Happy Birthday, Daddy -

"To become a father is not difficult, but to be a father is." ~ Unknown

I always teased my friends, that my Dad was the clone of one Mister Fred Rogers, except, of course, that he smoked a pipe which I don't think Mister Rogers ever did. Other than that, there were always such wonderful similarities between the two men. Both were gentle, loved children and always had time to listen to whatever problem might be weighing on their offspring, or whatever other young people might come to visit for advice. Even if it was during a period of the year when my father was busy closing out his "end of the year" accounting, if someone needed his counsel, or maybe just an ear or even a place to vent their frustration, it was common knowledge that my Dad's room was always open. Even if the angst that needed to be discussed happened at 3:30 AM.

If I had to pick just a few adjectives to describe this amazing, humble, wise and witty guy that I refer to, more often than not, as my Daddy, I could never truly capture his essence with mere words. You'd have to know him to appreciate how special he is, and many, many of my friends, co-workers and even the mailman have had the pleasure of meeting this guy and it never fails, when anyone leaves after having spent time in his company, they come out with a smile and are better versed in computer technology and probably know more about our family tree and my Dad's vast store of genealogical facts on so many families that belong to people who have sought his guidance in trying to track down a stray branch or two.

In my almost 46 years on this planet (February 6th - yikes!), I can honestly say that, though I have seen him on very rare occasions, quietly annoyed or disappointed, I have never seen him express anything resembling anger. That's a rare thing indeed, when you consider that he was half of the team that parented me! Oh, I'm sure I gave his gentle spirit a run for it's money from time to time, but something always told me that, in the end, to disappoint my Dad, to live with the knowledge that I had let him down, was usually enough to keep me from taking things too far. There are a few special people in this world who you just never want to see unhappy or sad, because seeing them content and at one with the world, seems to bolster the rest of us, challenging us lesser mortals to see if we can take a peek through the lens through which they view life, hoping to catch whatever it is they have that makes being in their company, one of the finest gifts life has to offer. Growing up, the worst punishment, the thing I feared most when I knew I'd done something that wouldn't please my parents, was dealing with the fact that I might have let my Dad or Mom down.

My father's nature isn't the result of some pain-free life where things always went smooth as silk. He lost his Mother to breast cancer when he was just 18 years old and faraway on a ship in the South Pacific. Because he was in the process of changing ships and hadn't read any mail for about six weeks, when he finally got onboard the ship he was assigned to and his mail caught up with him, the first letter he read was from a sister who wrote of the family having just returned from his mother's funeral. There he was, alone on a new ship, bobbing on a vast ocean, knowing absolutely no one on board. My Dad didn't even have a bunk to sleep on because the man he was replacing hadn't taken off. I asked him how he handled such news under such lonely circumstances? He told me he found the ship's chaplain and talked with him for a bit, and then he found a corner, alone with his duffle bag and letters, where he read them again and he cried. Every time I imagine my Dad as that young sailor, I get a lump in my throat and I feel tears threaten.

But he moved forward. His sunny disposition stood him well and he went on to meet my mother and on their third date, he proposed. She accepted and they married a few months later after he was discharged from the Navy. Whatever magic was exchanged between the two of them must have been some powerful stuff because, after over 59 years of being married, they still light up when the other one walks in a room. They dote on each other. They still joke and trade good-natured barbs and sometimes as I'm sitting upstairs working on something, I can hear their voices emanating from their bedroom downstairs and I hear the conversations about people they used to know, or maybe some interesting find my father has dug up on his on-going genealogical search.

Sometimes I wonder, after over 59 years, haven't they said everything that can be said? How do they find new things to talk about and laugh? Ahhhh, perhaps therein lies the secret to their marital success - they still treat one another as if the other one is the most important person on the planet. Their affection isn't merely for show because it happens even when the only people in the house are our four cats and dog. They share each meal together. They hold hands when they bless their food. They have somehow mastered the challenging concept of give and take and resolving any looming conflict before it is tucked away only to fester and become an issue later. Festering isn't just bad for splinters.

I grew up thinking everyones parents behaved this way. My childhood was right out of an episode of "Leave It To Beaver" and my parents could have easily passed for Ward and June Cleaver. It wasn't until after I stepped outside the cozy confines of my own home that I realized that many people don't behave this way. There was never any shouting or yelling or slammed doors in our home. The only time I ever heard a voice raised was when my Mom would call my Dad in from the yard to let him know supper was ready and that he had worked long enough. Of course, this meant that I had to learn all by myself how to fight and scrap and be completely disagreeable at times. They sure never bothered to teach me any of that - but somehow I got a pretty good outside education, because I can be fairly difficult and maybe even a little high maintenance from time to time, attributes that can be assigned to neither of my parents. In all fairness, the negative aspects of my persona were not as a result of their parenting. I should come with a disclaimer stamped on my forehead. I can get a little scrappy sometimes, as Katie, Justin or those in my inner circle will readily attest. It's something I work on and though I don't tease myself into believing I will ever be as pleasant and agreeable as those two old-timers downstairs, it's certainly someting to strive for. Progress...not perfection.

Throughout the 59 plus years of my parents union, they have made many moves. I am sure they were born with just a bit of gypsy blood coursing through their veins, because we moved so many times during my childhood - Dad would get settled in a job and then the phone would ring and a better offer would be put on the table, more money, a company car, from a competing coal company and before you could say "But I like it here!", the moving van would be pulling up out front and away we would go. I did seem to inherit that facet of their personality and have taken the tradition to new heights and several different states.

My parents have lived through the loss of my sister, who died unexpectedly in 1973 at the very young age of 23. They mourned, along with her husband, when they lost their oldest daughter. They celebrated a couple of years later, as their son-in-law took a new wife and they graciously welcomed Mary Jane into the fold and let me know in no uncertain terms that she was to be treated with kindness and as a member of our family, because that's how my sister would have wanted it. What an amazing example they were to me - as they have been so many times and they taught me the most important lessons by example, rather than lecture. They lived what they believed and that's pretty powerful.

My parents were there for me when I got married, gave birth to my daughter, Katie and my son, Justin, and when my father retired in 1986 from Hawk's Nest Mining Company, they pulled up stakes and moved to Amarillo, Texas. Why Amarillo? Because that's where their grandchildren were growing up and they weren't about to miss any of that. They followed along to San Antonio, San Angelo, Cleveland, El Paso, Fort Lauderdale, Charleston, SC, back to Amarillo and finally here, to Wilmington. That's a lot of moves in retirement, but they never missed a birthday, a special school function or just the day-to-day stuff that go with raising kids and being doting grandparents.

They saw me through a marriage that started unraveling, and they were right there for me when the final thread was pulled and the divorce was final. They didn't allow me to take time off to feel sorry for myself - they convinced me that my life was anything but over and that I had kids who needed me and I'd better suit up and show up because kids don't take time off from growing up until their parents decide they have it all together. My parents loaned me some of their strength and grit, until I could recover my own.

And just like everything else, they were right there for me when my alcoholism reared its nasty head. As with every other bump and challenge, they loved me right through that and they told me they knew I would be successful with a conviction and sincerity that it helped me believe that I really would be OK. I can't imagine how I could have gotten through those scary first few weeks without their love and support and encouragement. My Dad even attended a few AA meetings with me in those early months and we had to laugh - but then I got a little worried. Most AA meetings are held in churches and my father has a long-running history of falling asleep in church. I could just see him nodding off and maybe even falling forward and then trying to convince the group that he really wasn't the one that needed to be there!

My parents seem to hold to the belief that things will eventually resolve if you just let the person going through the tough spots know that you care and will be there for them, no matter what. Before joining AA, I thought that was a bit too simplistic and their methods never appeared in any of my advanced psychology classes or textbooks. After dealing with my own challenges of divorce, recovery, periods of fear and always second-guessing myself, I have come to realize that their ideas and belief systems work better than the most expensive psychotherapy or latest psychological modalities for treating high anxiety and stress. My parents seem to intrinsically know that generous amounts of love, can see almost anyone through almost anything. Everything is possible if there is love.

I'm almost 46 and still to this day, the thought of disappointing or doing anything to hurt my Mom and Dad is something I want to avoid at all cost. I've seen their track record and I know their advice is 99.9% on target. They've just proven themselves right way too many times for me to question their judgment or advice. They are always my first and second opinion and what they offer always makes the most sense and, of course, it works.

I am such a blessed woman. I still have these two amazing people in my life and I can't imagine landing with better parents. God most certainly was looking out for me when he placed me with them - though he must have had a sense of humor to make such a selection for them in the form of me.

Happy Birthday Daddy. Thank you for sharing so much with us over the years. Thank you for always being there for your family in every way possible. You are one of the coolest 81 year olds on the planet and it's no wonder that women are still trying to take you from my Mom. You can't really blame them, but thank God you are wise enough to know that no one could take care of you, as she does all of us, as well as Mom. Every person in this house is better off because you are always ready with a smile, a joke, a laugh and every now and then, a smart-ass remark or two.

We love you both.

Susie, Katie & Justin

Two Years And Too Many Blessings To Count...

"Well, what is essential about you? And who are those who helped you to become the person that you are? We just don't get to be competent human beings without a lot of different investments from others..." ~ Fred Rogers, Dartmouth College Commencement Speech, May 2003.

On January 12, 2004, I was what is typically referred to as a "bottom". At the time, I was so sure it was the worst place I could ever imagine finding myself. No question, I was at a place that was miserable and unhappy and the landscape looked pretty damn desolate. The good news is that the only place I felt my life could go was up because I couldn't see how things could go much deeper.

I didn't want to be where I found myself. Alcohol had slapped me around and I was at that point where you hoist the white flag and admit you've been licked. As bad as it was, I couldn't have been in a better spot. Normally, admitting defeat isn't something any of us strive for, but there are those rare occasions when admitting you just simply weren't going to win over an opponent isn't a bad thing at all. It can save time and, in my case, it can save live(s).

There's no shame in such an admission of defeat. The shame would be to continue trying to fight something that is bigger, more powerful and deadly than anything you have in your arsenal. The wise thing is to recognize that your ass has been kicked, but good. I made that admission, and I gave up...which shouldn't necessarily be confused with giving in. I didn't give in to alcohol, I gave in to finding a way to get better - The answer, for me, was at the beginning of the alphabet and it began and ended with an "A". While I'm sure there are other routes to sobriety, I'd stake my life on Alcoholics Anonymous, because it saved my life and it continues to make things better.

On January 12, 2004 I had to admit to my parents, my daughter, Katie, my son, Justin and hardest of all, myself, that I was an alcoholic. It was such a painful, embarrassing thing to have to do, but it was also essential. I can't speak for what any of them were thinking at the time, because I was too overwhelmed trying to deal with what was in my head, much less what was running through their minds. I think we were all sort of shell-shocked. At least, I know I was.

My then 17 year old son, Justin, took me to my first AA meeting and I was beyond scared to death. I didn't want to go but something told me I couldn't afford not to and I was compelled to give it a try. I had no idea what to expect. The conversation between us on the drive to the meeting was very stilted. I mean, how awkward can it be to have to take your Mom to an AA meeting? How awkward it was to have to ask your son for a ride! I felt so heavy on the way to the church where I attended my first meeting - like everything was weighing so heavy on my shoulders and I just couldn't see a silver lining in anything. I was doing well to deal with the moment I was in and I wasn't dealing all that well with just one minute. I know that inside I was trembling as I got out of his car.

One hour later, I felt like the weight of everything I had been carrying while, not quite taken off my shoulders, was certainly much more manageable and I had something I hadn't felt in the longest time - I felt hope, and it didn't come from a bottle of expensive wine.

I can look back on that first meeting and smile because I know where it lead me and continues to take me and I know it's safe to believe in what the twelve steps can do if we follow a few small suggestions. The results can be nothing less than miraculous and I do feel like a living, breathing, smiling, laughing, blessed miracle.

The first few meetings were a little foreign to me, but my gosh I was astonished at the many people I was meeting with 1, 2, 5, 10, 20, 30 years PLUS of sobriety under their belts. In AA, they say, "Stick with the winners!", and I saw lots of winners.

Over the course of the next two years, I have been through more changes than there is room to write in this small space. I've had to explore how I got to that low point that brought me into the rooms of AA, and I had to go back and revisit some very painful things in order to make peace with my past. Such a process is known as a "Fourth Step" and it's one of the most talked about, dreaded and delayed steps of the twelve. I know I put my fourth step off for a time - but eventually, with the gentle encouragement of a good sponsor and the right direction, you find your way there and you do the work that will take you to the other side and the other side is worth the work necessary to take you there.

I did my Fifth Step, which is deeply connected to a Fourth Step, at a restaurant downtown (Yes, it really was named "Hell's Kitchen!"). On a warm, summer evening in July, my sponsor listened as I went through my past and owned my part of all the things that I could remember that were instrumental in my evolution as an alcoholic. This involved a lot of writing, a lot of honesty and the rose-colored glasses had to be tossed out. I'd dreaded this step for the longest time, but my very wise sponsor knew it was essential that I get this out of the way sooner rather than later. She was so very right.

Like so many other people who spoke of fretting and dreading their fourth and fifth step, and then spoke of the peace in finally going through the process, once again, I realized first-hand that it was true. Good things come from hard work and honest introspection and apparently it's true that "Confession is good for the soul", because, as stated in the Fifth Step, "Admitted to God, to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs".

Each step seamlessly paves the way for the next one and some how, some way, it all works if you work it. I don't believe in magic. I do believe in divine inspiration and I am one of those who do believe that AA is a divinely inspired program - for me, there's no other plausible explanation for it. I continue to believe in it, to work the steps and the steps continue to work.

Huge changes followed my joining the club. It was, by no means, easy street because most of it has been hard work, but the rewards have been mighty and numerous.

As I mentioned, January 12, 2004, I had to sit before my son and daughter and admit to them that I was an alcoholic. My son was initially compassionate. My daughter couldn't make eye-contact with me for several weeks and then there was a level of anger and resentment that both she and I had to work through on our own and, at times, collectively. I felt like a failure - as a daughter, a mother and a former wife. Katie felt that I deserved to feel like that and I know, though she never verbalized it, she couldn't have been proud to have me for a Mom in those early months of 2004.

It took a while for things to work out - there was no instant fix and all of the credibility, respect and trust I once enjoyed, didn't automatically return simply because I was suddenly attending AA meetings and falling asleep with a Big Book in my hands every night. It took work. It took time. It took love. It took God. But eventually, it really did start to return. I had to give my family something to believe in and that meant staying the course and apparently changes were happening inside of me that even I didn't notice but, after a while, my family started noticing them. I changed from the inside out and that takes longer to process than peroxide.

This past January 12, 2006, I attended my Thursday Night meeting at what is now my "home group". The first time I walked into that meeting two years ago, I felt like a stranger in a strange land and I was both. Now when I walk in that room, and many others, I see friends and smiles are exchanged, jokes are shared, laughter is easy and it is like walking into the living room of a warm and inviting home where I feel loved and I know that I am welcome. I am among my AA family who are, in many ways, as much a part of my life as my biological family is.

As I sat there this past Thursday, I couldn't help but remember the events that had taken place two years ago to the hour and how, at just about the same time as this meeting was about to begin, I was facing my son and daughter and telling them that basically their mother was an alcoholic. I could barely say the word back then. I was ashamed of it and I hated making that admission. I have absolutely no problem whatsoever saying it now - and I'm not in the least bit ashamed of saying I'm an alcoholic.

A few minutes after the meeting began, I looked up to see none other than Katie and Justin. My heart absolutely soared and I felt so happy. You have to understand that an AA meeting might feel like home to me, and while I now enjoy an enormous measure of support and kindness from both of my kids, sitting through an hour long AA meeting just isn't their "normal" scene. But there they were - my ducks, my ducks were all in a row; Justin sitting beside Katie sitting just one seat away from me. I felt goosebumps - only this time, the really good, happy kind.

After the discussion part of the meeting was over, it was time to hand out chips and my very special, wonderful sponsor took over. "Is anyone celebrating 30 days of sobriety? 60 days? 3 months? six months? One year? How about 3 - 7 years? 7 - 20 years? 20 - 70 years?" She purposefully skipped over 2 years - she said some very lovely things and I got up and accepted my 2 year medallion to warm claps, clasps and a big hug from my sponsor. As she was hugging me, I looked over her shoulder and I caught the eye of both Katie and Justin, who were smiling and clapping and I was so grateful to share this golden moment with these two precious kids of mine. I had tears in my eyes - the joyful kind - the grateful tears of someone who was given a second chance, a lot of love, tons of support and the Grace of a very loving, generous God.

Before I left for my meeting that same night, my parents called me into their room. I joked and asked them if I were grounded because they looked very serious! My Daddy, who has kept a diary of every single day of the past almost 46 years, opened his 2004 diary up to January 12, and he read from his diary about what a difficult day it had been on me and our family - and how worried both he and my mother were about me.

He looked at me and said, "You know, two years ago, you thought it was the end of the world, didn't you?". Indeed I did. That's exactly what I felt like. Bleak, dark and pretty much hopeless. He told me of how hard it was for he and my mom to see me at such a low place and, being a parent, I can only imagine how they felt because I know how I feel if something, anything, makes Katie or Justin sad and scared. I felt both of those things that day. I wasn't simply Katie and Justin's mother - I was Barbe & Maxine's daughter. They were so very worried and concerned. Alcoholism truly is a "family" disease and yes, sadly, the family can sometimes suffer as much, if not more, than the patient.

"But it wasn't the end of the world, was it? Your Mom and I want you to know how very proud we are of you and how far you have come. You have done so well and we love you very much.". And with that, he handed me the keys to his 2005 minivan which had less than 8,000 miles on it and told me not to even think about arguing the point. He had been to the dealership and bought a white 2006 Chrysler Town & Country moonbeam - an almost identical replica of the one they just gave me. "Don't argue with us! We both want you to have it - you're all we've got, we love you and we are going to do this. Period. End of discussion. Now get out of here, you'll be late for your meeting.".

I was stunned. I was beyond stunned. And yes indeed, I am blessed.

Thank you Katie, Justin, Mom, and Dad I love each and every one of you with all of my sober heart.

And a special thanks to Bill Wilson and Dr. Bob, for giving people like me, a place and a way to grow and get better. Most of all thanks to God, for making them both such hopeless drunks that they had no place else to turn except toward a Higher Power.

The Big Book said that things would get better. The Big Book was right, and so was Fred Rogers when he observed that we don't get to be competent human beings without a lot of different investments from others". My kids, my parents, and yes, even my former husband Tim, my sponsor, and so many wonderful friends present and past who, through the years, took a chance and "invested" in me. I'm going to try very hard and work diligently to give each of them more things to be proud of and less reasons to cringe. I want them to have a high return on their investments in me. I want to make them proud and serve as well as I am capable.

Katie, thank you so much for this card and this challenge - to "do one thing every day that scares you.". I've had a few experiences of doing just that. Remember when Christopher Robin said to Winnie The Pooh, "Promise me you'll always remember: You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem and smarter than you think." That is so brilliantly simple and stunningly true. Most of the time, the hardest, most frightening part of all, is believing it..fortunately, that doesn't make it any less true.

We Interrupt This Blog For The All-Important WORD OF THE DAY!

What's life without a lot of interesting words and isn't it convenient that the English Language has so many fantastic choices?

Though English can't be categorized as one of the "romantic languages", I love it all the same. While it may not be as provocative as French, or as sensuous as Portuguese, I'd still stack our American Brand of English against just about every other contender save the French and those crazy Brazilians.

Maybe I'm just prejudice, but I love all of our choices, our regional accents and eccentricities and how lucky we are to share the same core of language within our vast country, yet still have the ability to infuse a bit of regional touches and tags. I'm not terribly fond of what I hear coming out of New Joisey, but the rest of New England, including the zany, loopy properties of a proper LooongIsland . It always makes me smile as do many natives of that tiny strip of island bearing the same name.

So I have decided to start 2006 with one of my most favorite websites - and it delivers...literally! Everyday in my E-mail box, I get an E-mail from "Dictionary.com" with, what else, The Word Of The Day! It's like a gift to start off my day with and even though I have seen or heard most of the offerings, I always learn new applications and derivations that I was completely unaware of. I make it a point to use it a few times, either in conversation or writing, and before you know it, I have a new word in my growing collection of words that I love to use and mostly understand.

Check it out - WORD OF THE DAY. By the end of the year, your vocabulary could be 365 words more powerful than it is right now. You can use all of these new words in proper context to impress your friends, dazzle your dogs, confuse your cats!

Oh, I have much to write, but I have to write for a while and it doesn't involve a blog. I have so much to share and I miss my blog - but I intend to uncover some discipline in the next few days and write of all of the events of the past few days - a complete overhaul and reorganization at work, my son's new pool table and how it may be impeding his search for a new job, trying to understand how one of my coworkers, in reading his bio, seems unable to write or spell past a third grade level and wondering how he's made it through life without knowing how to type or understanding the magic of spell check. I also need to write about our New Year's Eve in Charleston, South Carolina and why the Rutledge House Bed and Breakfast somehow lost a bit of its charm since the last time we stayed there...personally, I think it's Norm. Norm is about as people friendly and interesting as a very sour, dour, piece of cheese that even the French wouldn't find appealing. I want to write of the recent WV Mine Disaster and the rollercoaster ride those families rode as they waited to greet their family members following unexpected news of a rescue of survivors, only to have their hopes completely dashed, save for one. I want to write about what a classy gentleman Homer Hickam truly is and how proud he makes me feel to be a fellow West Virginian, even though most of the time I generally outright lie and pretend that I'm really from West Texas. Listening to Homer Hickam's wise commentary and observations throughout this horrible mine explosion debacle, has made me feel a sense of pride in being a mountaineer that I wouldn't have believed possible.

I want to write about what it feels like to be a mere week away from collecting my two year sobriety chip. I want to express how much it will mean to have my kids in attendance as I collect that blue plastic chip that looks so inconsequential but marks a two-year sea change in my sober, albeit small, life. I want to make my kids finally feel maybe a little proud to have me for their Mom - I'd settle for one-eighth of the pride I feel to have them as my children - my very grown-up children.

Mostly, I want to write. I simply want to write. My day job is impeding my inspiration and sometimes I feel as if my desire to focus on what I love doing best, waning and, along with it, any talent I might have once thought I possessed. I come home from work and I feel so completely spent and depleted that the last thing I want to do is spend time in front of my computer wondering exactly when my mind started evolving into mush. Years ago I used to believe it was continuous episodes of watching "Sesame Street" when I noticed one day that I turned the program on and my pre-school kids were out of the house. It never bothered me to find myself tuning into "Mister Rogers Neighborhood" on days the kids were involved in other activities because I always felt better for being in the presence of Fred Rogers. It was true when I was 12 and it's still true at the age of 45.

No, it wasn't "Sesame Street" that turned my mind to mush. Personally, I think it's either the CFC's that fly out with the hair spray, or maybe it's that smelly perm solution. I haven't truly pinned it down just yet. Maybe, I'm just tired. Maybe I need some hope. Maybe I am nursing some regrets - wistfully looking back on all the time I wasted when I could stay home and hone my craft and wishing I had the chance to do it all again.

I wonder if regret honestly serves any purpose with positive results? Should I be regretting that I sometimes have regrets?

Maybe I need to find something to hang onto that will allow me to believe that my present situation won't evolve into my "forever". I don't think it will, but there are days when I get a little scared. I'm human. It happens.

I could use some inspiration and, for as much as one can find on the Internet, I think inspiration is borne from other sources and most of them probably spring from within.

And yes, I want to write about spring. I need some spring.

Right now, I probably need some rest.

More later. There's so much more.

The Gap Kid Who Had Other Ideas...

Like most parents, I had this preconceived notion that I would probably produce "Gap" Kids. You know, the kind that gravitate toward navy blue plaid skirts, button-down collared oxford shirts, knee socks and Bass loafers with no visible scuffs. I figured my kids would pop out in preppy mode.

I should have known when Katie popped out and refused to follow the rarely mentioned, but essential rule that she would actually breathe upon arrival in the delivery room, well, after I got over the terror of her delivery room prank, that I was in for an interesting adventure. I mean, she was two weeks late, and you would think, at the very least, she wuold have the decency to do the one thing that is expected of every baby that crosses the great divide between inutero and insanity; Was it really too much to ask that she just...breathe?

But that would set the tone. Katie has always done things her way. It made no difference to her if I had been waiting for 9 long months to hold her and do all that stuff the baby books alluded to. Katie had her own ideas - right from the start. In a rare display of consistency, she has remained faithful to that tenent. She has strong ideas and principles and she's not afraid to defend them.

My daughter easily mastered the rudimentary skill of breathing, but she has taken my breath away on more than a few occasions in the finest way possible. Mostly, I'm just in awe of her resolve, her powerful presence and the confidence with which she lives her life. Laid-back is not an adjective I would ever use were I asked to describe my daughter. There simply aren't enough descriptives.

Yesterday at work, I walked in to find several of my coworkers huddled around the computer monitor. Did something happen? Was there breaking news? What was the object of everyone's attention? As it turned out, one of Katie's friends had pulled up Katie's "My Space" site and, apparently, Katie had uploaded some new photos. Some I had seen before, but there were a couple that were new to me.

There was Katie - staring back from the monitor. It was a beautiful photograph and I finally understood the reason for their gaze. Katie works part-time at the same place I do, though she has been with the same group for four years. This is her territory, her turf and although I work there full-time, much to our collective chagrin, Katie can run that place with her eyes closed and both hands tied behind her back. She knows what I'm looking for before I ever ask for it. I may put in more hours than she does, but there's no doubt in anyone's mind that she's the brains behind the operation.

I am grateful for my job and I've learned quite a lot. It couldn't have come into my life at a better time and it is because of the kindness of a dear friend that I am there at all. But it's hardly career stuff. Truth is, I'd rather be writing. However, sometimes economics rears it's ugly, uninvited head and wouldn't you just know I've grown accustomed to having a roof over my head and, after five years, I kind of love my house. I have never lived in the same place five years, so somehow it's become home. Given that my mortgage company expects to be paid every month, Dan and I have had to pool our resources for those silly little essentials like food, shelter, petrol and insurance. Of course, I only ask him about six times a week if he can promise me that we might be in a position where I could write full-time, next year. Lovely man that he is, he always smiles and says "Absolutely. Of course you will. This is just temporary.". He realizes that this answer will satisfy me for a few hours, until I ask him yet again.

Can't blame a girl for trying.

In the meantime, I work in the world according to Katie. Almost imperceptibly, as we (well, she, not me) grow older, I feel our relationship moving more toward that of trusted friends, and perhaps what we have between us has less to do with authority - though, to be perfectly honest, I think any position of authority I might have imagined was more illusion than fact - something that Katie allowed me to feel.

From early childhood on, my no-nonsense daughter had her own ideas about how things should be. More often than not, she was exactly right. Maybe I managed to nudge her in the right direction, and talk her onto an airplane or two - which was fortunate and practical because, much as we might have wanted to, we couldn't stay in France forever.

At 22, barely 5 feet tall and maybe 108 lbs., Katie has grown into a beautiful, dazzling young lady. So lovely, in fact, that her co-workers and friends stop in their tracks to closely examine her photos on a computer at work. Of course, I had to go along with the consensus. My daughter is exquisite, both physically and maybe even more incredible in terms of intelligence and that force of a true spirit that seems to cast a glow on things both internal and external.

I could not rightfully take any credit for all of the accolades, even as I tossed in a few of my own. Katie was at class as we were fawning over her latest offerings and it was a good thing, because Katie would have broken such non-sense up in short order and reminded everyone that it was a salon and day spa we were running – not a photography class. And to be honest, for her to make such a statement would have been vintage Katie, the Katie we have all come to love and hold so very dear – the tiny, yet powerful, pixieish little “tornado”, (she has the tattoo to prove it!), has so much more going on than meets the eye.

My daughter is a lover of art, writing, all things history, European and otherwise, music, sociology, psychology and philosophy. She loves exchanging ideas but she doesn’t like plugging in formulas or memorizing math computations. Math just isn’t her bag. She hates air travel as well, but she doesn’t all that to hinder her desire to discover the world. Though only 22 years old, she’s already visited France, the UK and Ireland, where she was installed as an au pair and lived with a wonderful family and their three children. It was a great experience and the opportunity to live with an Irish family and work within a new culture appealed to Katie on so many levels.

My daughter loves shopping at thrift stores and consignment shops, wears heels that I would easily break my neck in, and changes the color of her hair more times than a chameleon changes color. This daughter of mine, when she agreed to be my maid of honor, surprised us all (shocked, really) by having certain strands of her hair tinted fuchsia. Now I have to ask you, how many people do you know who could pull off fuchsia hair, not to mention a beautiful skirt of the same color, and look good doing it? Clearly, this is not the stuff of Gap. I’m not sure The Gap even acknowledges the color of fuchsia. It seems too removed from khaki. No, Katie is not a Gap girl. We like it that way.

Katie has been my anchor. She has told me that Justin's not nearly as "out there" as many of her friends near the same age. She tells me his actions and decisions are pretty typical. She looks me straight in the eyes, especially when I feel most addled, and says, "Mom, Justin is going to be just fine. You'll see.". And of course, I cling to those words and her prediction. Knowing Katie, I think if she truly were concerned, as close as she and her brother are, she would shoot straight with me. At least, I'd like to think so.

The bond she shares with Justin runs deep and they truly are each other's best friends. It pleases me, this close relationship they share, and makes me wonder what it would have been like had my sister lived, but of course it could never have been quite the same. There's only 3 years and 3 months that separate Katie and Justin - and there were ten years between my sister and me. I'd still have loved to have had a sibling or two. Sometimes it's so puzzling to me when I hear of people who say they "no longer communicate" or have nothing to do with their sisters and/or brothers. I find that so sad. What could be so horrible that you couldn't work through it and get on with the fun of being siblings and sharing funny stories about what a dysfunctional childhood you had? Oh well, there's a lot I don't understand.

On August 26th, 1983, I was presented with a beautiful 6 lb., 14 ounce daughter and gosh I've loved helping her grow up, just as she's helped me grow up on so many occasions. Katie didn't turn out to be The Gap kid I always imagined. She's way too quirky for that cookie-cutter nonsense. Me? My closet could have a Gap sign hung on it because The Gap is well-represented, as are Doc Martens of every shade and style.

I go out of my way these days to avoid my favorite store because it's just too hard to peer through the windows and imagine what it used to be like wandering the aisles and touching the t-shirts in all of those luscious colors. Fortunately, most of what they sell is pretty timeless (i.e., boring), so at the very least, no worries about being "trendy", but then again, I never was. I hope someday I can visit and buy a few things, guilt-free. Until then, I have only to walk to my closet and, if I try really hard, I can simply pretend I'm in a fitting room with a lot of familiar looking clothes. For now, it's more important that I make sure I have a closet and a house to shelter my collection. You know, that dreary part of being an adult that requires one to have priorities. :-)

I guess this is my way of saying a huge thanks to Katie for keeping it real and never allowing life to get boring. I guess it's just like in the song James Taylor sings,

Once you tell somebody the way that you feel
You can feel it beginning to ease.
I guess it's true what they say about the sticky wheel,
Always getting the grease.

I know it sometimes seems as if I'm all caught up in trying to figure what's going on with Justin and that's because, well, I kind of am! I can remember few times you've been the "sticky wheel" so there you go - that's why you haven't received any grease, but please accept my gratitude for being everything I could possibly want in a daughter - and please feel free to keep reminding me that it's all going to be just fine.

I love you tons. We all do, more than you will ever know.

And The Little Child Shall Lead Them...

Justin and Cassie beside new tree-2-1205
Originally uploaded by susiewrites.

"There is no normal life that is free of pain. It's the very wrestling with our problems that can be the impetus for our growth." ~ Fred Rogers

"It's all about friends, it's all about love and having someone you know you can trust. We're in this together, it's all about us... Hold onto to the good things..." ~ Shawn Colvin

And so it is...the season of hope...so much hope and I've got a well-spring of it. I still stumble, I occasionally fall, but I do know how to get back up again. Sometimes the road is clear and free of debris and feels just like a golden path really should. Other times, things appear so murky and obscured in fog, but I just have to hold on and trust my compass - discard that artificial horizon and trust that I'm still upright and making progress.

I am grateful for many things, even though I still feel twinges of fear as my kids navigate their way toward maturity and adulthood. I just have to trust they'll find their way and remember that I'm still finding my own. Making more meetings helps because the energy exchanged with others in recovery is so palpable and potent and most times I walk out of an AA meeting feeling as if I've been given a spiritual booster.

Last Saturday, Justin asked me if I would be interested in tree shopping. Yes! Yes! Yes! We needed something light, fun and seasonal.

First stop - depositing my paycheck. Justin drove to the bank and as he approached the drive-thru, it was then I realized that I had left my check at home. Oh well, it could wait. We were hungry with fajitas on our mind. We needed a Chili's fix and pressed on.

After lunch, we realized that we were in the same plaza as K-Mart and the Optimists Club had set up a tree lot. First we trekked into K-Mart and after about five minutes, Justin was ready to bolt but not so fast. I made this guy, I like to think of it as "encourage", walk down every aisle of Christmas decorations...though I tried my best to skip anything hinting of Martha Stewart. We're not huge fans.

After spending a small mint on lights, ornaments and one poinsettia, it was onto the tree lot. Nevermind that we had a perfectly adequate 7 1/2 foot artificial tree that was only 3 years old and barely used. Justin and I love live trees and I have no idea how we ever came to possess an artificial tree in the first place, but we didn't let that stop us from walking through a forest of recently cut evergreens and finding about ten that we found to be perfect.

Finally, we both wound up staring at this gorgeous 10 foot Frazier Fir and it had our name written all over it. Justin ran and alerted the guy in charge and before we could change our mind or wince at the price tag, the gentleman had the tree on the really cool contraption that nets the whole thing up and was asking which vehicle would be taking it away. Fortunately was driving his Blazer.

A very long Christmas tree
Originally uploaded by susiewrites.

After lots of rope and a little adjusting, the tree was soon atop the truck and off we went - headed for home and an evening of decorating - "Christmas Vacation/Griswold Style".

Justin had already fished out the lights from the garage and found the video - so after a bit of rearranging, a few photos and some popcorn, Justin built a fire in our Vermont Castings Wood stove, hung six stockings on the brick wall behind the wood stove and directed us to find our places - sitting amid boxes of decorations, warm with the glow of the fire and even warmer in the glow of being a family.

.

I hardly ever make it through a movie without eventually falling a sleep, but after I finished some popcorn, I looked around and I felt completely blessed. Everyone in that room wanted to be there - Justin coordinated the entire evening. I ran upstairs at one point to retrieve a battery or bulb or something, and I overheard my son make a comment downstairs that stopped me in my tracks.

"You know, if we had more evenings like this, I'd never think about getting high. I love nights like this - it's the best. We should have more evenings like this...".

I wasn't sure I heard him correctly, so when I came back downstairs, I asked him what he had said a few minutes earlier. Justin repeated his statement without reservation or hesitation. I looked around at the mass of clutter, the boxes, the strings of beaded garland, the half-decorated tree and felt the heat of the fire he built which, by now, was putting out so much warmth we had to open one of the patio doors.

Our living room was hardly photo-op material - "Southern Living" or "House Beautiful" wouldn't give us the time of day, but who needs a second opinion? I took it in because it contained three of the most precious things in my life; my son, my daughter and our animals. So what if there was scattered, mismatched decorations, a couple of cats eyeing the tree, or a coffee table with empty soda cans and spent bowls of popcorn? This evening, this gathering, this ritual, I wouldn't have taken anything for it. This was an early Christmas present and I can't imagine anything close to the treasure, the gift, really, of being with people who make my life completely crazy and rich beyond anything I deserve.

I guess Christmas isn't really a ten foot Frazier Fir, or shiny ornaments or brilliantly colored lights. It's looking around the room and seeing people who, merely by their presence, make you feel as if your heart could surely burst - because of the love exchanged that makes up for mistakes, miscalculations and missteps that are part and parcel of being human. And even though you know that there will still be times these people you hold so dear will get around to driving you nuts and worrying you into gray hair and wrinkles, you wouldn't trade them, or moments like a special evening, for anything the world could possibly offer.

Katie. Justin. Pops. Granny. Princess. Sylvester. Tabitha. Cassie. Even weird Felix. I love you more than you will ever know.

Yes, Justin, let's have more of these evenings. The next time I tell you that I have to do one thing or another - nag me until I get the point and remind me to thank you.

Christmas tree 2005

Christmas tree 2005
Originally uploaded by susiewrites.

With an aviary above and cats down below - It's a toss-up as to what might wind up in this tree...There is never a dull moment in this house. Oddly enough, it all feels perfectly normal and I love it all. Hey, before the season's over, I might wind up in that tree.

The Gang's STILL here :-)

Justin - Thank you for sharing your birthday with us and having dinner tonight with your adoring family. We love you so much and we hope that this next year is filled with many happy moments, accomplishments and lots of opportunities to stretch your mind and laugh and smile. I'm so very proud of you. We all are. I thank God that he found a way to give me such an exquisite present, and I am honored to be your Mom.

Susie, Katie and Justin - Sea World - San Antonio, TX

Susie, Katie and Justin - Sea World - San Antonio, TX
Originally uploaded by susiewrites.

Hey Nineteen, Justin! Happy, Happy Birthday my favorite son. A few hundred days have passed since we did the Sea World Texas adventure and I have no idea how time could have flown so fast because it seems as if you should still be this impossibly blond, impish, irascible, charming but full of mischief little guy that I couldn't take my eyes off of, because to leave you to your own devices, all manner of chaos could easily break out, and also because, you captivated my heart, "from the moment I first saw you...the second that you were born. I knew that you were the love of my life, quite simply, the love...of my life.", in the words of Carly Simon.

Since your humble beginnings as a young tumbleweed in Amarillo, Texas, you have grown up and staked out such a huge claim in the hearts of those blessed enough to share your bloodlines, or to this particular Mom who knew I was in for a wild ride when you chose to offer me two full days of intense back labor before making your grand entrance on a Friday Night in Northwest Texas Hospital.

I clearly remember the first time we locked eyes and I knew you had me wrapped around your finger.

I remember so many times I have tried to discipline you, to affect a stern voice or steely serious demeanor, only to melt into a smile or a laugh because you would always fix me with a grin and for the life of me, I would find it impossible to be as strict as we both know I should have. You had the uncanny ability to talk yourself out of trouble and right into another scheme destined to land you right back in hot water. We've gone a few rounds, haven't we Justin? I think the count would clearly illustrate that you bested me more times than not.

While you have certainly sprouted up and filled out in impressive, sinewy muscles and flat abs, the real measure of your growth, of anyone's for that matter, is how you have grown on the inside.

Justin, I always loved your white blond locks, those ocean blue eyes and adorable nose, but it is your heart I find myself most in awe of and so dearly precious. You try, at times, to make us believe it's temporarily disconnected, but we know better because we know you.

It would be impossible for you to comprehend, to really know deep down inside, how dearly loved you are by those of us who know you best and get on your nerves the most. The word "adore" simply doesn't touch the feelings and high regard felt by your Pops, Granny, sister, Dan and me.

The other evening when you and I were experiencing a not-so-easy detente, I racked my brain as to how I should approach you. When you and I knock heads now and again, I feel so empty and sad and I wish so much for the little guy who used to think I had the answer for everything. Of course, it was inevitable you would realize this was not the case and you found out in some important ways that I am profoundly human.

I remember a time about 23 months ago, when it was you pacing the floor and wondering if I was OK. It should never have been that way, but now and again it was and I will always hate that I put you through that angst. But you loved me through a very challenging time and you never turned your back on me. I want you to know that I would never turn my back on you. I want you to know that you have a permanent place in my heart.

So you have seen me stumble and you had a ringside seat for the fall, but it is because of the brand of love you afforded me that I was able to get back up and get better. When it was my turn to pick up that coveted blue one year chip last January 12th, the thing I remember most is that you were right there beside me and I couldn't have felt more proud because I know that particular venue wasn't exactly "your scene". You joined me anyway. You made that night so extra special.

We have grown, you and I, and it is because of the challenges and stumbles and occasional bad decisions that being human affords us the opportunity to make. Most of the time, we learn from them and move forward much better people.

You are in the middle of a period in your life where you are invited by your peers to try everything. The problem is that everything isn't always a wise decision and I know that you, just as I did, have to make some of those painful mistakes to figure out the right way to live your life. You are navigating uncharted territory and most of the time you get it right. However, even during those times we find ourselves in the role of adversaries, and even when it feels as if my primary role in life is to rain on your parade, I think you know deep down inside what is right and what is wrong, and that all I want for you is the very best because you are one of the very best parts of my life. If I seem over-protective, it's because I am. I'd take a bullet for you any hour of the day. My role is still that of maternal GPS and though you might prefer I turn the switch off, there is no switch and I'd break it if there was. I'll never ever stop looking out for you.

I hope you have a wonderful birthday. I hope this next year is full of great things and I know you have the tools to create positive situations and realize some incredible dreams.

I want you to know that when I first laid eyes on your 19 years ago this day, I didn't think I was capable of loving anyone as much as I loved you. Nineteen years later, it's only grown, as has my respect and admiration for all that you are and my hopes and best wishes for all that you are destined to be.

I love you Justin,

Mom

Susie & Justin 10/17/05

Susie & Justin 10/17/05
Originally uploaded by susiewrites.

Friday Night I decided to move my "home office" from a small room to a larger room. With two computers, a printer, about a thousand peripheral devices, cords that looked more like angel hair pasta than USB wires, two subwoofers and 8 speakers, two bulletin boards with twice the photos on them than they were ever meant to hold - highlights of my past ten years that just demanded to be captured - files, both virtual and hard copy, and books, books and, did I mention books? Well, this was no small undertaking. Not to mention it involved moving a Queen Size bed and a couple of bureaus and half of my daughter's wardrobe, to the smaller room, before moving "Command Central", to the larger room. I started at about 4:00 PM and called it a day at a little after 4:00 AM Saturday Morning.

All of the equipment, furniture (my desk comes in three pieces and literally looks like an Air Traffic Controller work station - and sometimes it feels like one), were moved and in place, but the floor was littered with things that hadn't quite found their home.

I cleared out my chair and surveyed the damage, and nursed what had to be my 10th cup of coffee. I should say SAVORED my tenth cup of coffee because this new office is impressively appointed with a Bunn Commercial coffeemaker with not one, not two, but THREE burners! Oh yeah baby, it's beyond cool, I mean, it's not the same as an "E Ticket" at Disney World, but it's not shabby either. With a coffeemaker of that magnitude, just add a couple of alcoholics and a resentment or two and we could have a kick-ass AA meeting in here!

Around 1:30 AM, I heard the familiar sound of the slamming of the side door and knew that either Katie or Justin had wandered home. It turns out it was my son.

I knew eventually he would find his way upstairs and it was worth staying up to see the look on his face when he went in the room formerly known as "the office" to surreptiously snag some online time. His eyes grew big as he walked into the room now known as "the office".

Rather than back away from the mess, my son pulled up a stool and we talked. I had found some old school photos of him and I was teasing him about his cute little self from years ago (he's still cute, but not nearly as innocent). We talked of the past, when he was small, places we had lived, visited, dreamed of and different adventures. He studied the photos and said how odd it was that he could remember exactly what he was thinking when a certain picture was snapped. I've never met a photo of my kids I could possibly throw away. These are the frames of our lives.

Justin told me what he had been up to and I loved listening to him - he could have been speaking Slavic, but I would have been as fascinated. He shocked me by telling me he had been to Barnes and Noble earlier in the day, and bought a copy of "Chaos - Making A New Science", by a guy named Gleick. My son was speaking to me of metaphysics! Come to think of it, Slavic may well have made more sense to me.

Obviously, he's searching. He's trying to figure out why we're all here, what our purpose is, how we came to be and possibly get a handle on where we may be going. It's exploration and I certainly realize you have to weed (sic) through a lot of stuff, read, touch, feel and you can do that for years - decades, and still come up confused, but you have to try. Justin is trying. I think I was more stunned to discover he was reading up on metaphysics than he was to find that my office had been relocated.

About 2:30 AM, we heard another slam of the side door and realized it had to be Katie. I told Justin to quickly go close the door to what was my old office and come back, shut the door and wait for her to be surprised.

We heard her trudge up the stairs and open the wrong door, realize her bed had been moved,and then she opened the door to where we were lying in wait to see her face. "What the @#$%?", she asked in wide-eyed wonderment.

Surprise!

She was for sure. Seeing that Justin had settled in, she dropped her things and joined us, plopping on the floor. We brought her up-to-speed on what we had been speaking of and she respected her brother's new topic of interest. She opined, as Katie always does, but patted him on the back for taking on such a complicated read.

After about ten minutes, Katie put her hands up in the universal sign of, "Shut up, I have something to say!", and observed, "Do you realize that this is the first time in months it has just been the three of us in the same room, chatting about nothing in particular, and no one is in trouble or the focus of a lecture?".

We took notice, and we laughed. I offered to become "The Mom", but they advised against it. We continued to talk, and laugh, and talk some more. Some of what was said felt like TMI (too much information), and I could have done without some of the details, but hey, I'll take what I can get when it comes to spending time with my almost all grown up kids, even if it's at 4:00 AM and we should all be in bed asleep. I was met with my own admonishment for getting in bed so late/early, but I'll take the static and snatch up the first chance I get to do it all again. Such moments are sweet and precious and I live for those rare opportunities. If they happen to come at 4:00 AM, what can I say other than my kids come by it genetically and inherited my screwed up bio-rhythms. Sleep wouldn't have been nearly as interesting and there's always time to grab some Z's, but there's not always the chance to see what's going on with Katie and Justin. We even shared a hug goodnight and I finally left Katie to check her online websites, and Justin headed downstairs to bed where he had only 3 hours to snooze because he was due to be at work by 8:00 AM.

Yesterday was spent putting things away and catching glimpses of the floor that was just beneath the rubble. Plants were placed under light-friendly windows, more old photos were perused and memories were tickled, and a lot of coffee was ingested. I'd woken up early Saturday Morning with a screech, so I was a little sleep-deprived myself, but even taking that into consideration, I still got a lot accomplished, though probably not as efficiently as I should have.

I'm back online, things are humming along, and it's been a beautiful day in the neighborhood, even if it is a late October afternoon in Autumn.

Mellow. The mood has been most decidedly mellow and understated. Understated can be a good thing. I don't mind a generous helping of understatement. I've spent most of my today putting more things up and discarding a few things I no longer need.

Today has afforded me the chance to linger over the tangible accroutrements that define and recall the personal spaces in my life, both literally and figuratively; The places I have lived, visited, items that serve to remind me that I've loved and enjoyed most all of this life of mine, chaos included. Even the stuff I could have done without taught me lessons I couldn't do without and maybe could have only learned by living and making the mistakes. As long as the lessons are learned, the mistakes become invaluable tools and suddenly sport a modicum of merit. There has been a lot of merit in my life, and I hope to merit lots more, and stay away from the recycle bin.

Progress...Not Perfection. Not Even Close...

"...Many of us exclaimed, 'What an order! I can't go through with it.' Do not be discouraged. No one among us has been able to maintain anything like perfect adherence to these principles. We are not saints. The point is, that we are willing to grow along spiritual lines. The principles we have set down are guides to progress. We claim spiritual progress rather than spiritual perfection." Taken from page 60 of "The Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous", Fourth Edition.

Thank you AA! Whew - as if I could possibly come remotely close to spiritual perfection. I fall so far from the mark many times. Some days I'm good and some days I am not so good.

In an earlier post, I wrote a few unnecessary remarks. It was one of those times I wasn't being so kind and I wasn't even tickling the "spiritual perfection" spectrum. I allowed the not so spiritual side of myself to take over the keyboard and have it's way.

This was brought to my attention by the person about whom my unkind remarks were directed and for that I must apologize. Regardless of what I may think, feel or believe in my heart to be true, being unnecessarily mean-spirited doesn't fall under the realm of "spirituality", even if it does share the root of the word.

After reading a recent E-mail, I realized that my words were hardly fashioned to serve anthing resembling a positive purpose and diminishing someone else certainly doesn't leave me shining any brighter. In fact, it's a tarnish that I don't need and, after a lot of thought, prayer and some soul-searching, I have gone back and deleted those unnecessary sentences - realizing, after giving things the proper forethought that I should have before ever writing them. While I can't pretend that I never wrote those words, I can certainly go back and use that invaluable key that is the equivalent of an electronic eraser. DELETE. And so I have.

It's a wonderful thing to simply go back and delete words and disarming a post of its venom. How easy it is to simply delete things in cyberspace. If only if we could so easily erase past actions and words spoken in haste that hang in the air and zap those around us with a painful sting. I've said and done many things in the past that I wish so much I could retract, but I can't. And just as The Big Book reminded me that none of us are perfect - even you non-alcoholics who might be reading this - The Big Book also provides me with encouragement - and as stated in "The Promises", it illustrates how even our misdeeds can be used for good - "We will not regret the past, nor wish to shut the door on it. We will comprehend the word serenity and we will know peace. No matter how far down the scale we have gone, we will see how our experience can benefit others."

I guess good ole Bill W. must have guessed we could get so mired down with the business of regretting that we could sink into a kind of ineffective state of torpor, if we spent a great deal of time regretting all of the things we may have done - and in a way, time spent in a state of regret is basically time that's as wasteful as actually doing "the next wrong thing". In the end, it doesn't help anyone at all.

So we are prodded to pull ourselves up, lean on the good stuff (and yes, there is some!), and see what we can do with the experiences that make us wince, and spin them into something useful by sharing what we have done and where we have been, with someone who may be feeling far more hopeless. It's a tool that comes in handy and I must say that there have been many times I have found myself feeling better about me, and life in general, after hearing someone share the stuff they aren't particularly proud of. OK, sometimes it's just a flat out - "Wow, s/he did THAT? I didn't even go THERE. Maybe I'm not a complete waste of space!" [Side note: When someone is sharing a particularly painful and embarrassing past experience, it's best not to reveal that you are enjoying a "You did what???" moment. Try and contain those and save them for when you are alone and out of sight of the person who just bared his/her soul to you in an attempt to make you feel significant...]

If you look at the negatives and are seriously determined to walk a better path, those past experiences evolve into a useful tool that can make someone else feel as if they have half a chance and, for many of us in AA, half a chance is just about all we have going for us when we crawl into the rooms.

Besides, a lot of regret can turn into an unattractive and pointless exercise in self-pity and more of that stale "it's all about me!" business that we really need to rid ourselves of. I am constantly amazed at how very forward thinking and exceptionally timeless this program is and I am thankful for it only on a daily basis.

To the person that I offended, I offer an amends and a generous dose of delete. While I most certainly don't and, let's face it, never will see eye-to-eye with you on everything, there was absolutely no need for me to turn a blog into an assault weapon. There are enough of those around and we've both lobbed a few of them across the lines and throughout the years. Here's hoping for more peace.

I'm so glad I met that Bill W. guy. :-)

Alcoholics Anonymous - (AA) Walk In The Park...

During the course of my blog postings, there have been references to Alcoholics Anonymous. They started out a bit veiled and maybe a tiny bit ambiguous. Here and there would appear a quote from "As Bill Sees It', "Daily Reflections", "Twenty-four Hours A Day" or "Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions".

And then, of course, there were the links. I flirted with self-revelation by listing any number of recovery links including, but not limited to, "AA-Grapevine", "e-AA Lite", "Eastern Area Conference of Young People in AA", and that dead giveaway, the site that only another alcoholic could appreciate, "The Sobriety Calculator".

It's the strangest thing, but I never really knew how to come right out of the closet that I profess to abhor. If I were diabetic, there might be all manner of links that would take you to insulin issues, exercise for diabetics, how to live your life without sugar...and I wouldn't wonder how you might feel about me when it dawned on you that I was a card-carrying, insulin-dependent diabetic. I wouldn't wonder if I now appeared "less than" in the eyes of those who read this and aren't yet aware. And what would a diabetic or even cancer confession say about me personally - as a human being, a daughter, a wife and especially a mother? No, those kinds of questions probably wouldn't cross my mind or yours, if you were to read that I was insulin dependent or currently undergoing chemotherapy.

What is it about alcoholism that makes most of us whisper in low tones, should we be bold enough to even broach the topic in the first place? We're told it's a disease just as sure as those others, but for some reason, I think it wears a layer of character tarnish and outside of AA circles, you rarely hear it discussed, unless it's a joke about a bumbling drunk similar to the character of "Otis" on The Andy Griffith Show. It's almost as if society has decided the collective lot of us can control whether we become alcoholic or not. I think that's probably what gives alcoholism a bad rap - the underlying assumption that we somehow have a choice and how ridiculous is that? Who would ever choose to become a slave to something that, left unchecked, can completely and utterly destroy every good thing in one's life? Maybe a lot of us don't truly buy into that whole "disease" notion after all?

So what if I were to make a formal announcement that I am an alcoholic? And if I did, why would I have to worry about what you might think of me as a person, a daughter, a wife and especially a mother? Why would my character be drawn into question and would you secretly wonder why I would allow such a thing to happen?

Remember back in elementary school when kids were invited to stand before the class and announce what they wanted to be when they grew up? Many of the boys wanted to be in law enforcement and quite a few wanted to be firemen. The girls almost always chose the occupations of nurse, teacher, and a few bold ones, back in the 1960's at least, professed to dream of being an astronaut or brilliant scientist. I remember those times and I never once heard any of my classmates stand before the class, in bright, clean play clothes, and state with no reservation and all the pride and conviction in the world, "When I grow up, I want to be a recovering alcoholic!".

Think about it - who would ever choose it? It would be akin to standing before the class and saying, I'm going to try very hard to smoke as much as I possibly can so I can increase my risk of lung cancer. Did you ever hear any such fantasies in the classroom? After class, my friends and I would often play school, or pretend we were working in an animal hospital (that was easy at my house because we always had a few creatures running around), and yes, there were times we played doctor, but I know for certain we never played alcoholics. Cops and robbers, cowboys and Indians, dump truck operator, which must have been a precursor to the current rage of "Bob the Builder", but no one ever wanted to be the stumbling drunk or even bartender. How could anyone honestly believe someone would desire or work toward being a person with a drinking problem? Doesn't make much sense does it?

Sure, I heard people discuss folks who got tipsy, or hung out at the local beer joint, and these were not people to be celebrated or upheld as role models. We knew these were not individuals to be emulated. But I never once heard anyone discuss someone who was a recovering alcoholic. As far as I knew - an alcoholic was someone actively drinking and ruining the lives of everyone he touched, including his own. And never, ever, were women remotely referenced as problem drinkers. It was more or less a male disease.

I have a confession to make - I used to be one of those people who thought the very same thing. I remember believing, not so many years ago, that it shouldn't be any big deal - just STOP DRINKING and, voila! you are no longer alcoholic. I used to look down my nose at people with drinking problems and I was pretty certain that the great majority lived under a bridge, down by some river and that most of them were scruffy looking, probably uneducated, unkempt in appearance, certainly unrefined and most of all, that whatever suffering they may endure, they BROUGHT IT ALL ON THEMSELF. Period.

I'd never trust one and I can't imagine I'd be friends with any self-confessed alkie. I would have probably thought that the word "relapse" was much too gracious a term for someone falling off the sobriety wagon. If it were a male alcoholic, I'd just go ahead and assume he couldn't maintain a job, support a family and was probably given to physically abusing his wife and children. If the alcoholic were female, I'd immediately label her a slut - pure and simple. Certainly no one who should be allowed to have kids and by all means should be kept off the PTA roster and NEVER should she be trusted with a school fund-raiser or hold the honorable position of "Homeroom Mother". You just can't trust those people, I'd say. Let's face it, they didn't get in that condition hanging around the church or preparing Sunday School lesson plans. I wouldn't need to actually meet her to know her ilk. I'd reckon that female alcoholics were far more offensive than male alcoholics and yet I always considered myself more of a feminist.

I was certain I pretty much knew all there was to understand about alcoholism and I'd heard of AA, which is where "those people" get fixed, if they made the decision to get well. I also knew all there was to know about treatment centers - they were places where people spent 28 days and came out completely cured. Period. Whatever it was that went on in those places could transform the really horrible (but insured!) drunks and make them well and possibly a functioning, albeit flawed, member of society, as long as they kept their "former little problem" a deep secret until the day they died.

Prior to January 11th, 2004, I had it all figured out. Wrong, I might add. There's nothing like a little practical experience to really drive home a point and I had about nine years of practical experience, but it took me a little while to get my definitions and perceptions right. I was only wrong on every single previously held belief.

I was born on the night of February 6th, 1960. The gestation period leading up to my first birth was right at 9 months and 2 weeks. I was reborn the night of January 11th, 2004 and it took me nine long years to get ready - I guess you could say it was breech, because it most certainly involved a bottom. Both birth experiences left me pretty helpless, confused, crying and unable to function for a short time, but I had to go through the process before I could get growing. The first time around gave me life. The second one saved it and helped me find a better one. I'm beyond grateful for both.

I've always bristled at the notion that alcoholism is something to be kept under wraps. Like I had a choice in becoming one? No, I had no choice in being alcoholic - and it's most certainly terminal. Whether my disease is the result of heredity, environment or just rotten bad luck, makes absolutely no difference and isn't worth the time it would take to debate. What matters is if I choose to treat it and in that, I do have a choice. For most of us, the prescription is heavy doses of active involvement in Alcoholics Anonymous and for some it is, initially, a hard pill to swallow but for others, myself included, I took to it like a duck takes to water. It agreed with me almost instantly. I knew it was my lifesaver and I grabbed for it. I'm happy to report that I haven't come close to sinking.

For all of my bravado (in person) at feeling absolutely no shame or compulsion to hide my disease, every single time I would sit down to blog about it, I would quickly come up with something else to write about. "I'll write about that later." I would tell myself as I moved to another topic. It's as if sitting down in front of this faceless monitor rendered me about as unable to say, "My name is Susie, and I'm an alcoholic.", as it did those first couple of weeks back in January 2004, when I sat quietly in the corner of my first AA meetings, trying my best to blend in with the woodwork, wearing my trademark sunglasses - which had to look pretty stupid given that it was mid-January and dark by 5:30 and most of the meetings I attended were between 6 and 8 o'clock in the evening. What my sunglasses didn't cover, I made certain that my hair did, so it was normally falling in my face and I had to look more like "Cousin It", rather than a 43 year old adult woman who had just made the painful realization that I might just be an alcoholic. One of my friends in my home group, after he got to know me better, said it was weeks before he was sure I had eyes. I felt pretty beat up when I joined the fellowship and that's a good thing - I was scared enough to realize that this problem was way beyond anything I could fix myself.

I avoided eye contact at all cost because locking eyes with someone in a meeting was like looking in a mirror. Seeing others there meant that I needed to be there as well. I really needed to be there if I was to stand a chance.

When it would come my time to read in a Big Book Study or should the person who was chairing a meeting ask me to read "How It Works", "The Promises" or maybe a selection from "As Bill Sees It", I would feel instant panic and my throat would suddenly become so dry and I'd feel all of those eyes peering at me. I imagined they were trying to figure out what my story was and what specific incident brought me to my knees and into the rooms of AA. I was so sure those "veterans" (and at the time, by the term "veteran" I mean anyone who had a clue as to what was going on in any given AA meeting room) were trying to figure me out. Little did I know they had me figured out the second I walked through the door. It's remarkable how similar our stories are - you can change a few names, places, relationships, economic situations, but the end result is the same - and the fact that we live to make it to a meeting means we are the exception, rather than the rule because left to our own devices, and without divine help and 12 steps, we just plain die. Period. And that's the end of many a story.

It's funny looking back over 20 months ago to those early meeting experiences and how lovely that most of those "veterans" who's eyes were never trying to penetrate me or figure out my story, are now some of my closest friends and feel more like family and one pair of those eyes has joined my family and I wake up with him every morning. They were never running a pool on what or who it was that brought me in. They didn't have to because they intuitively knew that it was only a slightly different version of the event(s) that secured their seat at the table. I had no idea how much I had in common with every single person in the rooms - they were all just slightly different facets of me, but I didn't know that at the time. I was pretty certain I was terminally unique and that I was oh-so-different from the average AA member. I can smile as I recall those memories now, but at the time, I was absolutely scared to death or, even better, scared sober.

I really needed to be scared sober. Being scared sober saved my life. But I couldn't know that January 11th, 2004. I thought that date would forever serve as the anniversary of the day my life changed forever and, gratefully, I am pleased to say I was absolutely correct. I couldn't go on the way I was because I was on my way to complete and total self-destruction, which is exactly where alcohol will take you if you happen to be an untreated alcoholic. It may take a little longer than cocaine or heroin or crack, stuff I've never even seen, much less done, but alcohol can get the job done in its own time. Alcohol nearly did me in and it looked so harmless and downright elegant in the tapered shape of a red wine glass.

I wasn't exactly sure you could qualify for membership in AA if all you imbibed was wine. Wine was, in my screwed up head, a cut above beer, whiskey or moonshine. Wine was for polished people who ran in "different" circles. Wine wasn't simply a drink, but the product of an art, a great topic of after dinner conversation where the varieties and verities could be dissected and refined palate's could compare notes on color, clarity, bouquet and vintage. Wine wasn't for the masses or the messes, it was for people with an appreciation of the finer things in life and it was a great reason to spend some time in France, not that I didn't already have one.

Which begged the question - could you technically be an alcoholic if all you drank was the occasional bottle(s) of really expensive wine? Well, yeah if, as you are knocking back your first glass you are already trying to plot how to get to your fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh and someone please, let's have a couple of bottles of champagne - the good stuff, none of that Korbel Crap. If the bottle costs under fifty-bucks it's probably not really champagne and none of that cheap stuff was touching my lips, thank you very much, unless, of course, I was with a date who had limited funds and I made it my business to stay away from people with limited bank accounts. I wanted the good stuff, but I wasn't about to pay for it, because I didn't need to. There were plenty of men around more than willing to pony up and provide what I wanted to drink and send me on my path heading in the direction of nowhere fast.

Attending my first AA meeting was one of the scariest moments in my life. I had no idea what lay before me, and I was too addled to consider what all had gone on up to that point. I will never forget how heavy my tiny cell phone felt as I picked it up to ring Intergroup to find out where these AA meetings were held. Like a lot of people on the outside of the program looking in, I had no idea what AA was about, other than it was an organization of people who didn't know when to say when. I figured it must be a sad little collection of whiners who bemoaned the fact they couldn't drink and have fun like the people I hung with. I imagined dour faces, sob stories, complaining, maybe some crying, and an ambiance about as inviting as the waiting room of an oral surgeon who really enjoyed his work.

My son dropped me off at my first meeting, held in the activity building of a nearby Presbyterian Church. I drew a deep breath and tried to hide all of the shaking I felt inside. I didn't know how long meetings lasted, what type of people would be there and I was starting to wonder if I should even try one out. Was my drinking really that bad? Or was I so sick that AA might refuse to grant me membership?

It took only a few seconds to learn that I more than qualified and fortunately they welcomed me in with warm hearts and warm hugs.

I didn't know who Bill W. was, other than the fact that I'd heard people profess to be one of his friends. So clueless was I that one time when I was checking out the list of chat rooms on AOL, I saw several that were listed as "Friends of Bill W." and I wondered who this Bill W. was that whole chat rooms were created just to discuss their friendship with the guy. I remember once thinking that Bill W. must be Bill Clinton. I just found the whole thing very odd, but I wasn't curious enough to pop in one of those chat rooms to check it out. There would be time for that later. I wasn't ready. I still had lots of uncontrolled drinking to do.

When I walked into the room, I was immediately greeted by a couple of women and one of them had a deliciously southern accent and a warm, inviting smile and for some reason, she made me feel less of a loser for being in that room, because she, and just about everyone else in attendance, didn't resemble losers at all. She motioned for me to sit beside her and I was so grateful. As I looked around the room, I saw everyone had a thick blue book in front of them and there were three readings, a group recitation of The Serenity Prayer, and I also saw that someone was passing what looked like a brochure around the room, but only women were signing their name and phone numbers. I had no idea what it was, but I noticed no one asked me for my name or phone number.

It was orderly. I found it strange that when anyone would speak, they would first introduce themselves by announcing their name and confessing they were an alcoholic - and then they would get on with whatever they were reading or entering into discussion. If the same person spoke four times in a meeting, every single time s/he would state their name and the fact they were an alcoholic - and I remember thinking - do these people not realize we can all remember their names since they spoke not five minutes ago and of course we suspected they were alcoholics - I mean, wasn't that why we were there? What's with all this announcing stuff? It felt a lot redundant. How funny I would fail to notice the redundancy of drinking glass after glass after glass.

I remember when they asked if there were any newcomers, someone in their first 30 days of sobriety who would like to introduce themselves, not to embarrass them but just so the group could get to know him/her. I felt it - all eyes were on me because it had to totally obvious that I was a newcomer, and it seemed as if I had to say something. Oh, it felt far more foreign than my trying to pronounce something complicated in French. It was just one of many moments of truth to come and it was also the first time I had to admit, in my own shaky voice, that I was an alcoholic. I can still remember hearing my heart beat in my ears as I made that confession.

"My name is Susie and I'm an alcoholic".

It was almost like an out of body experience. I knew it was me talking, but did I really believe what I was saying and if I did believe what I was saying, what exactly did that mean? I wondered if there might be a test I needed to take just to make sure I was in the right room. I like facts and calibrations and if I'm on the alcoholic spectrum, just where do I fall (figuratively - I knew I'd fallen in several parking lots, a few stairs and a couple of times in the shower - oh, and there was that bar stool at Keffies a couple of years ago when I leaned back too far. Probably many more, but you get the idea and I get off topic so easily!). I definitely fell on the alcoholic spectrum just as sure as I'd fallen on my face a few times.

Was there a rating system - were we assigned levels of disease load like a blood titer? I soon learned the only time numbers were really brought up in terms of blood, were when people would discuss what their BAC (blood alcohol content) was when the cop pulled them in for a DWI (driving while intoxicated).

My first meeting and all the ones after, lasted exactly one hour and they are bookended with prayers - The Serenity Prayer at the beginning and The Lord's Prayer at closing. What happens between those two prayers can take the form of a Big Book Study, A Step Study, A Tradition Study, an Open Discussion, a Closed Discussion, a Speaker Meeting or maybe a combination. And for over 70 years since it's inception by a charismatic gentleman who was born in Vermont and became a NY Stockbroker and, along the way, was thought to be a hopeless alcoholic, AA has worked miracles - millions of them. I'm thrilled to be one of them.

There's very little debate that AA was divinely inspired and were I invited to cast a vote, I would have no hesitation in saying that I absolutely believe the Program of Alcoholics Anonymous to be the product of Divine Inspiration of the highest order. I may have been foggy and scared and feeling just about as low as I ever have, but it wasn't lost on me that I was in the right place and among the right people who could help me find a way back up again. As we held hands in a circle and recited The Lord's Prayer, I knew more than I've known anything in my life, that I had found home because, even though I had only laid eyes on those people 50 minutes before, I knew them better than I knew people who had been in my inner circles for years and I knew that these people knew me. I've never felt such a sense of complete belonging.

Some people find home early on and some take years to stumble across it, but for me, I found home on Thursday Night, January 15th, 2004. When I got home that night, I was still a little shaky, but I couldn't wait to get to my next meeting. Before I went out the door, someone handed me that brochure I'd seen passed around the table, the one with the names and phone numbers of the women in attendance and told me to call if I felt myself in trouble - regardless of the hour. The brochure contained a listing of every meeting held in the Wilmington Area along with the times and locations. It turns out there are over 120 meetings held in our area every single week and that, lucky for me, Wilmington is known as a "Strong AA" city. So I guess that means if you suddenly find yourself an alcoholic, Wilmington is a good place to do it. At least I got that right through pure dumb luck.

No, I take that back. There is no such thing as pure dumb luck. It was supposed to be exactly as it happened, including the time and the place. I have embraced nearly all of the tenents of AA with little, if any, resistance, but the one thing that has always niggled me is the whole, "it happened the way it's supposed to", or "it takes what it takes", or "it will turn out exactly as it should". Nothing has been more difficult for me to accept as that whole "que sera, sera" mode of thinking. I fought against it, I failed to see the logic of it, and it was hard for me to truly embrace that there is a time and a place for all that happens in the universe as if under some divine orchestration with a magic, omnipotent baton wielding conductor...but then I had to realize everything that did happen just in my case alone. By all rights, I shouldn't honestly be alive to write this. I drove in several blackouts. I found myself in places having no recollection of how I arrived. I would hear things repeated that I was purported to have said at an earlier, inebriated time, but have no memory of uttering a word of it, and that final night I somehow made it from a tony restarant about seven miles from my home, across several busy intersections and managed to arrive without killing myself and/or anyone else. I did nail my neighbor's mailbox and only that was pieced together six weeks after the fact when my friend and I started comparing notes, but I had absolutely no recollection. I still don't.

If my Higher Power, which I choose to call God, could somehow take control and guide me across town in a mess of a blackout without a human casualty, is it really so hard to believe that just maybe things do happen exactly as they're supposed to? There is no rational explanation for me to be alive. I finally had to admit that maybe everything in this life isn't logical or rational or capable of being explained based on pure, tangible fact. When I find myself worrying about timing and elements so far out of my control, I try and remember just how out of control I was that night, and how God certainly engaged a cruise control well beyond the electronic capability of my Buick LeSabre or even OnStar and it's sophisticated GPS. I no longer question that things happen for a reason. I mostly just try to remember the miracles and give thanks as often as possible, which is never enough.

On Friday, January 16th, 2004, I attended my second AA meeting and for this one, I chose a highly recommended Women's Meeting held at a nearby Episcopal Church. At first, I thought I might be in the wrong section of the building because I heard boisterous noise and lots of laughter and happy chatter. I just figured I'd stumbled upon a baby or wedding shower and maybe one of the attendees could direct me to the Alcoholics Anonymous Meeting being held somewhere in that beautiful stone church. Oddly enough, there was a round blue circle with the initials AA stuck on the door and it was from behind that door that the laughter was emanating. There were so many people in that room. Several women were sitting on the floor, kids careening in and out. This bunch was most decidedly happy, joyous and free and I couldn't help but smile as I tried to take it all in.

That was a pivotal meeting for me. When it came time to introduce myself as a newcomer, I noticed it didn't seem as strange to state my name and that I was, in fact, an alcoholic. That's also the meeting where I picked up my first and I hope ONLY white chip - which is the sign of surrender. I really did own being an alcoholic at that meeting of about 80 women who were dressed in clothes ranging from corporate business suits to stay-at-home Mom. The women in attendance were as young as 17 and the oldest was 82 years old and had personally met Bill W. himself. There were many women who looked to be well over 65, and one in particular wore a mischievious grin on her face and could be anyone's grandmother straight from some upper middle class suburb. I was immediately drawn to her and someone introduced us and as I extended my hand, she just gave me a sweet hug.

After I sat down I couldn't take my eyes off that gentle looking woman and she was just about the last person I could ever envision drunk. But there she was, reading the AA preamble, giggling as she later shared an anecdote from her drinking days - something about the time she had dropped something in a dumpster and fallen over head first in an attempt to try and retrieve it. She wound up having to wait until her husband returned from work because she was too messed up to figure her way out. This delightful, honey-sweet, soft-spoken, white haired grandmother was describing a scene from her past which rivaled anything the rest of us could have probably shared and gosh it felt so good to laugh. I dearly needed the blessed release of that laugh after a week of sheer terror. She will never know what a difference she made in my life that night. I could never adequately express it, but she did.

I would later learn that she came into the program after three attempts and the age of 47. I was 43 at the time which meant that, with a little luck and no smoking, I could be recounting the time I mowed over a mailbox to a room full of people who might need to know just how crazy I used to be and how full of life I still was. That was priceless.

I took that laughter from my second AA meeting and I picked up something else that I needed just as much. Chips are given offered at the end of each meeting to celebrate periods of sobriety. The hardest one for most of us is the first one and though it's just a cheap, white, plastic disc that could pass for a poker chip were it not for the triangle within a circle, it's heavy with symbolism because it means we are surrendering and setting a new course for ourselves. I walked up and received a white chip, along with several hugs and cheers of congratulations. In AA circles, giving up is a very good thing. It's finally admitting defeat against a foe that doesn't play fair and wants you dead. I still carry that white chip with me in my purse, and every now and then I take it out and look at it and I remember the evening I picked it up and then I think of everything it took for me to earn it.

Of course, it only takes a meeting or two to be dazzled by the blue chip - the one EVERYONE wants when they join AA - the blue chip marks one whole damn year without a drink and it's a huge thing! I also keep my blue chip in my purse, right next to my white one. They are symbols of life, and the new one I was granted courtesy of a power greater than myself.

As is the case with diabetics, there is no magic cure, no complete recovery and a full life is the result of continuous maintenance in the form of meetings, working the steps and keeping in touch with a sponsor and yes, reading that Big Book as often as possible. We never get well. We are never recoverED. There is no "cured". But if we take a few suggestions, we can expect an incredible life and that's not AA dogma - that's my own experience thus far. The fact that we have any life left in us at all when we join the program, is the first in a line of miracles, if we continue to do the next right thing - even if the next right thing isn't exactly what we want to do. As they say quite often, it's a simple program, but not always an easy one, but as with most things, if you break it down into simple increments, a day at a time is very doable.

My life didn't get all perfect and trouble didn't make some magical hasty retreat, but my life did get better, almost immediately. It is suggested that a newcomer try and make 90 meetings in the first 90 days and that seemed completely extreme to me, until I realized I had made something like 140 meetings in 90 days - it all went so fast I didn't realize it. I was attending two meetings many days and not because I was thirsting for alcohol - not at all. I can honestly say I have never had one single craving for a drink or a buzz, but as we are reminded, simply taking the drink away doesn't mean we get well - it really is a disease that settles in the mind and my mind was probably as diseased as anyone elses. I was no worse than compadres, and I was certainly no better. For all of my perceived terminal uniqueness, it turns out I was just a garden variety drunk. Fortunately, through attending all of those meetings, it would seem I am in spectacular company.

I may not have been special and I most certainly wasn't terribly unique, but I did have an interesting road ahead of me, along with a path of destruction behind me to try and untangle. Here I was, the Mom of a 16 year old and a 19 year old, and a woman who had been penning a single parenting newspaper column for 3 1/2 years, not to mention the only daughter of two teetotalers in their late 70's who had no clue I was as sick as I was.

It's a very humbling experience to stand before your almost grown up kids and confess to being an alcoholic, complete with citations. It was even more surreal to continue to write a newspaper column on my homespun single parenting experiences and adventures, and pretend all was sunshine and daisies on the homefront. I'd tackled a wide variety of topics over the years I'd written my column on lots of subjects, including step-parenting, re-entering the dating world, online match-making services and trying to help kids adjust to a one-parent household. I just couldn't figure out for the life of me how to write about blackouts, transatlantic wine-tasting and dates memorable only for the number of bottles and vintage of wine served. That just didn't fit the image I wanted to reflect. I wrote funny stories, crazy stuff about my son's massive collection of reptiles, breeding lizards, seeing kids off at the airport as they flew to spend a few weeks with dear old distant dad. I just didn't have enough column width to write about the couple of hours I sat at the airport bar following their departure as I cried and tried to dull the pain of not seeing them for 21 days with one or three glasses of wine. It simply didn't fit. I wrote "Single...With Children", not "Single...With Children and a Case of French Wine".

The story behind the story wasn't nearly as light as the story that appeared in the Wednesday Edition of a Texas Newspaper in the middle of the Bible Belt. I could just imagine being tarred, feathered and ran out of town IF I had actually been living in the same town as my column appeared. Even my location was a secret because the local columnist with the perky smile and crazy hair lived about ten states and 1800 miles East. I was frequently high, but it wasn't because of the altitude of the High Plains it was assumed was my residence. That's a whole other blog entry and my fingers are tired. Enough confession for one night.

If you wondered why all the recovery links or surreptitious references to AA, now you know. Nope, it's not my father, my mother or anyone else in my immediate or even biological extended family who serves as the reason I know a thing or two about recovery. I'm the real deal. I am the alcoholic - fortunately, it no longer feels the least bit foreign or odd to say that. As crazy as it may sound (or read), I feel extremely blessed to be a recovering alcoholic. I'll close this entry with a passage that I try and read every single day to remind me of where I have been and what I have to look forward to, if I do a few small things every single day...

The Promises

If we are painstaking about this phase of our development, we will be amazed before we are halfway through.
We are going to know a new freedom and a new happiness.
We will not regret the past, nor wish to shut the door on it.
We will comprehend the word serenity and we will know peace.
No matter how far down the scale we have gone, we will see how our experience can benefit others.
That feeling of uselessness and self-pity will disappear.
We will lose interest in selfish things and gain interest in our fellows.
Self-seeking will slip away. Our whole attitude and outlook upon life will change.
Fear of people and of economic insecurity will leave us.
We will intuitively know how to handle situations which used to baffle us.
We will suddenly realize that God is doing for us what we could not do for ourselves.
Are these extravagant promises? We think not.
They are being fulfilled among us - sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly.
They will always materialize if we work for them.

Taken from the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous - pages 84 and 85.

I am one very grateful, devoted, active friend of Bill W.