Losing Its Charge

It feels like it should be midnight. It's been a day. I've been talking on the phone this week with a newcomer to AA. I picked her up this morning and took her to my home group meeting, her first outside a treatment centre. Weird how being strangers and having sobriety in common helps cut through so much in a nanosecond. We chatted easily for not knowing one another, connecting on many levels. That was a gift today. I feel drained tonight. I wasn't prepared for that.

I realized this evening that I've chaired every meeting I've been at since the beginning of December so it's no wonder I feel like I need a chance to share at a meeting. I never put that together until I was talking with dearest one tonight. It means I need to be picking up the phone more and making some connections and dumping the crapola rattling around in my brain where someone else can help me make some sense of it. The committe is getting crowded in my noggin.

I only realized about 5 minutes ago that tomorrow is Sunday and that means it's my day of being not only away from the internet, but away from the computer altogether. I wonder when that will get easier. I often picture other people and their morning routines. Do they get up, go brush their teeth and then make their way to the kitchen and make coffee? Do they have a shower, get dressed, make their bed and then go make coffee? What do other people do that provides a sense of security and routine to their day? I get up, head to the kitchen, make my breakfast, take my meds and head to the computer where I eat my breakfast and start writing a post while I catch up on your blogs. I've been doing that daily since July so to make a detour feels strange. Even the energizer bunny does a double take when I don't go into the office on Sundays. She looks at me like she's trying to give me a discreet nod of the head that says, "Um, in here sweetheart, you made a wrong turn." Lord love her.

I need to have a conversation tomorrow with someone about uncomfortable, in your face kind of stuff. Circumstances haven't presented themselves to have this talk - I've been waiting 6 weeks already - and tomorrow I need to do a bit more on my part to make it happen instead of being relieved when it just doesn't seem to be the right time and maybe, yes definitely, next week would work better, thank God. I've gone through it in my head how to approach it in a civilized, none accusatory way. But the hard stuff still needs to be said. And I have an obligation to more than myself to clear the air. On top of that, I see Fr. Charlie on Monday and I promised I wouldn't bitch about this person to him again until I'd had that talk. So I don't know if my motivation is anything more than wanting to bitch about them, or whether I'm seeing that I have a responsibility that extends farther than being happy that the opening to talk hasn't fallen in my lap. Did I mention I'm not good at confrontation? Let me rephrase that. I'm only good, if you can call it that, when it's prompted by strong emotions and knee jerk reactions. When it's calm and civilized and done with a dollop of sanity, it loses its charge. Well, that clears it up somewhat for me. I plain old miss the drama. I can see this post is one where I'm going to paint myself right into a corner if I'm not careful.

So I'll change the subject.

Here's a quote from my favourite recovery author:

"Life work is always about learning to respond to the events in our present life with the emotional intensity appropriate to the event and not with the emotional intensity that was appropriate to tragic situations twenty or thirty years ago........Serenity or living in a state of recovery is all about letting yesterday be yesterday and today be today. Recovery is training ourselves by practicing daily disciplines to act in the present as the present and not from the emotional stance of a thousand past yesterdays"

Lordy, Lordy, have mercy.

Starry Companions

My favourite childhood memory is when we'd get home late on a Saturday night and climb out of the vehicle only to be swept away by the beauty of the starry night sky. We'd all crane our necks heavenwards, suck in our breath and try to take it all in. It's a sight that never gets old.

Last night dearest one had barely gotten home from an intense work week when his mom phoned and said that his dad was having chest pain and was asking to go to the hospital. Dearest one has a handful of siblings who live closer to his parents than we do, (plus another handful who don't) but because dearest one is in the medical field he gets called first when there is a medical emergency. Makes sense. I'd rather call him than an electrician when I was sick, wouldn't you?

My father-in-law has had 3 open heart surgeries and a heart attack in the last 8 years. He wants no heroic measures if he has heart trouble again. He is 82 and knows his time could be up at any moment. He talks about that often, wondering what purpose God could have for him still. When we got there Dad said no to the ambulance, we could be at the hospital in the amount of time it would take to call and have one arrive. After everything was all said and done, the closest ambulance would have been twice as far away. It was one busy night at the local you-never-know-what's-going-to-walk-through-the door rural hospital. Their only ambulance was busy.

It was a quiet ride to the hospital, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Dad had given dearest one instructions before we left about some things he'd bought that day for several of our nephews. He was covering all his bases just in case he never made it home again. That upped the tension level. Mom told me on the way there that she had a heavy feeling in heart. My father-in-law is one of the chattiest people I know and he said narry a word. You know how when a house gets quiet, the children are usually in trouble; when a mom gets quiet you're usually in trouble. Well, when my father-in-law gets quiet, you know he's in trouble.

The sky was inky black last night. Mom and I sat in the back seat and I found comfort in seeing the Big Dipper out my window. I gazed up at it, wondering what a person thought while knowing this may be their last trip anywhere. I knew when Dad gripped the seat belt and pulled it away from his chest that he was in pain. We were all lost in our thoughts for the 25 minute ride. I was comforted by the sight of the Big Dipper. It made me grateful that no matter what happens in life, there are some things that stay the same. Watching the Big Dipper as we drove was like God reminding me that we are never alone, even in our lonliest moments.

Many hours later, armed with an extra supply of nitroglycerin, we were on our way back home. An angina attack behind him, Dad had some colour in his face again. We knew when we could hear him talking from the trauma room, talking so loud (he's deaf) we could make out every word, that he was feeling better. He came into the hospital in a wheelchair and walked out with his cane. At one point in the trauma room I looked down at his sock feet and couldn't resist the urge to see if he was ticklish. As I ran my finger over his socked foot he jumped a little and laughed. Then he told everyone within hearing distance (that would be the whole hospital) that I'd been checking to see if he was still alive. I won't live that down anytime soon.

We weren't in the car more than a minute when Dad was back to his usual, commenting- on-this-that-and-the-other, chatty self.
Along the way dearest one opened the moon roof on the car so Dad could see the starry sky.
I had been quietly gazing at Orion's Belt out my window since we'd left town.
Soon we were dropping his folks off at their house and making our way home.
One way or the other, ticklish feet or not, we're always making our way home.

7 Quick Takes Friday

Jen at Conversion Diary has a whole lot of 7 quick takes friday post links on her blog.

1. I keep a back scratcher next to me while I type. I have one spot on my back that itches many, many times a day. And never fail, when I crawl into bed at night it goes into over drive. Dearest one knows exactly where that itch is. He's my favourite back scratcher. If I don't eat anything I'm allergic to my back itches much less. In addition to many other foods, I'm allergic to chocolate. Need I say more?

2. I feel much older in my body this morning than I am. I'm glad I have a day of computer work ahead of me instead of housework. I hurt from head to toes, like I need some oil on the joints and some gas in my tank in order to function. Eventually both my brain and my body will wake up. I hope it's soon.

3. I am slow on the uptake (Ya think?!). Some of my favourite bloggers, I've looked at my blog list this week and thought, my God they're posting late today. Duh. I've been up much earlier than normal so really it's me, not them, whose schedule changed. It's embarrassing how many days it took me to figure that out. But then, when you consider I couldn't figure out that my handheld computer doohickey's charge cord was also the power cord, one can't be too surprised, can they?

4. I get random hits on my blog nearly every day for the phrase "thank you for this moment" which is a close reference of a poem by Ted Loder. That post can be found here.

5. This is one of my favourite Craig Ferguson pieces:

6. Today I must find my desk underneath piles of papers and books. There is a hydraulic jack on it that I used last night as a paper weight. I hope I'll find two different sets of notes that were on my desk at one time. I just about convinced myself the other day that I needed a newer, bigger desk. In reality, I just need to clean off the one I have. Which is applicable to so much of life. Take care of what is, instead of wishing for something else.

7. Despite the mess, I can see 4 different objects that have the word "hope" on them from where I'm sitting. I wonder if anything on my desk is secretly wishing my word was "help" instead of hope. The favourite thing I can see from where I sit is an old cover from a missalette that has a picture of Archangel Raphael holding a sign that says "Take courage! God has healing in store for you."

Noteable Quoteables

My internet notebook is filled with book titles, quotes and miscellaneous jotted notes. I was flipping through it tonight to find a book to order for Lent. Last year I started two disciplines during Lent; centering prayer and yoga. Neither are set in stone disciplines right now although both are really good for me, body and soul. I hope to be back in the swing of them both by the time Lent rolls around next month.

I ordered Simple Ways by Gunilla Norris.

As I was looking through my notebook I came across two quotes that I quite like. Each could be a blog post in themselves. It could very well be that I copied them from one of your blogs. The only quote in my notebook that I have from blogland and know who wrote it was one from Pam and it was this one:

"I'm grateful: That my understanding of God's plan for (my child's) life is not required. God does his "God work" without my knowledge, consent or input."

The other two quotes are:

"God gives grace for the situation not the imagination."

and

"The most compassionate thing I can do is allow them to be on their own path."

Wanting To Mean It

This morning I prayed for someone I have a hugging-close-to-myself resentment towards. I realized that any lingering anger I have towards the perpetrators in my past I was directing like an arrow meant to kill, at this person as if they were the perpetrator. Last week I would have told you I had no lingering anger towards the perpetrators. None. Oh vey.

I prayed according to page 552 of the BB, a section I have high lighted because I (need to) refer to it often.

"If you have a resentment you want to be free of, if you will pray for the person or the thing you resent, you will be free. If you will ask in prayer for everything you want for yourself to be given to them, you will be free. Ask for their health, their prosperity, their happiness, and you will be free. Even when you don'treally want it for them, and your prayer are only words and you don't mean it, go ahead and do it anyway."

I got done praying, felt instantly teary, and then said outloud to God, "I don't know if I mean it. I want to mean it." Then I paused and said more honestly, "I want to want to mean it."
Lord have mercy.

Letting Go Of The Rope

This story is from Destination Joy. You can read more from Earnie Larsen here.

"Marilyn is over fifty years old now. She grew up on a farm where the girls were as expected to toss bales of hay and fix tractors as the boys were. Marily could outthrow and outwork any of her brothers. She did it to attract her father's attention, but it never worked. Her father only wanted sons. Her original sin was being born female.

She walked off the farm decades ago, but looking at her hardy, rough exterior, you know the farm never left her. Marilyn's ancestors were all alcoholics, including her father. She married an alcoholic and drank addictively herself for twenty-five years. Fifteen years ago, she found a shaky sobriety. She was dry and grateful but far from peaceful. Marilyn relapsed often in those first years. She'd plow ahead with her program, then be so overtaken with feelings of inadequacy, sadness, and rage she couldn't stand it. After relapsing, she persevered by continuing to work the Steps as persistently as she worked on the farm as a child. She truly was grateful; she just wasn't very peaceful. Somehow, the terrible wounds of her abiding sense of rejection, failure, and inadequacy from her youth never left her. She couldn't shake the broken-glass feeling of never having been accepted or, as far as she could tell, loved by her father.

But then the divine father she calls God came and got her.

As she talked about this experience, her tired, rough face changed. A light of innocence appeared. It was as if a child was emerging, fresh and innocent. For Marilyn, this experience came in the form of a dream. In her dream, she was a child living on the farm. She was holding one end of a rop that went over a bar above a deep well. The other end of the rope dangled above the open mouth of the well. That end of the rope held a huge, stinking, fetid mass of something, she said. The obvious thing to do was to let go of the rope, and send it far away down the well. The problem was she couldn't let go of the rope. Something beyond her control demanded she dutifully hang on to the rope. Then the most amazing thing happened. Her father, who had been dead thirty years, walked up to her, put his hand on her shoulder, and said, "It's okay. Let go of the rope, Sweetie." And she did. With tears in her eyes, Marilyn told us one of the fondest memories she had of her father. She couldn't remember the circumstances, but for whatever unfathomable reason, her father had called her Sweetie. It only happened once, but she never forgot.

No matter how big the enemy or how powerful the affliction, there is one answer greater than any obstacle that can stand against it: the connection with the God of our understanding. The God who comes and tells us, as he did with Marilyn, it's okay. Let go of the rope. Every day, every hour, one day at a time, stage by stage and step by step - let go of the rope.

I cried the first time I read this passage.
Good, healing tears.
Which reminds me that a nun once told me that tears are a form of prayer.
I cried some more when she told me that.
It's hard to hold onto a rope when it's wet with tears.

Between His Shoulder Blades

I'm going to crawl into an empty bed soon.
Dearest one is away.
He works way too early tomorrow to make the 80km trip to town plus pull a 12 hour work day on top of that. Oldest son and his new bride graciously open their door to him every week. Not everyone is that fortunate to have such a welcoming relationship with their married children; we try not to take it for granted.

Dearest one and I used to tease each other that whoever got the bed to themselves was one lucky person. No bed hog (that would be me) to deal with. No blanket hog (me, too) to wrestle with. No tug of war between a fickle throw the blankets off person (me) or hug them tight to keep out the cold (that would be me, too). No, having the bed to oneself meant you could do what you please with covers and space and pillows.

Sometime in the past 26 years an empty bed lost its appeal.
Whether we're in a for better or for worse time in married life, I try not to take for granted that (even if seconds earlier I've been tempted to whack him with a pillow), dearest one's still very much there, you know?
I have a friend who lost her husband in an accident 10 years ago.
She never slept in their bed again.
I think of her every single night that I crawl into bed and snuggle up to dearest one's back. I always kiss the spot between his shoulder blades when I feel the warmth of his body. Then he turns over and I snuggle into his arms. We've done that every night for ages now. We did it in the beginning of our relationship; falling asleep that way. Then there were years and years when we forgot that comforting ritual. During a really difficult time 5 years ago, though, we returned to it. When that tough time passed, we continued to snuggle up. Some days it's the only moment of connection we have. Even when we've been pissy with each other all day, we still snuggle up. I never forget my friend and how she longs for the warmth of her husband's body.

Early this morning my snoring must have woken up dearest one. Just as he was about to make me shut my mouth to stop the noise, I woke up. Then a moment later, I must have been breathing very quietly because I woke up again as he was checking to see if I was still breathing. There were too many years when it was a very real fear that I would permanently stop breathing in my sleep.

Anyway it is way past bed time.
I wait until I am good and tired before I crawl into bed when dearest one is away.
Otherwise I'll hear every darn thing out there.
Like mice (had one run across my pillow once),
and boogey men (those comic book characters that were escapees from jail? I used to think they would come out from under my bed as a child and grab my ankle),
and wildlife (moose, deer and elk) outside my window.

Maybe if I snore loud enough all the things
that go bump in the night will be scared of me.
At any rate I'm not sharing my covers.

Modern Art

The traffic is pin pricks of light in a dark morning sky as I type.
Dearest one just left for work and I'm setting a record by being up and coherent. Mark that on the calendar.

I'm working on a creative project and it's hard to shut my brain off for sleep when I'm doing that. Although, I suppose, one could argue that all of life is a creative endevour, couldn't they?

I'm making colourful posters for a talk youngest son is giving to a group of men this month. No powerpoint allowed in this setting, no sirree.
Not that I can do that anyway. I'll stick to tracing and colouring with markers.
Did you know I am very technically challenged? Dearest one bought me a hand held computer gadget for Christmas. I tend to let it run out of battery power and then am impatient while it recharges. It would help if I didn't ignore the battery is getting low signal. Reminds me of how low I used to dare my car to run on fumes. That strategy did catch up with me eventually, although it was dearest one who was driving alone when it happened.

bobbie told me the other day I could use my hand held gadget while it was plugged in. OH, I thought to myself. I checked the box and couldn't find a cord to plug it in with. All it had was the charger cord. That's weird I thought to myself. I went on a little tirade in my head about how companies charge you for every little thing and shouldn't a power cord come with a gadget instead of as an afterthought?

It's a good thing I can laugh at myself. If bobbie hadn't explained to me a few days later that the charger is the plug in cord, I would still be scratching my head and looking for a power cord. Or worse yet, phoning the store and asking if they sold them. Lord have mercy.

Anyway, I can't even draw a reasonable stick man, so for the posters I resort to cutting and pasting clip art. Then I blow the pics up using paint brush and trace them onto poster paper.
I earn an A+ for colouring within the lines afterwards.
At least that's what I tell myself.
The tracing drives me batty.
I swear frequently every time I do it.
At some point in the process I always say I am never, ever doing this again.
This is my sixth time around.

The part that keeps me doing them, is that creative process of designing the posters and seeing them come to life.
It's very satisfying seeing the finished product.
Thank God there are no power cords or chargers with markers.

That Place

It's just past midnight.
Insomnia is a bully.
One thing about being awake
is appreciating
the gorgeous moon
shining in the window.

On Saturday afternoon I went to a movie.
An older couple walked in ahead of me.
We were the only ones in the theatre.
They sat and talked like one would
in the comfort of one's home.
On the screen were the pre movie trivia questions
and for 10 minutes straight
the woman nearly shouted out the answers
as if she were watching Jeopardy.
I marveled at her boldness.

Next a couple of teenage girls came in.
They talked about the same kinds of things
I did at their age.
You know, the drama of who got miffed at who
and hey, then she said this and I sure told her.
That kind of conversation.
Sometimes I still act like that.
The theatre was so empty
their voices carried
loud and clear.

We talk all the time
with our voices
and our bodies.
I've been pondering this past while
how it was with me
right after I came out of treatment.
I remember going to see two people within a week of coming home.
One was my after treatment counselor
and one was Father Charlie.
I had the same experience with both of them.

For the previous 2 years with Fr. Charlie
I had often wanted to curl up in a ball
during our sessions and rock like a child.
Often the conversation would stir such pain and emotion
I could hardly handle sitting still.
Sometimes I wanted to run screaming from the room.

But in both appointments post rehab
I could do nothing
but sit with a body language
that was open,joyous and free.
I couldn't cross my arms or legs if I tried.
I can't even explain how it felt.
Other than to say my inner being
was so at peace and without walls
and my body followed suit.
I never knew until that moment
how much one reflected the other.
If I cross my arms there is always a reason.
At one point I said to Fr. Charlie
"Look at me. My body language.
I couldn't curl up in a ball if I tried."
We both smiled and got teary because we knew
we were witnessing a miracle.

I miss being in that place.
It wasn't dependent on anyone else's behaviour.
I wasn't happy, joyous and free because life was
going according to my plan.
I was so at peace within myself
that the rest of life didn't fizz me.
I miss being in that place.

Food For The Soul

Saturday night.
I just realized tomorrow
will be my second Sunday
of being away from the computer.
Today has been a great day.
It was good to be at my home group AA meeting this morning.
I had a comforting visit with my sponsor later on in the day.
I'm listening to a wonderful daily prayer recording right now.
You can find them here.
These daily meditiations nourish me.
January 5th - the music to that one has
broken down walls within me
on several occasions.
Music and food for the soul.
Thank you for your generous comments of late.
Have a great Sunday!
Pray for me.

Holy Humility Batman

I have a lovely bouquet of deep red tulips on my counter.
It makes me smile to watch them open up in the light
and then close in the darkness.
Kind of like people do, you know?

Those flowers were my splurge at the grocery store yesterday.
The store was busy and we were blessed
to have someone we know
step in line behind us at the checkout.
We had time for a nice chat.

Yesterday I worked through some deep feelings at my therapy appointment.
My therapist asked me where humility fit into the picture.
I had to think on that one quite a while before I could answer.
I'd been having one of those holier-than-thou moments
and her question brought me back to earth.

I'm sure that made God smile.

Weather, Whine, Lather, Rinse, Repeat

The weather never did cooperate today.
It's -35C on our thermometer as I type.
Isn't that getting old news to you, too?
I'm typing this Thursday night before I go to bed.
I have to be out the door early.
It takes a long while before I'm coherent
in the morning.
Sometimes I wish I was a coffee drinker.
Is it really true it perks you up in the morning?

I got out my journal today and wrote.
My last entry was Christmas day.
I got out my body speaks journal and wrote.
My last entry was Christmas Eve.
I got out every recovery book in my box
and the bookmarks were all for many days ago.
So while the cold weather is affecting me,
I've also been slack in doing those things
that keep me sane regardless of the circumstances around me.
New in my recovery box (it's orange suede)
is that little 24 HR black book.
I love that Sanskrit proverb in the beginning.

I vacuumed.
I washed dishes.
I made my bed.
I fed my body food that makes it happy.
I had a bit of a cry.
I talked to God.
I read.
I watched some TV with the energizer bunny.
She is so comforting on my lap.
(She's whining right now to get on it.)
I got out of the house tonight despite the weather,
and visited with friends.

Tomorrow I will go to town
I'll buy groceries,
with no worries that the ice cream
will melt on the way home.
That was my attempt at humour for the day.
Good thing it's bed time.

Welcome To The Human Race

I was talking with a far away friend yesterday
and she said, "Maybe you have a little bit of the blues."
I do know that whatever state of mind I'm in
it's not permanent.
Thank God.

Dearest one often gets so frustrated with the computer
that he's tempted to throw it out the window.
Most of the time frustration at inanimate objects
doesn't make much sense to me.
Except my computer's been having regular hissy fits.
And I'm getting periously close to having my own.
So yes, my friend, when I start seeing red
over a computer's behaviour,
I concede that I have a little bit of the blues.
I am going a bit stir crazy.
Thankfully,
this too shall pass.
When the weather warms up.
Which would be today.
It's bearable out there.
Thank God.
I will be going for a walk
and clearing my head.
My computer will thank me.

If you only knew how much I've judged people
over the years for letting the weather
run them off the rails.
Lovely self righteous crap.
Now it's my turn.
It's really hard not to judge myself for it.
I sit here and type and remind myself
this only means that I'm human.
Once again I tell myself
"welcome to the human race."
and breathe a sigh of relief.

Quit Yer Bitchin' Hope

The furnace is humming and the energizer bunny is snoring as I write.
Bah humbug to this continually cold weather.
-33C with windchill this morning.
Oh, poor me.
That's an attitude that gets me nowhere.
Yet I want to snuggle up to it and pretend
I'm Gollum and say, "Mine, all mine."
If all I have to whine about is the weather
then I have much to be grateful for.

I keep a little piece of paper in my wallet
and I take it out from time to time and read it.
It says:

"If you have food in the fridge, clothes on your back, a roof overhead, and a place to sleep, you are richer than 75 percent of this world."

Triggering Our Anguish

I've been sitting and looking through my bookshelf for something to share this morning. I picked up one book and realized someone else had underlined their favourite bits throughout it. When I lend out books I ask the borrower to please underline what spoke to them. Reading a book and then having no one to discuss it with disappoints me. Those underlined bits feel like a permanent conversation.

I'm listening to the radio as I type. It's almost time for the daily obituary announcements. I feel old when I confess that I listen to those on the radio. Years ago I led a Bible study in a neighbouring community with many elderly women. Women who loved me as I was, in my conceit, and I often worry that one of them will pass away and I won't hear about it. Occasionally there has been a real shock when I hear the familiar name of someone unexpectedly passing away.

I pulled out a tea stained, fading copy of one of my all time favourite books. It's a book that one friend gave to another friend and she eventually gave it to me. There are three different kinds of underlining in it, which makes me smile just to type that. I opened it to this bit which we all took note of:

"Community is caring for people, but of course as soon as we start caring for people, we know that there are some people who will just drive us up the wall. Some we will really like, because they think like us. Then we risk falling into a world of mutual flattery. We are all so much in need of affection that when somebody gives it to us we want to hold onto it. Then we say to the other person, "You're wonderful! Keept at it! Keep flattering me! You know, it's nice." We're like little cats who need to be caressed. We then begin to purr.
But flattery doesn't help anyone to grow. It doesn't bring freedom but rather closes people up in themselves. We are attracted to certain people, and others put us off. We don't get on well with them. They trigger off our anguish. Perhaps they remind us of our fathers and mothers who were too authoritarian or possessive. Some people threaten us, others flatter us. Some meetings are joyful, and others are painful. When we begin talking about caring for people, then we begin to see how difficult it can be.......growth will come as we come closer to people who are different from us and as we learn to welcome and listen even to those who trigger off our pain."(emphasis added)

I have to confess that I am often quite relieved to hear around the tables in AA that I don't have to like everyone. I try to remember that means not everyone has to like me, either. But we are in community together. And it's a whole 'nother thought to embrace what they have to teach me, to welcome it. I tend to want to run the other way fast in a hands-over-my-ears kind of way. Lord have mercy.

PS I Love You

"I don't want to make any mistakes."

"You're of the wrong species then."

~ from the movie PS I Love You

I was more than antsy last night.
There was a point where I swear
the computer was calling to me as
insistently as any of my addictions ever have.
I found myself trying to make deals
within my head.
Trying to rationalize a way to go online
or pondering asking dearest one
to go on for me.
I even considered staying up until midnight
and then turning on the computer.
Maybe it will get easier every Sunday that goes by.
If not, there are so many worse things in the world.
I'll try not to make a full blown drama of it.
If it doesn't get easier then it's just telling me
something about myself. And, God help me,
life will do that until I die,
so it won't be anything new.

The wedding went fine.
The bride was beautiful.
She wore pink.
After the initial 15 seconds of taking off my coat
and standing in a swarm of women all in dresses and head coverings,
I didn't give what I was wearing (jeans) another thought.
That is a very hopeful happening.
Perhaps I'm a tad less self absorbed than I normally am.

It was beautiful to hear a group of young men
sing A Capella in 4 part harmony.
Dearest one's family
thinks musical instruments are of the world
so they sing without accompaniment.
I sat there before the service began and prayed
to be open to the beauty to be found,
instead of the nit picky things that I can downright enjoy
finding fault with.

I managed to choke/sputter only once
when the preacher said that he didn't want to make it seem
like love was hard
because it wasn't.
Lord have mercy on anyone who believes that.
I hate that a preacher said that to newlyweds.

At the pre wedding dinner two nights ago
I found myself snippy with dearest one
while visiting with family.
A habit I am so quick to judge in others.
I'm rarely snippy these days.
I've learned that snippiness means there are issues I am not facing.
Denial that I am sinking into.
Being snippy, especially in public, always sends up red flags that I am being
passive aggressive.
That whatever is gnawing at me under the surface
is making an attempt to be given a voice.

I watched as dearest one's body language went into freeze mode.
He got up and excused himself from the conversation we were
having with one of his sisters and her husband.
I sat there and thought about how they could go home and have a conversation
about the state of me and dearest one in that moment.
I see what I do.

We were not in the car on the way home
more than a moment
when I brought up his freeze mode
and my snarkiness.
We talked.
It was progress that it was spoken of immediately
instead of being left to fester into something uglier.

When we got home and he turned off the key,
the inside light came on and slowly illuminated his face.
Dearest one was looking at me and in his eyes
there was the deepest kindness.
I noticed.
I said nothing.
But I still hold it close in my heart.

There are but brief moments when I see,
truly see,
with eyes not my own.
Maybe that's what love is.

Its Own Kind Of Narcotic

I've decided that Sundays will be my day away from the computer in 2009. Let's see if I can make it through day one. The big book talks about losing the right to a chemical peace of mind but some days I don't wonder if the internet is its own kind of narcotic. For me, anyway. It reminds me of when people wonder what they did before dishwashers, washing machines, central heat, and while we're at it, cars and such. As in "how did we ever manage?" I imagine I'll be having some kind of withdrawal symptoms as you read this. As my sponsor would say, "Woo hoo."

We just got back from a pre wedding dinner with about 100 other people. Not my idea of a good time. Crowds of people do not turn my crank. Tomorrow, the wedding/reception will be filled with 400+ people. It's a completely different cultural setting which would take too many words to try and explain. Tomorrow I will smile and shake hands and hopefully get a chance to visit one on one with special-to-me people. I'm going to try to not say one critical, whiny thing from beginning to end. I try, I do, to remember that it's a chance to see what I can bring to a situation instead of what I can get out of it.

I'll leave you with several quotes from one of my very favourite recovery people~ from one of his books called Destination Joy:

"A bloated or deflated ego always blocks the spirit......the alcoholic is an unfortunate combination of an egomaniac sitting on top of monumental insecurity."

"Recovery beyond sobriety is learning to be an adult, not a terrified, angry child forever acting and reacting to yesterday in an adult body."

Oh! The Drama

The sun is shining with gusto this morning.
I can sit in the livingroom, close my eyes
and be so warmed I could swear it's summer.
I love the sun.

The thermometer says something quite different.
It says to stay home and hibernate.
Although in two days time,
according to the forecasters,
we will hit the freezing mark.
I so wanted it to be today.
I wanted to go shopping.

I have a wedding to go to tomorrow
and nothing to wear.
It's true.
I've been trying on clothes in stores
for a month already and still am coming up
empty handed.
So tomorrow I'm going to end up
wearing jeans to the wedding.

How sad that I think this is some kind of dire emergency.
There, just typing that out,
getting it out of my head,
seeing it in print,
makes me see that there are real problems
and then there are imaginary ones.

Brain Freeze Anyone?

Dearest one just let the energizer bunny out for a pee.
I asked him if it froze mid stream.
It's -47C out there with windchill this morning.

I'm glad to have a warm house.
I'm glad I have things to do inside today.
I'm glad I get to choose my attitude.

I'm not going to complain.
Remember that little hand held computer doo hickey?
Last time I whined about the weather
I went from being 36 to 48 years old.
Yesterday I was 24 years old in brain years.
So I'm going to keep my
newly gone-back-in-time lips
sealed today.
And I'm going to put on a pair of long johns.

Like A Dog On A Leash

It's been several years since we stayed up until midnight on New Year's Eve.
My body is protesting this morning although I haven't been to bed before midnight for a week already so it most likely is trying to tell me enough is enough; get some sleep woman.

I used to make gigantic lists for New Year's.
Last year I caught myself making a list of 50 things
I wanted to accomplish this year.
I looked at it the other day.
I still don't have that pair of red shoes.
I'm glad I no longer need to consult a list to see how I am doing.

Obsessive list making for me usually means
insanity is lurking around the corner
or at least control freakism is rampant.
I am okay as is.
If I can't be okay with me today
no list in the world will change that.
I forget that sometimes.

I know what I need to do on a daily basis
to keep sane.
I know what works.
I know when I don't do those things
the journey gets bumpy.
Well, sometimes the journey gets bumpy
because that's life.
At the very least,
I know I will be okay despite circumstances,
when I do those things
that keep me sane.
There is always more to learn,
More fine tuning.

I don't have to strive to make that happen
like a dog on a leash
trying to drag its master farther along the path.
I just have to be open, honest and willing.