August 1, 2005


  I was honored to be invited to a Blessingway shower, Native American in origin, for my daughter today in beautiful Pine Mountain. When she invited me, I hedged and told her I'd get back to her. She and I have come a long way in healing our relationship, and one thing we've promised each other is complete honesty. So she asked me if there were some reason I didn't want to go and I told her that I didn't want to intrude in her circle of friends.

  They have a unique and wonderful group of women in her circle up there in God's country. They are very earthy, spiritual, and have different lifestyles than I do. They have drum circles on the top of the mountain to celebrate summer and winter solstice; they honor Mother Earth; they all do yoga together; they are free spirits and loving, compassionate women.

  For years, I resented them enormously. Alcohol told me to hate them because they were stealing my daughter. I went to a lilac festival about 5 years ago and felt very inadequate and insignificant amongst them. I secretly vowed to never ever again participate in any of their crazy ceremonies. I didn't voice any of those feelings to my daughter, but they were obvious nonetheless.

  Today as a sober woman and mother, and as someone who lives in perpetual gratitude, I saw those women with my healed heart. I thanked them all for loving and nurturing my child. I sat in their circle on the floor as we held hands and meditated while the hostess read a beautiful writing and made a lovely sound in a {singing bowl?} All hearts were open and love spilled forth from every one. I was comfortable with them because I am now comfortable with me. We performed many ceremonial traditions and finished by painting my daughter's belly with henna, and eating a delicious vegetarian feast. The entire event lasted 5 hours.

  Today I am grateful for the women in my daughter's life who lovingly put the pieces of her back together that I shattered.

August 2, 2005


  I recently suggested to a woman in the program that she "give herself the gift of meetings." She e-mailed me the sweetest reply, saying: "How could they not be a gift when I'm walking out with knowledge, love, hope, friendships, and the understanding of who I am?" Thank you Shannan, you have inspired this Muse.

  In addition to the aforementioned goodies, your gift basket might be filled with honesty, empathy, blues-busters, burden-lifters, laughter, tears, (yes, they are a gift, whether you are giving or receiving them) advice, prayer, and trust----plus a WHOLE lot more! I replied back to Shannan telling her I never know what my gift will be until I get to the meeting and watch the gifts open themselves.

  Meetings truly are a gift and privilege to me. I consider myself blessed that they are so abundantly available, all day, every day, at least where I live. How fortunate we are to live today as opposed to the time period when the Big Book was written, and several decades to follow. In its genesis, AA meetings were not as numerous and widespread as they are today.

  Today I am grateful to be a recovering alcoholic in the year 2005 because I love presents.


 

August 3, 2005


                     Tantrums and Tattoos: A Fermented Fool's Folly
                                                  ( A Grim Fairy Tale)

  Once upon a time, there was a 40-something woman, who was neck-deep in a sea of alcohol. Her husband had long given up trying to save her and had grown very weary of her shenanigans, so he found other hobbies. He took up golf, took annual trips to his native Oklahoma, and then came home from work one night with news that he was going on a 12-day elk and deer hunt in Colorado.

  The woman was enraged, livid, infuriated, devastated, and as usual, quite inebriated. She ranted and raved as only a slurring, slobbering drunk can do. She was a woman scorned and Hell had no fury like hers. "How can you do this to me? How can you be so thoughtless and cruel? I would never, ever do anything like that to you!" (In truth, she was angry because she'd have nobody to cuss and yell at for 12 days.)

  This went on for hours, days, weeks, until she dealt the coup de grace: "If you don't call this trip off, I will file for divorce while you're gone!!!" Well, knowing his demented, drunken wife was the Queen of Chaos and Duchess of Drama, he called her bluff---or perhaps he was secretly hoping she wasn't bluffing, and he'd finally get to live happily ever after.

  The departure day arrived, and she spewed venom at him as he walked out the door. "I hope you get killed by a semi before you get there, you good-for-nothing blankety-blank!"

  She was a very sick woman. A devious plan began to form in her mind immediately. The drunker she got, the bigger the plan became. She decided she'd get a tattoo, a deer. Yes---how symbolic! She'd have it placed over her heart (to represent a heart that was broken) and she'd have the word finis written underneath. Perfect! What a way to end the marriage.... in a blaze of glory! She'd tell everyone the whole, heartbreaking story when they asked about it. "Yes, my husband left me for a doe, so I got this tattoo to represent the sad, bitter end. By the way, did you notice the blood teardrop in his eye? Finis? Oh, that means 'the end' or 'it is finished,'---very appropriate and clever of me, don't you think? Oh, thank you. Yes, I thought it was brilliant too."

  And so the husband came home, the woman hadn't hired an attorney or filed for divorce as she had told him she was going to do, and 3 years later, and she walked into her first AA meeting.

  Today I am grateful every time I see that tattoo reflected in the mirror. It is a daily reminder of what I used to be like.

August 4, 2005


  Yesterday's " Tantrums and Tattoos" ran so long, I had to leave some tidbits out of the tawdry tale, so I shall do that today.

  My husband called me as soon as he arrived in Colorado. I was waiting, phone in hand, salivating with twisted excitement over breaking the news to him that he would soon be wife-less and homeless. I even had index cards with everything written down that I planned to say.

  I answered the phone (of course I'm drunk) and he said "Hi, we made it." Then I let him have it. I began by saying "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, but since you're still alive, I'll let you know that I have hired a lawyer, filed for divorce, and gotten a tattoo (which I described to him in vivid and dramatic detail) to prove I'm serious."

  After assailing him with a barrage of accusations, profanity and more lies, I told him I had hired a private investigator who reported that he (my husband, not the phantom investigator) had stopped off in Vegas to frolic with a hooker. He heaved a big sigh and told me to go make love to myself (or something to that effect) and I ended the conversation by saying "DON'T call me again!!!" and slammed the phone down. I then sat there, sucking down Jack Daniels, waiting for him to call back, He didn't, and my rage was renewed, creating a mushroom cloud over my head.

  For the next 12 days, I carried the phone with me everywhere, recharging it at night for the few hours I was passed out. I wanted so badly for him to call back so I could tell him not to call me. I wanted him to get in the truck and head home so I could vent my fury on him. I wanted to scream "DON'T TOUCH ME!!" I was a madwoman.

  Now here's a blessing to be thankful for: When I called Naked Al's (that really was the name of the tattoo place) I spilled my whole sorrowful, sordid story to the guy on the phone and told him what I had in mind. He said he'd sketch some ideas and to come on up.

  I got there and he had drawn the perfect deer, the one that resides above my heart today, but being a guy with a sense of humor, he had also drawn a bull elk with a comical smile on his face breeding a female elk. Boy am I grateful I didn't choose that one!

August 5, 2005


  "Willing to do anything to lift this merciless obsession from us; willing to go to any length; completely give ourselves to this simple program"---those aren't just empty words or catchy phrases; those are serious, life and death suggestions.

  We must be motivated and energetic in our recovery. Laziness is a liability and hard work is an asset. We can't loll about like a modern-day Cleopatra, expecting others to feed us our sobriety like her servants fed her grapes. It doesn't work that way---it works if YOU work it. We just carry the grapes, we don't chew them up and swallow them for anyone.

  Yes, I'm on my soapbox this evening. I took a call from a whiner, a "feed me a grape" alcoholic. I was as helpful as I could be, but I felt like I might as well have been talking to my cat. Actually, my cat listens, so that's unfair to puddy. I don't mean to sound judgmental or self-righteous, I'm just frustrated. What do you do when you can't help someone get off that pity-pot? I'm open for suggestions.

  Since the last two Muses were mini-novels, I'll wrap this one up with a great quote I came across yesterday:

        "Being grateful. That's the first step to the path of joy." (Sarah Ban Breathnach)


 

August 6, 2005


  "Men and women drink essentially because they like the effect produced by alcohol. The sensation is so elusive that, while they admit it is injurious, they cannot after a time differentiate the true from the false. To them, their alcoholic life seems the only normal one. They are restless, irritable and discontented, unless they can again experience the sense of ease and comfort which comes at once by taking a few drinks---" (from The Doctor's Opinion)

  Before I came to AA, I didn't know there was a substitute for that sensation; that sense of ease and comfort. The drawback however, was that feeling only came with my first drink, maybe even the first few swallows. A "drink" for me was a 20 oz. tumbler with 16 ounces of whiskey, no ice--and a little ginger ale. I can still remember the physical and emotional transformation that transpired once I took a few gulps of that drink. Muscles relaxed, heart slowed, fear vanished, time stood still, and there it was---ease and comfort. I was lighter than air, floating and free.

  But I wanted more of that utopian oblivion, so I didn't stop at one drink. My thought processing was so distorted, I would have 10 more so I could feel 10 times more at ease and comfortable. And several decades later (to say I was a slow learner would be a gross understatement) it hit me. This isn't working and it sure isn't worth it! All the chaos, hurt, pain, sorrow, shame, guilt, and destruction I was causing myself and my loved ones was a high price to pay for 30 minutes of ease and comfort. Sheesh! Talk about not seeing the forest for the trees!

  Today I am grateful I like the effect produced by NOT drinking.

August 7, 2005


  "If we are sorry for what we have done, and have the honest desire to let God take us to better things, we believe we will be forgiven and will have learned our lesson. If we are not sorry, and our conduct continues to harm others, we are quite sure to drink." (Big Book, page 70)

  Somewhere in the Bible, there is a scripture that says God hears the prayers of an honest man. I don't think it matters who the God of your understanding is, I doubt They hear your prayers if you are dishonest with Them.

  Now I haven't drank again since I came to AA, but well into my sobriety, my conduct and behaviors were harmful to myself and others at times. I don't believe my prayers were heard when I didn't have real honesty and humility in my heart. I believe that's why I struggled in the beginning; why I continued to behave in the old ways at home.

  This recovery has been a day by day learning and growing experience. The path has become more illuminated with each step of the journey. I absorb and retain more light each day I travel this course; this "road of happy destiny." I know God hears me now and I am comfortable talking to Him because I am honest.

  Today I am grateful to be a Sobriety Sojourner. I am grateful I am sorry and have learned my lesson. I am grateful God has taken me to better things.

August 8, 2005


  I have written of the many miracles I have witnessed in others, and experienced personally since I came to AA, came to believe, and came to life. I want to share another miracle with you.

  I baby-sat on Friday and the kids' dad arrived to pick them up at 6. Ethan, who is almost 7, was walking to his daddy's car and tripped. He fell into a flowerbed on a metal garden stake, a rusty, heavy thing with a huge metal butterfly at the top. When he fell into it, the butterfly snapped off, leaving the ominous metal rod, which was probably a half inch in diameter, standing straight up in the ground, ready to maim or mortally wound an innocent, unsuspecting child.

  It all happened so quickly, his dad and I didn't even have time to react. What we saw was the butterfly hit the grass and Ethan going down right behind it, landing on his stomach and we saw the rod poking out. We both gasped, thinking it had gone through somewhere on his body. We both picked Ethan up and discovered when we lifted him that the rod had slipped right between Ethan's armpit. No puncture, no injury, nothing but a miraculously unhurt child.

  I turned my face skyward and said "Thank you, God for sparing this child from harm." His Dad said "Amen." As I thought about it later that night during my prayers and meditation, I was so humbly and profoundly awed.

  I will be eternally grateful for that miracle.

August 9, 2005


  Well, I had the Big Book open and an excerpt ready to write about, but there is now a spoiled calico cat sprawled out across it looking too cute to disturb. So..............I will wing it.

  I was reading about how we should not retaliate or argue when someone hurts us; how we should consider them sick and pity them. Also, we should show them love and tolerance. I searched for that page specifically because of a situation I was caught in the middle of last night.

  I have two nephews (and their wives) I am extremely close to. They are quite vocal about their love and respect for me too, and proud of the changes I have made in my life. I was invited by one of them to a reception at his home celebrating the baptism of his new baby. My sister, who is the boys' mother, has tremendous resentment and anger at me because of my non-relationship with the woman who birthed us. She arrived at the reception about 20 minutes after me last night and was livid that I was there. The party was outside but she went inside and refused to come out (after giving me the big stink-eye on her way in) and join the celebration.

  I spoke with my nephews and their wives and informed them I felt that my presence was creating tension. I told them I felt strongly that the right thing for me to do was to quietly leave. They protested that--they were furious with their mother-- but I hugged and kissed them all and told them I appreciated that sentiment. Then I left.

  I know in my heart I have shown love and tolerance to my sister. I do pity her because she is sick and I accept the fact that I can't change her behavior. I have prayed for her daily asking God to help her let go of the bitterness and toxic anger in her heart, but my prayer for her last night, and from now on will be that God help her to see herself through her children's eyes.

  I am grateful He allowed me to see myself through my daughter's eyes almost four years ago.

August 10, 2005


  Boy was I a lazy drunk!! I was the Queen of shortcuts---get drunk in the morning, pass out, come to and have some coffee, then give my house a lick and a promise; just enough to make it look like I had done something, then I'd cook dinner for my husband and start on my second drunk of the day.

  I got an up close and personal look these last 3 days of just how bad I'd let my house get. My daughter came up and offered to help me clean the kitchen and living room in preparation for her baby shower here this weekend. Somehow, it turned into a cleaning, de-cluttering frenzy, followed by a mini-makeover for the two rooms. She transformed them into something quite pleasing to the eye, but not before we scrubbed and scraped years of grime from the kitchen cabinet doors (they look brand new now) and walls, among other fun projects. She made me take all the junk off the top of my refrigerator AND all the pictures and papers attached to the front and sides with scotch tape and magnets.

  We shopped for new curtains and wall deco, throw pillows, plastic bins to (yikes!) organize. I was an enormous challenge for her, since I am the mistress of procrastination. She was so cute when she'd say "Mom, that old thing's been hanging on the wall for 15 years....Let it go, Mom, let it go." We shared so much love and laughter throughout the project that my heart just spilled over with gratitude for my sobriety, which gave me my daughter back.

  Today, I'd be really thankful for a back rub and foot massage.

August 11, 2005


  "Our first objective will be the development of self-restraint. This carries a top priority rating. When we speak or act hastily or rashly, the ability to be fair-minded and tolerant evaporates on the spot. One unkind tirade or one willful snap judgment can ruin our relation with another person for a whole day, or maybe a whole year. Nothing pays off like restraint of tongue and pen. We must avoid quick-tempered criticism and furious, power-driven argument. The same goes for sulking and silent scorn. (12 and 12, page 91)

  Well, that paragraph describes the drinking Nan perfectly. That was me in a nutshell when I was a cocktail nut. I have had estrangements in my family circle of siblings that lasted up to TEN years! I was quick with my vicious mouth and equally quick with my toxic letters. Sulking and silent scorn was a daily occurrence, and my temper was lightning speed.
Now I wouldn't dare try to convince you that I have mastered self-restraint, but I have made definite progress. Temper tantrums are rare and most of the time, I think before I speak, but that power-driven egomaniac with an inferiority complex rears her ugly head every now and then. For example, I was hanging some pictures in the hallway a little while ago and my husband walked by and said "that one's crooked."

  Self-restraint? No comprende. I became a pouty puffer fish. I defended my measurements vehemently and suggested he mind his own business. He took the measuring tape, proved me wrong, and said, "I was just trying to help." Still puffed up, I told him I didn't need his criticism, knowing all the while I had made a horse's butt out of myself and a Step 10 was in my immediate future.

  Today I am grateful that, even when I lack self-restraint, my conscience picks up the slack.

August 12, 2005


  "We had to drink because times were hard or times were good. We had to drink because at home we were smothered with love or got none at all. We had to drink because at work we were great successes or dismal failures. We had to drink because our nation had won a war or lost a peace. And so it went, ad infinitum." (12 and 12, page 47)

  I've thought about this excerpt since I shared at a meeting this morning. There is no end to the reasons we can come up with for drinking, and if we can't find one, we just manufacture one from the sick and twisted nooks and crannies of our minds.

  I'm fighting with my husband; the toilets are overflowing; the dog is sick; I bounced yet another check; I'm too fat; I'm too thin; I lost my football bet; I'm gonna drink over it to make it feel better.

  The nosy neighbors are moving; I lost 2 pounds; I finally got the bathroom cleaned; the dog is better now; I won my football bet; I made up with my spouse; the toilets are flushing....YAY- --I'll drink to that!

  That's what we did, but it never made anything bad better and it turned the good stuff bad.
Today I am grateful I don't HAVE to drink.

August 13, 2005


  My heart goes out to the young people that come into AA, particularly the women because I see and work with them closely. I may be twice their age or more, but I recall my misspent youth and the decades I squandered. I would do anything to spare them those misguided and miserable years, but sharing my experience, strength, and hope is all I can offer.

  When I was in my late teens and early twenties, I was in a perpetual state of confusion. I feared and dreaded death, yet I had a morbid attraction to it at the same time. One minute I fancied myself immortal, and the next minute I feared I'd die in my sleep that night. I know now that alcohol worked as a depressant on me and created many of my delusions. I threatened suicide many times during my drinking career. I was so overwhelmed with guilt, shame, and self-loathing for my deviant and immoral behavior when I drank, I had to drink more to bury those feelings deeper.

  I heard when I got into recovery that we hit our bottoms when we stop digging. My prayer for the young ones is that they realize they are on a path leading nowhere; a path of obliteration and self-destruction. I pray they hear enough horror stories to not tempt fate and turn back to the world of drugs and alcohol, but also that they see the joy of recovery and hear the laughter enough to want what we have.

  I am grateful today for all the young addicts and alcoholics that find their way into recovery.

August 14, 2005


  I am one tired puppy, but it's a good tired, not like the one in HALT. Today I gave my daughter a baby shower here in my home and my joyous heart overshadows my weary body. In addition to her friends, and our family members, I was blessed to have some beautiful AA women here, one of whom came early (thank you God for sending Miz C) and rolled up her sleeves to help me in the kitchen.

  I felt so blessed looking around the room at my sisters in recovery. They are my lifeline, my never-ending source of laughter, inspiration, and support. 4 years ago, this gathering would not have been in the realm of possibility---not because my friends would have clashed with my daughter's, because I didn't have any friends, but because I was sick; sick and insane.

  My daughter has told me that she's always loved me, even when I hurt her, but she anguished most of all because she knew I didn't love myself. She loves seeing me take care of myself now. She delights in hearing me laugh. She loves the fact that I have these cherished women in my life, and she is profoundly grateful to them for encircling me with tender, loving care.

  Today I am grateful to God for loving me until His teachers could show me how to love myself.

August 15, 2005


  "Anonymity is the spiritual foundation of all our traditions, ever reminding us to place principles before personalities." (Tradition Twelve)

  I would never intentionally break this tradition by betraying a fellow alcoholics anonymity, but I passionately believe that if this disease had a face, easily recognized for those who need it the most, it would be easier for those who still suffer to seek a way out.

  I am open and honest about my alcoholism with friends, family, even casual acquaintances and strangers if the subject comes up. It is my personal choice. My fervent hope is that something I say might bring someone into the program, not by promotion, but merely because I give the disease a face.

  For example, I have a niece who was dating a young man who drank way too much. After several months of observing him and anguishing over it, she called me for advice. I gave her my pocket Big Book and 12 and 12 and suggested she offer them to him, but not to force the issue. Now if I had been secretive about my addiction, the seed would not have been planted in this young man.

  There have been other phone calls, maybe from an old friend I ran into who opened the conversation with "Boy, you sure look good, what have you been up to?" And I proceed to give them a brief synopsis of my battle and victory over alcohol. They later call and say, "you know my husband/sister/daughter/ or whoever, drinks an awful lot. Do you think they could be an alcoholic.

  Well, I could really ramble on about this, but I shall close by saying I am grateful that personal anonymity is my choice.

August 16, 2005


  I wrote the Muse last night about the same time I usually do, around 11, and got into bed shortly after that. I had no sooner crawled in, when I heard a rolling rumble and saw the patio outside my window light up as though it were daytime.

  YAY, JOLLY GOOD, and YIPPEE SKIPPEE!!!! It was a thunderstorm! I LOVE thunderstorms! I jumped out of bed and went out back where I was immediately gifted with the smell of RAIN! Ahhhhhh. I could just hear the crispy, sun-weary plants slurping it up. I know I was.

  A pleasant surprise indeed, to have some relief from this dreaded heat wave, which has overstayed its welcome here in BAKEersfield. Not only that, but it came in the form of one of the most magnificent thunderstorms I've ever experienced in my life. The lightning was directly overhead, as well as all around me, and when it appeared in the sky in bright, jagged cracks, it created twilight intervals in the dark night, made even darker when a ka-BOOM of thunder knocked the power out. Trippy!

  The rain came harder and in bigger drops as I stood at the edge of the patio gazing skyward. I drank in the absolute beauty and power of His gift with wonder and awe. I was physically, emotionally and spiritually overwhelmed. My senses were alive; my heart was grateful.

  I came back in when I was sated, followed by two scaredy-cats who usually spend their nights outside, but they weren't nearly as impressed with the storm as I was---they are normies, and I snuggled back into bed with those two, plus my indoor cat (who normally don't mix, by the way) and drifted off to sleep while they frantically made biscuits on the covers.

August 17, 2005


  This has definitely been written and talked about before, not just by me, but for all those in recovery who experience it. There comes a time when the meetings, the program, and the fellowship transcend sobriety itself. Life becomes the priority. Harmony, healing, hope, and happiness surpass the thought of drinking.

  For me, I am fortunate at this point in my recovery that I don't have the obsession to drink, but I DO have the overwhelming desire to be serene and free. I want that more than I ever wanted to drink. I now want happiness and harmony more than I wanted the whiskey. I want to continue the healing and hold on to my hope.

  I am also blessed to have some awesome mentors on my journey--women who have long-term sobriety, but still make 4 or more meetings a week. They don't need AA or meetings to stay sober, but they're still showing up. They keep giving back what they were given-- to me and thousands of other women. They still sponsor, they offer rides to those in need, they wash coffee cups, and they pass their phone number out. They are the epitome of AA and all it stands for and all it was meant to be.

  I am so grateful for those women. They are dazzling and illuminating examples to those of us who emerge from the darkness. They have walked in the Sunlight of the Spirit for many moons, and they continue to leave footprints for us to follow.

August 18, 2005


Dear Readers,

  This is what is in my heart today. It may not be about recovery, and it may seem to contradict "love and tolerance," but it is a heart-thought put into Muse form.

  Since I moved to a rural area on the outskirts of town almost 25 years ago, I have seen more unwanted, dropped-off dogs than I care to remember. There was the beautiful, loving border collie, the pregnant cocker spaniel with the sad, brown eyes, the pit bull mix that was so thin you could count every rib, and who gratefully licked my hand as I poured water into a bowl for him. Then there was the horrific sight of the trash bag full of puppies that still haunts me today. Many dozens of dogs have appeared over the years-- lost, confused, frightened, sick, or injured.

  They look up with expectancy and hope at each passing car, perhaps wondering if their family has come back for them. Their only hope of survival, or at least a humane, painless death, comes after we call Animal Control to pick them up.

  I feel anger toward the cruel, heartless sub-humans who commit this shameful and despicable act, this abuse of power over a creature that is helpless and defenseless, but more than that, I feel a bone-aching, heartbreaking sadness.

  I abhor the fact that I share a planet with the ones who do this. If there is any justice in the world, the afterlife will find them dumped off by someone they trust, dodging cars and wandering the streets in 100 plus temperatures until their bare feet are blistered and bloody. Their throats will be parched and their bellies empty. Their search for safety, shelter, and love will be futile. They will long for rescue, but no one will stop for them, their loved ones will not come back for them, and there will be no Animal Control to put them out of their misery.

  Today I am grateful for God's creatures and those who love and care for them the way He intended.

August 19, 2005


  I often find myself subconsciously humming or singing Amazing Grace. What an inspirational song I've always thought it was, and it summons forth a poignant memory that has remained in my heart for well over four decades, when I stood as a young child in that little Baptist church in the farm labor camp and listened to the congregation sing. I had no idea what the words meant, I only know it was hauntingly beautiful, and I felt good when I heard it.

  Little did I know, that 42 years after I left that labor camp, I would be that wretch in the song. I was 47 when I came through the doors of AA, and almost four years later, I know what amazing grace is. "I once was lost, but now am found--was blind but now I see."

  Webster's defines wretch as: an outcast or exile; a miserable, unhappy person; a despicable, vile person. Wretched describes the hopeless, desperate alcoholic even better: deeply afflicted, dejected, or distressed; miserable, woeful, grievous.

  Indeed, I was a wretched wretch.

  " Amazing Grace--How sweet the sound." And how blessed we all are to have received it.


August 20, 2005


  It's been a strange day here on Wyatt St. Lots of joy and laughter, the source being the two little ones I baby-sit, along with a third child, the son of a beautiful Step-Sister in the program. He calls me Aunt Nan---is that sweet or what?

  Intermingled with the good was some unsettling stuff, which, for the children's sake, I postponed processing until they left.

  The day began with the discovery of yet another drop-off dog, a beautiful Golden Retriever mix. She met me in the driveway when I went out to feed the birds and get the paper. What a loving, playful critter she was! I called Animal Control at 8 AM, but by the time they got here five hours later she was gone, only to return at 630 this evening after they closed for the entire weekend. (I guess I shouldn't have clued her in to my plan----I KNEW that breed was smart, but holey moley!) If only I didn't have 5 dogs already. sigh

  The day kept dumping on me, but I kept my spirits up. (the Serenity Prayer was a lifesaver) Our 28 year-old mare is in her last days, so that was heavy on my heart. Workers who were supposed to show up didn't; the phone rang incessantly, always when I had my hands full; and then, I took a call from a very rude gentleman, which put my insides on the agitate cycle. Still, I kept my focus on the kids.

  When the kids were gone, I finally allowed myself to start swallowing and digesting the day's events, starting with petting our mare for a good hour as I worked on letting go and letting God. I came in, collapsed on the couch, and my husband (who was off all day) walked into the room and said "What's for dinner?" I'll spare you my response to that.

  Today I am grateful for frozen entrees.

August 21, 2005


  I have a Cherokee Feast of Days, a daily meditation book which I just picked up and opened it to this:

  "The mind is like a bag with a drawstring. When the string is pulled so tight that nothing can go into the bag or come out--that is nervous tension. The problem is held in and the solution is kept out."

  Pretty cool, eh? When I was drinking, my bag was drawn so tight, the active alcoholism and all the woes that come with it were inside the bag, and the solution could find no entry. It was God who loosened that string just enough to allow the letters AA to enter the bag. With every Step I took in the program, the string got looser and looser. 164 pages worth of solution made their way into the bag, passing the problems on their way out.

  I can apply the same theory to my heart. If I keep my "heart-bag" full of love, tolerance, patience, kindness, generosity, compassion, empathy and lots of other good stuff, there won't be room in the bag for the bad and ugly.

  Today I am grateful my bag is full of recovery.

August 22, 2005


  I recently read an article at RecoveryTimes.com by a lady named Kay (can't remember her last name right now) that I totally related to. It was about her love of cats and how she had never been able to turn them away. She is one of us and has many interesting articles on the site. They are all excellent; some heartwarming, some heartbreaking.

  I loved the cat story because it reminded me of myself before, during, and after my active alcoholism. I'm a dual addict actually--I love cats AND dogs, always have. I think, at least for me, it was a way to nurture and love something the way I had wanted to be as a child, and perhaps while I was drinking, taking in or taking care of orphaned critters helped me to feel better about myself. One teeny, weeny check mark in the "good deed" column. It isn't difficult when they are so loving and grateful. They are also loyal, devoted, and make good, empathetic companions.

  I have taken in dozens and fed literally hundreds of cats and dogs in my lifetime. When we moved to the rural area where we live now, my house was the do-drop-inn for all the strays. At one point, I had well over a dozen feral cats dining nightly in the corner of my yard. Some stayed awhile and even tamed down a bit, but mostly they came and went. Now that I have a stray that came to stay named Pat (well I didn't know his gender at first, he ran away every time I went out to try and talk to him, so Pat worked for both sexes) who thinks he's Rambo, the wild ones don't come much. He doesn't cotton to them very well and is very protective of his adopted family and newfound territory.

  Today I am grateful to Pat, Scully, Mojo, Alabama, Little Man, Dallas, Scout, Maggie, Coco, and all the loving pets who came before them, many buried right here on my land. They warmed a heart that alcohol had frozen. They thawed my heart when "no human power" could. They kept me human until help came.

August 23, 2005


  It's 7:30 AM. I'm sitting on my back patio as I write this, listening to the cacophony of birds in the surrounding trees and watching my cat bounding through the creeping sages like a gazelle as she tracks lizards. This is where I come every morning to talk to God and meditate.

  A squawking scrub jay presents a quandary for Scully the cat--lizard, scrub jay, lizard, scrub jay....what should I do? She opts to stay on the trail of the lizard. (she never catches anything anyway) I am almost trancelike, feeling a subtle, gentle quiet and inner contentment. The sensation spreads and settles into my bones and being, then manifests into a smile on my lips.

  I am a happy alcoholic. There is a deep and intense joy in my heart--the joy of sobriety. Even if I could find nothing else to be happy about, and I'd be hard-pressed to do that because my list of reasons for being happy is as inexhaustible as the list of excuses I had for drinking, but even if I could find nothing to rejoice about, I have my sobriety this morning. I awoke with gratitude, not grumbling; hope, not a headache, and freedom, not fear.

  Emily Dickinson said "I dwell in possibility" and I like that idea. The possibilities are endless now that King Alcohol is not my lord and master. My freedom of choice was restored with my sanity. I choose my attitude, direction, and words. I have the Divine gift of free will, which is vastly different from the self-will that drove me down that path of destruction. Free will is allowing me to repair the damage in my old life and rebuild a new one.

  Today I am grateful for the gift of free will.

August 24, 2005


  I've been out with our old mare again, massaging and talking to her. I'm seeing and feeling things my husband doesn't-- like, she's perkier tonight; she passed gas when I rubbed her belly; she seems like she feels better, she nickered to me, she ate with her old gusto, etc. I have a hope that I can't quell; a hope that refuses to stay still or die. Hope springs eternal in this human breast and heart---a heart that was resurrected by it almost four years ago.

  The vet is coming in the morning at 7:00. We are at opposite ends of the spectrum, my husband and I. He is resigned to the fact that the Vet will put Princess down. I thought I felt the same way up until tonight when I recalled my words from my last Muse: "I dwell in possibility."

  So tonight, and until I hear the Vet speak those words, I shall remain steadfast in my optimism. Yes, she's old---28 is old for a horse, but she could conceivably have 5-7 more years left in her. I think maybe this is what the "veterans" call "living in the moment." I don't have to know what tomorrow will bring; I only have to be in this moment; right here, right now.

  Today I am grateful that "the moment" is enough.

Good News Follow-Up Muse

   My own acronym for Faith is First Acknowledge I Trust Him.

  The Vet just left and our beloved horse is still here. Hallelujah and thank you God for an answered prayer! He said the reason she just stands, and her legs are swollen is due to arthritis, for which he prescribed an anti-inflammatory/pain reliever. It is powdered and will be sprinkled on her senior supplementary pellets twice a day. He also said the reason she had more mobility this morning and yesterday was probably due to the one-hour massages I gave her and he wished he lived here.

  Good news, my beautiful AA Fellows....too good to wait for tomorrow's Muse.

August 25, 2005


  For years and years, I felt hopeless, helpless, shackled, and worthless. Then I entered the rooms of AA and I felt hope, found help, gained freedom from bondage, and acquired worth.

  I felt hope at my very first meeting, and help came in the way of some wonderful women that same night who gave me their phone numbers. Although I was too timid and afraid to call them, they called me the next day to see how I was doing. I'll never forget how grateful I was to hear their voices. I was also given a Big Book at that meeting. I still have it but the pages are falling out from voracious reading and rereading.

  I thought I was free when I was drunk---free to let the real me out to play and free to engage in conversation instead of being a pitiful wallflower. Alcohol lied about what a smart cookie I sounded like when I was drunk, and what a sexy picture I presented to the world.

  The drink made me a prisoner. I was not free, I was a meek lamb being led to slaughter. The more I drank, the smaller and more insignificant I felt. I almost disappeared into nothingness. Self-esteem and worth was not something I regained in AA, nor was integrity, dignity, or self-confidence. I acquired those things for the first time in my life.

  You know, tonight I drove to the bowling alley for my league---about a 15 minute drive, and I started naming my blessings out loud as I left the house. By the time I arrived at my destination, I was still naming them.

  I'm grateful today for Central Offices everywhere. I don't know where I would be today had a caring voice not been on the other end of that line.

August 26, 2005


  Back on my patio again---8 PM. It's my second-favorite time out here, right after the sun goes down and everything is bathed in twilight. The greens look greener and the light is soft and muted. The faint pinks and oranges created by the sunset paint the lower Western sky. Once more, the smile of contentment makes the journey from my heart to my face.

  It's another good time to talk to God, to share my day, my thoughts, and to thank Him for another day of life and sobriety. It's a good time to take an inventory of the day and apologize or ask His forgiveness for the day's transgressions. It was a good day, a day where I was comfortable in my skin, enjoying and living in the moment.

  All those cliche sayings I found corny when I first came to AA now dance in my head instead of that cursed committee. Sometimes they jitterbug up there, and other times, like now----they waltz. 1-2-3, 1-2-3 Live and Let Live. 1-2-3, 1-2-3 Let Go Let God. 1-2-3, 1-2-3 Keep Coming Back. 1-2-3, 1-2-3 Work It, You're Worth It.

  Come and join me in the "Ain't it Grand" Ballroom. Anne Murray is singing "When we're together it feels so right--May I have this dance for the rest of my life?" Let's dance and be grateful for the Song of Sobriety.

August 27, 2005


  "We learned that we had to fully concede to our innermost selves that we were alcoholics. This is the first step in recovery. The delusion that we are like other people, or presently may be, has to be smashed." (Big Book, page 30)

  I can pretty much guarantee that if you don't make that monumentally important concession to yourself, you will be as smashed as your delusion sooner or later. We alcoholics will never drink like our husbands, wives, kids, bosses, neighbors, etc---not if they are normal drinkers. You might as well get used to it and get over it.

  Some of us go through a mourning period when we truly admit we are alcoholics, and really grasp the idea that we can't drink normally. We grieve over our alcohol, our "loss" for a while in the beginning, just as we mourn something or someone else we have lost. I think it's normal. Honestly, on those rare occasions I thought I was forever finished with booze and I poured anything I had here down the sink, it was like I'd slit my wrist and that was my blood going down the drain. Then, when I decided I'd changed my mind and I wasn't ready to give it up, I really mourned that alcohol I'd so carelessly wasted and would have gotten a wrench and taken the sink apart if I thought there was any left in the pipes.

  Today I am grateful to be the merry widow of Mr. Jack Daniels. Now that he's dead to me, I can rest in peace.

  Have a wonderful weekend everyone. I'm off to Vegas and will not be posting a Muse until Tuesday morning.

  Love and Laughter.......Nan

August 30, 2005


  Ahhhhhh---So good to be home sweet home. I missed my 4-legged soul mates and my AA people. There I was in Vegas, surrounded by scantily clad women walking by with a tray every 10 minutes saying, "cocktails?"

  But it was not a problem. I just played and drank my coffee, water, orange juice, or soda. I didn't even resent my husband when he sat beside me drinking Jack and coke. Goofus that he is, he asked me once if I wanted some of his ice after I complained that my soda glass had been picked up while I wasn't looking. I had been munching on the ice so he offered me his. I gave him an "are you serious?" look and he said "the drink's gone, it's only ice."

  Lordy Mercy!

  I love the fact that you all understand my point. The normies never will. Anyone who says "Oh come on---one little drink won't hurt you will it?" has NO idea what they're asking. Even one sip could lead to disaster---one smell! I wouldn't even touch a Sharps or O'Doul's with a ten-foot pole. I wouldn't order a virgin margarita or daiquiri because I just don't want to take any chance that might put me back on the Road to Perdition. I prefer the path I'm on now.

  It's great to be back....I missed you all. Today I'm grateful to be home, and for my wonderful daughter and that big, beautiful belly that greeted me when I got home. She welcomed me with a hug and a kiss. Life just doesn't get any better than that!

August 31, 2005


  Last night after I wrote the Muse, our mare Princess laid down. At first, we were glad because we knew her legs were bothering her and getting off them would bring her some relief. She had laid down and gotten back up several times throughout the evening, so we felt comfortable in the knowledge that she wouldn't need us. We bid her good night about 11 and came inside to go to bed. At 6:00 this morning, my husband discovered her still down in the same place and valiantly trying to rise.

  You see, when a horse becomes "cast" it means they are down and can't get up. They go into a state of panic. They toss their heads around and flail their legs, desperately trying to get up. If they can't, they will eventually give up and die.

  She had pawed at the ground with her front leg for hours, trying to rise. There was a hole about 2 feet long, 8 inches wide, and a foot deep that her hoof had dug as she struggled. She continued to fight and dig until the very end.

  Shortly after 8:30, she had a grand mal seizure and became still for the first time. Her panic was over and resignation and peace came. She had ceased fighting and accepted her fate. Her strength was gone, and 5 minutes later, her life ended with one final seizure followed by her last breath.

  I did a lot of thinking those couple of hours I was out there with her. I questioned God about the necessity of the distress and anguish for that beautiful creature, then asked His forgiveness for doing so. I watched her frantically digging and thought of my own futile digging through my drinking years. Unlike Princess, I stopped dying when I stopped digging.

  She never gave up, that wonderful soul. She kept trying until her body wasn't strong enough to move. I only hope I can have half the courage to try; to persevere; to live, that she did. I must keep fighting for my sobriety and my life---every day.

  Today I am grateful for the gift of Princess. I had the privilege of having my hands on her the instant she was born, and I was honored to have my hands on her when she died today.
 

August 31, 2005

  I realize the Muses are coming at odd times, but that is life on life's terms I suppose.

  I just wanted to thank all of you who wrote or called yesterday, and those of you that sent your thoughts and prayers spiritually. I felt them all and drew strength and courage from them.

  Life is still happening and the world is still rotating on its axis. I am sober and grateful.

  I was reading Acceptance Was The Answer in the Big Book this morning and saw I had highlighted the line on page 416 that reads: "Today I feel I have used up my right to chemical peace of mind."

  Today I can't even concede that drinking was a "right" but I agree that I have used up the "wrong" to chemical peace of mind. What a cop-out to life my drinking was! I was a coward--afraid of life, afraid of myself, afraid of everything---seeking peace of mind from those fears with a liquid chemical that exacerbated them instead. They grew to monstrous proportions and peace of mind became an elusive delusion.

  I am grateful today for chemical-free peace of mind, body, and soul. I am grateful for the courage to face and live life as a sober woman. I am grateful for all of you and the role you play in my recovery.