Oh, Steve

Trapped in the farthest corner of our basement, away from the predators and children, is a life transformed by one kind act. This morning on our way to our neighbor’s house—just across the street, but it was so cold (-29 without the wind) we opted to drive—I saw a helpless squirrel twitching on the cold concrete, unable to move on its own, surely within minutes of dying of exposure. I harkened back to my teenage years where I shot many of his great³ grandparents out of my city yard with bb guns and sling shots, just for the pleasure of being a dickhead.

Somewhere between then and now, I developed a conscience, and I needed to make amends for my killing by at least trying to save this one fragile life. I hopped out of my minivan and approached the fuzzy rodent. I knew he was paralyzed by cold so I scooped him up and into my arms where he nuzzled in and accepted my warmth. His nose and eyes were covered in frost and his limbs were curled in atrophy. He was in his last moments without me.

I can’t imagine dying from the cold, and surely thousands of warm-blooded animals will expire on this coldest day of the year, but I cannot save them all. I had this chance, and I would not waste it. I turned around to go into my neighbor’s house where I asked for a shoe box. I received one and I walked back to my van and drove about 100 yards to my home where I brought him downstairs, named him (or her) Steve, and set him on a table. Now, we already own a rabbit, so I got some food, and got the water bottle hanging drip ball thing from the cage and went back to the box.

Frozen but not lifeless, s/he hangs on by a thread.

I opened it up and he had curled into a complete circle and was still twitching. I put the food down and put the dropper near his (or her) mouth and she latched on with her (or his) mouth and little paws. She (or he) of course didn’t understand that it had to be licked to get water so I shook it gently until some bubbles came up and it (much better) let go and fell silently asleep. I knew that this could be the last time I saw it alive, so I stroked its fuzzy body calmly so its last ticks could be as comfortable as possible. I closed the box and went back to the neighbor’s house for a couple hours.

When we arrived back home, I went straight downstairs and pried the box open carefully, just in case. A spring-loaded ball of energetic fur jumped out in a flash and Amanda scurried up the stairs as Steve (the boy/girl squirrel) scampered awkwardly across the glassy floor and under a couch. Shit.

Steve didn't seem grateful for my rescue, in fact, s/he acted down right defiant.

Steve had been saved by the caring touch of a generous man, and now that man was swatting at it with a fireplace broom, in coordination with the strobe setting on my flashlight, to get it to a now-awaiting-Amanda with a shirt to cover it up so we wouldn’t get rabies or A.I.D.S. and get it back into the box for further review. The plan failed a few times but eventually Steve ran all the way into the only room with a functional door where we enclosed all of us. Amanda was on top of the chest freezer with a deck brush, and I had my flashlight and the shirt when he made the mistake of running right into a litter box cover that was lying on the floor. He was trapped. He is still trapped. I’m not sure how I’m going to get him out tomorrow, but I will worry about it then.

Safe for now, away from the freezing cold, Steve has access to freeze-dried fruits and vegetables, and water. Tomorrow will be the first day of the rest of his life.

Life is a delicate balance between death and dying, and we never know how or when it’s going to be our turn. We have the ability to either watch death, or delay death, but never stop it entirely. I have no idea how Steve will do tomorrow back in the elements, but I know now that at least he has a chance, and that my neighbor doesn’t have to pick up a dead squirrel from his driveway.

White

The wind whipped the white snow frantically across the highway in a constant, ever-evolving layer of frustration that changed the lanes and the speed limit in the minds of every other driver I encountered on my way back from the cities today. Sure, it was cold, but the real problem was the wind. There has got to be a name for the combination of the wind and the chill; together they make the cold so much… colder.

As I was taking the picture below, I was thinking to myself that I should probably focus more on driving than getting a good picture for the blog later, but then one of the passengers in the booster seat behind me cheered me on and I knew I was doing the right thing.

The snow and the cold are not major obstacles to my daily life. I’ve never been late to work due to the weather, and I’m off of work tomorrow with pay because of it, so if anything, it enhances my life. This could change.

I’ve been sniffing out jobs closer in distance to my house lately. I’ve submitted applications here and there, and even turned down a few offers (right this moment I just turned down a job at the hospital outside of town.) that didn’t come close to what I make now, including benefits. There is one opportunity that I keep going back to though, one that has me interested and I believe I have them interested as well.

The United States Post Service is accepting applications constantly. They have career, and non-career positions available and I thought I would throw in my name about a month ago for a shot at federal benefits. I took their online aptitude test which got me an opportunity to take a proctored exam in a locked room with cameras and sound-eliminating headphones to ensure I couldn’t cheat. They took my phone and even my Garmin smart watch and sealed it in a bag to be double-sure I couldn’t steal any help from remote sources.

I did well on all of the tests which got me a job offer a few weeks back in Delano, but I turned it down because it was just a part time gig. Last week, Amanda interviewed for a position in Hutchinson which turned out to be only one day a week, but she (Amanda) told me of a full time opportunity and I immediately called about it to see if I could interview for it ahead of time, which I could.

The post office is only ten minutes from my house. The job is for a substitute rural carrier which means that I would cover the driving routes of the carriers who have their days off.  It is more than 40 hours per week which I’m used to, and I would have many opportunities to advance to management positions once I’ve been there for a while.

But, what about that felony? Well, I scheduled a follow-up interview for this morning at which I had to disclose to the postmaster that I have been convicted of animal rape…. No, a drug-related felony, and she said that it’s no problem for the post office as long as I disclose it to H.R. whenever I get an actual offer.

When I do get an offer, I have to take a drug test, give up my fingerprints, and disclose any criminal record for a background test. It’s still not a guarantee, but it helps a lot, she said, to be up front about everything from the get-go. So, I will keep all of you posted on that.

The Unites States Postal Service will not be taking a day off tomorrow (-55°). They brave the wind, the cold, the heat, and the rain. I think I have what it takes to do the same. The benefits are great, the hours aren’t bad, and retirement age for a postal worker is 56. So…

I can see out a good 100 feet, but beyond that is a mystery. Could be pirates, could be kittens. Nobody knows.

Back to Treatment for me 2

When I am given an opportunity to bring the message of recovery into a treatment center, I do it. I do it because I am selfish in a way, and I’m looking for the opportunity to remember where I used to be.

Tonight I travelled to a small rural Minnesota town to a residential treatment facility for juvenile boys, and there were nine little fucks just like me 25 years ago sitting in a circle. We actually made the circle when we (another gentleman in recovery from a meeting I attend) arrived ahead of the crowd. We were there to bring the message of A.A. into a place where possibly many of the attendees were hearing their first versions of recovery, much like I did when I was 18 and in treatment for my first time.

The format to the meeting was already printed out for us. They hold a meeting every Saturday night, and groups from the district send representatives once a month from their various groups to host the assembly. All we had to do was read the format, read eight pages of the Big Book, and then go around and share what we learned from the reading and then end the meeting on time. Here’s what happened.

We read pages 80-88 of the book Alcoholics Anonymous. In these eight pages, a lot happens. Some of the most important work, some of the most read passages, and my very favorite sentence is contained within these few pages. It starts with the ending of the 9^th step; making amends. It briefly discusses step 10-taking a continuous inventory, and describes the 11^th step which asks us to meditate and pray. This is heavy shit.

The five times I was in treatment—each time for several months with the exception of my first which I will explain later—we were given work that would lead us up to the fifth step: Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs. We would write down everything bad we ever did, and talk about it with a priest, or an um… I can’t think of the term, but when I was young, I didn’t really understand the concept so I would make stuff up to make myself sound really cool in my eyes.  Nobody ever really talked about going any farther until I got a sponsor which I would never do and I would inevitably fail and go back out to gather more evidence on addiction and alcoholism.

So here we are with a chance to talk about what I would consider two of the three most critical steps. And there are nine little versions of young me sitting around with little to no interest, playing with their hoodie strings and looking at the floor. It was exactly what I was doing back in the day: making sure everybody in the room knew that I had absolutely no interest in what this old bearded man (who drove a minivan in) had to say about his “God program.”

We read the eight pages in a circle, some people passing, some guys reading a few paragraphs, and we got to the end. It was time to share. Two kids spoke briefly on what they gleaned, and I felt inspired that we would hear from the other seven. It was my partners turn in order so he talked beautifully on how the steps work in his life, and then he passed after a few minutes. The next six boys all passed without sharing, very much like I would have, and then it was my turn.

What I wanted to scream was, “Hey you little fucks! One of you is going to be dead in a year if you don’t listen tonight! None of you are probably going to stay sober because you’re 15 and don’t know what hell looks like yet! You have a chance to do something with your lives; you can be something, you can do anything!” But I didn’t, because I wouldn’t have listened to that. I would have smirked, leaned farther back in my chair than the guy next to me so I would be cooler, then taken a sip of my Mountain Dew, bro.

What I did tell them was that I had been around the block. I said that my favorite sentence in the book is “Love and tolerance of others is our code.” I like that because it’s the opposite of my old self. My old code was “Fuck everybody.” And after a lifetime of fucking everything up, losing everything—three times, being a homeless meth addict five years ago, and abandoning all hope of ever being a husband, a father, and a productive member of society, I found a way out. I found a way not just to survive, but to live. It wasn’t always easy, but it was always better than the way it was.

I don’t know if they listened, or what they heard. I don’t know if any of them will remember anything we said tonight. But I know that they know that there are people out there willing to help. We may be the only copy of the Big Book that these kids ever see, and we relayed a message of hope. And if even one of those kids is an actual addict, someday he may remember in a moment of despair that we are there for him, and he doesn’t need to hurt anymore. He can be happy, joyous, and free. Just like me.

The meeting wrapped up and they went back to their rooms, and we drove back to our homes. I had a 45-minute drive to ponder what I had said there, and I knew that I couldn’t have done anything differently. I had many great reminders of what I was like as a kid. I’m sorry, Mom.

My first time in treatment was back in the 1900’s. I was 18 years old and court ordered on a felony charge. I lasted five days and I’m sure they were happy to get rid of me and my attitude. I don’t remember much from my time there except people with mullets trying to get me to believe in God. I didn’t get anything out of it because I didn’t want to. For me it took years of pain to finally need to change everything about my life. It helped that I was locked in a cage for the first 15 months of this recovery, but the following years working the steps with a sponsor is what keeps me sane now. I have everything I ever wanted out of life now, and I must continue to everything I can to share this message with those who will need it someday.

$hort

I haven’t written for a while. I haven’t written any non-fiction for even longer. I tried getting into a series of interconnected fictional posts, but life itself is probably more interesting and I don’t want to spend any more time writing about things that didn’t happen. While during most of my life I was probably better at telling the lie than the truth, I want to keep writing about my life as it is, and perhaps write more for fun on a private basis and publish it as another book someday.

Anywho, my last post took you (the reader) back through the year 2018. I wrote about my financial insecurity as it relates to new home ownership, and that is where I will start here.

When I first bought this home, I was under the impression that there would be some tax benefits and maybe for the first time in decades, I might receive an actual refund. Well, that will not be the case. In fact, it looks as if I’m going to owe a significant amount in Federal taxes (although I don’t feel as if I should have to pay a government that isn’t functioning currently) and a small amount in state. I don’t get it. I claimed 1 on my W4, which is one less exemption that the sheet suggests, and I’m still in the hole by about $700. My employer assured me that they are taking the proper amount. Maybe it has something to do with the new tax reform, and since I’m not rich, I owe more. I don’t know. I just can’t seem to catch a break as a single (for tax purposes) white male in this country.

I’m sure I will find the money over whatever period of time they allow me to pay off my debt, but instead of maybe getting ahead a little, now I will be behind all year again. Not everything is terrible, not even a financial burden is terrible. I won’t lose the house, I can still pay all of my bills, I just can’t pay as much extra on them.

***

I have found that the more English language a three-year-old understands and relates, the more frustrating life becomes. The littlest of the two girls is going through a phase in which the only solution for all situations seems to be crying and saying “No!” Of course, I exaggerate, and most often she is adorable and really funny, but there are moments where I wonder what I’m supposed to do to corral her emotions, or if even I’m supposed to do that. She can quickly go from a screaming mess to a laughing cuddle monster, especially when a snack is involved. I’m sure this is normal for children, and I’m wondering if I can rip-off some of her behaviors to get more of what I want at my job or in my relationship… I will try this.

***

I’ve been putting in applications at a few places and entities over the past few weeks in hopes of securing part-time work during the slow season at my present job. I actually applied with the U.S.P.S. because they have an opening in an office closer by and I made it through the first few screenings and tests. They actually will hire felons, they (me) will just be scrutinized more, and have to be completely honest throughout the application process. I have a proctored exam coming up this Monday in St. Cloud, and I’m wondering when it will finally come up.

I also applied for a job with 3M in Hutchinson. Well, I applied with whoever runs the kitchen within the plant. It would be a M-F 6-2 shift, and the benefits would start right away.

Now, the two jobs I just described are full time, which would remove me from my current employ, but the likelihood of me landing one of them is small, nonetheless I like to put out the feelers. I did apply to numerous other positions, and have fielded a few calls but nothing that would help much with the bills. I need something; my vacation (I love that I have to use vacation to get 40 hours at my job) will only last for six weeks and then I’m down to however many hours I get over my four-day workweek.

Uber and Lyft won’t hire felons, and I don’t think I would be a good stripper or prostitute, and I think our book has run its course, so I can’t depend on those royalties for early retirement.

That’s enough about money. I’ve vented, now I’ll solve the problem. It’s what I do.

2018 Recap

2018 was the most stimulating, expensive, and rewarding year of my life so far. It took me forty years to have the best year ever, and I would like to keep this forward trend moving. But first, let’s look back at 2018: the year of the woman, the dog, and the lord according to a Google search I just did.

On January 1^st, 2018 I took a big step in my relationship by moving in with my girlfriend and her two children. It was a small apartment in a western second-ring suburb, not technically affiliated with the cities, and about 1,000 feet west of the dividing line of Hennepin and Wright counties. That was a long pointless sentence; it’s something I’ve committed to work on in this New Year. Anyhow, I moved to Delano because I was ready to move my life headlong with another human being, who happened to have two little humans of her own. It was a rough start, and I wondered if I had made the right choice, but the girls grew on me, and I really enjoyed being accountable as a “daddy-figure.” I started taking on more responsibility with the girls and we bonded over science experiments and homemade mac-n-cheese.

Things moved quickly, and I attended a first-time homebuyer’s workshop on March 10^th, not really with any intention of making any more sudden moves, but with keen interest in the process. In that seminar I met the man who would end up finding me the loan for the home we would all move in to together (not the mortgage broker, me and the girls) in June after a long and stressful loan application process, wallpaper removal, and a big move. Finally, on May 19^th, we were in our new home.

A new home comes with new bills, more responsibility for the area around the house (like a lawn and a driveway), more bills, and more bills. I paid a lot of attention to the seminar but I think they could have emphasized even more the initial financial burden of buying a home. For example, there are things called tools (hammer, screwdriver, a different hammer, and wrench) that I owned none of.  had to buy them. I didn’t know how to fix, repair, build, or maintain anything. I had to pay for that. I didn’t know the terms for anything, and up until May 19^th, houses were just walls, wood, and a roof, but as it turns out, they are all made of other parts, none of which I knew anything about. With the aid of some very helpful and knowledgeable neighbors, I have made a few simple repairs on my own—sometimes under supervision—and so far, none have exploded or broken.

We’ve been here over six months now, and money still scares me a little. We have some savings, money in our accounts, and the girls have everything they need, but I honestly don’t know what’s going to happen if a major appliance breaks down in the next couple years. I try not to worry about it, but I have to be mentally prepared for the worst case because that’s been engrained in my brain for so long. I’m slowly fading away from those old thoughts and behaviors, but fears are real, and most often valid subjectively. We will cross that road when we get to it; it just needs to be a road with a bag of money on it.

For the first time in my life, I will have only one W-2. This is significant because it will be easier to do my taxes, and I didn’t quit or lose a job for any reason. I foresee some changes in my life in the next year jobwise if I can’t move forward in my current position, but for now I am happy at work. Ideally, I would like to find a way to work with addicts and alcoholics, but I don't have a fancy college degree, and I am a pretty good line cook. But I'm forty, and I don't think I'm being as useful to humanity as I could be. I'll keep my eyes and ears open for opportunity to be more useful, and hopefully make more money.

I turned 40.



I went through an incredibly painful tattoo removal and re-ink process for which I will simply share this link because it was it's own post and I've already written enough on it, and there are a lot of cool pictures.

 

My mother and I published a book! I've promoted it plenty, and we haven't become millionaires yet, but we have sold a few, and given a few away. I hope the message contained in those pages reaches who those it needs to.

I shared in a meeting  this weekend how wonderful it’s been to start noticing trends in my life. Like this is the third year in a row I was able to celebrate Christmas/Channukkhakhhh with my family, this is the second holiday season I’ve spent with the girls, and the fourth Christmas without drugs and alcohol. I then recalled that before these trends, there were negative trends, like two Christmas/New Year’s chained to a cage, but more staggering, eight previous holidays chained to a bottle. That’s ten in a row without my family, without the light of loved ones, void of self-love and filled with anger and resentment because of the choices I used to make. I was lost. I was broken. I was a fucking mess.

Now I am here-I'm present, I’m alive, and in just over three years of freedom I’ve accumulated a life that I have only dreamed possible. I have family, real friends, new neighbors who are becoming friends, responsibility, motivation, and light. I can see. I can see where I went wrong and I actively pursue a solution to my problems both past and present. I have not just pulled myself up, I have helped others pull themselves up, and given them the same opportunity to pass along the wisdom I have cultured.

2018 has been the best year of my life so far. So long as I keep doing what I’m doing in the rooms of recovery to be a better man out here, these beautiful things will keep happening. What a blessing to have to be worried about replacing appliances in a home when just five years ago I was a homeless meth addict. What a wonder it is that I can leave my house when four years ago I could not leave my cell. What a miracle this life of mine is. I want to keep it. So I must keep working for it.

Here are some 2018 highlights:

 

 

 

 

 

Never have I had so much. Never have I wanted so little. Never have I felt so much love from so many wonderful people. Thank you all for such a beautiful year.