I look at these pictures from NASA.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Monday, July 30, 2007
Almost done
My project is winding down and I am getting ready to take a day off. I've been working pretty much non-stop and haven't had time to do much writing. Hope you are all well. This week I promise to have a good picture for Thursday!
Until then, have a great day.
Until then, have a great day.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Friday, July 27, 2007
I am still alive
I have been so busy that I haven't had time to think, let alone blog. It's all good. My summer grad class ended yesterday. We spent six weeks studying organizations and the last two studying anarchist groups. It was really fun. I think I'm a bit of an anarchist. I used to be a registered independent until I became active in NOW and Now members talked me into becoming a Democrat so that I "had a voice."
I remember the night Bill Clinton was elected. My mother and I sat and watched the election returns, both in our respective armchairs. She was very liberal, but I believe my father's pressure kept her from voting for any Democrats, but I digress. As we saw that Clinton was going to win and in fact they announced, I was ecstatic. I told my mother that for the first time in my life, I felt like I was represented. She turned to me and said, "I'm sure you do." I could see on her face that she really did understand how I felt. I'm not so sure I'd feel that way now despite which Dem was elected.
If anyone watched the YouTube debate the other night, lacking was any discussion of America's abysmal health care policies. Of course, young people, most of the questioners, probably feel as I felt at 21, invincible. I never believed I would get sick. But health care is a burning issue in this country and I don't see any politicians addressing it in any meaningful way.
Back to anarchists. We really enjoyed watching a film called "Anarchists in America," which interviewed anarchists, many of them bright and vibrant and obviously in their 80s, talk about what led them to their beliefs. Many, of course, came out of Eastern Europe and Spain and suffered discrimination and segregation when they arrived in the United States. Of course, their children who have become assimilated in the great American "melting pot" are not anarchists because their experiences were not their parents. Most of the anarchists' children are middle and upper middle class, it appeared from the interviews. Not surprising.
So I decided as I studied for the final to Google anarchy in the Midwest. I hit a website that was removed at one point from Wikipedia and I received a flag "Your i.p. address has been recorded." So now, I guess I'm officially an anarchist, or at least my computer is.
Wouldn't it be disappointing if we ordered our FBI files and found we didn't have one? I asked in class. My teacher and I are of the same generation, but the students in the class, since this was grad and undergrad, were pretty young and naive. We spent a bit of time trying to explain the late 60s and early 70s to them. To borrow a phrase, "You had to be there."
I was reminiscing yesterday about living in Berkeley a few blocks off Telegraph Avenue in the early 70s. It was the end of the People's Park demonstrations and several times I was maced or chased and once shot with a rubber bullet as I tried to make it to my high school a few miles away. The 70s were definitely strange days.
I remember the Berkeley cops with Afros so big I don't know how they kept their hats on. One night I came around the corner with a friend to knock on the door of another friend and the cops had kicked it in and were searching the apartment. My friend had four joints in the pocket of his denim shirt. The cops looked up from the living room and rushed toward us and brought us in. The cop apparently in charge looked at his pocket and took the joints out. "You don't want these, do you?" the cop asked.
"No, you can have them," my friend assured him. That was the 70s. Today you'd probably go to prison for four joints.
One of the women interviewed in the film was at least 80 and she was very articulate and sweet. The interviewer asked her to describe her role. She said that she stayed under the limelight stirring up trouble here and there. "So you were an agitator?" the interviewer asked.
"Well, we all tried to do our best," she responded primly.
I wonder if we as Americans are doing our best. I know I'm not; I'm so politically inactive it isn't funny. I send my donations to Amnesty International and to the World Wildlife Fund and once and again attend a Democratic women's caucus, but increasingly I feel like, as one of the anarchists said on the film, if I don't do something, I'll go completely crazy.
These are my ramblings for today. I love taking pleasant trips down memory lane. I know as I related some of my stories to the kids in class this semester, they must have thought, "She's full of it." I have lived many lives in this lifetime. I thank God daily that I survived.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Yikes
I've been working my tail off with no end in sight until about next Friday. It's all good, but I am so wiped out it isn't even funny. That's why there's been no blog updates.
I did get a call from lovely Ms. Barb today, which is always a pleasure. She was at her favorite place, the dog park. She told me that she took an NA H&I meeting into the county jail a few days ago and ran into one of my sponslings, who had relapsed. I was sponsoring the gal winter and spring 2006 in Arizona. She was a great woman, very sweet and funny, and was plowing through the steps, but I could see her begin to drift away. It's funny, you can tell when they're on their way out quite often, can't you?
I'm usually very gentle with my sponslings. But I do recall telling her pretty flatly if she didn't get back to meetings, stop running with the boys, and work with a new sponsor when I left Arizona, she was going to get loaded. And she did.
Hopefully this will be her bottom. I know I'm glad I hit mine. I watch the newcomers drag in and know--it's not getting any better out there.
Until we meet again, Happy Trails.
I did get a call from lovely Ms. Barb today, which is always a pleasure. She was at her favorite place, the dog park. She told me that she took an NA H&I meeting into the county jail a few days ago and ran into one of my sponslings, who had relapsed. I was sponsoring the gal winter and spring 2006 in Arizona. She was a great woman, very sweet and funny, and was plowing through the steps, but I could see her begin to drift away. It's funny, you can tell when they're on their way out quite often, can't you?
I'm usually very gentle with my sponslings. But I do recall telling her pretty flatly if she didn't get back to meetings, stop running with the boys, and work with a new sponsor when I left Arizona, she was going to get loaded. And she did.
Hopefully this will be her bottom. I know I'm glad I hit mine. I watch the newcomers drag in and know--it's not getting any better out there.
Until we meet again, Happy Trails.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Lost in the chaos of legal files
I'm still alive but buried under a deadline. All is well. I went to a meeting tonight to get out of here for a minute and heard this: Getting clean is like winning the lottery and you don't even have to buy a ticket. Amen.
A beautiful rain blew through and cooled everything off, leaving the flowers nodding their wet heads.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
The day isn't starting out too well . . .
I have a big goose egg on my temple and a scrape on my knee and finger, thanks to Ms. Romy, who "greeted" another dog by running down the street toward her at a dead run, dragging me behind. Her obedience is out of control; I've let her coast for so long it's like she doesn't even hear me. Sound familiar to any of you with teenagers?
My aunt died yesterday just a few weeks before her 90th birthday. My aunt was my father's sister and definitely, when I think of the word 'matriarch,' she comes to mind. She hadn't been ill, in fact, she was still driving herself to the beauty salon. A big party was planned for her on the 27th, so all in all, it's sad, but she went quietly in the early morning hours.
She and my father were so close that it was wonderful to see them interact. My aunt became very ill one year on a trip from Arizona back to her home state of Pennsylvania, and my father packed up a bag and drove straight to Houston to sit at her bedside for a week.
They were raised on a farm in upstate New York and had a tough childhood. My father was forced to become the 'man' of the family at six or so and that was his driving force in life--to be responsible and do what a 'man' did. I think everything he learned about being a man before the service was in the Boy Scouts.
My aunt taught kindergarten, as I recall, until she married a grocery store manager, who would later by their bootstraps form a large grocery store chain. But my aunt was always the benchmark of the family, the one everyone turned to with their heartaches, their cuts and scrapes and their joy. She will be missed terribly.
There are many stories surrounding her famous relationship with her hard-driving husband, but let me share one of the best. Let us suppose her last name was 'Richard'. She had a habit, which spoke louder than words, of rolling her eyes when her husband was not in synch with her thinking, which was about 99 percent of the time, it appeared. Her daughter, my cousin whom I visited in April in South Carolina, has a great eye roll, too, as do her two daughters.
My cousin's husband remarked that he and my aunt's husband and a brother-in-law or so would sit on one side of the table and all the women would be on the other side. My uncle would make some remark and my cousin's husband said he'd immediately watch "The Richard roll," which was four sets of female eyes rolling simultaneously. Can't you just visualize it?
I love to cook, and often, in fact just a few months ago, I called her to ask her how to tweak some recipe or what cut of meat to use for a particular dish, I can't recall which. We've lost that, and much more, but this is life, isn't it?
My mother and aunt were great friends, and I know that she's in the great beyond with my father and my mother, having a few laughs, or, knowing them, a lot of laughs. I will miss her.
My aunt died yesterday just a few weeks before her 90th birthday. My aunt was my father's sister and definitely, when I think of the word 'matriarch,' she comes to mind. She hadn't been ill, in fact, she was still driving herself to the beauty salon. A big party was planned for her on the 27th, so all in all, it's sad, but she went quietly in the early morning hours.
She and my father were so close that it was wonderful to see them interact. My aunt became very ill one year on a trip from Arizona back to her home state of Pennsylvania, and my father packed up a bag and drove straight to Houston to sit at her bedside for a week.
They were raised on a farm in upstate New York and had a tough childhood. My father was forced to become the 'man' of the family at six or so and that was his driving force in life--to be responsible and do what a 'man' did. I think everything he learned about being a man before the service was in the Boy Scouts.
My aunt taught kindergarten, as I recall, until she married a grocery store manager, who would later by their bootstraps form a large grocery store chain. But my aunt was always the benchmark of the family, the one everyone turned to with their heartaches, their cuts and scrapes and their joy. She will be missed terribly.
There are many stories surrounding her famous relationship with her hard-driving husband, but let me share one of the best. Let us suppose her last name was 'Richard'. She had a habit, which spoke louder than words, of rolling her eyes when her husband was not in synch with her thinking, which was about 99 percent of the time, it appeared. Her daughter, my cousin whom I visited in April in South Carolina, has a great eye roll, too, as do her two daughters.
My cousin's husband remarked that he and my aunt's husband and a brother-in-law or so would sit on one side of the table and all the women would be on the other side. My uncle would make some remark and my cousin's husband said he'd immediately watch "The Richard roll," which was four sets of female eyes rolling simultaneously. Can't you just visualize it?
I love to cook, and often, in fact just a few months ago, I called her to ask her how to tweak some recipe or what cut of meat to use for a particular dish, I can't recall which. We've lost that, and much more, but this is life, isn't it?
My mother and aunt were great friends, and I know that she's in the great beyond with my father and my mother, having a few laughs, or, knowing them, a lot of laughs. I will miss her.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Phlox
These phlox just bloomed; aren't they great?
We watched Iron Jawed Angels today in class, a movie about the American suffragettes. These steely women earned us the right to vote, but not without considerable emotional and physical pain.
U.S. women should watch the film. Many of us don't realize how hard women had to fight in this country to achieve the right to vote. Plus, there's some great acting by Hilary Swank and Mr. McDreamy of Grey's Anatomy fame.
Until tomorrow, have a great day.
Monday, July 09, 2007
Bad customer service
As any of you have who have read my blog for long know, lousy customer service sends me over the edge. Today it's a fight with RH Donnelley which prints the yellow pages here locally for Embarq. I decided to take out two lines in their pages for my business. The salesperson was nice and very pleasant, until I decided, well before the deadline, to cancel. Then she was a rude piece of crap and said "fine" and hung up on me. I assumed it was taken care of.
A month later after the pages are out I get a bill for over $200 for the second line which I cancelled. Of course, I called her immediately and she said she "doesn't recall" the cancellation. She gave me a number to call, which was the wrong number, and after 15 minutes they tracked down where to call her supervisor, who never returned my call.
Then, I wrote a letter with the bill. This morning they called and said that any cancellation should have been in writing. I told the woman this morning that I would have canceled in writing if the woman who was my rep told me to instead of hanging up on me. This new player said there's nothing she can do.
I told her to write me a letter so I can take it to the Public Service Commission, which regulates this type deal, I believe. She said she can't, there is no form letter for this. I told her to write one up only after I told her to "bite me."
You, too, can have this much serenity when you have 22 years clean.
After hanging up on her, I immediately took out my daily meditation book, and read these words: "Help and Peace and Joy are here. Your courage will be rewarded." I don't feel courageous, I feel pissed and overwhelmed quite frequently these days.
Last night at my home group we were talking about small changes in our lives as we stay clean which end up bringing big changes. I admitted that this is an area, lousy customer service, that routinely sends me over the edge. I don't know what exactly to do about it. Sometimes I'm unfailingly polite with customer service people realizing that some village lost an idiot, but other times I just get in a frothing fit.
I've learned another lesson--put it in writing. No one, in today's business environment, it seems, owes you the courtesy of explaining anything.
I did find this online, though, and if I knew the email address of the woman I told to bite me, I would avail myself of this free service.
I may have to ask my sponsor: Does this count as an amends?
An update: I found the email canceling and confirming my cancellation. Round Two!
A month later after the pages are out I get a bill for over $200 for the second line which I cancelled. Of course, I called her immediately and she said she "doesn't recall" the cancellation. She gave me a number to call, which was the wrong number, and after 15 minutes they tracked down where to call her supervisor, who never returned my call.
Then, I wrote a letter with the bill. This morning they called and said that any cancellation should have been in writing. I told the woman this morning that I would have canceled in writing if the woman who was my rep told me to instead of hanging up on me. This new player said there's nothing she can do.
I told her to write me a letter so I can take it to the Public Service Commission, which regulates this type deal, I believe. She said she can't, there is no form letter for this. I told her to write one up only after I told her to "bite me."
You, too, can have this much serenity when you have 22 years clean.
After hanging up on her, I immediately took out my daily meditation book, and read these words: "Help and Peace and Joy are here. Your courage will be rewarded." I don't feel courageous, I feel pissed and overwhelmed quite frequently these days.
Last night at my home group we were talking about small changes in our lives as we stay clean which end up bringing big changes. I admitted that this is an area, lousy customer service, that routinely sends me over the edge. I don't know what exactly to do about it. Sometimes I'm unfailingly polite with customer service people realizing that some village lost an idiot, but other times I just get in a frothing fit.
I've learned another lesson--put it in writing. No one, in today's business environment, it seems, owes you the courtesy of explaining anything.
I did find this online, though, and if I knew the email address of the woman I told to bite me, I would avail myself of this free service.
I may have to ask my sponsor: Does this count as an amends?
An update: I found the email canceling and confirming my cancellation. Round Two!
Sunday, July 08, 2007
Control freaks unite!
"Knock knock."
"Who's there?"
"Now YOU say 'control freak'!"
I heard this at my women's meeting today and only two of us got it. I completely roared laughing. The others looked at us like we were crazy and we had to explain it. I guess I qualify.
I went to Alanon last night and the message, although I haven't been in years, is still the same. Let go and work your own program.
Then this morning one of our women who isn't an addict but comes to meetings anyway (boy, has this generated some meetings snapping shut!) talked about her control issues. She said that her husband was putting together some paperwork and she had to resist the urge to stop heading out the door to work to "help" him although he was totally capable, she said.
She said she realized that what he was doing "did not require my assistance." I was thinking that when I get ready to stick my nose into someone's business, the way they're doing things or not doing them, I should remember the acronym (DNRMA), or "does not require my assistance." I'm sure the world and me would both be happier.
Until tomorrow, sleep tight.
"Who's there?"
"Now YOU say 'control freak'!"
I heard this at my women's meeting today and only two of us got it. I completely roared laughing. The others looked at us like we were crazy and we had to explain it. I guess I qualify.
I went to Alanon last night and the message, although I haven't been in years, is still the same. Let go and work your own program.
Then this morning one of our women who isn't an addict but comes to meetings anyway (boy, has this generated some meetings snapping shut!) talked about her control issues. She said that her husband was putting together some paperwork and she had to resist the urge to stop heading out the door to work to "help" him although he was totally capable, she said.
She said she realized that what he was doing "did not require my assistance." I was thinking that when I get ready to stick my nose into someone's business, the way they're doing things or not doing them, I should remember the acronym (DNRMA), or "does not require my assistance." I'm sure the world and me would both be happier.
Until tomorrow, sleep tight.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Account canceled!
I learned a new technique for surrendering resentments. I was talking to a good friend on the phone today, Oz's original mother. Pat is a woman who walks a straight spiritual path and has been an inspiration to me for many years. I've learned so much from her, both in terms of dogs, but also in terms of how to live a more spiritually based life.
I was talking to her about my epiphany about the "release" that I had about a few days ago about a hurtful situation thatI wrote about in my blog. Because Pat is such a giving and trusting person, over the years, a lot of people have really used her. She explained a technique that has helped her greatly when struggling with emotional hurts and resentments.
She said that the original Greek root of "forgive" is the equivalent of "account canceled." I'm sure there are controversies over this, but the idea at least in the Lord's prayer, originally Anglo-Saxon but changed with Latin phrases, is "Forgive us our debts." So the idea she uses is to think of someone who hurts you as an "account." Briefly review that hurt in your mind when it arises, go in and visualize canceling that debt.
Then, if the thought comes back, that resentment, that anger over the event or circumstances, don't fight the thought. (The Buddhist tradition has taught us much here!) Instead, in your mind, visually check that account tied to that resentment or person or institution and say, "Yes, I canceled that debt; the account is empty."
Pat tells me it's been the most healing affirmation she has used in dealing with resentments over her life. Until we meet again, I hope you have a safe and fun weekend.
I was talking to her about my epiphany about the "release" that I had about a few days ago about a hurtful situation thatI wrote about in my blog. Because Pat is such a giving and trusting person, over the years, a lot of people have really used her. She explained a technique that has helped her greatly when struggling with emotional hurts and resentments.
She said that the original Greek root of "forgive" is the equivalent of "account canceled." I'm sure there are controversies over this, but the idea at least in the Lord's prayer, originally Anglo-Saxon but changed with Latin phrases, is "Forgive us our debts." So the idea she uses is to think of someone who hurts you as an "account." Briefly review that hurt in your mind when it arises, go in and visualize canceling that debt.
Then, if the thought comes back, that resentment, that anger over the event or circumstances, don't fight the thought. (The Buddhist tradition has taught us much here!) Instead, in your mind, visually check that account tied to that resentment or person or institution and say, "Yes, I canceled that debt; the account is empty."
Pat tells me it's been the most healing affirmation she has used in dealing with resentments over her life. Until we meet again, I hope you have a safe and fun weekend.
Friday, July 06, 2007
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Happy 4th of July
Each year when the 4th of July arrives, I can't help but think of the freedom I have gained from active addiction. It's not so much anything I have done, I believe it's a gift of grace, pure and simple.
I lived in Oakland for many years and there was a man who was a counselor in a drug treatment program who got clean in NA. Ray P. is a great speaker and he would end his pitches with the same words, "Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty, I'm free at last." When I heard him, as even now as I write these words, I get goose bumps.
I thought today would be a wonderful day to print an excerpt of Martin Luther King, Jr.'s mighty speech in the hope that we will ponder, even if just for a moment, what freedom really means.
"I say to you today, my friends, that in spite of the difficulties and frustrations of the moment I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream. I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self evident; that all men are created equal.
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave-owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character . . .
I thought today would be a wonderful day to print an excerpt of Martin Luther King, Jr.'s mighty speech in the hope that we will ponder, even if just for a moment, what freedom really means.
"I say to you today, my friends, that in spite of the difficulties and frustrations of the moment I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream. I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self evident; that all men are created equal.
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave-owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character . . .
I have a dream today. I have a dream that one day the state of Alabama ... will be transformed into a situation where little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls and walk together as sisters and brothers.
I have a dream today. I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plains, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.
This is our hope. This is the faith with which I return to the South. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning 'My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring.'
And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of that old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! Free at last! Thank God almighty, we are free at last!"
So tonight and tomorrow, have a safe and wonderful holiday.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Release
Remember me mentioning a few months ago a women in my home group that I'd gotten cross ways with and hadn't been able to straighten it out? Although I had sat down with her to see what I may have done to offend her, she just wouldn't talk to me except to say that she "didn't understand me." We were at an impasse.
A few weeks ago she broke a bone in her hip and within a few days she learned she had terminal bone cancer. It really hit me hard, partly because I didn't feel like I could support her in her illness like she did for me due to this distance between us. I had mulled about the relationship for months. I had gone to visit her in the hospital, but still felt that distance between us and felt uncomfortable and sensitive to anything she said.
Last night I was reading one of Catherine Ponder's books, The Dynamic Laws of Prosperity. In it she talked about the concept of release, and it hit me squarely. In it, she talked about the power of release and giving things, truly giving them to God by saying "I release this situation to you, God." She also discussed the importance of not talking about negative issues, stewing over them like I had been doing for months with this particular issue.
I had made my amends to her for whatever it was I did, I still don't know, but I hadn't released the situation. I was still talking about it with a few trusted friends, mulling it over, wondering if I had somehow again offended her the last two times I've visited her. I hadn't released the relationship to God's care.
Last night, I did just that. I released her, with love, to my loving Higher Power. My heart changed, and so did my mind. I no longer need to to relive (the root word of resentment) the situation, wondering what I did, how I can make it better, etc. It's over. Like a bright blue balloon, it floated away to God's care.
Sure enough, when I got home tonight there was a message from her on my phone asking me to call her. She loved the home-grown flowers I'd taken to her. She went on in the message about how fragrant they were and how she hadn't had the time to properly thank me. I released her to God and God did the rest.
Tomorrow I'll call her and I know--things between us will be good. I learned something so powerful. It's the power of release. That was the lesson in all this, I believe.
Until tomorrow, have a wonderful day.
A few weeks ago she broke a bone in her hip and within a few days she learned she had terminal bone cancer. It really hit me hard, partly because I didn't feel like I could support her in her illness like she did for me due to this distance between us. I had mulled about the relationship for months. I had gone to visit her in the hospital, but still felt that distance between us and felt uncomfortable and sensitive to anything she said.
Last night I was reading one of Catherine Ponder's books, The Dynamic Laws of Prosperity. In it she talked about the concept of release, and it hit me squarely. In it, she talked about the power of release and giving things, truly giving them to God by saying "I release this situation to you, God." She also discussed the importance of not talking about negative issues, stewing over them like I had been doing for months with this particular issue.
I had made my amends to her for whatever it was I did, I still don't know, but I hadn't released the situation. I was still talking about it with a few trusted friends, mulling it over, wondering if I had somehow again offended her the last two times I've visited her. I hadn't released the relationship to God's care.
Last night, I did just that. I released her, with love, to my loving Higher Power. My heart changed, and so did my mind. I no longer need to to relive (the root word of resentment) the situation, wondering what I did, how I can make it better, etc. It's over. Like a bright blue balloon, it floated away to God's care.
Sure enough, when I got home tonight there was a message from her on my phone asking me to call her. She loved the home-grown flowers I'd taken to her. She went on in the message about how fragrant they were and how she hadn't had the time to properly thank me. I released her to God and God did the rest.
Tomorrow I'll call her and I know--things between us will be good. I learned something so powerful. It's the power of release. That was the lesson in all this, I believe.
Until tomorrow, have a wonderful day.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Littered among the stuff
Diaries, several, probably five, from my early years of recovery and one from my using years. I can only imagine what they hold. In the next few days, as time permits, I'll be going through them to see what I can glean from my early recovery. Or from my late using. That should be scary.
Until tomorrow, have a great day.
Until tomorrow, have a great day.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Yard sale
My neighborhood is having a yard sale Saturday and I am getting rid of a bunch of stuff. Not just any stuff, mind you, but traveling stuff. This is stuff that has been to Missouri from Arizona, back to Arizona, then back to Missouri again. Expensive stuff, that is, in road miles and mini-storage.
Why do I hang on to stuff? Part of it is a connection with the past. Much of what I'm keeping after honing down to as little stuff as I can stand, was my mother's. The rest of the it are things I've picked up over the years in flea markets and antique stores. I have two new pieces of furniture, a mattress and a couch (which I bought from my boyfriend's generous gift of all his saved change). Everything else is second-hand and well-loved. Well, my desk and file cabinets were new 14 or 15 years ago, to be rigorously honest.
So it's time to, as my sponsor suggested, take a physical inventory and part with things. Friday I'm spending the day sorting and pricing. Want to help? How much should a ten year-old black dog cost? Just kidding, Romy! Romy? Come back here! I was . . .
School starts this afternoon; I'm taking a four-week course in organizations. That should be swell. Tuition will rise by 19 percent this fall at my school. I can't believe the college is that badly mismanaged that they have to raise tuition by that great amount. It's going to price a lot of students right out of school.
Until tomorrow, 2 dogs are waiting for their walkies.
Why do I hang on to stuff? Part of it is a connection with the past. Much of what I'm keeping after honing down to as little stuff as I can stand, was my mother's. The rest of the it are things I've picked up over the years in flea markets and antique stores. I have two new pieces of furniture, a mattress and a couch (which I bought from my boyfriend's generous gift of all his saved change). Everything else is second-hand and well-loved. Well, my desk and file cabinets were new 14 or 15 years ago, to be rigorously honest.
So it's time to, as my sponsor suggested, take a physical inventory and part with things. Friday I'm spending the day sorting and pricing. Want to help? How much should a ten year-old black dog cost? Just kidding, Romy! Romy? Come back here! I was . . .
School starts this afternoon; I'm taking a four-week course in organizations. That should be swell. Tuition will rise by 19 percent this fall at my school. I can't believe the college is that badly mismanaged that they have to raise tuition by that great amount. It's going to price a lot of students right out of school.
Until tomorrow, 2 dogs are waiting for their walkies.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Is 75 percent honesty enough?
The women's meeting was interesting the other morning. We got on the topic of honesty and two of our newer members made the statement that they were working on honesty and that they felt that their "75 percent honesty" was enough. I scanned the meeting hall for a dictionary to no avail (every meeting hall should keep a dictionary on hand, the older the better, because some words, when the Big Book or Basic Text were written, had slightly different meanings. Meanings for words can change over time.)
So I rushed (well, I looked it up this morning, honestly) home and picked up my Webster's 2001. "Rigorous" is defined as 1) "Characterised by rigor; rigidly severe or harsh, as people, rules or discipline: rigorous laws. 2) severely exact or accurate; precise: rigorous research."
"Rigor," the root word, is best defined in this context as "scrupulous or inflexible accuracy or adherence." The synonym (opposite)? "Inflexibility, stringency." So, I guess 95 percent honesty is not enough.
Okay, I know, these were relative newcomers. But as we stay clean, the more we evade the truth, whether it's about ourselves or about others, the more it pinches. The longer we stay clean, it's said, the narrower the path. Honesty is a habit, in many respects, I think. When I came into the rooms I'd lied for so long that I had to monitor every word that came out of my mouth, practically. I didn't know the truth. My friends in the program helped me learn how to be more honest.
I recall early in recovery I was resisting returning to work because I resisted the low pay and felt that I didn't know anything but the "fast life," as we called it. I wasn't just addicted to drugs, boys and girls, I was addicted to the drugging lifestyle. Running in the bars and speaks until all hours of the morning, hanging around with low-lifes, always wanting to know what the buzz was on the streets; addiction to the lifestyle was part of my addiction that had to be broken.
I remarked to a friend who suggested maybe I'd better stay out of the clubs if I wanted to stay clean that "I don't know anything else." He said, in a word, "Bullshit. You've held a normal job, you came from a normal home; it's time to make some changes." Honesty, for me, was very slow in coming. Rigorous honesty took years, and still sometimes I fail.
I started with small things. "Cash-register honesty," as it's called; giving back change if given too much, telling the truth even if it's not what I want to say at that moment. I stopped telling tall tales just to get attention. Those little things set the stage for the ability to be more honest in all my affairs. But still, after all this time, it can be a result of habit. Yes, I can take that extra $20 the cashier gave me or I can give it back. I once went through a bank drive-through and the women was very nasty to me. She gave me an extra $100 back. I kept it because I rationalized she owed it me for her behavior. All that had to change when I got clean. My honesty muscle is now in good working order now because I've exercised it for so long.
I have two major pet peeves in the program. It's people on disability coming into the rooms talking about how much they're making under the table and the ones who are experts tax cheats, proud of how little they pay the government (that's us, you and me, you know) because they earn a lot of cash. Somewhere along the line, they didn't learn the "practice these principles in all our affairs" part of the program. When anyone steals, it costs us all; one way or the other, we all pay for others' dishonesty.
I don't like the current tax system, but I still chose to live in this country so I'm stuck with it. Unless I'm willing to go all out to change the system, then I cannot live here and pretend the system doesn't apply to me. That's my opinion, anyway.
I was on a user group the other day littered with doctors and Ph.Ds. The moderator of the group went on a hateful rant about alcoholics; they are "manipulative," etc., she said. I did talk to her on the phone later and told her I had been in recovery for over two decades. I was met with an uncomfortable silence. I hoped that she was talking about those not in recovery, but my guess is, somewhere along the line, she's seen something that shades her perception of even those of us in recovery.
The old saying goes "You may be the only Basic Text that someone ever sees." Does my behavior match our spiritual principles? Is 75 percent, or 95 percent, or 80 percent honesty enough? I honestly don't know. I only know I strive for 100 percent honesty. I'm not always successful, but I'm pretty close.
Well, enough wanderings for one day. Until tomorrow, have a great, honest day. I always feel much better when I do.
So I rushed (well, I looked it up this morning, honestly) home and picked up my Webster's 2001. "Rigorous" is defined as 1) "Characterised by rigor; rigidly severe or harsh, as people, rules or discipline: rigorous laws. 2) severely exact or accurate; precise: rigorous research."
"Rigor," the root word, is best defined in this context as "scrupulous or inflexible accuracy or adherence." The synonym (opposite)? "Inflexibility, stringency." So, I guess 95 percent honesty is not enough.
Okay, I know, these were relative newcomers. But as we stay clean, the more we evade the truth, whether it's about ourselves or about others, the more it pinches. The longer we stay clean, it's said, the narrower the path. Honesty is a habit, in many respects, I think. When I came into the rooms I'd lied for so long that I had to monitor every word that came out of my mouth, practically. I didn't know the truth. My friends in the program helped me learn how to be more honest.
I recall early in recovery I was resisting returning to work because I resisted the low pay and felt that I didn't know anything but the "fast life," as we called it. I wasn't just addicted to drugs, boys and girls, I was addicted to the drugging lifestyle. Running in the bars and speaks until all hours of the morning, hanging around with low-lifes, always wanting to know what the buzz was on the streets; addiction to the lifestyle was part of my addiction that had to be broken.
I remarked to a friend who suggested maybe I'd better stay out of the clubs if I wanted to stay clean that "I don't know anything else." He said, in a word, "Bullshit. You've held a normal job, you came from a normal home; it's time to make some changes." Honesty, for me, was very slow in coming. Rigorous honesty took years, and still sometimes I fail.
I started with small things. "Cash-register honesty," as it's called; giving back change if given too much, telling the truth even if it's not what I want to say at that moment. I stopped telling tall tales just to get attention. Those little things set the stage for the ability to be more honest in all my affairs. But still, after all this time, it can be a result of habit. Yes, I can take that extra $20 the cashier gave me or I can give it back. I once went through a bank drive-through and the women was very nasty to me. She gave me an extra $100 back. I kept it because I rationalized she owed it me for her behavior. All that had to change when I got clean. My honesty muscle is now in good working order now because I've exercised it for so long.
I have two major pet peeves in the program. It's people on disability coming into the rooms talking about how much they're making under the table and the ones who are experts tax cheats, proud of how little they pay the government (that's us, you and me, you know) because they earn a lot of cash. Somewhere along the line, they didn't learn the "practice these principles in all our affairs" part of the program. When anyone steals, it costs us all; one way or the other, we all pay for others' dishonesty.
I don't like the current tax system, but I still chose to live in this country so I'm stuck with it. Unless I'm willing to go all out to change the system, then I cannot live here and pretend the system doesn't apply to me. That's my opinion, anyway.
I was on a user group the other day littered with doctors and Ph.Ds. The moderator of the group went on a hateful rant about alcoholics; they are "manipulative," etc., she said. I did talk to her on the phone later and told her I had been in recovery for over two decades. I was met with an uncomfortable silence. I hoped that she was talking about those not in recovery, but my guess is, somewhere along the line, she's seen something that shades her perception of even those of us in recovery.
The old saying goes "You may be the only Basic Text that someone ever sees." Does my behavior match our spiritual principles? Is 75 percent, or 95 percent, or 80 percent honesty enough? I honestly don't know. I only know I strive for 100 percent honesty. I'm not always successful, but I'm pretty close.
Well, enough wanderings for one day. Until tomorrow, have a great, honest day. I always feel much better when I do.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Did you hear the one
Did you hear about the dyslexic agnostic with insomnia? She sat up all night wondering if there was a Dog.
.
.
I asked my boyfriend to put up a"Beware of Dog" sign at my basement entrance. I don't know about you, but I'm scared, but not of my dogs.
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