Sunday, September 23, 2018

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.

Tuesday, September 18, 2018

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.

Image result for kale man

Friday, September 7, 2018

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 12th 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.

Tuesday, September 4, 2018

I Have That Going For Me


T

he unofficial end to summer has come and gone. The kids are back in school, the restaurants slow down, and the weather will be back to garbage before we know it. It’s been a hell of a summer in so many facets. This has been the summer of achievement.

Just over three months ago, my girlfriend and I purchased a house together in the middle of nowhere, in the hopes that it would be a good move. Living out here has many benefits like cheaper real estate, less crime, and unobtrusive tranquility. The cons list is shorter but features some important items like the long drive to work and the distance from my family. In the beginning—and it is arguable that we are still in the beginning—I pondered frequently if I had made the right decision, but I kept getting daily reminders from my lady and her girls that this is exactly where I want to be. We lucked out having neighbors in every direction with children near the ages of the girls and they made fast friends with a few of them. The kids are happy, mamma is happy, I am happy.

Today, the seven-year-old walked us up to her new bus stop for the first time to catch a ride to her first day at a new school. We were all up at about 6am—pretty late for me—getting everything ready for the big day. Second grade; I can only vaguely remember bits and pieces of my grade school experience, but I think this is where I stopped developing mathematically, and I look forward to picking up where I left off when I help her with homework every night.

Like I did last year, I make her lunch every night as I’m making dinner for everybody. It’s a small part of a routine that is made up of so many pieces. Kids are a lot of work, and I feel as if I have stepped up to the challenge with caution but aplomb. I cut the crust off of the bread, and I only add cheese if she specifically asks for it. I sneak in a little something like gummy vitamins or a Hatchimal or a note whenever I find the time, and she seems to respond with happiness and smiles when she comes home. It’s the little things, as they say. But there are so many little things.

 

 

T

he cold season is coming sooner than we think. This means it’s time to start thinking about projects. Realistically, I don’t know how to do any projects so this will either be the winter of the apocalypse, or the winter where I watch a lot of YouTube videos on how to use a hammer. We still have a few painting projects to be completed, and we would like to figure out something to do with the floor in the basement. I want to put more insulation in the attic, and I would like to remodel the bathroom. The bathroom is a few years out, but I want it know that I would prefer not to have pink tile in any of the rooms in this house.

 

A

nd finally, three nights ago, I had a vivid dream. I was standing on the deck of a vibrantly colored outdoor restaurant with two friends. One of them I couldn’t see, and the other was Anthony Bourdain. We were laughing and reminiscing as if we were lifelong friends. Anthony and I stepped off of the deck onto the dew-covered grass and walked off toward a playground. He stepped up onto the platform for the monkey bars and I turned toward him. His profile was framed by the smoke from the grills in the background and the sun beat down on his salt-and-pepper locks. I locked eyes with him and said, “I know you’re dead. And I know why.”

The corners of his lips tended upwards as he looked to the ground. I knew I had hurt him, but it had to be said. His clothes crumpled and fell to the ground as his body took the shape of a snake and he slithered away. He was one with the earth again, and I was standing in the middle of a coil of pulsing snakes.

The quantity of snakes in the dream is the most significant aspect according to the internet. The magnitude along with somebody dying is all representative of substantial change in my life. It also symbolizes an abundance of energy that I have not tapped into. Incidentally, the snakes were all green which indicates health and fertility. So, I have that going for me, which is nice.

Saturday, September 1, 2018

Movie Night


The depth of silence that surrounds me currently is something I’ve grown unaccustomed to in my new life. Normally at this time on this day of the week, there is perpetual chatter, consistent interrogative vernacular, and the never-ending churn of the only season of P.J. Masks on Netflix in the background. By now I am usually surrounded by up to four children, all of them with their own line of questioning and commentary. They go in and out of the house, and sometimes they are gone for a while, but this time is different. There will be no interruption today. I am alone in my home for the night.

I don’t want to come off as unloving, so I should say that I love having the girls and their friends over and am happy to help them learn. This is as much their house as it is mine—although I pay way more than they do—and I told their friends that they no longer needed to knock or ring the doorbell when they came over so they are always welcome, too. I am saying that just for tonight, I am all by myself—Amanda is at work until late—and I plan to enjoy the quiet. Well, I plan to watch a movie is what I plan to do.

I’m done with my 5th day of work on a seven-day stretch that includes a ten-hour day tomorrow, and an unusual workday on Monday. To my knowledge, we only work two Monday’s per year, Memorial Day and Labor Day. This signifies the end of the busy season in many restaurants as kids go back to school, and the fall season presents itself in theory. It’s been a long summer, but the time has flown by for me.

Three months ago we officially moved into our new home. I can’t believe I just wrote that. Three months and we’re still here. Nothing major has broken, all of our bills are current, and everybody is still alive.

Looking back at some of my previous living conditions, I can see there has been major improvement in my life. My first apartment in Richfield was not a good fit for me, so I stopped paying rent and instead turned to hard drugs. I started a small fire, was convicted of a felony for said small fire, and was asked rather harshly to never come back again. I didn’t because I was locked up for quite some time, and was embarrassed at the condition I left the place in. Come to think of it, aside from the small fire, every place I have ever lived while under the influence of my will has suffered the same consequences. I have destroyed, demolished, and literally burned my way through other people’s property.

Now, over time, I’ve been forced to pay back many of my old landlords. Recently, for the first time, I wrote a letter of amends to my landlord in Fountain, from about five years ago. It’s been two weeks since I sent the letter and I haven’t heard anything back yet. I have done my part, and am completely willing to pay back whatever I owe them in the form of unpaid rent, and the costs of cleaning up after my life which ended up as a prison term. I also must accept the fact that, sometimes, people don’t want to hear from me, or don’t want to reply. I can’t blame them: I have caused a lot of hurt.

The important thing is that I keep cleaning up my past so that my future is free of the bondage of resentment and hostility. This is an action step of the 12-step program I work, and it is necessary for anybody who was truly sick like me to start this process as soon as they have thoroughly accomplished the previous eight steps with their sponsor. It’s complicated and difficult work, but the payoff is life itself.

That’s as introspective as I’m going to get tonight. There are tons of movies I should be watching right now. Sometimes it’s ok to take a night off from responsibility, and tonight is my night.

And Counting

I remember vividly waking up at 5:19am, one minute precisely before the lights would come on; the indication that it was time to stand a...