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."

Yuk!

"Bluch." Everything green does not taste good.

A new AA joke

A drunk went into a bar for the first time and ordered three shots of whiskey. Each day thereafter, he'd come in and order three shots and drink them down. One day, the bartender asked him why he ordered the three shots. "It's for my two brothers in Ireland," he said. "When I drink the shots, it's like having them here with me."

This went on for years. The drunk would come in and ask for three shots before he got down to his serious drinking. One day, he came in and asked the bartender for just two shots.

"What happened?" the bartender gasped. "Did something happen to one of your brothers?"

"Oh, no," the drunk assured him. "I quit drinking."

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Until tomorrow, have a great night.

I can, I can, I think I can

I looked out the window at dusk last night and this critter was sitting in the bird's nest. Then he made his way over to the screen and was winding his way up the feeder. He finally made it, just staring at me when I took his photo. None of them turned out too well. Tomorrow's another day; I'm sure they all be back.
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There's a dog in a kennel run near my house, a beautiful golden retriever named Maggie. She's about a year old and as sweet as, well, a Goldie. The owners pay absolutely no attention to her, besides feeding her once a day and about every three days cleaning up after her. She just lies in the sun, the rain, whatever, on cement. She's depressed, I can tell.
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Romy and Oz and I visit her regularly. We offered to buy her but the owners said that their son would miss her too much. In the six or seven months she's been there, I've seen him play with her once.
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What people don't understand is that sometimes we have to do the unselfish best for the animal, even if it means placing it in another home. We've talked about "disappearing" her; it would really be in her best interest because she could live with at my boyfriend's house with his Goldie, Bailey dog. However, I'm not prepared to pay the karma.
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So Maggie sits, day after day, and watches the world go by, chews her dog house or just sleeps. Mostly, she sleeps. I am thinking maybe I should write a letter to the owners and tell them how I feel about that beautiful dog, which I know will pine away if she doesn't get a home with humans who interact with her.
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I know you can't save them all, but I'd like to save Maggie. Until tomorrow, say a little prayer that Maggie's owners will see the light and place Maggie in a home with people who want a dog.

God always provides

As early as I can recall, I've had a negative attitude; I'm not sure why. Maybe I was just born with a dour outlook on life. I know, however, first hand the power of positive thinking. When I applied for college at an incredibly expensive school in California (Yeah, Mills!), everyone doubted I'd get in and encouraged me, like all my pals, to go to ASU. But I made up my mind it was Mills or bust, so I "acted as if" and did the footwork.

I was accepted, but I didn't get scholarship money, so that meant I really couldn't afford to go. But did I give up? Nope, I moved there, kept working and took one night class. I reapplied for a scholarship for the fall semester and won it. I was then on a ride until I graduated.

I don't know why I was able to be so positive in that case; no one else was. But I set a goal and stuck to it. So applying that same principle to my business, I've been doggedly doing the marketing and finishing work on time for new clients. I've even been giving them more than they paid for. But I went one step further.

I started reading about the power of God, in Marianne Williamson's books, in the Bible, wherever I can find it. And I posted the income I wanted to earn on my refrigerator so that I see it every day. I'm starting to turn off that negative brain chatter that says "You'll always be a loser."

Now that might not seem like much, and maybe there's more that I can do. But I will tell you that just as I finish up one project, it seems like the phone rings and something new comes in. So something is working. Maybe it's God?

Bye Bye Birdie

My last pic; they're gone. I had no idea they grew up so quickly. The next fat robin you see, say "Hey" from 2dogs.

Just chillin'

Brave new bird

Already out of her nest! (I think it's a girl it's so brave)

Ro-icky

Romy is styling in her new ears.

I now look like a bird

Phoenix airport

I'm sitting in the Phoenix airport listening to some guy with a small guitar belt out a version of Brown-Eyed Girl complete with people singing the chorus. I guess it's the chorus, anyway. Americans may sing a lot in the shower, but rarely do we sing in public venues like airports or on trains or while waiting for a bus. What's up with that?

America is a funny place. Going from Missouri to California, you might as well go to a parallel universe, whatever that is. I drove today in my rented HHR (they upgraded me because I asked) from La Habra to the Burbank airport and it was the most tense I've been in months. I noticed I was gripping the wheel like I was somebody's grandmother. [My God, it's a Southwest employee singing. What marketing ploy will they think of next?]

I am totally exhausted and fighting a dangerous depression today. I think I'm just overly tired, and although I had a wonderful time with my wonderful goofy friends, I have never realized how alienating it can be to be in a city of that size again that moves so fast, fast, fast.

My big project we've been working on has a pretty serious error in it and I'm having to explain why, which is embarrassing. We caught it in time, but it's my fault since I was editing it. But I learned something valuable and next time, we'll make a different mistake, not that one. One nice thing about being in recovery, I don't always have to keep hitting the same speed bumps in the road of life again and again. I can choose to learn from my errors and take a different route.

I just received a nice piece of business, for which I'm very grateful. This should keep me busy for the next few weeks. So all in all, things are great. I'm just too long since my last meeting and tired. It's time to HALT and go eat, so until later, mis amigos, have a great day and thanks for your check-ins the past few days.

Walk in downtown Disney

The past two days have been exciting for me listening to journalists and some of the nation's top experts in business talk about the economy, including the CEO of Disney. We covered topics from how to write a column; the housing bubble (hang on to your hats!); the prospect for universal health care; journalism ethics; venture capitol and more.

It's been really exciting and I know that I can hang in there with the best of them. But when I remember this trip in a year or two years, what I'll remember is the dinner I had with Meg. (Check out her blogs for incriminating photos.)

Isn't it funny that you can sit down with another person in recovery that you barely know and talk like you've known each other for years?

Tomorrow I go to a former coworker's house and three other former coworkers are joining us for dinner. They are some of the funniest women I've ever known.

When I was in school administration in the 90s I worked with them here in LA. One of them, Barb, is a distinguished looking, grey haired women (a former professor, in fact) with a raucous sense of humor. She drove a bright maroon four-door Buick with plush velour interior she called "The Pimpmobile." Now in LA, lunch is an event and you'd have to imagine four or five of us, dressed to the L.A. nines, piling into the Pimpmobile to cruise to whatever restaurant we fancied that day.

We worked for this guy who was really a jerk. A nice guy, actually, but always put his foot in his mouth. One day he was going on and on about his golf game. She remarked to him, in front of all of us, "You know I've always told my husband that golf is just an excuse for old white men to dress up like pimps."

You could have heard a pin drop until all the women fell out laughing. Barb is a hoot. So I'm looking forward to tomorrow. Until then, have a great day.

Nothing but the dog in her!

Just can't keep Meg off a fire hydrant!

I'm in Anaheim for a convention, and fellow blogger Meg picked me up and took me to dinner at the Lazy Dog Cafe in Orange. We had a great time; however, when we left the restaurant, I was quite chagrined to have to pull Meg off the fire hydrant.
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I'm telling you, you can't take us addicts anywhere in public.
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Meg, you are a doll. Thanks for checking in with me this year. Your steady insight helps keep me on track.

More little beaks

One egg unhatched

I head out tomorrow for a few days in California for a journalism conference. Things here have been busy with a few projects. I keep putting one foot in front of the other and someday, things will make more sense than they do now.
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The parents are out gathering worms for the babies, so I may have another post of little heads later today. It's a constant delight.
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I am grateful to be above ground and sucking air, to steal a phrase from my sponsor. Until I blog again, have a blessed day.

I'm not the only one who hates Dell

New York's attorney general has filed a deceptive business practices lawsuit against Dell, for, among other things, "failing to provide their customers with adequate customer service." See what an influencer my blog is?

To read the press release, click here.

My gardenia

Really, it's God's gardenia; just lent to me for the occasion.

Still busy

My newest friend

I put a window birdfeeder up near the mother bird. Bad idea. Mr. Squirrel moved right in. He was fearless when I stood up to the window to get his snap.

Happy Mother's Day!

It's a little blurry, but it's definitely hatched

Dad, there's a crazy woman bothering us!

Every time I stand in the window to take a snap, this mad mother calls for reinforcement. In the upper picture, note the little blue egg peaking out. I'm still not sure how many are in there.

Out of the mouth of babes

As those who read my blog know, from time to time I get my undies in a big angry bunch and a few days ago was no exception. I truly believed after the liver transplant I wouldn't have problems with anger, but as my dear friend Louisa J. in Oakland (Happy 60th, girlfriend, I love you!) says, "It's like peeling the layers off an onion." Complete, I might add, with tears.

Anyhoo, I went to the Thursday night NA meeting where each week about a dozen new addicts arrive from drug court. Most of them are none too happy to be there, but each week as we learn their names and give them a "hey, welcome back" when they arrive, some of them start to warm to us, laugh at our lame humor, and even share in the meetings.

Most of us who shared Thursday had been around the camps awhile. The daily reading was about self-acceptance which led me to talk about my issues with anger and how it's "come around again," as I think I phrased it.

I shared a few of the things I felt had been a trigger, one of them the customer support from ACT Database (Boo) and the other thing the old guy who got in my face a few weeks ago and then Monday got really nasty with another of my friends complete with invading her body space, which sent me in another rip.

Like I said, just when you think you've dealt with the issue, ha! It isn't the "issue" it's the causes and conditions, isn't it?

Well, after the meeting this old guy there with a nudge from the judge pattered up to me and said, "When I was in before, my sponsor used to say to me when I got angry, "Who put you in charge of that?"

My eyes must have shot open, because boy, there was a moment of clarity! No one put me in charge of anything. All I need to do is watch my own emotions and keep them in check. God takes care of everything else.

Out of the mouth of babes sometimes comes the strongest reminder--God, not me, is in charge and I have to get out of my own way.

I missed the women's meeting this morning because Ms. Romy didn't wake me up. She needed her beauty rest, apparently. Have a wonderful weekend.

Here's an egg!

Robins lay blue eggs. This pair of robins are fiercely protective of their little treasures.

Another day clean

but angry. I'm not sure, maybe it's because I spent about four hours in the past two days on software support with techs in India who wouldn't know their butt from their madras shirt. I found myself, late today, in a rage, terribly upset because I couldn't find the place I was supposed to get my hair done, then upset because she did a poor job.

Tonight was the last night of class and one of our classmates presented a PowerPoint presentation on aborted fetuses. Jeez, give me a break. If this is graduate level work, I must be dreaming. Even in college our instructors didn't let us present on abortion. It's too controversial and what can you say? You're either pro-choice or not and feathers always fly.

I went to my home group, but after I found myself right back in a snit. I'm feeling a lot of pressure. I'm sure it's about being back in the workforce and the magic word, fear. Will I be able to support myself? Will more jobs come in? It's probably all 3rd step stuff, but then, maybe it's time that I dive into that 4th my sponsor suggested.

I'm feeling like everything and everyone lets me down. I don't know what all this is about, just frustration and expectations, I guess. I read page (now) 419 on acceptance. I know that I can't change anything; that all is how it's supposed to be. But as I told a friend of mine who's going through similar feelings and getting advice from others that her faith is lacking, it's one thing to talk theoretically about fear when you're not the one in the barrel; it's another to walk through the fear to the other side.

I guess God hasn't brought me this far to abort me. I think, reflecting on this, that most of all, I have let myself down. Maybe that's the real one to forgive.

Another day unpacking

I spent a few hours today unpacking. I've collected pottery for years, Frankoma, Hull, and a few other styles, and each piece I took out of the box had a bit of memory attached to it.

I unpacked my mother's dishes yesterday, washed them and put them in her old maple hutch. I couldn't help but recall how many family dinners we ate on those plates; how many Thanksgivings we ate as Bolero blared in the background; how many times she and I stood in the kitchen drying that china after all the hustle of the meal was over and my brothers and Dad sat in the family room watching football or baseball or arguing about something.

Sometimes, not often because I try not to allow myself regrets, I wonder how, despite how hard my parents tried to raise me well, I got so screwed up. I am so grateful that I got clean while they were alive so that they could see how much I'd changed. I'd finally, my mother said to me, become the daughter she'd wanted all along. I wonder why I couldn't see her love for me when I was young?

I guess I'm in the mood to reminisce because tonight at my home group I talked a lot about how I got clean in Phoenix. I don't know that I would have gotten clean anywhere else. People took me under their wing and loved me when I felt completely unlovable. They saw something in me that I couldn't even fathom in myself: That I was a worthwhile human being who had so terribly lost her way. Thank God for the Fellowship we had at the time.

We were at church today and sang Amazing Grace. Every time I hear that song I cry, I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because that's exactly what I was, a wretch, a pitiful, self-hating wretch. Yet God chose me to get clean.

Tonight at my home group there were three of us there with over twenty years. When I spoke about watching, as Red in Phoenix used to call it, the "passing parade," I saw them nodding, because we can't figure out why some people make it and some people don't. I often wonder why I am so lucky to have found the rooms and stuck.

Yes, I did the footwork, but it's grace, pure and simple, that brought me to the Fellowship and it is grace that has kept me there. And grace will lead me home.

Bring it forth

"What you bring forth out of yourself from the inside will save you. What you do not bring forth out of yourself from the inside will destroy you." -- Gospel of Thomas

One mad robin

This robin is camera shy and mad at the moment.

It's a robin

Tomorrow, a better picture.

Late night poetry

Go, velvet twilight.

Try very soon

to surrendeer

a moon.

A slow news day

God answers prayers specifically

I was driving home after work one night in my five-speed Toyota in 1989 after the big Loma Prieta earthquake in San Francisco. Since the Bay Bridge was damaged, traffic on the two bridges that span the East Bay from the Peninsula was packed. I was sitting on the Dumbarton bridge kvetching to myself because I had to keep shifting.

As I was sitting in traffic, I suddenly had what I thought was a bright idea. I asked God to total my car so that I could get an automatic with the insurance proceeds (this from a claims person!). "I don't want anybody to get hurt, Lord," I said, as usual placing conditions on things. "Just let someone hit it when it's parked or something, okay?"

I went home and took a nap, then about 7:30 headed out for the Friday night NA meeting at Laney College near my apartment in Oakland. After the meeting, as we always did, a gang of us headed out to meet at Biff's, a downtown 24-hour coffee shop, a fixture for those in recovery. I had actually worked there in my teens, but that's a whole other story in itself.

As I was making a left turn to go onto Grand Avenue and into Biff's parking lot, a drunk kid made a left and smacked my car. The total damage to my car was $1,500, but it dislocated my shoulder and it never healed quite right. God had answered my prayers, alright, but I think He sent a bigger message.

Another example of God's answers is when I received my liver. Before the transplant center puts you on the transplant list, you have to interview with a team, and I mean team, of psychiatrists. There were about six of them in the room, all I really recall is a sea of white coats. They asked me how I felt about having someone's else's organ in me.

Despite how sick I was, I hadn't totally lost my sense of humor, but I felt I'd better let the wording of that question pass. I did say that I didn't have a problem with it, but I had one request. I told them that I'd always been slightly pissed off, I wasn't sure why. I said that I believed the liver controlled emotions and that I hoped that I would get a happy liver.

They were trying not to laugh when they answered me, but I could tell they were pretty amused and thinking "This one's a coo-coo bird." The head of the team told me that they were going to get me a liver because I'd led a "phenomenal life," but they couldn't guarantee that they could find me a happy liver.

"Well, I guess then any liver will do," I told them.

At a year post-transplant, I wrote a letter to the donor family. The letter they sent back said they'd sent me a picture of their five-year old daughter who gave me her liver so I could she that she "was such a happy child."

How's that for God's answer to my prayer?

Today when things get tough, I know that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. That light is God's love guiding me toward Him. "It's better over here," I think He coaxes sometimes when I'm doubtful.

They say fear and faith cannot exist in the same space; that fear is lack of faith. I know that I can be scared to death but still have faith in God. I know that ultimately all will be well, but the steps I have to take in the meantime sometimes frighten me.

After all these years clean, I can finally say my faith is strong. Until tomorrow, I feel your love and thank you for your friendship.

P.S. Be careful what you pray for!

Look what's outside my office window today!

I am in for a treat for the next few weeks. God gives us these little gifts; I'm so glad today I have the ability to notice them.

Gallup, New Mexico

Isn't this mural cool? It's on an outside wall on the Gallup Historical Museum. I am happy to be home safe and sound.
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Here's a word of warning. If a line on the map looks straight, don't trust it. I took a slight unexpected detour and wound up on 100 miles of windy, hilly road just before dusk. It ain't the way to see Oklahoma, let me tell you.
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Another word of warning: Don't listen to NPR when you're trying to look for road signs so you don't end up on an unexpected detour. It makes you think too hard to pay attention.
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Thanks for all your prayers! I know you guided me home. Tomorrow when I am bright-eyed and bushy tailed, I'm going to blog about how, in my limited understanding of my HP, He specifically answers prayers. Stay tuned.

The Grand Canyon

I'm in Tucumcari tonight; in other words, I didn't make it very far. I didn't go to the Grand Canyon, but I did see several Kaibab squirrels with Dr. Spock ears. I'll find a pic for you; you just have to see them.

I stopped in Gallup today, missing the All-Indian Nations Pow Wow by one week. I'm bummed. Gallup is the best place in the world, I think, to buy Indian jewelry or crafts. The craftspeople often come in from the reservations and sell their wares. I spent a few hours mogging through the jewelry and craft stores. It was really fun, but it put me a bit behind.

Tomorrow I go through the Texas panhandle then into Oklahoma. If you ever go through Oklahoma City, just a few miles off the freeway is a memorial for the children killed at the Murray Federal building. Swing by and see it. It's heartbreaking.

Well, I'm heading to bed. Until tomorrow, thanks for the prayers. I almost crashed into an idiot Audi driver today who thought he'd dart in front of me. I missed him by a hair and your prayer. So until tomorrow, sleep tight.

Heading home

I'm in Flagstaff tonight at one of my favorite hotels, Little America. I spent the morning watching 26 feet of furniture being loaded onto my truck. I've been without all this stuff for almost two years all together; I guess maybe I don't need much of it. It's amazing the stuff I've collected over the years. I think it gave me some sense of security, somehow.

I realized, though, as I was facing my mortality before the liver transplant, that it's all just "stuff." You can't take it with you. I learned that first hand. My sponsor has assigned me a new twist on the 4th Step. "Take a physical inventory," she recommended, getting rid of what I don't need. She was pleased I'd finally made the decision to get my things from Arizona. She also told me to use the two-and-a-half days I'll be on the road to talk with my Higher Power. That I can do.

I had a nice time in Arizona; I always do. But I'm also glad to be on the road home to Missouri. In addition to seeing my sponsor, I was able to see my good friend Pat who helped me so much when I was ill and has been a good friend for many years now. I don't think I would have lived if she hadn't been there to be my cheerleader when I was ready to give up and my advocate when the doctors were giving up on me.

I also learned that Diana Heywood, an old-time NAer and friend of our founder, Jimmy K., died yesterday from cancer. She was a unique woman and helped many, many addicts get clean, along with her husband Bill, who died from liver disease about five years ago. She was a good friend to me and to many Phoenix and Los Angeles addicts.

I would like to relate a few Bill and Diana stories, but suffice it to say, I know first hand quite a few addicts who probably wouldn't have stayed clean if it weren't for their tough love and tolerance. Any time you dropped by their house there was someone there, often sleeping on the couch detoxing. That's how Bill and Diana were. Their house was NA Central wherever they lived, in LA, Phoenix and later in Lake Havasu. Thank God for people in these rooms who are willing to go to any lengths to help addicts recover.

I know Bill will be waiting for Diana and that her Higher Power will welcome her Home. Until tomorrow, say a quick prayer that my journey is a safe one. It's the first time I've made the trip without a dog and I feel almost naked.

Another killer Arizona photo

I'm about 40 miles from where this picture was taken. Tomorrow I'm picking up my furniture and heading back to Missouri. I spent some time today with my sponsor today, visited a few friends, worked with another friend on a project I'm doing, and ate Japanese food twice in two days. Ain't life grand?

I'll try to get photos as I go. This is the first chance I've had to blog since I've been so busy. Hope you are all well.

I'm a 15 (a Bill Clinton)

Obviously, I am surrounded by Commie pinkos.

Take this quiz!

Let's have some fun today. I am often being accused of being "too liberal," whatever that means. One of my recovery friends from the Skull Valley Old Shoe group in Skull Valley, Arizona, who I consider more conservative than me by far, took this quiz and she scored a 19. Hmm.

It judges how conservative or liberal you are. I'll tell you my score one of these days if you're interested. Take it at here.

For my international friends, this may be difficult to understand if you aren't highly familiar with some US politicians, but substitute some names of your own country's political swing groups and at least have fun.

Happy birthday blog

Yesterday was my blog's one-year anniversary, but somehow it doesn't feel right to be celebratory given the circumstances in our nation today. My heart and prayers go out to the Virginia Tech students and their families. This tragedy speaks to the need for more dialogue in our nation about the violence that bombards us in movies, videos and music. As these tragedies continue, like an addiction, they seem to escalate, one shooting more horrific than the rest.

Does anyone remember the "bo-bo doll" experiments from the 60s? Completed by social psychologists, they put large inflatable dolls called bo-bo's in a room with small children. If the kids punched the dolls, they would spring back and then forward. Kids who were exposed to violence via comic books or television programs or motion pictures were then observed to determine their behavior toward bo-bo dolls.

The findings were that kids exposed to violence via different mediums like comic books were more likely to strike the bo-bo's than kids who weren't. In my day, the most violent cartoon we had was Roadrunner; today's violence surrounding kids is simply astounding.

Part of what's come out of the Don Imus debate is the hope that more dialogue will help our nation with our racist attitudes. Do you think this nation will ever address its increasing fascination with violence?

Before I get off on another rant, I'm going to close by saying "Thanks" to you who made comments re my blogging. You have been a source of inspiration to me over this past year and I hope to continue blogging as often as I can at this point.

Until tomorrow, please remember the victims of yesterday's tragedy in your prayers. They, and our nation as a whole, need it.

Resentments

The topic at yesterday's women's meeting was resentments. I had just finished reading this month's Grapevine, where the topic was the same. There was one particular article in there that was great and provided me with a new tool to better resolve resentments.

The writer said that he was having problems with a person to the point that he literally couldn't stand to be around him and they, as I recall, were active in service together. Finally, he couldn't stand it any longer. He wrote a lengthy resentment list about this person, writing down every reason he could not tolerate him. Then, he erased the other person's name at the top of the list and wrote in his own name.

He said it took him a few days, but he quickly realized that every characteristic he hated about this other person he could say honestly was one of his own character defects. I thought that was very interesting, so I resolved to try this myself.

For months, I've been struggling with a lingering resentment with a woman in my home group who has, despite doing many kind things for me when I was ill, said some pretty terrible things about me, which of course have gotten back to me. I had decided, after working my 10th Step with her and getting nowhere, to just write off the relationship. But I decided to try this exercise and see if it worked.

Yesterday I was at my home group talking with my boyfriend and another man who were laying flooring at the hall where we meet. This woman's name came up, and I just had to get my two cents in about what she had done to me (as I perceived it). I left and almost immediately felt ashamed of myself. I was doing the very thing that I so bitterly resented about her: gossiping.

This morning I wrote a list of the things about her that irritated me and boy, every thing on that list I could truly say were my character defects, as well. Although I work hard to become a better human being, sometimes I slide down the slippery slope of judgment and self-righteousness. The answer for me lies in the Steps.

This little tool, writing the resentment list and comparing it to my own defects, allowed me to look at my part in our relationship. If I expect her to be kind about me, even if she doesn't necessarily like me, I need to be kind about her. As one article about resentments said, "I can put down the porcupine."

There also a simple rule: The exact energy I put out inevitably comes back to me with a wham.

I leave Friday for Arizona to pick up my furniture, so next week's blogs will be spotty (althought great photos may ensue; it's springtime in the most beautiful state in the union, IMHO). However, as I approach Two Dogs Blogging's 1st anniversary, I'm weighing whether I should continue Two Dogs or put the energy I put into this blog into other areas that might yield better results, both for me and for others. There seems to be so many places where I could help and this blog, although I've cut back a bit in writing, takes up a lot of time. So that, kids, is where I am today. That and battling the sinus infection which has crept back with a roar.

Until tomorrow, hang in there. Your love and shout outs over the past year has made my recovery so much stronger.

Imus out

Until someone else picks him up, that is. I attend a Black Land Grant college and last night in my social problems class, most of the discussion was taken up by the thoughts about Don Imus' comments and how the mostly African American students felt about his ousting, which was announced just before class began.

We had two ministers in attendance, my instructor and another campus minister for a discussion on students working in Mississippi on the Katrina flood, complete with a slide show. Then the topic went directly to Imus (it may have been my fault), and we spent two hours in earnest dialogue.

One topic the minister asked about was why Black rappers can use "ho" and racial epithets and it's "okay." One of the comments of the evening went to a wonderfully funny African American social worker, who said, "The women who audition for rap videos are "hos" and the women who buy rap are "residual hos." The entire class fell out laughing. I'd never heard of a "residual ho," but maybe I've led a sheltered life.

We didn't solve any sweeping social problems last night, but we talked with the Dean of Students, who was there, about how the college can better work to bring the races together. One thing I asked was about was the cafeteria. I've been to the cafeteria a couple times for lunch (I'm a night student mainly) and the food is really, really good. Yet I've never seen a white student there. What's up with that?

The Black students said that they don't go there because it's too loud. And the White students, they told me, bring their lunches and eat at one of the halls in a break room. I think, personally, the White students are too intimidated to go in because it's loud and extremely "Black," as one of the students said.

Fear is often at the heart of things, isn't it? I think the races in their hearts don't hate each other so much as they fear each other. My parents didn't bring me up to be racist; the most they said is that if we intermarried, it would be hard on our children. My parents were way ahead of their time and I thank God for the tolerance they taught me. I am not afraid of differences; I only fear that we can't heal these differences.

What gives me hope is that some are at least willing to engage in tough dialogue about how we can heal this great racial divide in America. As I've pointed out before, what Imus said was not a joke. He can hide behind that lame excuse all he wants. He is a racist and a sexist, or he would not have said those horrific comments to those beautiful, courageous women. By the way, did you watch the interviews of the women from the Rutgers team? Did they look like hos to you?

To my women readers and my readers of any color than White, if those women are hos, then we are all hos. I'll paraphrase Alan Ginsberg here by saying, "Ah, ho, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you're really in the total animal soup of time."

To quote Ginsberg directly, "While I'm here I'll do the work. And what's the work? To ease the pain of living . . . " This incident has caused me pain. It should cause me pain, because it speaks to a great, great problem in America. Despite the Civil Rights movement and despite "integrating" our schools (have you been to a school in Compton lately?) and despite the lip service we pay to racial equality, this nation stands divided. I, for one, believe we can do better than this.

Romy's latest handiwork

My poor dog has lost it. I came home to a chewed coffee table (thank God it was a thrift store quality), a chewed software package box, and last night found her chewing on an electric cord. I'm not sure what's up with my pooch.

I'm sick at heart

The news has been all over Don Imus' comments on the Rutger gals' basketball team and frankly, it makes me sick at heart. If you haven't read his comments, suffice it to say the gals were referred to as "nappy-headed hos" by Imus and his producer. Comments are all over the board, but here's my feelings on this. This was no joke; this is how many, many White men feel about Blacks, male or female.

My heart hurts for a country that has this deep hatred for people of color. I have spent a great deal of my career, unfortunately, working around men just like this, trying to ignore their hatred and their racism and their prejudices. Today I'm grateful I don't have to put up with it anymore.

What hurts the most, though, is that there seems to be so little I can do personally to make racism and sexism better. There are many people around me, given the state I live in (although it's not just my state) who are racist to the core and in deep denial about it.

If you don't like how people act, Black or White, hate the actions, not the skin color. It isn't about how people act based on their color; it's usually about how they were raised. This lack of upbringing affects all people, White, Black, Hispanic, or striped. When Imus makes statements like this and gets away with it because he generates big bucks, I sink further into believing that I, also a second-class American citizen due to my gender, will ever feel at home in America.

Yesterday I spent an hour-and-a-half in church being reminded of Christ's message. It was, I believe, simply love. I'm tired of hearing people hide behind their Christianity yet, to their core, despise other races.

Urban Semiotic posted some great cartoons and thoughts on this issue.

It goes back to what I can do in my core of influence and that is to practice love. By the way, I think love is a verb.

Another day clean

The last few days I've been a bit herky jerkey, although I'm not sure why. Yesterday I was letting someone else's stress get to me and today, well, that's a whole other story. But the woman's meeting was awesome today.

One of our members took her 7 year chip. She's just coming out of a relationship fiasco as is one of my sponslings. Relationships are tough. When we suffer major losses such as a breakup or a close friend or parent's death, often the accompanying feelings go much deeper than just that loss -- we're grieving many, many losses in our lives.

One of my friends with many years sober whose husband just relapsed again said that she was feeling like "Maybe God has lost my file." I, too, know that feeling. You too probably know it. It keeps hitting the fan and you keep asking "Okay, God, what's the message here?" I call this "when the rubber hits the road" in recovery because this is where you either get into action, feel your feelings or get loaded.

I haven't been to as many meetings as I normally attend the past few weeks because I've been working more. In my recovery, though, I've found that I need three to four meetings a week to stay on point and I'm not feeling on point today, I'm feeling slightly irritated and discontent.

The topic at today's meeting was mainly relationships, but one of the daily meditations talked about integrity. The program has given me integrity because prior to coming into the rooms and despite my parents trying to teach me this trait, I had none. I remember many times when I was using (and I'm missing my mother this weekend because it's Easter, I guess) my mother arranged for me to meet her and my aunt for lunch. Often, I just didn't show up. Usually I was too hungover to get out of bed or I didn't want her to see me high. When she finally tracked me down a few days later she'd say "We missed you, dear." I would feel like a slug, which was a good reason, not that I needed one, to get loaded all over again.

Today if I say I'm going to do something, I generally do it. I can be depended on. That's a gift, to be this person I am today versus that wild woman I was for so many years. So while it's not a really great day for me today emotionally, all in all, I'm grateful that I found this program and I decided, and yes, it is a day-by-day decision, to stick around.

Some days, just stay in bed

Some days, it just doesn't pay to get out of bed. I received an assignment from a new client last Friday. He needed the copy turned around by Monday, which I did. I thought I did a pretty good job. He, however, sent me a nice e-mail saying "it wasn't what I was looking for." I wasn't sure what to do, so I sent him a note and asked if he wanted me to rewrite it. No response.

So this morning I got up and rewrote the copy entirely and e-mailed it to him. He had promised me a lot of work if this panned out, so I am pretty disappointed. However, I learned a few valuable lessons. I am not going to start projects without more clear direction and an outline that I send to the client rather than guess I know what I'm doing then find out it's not what the client envisioned.

Next, I'm not going to get discouraged. I did; it really threw me because I know I can write copy, especially on the subject matter, which of course would have bored the pants off most writers nor would they have been able to write two pages on the topic because it's highly technical.

When these things happen, my mind goes back to the believable lie, the "I can't do anything right" one. I have to fight that like crazy, because the reality is if I get into that thinking, I am tempted to give up.

Tornado-like winds have been swirling around us here in Mid-Missouri. The sirens went off for awhile, but I bravely continued shopping. There is little that gets between a hardy shopper and her goal--more stuff.

So until tomorrow, I feel better just writing this. Send a "hey" to the universe that my business keeps on rolling, because I'm a little discouraged right now.

Reading policy language exhausts Romy

Anything but start this project . . .

Do you know I've discarded three full kitchen garbage bags of paper from my office this week? Yes, I can actually see some of the floor. This morning to procrastinate further to keep from starting my project I've started a pot roast in the crock pot, taken both dogs for a nice walk in the beautiful spring morning, gone to my future in-laws to sit with Ms. "Riveter" so her husband could go to the doctor, talked on the phone at length with one friend and much shorter, due to call waiting, to another, swept the floor, and done a few other things. Procrastination is a wonderful thing.

Once I begin working on a project in earnest, I tend to hyperfocus so there's no stopping me. I'm not clear why I'm procrastinating on this particular project except that there's a lot of reading I have to do (insurance policy language is fascinating--NOT) and it's hard for me to sit down and actually do it without jumping up every five minutes.

My girlfriend's husband, she has 21 years and he had eighteen, relapsed last year and was about nine months clean and about to take his chip. She called me a few nights ago and he was "off to the races," she said. They have four kids and they're about to adopt another one and this has really thrown another wrench in her plans.

When she called me yesterday she was making plans, "I can sell the house and get a smaller one," or "I can lower the asking price on my office building," which she recently rehabbed and put on the market, or "I don't know if I need to kick his butt to the curb." I simply pointed out to her that today, she doesn't need to do one thing.

He may make it back and he may not. Late-recovery relapses are very, very difficult, it seems to me. I haven't seen a lot of people make it back once they've had a lot of years in the rooms then they go back out, at least not from drugs.

When these things happen, though, we almost have to take it like we're back in our first year of recovery ourselves and not make major decisions. As my sponsor says, "Stay in Step Eleven and ask God to make it loud so you don't miss it among the veils of denial and confusion."

She walked through this last time with the help of her friends and she'll walk through it again, no matter what happens.

I can no longer procrastinate. I must read and read I must. So I will leave you with this thought. If you don't know what to do, don't do anything. In my case, I know what I must do. Ciao.

Stuck again in Dell Hell, and Microsoft, too

I spent three hours this morning on the phone with Dell; they couldn't solve my four-month long computer issues. Finally I called Microsoft and guess what? Because I bought the computer with the software installed, I have no Microsoft warranty but Dell can't troubleshoot the operating system problem.

So, I had to pay Microsoft $59 and take three more hours, and I'm not exaggerating, to fix the problem. It does appear fixed, however, so that is a good thing.

Doesn't it strike you as strange that Microsoft makes a program with an obvious bug in it and a documented workaround and yet they charge you to fix what they didn't build correctly in the first place?

Technology, the big timesaver. That's all I'm saying for the entire day.

Wait a little longer

When I was little, my mother had a special verse she would say to me when I wanted to do something all my older brothers were doing. "Wait a little longer 'til your little wings grow stronger, then you'll fly, fly away," she'd tell me.

My second year clean I decided to move from Phoenix back to Oakland to attend college. Oakland was where I had done the worst of my using. She and my Dad were clearly worried that if I went there, I wouldn't be able to stay clean, but they seemed reticent to talk to me about it.

Mom and I were sitting in armchairs one night chatting and I could sense her unease. "Mom," I finally asked, "Are you worried if I move back to Oakland I can't stay clean?"

"Yes," she finally admitted. "Remember what I used to say to you when you were little, "Wait a little longer . . . "

"'Til your little wings grow stronger," I finished for her.

"Right," she said solemnly.

"It's going to be okay, mom, I promise you." And it was. That was twenty years ago and I have kept that promise.

My parents taught me the meaning of unconditional love and for that lesson and many others they taught me, I am so very grateful. If I can be half the person that each of them was, I will be satisfied.

Another day for gratitude

I'm still recovering from the sinus infection from hell so I spent most of the past three days on the couch watching some of the weirdest movies HBO or SHO can shovel. Every time I lie down my head fills up like a water balloon, so I just lean back on the couch and watch movies and snooze. This evening I'm just starting to feel like maybe my head won't fall off, so there is hope, I think.

Recall that I wrote a few days ago about one of my sponslings relapsing. I had a phone call tonight from her husband and she's in county jail with a new possession charge. I remember once my mother telling me that the only time she slept well was when I was in jail and I thought she was crazy. However, I admit that once I received the call, I felt more at peace because at least now I know she's not ripping and running, she's safe.

I am going to try to call her P.O. tomorrow to advocate for a long-term treatment program instead of prison. She's such a sweet girl that it hurts my heart to see her go back to prison, but maybe that is her bottom. I know I can take that one extra step to see if I can help her, but after that, I am at peace with the outcome. If she goes back to prison, odds are I'll be here when she gets out.

There isn't much news other than that. My boyfriend hung Romy's door and just for fun before I locked her out of the kitchen, she opened the refrigerator. One last hurrah, I guess. At least she didn't get the pecan sandies.

Tomorrow I start working in earnest on my training project. I am grateful today for many things. I'm grateful for a beautiful spring day, a boyfriend who takes care of me like I'm the Holy Grail, a fun Hungarian movie, a few pecan sandy cookies, for my blogger friends who give me electronic "atta-girl" even when I'm crazy, but most of all, for another day clean.

Until tomorrow, namaste.

Romy guards the fireplace

Romy the Andiron

Not much news today, kids. I have a raging sinus infection and am waiting for my doctor to call me back with antibiotics. So much for traveling.

I met yesterday with my new clients and I think it went okay. Thanks for all the "Yahoos" back from you all. Do you know I've been out of work over two years? I can't believe it. So good things are beginning again, just in time for spring.
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It's like that sometimes, isn't it? We go through winters of difficulty and all we can do is keep trudging with ice spikes and wait for spring.
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One of my sponslings relapsed and is on a tear. I started working with her when I got a letter from her through our area that she needed someone to help her once she got out of prison. I wrote to her and when she got out, almost the first thing she did is call me and we've been going strong ever since. But she took on too much too soon, wouldn't seek direction, and as a result surrendered her four kids back to foster care again and went on a binge.
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It's all too sad and familiar. I call it "The Call of the Wild." It spotlights the cunning, baffling and deadly disease in all its strength that she would choose drugs over her children, who have been in foster care for several years. I can't help her if she isn't willing to follow direction. It's that simple. I love her and will support her if I she calls, but there's little more I can do.
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I didn't get here a winner; it took me two solid years of being in and out to get clean. I know how hard it is. I know this, however, after 22 years of continous clean time. One must be willing to follow directions even if it seems counterintuitive and extremely painful. Oldtimers know how to stay clean because we've walked the path and encountered just about every obstacle there is to encounter.
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Taking positive action in the face of negative feelings keeps us clean. Following directions allows someone to guide us who can see the red flags we cannot or will not see.
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So until tomorrow, my friends, say a prayer for my sponsling and my sinuses. I love you all.

Yipee!

You have all hung in with me while I have job searched, ruminated, gotten mad, and finally said "I quit" looking for a job. A few days ago I got my first account. I'm developing a one-hour training module for a regional business. This is the Program's best paradox, that when we surrender, God steps in.