NA World Convention, Day 2

It is 12:36 a.m. San Antonio time and I want a candy bar. There is not one vending machine in this hotel. My personal opinion is that WSO should not patronize hotels without vending machines. What is a self-respecting addict to do who needs an M&M fix at almost 1 a.m. and can't get one without getting dressed and walking three long dark blocks to do? This is just not right.

Tonight I hit the marathon meetings, which were, well, dramatic to say the least. Although our Fellowship is at last count (2006) 45 percent female, it's mainly the men that talk in many meetings. I usually get my two cents worth in to tell women they can't save their a-- and their face at the same time, and that it's their meeting too, but we had a bunch of preachers at the meetings who thought they were attending On and On Anon instead of NA and well, that's how the marathon meetings are going at this point. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

However, I digress. I went to a few workshops today; one on public information and carrying the message to the medical community, which was great. There is a new small folder available we can use in PI for the professional community, parole officers, doctors, etc., that allows us to spread the real message of NA. You know, not the "There's no clean time there," and we're all "low bottom. Did you know that only 3 percent of addicts in the US are on the street drug users (a statistic one doctor-addict gave today), the rest get dressed and go to work each day. Maybe that's where we need to carry the message?

The membership survey that the Fellowship put out and is part of this packet shows another statistic: 40 percent of NA members who responded to the survey attend other Fellowships. That that, NA "purists," with your t-shirts and hats and bad attitudes.

Meg is ready to go to sleep, so this rant must end soon. I am having fun, seeing some old friends and making a new one or two. Tomorrow, if I remember, I'll tell you about the other workshop I went to: "Who's left out of our meetings." Here's the tease: It broke down to age and culture. Until tomorrow, don't get loaded. There is a whole life out there to look forward to, I promise.

Another airport

A nice pic of the mighty Colorado river.

Waiting in the Las Vegas airport for my flight to San Antonio and the NA World Convention. Meg is meeting me at the airport. We are going to have a blast, no doubt about it.


I spent the past two days with my family, a cousin, nieces and nephew, and two of my three brothers. We really had fun. Las Vegas is not my cup of tea; however, it was worth it to spend time with my great family.



More from World!

Just in case you don't have enough addictions ...

A new study finds that, yikes, over half of those who tan are "addicted" to tanning. Without sun exposure, they experience withdrawals symptoms. Geez, what will they think of next? I can see thousands of tanners coming together to form Tanners Anonymous, or "TA."

I wonder if these scientists actually funding to do this research? Some nerds clearly have too much time on their hands.

Well, I'd give you the morning women's meeting update, but not much happened. However, one of my sponslings who has become a dear friend celebrated her 7th birthday today. That was really heartwarming. She's one of those positive people that always sees your glass as half full, even when you think it's half empty and has a leak in it. Don't you just hate that? When all you want to do is say "Waah" and have the whole world pat you on your back and commiserate, and some bright thing says "Yes, but ...."

Until tomorrow, have a great day. And, stay out of the sun! Who needs another 12 Step meeting to fit into our schedules?

Worth a look

Check out this man's art, if you haven't already.

Love is the killer app

Check out this cutey. I wonder if he'll turn out to be a snarly chihuahua or a nice one? How do you vote? I've been meditating on staying in my heart and then, wham, someone sends me this e-mail. Think it's a coincidence?

A few nights ago I went to the prison here and spoke with a group of convicts, many of whom were doing life, who are running a meeting twice a week. Only one or two people in the Program support the meeting; for the most part, they are on their own, which to me is pretty sad and doesn't speak well for the Fellowship here, but I digress.

Despite some of them facing many more years behind bars, they seemed to have a lot of serenity. One of the things they're doing is learning, with the help of their meeting sponsor, to garden. They've gradually acquired about a football field size plot to grow vegetables, strawberries, and other crops.


The inmates don't consume the bulk of the food--they give it away to needy community members. They spoke with pride about feeding 23 families last year with their produce. I don't think they learned that in prison, I think they learned that through their work in the Fellowship.

When I first got into recovery, I was one tough cookie. It wasn't until I had about three years clean that I decided I'd better work on becoming more loving. I started to try to find ways to break down the walls around my heart. I did some body work, but I think the most effective thing I did was to visualize my heart as bricked in by bricks with crumbling mortar. I actually visualized the walls crumbling, the bricks falling out.

I don't think it helped immediately to a great degree, but I think over the years, my heart has become much more open. Today, I see that open heart as a blessing. There was a great article in Fast Company magazine about five years ago called "Love is the Killer App." I have always remembered this saying and I believe it's true.

For those of you worrying about Meg, I received an e-mail from her this morning. She has a newcomer on her couch and a spring in her step, because one week from today, we'll be meeting in San Antonio for NA World. I can't wait.

Until I see you again, remember, love is the killer app!

I'm still alive

I've been off my blog lately; just don't have the time or the ambition at this point. I had a great talk with Barbara today; she's doing well and reminds me that, even in adverse conditions, we can walk forward with faith.

I'm trying to finalize a few projects and get out of Dodge; heading for Las Vegas to see my niece turn 21. My brothers, two nieces, my cousin and I will all have a fine time, I'm sure. I'd rather choke on a bone than go to Vegas, but to see my family, well, it's worth it.

With the death of my parents, I felt like the last people who "got me" are gone. But then, I have my brothers, and I'm so grateful that at least they still "get" me. Last night my significant other reminded me, once again, of how selfish he perceives me. What can I say? He's probably right. I do have a pattern of picking people who find me lacking. This is about me, not them, so I'm determined to release others to their Higher good, and live my life authentically. I can only be who I am, no one else.

I'm looking forward, after Vegas, of meeting Meg in Houston, and a few other bloggers, I've heard, are going. That will be great. It's the gift of the Fellowship that's allowed me to plan to go to World a year ago and be able to follow through on that plan.

Life is short, so I've decided to be happy. I hope you are, too.

She's flipped her wig!

There was a women on Today this morning who designs wigs for dogs. She even has a Trump comb over. So, if your dog is getting a little thin on top, you know there's help available.

Today was not a good day

Number one, I forgot my brother's birthday, although I've had a card laid out for him for a month. Then, and this if funny, I decided to listen to "The Secret," which I got on Amazon on CD. I put it in and sat down to listen. My mind was drifting all over the place when suddenly, as I was listening to this tape about the power of positive thinking, I thought, "What if it's scratched and I have to send it back to Amazon? I don't know where the receipt is." A few minutes later, sure enough, it started skipping. I'm not sure that was a coincidence, since the gist of the tape is that anything you can imagine good or bad will come to you attached to a big vat of glue and paste itself into your life. Or something like that.

Anyway, I've been alternately angry and sad today. I heard someone ask another member the other day when they were explaining how pissed off they were about something, "So what would you be mad about if that hadn't happened?" That struck a bullseye with me.

I've been working really hard at changing my negative thought patterns, reading Catherine Ponder and a few other teachers. It's a full time job for me, taming this mind which runs like a hamster on a wheel.

I shared at a meeting tonight about how I felt today; that things in my life were so messed up it would be better if I just gave up and used. Their eyes went really wide, but that's the insanity of our addiction and if we don't write or talk about, well, you all know, we're only as sick as our secrets.

I have few words of wisdom because I am such a fundamentally flawed human being. I realize that this blog is a big joke as I feel my life is, sometimes. But it's a cosmic joke and I have no choice but to keep slogging. Besides, I want to find out what happens at the end.

Until soon, take care and be sure and share at meetings all your insane thoughts so that newcomers' eyes will bug out like meerkats. We need to give them our experience, strength and hope.

PS Meg: Romy is allowed near the refrigerator only if I'm in attendance. Two more weeks!

My path in life

Come in through the night
It is the only way around.

Okay, kids, it seems I'm going to have to explain my poem, which means the poem doesn't work. It isn't ominous, it's just an affirmation that we often walk through darkness to reach the light, the peace, the serenity. There is no other way to find it. We have to walk through fire, through feelings, through whatever our Higher Power puts in our paths, to find the grace.

I have had many dark nights, years of dark nights, in fact, but today, due to God's grace and the Fellowship, I have seen the light and it is good.

Pillow fight

It's so hot here the dogs have resorted to playing in the house. This pillow made a great item to fight over. Luckily, no one was hurt in the filming of this episode, including me.

Avoiding opinions

Last night my home group turned into a very uncomfortable meeting. When the chair asked for topics, one of our newcomers, who incidentally has been in and out for years and now has about three or four months, wanted to talk about how he thought it was best for people only to go to NA and not introduce themselves as "clean and sober." Of course, as we started going around the table, the meeting degenerated into an "opinion" meeting.

There were two newcomers there and I should have, when it came my turn to share, nipped the debate in the bud. I know better. Our Fellowship's meetings are not to share opinions, but to share our experience, strength and hope to describe how we managed to stay clean. Or, if we do have a strong opinion, to clarify it's just that, a personal opinion.

By the time I left the meeting, I felt pretty sick. The meeting was one opinion after another and most of the members had been there under a year so have very little perspective on what it really takes to trudge along year after year, through life on life's terms, and stay clean.

I believe meeting time should be used to share how we got clean, not our opinion about how meetings should be run or to promote our personal agenda. I celebrate and respect our Traditions, but it is absolutely none of my business where other people go, how they work their Steps, if their sponsor is in another Fellowship, or how they introduce themselves. I can chat with them after the meeting if I want to give input, but other than that, I need to work my own program, not everyone else's program.

After the meeting, I talked to my home group members to discuss my concerns. If I'm in another meeting where this happens, it's my responsibility as a member with time in the Fellowship who has watched many, many Program die-hards relapse with their tight-ass beliefs, to remind people that opinions are just that--opinions. And everyone has one.

Dallas is styling in her Doggles

This is my beautiful Belgian malinois, Dallas, who was my best friend for many years until she passed away. She was an old soul, the wisest dog I have ever known. I miss her every day.

Just when I start thinking I'm the center of the universe

I look at these pictures from NASA.

Almost done

My project is winding down and I am getting ready to take a day off. I've been working pretty much non-stop and haven't had time to do much writing. Hope you are all well. This week I promise to have a good picture for Thursday!

Until then, have a great day.

Isn't this a great picture?

I am still alive

I have been so busy that I haven't had time to think, let alone blog. It's all good. My summer grad class ended yesterday. We spent six weeks studying organizations and the last two studying anarchist groups. It was really fun. I think I'm a bit of an anarchist. I used to be a registered independent until I became active in NOW and Now members talked me into becoming a Democrat so that I "had a voice."

I remember the night Bill Clinton was elected. My mother and I sat and watched the election returns, both in our respective armchairs. She was very liberal, but I believe my father's pressure kept her from voting for any Democrats, but I digress. As we saw that Clinton was going to win and in fact they announced, I was ecstatic. I told my mother that for the first time in my life, I felt like I was represented. She turned to me and said, "I'm sure you do." I could see on her face that she really did understand how I felt. I'm not so sure I'd feel that way now despite which Dem was elected.

If anyone watched the YouTube debate the other night, lacking was any discussion of America's abysmal health care policies. Of course, young people, most of the questioners, probably feel as I felt at 21, invincible. I never believed I would get sick. But health care is a burning issue in this country and I don't see any politicians addressing it in any meaningful way.

Back to anarchists. We really enjoyed watching a film called "Anarchists in America," which interviewed anarchists, many of them bright and vibrant and obviously in their 80s, talk about what led them to their beliefs. Many, of course, came out of Eastern Europe and Spain and suffered discrimination and segregation when they arrived in the United States. Of course, their children who have become assimilated in the great American "melting pot" are not anarchists because their experiences were not their parents. Most of the anarchists' children are middle and upper middle class, it appeared from the interviews. Not surprising.

So I decided as I studied for the final to Google anarchy in the Midwest. I hit a website that was removed at one point from Wikipedia and I received a flag "Your i.p. address has been recorded." So now, I guess I'm officially an anarchist, or at least my computer is.

Wouldn't it be disappointing if we ordered our FBI files and found we didn't have one? I asked in class. My teacher and I are of the same generation, but the students in the class, since this was grad and undergrad, were pretty young and naive. We spent a bit of time trying to explain the late 60s and early 70s to them. To borrow a phrase, "You had to be there."

I was reminiscing yesterday about living in Berkeley a few blocks off Telegraph Avenue in the early 70s. It was the end of the People's Park demonstrations and several times I was maced or chased and once shot with a rubber bullet as I tried to make it to my high school a few miles away. The 70s were definitely strange days.

I remember the Berkeley cops with Afros so big I don't know how they kept their hats on. One night I came around the corner with a friend to knock on the door of another friend and the cops had kicked it in and were searching the apartment. My friend had four joints in the pocket of his denim shirt. The cops looked up from the living room and rushed toward us and brought us in. The cop apparently in charge looked at his pocket and took the joints out. "You don't want these, do you?" the cop asked.

"No, you can have them," my friend assured him. That was the 70s. Today you'd probably go to prison for four joints.

One of the women interviewed in the film was at least 80 and she was very articulate and sweet. The interviewer asked her to describe her role. She said that she stayed under the limelight stirring up trouble here and there. "So you were an agitator?" the interviewer asked.

"Well, we all tried to do our best," she responded primly.

I wonder if we as Americans are doing our best. I know I'm not; I'm so politically inactive it isn't funny. I send my donations to Amnesty International and to the World Wildlife Fund and once and again attend a Democratic women's caucus, but increasingly I feel like, as one of the anarchists said on the film, if I don't do something, I'll go completely crazy.

These are my ramblings for today. I love taking pleasant trips down memory lane. I know as I related some of my stories to the kids in class this semester, they must have thought, "She's full of it." I have lived many lives in this lifetime. I thank God daily that I survived.

Yikes

I've been working my tail off with no end in sight until about next Friday. It's all good, but I am so wiped out it isn't even funny. That's why there's been no blog updates.

I did get a call from lovely Ms. Barb today, which is always a pleasure. She was at her favorite place, the dog park. She told me that she took an NA H&I meeting into the county jail a few days ago and ran into one of my sponslings, who had relapsed. I was sponsoring the gal winter and spring 2006 in Arizona. She was a great woman, very sweet and funny, and was plowing through the steps, but I could see her begin to drift away. It's funny, you can tell when they're on their way out quite often, can't you?

I'm usually very gentle with my sponslings. But I do recall telling her pretty flatly if she didn't get back to meetings, stop running with the boys, and work with a new sponsor when I left Arizona, she was going to get loaded. And she did.

Hopefully this will be her bottom. I know I'm glad I hit mine. I watch the newcomers drag in and know--it's not getting any better out there.

Until we meet again, Happy Trails.

Romy's stylin'

Lost in the chaos of legal files

I'm still alive but buried under a deadline. All is well. I went to a meeting tonight to get out of here for a minute and heard this: Getting clean is like winning the lottery and you don't even have to buy a ticket. Amen.

A beautiful rain blew through and cooled everything off, leaving the flowers nodding their wet heads.

The day isn't starting out too well . . .

I have a big goose egg on my temple and a scrape on my knee and finger, thanks to Ms. Romy, who "greeted" another dog by running down the street toward her at a dead run, dragging me behind. Her obedience is out of control; I've let her coast for so long it's like she doesn't even hear me. Sound familiar to any of you with teenagers?

My aunt died yesterday just a few weeks before her 90th birthday. My aunt was my father's sister and definitely, when I think of the word 'matriarch,' she comes to mind. She hadn't been ill, in fact, she was still driving herself to the beauty salon. A big party was planned for her on the 27th, so all in all, it's sad, but she went quietly in the early morning hours.

She and my father were so close that it was wonderful to see them interact. My aunt became very ill one year on a trip from Arizona back to her home state of Pennsylvania, and my father packed up a bag and drove straight to Houston to sit at her bedside for a week.

They were raised on a farm in upstate New York and had a tough childhood. My father was forced to become the 'man' of the family at six or so and that was his driving force in life--to be responsible and do what a 'man' did. I think everything he learned about being a man before the service was in the Boy Scouts.

My aunt taught kindergarten, as I recall, until she married a grocery store manager, who would later by their bootstraps form a large grocery store chain. But my aunt was always the benchmark of the family, the one everyone turned to with their heartaches, their cuts and scrapes and their joy. She will be missed terribly.

There are many stories surrounding her famous relationship with her hard-driving husband, but let me share one of the best. Let us suppose her last name was 'Richard'. She had a habit, which spoke louder than words, of rolling her eyes when her husband was not in synch with her thinking, which was about 99 percent of the time, it appeared. Her daughter, my cousin whom I visited in April in South Carolina, has a great eye roll, too, as do her two daughters.

My cousin's husband remarked that he and my aunt's husband and a brother-in-law or so would sit on one side of the table and all the women would be on the other side. My uncle would make some remark and my cousin's husband said he'd immediately watch "The Richard roll," which was four sets of female eyes rolling simultaneously. Can't you just visualize it?

I love to cook, and often, in fact just a few months ago, I called her to ask her how to tweak some recipe or what cut of meat to use for a particular dish, I can't recall which. We've lost that, and much more, but this is life, isn't it?

My mother and aunt were great friends, and I know that she's in the great beyond with my father and my mother, having a few laughs, or, knowing them, a lot of laughs. I will miss her.

Phlox

These phlox just bloomed; aren't they great?

We watched Iron Jawed Angels today in class, a movie about the American suffragettes. These steely women earned us the right to vote, but not without considerable emotional and physical pain.

U.S. women should watch the film. Many of us don't realize how hard women had to fight in this country to achieve the right to vote. Plus, there's some great acting by Hilary Swank and Mr. McDreamy of Grey's Anatomy fame.

Until tomorrow, have a great day.

Bad customer service

As any of you have who have read my blog for long know, lousy customer service sends me over the edge. Today it's a fight with RH Donnelley which prints the yellow pages here locally for Embarq. I decided to take out two lines in their pages for my business. The salesperson was nice and very pleasant, until I decided, well before the deadline, to cancel. Then she was a rude piece of crap and said "fine" and hung up on me. I assumed it was taken care of.

A month later after the pages are out I get a bill for over $200 for the second line which I cancelled. Of course, I called her immediately and she said she "doesn't recall" the cancellation. She gave me a number to call, which was the wrong number, and after 15 minutes they tracked down where to call her supervisor, who never returned my call.

Then, I wrote a letter with the bill. This morning they called and said that any cancellation should have been in writing. I told the woman this morning that I would have canceled in writing if the woman who was my rep told me to instead of hanging up on me. This new player said there's nothing she can do.

I told her to write me a letter so I can take it to the Public Service Commission, which regulates this type deal, I believe. She said she can't, there is no form letter for this. I told her to write one up only after I told her to "bite me."

You, too, can have this much serenity when you have 22 years clean.

After hanging up on her, I immediately took out my daily meditation book, and read these words: "Help and Peace and Joy are here. Your courage will be rewarded." I don't feel courageous, I feel pissed and overwhelmed quite frequently these days.

Last night at my home group we were talking about small changes in our lives as we stay clean which end up bringing big changes. I admitted that this is an area, lousy customer service, that routinely sends me over the edge. I don't know what exactly to do about it. Sometimes I'm unfailingly polite with customer service people realizing that some village lost an idiot, but other times I just get in a frothing fit.

I've learned another lesson--put it in writing. No one, in today's business environment, it seems, owes you the courtesy of explaining anything.

I did find this online, though, and if I knew the email address of the woman I told to bite me, I would avail myself of this free service.

I may have to ask my sponsor: Does this count as an amends?

An update: I found the email canceling and confirming my cancellation. Round Two!

Control freaks unite!

"Knock knock."

"Who's there?"

"Now YOU say 'control freak'!"

I heard this at my women's meeting today and only two of us got it. I completely roared laughing. The others looked at us like we were crazy and we had to explain it. I guess I qualify.

I went to Alanon last night and the message, although I haven't been in years, is still the same. Let go and work your own program.

Then this morning one of our women who isn't an addict but comes to meetings anyway (boy, has this generated some meetings snapping shut!) talked about her control issues. She said that her husband was putting together some paperwork and she had to resist the urge to stop heading out the door to work to "help" him although he was totally capable, she said.

She said she realized that what he was doing "did not require my assistance." I was thinking that when I get ready to stick my nose into someone's business, the way they're doing things or not doing them, I should remember the acronym (DNRMA), or "does not require my assistance." I'm sure the world and me would both be happier.

Until tomorrow, sleep tight.

Account canceled!

I learned a new technique for surrendering resentments. I was talking to a good friend on the phone today, Oz's original mother. Pat is a woman who walks a straight spiritual path and has been an inspiration to me for many years. I've learned so much from her, both in terms of dogs, but also in terms of how to live a more spiritually based life.

I was talking to her about my epiphany about the "release" that I had about a few days ago about a hurtful situation thatI wrote about in my blog. Because Pat is such a giving and trusting person, over the years, a lot of people have really used her. She explained a technique that has helped her greatly when struggling with emotional hurts and resentments.

She said that the original Greek root of "forgive" is the equivalent of "account canceled." I'm sure there are controversies over this, but the idea at least in the Lord's prayer, originally Anglo-Saxon but changed with Latin phrases, is "Forgive us our debts." So the idea she uses is to think of someone who hurts you as an "account." Briefly review that hurt in your mind when it arises, go in and visualize canceling that debt.

Then, if the thought comes back, that resentment, that anger over the event or circumstances, don't fight the thought. (The Buddhist tradition has taught us much here!) Instead, in your mind, visually check that account tied to that resentment or person or institution and say, "Yes, I canceled that debt; the account is empty."

Pat tells me it's been the most healing affirmation she has used in dealing with resentments over her life. Until we meet again, I hope you have a safe and fun weekend.

My house

Substitute "Two 'cats' in the yard" for "Two 'dogs' in the yard"

Search Audio Codes

Happy 4th of July

Each year when the 4th of July arrives, I can't help but think of the freedom I have gained from active addiction. It's not so much anything I have done, I believe it's a gift of grace, pure and simple.

I lived in Oakland for many years and there was a man who was a counselor in a drug treatment program who got clean in NA. Ray P. is a great speaker and he would end his pitches with the same words, "Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty, I'm free at last." When I heard him, as even now as I write these words, I get goose bumps.

I thought today would be a wonderful day to print an excerpt of Martin Luther King, Jr.'s mighty speech in the hope that we will ponder, even if just for a moment, what freedom really means.

"I say to you today, my friends, that in spite of the difficulties and frustrations of the moment I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream. I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self evident; that all men are created equal.

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave-owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character . . .

I have a dream today. I have a dream that one day the state of Alabama ... will be transformed into a situation where little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls and walk together as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today. I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plains, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.

This is our hope. This is the faith with which I return to the South. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning 'My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring.'

And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of that old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! Free at last! Thank God almighty, we are free at last!"

So tonight and tomorrow, have a safe and wonderful holiday.

Release

Remember me mentioning a few months ago a women in my home group that I'd gotten cross ways with and hadn't been able to straighten it out? Although I had sat down with her to see what I may have done to offend her, she just wouldn't talk to me except to say that she "didn't understand me." We were at an impasse.

A few weeks ago she broke a bone in her hip and within a few days she learned she had terminal bone cancer. It really hit me hard, partly because I didn't feel like I could support her in her illness like she did for me due to this distance between us. I had mulled about the relationship for months. I had gone to visit her in the hospital, but still felt that distance between us and felt uncomfortable and sensitive to anything she said.

Last night I was reading one of Catherine Ponder's books, The Dynamic Laws of Prosperity. In it she talked about the concept of release, and it hit me squarely. In it, she talked about the power of release and giving things, truly giving them to God by saying "I release this situation to you, God." She also discussed the importance of not talking about negative issues, stewing over them like I had been doing for months with this particular issue.

I had made my amends to her for whatever it was I did, I still don't know, but I hadn't released the situation. I was still talking about it with a few trusted friends, mulling it over, wondering if I had somehow again offended her the last two times I've visited her. I hadn't released the relationship to God's care.

Last night, I did just that. I released her, with love, to my loving Higher Power. My heart changed, and so did my mind. I no longer need to to relive (the root word of resentment) the situation, wondering what I did, how I can make it better, etc. It's over. Like a bright blue balloon, it floated away to God's care.

Sure enough, when I got home tonight there was a message from her on my phone asking me to call her. She loved the home-grown flowers I'd taken to her. She went on in the message about how fragrant they were and how she hadn't had the time to properly thank me. I released her to God and God did the rest.

Tomorrow I'll call her and I know--things between us will be good. I learned something so powerful. It's the power of release. That was the lesson in all this, I believe.

Until tomorrow, have a wonderful day.

Littered among the stuff

Diaries, several, probably five, from my early years of recovery and one from my using years. I can only imagine what they hold. In the next few days, as time permits, I'll be going through them to see what I can glean from my early recovery. Or from my late using. That should be scary.

Until tomorrow, have a great day.

Just hangin'

Yard sale

My neighborhood is having a yard sale Saturday and I am getting rid of a bunch of stuff. Not just any stuff, mind you, but traveling stuff. This is stuff that has been to Missouri from Arizona, back to Arizona, then back to Missouri again. Expensive stuff, that is, in road miles and mini-storage.

Why do I hang on to stuff? Part of it is a connection with the past. Much of what I'm keeping after honing down to as little stuff as I can stand, was my mother's. The rest of the it are things I've picked up over the years in flea markets and antique stores. I have two new pieces of furniture, a mattress and a couch (which I bought from my boyfriend's generous gift of all his saved change). Everything else is second-hand and well-loved. Well, my desk and file cabinets were new 14 or 15 years ago, to be rigorously honest.

So it's time to, as my sponsor suggested, take a physical inventory and part with things. Friday I'm spending the day sorting and pricing. Want to help? How much should a ten year-old black dog cost? Just kidding, Romy! Romy? Come back here! I was . . .

School starts this afternoon; I'm taking a four-week course in organizations. That should be swell. Tuition will rise by 19 percent this fall at my school. I can't believe the college is that badly mismanaged that they have to raise tuition by that great amount. It's going to price a lot of students right out of school.

Until tomorrow, 2 dogs are waiting for their walkies.

Is 75 percent honesty enough?

The women's meeting was interesting the other morning. We got on the topic of honesty and two of our newer members made the statement that they were working on honesty and that they felt that their "75 percent honesty" was enough. I scanned the meeting hall for a dictionary to no avail (every meeting hall should keep a dictionary on hand, the older the better, because some words, when the Big Book or Basic Text were written, had slightly different meanings. Meanings for words can change over time.)

So I rushed (well, I looked it up this morning, honestly) home and picked up my Webster's 2001. "Rigorous" is defined as 1) "Characterised by rigor; rigidly severe or harsh, as people, rules or discipline: rigorous laws. 2) severely exact or accurate; precise: rigorous research."

"Rigor," the root word, is best defined in this context as "scrupulous or inflexible accuracy or adherence." The synonym (opposite)? "Inflexibility, stringency." So, I guess 95 percent honesty is not enough.

Okay, I know, these were relative newcomers. But as we stay clean, the more we evade the truth, whether it's about ourselves or about others, the more it pinches. The longer we stay clean, it's said, the narrower the path. Honesty is a habit, in many respects, I think. When I came into the rooms I'd lied for so long that I had to monitor every word that came out of my mouth, practically. I didn't know the truth. My friends in the program helped me learn how to be more honest.

I recall early in recovery I was resisting returning to work because I resisted the low pay and felt that I didn't know anything but the "fast life," as we called it. I wasn't just addicted to drugs, boys and girls, I was addicted to the drugging lifestyle. Running in the bars and speaks until all hours of the morning, hanging around with low-lifes, always wanting to know what the buzz was on the streets; addiction to the lifestyle was part of my addiction that had to be broken.

I remarked to a friend who suggested maybe I'd better stay out of the clubs if I wanted to stay clean that "I don't know anything else." He said, in a word, "Bullshit. You've held a normal job, you came from a normal home; it's time to make some changes." Honesty, for me, was very slow in coming. Rigorous honesty took years, and still sometimes I fail.

I started with small things. "Cash-register honesty," as it's called; giving back change if given too much, telling the truth even if it's not what I want to say at that moment. I stopped telling tall tales just to get attention. Those little things set the stage for the ability to be more honest in all my affairs. But still, after all this time, it can be a result of habit. Yes, I can take that extra $20 the cashier gave me or I can give it back. I once went through a bank drive-through and the women was very nasty to me. She gave me an extra $100 back. I kept it because I rationalized she owed it me for her behavior. All that had to change when I got clean. My honesty muscle is now in good working order now because I've exercised it for so long.

I have two major pet peeves in the program. It's people on disability coming into the rooms talking about how much they're making under the table and the ones who are experts tax cheats, proud of how little they pay the government (that's us, you and me, you know) because they earn a lot of cash. Somewhere along the line, they didn't learn the "practice these principles in all our affairs" part of the program. When anyone steals, it costs us all; one way or the other, we all pay for others' dishonesty.

I don't like the current tax system, but I still chose to live in this country so I'm stuck with it. Unless I'm willing to go all out to change the system, then I cannot live here and pretend the system doesn't apply to me. That's my opinion, anyway.

I was on a user group the other day littered with doctors and Ph.Ds. The moderator of the group went on a hateful rant about alcoholics; they are "manipulative," etc., she said. I did talk to her on the phone later and told her I had been in recovery for over two decades. I was met with an uncomfortable silence. I hoped that she was talking about those not in recovery, but my guess is, somewhere along the line, she's seen something that shades her perception of even those of us in recovery.

The old saying goes "You may be the only Basic Text that someone ever sees." Does my behavior match our spiritual principles? Is 75 percent, or 95 percent, or 80 percent honesty enough? I honestly don't know. I only know I strive for 100 percent honesty. I'm not always successful, but I'm pretty close.

Well, enough wanderings for one day. Until tomorrow, have a great, honest day. I always feel much better when I do.

Did you hear the one

Did you hear about the dyslexic agnostic with insomnia? She sat up all night wondering if there was a Dog.
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I asked my boyfriend to put up a"Beware of Dog" sign at my basement entrance. I don't know about you, but I'm scared, but not of my dogs.

Oh my gosh . . .

I am wiped. I'm sitting in the Phoenix airport waiting for my flight, which would only be delayed if a plane couldn't take off in 115 degree weather. I forgot how HOT it is here.

Barbara met me at the NA meeting Tuesday night. We went and got some Thai food then headed out to my friends' house to spend the night. We had a great visit and she looks wonderful. She's on her way to Oregon. Last I saw her she was heading north on Highway 60; Pete was riding high in the back of her car. She has her camera, so I'm sure she'll post some great pics along her route.

I accomplished a lot during my three days here. Business is definitely picking up. Remember six months ago when I was literally in a panic, wondering what God wanted me to do? "Trust God, work with others." It doesn't say "trust others, work with God."

Until tomorrow when I plan to post a bit more coherently, have a blessed day.

Stuck in the airport

I'm sitting in the KC airport; my flight is rain-stalled. I was hoping to make my connection in Albuquerque, but it doesn't look likely. Oh well. Life on life's terms, as one of my friends said last night when we visited her in the hospital where she was just diagnosed with incurable bone cancer.

I decided to while away the time that I would write about another great couples fight I just heard about. My girlfriend, who I'm going to stay with in Phoenix, called me to see if I needed a ride from the airport. She mentioned that she had a little set-to with her boyfriend that day. I've known him for about a decade now and I know that having a "little" set-to with him isn't really possible; it's usually a loud and long fight, but I gave her the benefit of the doubt.

They import German shepherds, so their house is like going to visit a kennel. She told me she was running around for two hours cleaning up and moving dogs while her boyfriend took a nap. She ate lunch and when he woke up, he asked her if she'd made him any lunch. She had just laid down to read a book and she was rather annoyed that he was asking her to make him lunch. So she said something to effect of "I already ate lunch while you napped; you can make your own lunch."

That was all it took. I think he woke up on the wrong side of the bed, and they were off to the verbal races. He yelled at her that she was inconsiderate or something to that effect. So she stomped into the kitchen finally and made him a salad then went back to read her book. A minute later she heard the toilet flush. "That's what I think of your salad," he yelled as he flushed it down the toilet.

I almost cried I laughed so hard when she told me. It was a very visual fight; I could just picture him stomping into the john and putting the salad in the toilet.

It's just another indication that relationships are hard. Until tomorrow, don't get in a stupid fight; let me do it for you.

Monday travel day

Well, I'm off, but then we knew that didn't we? I'm heading to Arizona for a few days. I'm meeting BaWA Tuesday night at the VA then we're having a slumber party at my friend Debbie's house. Whoopee! Then she's off for a vacation. Pete is accompanying her; unfortunately, 2dogs have to go to the kennel.

Have a wonderful day. Say a safe travel prayer for both Barbara and me. Until tomorrow, when I'll be baking in 110 degrees, ciao.

Here's a little fun for a Sunday

Click this link.

He's got a lot of explaining to do . . .

Here's a sickening article to start your day, or end it. This is how disposable prostitutes are in our society. I'm heading to Arizona today for a few days. Barb, meet me at the Tuesday night meeting at the VA!

Will someone help?

Please write George W. Bush and ask him to read this speech.

Oz wants to play

I love plants

The Draculus Vulgaris

Check out this bad boy! I have no idea what it is, so if anyone knows, I'd love to know so that I can plant one. My neighbor is growing it. I guess I could ask her but that would require some effort. [P.S. I did ask her, the name is in purple above. I'll say.]

I went to a good meeting last night and I had a realization. No one does relationships very well. The topic was "right relationships" and there was a guy there last night who said he'd been married to his wife for 52 years. He went into a long story about how he'd met her when, drunk, he spun out on a gravel road and drove through her father's goat pen. While he left the scene that night before the sheriff could arrive, he caught up with her father the next day at church to admit he'd done it because he knew her father wouldn't cuss much at church.

Sure enough, he went over to fix the goat pen and there he met his future bride. "She was just a little bitty thing with pigtails," he said. Needless to say, we (at least the women in the meeting) were just charmed, imagining this scene. Then he went on to say that sometimes when things are rough, the silence between them might go on for a week or more. That made me laugh because that's my modus operandi; when I'm mad, I don't want to talk about it, sometimes for a long time.
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Another guy who is about 60 or so told another long story about how he was making lunch for his wife that morning and he mispronounced her sister's name for about the 1,000th time. She had to correct him, he said, and her tone of voice apparently sent him over the edge. He said they ended up in a physical altercation with her pulling his beard and him wielding a kitchen knife. We were laughing thinking of these two sexagenarians duking it out in the kitchen over a bag lunch. It just goes to show you, you never know what goes on in someone's home even if they do tell you their side of it. My mother always said "You never know 'til you marry them." I don't know how she knew that; she was only married once. I guess that was enough to figure it out.

I left the meeting thinking maybe I'm not so dysfunctional after all. I'm heading out to Phoenix next week to work for a few days, so I'll get to hit some meetings and see a few friends. Until tomorrow, take it easy. I plan to.

Codependency: Who doesn't qualify?

Every week when I can, I update my readers about what happened at our women's meeting. Yesterday was a great meeting. A women with 16 years came in and talked about her fiancee going back out after about two shaky years in the program. She said it didn't surprise her that he'd relapsed; he wasn't working a program.

It must be in the wind. Relapse, that is. But of course it's not in the wind just today; people we know and love and are family either by blood or ties as deep as blood are relapsing.

My wonderful sponsor, who has 25 years clean and works the strongest program of about anyone I've ever met in the rooms, had her husband relapse a few weeks ago two months before his 20th birthday.

My own husband, whom I finally divorced at five years clean, relapsed for the entire time after we were married until our divorce, and remains on the fringes today.

No, relapse isn't in the air, it's something that we deal with almost daily. So how do we react when those we love make bad choices?

First, we keep going to meetings. Often people relapse because they stop going to meetings. They aren't around to find out what happens to people who don't go to meetings any longer, as the old saying goes.

Next, we find others who've been through what we are going through and ask for help. I found tremendous strength in Naranon, which was very strong in the Bay Area where I lived at the time. "Detach with love," members kept telling me. So I tried.

But when one we love relapses, anger is often the first emotion that flares. As my acquaintance John Carter who wrote God, Get Me Out of This One, a book about his addiction (but unfortunately not about his recovery, which is a treasure), anger is often the last emotion "left standing." Anger is safe. It allows us to postpone the heartbreaking grief that follows. But the grief does follow. It is inevitable, unavoidable and threatens to overwhelm us.

Inflicting our anger on our loved one, who is sick, and on others in our path, isn't the way to deal with this emotion. Writing, talking to others about our feelings, screaming at the top of our lungs when we're alone, beating the crap out of a pillow, those are legitimate channels for our anger. One day I decided that I was going to take all the dishes out into the brick courtyard of our apartment and smash them one by one. It made perfect sense until I realized they'd probably cart me away.

I didn't get really angry until after the divorce when my wasband got clean and he started dating someone else. Then, I was furious! "You mean I put up with that SOB for five years then he gets clean and loves someone else?" I thought. I was on fire. Thank God, I had moved to LA by that time so I didn't have to see him in meetings and I was able to process my feelings with my sponsor there, act out in some pretty sad ways and get support from women at the WSO, where I worked at the time.

But while still in the relationship, one thing I learned was that He would tell me of some crisis he's created, problems with his instructor at school or having no money until payday, and I couldn't fix his problems.I would simply say "I'm sure you'll work it out." I stopped offering advice, offering to smooth things over, suggesting he go to a meeting, calling his male friends and asking them to talk with him. I worked my own program and tried to keep my mouth shut, which you can imagine is hard for me.

I don't mean I was a saint. I said some really mean things to him a time or two, at least. Once when he told me before the divorce was final that I could keep his last name (I used both mine and his), I blasted him with my opinion of his dysfunctional family.

Another thing I did was stop listening to people who wanted to update me on his whereabouts. There was one woman in particular who loved to make judgments about how I could stay with a practicing addict. She and her husband had a lot of years clean and I knew her concern wasn't concern, it was judgment. She didn't want to know what was happening out of love; she wanted information, I'm sure so that she could feel superior. About ten years later she O.D.ed on pain pills, my husband's drug of choice ironically, in a hotel room in Santa Cruz. We need to work our own programs and not worry about how other people are working theirs.

People would approach me at meetings with a look on their face I came to know. The look said: "I'm going to fill you in on what he's really up to." Once someone said "I saw your husband in the projects today with a VCR." Imagine how helpful that piece of information was, since he was a Texas white boy in the middle of an East or a West Oakland project. So when I saw them coming with that look, I would wave my hands in front of me and say "I don't want to hear it." Soon, the updates stopped. (That, incidentally, is a 'boundary'.)

My sponsor at the time, Tery, was tremendously helpful. She would tell me "Stay in Step Eleven," and "Act in haste, repent in leisure." So I stayed busy, finishing college, providing service and going to meetings. And I prayed constantly about the marriage and what God wanted from me.

How did I know when to leave? One day, after I'd given up a teaching fellowship at Fordham University to take a job and put him through treatment, we were driving to marriage counseling. I looked over and he was nodding out. He was loaded again.

We got to therapy and the therapist, very wise about addiction, asked him if he had anything to say to me. Of course, he didn't. She asked me if I had anything to say to him. "Yes," I said. "I want to know how long. One month, six months, six years; what's the time frame here?" I asked, referring to his using.

"I don't know," he said. I had a mini-epiphany. I realized that this was probably the most honest thing he'd ever said to me. I realized he didn't want to get clean; I wanted him to get clean.

I said, "Well, I do know." I told him it was over. I left therapy, went to a speaker meeting at Alta Bates Hospital in Berkeley, stood at the podium during burning desires and sobbed. It was finally clear--it was done.

It took several years to get over the grief of that failed relationship. I don't care what anyone says, for me, taking sacred vows to love, honor and stay through sickness and in health changes a relationship in some spiritual way. He's remarried for the second time to his second wife. I hear from him occasionally, we laugh about the old days, talk about mutual friends, he talks about work, but we don't talk about the Program. That itself speaks volumes.

Codependency, for me, was my core problem. I grew up in a family that had no clear boundaries except anger. Over the years, and mainly thanks to Naranon, I have learned a great deal about what I can do and what I can't do in another's life. I've learned in NA that I can walk through fire and not get loaded, even when those I love choose different options.

As my beautiful friend Susan Lydon used to say, "If you feel your feelings, you never have to get loaded again." For those who come in and out of these rooms, I am convinced no one ever told them that.

Until tomorrow, may you walk in sunlight.

Welcome to my messy life

Why is it we get into relationships and suddenly the things we love about another person send us over the edge? Admittedly, I am a little overly obsessive about my dogs. But I've been that way for about 30 years, so it should come as no surprise to those who love me that:

1. There is often dog hair lying about, despite my best efforts at sweeping every day. I don't think everyone would want to live this way, but I am okay with it.
   
2. I don't go on spontaneous vacations anymore because I have to consider where I park the dogs, and believe me, not just anywhere will do.
3. If I'm gone all day, I want to hang out with my dogs. Sometimes they want some attention, too.

These are three weird things about me I guess, the latest craze sweeping the blogosphere. Why is it that we don't so much get into relationships as take hostages? "Become like me!" seems to be the mantra.

Yes, my house might appear, at times, a zoo. It has been that way for a long while. My childhood was a zoo: You made allowances if the dogs got sick; the dogs ate the fence; my brothers brought the colt into the living room (as they did one Christmas eve); the dogs left hair all over the place; the cat ate the fish; the horse got colic and you had to stay up all night to walk it; or the dogs hung out on the couch. This is how I was raised and I'm completely comfortable with it. You know the old saying? "If nothing changes, nothing changes." If you don't want it to change, well, then, it definitely won't change.

This is my messy life.

Every day I'm above ground and sucking air, as my sponsor says, I am grateful. I plan to go through it one day at a time, usually with a lot of dog hair on my clothes. How about you?

The 1st Tradition

I went to a meeting tonight; in fact, I've been to meetings every night since Sunday. I've been in a difficult place; a lot of personal things going on. Tonight's topic was the 1st Tradition, each group should be autonomous . . . .

It got me thinking about what kinds of meetings I like to attend. The town where I live has one meeting per night, so there isn't much choice. I hit most of them from time to time, Sunday night is my home group. There is one meeting in town, though, that I don't attend. It's an "everything has to go exactly like what is on the format" or the poobahs that started the meeting will have apoplexy. I call it a control issue, but what do I know?

I know as an addict, I don't like authority, never did, and despite many inventories and a new Fourth Step in progress, probably never will. I didn't come to NA to have someone else's ideas of how to behave or what direction the sharing in a meeting "must" go, right or left, pushed down my throat. If that attitude will cause me to rebel, imagine what it will do to newcomers.

Tonight I shared about the type meetings I support. To my taste, the best meetings are relaxed; yes, there are some ground rules, but there is a good deal of bantering that could be construed, in those oh-so-rigid meetings, as crosstalk.

I like meetings where we don't read everything NA has ever written, nor take up the entire hour reading from literature at a literature study. Even with my years clean, I can't pay attention that long.

I also like meetings where people don't share to correct members who spoke before them, no matter how much clean time the "correctors" have. The program I work may get someone else loaded. There are a few things I've learned that I think are musts, but that's my path and I don't have to correct everyone who differs with the way I think the Program works.

My favorite meetings are those that make a big fuss over newcomers, greet new people to the meeting they may not know, and that start on time and end, reasonably on time. I don't like candlelight meetings because, as I learned from my old friend Red, newcomers needs to look you in the eye so they know you aren't bullshitting them about staying clean.

One local meeting just had a group conscience and decided to outlaw text messaging in the meeting. I don't like meetings that change their format to address one problem rather than talking to the "problem" and straightening it out, or not. Personally, if someone wants to sit in meetings and text message, who is it hurting but him?

If there is scandal revolving around a meeting as we've had here for a few months, I refuse to listen to the gossip. I simply tell people that "I don't want to hear it." A meeting that is spiritually unfit will die; it is that simple. If I don't like the things that I believe are going on in a meeting, I can either attend it and hope to steer it back toward center (not my center, an atmosphere of recovery that our literature describes), or not support the meeting and simply say, if asked, that "I don't go to that meeting." It's not my duty to run around town spreading more gossip about the meeting to try to stir up support and "save" the meeting.

Our First Tradition is a strong tie that can bind us together if we remember that it's all about our "common" welfare, not my group's welfare at the expense of another group's.

And here's another opinion. If your sponsor, after taking you through the Steps, doesn't then take you through the Traditions, offer to go through them together with him or her. They may never have done so.

The Traditions are just as important in our recovery, if we want to keep what we have, as are the Steps, in my opinion, anyway.

Well, I am exiting my soapbox for an early bedtime. Tomorrow is another day.

Slow news day

The squirrels are busy, however.

Another good meeting

I had kind of a rough day trying to figure out some health insurance stuff and dealing with life on life's terms. So I headed to a meeting tonight, right after I cooked up a batch of chicken with rigatoni. It was good if I do say so myself.

Anyway, one of the kids at the meeting (this meeting gets all the drug court people) was saying that he though people who had NA stickers on their cars were narcs. When was the last time you used the work "narc"? Anyway, it reminded me of a story, I'm not sure why but lately at that meeting I'm surrounded by all the teenagers and young adults, and I remember a lot of stories from my early recovery.

I was married at the time and we were at the Northern California Regional NA convention in Sacramento, probably in about 1989. Anyhoo, we ate dinner, my wasband and me and about five of my girlfriends, Susan Lydon, who I've blogged about before, and several other women. After we all threw our money in, my wasband stayed inside to pay the bill and we went out on the sidewalk to wait for him to head to the convention center.

Standing outside by about ten brand new pickups were a bunch of Hells Angels in their colors. We gals stood there waiting for my wasband and they sort of sidled over to us and starting making conversation. I was not in the mood to chat because I steer clear of bikers of that ilk, but a few of the gals started chatting with one in particular.

He asked us where we were from and we told him Oakland, the home of Sonny Barger, who of course started the whole mess. He asked what we were doing in Sacramento. There was a weird silence. My friend Marilyn piped up and said, "We're here for a Narcotics Anonymous meeting."

The biker kind of hiked his leather vest around him and said, "Well, I prefer to keep my narcotics anonymous, too."

But that wasn't the funniest part. My wasband about that time came out of the restaurant and saw us standing there surrounded by Hells Angels. He walked by us like he didn't even know us. Later I asked him why and he said, "What do I look, stupid?" He was a survivor, that's for sure.

Anyway, it was getting dark as we all piled in the car and drove to the convention center for the speaker meeting. We drove across the Sacramento River bridge and we saw this one headlight coming toward us. We couldn't figure out what it was until we were right up on it. A street person pushing a grocery cart had rigged up a headlight on his cart. It was too bizarre.

I used to love to go to NA conventions. Last weekend was Arizona Regional Convention which is an awesome convention and which I unfortunately could not attend. Until tomorrow, 2 dogs say "Hey."