms with this slowly, I know.
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The difficult fact about our relationship is that we never had a "honeymoon period" where we loved each other unconditionally and didn't notice those little character defects like insanity, bad language, intolerance, suspicion, you know, all those things that get between us and cause a lot of friction. We've had conflict in our relationship since a month or so after we met, partly due to our distance when I returned to Arizona and partly because, I believe, we both have had other relationships and in this new one, our minds seem to shout "No, not again! What have I done this time?"
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But we keep working at it, both of us sometimes realizing, I think, that we have so much potential for a great future if neither one of us runs away emotionally. I admit, it would be easier for me to fold my tent and go home. But I know that would not be, at this point at least, the right decision; that would be the "ditch it" decision I've blogged about before.
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When I was getting ready to return to Missouri from Arizona in April, my good friend who helped me a lot with my mother asked me if I was ready to walk back through the Alzheimer's dilemma again. Dealing with it so soon and so intimately after watching the agony my mother went through and knowing the havoc it wreaked on my health (I firmly believe my illness was exacerbated by the stress of taking care of her and watching her die, although I didn't do the greatest job, I know with twenty-twenty hindsight), I can only say that right now, I can handle it.
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Helping his mom brings up intense feelings in me, memories of my mom, regrets that I don't have her any more, regrets that I could have, in retrospect, done it much better.
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But like everything else in my life, I only have to do it one day at a time.

Jumping for Joy

This is why I love dogs!

And the lion shall lie down with the, er, pig

I know, it's a tiger.

I flunked anger management

I went to a meeting tonight where the topic was solutions to anger. Anger is an emotion I have struggled with during my entire recovery. It was an emotion I didn't even begin to examine until I had many years clean because I didn't recognize it as a problem. I just thought I had big boundaries and if people would respect them, everything would be fine. At some point, though, and I'm not sure there was any clear catalyst, I began to see that I used anger for a variety of reasons, none of them good ones.

My recovery mentors taught me that many of my character defects I uncovered as I progressed in recovery were the same things that may have kept me alive when I used. I know in retrospect that leaving home at 15 in 1971 to hitchhike alone to Berkeley was sheer insanity. If I hadn't found a way to keep people at arms' length, as I learned the hard way, I intuitively knew that I would have wound up dead, or worse. Anger, for years, served me well.

As I continued to stay clean, though, those same defects of character become less desirable and unnecessary. I began to learn new ways to deal with situations and obtain new tools, so that over time I began to let those character defects go. It doesn't mean I'm perfect; far from it. But it does mean as I learn better, I do better. As my good friend Louisa J. says, "It's like peeling the layers of an onion."

Anger, for me was a coping tool. I used it to keep people away; to manipulate people so I got my way, because angry people are very good at intuiting which people will be too intimidated to face a confrontation; to justify my actions, no matter how selfish they were; and to help me cope with fear.

Until I had about three years clean, I didn't understand how the emotion of fear felt in my body. The first time I felt fear in recovery, it was with a sense of wonder, as if my mind said to my body "Oh, this is how fear feels."

Tonight one of our newer members was upset about a rage he flew into, and scared of the possible consequences if he continues to allow his anger to overtake him. This is a great example of a healthy fear. Not all fear is unhealthy, of course. Fear often warns us of danger. We are hardwired to fear, I'm sure, because those early humans with the keenest sense of danger survived to reproduce. Fear, in the sense that it protects us from physical danger, can be invaluable.

As the topic went around the tables, and incidentally the meeting was on solutions to anger, not anger, one new young member admitted that she was having problems with anger. She sheepishly said that she couldn't go to anger management anymore because she'd been kicked out. We all laughed because we related. I told her that I was going to print up a t-shirt that read "I Flunked Anger Management."

There's three brothers and me, and two of us came out of the womb pissed off. I don't know why; I no longer look for root causes. I believe some people are born with wonderful, loving temperaments. I'm not one of them. I work at being loving and calm and many times, not too successfully. What I do look for is the warning signs of anger I exhibit before I am flooded with emotion when that iceberg lurking below the surface punctures my hull. It's irritation; an attitude of "If you only knew who I was"; contempt prior to investigation; feeling backed into a corner; judging; or not sleeping enough. Of course, this is only a partial list of things that can trigger my anger, which, if I'm not spiritually fit, or caught off balance, can escalate like a flash fire into rage.

The only 180 degree turn we make in recovery is when we quit drinking and using. The rest of the life changes we experience are incremental. We do better when we can. I know that, 95 percent of the time, I'm doing the very best I can at that moment in time. I try each day to be a better person and to work a better program. I am harder on myself that any other ten people combined are on me. If I can give myself a break, then it's that much easier to give others one, too.

Anger is a teacher, albeit an uncomfortable one. The people I admire are those that are loving and tolerant. They are slow to anger. They are color blind. They see the similarities, not the differences. They reach out a hand to the newcomer. They make coffee; go to meetings not because they need one but because they want to give back what was given to them; contribute to the 7th Tradition and clean up after themselves. They contribute to their community. Sometimes, it's just that simple.

Will I ever peel away that last layer of anger completely? Probably not in this lifetime. But I keep moving toward it, one day at a time. Until tomorrow, sleep well.

Painting

Today we worked painting my kitchen. It seems like I've been painting non-stop since last December, which is pretty much true. I spent the winter in Arizona, moving into my home there after tenants, who were wildebeests, moved out. It took four months of non-stop work to clean up after them. I'm not clear if people only treat your property the horrid way they do or, if they owned anything, they'd treat their own home that way, too. Anyway, after months of fixing it up, I moved back to Missouri only to be faced with cleaning up a second house. I'm not complaining; it just feels like my middle name is "Kilz."

I went to a women's meeting this morning and tonight we're going to our home group. Every third Saturday my homegroup has a potluck. Tonight a friend of ours is barbecuing so I'm looking forward to it, because I think his barbecue is about the best I've ever had. As much as I love animals, I still like meat. Maybe someday I'll progress beyond eating meat, but until then, my arteries will just have to fend for themselves.

If you want a laugh, hit this website www.trunkmonkey.com. Watch the Trunk Monkey videos, hilarious advertising spoofs complete with chimpanzees. Well, boys and girls, I've got to run. I have paint in my hair and all over my hands so I'd better go take care of it. Ciao for now.

Nobody knows you're a dog!

On the internet, nobody knows you're a dog!

"There is nothing called 'hope' in my future"

The children of Sonagachi (Golden Tree), the largest red-light district in Calcutta and the stars of "Born into Brothels"

These profound words are written by a ten-year old Avijitt (middle, rear), one of the stars of the2004 documentary Born into Brothels, which I watched today. It's an amazing tale of the death of a child's hope, documented by a New York photographer, Zana Briski. She documented the lives of children of the women "on the line," as prostitution is called in this country. While there, she gave cameras to children of the sex workers with astonishing results. The photos, which were widely distributed (there is a photo book by this name available on Amazon), are simply astonishing.

Avijitt is a particularly compelling child. He paints watercolors and is raised by his grandmother since his mother works on the line. His grandmother is able to see his abilities -- she proudly shows off a wall of ribbons he has won for his art. He is able to transfer his artistic vision to the camera, and remarks after he wins a place in a prestigious Amsterdam program for child photographers as he views a photo of a child taken by a young photographer from another country, "In this we are able to see the truth."

The truth for these children is bleak -- most of the girls will work "on the line" before they have reached puberty and the boys will probably turn to pimping, drugs and violence. Briski works to place the children into boarding schools where they can live a normal life, away from the beatings, drugs and prostitution.

Just before Avijitt is to go to Amsterdam then return to India to a boarding school, his mother is burned to death in a kitchen fire. (This is a notorious way in India of disposing of unruly women, whether they are wives or prostitutes. Often wives whose families can't afford to meet their dowry, which can increase after the marriage, are set afire. Kerosene is used in many kitchens and it's all too convenient to douse a woman in kerosene and ignite her. These deaths are almost never investigated by the police.)

Avijitt loses his desire to move forward, probably deeply disturbed by his mother's death. He finally, with Briski's help, obtains a passport, goes to Amsterdam then returns to India to boarding school.

The end of the film paints a bleak picture. Most of the girls leave the school, one by her own accord, several removed by their parents or aunts, presumably back to the red light district to work the line. A few manage to go on to school. The boys fare little better.

It's a powerful film, although it, too, has its critics. If you stand up, you make a good target, and this filmmaker is no exception.

If you like this film, there's another fantastic movie by Indian director Mira Nair, Salaam Bombay! Like Born into Brothels, it's a chilling look at the poverty-stricken lives of children of India. If you need a dose of gratitude, and some days we do, I highly recommend either of these two films.

But Officer, I only had two beers

In every police report I've read involving drinking and driving, and believe me, I've read a lot, no one has admitted to having over two beers. (I do seem to recall one that I read where the man admitted to three -- but that's one in perhaps 10,000.) The police report is usually worded "I don' know, I had a couple beers," but the gist of it, no matter how it's said, is always this: "I'm not drunk."

Denial is a wonderful thing, I must admit, having suffered from it for so many years myself. Perhaps the next question one should be asked when they admit to having a "couple" is "what size couple?"

Take the Color Quiz

I know, you probably don't believe in psychology quizzes. You know, the "Answer these Twenty Questions to Determine the Real You," or "How Your Lipstick Wears Shows Your Personality Type" (I have to admit, that one nailed me too!), as if you don't get up every morning, look in the mirror and say, "Oh, it's you again."

I'm a skeptic, too, so I was doubtful when I saw a link last week to another bunch of tests online and decided to take one. I took the "Color Quiz" and the results really hit home. I sent the results to my s/o, who was pretty freaked out by the accuracy. Then he took it, and it nailed him, too. So I sent it to my brother, and he wrote back "I took it years ago. It nailed me then and it just nailed me again now." (Boy, I'm using that word "nailed" a lot; I wonder what that means? Perhaps there's a "What Using the World "Nailed" Says About You" quiz online.)

The quiz was developed in part based on research done in the early 1900s by Max Luscher, according to the Color Quiz website. The website explains more than I care to, so if you'd like to take the test, and it only takes about two minutes, go to www.colorquiz.com. You can read more about the test there. Apparently it's widely used for pre-employment and other testing in Europe.

It's worth the time. I'd be interested to read your results in the comments section. Is it bunk or bonanza? Remember, anyone can comment but until I okay the comments (to avoid the diatribes like those that flooded me over my "Vote for Kinky" blog entry awhile back), they won't appear on screen. Just click the comments section at the bottom of this blog entry.

Here were some of my results. For those who know me, what say you? I can take it, fire away.

My Existing Situation

"Working to create a firm foundation on which to erect a secure, comfortable and problem-free future where she will be granted recognition and respect."

My Stress

Feels trapped and powerless to remedy it. Angry and disgruntled [irritable and discontent?] doubting she will be able to achieve the goals and frustrated almost to the point of nervous prostration. Wants to get away, feel less restricted and free to make her own decisions.

My Restrained Characteristics

Demanding and particular in her relations with her partner or those close to her, but careful to avoid open conflict since this might reduce her prospects of realizing her hopes and ideas. Wants to broaden her field of activity, insisting they are realistic. Needs both peaceful conditions and quiet reassurances to restore her confidence. Inclined to be emotionally withdrawn which prevents her from becoming deeply involved.

My Objective

Wishes to win support by her charm and amiability. Sentimental, needs to feel identified with someone or something.

My Problem

Seeks to avoid criticism and to prevent restriction of her freedom to act, to decide for herself by the exercise of great personal charm in her dealings with others.

My Other Problem

Depleted vitality has created intolerance for further demands on her resources. This feeling of powerlessness agitates her and causes acute distress. Attempts to escape into a substitute world in which things are more nearly as she desires them to be.

Until tomorrow, loyal readers, take it one day at a time. Color me gone.

Isn't Tucker Carlson a jerk?

Mel Gibson's cat

My budget cheerleader

I am at the end of my rope financially. Being sick for so many months coupled with crummy financial management skills, I have finally hit bottom. So when I heard about a Dave Ramsey class coming to town, I decided to sign up. I had heard about Ramsey from a few friends and read his columns in our local paper.

Ramsey's class, Financial Peace University, is 13 weeks long and is usually sponsored by a local church. The first session we watch a video and "get-to-know each other." By the end of the night, I didn't feel so bad about my situation. There's some other people in way worse shape than me. (A few of them looked like they should cut their food budget, but I digress.)

Last night, session two, it was time to dig into my own financial plight. I was up until about 2 a.m. this morning doing an on-line budget available to students. Before I adjusted ruthlessly my budget, I was in the red about $900 per month, which explains why I keep going deeper into debt. So now I can drive seven miles a month, eat about $100 worth a month, and have to sell my second car and a gun and perhaps the dogs -- never mind, no one would want them.

When I grew up, we didn't talk much about money in our family. My family seemed to assume I would learn good money management skills by osmosis and all they did was teach me to balance a checkbook. I remember some terse conversations between my parents because my father was generous to a fault and my mom seemed to live in fear of economic catastrophe. They were both depression-era children, so they definitely knew how to make a nickel stretch. They managed to live pretty frugally, although with their kids they were very extravagent, which was no help to a couple of us, in the long run.

Anyway, I'll probably blog about my financial "digging out" as I go along because this is a major change for me and one that's long overdue (Step One). I always had a good income after I got clean and I spent it all. I traveled, bought a house I wasn't sure I could afford (I lost it when I got sick), and blew through my entire inheritance (which wasn't huge by any means) because I had no cash saved when I got sick, nor did I have disability insurance.

After my surgery, I had to borrow money from a brother who, as my mother said, "would squeeze a nickel 'til the buffalo s---." But over the years, while we made fun of him, one of my other brothers and I have both had to go to him to borrow money. Talk about embarrassing.
I refuse to let this happen again. I have hit my financial bottom and I'm more than willing to dig my way out.

I know I'm not alone. Debt is an American way of life and our vulture banking system will continue to encourage us to spend way more than we make. I thought my bank was so nice because they gave me automatic bounce protection. I had a moment of clarity the other day when I realized that this only encourages me to write a "warm" check because if it bounces, the bank will pay it and only at the small cost of $29 or some ridiculous charge.

If you're in my boat, or worried that you'll end up there, check out Dave's website www.daveramsey.com or his radio show. It streams every day from 2-5 EST and is also on many stations throughout the US. I was going to a meeting tonight, but I think I'll save the gas. I spend quality time with Romy, instead.

This is taking the 9th step a bit too far

Group apologizes for taking three years worth of Taco Bell sauces

A group of 10-to-15 masked individuals entered a Taco Bell in Grant County, IN on Tuesday to return a three-year stash of fire sauce packets, police reported. The group returned six 40-gallon trash bags filled with approximately 25,000 packets. With the stash was a note stating that the group had been accumulating the sauces over three past years and kept them stored in the trunk of a vehicle, but felt guilty about keeping them and decided to return them to the restaurant.

This is what is considered news in Indiana, I guess, or at least this was reported in the Marion Chronicle. This is not such a great idea for a 9th Step, however, because the step clearly states ". . . except when to do so would injure them or others." I don't know about you, but I don't want to eat my crunchy taco with sauce that been stored in the trunk of a car for three years. Hopefully, the Taco Bell managers have enough sense to discard the sauce rather than recycling it. And as for group amends, well, that's a new one on me.

Stuck in Dell Hell

I knew better. My last purchase of a Dell made me acutely aware that they pull a classic bait and switch. When you call Dell to buy a computer, you speak to someone who speaks English who is no doubt located in the US. But once they get your money and you need service, you call an 800 number that is located in Bangalore or somewhere in India. Although they speak a version of English, it's virtually impossible to understand them. To make matters worse, they seem to work off some script and if the problem isn't on the script, forget solving it.

Dell seemed to leak rumors that it was returning its customer service to America, but that apparently never panned out, despite screaming (just for fun, google "I hate Dell) consumers. But in March, Dell announced its intent to double its Indian workforce over the next few years.

Despite knowing how Dell operates and hating the product, I needed a new computer a few months ago and although I really wanted to migrate back to a Macintosh, on which I have never lost a piece of data nor even needed customer support, I bought a Dell. The salesperson I spoke with was American and she helped me build the model I needed. The computer arrived within five days of the order and set-up was a snap. However, I had problems almost immediately (and am still experiencing them) with "dumps," where the screen tells me that the computer has dumped its memory to avoid damaging data. I tried taking off a new printer driver I'd loaded and this helped for a few weeks, but it's back at it again.

So I called Dell and the customer service person, in India, he said, was almost unintelligible. I'm pretty good at deciphering various dialects because I've lived in some big cities where you hear many dialects in one day; however, this guy was really bad. I kept thinking "What if some grandmother who just wants to email her grand kids calls him?" Technically, he wasn't much better than his English. My problem apparently was not on his script. It remains unsolved. It's probably a Microsoft issue, but that's for another rant.

About a week later, my phone rang. Believe it or not, it was a Dell follow-up call asking how well I liked my customer service experience. This guy's English, if anything, was worse than the guy I talked to originally. He asked "Could you understand the person to whom you spoke?"

"What?" I had to ask. He repeated himself and I finally figured out what he was saying. Dell is a joke, but then I must be crazy because a good definition of insanity is repeating the same mistake, in this case purchasing another Dell, and expecting different results.

But Dell not only screws up their customer service, they can't seem to get their billing information right, either. A few days ago I received a phone call from a Dell representative telling me my payment was late. Why is it late? you might ask, whispering "deadbeat" under your breath. It's late because while Dell sent the computer to my new address, they somehow neglected to change my "bill to" address to my current address and my bill went to my old house where I lived over a year ago.

Of course the money person from Dell, wanting to know if she could take a check by phone, speaks perfect English. If they want your money either on the front end when purchasing their product or on the back end when obtaining payments, they speak perfect English. But if you have a problem, then it's your bad luck to have to call India.

I think I've finally learned my lesson. My next computer will be a Macintosh. I have seen the light and it ain't in India.

The tolerance tester

Every group has one. You know, the guy or gal who is that "minority opinion," has an uninformed opinion on everything, isn't afraid to, without any tact at all, voice said opinion, then wonders why everyone leaves the room when he or she arrives. Our group has a de facto visitor just like that. Although he's not a member of our homegroup, he arrives at our club every morning to play cards and at every potluck (emptyhanded), unkempt, loud and opinionated. He's the tolerance tester.

I went over to my home group this morning because our group decided, at its last group conscience, to purchase an answering machine so that we could let people know where meetings are or do twelve-step calls if asked. Our area's phone line leaves much to be desired, so rather than get involved in the politics of fixing it, which our group doesn't like to do, we decided we'd buy a machine and answer calls that came to our group since we're listed in the phone book, as well. (Each group is autonomous, remember?)

When I arrived, I saw our obstreperous loudmouth's vehicle and thought, darn, he's here. Resigned to my fate, I trudged in the door to happy destiny and began to set up the machine. I had parked in the shade on a hill so that Romy, who was riding along, could stay in the truck. The first thing he said when I came in the door was "I hope your clutch don't slip." Some of us do have automatic transmissions, I thought. I said nothing. Woo hoo, I was batting 0 for 1.

As I unpacked the phone, he remarked, "Some people aren't gonna like that. We don't like change, you know." My resolve to practice principles before personalities was slipping. I swung at his pitch.

"I don't recall that you're a home group member, here," I said. "Did you ever think perhaps this was decided at the last group conscience, where I didn't see you in attendance?"

"This ain't my home group," he said. "I have enough trouble straightening out my home group."

"That's the point," I said, "we don't 'straighten out' anything. We let the group 'straighten things out.'"

"I ain't seen a group yet that can do that," he remarked. I decided that I wouldn't bother to argue with an idiot and continued to hook up the machine.

These members, the ones that so sorely test our patience, are among us sometimes in great numbers, it seems. How do we deal with this? First, we don't pray for patience, or one magically appears usually within 24 hours of our prayer. Second, we set boundaries.

This particular member was so obnoxious and crude last Saturday when we had a group clean-up day that everyone was literally ill, but no one said anything to him. I was in another room and didn't hear him, but several people came to me and complained. Perhaps what we need to do, I suggested, is to tell him directly and politely, that "You may attend groups that allow that type of talk, but at this group we don't. So either clean up your mouth or leave." That is perfectly okay to do. This member has been kicked out of other clubs; ours wouldn't be the first club to ask him to leave.

Third, we pray for him. There's a seat in our rooms for everyone. To deny him access to meetings, unless he's a danger to others or refuses to follows the suggestions of the group, is wrong. But to put up with his mouth before or after meetings is unnecessary and refusing to set boundaries with him does him and ourselves a disservice.

I've seen some troubling things in meetings over the years, including one member's constant rage-filled tirades that ultimately ended in his murder of another Fellowship member. I don't think, in that particular case, that anything that there was anything the Fellowship could have done to change the outcome of that tragic event. That particular man was "sicker than others" and his illness went way beyond his addiction.

I do know this. When anyone, anywhere reaches out their hand, it is my responsibility to be there, if I can do so safely and with love and tolerance. I don't, however, have to put up with rude, obnoxious and offensive members today. Today, I am better than that.

Playing possum

Florida's Republican U.S. Representative Katherine Harris (R-FL) purchases a possum at Florida's Wausau Possum Festival as part of her campaign for Senate. Given her locale, I'd think an alligator would be more appropriate. BTW, possums have over 100 teeth, so holding them by the tail that close to your anatomy may not be such a good idea, K-dog. As of August 6, Harris was trailing in the polls, but at least after the election she'll still have one constituent, even if (s)/he is a possum.

Oh, sure, blame it on hormones!

Just in from the Sun, a bastion of journalistic integrity.

"Squirrel's just a nutter"

A mother was mauled by a vicious squirrel after stopping to show it to her children.
Martine Browne, 25, was bitten repeatedly on the hand and arm after it pounced on the head of her son Reece, three. The grey squirrel left her covered in blood on a path near their home in Swindon, Wilts. She was later treated in hospital.

Martine, who was also with stepdaughter Jasmine, six, said: “I’m still in shock. I can’t believe a squirrel would do that.” [I can't either.]

Squirrel expert Lindsey Maguire said: “This was probably just a particularly hormonal squirrel.” But apparently there are hormonal squirrels in New York, as well. Are they hormonal? Or is it just the frantic pace of the city driving them to attack? Here are a few statistics from 1981 in New York City. There were:

12,656 people bitten by dogs;

1,500 people bitten by humans;
826 bitten by cats;
60 bitten by wild rats;
81 bitten by squirrels;
52 bitten by hamsters;
37 bitten by rabbits;
18 bitten by raccoons;
18 bitten by horses;
17 bitten by gerbils (where?);
15 bitten by lab rats;
and 11 bitten by monkeys.
.

Apparently no one recorded whether these were male or female squirrels, horses, humans, etc., doing the biting. Sure, you can blame it on hormones, but we (at least the females) are smart enough to see through that.
.

Until tomorrow, never underestimate the power of a p.o.'ed mammal, regardless of sex.

Why I write . . .

"All religion, all life, all art, all expression come down to this: to the effort of the human soul to break through its barrier of loneliness, of intolerable loneliness, and make some contact with another seeking soul, or with what all souls seek, which is (by any name) God.”

- Don Marquis (1878-1937)

Oz builds a nest

You can say any foolish thing to a dog, and the dog will give you a look that says, 'Wow, you're right! I never would've thought of that!'

Dave Barry

Oz, above, was bitten by a brown recluse spider last week; however, he is recovering after a lot of antibiotics and good wound care. The vet wanted to anesthetize him to debride the wound but my friend who is working with Oz refused. Instead, she gave him a "settle" command, held on to his muzzle and he let the vet work on him without a peep. He's so brave! In this photo taken last winter he drug all the unattended clothing he could find around the house to this rug and made himself comfortable. A dog's gotta do what a dog's gotta do.

I think we all need a good laugh . . .

Although I think it's technically, according to some auto buff, a Renault, you may want to watch this video and LYAO. Click this link to play, then hold tight. You may have to doubleclick, but it's worth it.

http://clickcaster.com/item/view/why-you-shouldnt-tow-a-trailer-with-a-vw-rabbit

A thoughtful response to my Mel-bashing blog

First, let me say that I'm not bashing Mel Gibson. If people judged me by the things that I said when I had been drunk, not one person on earth would speak to me. Except maybe my dad, but he's not on earth any longer. As a guy said in a meeting the other night, "Why is anyone surprised about what Gibson said when he was drunk? It only shows how ignorant the world is about alcoholism." That's what we do -- we get drunk and shoot off our mouths. Some of still do it sober. (I try to use my blog; it doesn't always keep me from shooting my mouth off elsewhere, unfortunately.)

But I do have to have something to blog about, so why not poke fun at one of the world's richest guys? That's what this blog is often about -- life's absurdity.

I did receive a beautiful response to my rant and decided I would publish it here, because I could never have said so elequently what this reader said. I quote it in its entirety with a few inserts for clarity.

"I like Mel Gibson," the response said. "I would like to say just this. We all may learn to be better people from this.

1. He was making a series for TV on [the] Holocaust. Now TV rejected the program. How many Jews are going to benefit from that!?! There are logical decisions and then there are emotional decisions and this is [an] emotional decision so typical from liberal media. Nobody is going to benefit from this emotional decision. It sure feels good but there is no benefit, just damage. [The] logical decision would be to let him make the series. Many would benefit by Gibson doing this program, including Mel, who obviously is fighting his demons, his dark side which we all have in one form or the other.

2. [When] drunk he expressed that in his heart [there] is antisemitism. [It's] a horrible thing.

3. We all have turmoil in our hearts, and often there is conflict between what we think and what we do. That only makes us human. I mean [a] better human. All men would like to sleep with 100s of attractive women, but most of them are monogamous after all. To me it is very simple. I judge people according to how they act. If we would [be] judged on what is in our heart, we would all be found despicable.

4. It is funny also, that Mel said what [the] liberal media, which is condemning him so hysterically, are saying about Jews ALL THE time. But when [a] conservative filmmaker, who ought to be liberal (!) says that, then they wet their pants from excitement; let's get that bastard conservative (ought to be liberal) anti-Semite. Or it is just about diverting attention from other issues? Like that Pakistani Islamo fascist [who] shot seven Jewish women, killing one, in Seattle? Tell me what is more important -- this or that Mel Gibson got drunk and said something stupid?!!!!!?

I like Mel Gibson; he is "human". Probably better then most of us."

Until tomorrow, dear readers, let's all reflect a little on what would make each of us a better human. Right now, especially, it seems so important.

Mel AKA "Braveheart" does roadside ballet

This photo just in!

Mel in treatment

Mel gives cops the finger

Mel Gibson's drunken tirade when he was arrested for a DUI the other night, where he blamed all wars on Jews, is causing a wave of "expert" reaction from quasi-alcoholism experts such as Chris Prentiss, the cofounder of Passages, Malibu's exclusive "celebrity treatment" center. Prentiss reports Gibson has checked into a treatment center that "follows the Alcoholics Anonymous 12-step program." Prentiss direly predicts "that will not help him." He opines Gibson "needs individual intense therapy by a team of people who know what they are looking for in causes in alcoholism." Yeah, and Prentiss needs a few bucks.

The "expert" goes on to say "There are only four causes and it is one or more of those four causes that are causing him to be out of control. First, everyone who is using alcohol excessively has a chemical imbalance. The second is events of the past that we can not cope with like the loss of a loved one or it could be guilt. We may have done something years ago that we can't forgive ourselves for. The third one is current conditions we can't cope with like failing marriage or business of lack of respect. The last thing is things we believe that are not true. And in Mel's case I know one of them. He believes he has the disease of alcoholism which probably prevents from him from looking for the real reason why he drinks and alcoholism is not a disease. That is the current thinking today. Alcoholism is a symptom and we treat the underlining [sic] causes."

Passages' website says "There is hope through an entirely different approach to alcohol & drug rehab: alcohol and drugs are never the problem, but the solutions chosen by some to cope with their underlying conditions." Yeah, and people in Arkansas want to marry outside their family.

Wooh, boy! Now there's some dangerous thinking. Apparently Passages, with its bevy of Ph.Ds, "spiritual advisors" and an executive chef, makes a passel of money telling celebrities they aren't alcoholics and drug addicts. It sure would hurt Passages' financial interests if Prentiss told Mel, his Malibu neighbor, "Hey, why don't you go to AA and see what they say about the causes and conditions that cause you to drink, maybe right before you take Step One and admit you are an alcoholic. If you have problems with that concept, a sponsor can help you. He won't charge you for his time, either. Oh, yeah, while you're there be sure you throw $2 in the basket when it's passed." Nope, that would cut into Prentiss' hefty fees for a star-studded stay at Passages. But of course, if Gibson "owns Malibu" as he was reported to have said when arrested, he could check in for free, I suppose.

While the Star is a journalism joke, if you'd like to read the article here is the link: http://www.starmagazine.com/celebrity_news_gossip/star/9313. Also, check out Passages website and see if it's like any treatment center where you were ever graced the halls, marble threshold and all. Here's the website: http://www.passagesmalibu.com/. Notice its lovely, womb-like color, where they specialize in taking you back to the cause of your drinking and get so loaded you tell cops you're going to "f--- them," because you weren't breastfed!

Oh, I know, there's more than one way to skin a cat you might be thinking. Maybe this works for some people. Some people do seem to get clean and sober and stay that way, without 12-step meetings. Offhand, I can't think of anyone I know, but I have heard anecdotal reports that this happens. It usually, I believe, involves some sort of religious conversion experience.

I also know that the very wealthy may have a hard time relating to their AA and NA peers. I saw it just the other day with a very wealthy lawyer's wife here in my town who is having a difficult time finding meetings she likes. I, too, had a difficult time when I came in the doors relating to any of the women I heard share. Heck, my first sponsor was about ten years younger than me and looked like Gidget. I, on the other hand, looked like a member of the lesbian arm of the Weatherman with my mowed off, screaming red hair and a personality like a firecracker. With my first sponsor, it was the proverbial "I spilled more than she used." But somehow, I managed to get clean because people told me to look for the similarities, not the differences. Thank God for them, each and every one.

So until tomorrow, my loyal 159, keep coming back and don't forget to throw a few bucks in the basket. Unless of course, you prefer the marble thresholds of Passages and can sell your firstborn to finance it. If anyone wants your firstborn, that is.