I love program functions!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anger and insulation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gratitude

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

from As Bill Sees It

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

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

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

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

AA in a nutshell

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

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

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

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

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

How can we survive like this?

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

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

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

Anonymous

Permission to reprint The AA Grapevine, Inc., copyrighted material [in this publication, organization, or website] does not in any way imply affiliation with or endorsement by either Alcoholics Anonymous or The AA Grapevine, Inc.

Well, you're looking very natty yourself!

Romy tests new couch

She gives it her "Two Paws of Approval" rating

So you're ungrateful for what?

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

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

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

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

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

Habib, Qazvin, Iran.

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

Maybe they should call them "Womenatees"

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

Manatees May Be Smarter Than We Think

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

Our fine fighting 101st Airborne

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

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

Keep these brave guys and gals in your prayers.

They didn't know when to quit

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

Studs Terkel, from an interview in the November Sun Magazine

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hedgeapples

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

Inadequacy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Step 11

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This Vale of Tears

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bonaventure, The Soul's Journey into God

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

Down the broad Vale of Tears afar

The spectral camp is fled;

Faith shineth as a morning star,

Our ghastly fears are dead.

From The Beleaguered City

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

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

Why dogs hate Halloween

"This is so doggone humiliating!"

Cash-register honesty

A few days ago, a friend asked me to co-sign her dishonesty. My "bellyometer" was feeling slightly queasy, but because one of my big character defects is that I will sometimes compromise my principles to make you like me, I agreed. First, I thought it was just her telling this agency something other than the truth. I told her I didn't care what she told them. Then, I had to sign a paper that said what she had told them was true. Feeling even worse, I still agreed. Over the weekend, I really felt badly about the whole thing. My s/o pointed out that not only did she lie, but now, if asked, I had to lie, too. That put another spin on things. The sad thing is it was all over saving a few bucks when this person can afford to spend the money.

It boils down to my behavior, though, not hers, and the realization that I compromised my own principles to avoid a potential rift in our friendship. And really, I don't think it's appropriate to ask friends to lie for you. Sorry, that's just not working a good program.

I sometimes make decisions way too quickly as I did when she asked me to lie. Last night I figured out a solution. When I'm uncomfortable with something a person asks of me, I can say "I'll think about it" to figure out how to phrase what I want to say rather than 1) making a bad decision, or 2) being too abrupt about how I feel about the situation.

It reminded me of a story. Two snakes, a big snake and a little snake, are slithering along side-by-side. The little snake asks the big snake, "Are we poisonous?"

"No," the big snake replied.

"Good," the little snake said, "Because I just bit my lip."

When I lie, gossip, or otherwise let my mouth overtalk my gut feelings, I'm biting my own lip and I am venomous.

This morning my friend called to give me an update on something and thanked me for lying for her. At the moment, I didn't know what to say without running the risk of hurting her feelings. But a rule of thumb a member taught me early in recovery is that if the issue is standing between me and another person, then I have to talk with them about it. So I will tell her how I feel face to face, without judgment, anger or blame. I'm just as responsible for this situation because I said "Yes" when "No" was the proper action.

When I went to the noon meeting today, guess what the topic was? Honesty. God has a sense of humor, no? When I got home from the meeting, Romy had discovered a new hiding place for my food. As you may remember, she's a savvy refrigerator opener. This morning she saw me put a piece of coffee cake in the oven before I left for the meeting. When I got home, the door where I store pots and pans was pulled open. Fortunately, the cake was in the oven, not the drawer. She's a smart girl. I told my s/o about her latest deed and he emailed me this warning. "Don’t ever let her see where you hide your gun. She might shoot us both!"

Where is PETA when you need them?

We are not a glum lot

Last night I went to another good meeting (I can't remember many bad meetings. I remember one, however, where I was asked to speak to adolescents in their early recovery. They were passing around several huge bags of peanut M&Ms. A lot of crunching filled the air as I spoke. About half-way through my pitch (and I'm sure they were thinking "If I was that old, I'd quit using, too!"), they began throwing M&Ms around the room, at first a few randomly then with increasing energy and intensity. I wasn't too sure what to do so I just kept talking, although a few times an M&M whizzed perilously close to my head, smacking the wall behind me.)

Anyway, yesterday was a rough day for me because, as I've said, I'm trying to rebuild myself professionally since the transplant. I went to an interview yesterday morning I saw in the paper that sounded like a fit, then when I got there, I was interviewed by a guy with less experience than me by far, less credentialed, you know the drill, I'm sure. It was basically a position I could have filled about twenty-two years ago. I was very humbled when I left. Next I went to a meeting of my former insurance peers who I hadn't seen since well before the transplant. They held a presentation and as I looked around the room, I realized I was as well qualified or more than most of the people in the room, and I was unemployed.

Anyway, it was another "poor me" moment and another one of those moments of clarity where I realized the mess I was in was mainly created by me. When my s/o said, "You're right where you're supposed to be," I said "I'm right where I put myself." My self-will and ambition and intolerance put me where I am professionally and I may never dig myself out. Or, as I hope, God has another plan for my career that will make me uniquely useful and happy. As St. Augustine said, "First I believe; then I understand." I just have to have faith and do the footwork.

So before the meeting I took the Big Book and opened it, asking God to show me some answer. The page I opened to was from The Family Afterward, the four paragraphs around "We are not a glum lot." So when the meeting opened and the leader asked if there was a topic, I volunteered to read that portion. I know that when I travel or try to find a meeting in an unfamiliar building or church, I orient myself to the meetings' locations by the laughter. We had a few laughs in the meeting and one member with only a few months told a moving story of twelve-stepping his friend, so I left feeling better. Meetings inevitably adjust my attitude.

When I came into the rooms, there was nothing funny in my life. The police had confiscated my car; I was trying to sell cosmetics and failing so I didn't ruin my reputation in the insurance industry; I was so darkly depressed that most days I couldn't get off the couch; my house was a mess including uncut lawns, books piled around in heaps and weeks of dog hair lying about; my mother wasn't speaking to me and my father had to sneak around her to see me; and my brothers had pretty well given up on me.

Today, my life is filled with humor and joy. Yesterday was not one of those days, but those deep ruts in my recovery are today fleeting. By last night and bedtime, I was back in gratitude and I slept well. Today we're grouting the kitchen, so the house is coming along. I can't ask for much more.

There's nothing like a hug from a friend

"I luv you!"

I got clean in NA where one of our slogans was "hugs not drugs." Hugging meant a lot to me when I was first getting clean because it had been a long, long while since someone had touched me with any affection during my addiction. There are some people I'm not comfortable hugging, and to them I give a sideways hug or avoid them when I see them coming at me with that "I have to hug you!" look in their eyes.

Lately I've noticed a lot of judgment about people in the rooms from, of course, other people in the rooms. I'm really working on keeping my mouth shut about others unless I can say something nice. I'm screening my words according to a Sufi saying known as the three gates. Before I speak I try to ask myself:

1. Are these words true?
2. Are these words kind?
3. Are these words necessary?

I am the queen of taking cheap shots at people to make others laugh. I'm trying not to do that anymore. Change is hard and I look for all the tools I can get. I've found when others are having at a person behind their back, it's better not to chime in, no matter what you have to add to the conversation.

I was at a political fundraiser last night for a local race helping a friend of mine out with the event hosting. A woman's name came up who failed to attend because she hadn't supported this particular candidate in the primary election. (It's not good party politics, you know, not to throw your support behind the winning same-party candidate and we can't have anyone not goosestepping with their political party.) A lot of chatter went on about this woman and, I'll be the first to admit it, I've noticed this woman can be difficult. But I also know that after my transplant, she took a full day and drove me about 250 miles round trip to St. Louis to make sure I made it to a doctor's appointment.

Yes, she has a big personality and facets of it were brought up by several people. I could have jumped in and defended her, or I could have jumped in with a tasty anecdote of my own. I felt like the appropriate course of action was to say nothing. It's not my job to protect her reputation, stop others from gossiping or try to point out the error of their ways. It's simply my job, I think, not to participate in the mud slinging and to remove myself if possible from the situation. I chose to walk into the other room.

One of the places where I attend many of my meetings has been going through some transitions in membership, and we've attracted some new members and lost a few old ones. These new members are getting a thorough "inventory taking" when they're not present. I wonder, then, what my fellow members say about me behind my back? I'll bet it's good. Over the years, I've given them cause to take my inventory and will no doubt, inadvertently or otherwise, continue to do so from time to time.

But here's what I think. If we drive members away by picking and chosing who the "winners" are, where do the "losers" go to find recovery?