Bath Time

The bathroom is done. I should say, the bathroom is roughly half completed. It took two days to demolish, remove, and replace a cast iron tub from 1954 with something modern and more fitting with what we like in the 2000’s. I didn’t do any of the work, but we will likely do the rest of the demolition over the winter.

The contractor said that he rarely sees a home as well constructed as ours. Well, he actually said that what would normally be a two-hour demolition took him all day because of the layers of plaster, metal mesh, and tile that some “asshole” had put up back in the 1900’s. Fortunately, we had paid by the project, not the hour, so we didn’t incur any additional labor charges due to frustration. I’ve posted pictures of the old bath before, but I will post one again to compare it to the new one.

 

As you can see, this tub needed to be replaced. I can't find anymore pictures of the rest of the shower, but I can assure you they are burned into my memory.

I told the contractor that Amanda and I planned on using the winter months to tear down and build up new walls for the rest of the bathroom, and he suggested that I use all of them. I’m now wondering if it’s even possible to do what he has done and make it look decent. I have absolutely no knowledge of how to make a wall, or take one down properly for that matter. But, I have neighbors who are willing to teach, and to help. I think this is a project we will need help with, and this small town is great for people who want to help each other.

 

Here is our new bath and shower. Everything from top to bottom, inside and out, is covered by a lifetime warranty. I mean, it's plastic and pex, so nothing should really go wrong, but it's nice to know that we don't have to worry about anything.

 

It's not fancy; it's functional. All people really need to do in a shower is... bathe. We have to wait 24 hours before we use it so the adhesive has a chance to dry, but then we can leave that old cast-iron tub in our memories, and begin the process of completing the rest of the bathroom by removing years of plaster, steel mesh, and tile, and putting up something modern. I think I may have written an identical sentence up at the top of this, but I will leave it in because I'm about done writing and I don't have time to fix anything.

I'm still sober. There, this post is now recovery-related.

I'm Almost 40 and I Drive a Minivan

It’s getting harder to find time to do the things I used to be able to do like write, go to the gym, and sleep. I have sacrificed all of these things for my existence in the middle of nowhere, because life evolves and changes into something else when you start doing things for other people instead of yourself. My goal is to always be selfless, but sometimes I can bend the truth a little to get the things that I want.

For instance…

I recently purchased a minivan. Now, I’ve been on the fence for a while on what to do with my old car because it was either time to put in a couple thousand in repairs, or trade it in for something with a bit less mileage. I decided on the latter because of two things: 1. Getting a three-year-old into the back seat of a Mini and buckled up properly is the worst thing. 2. I needed something better at dealing with over six inches of snow on the road.

So, I made a choice. I got something I wanted, and I got something that was good for the family. We went to a dealership in Lakeville where a friend of mine from the rooms of A.A. works, and we looked at cars. Well, vans.

Six months ago, when we started looking at houses, we ended up making an offer on the second house we looked at. The same was true in the parking lot. We looked in and around at a 2016 Dodge Grand Caravan SXT, and we drove it around. We loved it, and we made an offer. The offer of course was listed already on the price tag, but we did end up getting a better deal by about $1,000 off the listed price, plus my trade-in, plus some cash down. It’s still a huge investment, but it was needed, and now we can drive as a family in comfort.

It is a flex-fuel vehicle which means that I can use E-85 or gasoline, whichever I choose. So far, I have noticed that M.P.G.s are slightly lower with E-85, but in town, the difference in price per gallon is about a dollar, so do the math. I won’t. I wouldn’t know how to do the math. I’m good with letter’s, not number’s. I should clarify immediately that I made those punctuation errors on purpose. I thought it was funny. Enough about the car.

 

A lot is happening this week. I turn 39 for the second year in a row, and our bathroom gets a professional makeover with a new tub and shower. I have shared a picture or two of the old tub, and it is necessary to remove it and have everything under and behind it re-plumbed before a new one can be installed. I’m not willing or able to do any of that. It will, however, motivate me to remove the rest of the ancient pink tile on the other side of the bathroom and put up drywall, or sheetrock, I still don’t know the difference. Eventually, when we can afford it, we will put in a new sink to complete the remodel. Anything will look better than it does now, and this will certainly boost the value of our home.

 

Oh, I’m turning 40 on Wednesday. I just wanted to get that out there before anybody else does. Honestly, for what I’ve put myself through over the years, I can’t believe I don’t feel older than I do. I can attribute everything to exercise. It’s the only good thing I’ve ever done to my body, and it seems to be paying off. I don’t have any aches or pains; I can still get less than eight hours of sleep every night without being groggy in the morning, and I’m not out of breath when I perform simple tasks like walking up stairs. I see a few people similar in age struggling with these same simple motions, and I’m glad I’m not there.

 

That’s all I’ve got for now. I’m still going to my meeting weekly in town, and I am able to get to my old meeting in Delano about every other week which I love. I still get to my first home group in St. Paul about once a month, and I recently was asked to be a sponsor again. Life is good, and it’s all because I constantly work at it from so many angles. I am exactly where I want to be in most areas, and I’m actively doing things to move forward in the stagnant ones. More on that hopefully soon.

 

Fixing Broken Bad

I’ve been bad. Rather, I’ve been watching bad: Breaking Bad. I knew that I wanted to see this series when it came out many years ago, before I started the bender that sent me to prison for possessing the drug that the show embellishes. I wanted to wait until not only did I have the time, but the ability to watch it without wanting to get high.

Here’s what I think of the show so far, and how it relates to reality and my old life.

The first scene that struck a nerve was in the first episode where they make their first batch of meth. I was only ever involved in the process once, and really I just watched. We were out on an abandoned farm and I can remember vividly the smells and sights, and some of those were recreated quite well on the program.

That day on that farm, things didn’t go well. We couldn’t get the right temperature for the chemical reaction because we didn’t have a hot-plate, and we were trying to use an old wood burning stove which uses, well, fire which doesn’t mix well with the process. We ended up going back into the city to a house where we had permission to cook. About midway through the operation, we were surprised by a landlord who showed up with a utility guy and we all had to hide in a basement bathroom with the lights off for an hour until the coast was clear. We netted very little by the end, and I would never see any of those people again.

The people in the show generally smoke their meth, which is the way I also intook the chemical. This has actually not been a source of trigger for me because they do it improperly. I’ve written before on the ritual, and I don’t want to do it again because that really can be a trigger for me, so I will just say that most meth users keep a very clean pipe and keep the source of the heat far away so as not to burn the precious commodity. Many people also shoot, boof (no, it's not a reference to flatulence. Not even close.), and eat their dose, but I stayed away from those other methods for a variety of reasons, most of them fear-based.

I see a lot of the people I used to hang around with. Their names and shapes are different, but their spasms and bearings are all the same. The looks on a tweaker’s face I believe cannot be duplicated without great acting and research, and these people did their homework—or their meth. I find myself wondering what they did to study the lifestyle, and how they reacted to seeing these types of people first hand. I also wonder what type of drug addict lets people not in the trade into their lives, and how they are recompensed.

I’m nearly into the third season and there are five total. I haven’t had an urge yet to throw away my life and go off the deep end, and if I had any sudden urge to make a call to an “old friend” I would call my sponsor: that’s what he’s there for.

I like a lot of different types of shows, and I love this one for the dialogue and character development. If you’ve never seen it, Bryan Cranston plays a chemistry teacher who is diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer, and decides he can make money to pay for his chemo by making and selling meth with an addict partner. I was a drug-addict/dealer, which is a losing combination because all of the profit goes inside me and my friends. It’s a vicious cycle that bears no repeating, and only dredges up calamitous and stomach-turning recollections. It’s much better watching somebody else do it from my couch in my house. Well, her couch in our house.

Feast of Fantasy

We made it a year. About sixteen months ago I walked into a restaurant for a job interview and walked out with a dream. I saw the most beautiful woman I had—and have—ever seen, and I would take the job just to meet her. It was a terrible decision and I hate my job. No, no, that isn’t true at all. I love my job, and I love my girlfriend who happens to be that beautiful woman. Yesterday was our first official anniversary and we celebrated in grand fashion.

For her birthday which was ten days previous, I had purchased tickets to the Minnesota Renaissance Festival and a show inside called the Feast of Fantasy. During our holiday party earlier this year, we won a night’s stay at Hotel Minneapolis West End in St. Louis Park, so we finished our day on the rooftop looking over the Minneapolis skyline, and enjoyed a couple appetizers and she a few adult potions.

This post will be mostly pictures and a pretty cool video from inside the Feast of fantasy. It was the last show of the year, and they pulled out all of the stops, including dick and fart jokes. Those are my favorite.

Before I show off my pictures, I’d like to say that this was my first time at the RenFest, and it was really cool. It was nice to be in a place where people weren’t afraid to be who they wanted to be, even if it wasn’t themselves. If anything, we were the odd ones out, but nobody looked at us sideways; nobody made fun of us for the way we looked. I think the opposite is not so true outside those walls for people that are….you know, nerdy. I like most people, especially people who have fun.

So, we walked around in circles for a couple hours, watching people and spending money on various wares and fares, and of course, we had to have a turkey leg.

 

 

Don't worry, I will have some Photoshop work done to these pictures and send them to those I deem appropriate.

I tried on a kilt because when you are in Rome, you do as the Romans do. When you are at the Renaissance Festival, you try new things. Obviously, I look good.

 

This is the entrance to the feast. They primed us with some jokes and we played along. We were called in by name and we entered to our set tables. It was much smaller than I expected inside, but the size would have nothing to do with the event in the end. If I counted correctly, there were 72 attendees.

 

The fire-breathers were a dynamic trio of entertainment. Nothing they did would I ever want to try at home, but I will anyhow because it looked super easy. Also, I love the smell of gas, so I assume it tastes great as well.

Just a cool shot.

 

I had to resize this video to fit it onto this post. I hope it's viewable.

Bed to Bath

Worn and torn, I lazily climbed the three stairs to the breezeway with a diaper and travel bag in one arm, and a sleepy three-year-old in the other. She cried and cried until she slowly faded out to unconsciousness at which point the seven-year-old took over with the cantankerousness until I let her go over to her friend’s house to play. That left me to clean up the living room which had been left in shambles, but it allowed me to do it in quiet which I haven’t heard in a while. It’s a beautiful noise. It's 3:30pm.

There are some days where I ruminate on the single life but truthfully these gals are so imbedded in my life now that I never ponder a day without them, never think of a time I’d rather be alone, and always look forward to seeing them.

Today I went to my girlfriend’s work to pick them up after a long day at the office myself and when I got within 100 feet of the door they both came running at me with their arms wide open; toothy smiles on their grinning faces. I can’t help but smile because it was only a few years ago that I didn’t think I was deserving of other people’s love.

No, I’m not going to write a flashback post. I think I’ve written enough about my past, and I don’t want to get into dark places today, I’m just not feeling that creative right now.

 

I ended that last paragraph yesterday because I came down with a pretty massive headache. I thought I could sleep it off, so I went to bed after I put the girls down at about 8pm, but I woke up again at 9:30 with more pain. I went to the hall closet where the “good stuff” is (it’s just acetaminophen) and like I’ve seen in the movies, I chewed on five tablets. Don’t ever do that; it’s bitter and chalky. It did work however, and I drifted off to sleep after half an hour or so of positioning my head in such a way that the pain which stemmed from my upper neck might be alleviated. I should have taken a selfie.

I guess that I fell asleep at 10pm and was jolted awake at 10:15 by a bloody nose; ‘tis the season. My brain normally alerts me just before the blood exits my nose and somehow I have the wherewithal to maneuver my body to a nose-up position from my usual side-sleep. So, I rested on my back and continually swallowed my free night-meal until the gush subsided, and all was quiet again. For the third time, I went to bed.

Today is Sunday and I had to work a half day. Two weeks from today I go back to working Sundays instead of Saturdays, which means I will have split days off. I’m okay with it for a while I suppose, but I will miss having two days off in a row. The slow season lasts for quite some time, and it will be a long winter for so many reasons.

In the house, it’s project season. Recently, we made a commitment to have half of a bathroom professionally installed. It’s really expensive, so we will be doing the other half ourselves. The bathtub in our house came modified by the previous owners with a cut-out (I feel like I’m using an excess of hyphenated words today and I like it) and it is the original tub from the mid-50’s and it’s just time to let it go. It requires new plumbing, and a lot of work I don’t know how to do. The other half of the bathroom will still be a challenge and we will need to remove some ugly tile, an even uglier countertop, and possibly move a toilet a few more inches away from a wall. I own a hammer, a couple drills, and a sawzall. I don’t have any nails, screws, and I don’t own any wood or metal to saw, but I hope to utilize all of my tools and more when winter comes. I’m excited, nervous, and ready for a new experience. I will keep you posted.

 

 

Before.

I Am Kale-Man

I don’t like this. As an adult, I think I should be able to have something better. I mean, it’s crunchy, and there’s meat, but other than that, it’s just horrible. I’m sitting at my kitchen table eating something called a kale salad. Kale is the worst.

As a 39-year-old—somebody who plans to turn 40 in October—I believe I am the healthiest I have ever been in my life. This means that I go to the gym regularly (I do both cardio and weight lifting), and eat sensibly. I’m not that great at following a diet, in fact I eat a lot of sugar and truthfully I love all forms of carbohydrates. It’s like they made this really kick-ass food group that tastes great but makes you fat if you lay dormant. As my former me, I drank all of my carbs and I rarely exercised, so I use that period of my lifetime when I compare my current condition. I should probably elucidate that my actual hale and hearty me existed during and just after my time in prison boot camp where I was forced to run and do aerobics almost every day. I don’t think I will ever have the energy to get back into that condition, so I will just forget I was ever there. Problem solved.

Anyhow, recently I have tried to include more salads into my regime, and most often they are delicious. Tonight, I am alone with the girls, and I had to make my own salad and I struggled. I reason I picked the incorrect amalgamation of components and I ended up with something that could have served well as compost. Imagine an oily, crunchy, lemony, bale of hay topped with foam deli-meat that wasn’t going to make it until next Monday’s school lunch. Now open your eyes. Surprised that there’s no salad in front of you? You shouldn’t be, I already ate it.

This post has absolutely nothing to do with anything useful. I haven’t written in nearly two weeks and I felt compelled to write about something only I didn’t know what until I sat down and ate that dry lemon cactus. I know that I stated a few times that I would keep this blog recovery orientated, but sometimes I just have to write when something bothers me. Kale. This time it was kale.

My girlfriend loves the stuff, and I think some of America likes it, too. It can’t be because of the flavor or the texture, so it must be the health benefits. I can tell you one thing, the day after I eat a kale salad, something happens in the toilet that I would love to spend a few hundred words recounting, but I have family that reads this, and I don’t have the time right now. Maybe someday I will write about my post-kale poops. Until then, you’ll just have to imagine.

 

Dinner is done and the day is old. I’m still sitting at the table, this time with a three-year-old across from me. She’s chatting away, sometimes to me, sometimes to the invisible table friends she must see. She’s coloring, I’m typing; we are both creating what makes us happy.

The days grow darker and darker, but not in the way they used to. Life is a series of challenges, how we react to them is what defines us. What defines us is what we become. What we are is what we eat. I am a lemon cactus. I am Kale-Man.

Surmise

For a while there I think I was feeling homesick. I think a better word might be homergoup-sick, but that isn’t a term; it’s a sentiment. I missed the jostle and hubbub of a large group of people in recovery. Before I moved to the sticks, I was very active in AA, meaning that I spent a lot of time working with other addicts and alcoholics, and actively seeking out people I could help by bringing meetings to detox centers and treatment facilities. I love that shit. I have written a few times recently this same romanticism, and I have discussed it openly with my girlfriend and within my new homegroup with a few men. This week was no different.

We started the meeting as we always do, by reading a few laminated sheets that are traditionally read at many meetings. I happened to be leading this meeting of five men, and when I asked for a topic, somebody suggested sponsorship.

For those of you who don’t know, a sponsor is somebody in a 12-step program who has some sobriety time, and who has been through the first 164 pages of the Big Book—ideally with their sponsor. I always recommend finding somebody with a few years, somebody who contributes to every meeting—not just by sharing insight, but taking out the trash, making coffee, and putting a few dollars in the basket when it goes around. These are all good signs that somebody is working a good program.

Anyhow, my turn came, and I talked about how I don’t see my sponsor anymore, and I don’t talk to him as much as I should, and none of the men that I sponsor call me anymore because of the move. And then I stopped. And right then and there in that room I had a realization. All of that work that I did with all of those people for all of those years was so I could be who I am now, and be of maximum usefulness to those around me, not just in recovery, but in life. The 12^th step states: “Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all of our affairs.”

I want to look at the second half of that sentence because I think I have written for a couple years on the first. Every time I sit in front of this computer I am trying to reach the addict who still suffers. Every meeting I go to, I raise my hand when it’s asked if anybody is willing to sponsor. And I answer the calls of anybody, anytime, who needs my help. My message these days is hopefully one of inspiration. I have been through what many people are going through now, and every one of them is capable of getting to where I am now. By no means am I saying that my path is the only one, many people have made it many different ways.

I still haven’t even reached my point, and I could type forever on this and the other subject I wanted to write about today, but I will focus on the rest of the step. It says that I have to try to practice these principles in all of my affairs. I’ll opine that I think this means that I should take everything I have learned—as a result of working each individual step—and transfer them from inside the rooms of AA out into the real world. Particularly, I’d like to focus on the culmination of what we become after our transformation because of the steps. Somewhere in the pages of step ten, it states that love and tolerance of others is our moral code. This is it. This is what we must do from now on wherever we go.

This might be particularly tough these days. I will personalize this and say that I must constantly refrain from commenting on horrible things people say and post on the almighty Facebook regarding a current high-ranking politician. In fact, this paragraph feels a little passive-aggressive and I think I’m going to stop it in its tracks.

The point is, no matter what, I need to be loving and tolerant of all other people I encounter. This is especially true in my home life where I think I am needed more that I am needed these days in a meeting that is over an hour away. There are people there that can help the newcomer. I need to be here with my family playing, laughing, and loving.

I am now content with my meeting of a few guys every week because we can talk about the same things that have hurt us all, and work toward the betterment of our kind. And, maybe someday, somebody new will walk through the doors and I can offer my knowledge. That is all up to the God of my understanding, for whom my understanding is very incomplete.

I spoke in that meeting for maybe five minutes, and when I was done, a wave of calm overcame me and I knew that I was ok. I knew I had worked thoroughly to get into the spot I was in, and I knew then that maintenance was the key to my future. I will continue to call my sponsor when I can, and I will always be willing to help somebody in need. And in between those occurrences, you can find me outside with my beautiful ladies, soaking up the sun, laughing, and enjoying this beautiful life we have all created.