IMNSHO

20 Highlights of My Year 2011

2012-01-05T13:24:00.000-08:00

No particular order... here are highlights of my life in the year 2011:

1. My relationships with my daughter, Niccole, and my grandson, Izic, grew stronger and much more meaningful.

2. My 15-year career as a technical writer came to a close. I was offered and accepted a position as an IT Project Manager at Adventist Health.

3. I had a couple of very painful dental surgeries that netted me two dental implants and a whole new appreciation for flossing.

4. One of our beautiful German Shepherd dogs, Jade, decided she was no longer happy living with us in Roseville. She moved up to Auburn, California where she got to live on a horse ranch with our friends Kathi and Randy. That didn't work out either, though, and now she lives in Southern California where she's happy and well-loved.

5. Brian and I completely gutted our very out-dated kitchen. Then we installed the first half of a complete remodel -- gorgeous new cabinets, beautiful new Cambria quartz countertops, a new large stainless steel sink and faucet, and new Bosch appliances. The remainder of the new kitchen will be installed in 2012. I've never had a brand new kitchen before, and it's really fabulous!

6. Several friends of mine and I participated in a weekly book study together. We read The 12 Steps & The 12 Traditions, from the perspective of learning how to apply our common principles in all our affairs. It was a wonderful study and a very special event for me.

7. Martie and I met and have become good friends. She's an important person in my life now, and I'm very grateful for our friendship.

8. My precious friendships with Tim, Kari, and Bethie have strengthened and grown. I treasure them, probably more than they know. Tim celebrated 8 years of sobriety and fell in love with Mitzi; Kari became a barista and grew spiritually by leaps and bounds; and Bethie lost 100 pounds and participated in half-marathons!

9. I failed to be a good friend to four people in 2011: Alice, Kevin, Laura, and Jan, at least according to them. And if they believe I failed, then I obviously did.

10. I celebrated 18 years of continuous sobriety on May 17, 2011. Thank you GOD.

11. I began therapy, in order to face and hopefully deal with some hard-wiring issues that have plagued me my entire life.

12. I had arthroscopic surgery on my right knee to repair a badly torn meniscus.

13. Giants Opening Day in 2011 featured Brian Wilson raising the World Series Championship flag at AT&T Park. Our Giants got their World Series Rings, and we got to be the champions all year long. It was awesome!

14. Our gorgeous German Shepherd dog, Niko, turned 3 years old in March 2011. She's beautiful, funny, personable, healthy, and full of energy, and she's a precious family member. We run her about 3 miles on our bikes regularly and take her for walks whenever possible. She's well-trained and obedient, for the most part anyway! I love her.

15. Brian and I -- okay, mostly Brian -- built a beautiful new porch onto the front of our house. It's a fantastic new living space. It was a TON of work, and Brian did a meticulous, perfect job. It's not quite finished yet, but the bulk of the work got done by the time winter arrived. The rest will be finished in the spring of 2012.

16. I spent Christmas with my daughter, Niccole, for the very first time in 2011. Niccole, Izic, and I had a relaxing quiet weekend together. We watched movies, enjoyed crackling fires, made yummy lasagna, walked to the park, and enjoyed each other very much. We had our pictures taken together, too, and gave them to friends and family members as Christmas presents.

17. My "little brother" Kelly Stocke passed away this year, sadly. Also, my uncle Bud Dirksen passed away.

18. I have launched on an all-out effort to learn how to cook, and it's been fun and rewarding. I don't hate cooking nearly as much as I thought I would.

19. My relationship with Brian has grown stronger and more loving as time passes. He's genuinely a wonderful man, and I love him dearly. I'm blessed to be in a relationship with such a good person.

20. God and I continue our journey hand-in-hand. I remember when I used to think that the point was travel TO God; now, I know that I must travel WITH God.

With love,
Karen

2010-12-30T08:49:00.000-08:00

Twenty Major Events in 2010, in no particular order...

1. My grandson, Izic, turned one year old and has been growing and changing and amazing me all year. We celebrated his one-year birthday at McKinley Park.

2. Brian and I took several trips:

Austin, San Antonio, and Texas Hill Country - attended convention in San Antonio and met many of my dearest on-line friends there, including Jocelyn, Trish, Steve, and Jim.
Las Vegas - attended a White Sox/Cubs Exhibition Game with my favorite Cub fan friends and others who I hadn't seen in about 20 years. Plus I got to see my little sister Bobbie and her family again.
San Francisco - spent a fun-filled weekend attending Giants games and enjoying the city by the bay.
Virginia and Washington, DC - toured all over Virginia and D.C. Got to meet on-line friends Jennifer, Russell, and Bill.

3. My sponsees filled my life, my heart, and my soul all year long. Got to take steps, present birthday chips, laugh, cry, study, learn, pray, and grow together. Life changing moments for which I will never stop being grateful.

4. My friends Dana McLeod and Andy Wheeler passed away. So did Mary Anderson's mother.

5. Bought a new Toyota Camry SE.

6. Our German Shepherds, Niko and Jade, turned 2 years old. Jade moved out in November, and is now living with our good friends Kathi and Randy in Auburn.

7. I attended my 35th high school reunion, and got to see friends I haven't seen in, well, 35 years!

8. I got to spend an entire afternoon with my best friend from high school, Cindy (Wood) Clark and her family.

9. Brian and I bought bicycles and started riding bikes to work as often as possible.

10. I had major dental surgery.

11. I was Project Manager for the HealthStream Enterprise Implementation project at work.

12. Brian and I got to meet the Cash Cab guy, Ben Bailey, and catch his comedy act.

13. Went camping at Fallen Leaf Lake with Brian, Niccole, Sonny, and Izic.

14. THE GIANTS WON THE WORLD SERIES!!!!!!!

15. Brian, Bill, and I built a really cool "Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure" payphone and phone booth for the Leoni Meadows IT Conference.

16. I celebrated 17 years of continuous sobriety, and grew closer to God because of it.

17. I attended Alex's Eagle Court of Honor.

18. Enjoyed a meaningful spiritual retreat in September with friends.

19. Bought a new refrigerator.

20. Did I mention the GIANTS WON THE WORLD SERIES???!!!!!!!!!!!!

2011: Ready or not, here I come!!

One Option

2010-08-25T06:59:00.001-07:00

"It's a "before and after" scenario. Before your rescue, you could easily keep God at a distance. Sure he was important, but so was your career. Your status. Your salary. . . .

"Then came the storm . . . the rage . . . the fight . . . the ripped moorings . . . despair fell like a fog; your bearings were gone. In your heart, you knew there was no exit.

"Turn to your career for help? Only if you want to hide from the storm, not escape it. Lean on your status for strength? A storm isn't impressed with your title.

"Suddenly, you are left with one option: God."

~ In the Eye of the Storm, by Max Lucado

Top 10 spiritual lessons I have learned while riding my bike to work

2010-07-07T13:05:00.000-07:00

10. Steep hills don’t last forever. Eventually, I make it over every crest.

9. Scenery is much more enjoyable when I take the time to actually look up and notice it.

8. Saying a little prayer before tackling a really steep hill doesn’t hurt. Dare I say it even helps?

7. Resistance is honestly the only way to build strength.

6. Sometimes it’s necessary to shift clear down to first gear in order to make any progress at all.

5. To get where I’m going, I have to keep moving. And as long as I keep moving, I don’t fall down.

4. When I make the mistake of focusing on an obstacle up ahead on the road, darn if I don’t hit it -- every time!

3. Tackling hills can be challenging and rewarding, but nothing beats a long, straight, gentle downhill coast.

2. It certainly doesn’t hurt to smile, especially when the going gets tough.

And, the #1 spiritual lesson I have learned while riding my bike to work:

1. The journey really is very beautiful and joyful, but it’s all about my perception and attitude.

School again

2010-01-21T11:46:00.000-08:00

Back to school today. Only one class this semester - Computer Production/Graphic Design (AAD0061). Back to Sierra College campus. Feels familiar.

I've been chipping away at a 2-year degree in Communication/Graphic Arts for about three years now, one or two classes a semester. I choose not to cram more to my already-busy schedule. I still have several more classes to go after this one. My 2-year degree will probably take 5 years.

I'm maintaining a 4.0 GPA, and that's important to me, but only because I hate to ruin a perfect record. If it drops, I'll mourn the loss for a day or two, and then I'll get over it. I do like to do my best, though.

I remember the first day I started working on this degree. It was a rainy January day, just like today. I was scared because I hadn't been on a school campus in years. And it was pouring rain. I arrived in the parking lot at least a half-hour early, and sat there trying to calm my nerves. Miraculously, the rain suddenly stopped! I took advantage of that stroke of luck, and hurried to my classroom. When I arrived, the clouds burst open again. I choose to believe that God gave me a break that morning.

I'm not the oldest student on this campus, but I'm a member of the club, if there is one. I would guess about 90% of the students are, well, student-age. 18 to 25. Really, really young. But there are adults, like me, who have decided for whatever reason to go to school.

I like school, but I don't like homework, tests, and pressures. I used to think I'd continue my education well into my senior years, just because it's good for me to exercise my mind and hone my skills. But now I'm rethinking that original enthusiasm. I want to spend my golden years traveling with Brian, and I simply can't do both. Traveling wins. I'll finish this 2-year degree and hang up my backpack for good.

Oh, by the way, I'm not actually enrolled in AAD61. It's a full class. I'm here hoping I can add. If I can't, well, I don't know... I'll probably try to find a math class I can take, or I'll just choose to take off the semester. We'll find out in a few minutes.

That's all for now...

Karen

Too precious!

2009-07-10T08:57:00.000-07:00

I know, I'm an insufferable grandmother...

But C'MON... this is just too cute for words!!

A second in time

2009-07-08T10:21:00.000-07:00

Today is the only day it will happen...

at 56 seconds past 12:34 today, it will be:

12:34:56 7/8/9

I'm going to do something very special with that second in time.

Haven't figured out yet exactly what I will do, but it will be special. I won't waste it.

Let something essential happen to me

2009-07-06T15:50:00.000-07:00

O God,

let something essential happen to me,

something awesome,

something real.

Speak to my condition, Lord,

and change me somewhere inside where it matters,

a change that will burn and tremble and heal

and explode me into tears

or laughter

or love that throbs or screams

or keeps a terrible, cleansing silence

and dares the dangerous deeds.

Let something happen in me

which is my real self, God.

An excerpt from "Guerrillas of Grace: Prayers for the Battle" by Ted Loder

The Day I Quit

2009-07-05T15:24:00.000-07:00

A dear friend recently asked me about the day I quit drinking. So here's the story...

Spring, 1993
I had been holed up in my bedroom for many months. The man I was living with, John, brought me food once in awhile, but mostly he just left me alone.

I had been unemployed for about 17 months, and actually unemployable for much longer than that.

I could no longer smoke pot because it sent me into coughing convulsions. I was often doubled over in pain because of something that felt like an ulcer. I was coughing up blood.

I drank vodka straight from the bottle in my room, with the TV droning on.

May 16, 1993
Something happened. I heard God.

Now, I'm not saying I hallucinated, or I heard audible voices, or anything like that. But I distinctly heard God speak to me -- or more accurately, I heard Him speak to my heart. And this is what He said:

"Karen, if you let me, I will change your entire life."

It startled me, actually. It was so clear, so obvious. I was very, very drunk, but it got through to me.

I stumbled to my bathroom where a calendar hung on the wall. On it, I scribbled these words:

"Don't forget -- God will change my whole life."

I wrote that on my calendar because I knew I would forget if I didn't write it down. (I kept that calendar page, by the way.)

May 17, 1993
The next morning, I saw what I had written. My first thought was,

"OK, fine. Whatever. I don't care. If you want to change my life, then have at it. Be my guest. Go ahead. No one's stopping you. I honestly don't care."

That morning, I was coughing up a lot of blood. John took me to the emergency room. I don't remember much about it at all.

From there, somehow I ended up at St. Helena Hospital in Healdsburg, California, in their inpatient alcohol & drug rehab unit. I don't remember arriving. I do remember getting word that I would be able to stay because I still had a month of COBRA benefits remaining from when I lost my job 17 months earlier.

I remember the room they put me in. I was sharing it with another woman -- a nurse from a hospital in Northern California who had been busted stealing pharmaceutical drugs. I don't remember her name and I don't remember much about her.

I went to sleep that afternoon, and slept all night.

That was it.
That was the first day I did not drink alcohol since 1977. The date was May, 17, 1993. I have never picked up a drink since.

A few important (important to me, anyway) points about that day:

I didn't choose the date.

I didn't choose to quit drinking. (Quitting was not something I ever would have chosen to do.)

There was no fanfare.

I simply stopped fighting.

I had run out of brilliant ideas, plans, schemes, and answers.

I was empty and utterly defeated.

"What the caterpillar calls the end of the world... the Master calls a butterfly."

Karen

Capricorn

2009-07-03T19:24:00.000-07:00

CAPRICORN - The Passionate Lover
Love to bust. Nice. Sassy. Intelligent. Sexy. Grouchy at times and annoying to some. Lazy and love to take it easy. But when they find a job or something they like to do they put their all into it. Proud, understanding and sweet.

Irresistible. Loves being in long relationships. Great talker. Always gets what he or she wants. Cool. Loves to win against other signs especially Gemini's in sports. Likes to cook but would rather go out to eat at good restaurants.

Extremely fun. Loves to joke. Smart.

No longer restless, irritable, or discontent

2009-07-02T20:20:00.001-07:00

The picture was taken at Lake Mead near Las Vegas on 4th of July, circa 1985-ish. Those guys in the picture were party ANIMALS. And that's me, on the far right. Pretty cute, huh?

For these long weekends, we typically rented a houseboat, parked it in some remote cove on the far reaches of the lake, and proceeded to party our brains out.

We would ski...

... from dawn until dusk, or until we were too drunk to stand up.We always ate plenty of food - pasta, fruit salad, watermelon, and burgers.

We blasted music all weekend: Jimmy Buffett, Rolling Stones, Chicago (most of these friends grew up in Chicago, so they loved the band), Led Zeppelin, Journey, and Eric Clapton.

We smoked pot and snorted coke. And we drank... WOW, did we drink. Margaritas, mostly. Plenty of tequila flowed ever-so-freely. Beer, wine coolers, bloody mary's, and screwdrivers. But mostly margaritas.

And on the 4th of July...

...we all climbed up on the top of the houseboat -- drunk, stoned, sunburned, and worn out -- and we oooo'ed and aaahhhhh'ed as fireworks lit up the night sky over Las Vegas.

Those were the days when drinking was still fun.

Laughter, music, food, friends, and fun! I have years of irresponsible, irrational, irresistible memories.

But there was bad stuff, too, though...

Typically, someone fell overboard into the lake and required rescuing. Someone else got in a fight with their weekend partner and spent the night sleeping alone on the sand by the water. And, of course, someone would always hook up with a life-long friend for a night of gratuitous sex, with the understanding that all would be forgiven in the morning. (Forgiven... and never forgotten.)

Each year for the past 16 years, I become less and less restless, irritable, and discontent on the 4th of July.

There's still a serious party girl inside this 53-year old body. Sometimes I still long to cut loose... to party like it's 1999... or 2999, I guess.

Sometimes I think I would love to be there again at one of those blow-outs, where the office is left far, far behind along with all my other responsibilities. But I can't go back, and I know it. I can't ever drink again. And that's okay!

I no longer believe the lie in my head that tries to convince me it could be fun again. The truth is, I wouldn't go back now even if I could. I treasure my sober life, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Now, 4th of July is comfortable. No more longing or restlessness. The party-girl inside me is no longer banging on the walls of my soul, demanding to come out and play.

Today, here's what I do:

I go to AA meetings and try to hook up with someone who IS restless, irritable, and discontent just like I used to be. I try to lend a helping hand, a listening ear, an empathetic heart, and a little bit of know-how so that person can get through the 4th of July weekend without picking up a drink. This year, I actually get to chair an AA meeting on the 4th of July.

As a result, I've been able to stay sober for 16 4th of Julys in a row, counting this Saturday. It's a pretty cool deal.

Party on, dude! Happy 4th everybody!

Karen

Thinking and feeling and loving

2009-07-02T15:57:00.000-07:00

When I was a drunk, I didn’t do much thinking.

I acted on impulse most of the time. I was anything but introspective. I never thought about consequences, and I got in loads of trouble as a result.

I simply didn’t care enough about anything to examine it or try to understand it. Especially if it had to do with anyone else’s feelings.

And as far as loving someone too much…

Well… there wasn’t much chance of that happening. I didn’t love anyone. My heart didn’t function at all. It was like this big, hard, cold hunk of cement stuck in my chest.

I didn’t give a rat’s ass about anyone or anything. If I acted like I cared, it was probably because I wanted something from you. I cared only about myself. And yet, deep down inside, I hated myself, too.

I haven’t had a drink in over 16 years now.

I’ve done a heckuvalotta work since that last drink. My perspective about life has changed in amazing, profound ways.

I take responsibility today for more than I ever thought I would. I’ve made things right with people I had wronged. I’ve become much more honest. I’m not “there” yet -- not even close. But I’ve grown spiritually, and I have a relationship with God that works for me. I know that counts for much.

I genuinely value things today that I never thought I could ever possibly care about – friends, family, career, my home, my health, my education, my well-being, and my serenity -- just to name a few.

Today, there are people in my life who I genuinely love and value. And I gotta admit it – it feels amazing to be able to love another human being.

Feeling, and thinking, and loving, and interacting with others are precious gifts of sobriety for me. Gifts I never even expected to receive, but on which I place a tremendous amount of value.

It’s good to think, and feel, and love.

If someone tells me to stop thinking, or stop feeling, or stop questioning, or stop examining, well… I’m not sure that person has my best interests at heart. In fact, I'd go so far to say that it would feel a little controlling and suppressive.

I don’t want to stop doing those things. In fact, I want to get better at doing those things.

If someone tells me I’m taking a relationship too seriously, perhaps it means they aren’t taking it seriously at all.

Food for thought…

Karen

All I need is the air that I breathe...

2009-07-02T15:55:00.001-07:00

... And To Love You.

I've been thinking a lot this evening about of how much I need certain people in my life. The concept alone makes me uneasy, probably because there's some fear there. Somewhere along the line, my magnificent brain concluded that "needing someone" is the same as "being needy." Intellectually, I'm aware that those are two different concepts. But the issue is still an uncomfortable one for me emotionally. I still tend to get all tangled up when it comes to matters of trust.

I used to claim I didn't need anyone or anything. I trusted no one and dependend on no one for nuthin'. But that's no longer true. I'm surprised at how much I've let my guard down in recent years. And no matter how hard I try not to, once I connect with someone emotionally, it's inevitable that I begin to feel a stronger and stronger need for that person at some point.

Need for them to do what, you might ask?

Well, I don't know, I guess to need me back. To let me get close. To reciprocate. To share experience and adventures with me. To share life with me.

The thing about needing someone is the chance that my longings will go unrequited and ultimately become painful. People can't be expected to meet one another's needs. I wasn't able to meet my ex-husband's needs -- he's told me so. I would often see the frustration and hurt in his eyes. Likewise, when I long to be close to someone who doesn't reciprocate those feelings, that person probably detects my frustration as well.

It's always better, I think, to have no expectations of anyone. That's the only way I know how to avoid painful disappointment.

But love trumps all that logic.

When I care deeply for someone, I need them. Apparently, I can't help it.

Maybe I shouldn't care so much?

No, that can't be the right answer. I've come so far. I used to be such a miserable, hateful, unhappy person. I have worked hard -- and continue to work hard -- to be the kind of person who is capable of loving others and being loved.

With love comes risk.

*sigh* That's about a philosophical as I'm going to get tonight.

Karen

Take me home, country roads

2009-07-02T15:51:00.001-07:00

It's been my observation that most people limit themselves to one or two different styles of music.

Not me—I appreciate a wide range of genres.

I tend to obsess on one at a time. These fixations can last for a few weeks or many years. I eventually become bored and switch to something different.

I bop from one phase to the next.

I went through a solid Top 40 pop phase in my teens. Then there was the acoustic phase in my early 20’s, the heavy metal phase in my mid-20’s, and the MTV phase in my late 20’s.

From time to time, I’ll delve into the world of contemporary Christian music. That trip usually leaves me feeling empty, though, forcing me to acknowledge yet again my preference for traditional hymns.

My preoccupation with Country music lasted a particularly long time. I two-stepped, line-danced, and country-waltzed my way through the entire decade of my 30’s. I knew all the artists and bands, and of course every word of every song. I glued myself to the CMT channel. I wore the clothes and the attitude well. My CD library grew extensively during those days.

A year or so ago, I went through a fascination with “Women’s Music” performed exclusively by lesbians. I still have plenty to learn about that genre. I’ll revisit it someday soon.

I'll show you mine if you show me yours.

I enjoy it when people I care about share their music with me. This past summer, I took a nostalgic trip down memory lane with hits from the 60’s, 70’s, and 80’s thanks to a friend’s vast collection of mp3s. I’ll always treasure that stuff. This same friend also shared some of his Celtic favorites, along with recordings his father loved—the Tennessee Ernie Ford sing-a-long hymns, for example, were wonderful.

If I had to pick a favorite...

... I’d have to confess my ongoing romance with the classical genre—especially classical piano, which happens to be the passion of my heart.

This past week, I’ve become bored again.

My CD collection has grown a little stale, and the radio has nothing exciting to offer me.

I long for an experience like I had not long ago when I fell so madly in love with a piece of music that I couldn’t focus on anything else for a day or two. I want another adventure like that again as soon as possible.

For now, I'm a little bit Country.

After thoroughly enjoying a Bellamy Brothers CD this past week, I’ve decided to go Country again for awhile. I’ve tuned my car stereo to a new Country station, and I plan to dig out some favorite CDs tomorrow. George Strait, Clint Black, Merle Haggard, Dwight Yokum, Willie and Waylon… I can’t wait! It’ll be fun.

Rock on, dude…

Karen

There's no such thing as a synonym.

2009-07-02T15:50:00.001-07:00

Here's another one of my all-time favorites from Billy Collins. Being a writer and a frequent user of the almighty Thesaurus myself, I truly appreciate this charming, anthropomorphic ode. Enjoy!

Karen

Thesaurus

It could be the name of a prehistoric beast
that roamed the Paleozoic earth, rising up
on its hind legs to show off its large vocabulary,
or some lover in a myth who is metamorphosed into a book.

It means treasury, but it is just a place
where words congregate with their relatives,
a big park where hundreds of family reunions
are always being held,
house, home, abode, dwelling, lodgings, and digs,
all sharing the same picnic basket and thermos;
hairy, hirsute, woolly, furry, fleecy, and shaggy
all running a sack race or throwing horseshoes,
inert, static, motionless, fixed and immobile
standing and kneeling in rows for a group photograph.

Here father is next to sire and brother close
to sibling, separated only by fine shades of meaning.
And every group has its odd cousin, the one
who traveled the farthest to be here:
astereognosis, polydipsia, or some eleven
syllable, unpronounceable substitute for the word tool.
Even their own relatives have to squint at their name tags.

I can see my own copy up on a high shelf.
I rarely open it, because I know there is no
such thing as a synonym and because I get nervous
around people who always assemble with their own kind,
forming clubs and nailing signs to closed front doors
while others huddle alone in the dark streets.

I would rather see words out on their own, away
from their families and the warehouse of Roget,
wandering the world where they sometimes fall
in love with a completely different word.
Surely, you have seen pairs of them standing forever
next to each other on the same line inside a poem,
a small chapel where weddings like these,
between perfect strangers, can take place.

~ Billy Collins

Forgetfulness

2009-07-02T15:47:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite contemporary poets, Billy Collins, wrote the following piece. It describes with delightful humor what it's like when forgetfulness becomes a way of life.

If you'd like to hear a recording of the author reading this poem aloud, they're available. I can find the link for you if you want.

Enjoy!

Karen

Forgetfulness

The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read,
never even heard of,

as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.

Long ago you kissed the names of the nine Muses goodbye
and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,

something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.

Whatever it is you are struggling to remember,
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue,
not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.

It has floated away down a dark mythological river
whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall,
well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.

No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.

~ Billy Collins

Top 10 reasons why dogs are better than kids

2009-07-02T15:45:00.000-07:00

10. They eat less

9. They don't ever ask for money

8 They are much easier to train

7. They happily come when called

6. They never ask to drive the car

5. They don't use drugs, smoke, or drink and neither do their friends

4. They don't insist on buying the latest fashions

3. They don't cop an attitude, roll their eyes, stomp away, and slam the door

2. They don't need a gazillion dollars for college

And the #1 reason why dogs are better than kids:

1. If they get pregnant, you can sell their children.

Karen

A minor irritant

2009-07-02T15:40:00.001-07:00

I’m told that, when I was little, I became bored much too easily. That propensity, along with my prolific motor-mouth, made me quite the “minor irritant” to my mother. She likened me to an active, yappy little puppy—always getting underfoot, finding trouble, making messes, babbling endlessly, and driving her nuts. She loved me for sure, but I know I must have worn her out with my constant demands for attention and interaction.

The truth is, I was crazy about my mother.

I could never get enough of her. I always wanted to be with her and I craved her attention. I was very little, so of course the entire universe revolved around me. Therefore, when my mother and I were together, I insisted on having her all to myself. I did whatever was necessary to monopolize her every waking moment. I made it impossible for her to ignore me.

Today, I can be a well-behaved, “normal” adult woman most of the time.

I’m not the type of person who demands the spotlight or needs to be the center of attention. I think I’ve learned to interact fairly well with other humanoids on this planet, and I don’t believe that others find me too terribly irritating.

Still, I cringe to admit it, but maybe I haven’t really changed that much over the years. When I’m connected with someone I truly care about, I’m afraid I still turn into that little motor-mouth all over again. I babble on incessantly and take advantage of every opportunity to interact. When it comes to someone I really like, I can never get enough attention or communication.

I try to rein myself in.

I really do. I don’t want to be selfish, so I attempt to reason with myself about my unreasonable behavior. I tell myself that people don’t always want to be saturated with my attention. People have other things to do, other lives to live, other responsibilities and interests. I try to not be so obsessive. Sometimes I succeed, but not always.

I like you. A LOT.

If you find that I’ve been a minor irritant to you, please know, it’s just that I want to wrap myself up in your friendship. It’s my nature—I want to overdose on you. There are a million-and-one things I long to do with you and know about you. I may never run out of energy and enthusiasm for one-on-one experiences with you.

I know I’m terribly obsessive, and I know I can be a pest, like a yappy little puppy. But that’s because I think you’re a very cool person, and I love being connected with you.

Is that so bad?

Karen

What it's like to have a truck roll over your foot

2009-07-02T15:36:00.001-07:00

Editorial note: I wrote this in July 2006 -- the day after the incident occurred. Just saving it here for posterity. Lovely memories!

Yesterday, a friend of mine -- let's just call him Brian -- drove his truck over my foot.

Now, let's get this into perspective.

He didn't mean to do it. Naturally, he would never do anything like that on purpose. I mean -- we're FRIENDS, for crimineeee sakes. Friends don't do things like that on purpose. If Brian had known I was standing that close to his truck, he certainly would not have begun moving forward. I mean, he didn't AIM for my foot or anything like that. It was an accident.

And another thing.

I'm not stupid. I'm not the kind of gal who likes to have her foot driven on. Common sense, by all rights, should be dependable enough to kick in and tell me that if I place my foot near the tire of a vehicle, I stand a chance of getting my foot run over.

It's not like I did it on purpose. And, no, I wasn't looking for attention or drama or anything like that. Sheeeeesh.

Nevertheless, there ya have it.

I was standing too close, Brian didn't realize how close I was standing, I didn't realize he was putting the truck in gear and moving forward. I felt an odd sensation on my foot, and about half-way through the episode, I realized that Brian was driving his truck slowly over my foot.

I didn't move or scream or anything like that. I gasped, I think. Who wouldn't?

Then I said, "HEY! You just drove your truck over my foot!"

Brian was appalled.

His jaw dropped open and he had that "you-gotta-be-kidding" look all over his face.

I giggled inanely (as I'm apt to do anyway, under any circumstance). What struck me funny was that I didn't seem to be injured. I could walk, I could talk, I could do math. All seemed well with the world.

Yeah, it stung a bit, but I assume that's to be expected when one's foot is run over by one's friend's truck.

I started to tell Brian about the time I got my foot stuck in an exercise bicycle when I was 11 years old. I never finished the story, though, because he turned on a book-on-CD recording, so I stopped talking. No biggie... it was only one of the most traumatic episodes of my young life.

Last evening...

I put ice on my foot as I watched a movie. ("Mrs. Henderson Presents." A cute movie!) I noticed a little puffiness and numbness, but no pain, and no problems walking.

This morning...

I woke up with weird bruisy-looking marks on the top of my foot. There's some puffiness still. I'll probably put ice on it again this evening.

As you can see in the photograph above, I need a pedicure badly. The white stripes across my foot are from the flip-flops I wear all the time. My feet and toes are tan -- THAT'S NOT DIRT! And those weird red marks are -- you guessed it -- tire tracks.

Brian called this morning to see how I was doing and find out how my foot is. Pretty nice of him, don't you think?

So... that's it. That's the story of when my friend drove over my foot with his truck.

The End.

Karen

Wisdom

2009-07-02T15:29:00.001-07:00

It was a night of early spring,
The winter-sleep was scarcely broken;
Around us shadows and the wind
Listened for what was never spoken.

Though half a score of years are gone,
Spring comes as sharply now as then—
But if we had it all to do
It would be done the same again.

It was a spring that never came,
But we have lived enough to know
What we have never had, remains;
It is the things we have that go.

~ Sara Teasdale

Am I powerless over alcohol?

2009-07-02T15:26:00.001-07:00

I published the following article in the AA Beginners Club awhile back. This morning, someone asked me to post it on my blog for quick reference. So, here it is: some important points to consider if you're wondering whether or not you're an alcoholic.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Step 1: We admitted we were powerless over alcohol – that our lives had become unmanageable.

According to experts in the field of alcoholism, and according to Alcoholics Anonymous, the illness of alcoholism is specifically defined. Someone either is or is not an alcoholic. Some people have terrible drinking problems and yet they are not real alcoholics, and are therefore not powerless over alcohol.

The questions become:

What does it mean to be powerless over alcohol?
Am I really powerless over alcohol?
Am I a real alcoholic?

FIRST: Never diagnose alcoholism based on behavior.

An alcoholic is an alcoholic whether he or she drinks alcohol or not. It is possible (although most certainly improbable) that an alcoholic may have never consumed alcohol.

The sweetest, kindest, most generous person in the world may be alcoholic. You can't diagnose someone by looking at them. Behavior, morals, ethics, religious beliefs, accomplishments, education, talent... none of this matters. Either someone has the illness of alcoholism or they do not.

I agree with the studies that show alcoholism is genetic. We are born with it. It manifests itself in many, many ways, at varied times in a person's life, and results in a wide range of disfunctional behaviors. The behaviors, however, do not define the illness.

I know a gentleman who only consumed alcohol once in his life. He explained to me, based on his knowledge of alcoholism, that he is a real alcoholic. His religion forbade alcohol consumption, so he never drank again. But he had no doubt in his mind what would happen if he did.

How did he know he was alcoholic? Keep reading.

SECOND: We diagnose alcoholism based on the effects produced by alcohol consumption.

It's the same way we diagnose allergies to anything else. Like peanuts, for example, an excellent comparison. Someone can be born with an allergy to peanuts and may never even know it—until the day they ingest peanuts. Then, based on the effect peanuts produced in their bodies, they discover they have unleashed an allergy.

Same with alcoholism. When an alcoholic ingests alcohol, a specific allergic reaction occurs. Our bodies react abnormally to alcohol. We metabolize alcohol differently than other people do. This is not conjecture, but has been proven scientifically.

What are the symptoms? Like with allergies to certain foods, do we break out in hives, or do our faces and throats swell up? No, although some will attest to breaking out in handcuffs.

What happens is that our bodies demand more and more and more. A “phenomenon of craving” kicks in and overwhelms us.

And there doesn't seem to be anything we can do about it. Once we start drinking, we can't stop. We drink until our bodies have had enough.

How much is enough? That is determined by our own individual bodies.

Normal drinkers don't experience this. (Just ask one.) They don't even understand it, and some think it's a fallacy. Normal drinkers can drink to excess, they can get good and drunk, they can black out, they can pass out, etc. But they can also choose not to. Alcoholics have lost that power of choice.

Some alcoholics (not all) experience really horrendous consequences as a result of this uncontrollable drinking. Really, really bad stuff happens.

IMPORTANT POINT:

Don't confuse behavior or consequences as being part of the definition of alcoholism. The consequences alcoholics suffer, and the behavior alcoholics exhibit, are relative and contextual.

THIRD: Alcoholics cannot NOT drink.

The question isn't, "How do I stop drinking?" but rather, "How do I keep from starting again?"

It's the first drink that sets the entire cycle into motion. You learn all about the insanity of the first drink when you read the chapter titled More About Alcoholism in the book, “Alcoholics Anonymous.” The entire chapter is devoted to clarifying this vital message.

We've all heard well-meaning friends and loved ones suggest, "Why don't you just quit, dear?"

Ahhh... if only.

Real alcoholics often want to quit. We know we should quit. We know we need to quit. When we say we're going to quit, we often really mean it. Read Bill Wilson's own personal story (Chapter 1, Bill's Story, “Alcoholics Anonymous”). Notice how many times he quit drinking. Notice how badly he wanted to quit.

We hate the horrible consequences as much as others hate seeing us go through them—perhaps more. At least others can (and often should) distance themselves from us. We cannot, however, distance ourselves from ourselves.

We suffer from what is referred to as "the obsession of the mind."

Normal drinkers don't experience this, either. (Again, just ask one.) And they definitely don't understand this. It makes no sense to them whatsoever, and, in fact, it usually really pisses them off. This is what they hate about alcoholics—they don't understand why we won't just F***ING QUIT DRINKING.

What they don't get is what’s called “alcoholic insanity,” also referred to as an “alcoholic mind.” There's this little voice in our heads, pounding away at us, convincing us of all manner of lies:

“This time, it will be different.”
“You don't have a problem. You're just over-reacting.”
“Everyone drinks that way.”
“You're making way too big of a deal about this. You always blow everything out of proportion!”
“F*** THEM if they don't like the way you choose to spend your own time!”
“HEY! It's your body! They can't tell you what to do with it. If you want to drink, that's your business, not theirs.”
“No one will ever find out. It’ll be our secret.”
“You deserve to drink. If they had to go through what you're going through, they'd drink, too.”
“Look around… you’re out of town, right? Staying in a hotel, right? Don’t know a soul in this city, right? Who’s gonna find out?”
“This time, you'll for sure be able to control it and enjoy it.”
“This time, you won't ____________.” (get fired, get a DUI, go to jail, get in a fight with the spouse, hit the kids, fall over a banister, make an ass out of yourself at the bar.... etc., etc.)

And that little voice just doesn't let up. It keeps going and going and going, until we succumb.

The real alcoholic always succumbs. It may take a while, but eventually, we always pick up that first drink.

And then the cycle starts all over again (see point #2).

The obsession of the mind forces us to pick up the first drink.
The allergy of the body forces us to continue drinking until our bodies have had enough - despite consequences.

The result is a never-ending cycle of insanity.

FOURTH: As a result of this never-ending cycle of insanity, our lives have (by definition) become unmanageable.

We don't have to lose our jobs, our families, our homes, our cars, our money, our teeth, our friends, our self-respect, our physical health, our purpose for living as a result of suffering from the obsession of the mind and the allergy of the body. Many of us do lose all those things and more. (I did.) But we don't have to.

Losing everything doesn't qualify us as alcoholics.

By definition, our lives are unmanageable because we suffer from the obsession of the mind and the allergy of the body—PERIOD. Whether we lose anything else or not is irrelevant.

“Alcoholic insanity” means we cannot NOT drink. And how unmanageable is that?!

Conclusion

In Step 1, decide whether or not you suffer from the obsession of the mind and the allergy of the body. Take a look at your drinking history and answer those two questions honestly for yourself. If you're not sure, try some controlled drinking. Try starting and stopping abruptly. Or try quitting for a few months.

Going through your answers with a qualified A.A. sponsor is extremely helpful, but obviously not mandatory.

If your answer is yes, then your life is unmanageable by definition. It can't be anything else. You suffer from alcoholism.

If your answer is no, then you win a "Get Out of AA Free" card! Yippee!! You do not have alcoholism. You are not an alcoholic.

That's as complicated as Step 1 needs to be. Many of us already took Step 1 before we crawled through the doors of AA. For real alcoholics, Step 1 is usually incredibly obvious.

Hope this helps.

Karen H.
Founder, AABC
DOS: 05/17/1993

Credit and gratitude goes to Cavi C. and Amy G. -- my mentors and my friends -- who helped me finally understand Step 1.

Why I like Claude Debussy

2009-07-02T15:23:00.001-07:00

"The primary aim of French music is to give pleasure."

Claude Debussy wrote those words. He was intently interested in the sensuous quality of music. I read recently that, even as a student, he let his carnal concept of sound override many of the rules he was taught by his teachers (which probably really pissed them off).

"Extreme complication is contrary to art... Beauty must appeal to the senses, must provide us with immediate enjoyment, must impress us or insinuate itself into us without any effort on our part."

Debussy's interest in the exquisite and sensual led him to adopt various scales he picked up from other cultures, enabling him to reach far beyond the traditional majors and minors. These are evident in his piano music, as are the distinctive floating qualities of his form and rhythm. Really erotic stuff, if you take the time to listen and use a bit of imagination.

I can't help but wonder whether his epicurean philosophies were manifested in the bedroom as well.

"I am more and more convinced that music is not, in essence, a thing which can be cast into a traditional and fixed form. It is made up of colors and rhythms."

Ahhhh... I couldn't agree more.

Karen

http://www.classicalarchives.com/debussy.html#debussy_piano

http://www.claude-debussy.com/

Reflections: The legacy of the AA Beginners Club

2009-07-02T15:16:00.000-07:00

Where were you in May 2001?

I was celebrating eights years of sobriety that month. I had begun sponsoring women more frequently by this time. I was more involved in service at my home group, and I was actively participating in several online recovery-related sites. Finally willing to be of service to others, I had entered a new phase in sobriety.

Online, I was involved in one very large AA-related Yahoo Club (at that time, they weren't called "Groups" yet). On this particular site, unfortunately, constant bickering, arguing, and general chaos regularly interrupted on-topic discussions. For all intents and purposes, it was an unmoderated site—a real free-for-all. Not much recovery spoken there. Not much about the 12 Steps or the principles of the Steps. Not much help for beginners.

I would meet newcomers there once in awhile and try to correspond with them, but often my posts simply became lost and buried in the war zone. I always felt really badly about that… people, suffering from alcoholism, coming to a website looking for answers, but instead of hearing the message, all they got was the mess.

Questioning My Purposes Online

One night–May 29, 2001 to be exact–I went to bed feeling particularly frustrated. I lay there in the dark, evaluating my reasons for being involved in on-line recovery-related activities. What was I trying to accomplish? What were my motives? What was my primary purpose? Things had turned so ugly in that group, I was really wondering why I didn't just log off for good.

But all I could think of was this… I wanted to be of service to others. Maybe one person would recover because I helped point him to AA, to God, and to a life better than he could ever dream possible.

My Dream

As I slept that night, I had a vivid dream that I believe was God-inspired. In the dream, I created a new Yahoo Club that would be dedicated to helping newcomers. I even envisioned the title of the Club in my dream – it would be called the "AA Beginners Club" so that newcomers would quickly find it alphabetically while searching the Yahoo directory. The mission statement of AABC came as a direct result of this dream.

AABC is Born

Early on the morning of May 30, 2001, I jumped out of bed, logged on, and created AABC. I wrote the mission statement on the home page. That same “Welcome Message” still appears there to this day. The words just flowed, with little effort. I chose colors and a home page photo. All morning long, I worked setting up shop. (Yahoo "Clubs" looked completely different than Yahoo "Groups" look today, but it was basically the same idea.)

I invited Jennifer ("Sildriana" in Yahoo-land then) to serve as co-owner of the group, and she accepted. Together, Jen and I established the website. We formed group policies. We invited people to join, and the club grew.

Jen conducted 12-step studies. I created "Beginners Club Baseball" and kept the conversations going with lively topics about recovery. A wonderful woman named Crystal ("xtowandax") joined Jen and me as our first moderator. Chrystal contributed tremendously, and we really loved her a lot (still do!). The three of us answered questions for beginners, offered encouragement, and worked steadily to get the ball rolling. Others with long-term sobriety joined to help the beginners, too.

The club continued to grow. Eventually, we were forced to migrate into Yahoo “Groups.” It was very difficult, changing to an entirely new format! But we got through it together.

(By the way, that’s the reason we can’t access the archives from the beginning of the group through May 2002—the Yahoo “Clubs” archives were eventually deleted.)

Challenges and More Challenges!

Changing formats wasn't the most difficult challenge we ever faced, though. We've had some terrible storms, and endured some difficult personalities. We've always been under fire from those who hate AA (“Anti-AA Activists”) and want to see it destroyed. They seem to hold us up as the quintessential AA-related Yahoo group; as such, they hate us with a passion. (This fact truly warms my heart—we’re obviously doing something right!)

We've cycled through many moderators and several co-owners. I had a horrible temper tantrum once and almost deleted the entire group with one click of my angry mouse! But instead, I resigned as group owner. Eventually, I was asked to return, and after some sincere soul-searching and priority re-evaluating, I happily agreed. In 2006, I decided to go on an extended sabbatical from group management, although I continue to participate as a member.

AABC has endured Yahoo difficulties, as well. At times, it became absolutely impossible to access the groups or post messages. Now and then, our emails would simply disappear out in Yahoo-land, never to be seen; or, they would take hours, days, or even weeks to arrive. Eventually, though, Yahoo got their act together and now things seem to be running pretty smoothly, for the most part.

Miracles

I could go on and on about the members we've seen come and go through our group doors. I've made lifelong friends, and I’ve spoken with many members on the telephone. To date, I have only met a few face-to-face, but I know that many other members have met each other in person over the years.

Some members actually get sober in AABC! My all-time favorite is Christina (“Ananobanana”) who went from being a terrified, hopeless, defeated alcoholic to a functioning, happy, recovered member of society right before our very eyes. What a blessing it is for me to be a part of those miracles.

My Own Spiritual Growth

I wish I could explain how much this group has helped me in my journey. I go back and read some of the earliest posts, and often I'm embarrassed at how ego-driven and arrogant I was. I still am, I know… but I've gotten so much better. I really can see spiritual progress, but (thank God!) I still don't see spiritual perfection.

When May 30 rolls around each year, I go through a period of reflection, re-affirmation, and a renewing of my primary purpose, which is to stay sober and to help other alcoholics achieve sobriety. This group is dedicated to sharing the message of Alcoholics Anonymous with those who suffer. I think, with God's help, we do that pretty well.

God Bless AABC

I pray for this group and the membership every single day, and I have since the very beginning. I will continue to pray, in hopes that our little corner of the internet will remain as an effective beacon of hope for others.

Thank you to those who have been here from the beginning. Thank you to all who are here to be of service to others. Thank you to the past and current owners/moderators for your tireless service and dedication to sobriety.

Most importantly, thank you to the "Beginners." You are definitely the most important people in the room. We need you.

With gratitude and love,
Karen
(aka: Honey_dot_com)
Founder, AA Beginners Club

http://health.groups.yahoo.com/group/aabeginnersclub/

AABC membership as of July 2, 2009: 3,158

“What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, The Master calls the Butterfly.”

Fitting In

2009-07-02T15:14:00.000-07:00

The last days of drinking and early days of sobriety were so painful. I was excruciatingly lonely, isolated, and fearful. I was completely incapable of interacting with other human beings on any level whatsoever.

There are times when I still feel out of place—even in Alcoholics Anonymous, which seems odd. I don’t know… it’s just that it's been a long journey for me to go from hating and fearing every single human on the planet to being able to interact comfortably with most of them. I have to admit, I've made incredible progress.

Just the other day, I caught myself telling a friend something I've been saying for years: “I don't like people that much.” My friend looked at me with a puzzled expression. Later on, I thought about what I had said, and realized it was no longer true. I have changed. I do like people today. Not all of them, but many of them.

I'm not sure when that happened.

One thing I know, though… when significant change occurs in my character and my behavior, it usually happens slowly, subtly, over time. No trumpets or fanfare. No burning bushes. No sudden spiritual awakenings.

I just wake up one day and realize that somewhere along the line I changed for the better.

That’s how I know for sure that God did it—because I know for sure that I didn’t.

Karen

Thank God I never got addicted to chocolate

2009-07-02T15:11:00.000-07:00

I have what some would call an addictive personality. That means I tend to obsess on things, people, substances, and activities until they own my ass.

Escape is difficult, although not impossible, I’ve discovered.

Here is a list the things I have tried, but have not become addicted to:

Gambling
Shopping
Chocolate

In my lifetime, I’ve been addicted to a handful of people. Andy, for instance. We were “together” (if you want to call it that) for six years. During that short time, we broke up 27 times, and that included a full-blown divorce somewhere in the middle. Andy finally moved to China so we could successfully separate. He stayed there for two years. When he returned – you guessed it – we were right back together again. Wow… what a seriously obsessive, compulsive, addictive, unhealthy relationship that was.

I’ve also been addicted to activities. I won’t divulge the more personal ones because, like my friend Brian says, I should be careful what I share on the internet. It would probably be in poor taste, anyway. And heaven knows how concerned I should be about what others think of me.

But some of my G-rated excessive activities have included hiking in the mountains, playing backgammon and video games, listening to music, reading the newspaper, and playing the piano. None of them necessarily dangerous or unhealthy – well, except perhaps that newspaper thing. But indulging in those activities obsessively and to excess was very problematic.

It's just not a good sign when I don't show up for work, when I spend my last dime, when I stay up all night, or when I forego well-balanced relationships in order to indulge.

Then, of course, there was that drinking thing.

From age 20 to age 37, not a day went by that I didn’t consume measurable quantities of alcohol. On many (most?) of those days, I also ingested/inhaled other mind-altering substances. Obsessive, compulsive, sick, bad-ass addictions. Insanity at its best.

The Worst

The worst addiction was the cigarettes. I smoked heavily from age 17 to age 35. I averaged about 3 packs a day. I smoked more than anyone I knew. Quitting was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done, hands down.

Well… except for when I had to say good-bye to Andy.

And What About Now?

I have overcome about 99% of my addictions. I’m gettin' a handle on that “B” word… BALANCE. I’m paying attention to my behavior, and I’m changing. I still tend to obsess now and then, but I’m far from the insane lunatic I used to be.

Thank God I never got addicted to chocolate.

Karen

I'm lucky to know them at all

2009-07-02T15:04:00.001-07:00

I think I've figured it out.

It's all about relationships. Connecting with other humanoids. I’ve come to understand that everything revolves around interacting with others.

That's why I am sober today—so I can connect with people.

It was impossible to interact with anyone on any meaningful level when I was drunk. I hated everyone, especially myself. I was completely dishonest and fake. I was a supreme bullshit artist. No one could depend on me for friendship or loyalty.

If you were to ask me 16 years ago if relationships were important to me, I'd probably look at you with glazed-over eyes. I wouldn't know what you meant, exactly. I'd ask something like, "Waddaya mean, relationships? You mean like sex or something? Or... what?" I would have been genuinely baffled.

That’s because I truly had no connections with other people, so I didn't have anything much to go on. I couldn't imagine why anyone would want to spend time with me, and I sure as shit didn't want to spend time with them.

Now, there are plenty of obvious benefits to being sober.

I can function now like a healthy, responsible adult. I can contribute to society. I can work and accomplish my goals. I can do things—you know, weekend things, like normal people do—like go to movies or visit with friends. I can maintain my home, my finances, my physical appearance, and my behavior. Lots of obvious benefits. Things I absolutely could not do as a drunk.

But clearly, the most astounding and important benefit of sobriety is that I am now able to have real live relationships with people. I can walk among others here on Planet Earth and interact with them in a sane, meaningful way.

Today relationships are precious to me.

I mean, what else is there after all is said and done?

If I found myself stretched out on my deathbed this evening, pondering my last ponders, replaying the video of my life, wrapping things up for myself spiritually—what would I consider was genuinely precious? What did I experience that nobody else on Planet Earth experienced? What can I say I truly owned?

My unique relationship with YOU. That's what.

Nobody else's relationship with you is like the one you and I share. Nobody knows you exactly the way I do. Nobody feels exactly the same way about you as I do. Nobody has experienced you exactly the way I have.

How precious is that?!

I suffer tremendously when a relationship ends.

I find separation—especially permanent separation—severely painful. But I've come to understand that it happens, and I survive. Wounded, bruised, and battered emotionally... but better off in the end for having the connection in the first place.

"Arthur" is one of my all-time favorite movies. In it, Dudley Moore plays an adorable, infuriating drunk. Mourning the death of his dear friend and personal valet, Hobson (John Gielgud), Arthur says these words that I've never forgotten: "I was lucky to have known him at all."

That's how I feel about people today.

How amazing that one path crosses another. What are the odds? The people who come into my life and the unique interactions I get to experience with them are amazingly precious to me. I'm lucky to know them at all.

I don't avoid friendships today simply because they appear to be "doomed from the start." I am aware that, from time to time, I tend to connect with someone in a way that I realize must end someday. But I'm in it for the experience, the moments, and the memories. I'm a gamer—I'll see it through. I know the risks, and I'll take the plunge. I'll enjoy it while it lasts, and then I'll mourn it when it ends. Count me in, and enjoy me while you can, as I will you.

Anyway... bottom line... I've discovered it's all about connecting with others. I’m lucky to know them at all.

Karen

How to be me

2009-07-02T14:58:00.000-07:00

50 Ways, in no particular order...

Frequently envision yourself diving into a cool, clear pool of fresh water on a hot summer day.
Be anything but casual about music.
Appreciate the fact that you don’t look your age.
Thoroughly delight in the discovery of a well-turned phrase.
Hope to run into someone who knew you when you drank, just to see the look on their face in reaction to how dramatically you’ve changed.
Crave fresh air, blue skies, and green trees.
Recognize that being overweight is not healthy, but that self-loathing and guilt are even worse.
Keep 99% of your passion to yourself—let just a tiny bit of it leak out.
Understand the significance of being helpful to others.
Love Niccole.
Enjoy the aroma of an expensive cigar.
Know that, even though your feelings have just been smashed all to hell, that doesn’t mean anyone needs to know about it.
Think about sex often.
Almost always be completely oblivious to the mole on the tip of your nose.
Fantasize often about soft, gentle kisses.
Know both Microsoft Word and Adobe FrameMaker like the back of your hand.
Require a close connection with God in order to survive.
Fancy yourself an avid reader, even though you rarely set aside time to read.
Hope that certain people love being with you as much as you love being with them.
Miss your mother deeply.
Prefer that your eyes weren’t set so closely together.
Hate Christmas, but always try to make each one tolerable.
Conclude that most men are idiots.
Regret selling your piano, and avoid expectations about ever owning another one.
Know for certain that you used to be a very sexy, attractive woman, and on a good day, you still can be.
Count it a great day if you found the opportunity to laugh your ass off.
Know how wonderful it is to be a grandmother.
Concede that you are not a “hat person.”
Celebrate sobriety every day.
Type over 100 wpm.
Doodle when you’re on the phone.
Be vaguely aware of your inane giggling.
Whisper a quick “Thank you!” to God every time you see a field filled with wildflowers.
Hate wearing shoes, and go barefoot as often as possible.
Love dogs, birds, horses, cats… well, heck, just go ahead and love all animals.
Hunger for frequent solitude.
Often be completely taken by surprise when someone compliments you on what an excellent job you did.
Wonder why certain people like you, and why certain people don’t.
Be a Woody Allen fan.
Say the “f” word way too much.
Believe in lust at first sight.
Insist on sitting in an aisle seat.
Accept the fact that you will never marry again.
Believe that many physical ailments are psychosomatically induced.
Despise politics, and politicians even more.
Be completely self-supporting and financially independent.
Continually strive to be more honest.
Be attracted to sparkling things, like diamonds.
Love fresh fruit.
Now and then, imagine what might be said at your own eulogy; then, start being nicer to people.

Karen

Life is a house

2009-07-02T14:41:00.000-07:00

I’ve held the notion for some time that it's possible to see into the mind of another person by taking a look at the house in which they live. In other words, our homes reveal our state of mind and our current life experience, to a degree. Our homes reflect who we are in more ways than we may realize.

This theory has proven to be fairly accurate. Stuffy, rigid people often abide in stuffy, rigid dwellings among stuffy, rigid furniture and knick-knacks. Liberals often live in homes bearing odd color schemes and filled with too much furniture and plenty of half-burned candles.

Dreamin'

I have been a student of dream interpretation for many years. The topic fascinates me, probably because I dream so vividly, and I'm so curious about what it all means.

A dominant symbol in many of my dreams is a house or some other kind of structure. Dream specialists say that buildings (especially houses) in our dreams represent our lives—our current conditions of existence—our ongoing experiences. In other words, the houses in our dreams reveal how we are doing mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually.

So, for instance, if I dream that I'm roaming through a house that has many rooms, but all the doors are locked shut and the house is dark and gloomy, those symbols probably represent a current state of affairs that lacks joy, light, opportunity, or even escape.

On the other hand, an exquisite house in a dream—one featuring high ceilings, lovely furnishings, colorful rooms, and huge windows offering panoramic views—symbolizes extreme happiness, opportunity, and emotional luxury. Add a tropical swimming pool, Jacuzzi, or some other water feature to the picture, and this dream represents a tremendously satisfying and pleasurable existence.

Perception

Keep in mind that dreams are created based on how our minds perceive our current state of affairs. The movies played for us during sleep reveal what our minds believe or fear regarding our lives and our circumstances—true or false. It's all about perception.

If You Could Read My Mind, Love...

The last house I owned where I lived by myself was for the most part cozy, fairly tidy, full of animals, always a little dusty, and perpetually under construction. There were plenty of windows so that I could see outside. Others could see in, too, and that was okay with me. There wasn't a drop of alcohol or a mind-altering drug in the house anywhere. You wouldn't have found a piano in the house, yet you would have gotten the odd sense that there should have been one there.

The house had a degree of curb appeal, what with the mint-green paint, the pretty white fence, and the colorful flowers. But if you looked closely, you would have noticed weeds and signs of dry-rot. The back yard was really a mess. You would have begun to realize that there was still plenty of work to do around the place.

That picture described my life -- then -- to a tee.

Garbage

Then there was my sister’s home. She doesn't live there anymore because it was torn down and demolished. If you saw inside that place, you would have seen inside her mind. Very unhealthy. Extremely fearful. Mentally ill. She was living in a pile of spiritual, emotional, mental, and physical garbage.

I Am My House, And My House Is Me

I’m not exactly sure which is the reflection of the other… the mind of the house, or the house of the mind. Perhaps it’s like a series of mirrors, all reflecting off each other. Like the House of Mirrors at the circus, the illusions go on and on forever.

Perhaps the only genuine fact may be the person standing squarely in the middle, paying the mortgage.

Karen

Houses of Dreams
by Sara Teasdale

You took my empty dreams
And filled them every one
With tenderness and nobleness,
April and the sun.

The old empty dreams
Where my thoughts would throng
Are far too full of happiness
To even hold a song.

Oh, the empty dreams were dim
And the empty dreams were wide,
They were sweet and shadowy houses
Where my thoughts could hide.

But you took my dreams away
And you made them all come true --
My thoughts have no place now to play,
And nothing now to do.

My mother's name was Rose...

2009-07-02T14:38:00.000-07:00

Your mother is always with you...


She's the whisper of the leaves as you walk down the street.


She's the smell of bleach in your freshly laundered socks.


She's the cool hand on your brow when you're not well.


Your mother lives inside your laughter.
She's crystallized in every tear drop...


She's the place you came from - your first home.
She's the map you follow with every step that you take.


She's your first love and your first heart break...
and nothing on earth can separate you.


Not time, not space, Not even death will ever separate you from your mother.


You carry her inside of you.

Author Unknown

Forty Questions

2009-07-02T14:26:00.000-07:00

Have you ever received one of these questionnaires in your email? Just a bunch of off-the-wall personal questions. You fill in your answers and then pass the questionnaire on to all your friends.

I usually throw them away without answering, but this time (since one of my favorite friends sent it to me) I'll go ahead and play. I don't have anything else to write in my blog tonight, anyway. So, here goes...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1. You have 10 bucks and need to buy snacks at a gas station, what do you get?

Lifesavers, Gum, Snapple Raspberry Ice Tea, and one of those little Hostess Cherry Pies. Then I’d put the change in the gas tank.

2. If you had to be reincarnated as some sort of sea dwelling creature, what would you be?

I suppose everyone says a dolphin. I’ll go with dolphin, too. Unless I can be a mermaid.

3. Who's your favorite redhead?

My mother.

4. What do you order when you're at an IHOP?

Cheese omelet, pancakes with butter (no syrup), and coffee.

5. Last CD you bought?

I bought Sheryl Crowe and Simon and Garfunkel not too long ago.

6. Have you made out with anyone on your Yahoo Messenger friends list?

Yes

7. Describe your favorite pair of underwear.

Oh, geeez. I guess the black lace panties and matching bra. Or maybe the purple silk panties with the little pink flowers? No, no... definitely the black lace.

8. Describe the last time you were injured.

A foxtail embedded itself between my toes and festered for 3 weeks until I discovered it and yanked it out.

9. Of all your friends, with whom would you want to be stuck in a well with?

My best friend, Timmy! That way, we at least have a chance that Lassie would find us.

10.What happened at 10:00 a.m. today?

Hmmmm… let’s see… I replied to an email from my friend Sam.

11. Are there any weird things that turn you on?

Uhhh… yeah! Absolutely! (Good thing you didn’t ask what they are!)

12. What is the wallpaper on your cell phone?

A really good picture of my 2-month old grandson, Izic.

13. Soda?

Diet Pepsi Twist, but I’d rather have fruit juice or raspberry ice tea.

14. Flavor of pudding?

Chocolate. I like to dip Doritos in chocolate pudding.

15. What type of shirt are you wearing?

Right now? A baby blue blouse.

16. Prescription medication?

Since I don’t have a thyroid anymore, I take synthroid. And, I take a couple of other prescriptions that the whole world doesn’t need to know about.

17. If you could use only one form of transportation for the rest of your life what would it be?

Walking.

18. How many people are on your Yahoo Messenger friends list?

I stopped using Yahoo Messenger ages ago, so I have no idea. The only chat thingie I use now is the one in Facebook.

19. How many people on your friends list have you met in person?

Let’s see… 1… 2… 3… 4… 5… 6… 7… 8… Yeah, eight, I guess.

20. What are you listening to right now?

I'm listening to Bill Reedy typing in the cubicle next to me.

21. Most recent movie you've watched in a theatre?

UP in 3D. Awesome Pixar animation.

22. If you could invent one thing, what would it be?

A way to instantly transport myself from one place to another. Like on Star Trek.

23. Name a teacher you had the hots for:

Wow… let’s see… I fantasized about my Communication teacher, Donna K., does that count? (Don’t tell anyone!)

24. What's your favorite city?

Since nothing comes to mind, I guess I haven’t been there yet. I love Carmel, but that’s not really a city.

It’s easy to name the city I hate the most – Reno.

25. Favorite kind of cake?

Cake? Hmmmm…. I don’t know, I’m not a big cake fan. Wedding cake, I guess. (Someone ELSE’S wedding!) I prefer apple pie.

26. What's the first word that comes to mind right now?

Pajamas. (Don’t ask me why.)

27. When was the last time you saw your mom in person?

The night we spent together in a motel room. I kidnapped her away from my sister, Linda. My mom and I stayed up all night long, and talked and laughed and cried and told each other secrets. A couple of months later, she passed away.

28. Do you have a blog?

Yes. Actually, I have had several blogs. A couple of times, I have deleted entire blogs with a single mouse click. Pretty dramatic of me, don’t you think? It seemed necessary at the time. I do things like that sometimes – I “impulsively delete.” I’ll have to write about my impulsive deleting habits on my blog some time.

Anyway, I recently started a new blog in Google. I’m probably going to post my answers to this L-O-N-G questionnaire there.

29. What did you have for dinner tonight?

It's only 2:30 p.m. I will, however, have turkey meatloaf later on.

30. How long have you been residing in the current city you live in?

Roseville? About 3 years. But I’ve lived in the Greater Sacramento Area since November 1987. That’s 22 years. In those 22 years, I’ve moved ELEVEN times.

31. What's the last thing you said out loud?

I counted out loud all the times I moved.

32. Look to your left, what do you see?

My office phone, a couple of photos of my daughter, and a photo of my grandson.

33. Who is the last person who spent $100 on you?

Me.

34. Who's your favorite tennis player?

I don't have any favorite tennis players anymore.

35. When was your last kiss?

Brian kissed me this morning.

36. What's the last piece of clothing you bought?

I bought a new Giants t-shirt when Tim and I went to the game on June 13.

37. Go into your text message log on your phone...what is your last incoming message?

It’s from my daughter, Niccole. I had just texted her, telling her how good Izic looks in the color green. She wrote back and said, "I should have taken a picture of him in brown yesterday... made his skin look golden!"

38. Do you have a Wish List on Amazon?

Yes but nobody buys anything off it for me. I don’t think anyone else knows I have it.

39. Most important attribute about a best friend?

A best friend has to love me no matter what.

40. Favorite color of hair for a man?

Salt & pepper.

The End.

Karen

Little Lambs

2009-07-02T14:21:00.000-07:00

Awhile back, my friend Brian and I were traveling along a rural road in Loomis, California. We curved around a bend and came upon a charming surprise—a small herd of little lambs playing a rousing game of “Kentucky Derby.” They were all bunched up together racing around the perimeter of their green, grassy field. They ran as fast as their little legs could carry them! And then, when they got to the end of the fence, they did an about-face in unison and raced back the other way. All the while, their mommies were quietly grazing in the infield of their track.

Brian whipped the truck around so we could get a closer look. I rolled down my passenger-side window and giggled as we listened to them "Baaaaaa!" and watched them run for cover.

They were adorable! There must have been about 10 or so of 'em. I had never seen so many lambs bunched up together in one field before. They were tiny, too. Only a couple of months old, I’m guessing. Very, very cute.

So why am I writing about little lambs?

Well, they’re worth writing about. They emanated joy. And joy is one of my favorite things.

But the other reason I’m writing about this experience is because Brian stopped and turned the truck around. That was such a very cool thing for him to do.

Maybe he did it for himself. But I like to think he did it for me.

Karen

Tormented

2009-07-02T14:18:00.001-07:00

“Tormented Girl” by Pablo Picasso depicts… well… a hilariously grotesque tormented girl.

I’ve never really been much of a Picasso fan. I guess I just don’t get it. I’d love to spend time with a true Picasso connoisseur who could answer my questions about this painting. Like, does she have four eyes? And what’s that on top of her head? And what’s up with her breasts? What’s wrong with her teeth? Questions like that.

Is the girl in the painting ME?

Today, as I sit here and type, I am not tormented in the least. I’m pleased with just about everything – my hair color, the bowl of pasta I’m eating right now, my relationships… I’m even somewhat comfortable with my own body at this very moment. (I may edit that sentence after I finish this bowl of pasta.)

As of this writing, I've been sober for over 14 years. That counts for much.

If someone were to walk up to me right now, engage me in conversation, and then evaluate my mental health, the last thing they would say would be, “Wow. Karen sure is tormented.”

Okay, so maybe not today. But am I EVER the girl in the painting?

I admit it. I go through times of torment. In fact, the truth is, I’m usually smoldering. Coals perpetually glowing deep down inside. The kind that flash when least expected, setting off raging, destructive forest fires.

Why the torment, huh?

The torment I feel is—and always has been—the result of broken connections.

There are people I encounter along the journey with whom I deeply long to be connected in a way that actually means something. In a precious way. In a way that’s worth thinking about and writing about.

At those times, with those people, I long for connections that make me laugh and cry at the same time. Ones that won’t snap at the first sign of trouble, but will weather the fiercest of storms. Ones so honest that a particularly poignant encounter might result in both pain and pleasure.

I crave people who won’t shrink at my bold disclosures of self—who can tolerate all I have to dish out without running for the hills in fear. And more than that, I crave people who will disclose who they are to me. All of it. Or as much as they can possibly muster. Nothing fills me up more than that.

Above all, I want to laugh with someone. I want to laugh so hard that I cry and pee my pants. I want to pass out from laughter-exhaustion. I want my side-muscles to ache the following day.

These kinds of incredible connections are extremely rare in my life. And when, for one reason or another, they become broken, I suffer deeply.

Tormented? Yeah, I guess.

There’s this “push/pull” thing going on about intimacy with me. I crave it/I fear it. I can’t live without it/I have no idea how to have it. I want the real thing more than anything/I am absolutely certain I will never really have it. More torment.

Will I be the girl in the painting tomorrow?

Maybe. That's okay, I guess... as long as my breasts never look like that. I wish I could say I will forever be mentally strong, healthy, and enlightened. But there's a mighty good chance that, eventually, my longing for such impossible connections with certain special people will torment me bitterly.

Karen

About self-discipline

2009-07-02T14:15:00.000-07:00

I admit it – I never learned how to rein myself in. Discipline has always been other-imposed, never self-imposed. Somewhere along the line, I missed the class about how to practice restraint.

I typically learn the hard way. I usually don’t learn from the mistakes of others, nor even from my own. I don’t heed well-meaning advice nearly often enough.

I dangle my toes over the edges of precarious cliffs at every turn. I take unnecessary, stupid chances. I push my luck.

(If you’re hoping for a few juicy examples… be patient and keep reading.)

This has been going on all my life. I’m 53 fricken years old now, and I’m still doing it. Not as often… but does that matter? How many tumbles off a steep cliff does it take to destroy a person?

And what makes the problem worse is…

I’m curious as hell about all sorts of things. I forever want to know what’s right around the next corner. I’m restless and discontent. I’m easily bored. I'm obsessive, too, so when I get fixated on something, all hell breaks loose. I become completely blinded to consequences.

My friend, Tom, has a lovely wife named Debby. Debby told me once that Tom is forever seeking that “edgy experience.” I think she meant he needs to feel the rush. He can’t be satisfied with mere hum-drum comforts of life.

Well, I’m pretty sure I’m the same way. I thrive on the edge of discovery. (On the edge of disaster might be better way to put it.)

Please – Don’t Shoot!

I’m not saying I seek drama, because I don’t. Nor am I looking for trouble. I hate the consequences of my stupid actions. I don’t want to get caught. I’m not one of those who takes risk for attention or notoriety.

I simply take everything to the limit. I crave challenge. The only reason I “test fate” is because fate stands in the way of my most current obsession.

I want experience for the sake of the experience. I want to feel something that I’ve never felt before.

Oh yeah? PROVE IT.

OK, so you want examples of my unbridled behavior? Hmmm... well, at the advice of my friend, Brian, I better be careful about what I share with the whole world on the internet. So... sorry, but you'll have to rely on your imagination.

Karen! Who are you??

This admission comes as a shock to many who know me. They see me as this level-headed, conservative, responsible, talented, friendly, spiritually-minded chubby old lady who loves piano and dogs, prays a lot, roots for the San Francisco Giants, and helps drunks recover from alcoholism.

But, “I’m not that kind of angel” (with apologies to John Travolta). The truth is, I have to constantly work to be those things. If I stop being those things, then I’m afraid I’ll simply destroy myself.

Conclusion

Maybe, someday when I grow up, I’ll know how to practice self-discipline. Until then, I desperately need God in my life.

Karen

Why I write

2009-07-02T14:12:00.000-07:00

I’ve been writing since I was very young. I wrote a book when I was about 10 years old. I’ve written plenty of music, too, plus I’ve kept journals and diaries over the years. My severe insomnia facilitates my writing habit beautifully.

There’s a difference between writing something and saying it.

Many of the things I write I may never say out loud. The opportunity might not ever present itself. Or, I can suffer from a certain amount of embarrassment when speaking candidly, so writing is more comfortable. I can often write things that would otherwise stick in my throat.

Writing is safe.

Writing gives me privacy and a chance to be myself without judgment from others. I can express myself freely (should I choose to do so) without interruption and without second-guessing the meaning of a lifted eyebrow, a yawn, or some other gesture from a listener. Those gestures, along with certain shortsighted comments, can really stop me cold—or at the very least change the entire course of my conversation. An experience like that is emotionally jarring, leaving me feeling as if I should start holding back, defending myself, or withdrawing entirely.

When I write, I can be tender, funny, erotic, angry, opinionated, or any number of other expressives which could be difficult in the face-to-face arena. I can take chances in writing. I can safely uncork what might otherwise stay corked under the pressure of fear or inhibition.

Writing can be therapeutic.

It’s like the biblical scapegoat that carries away the sins of the people into the wilderness. Or like one of those Peruvian “worry dolls” – apparently, you’re supposed to give a worry to one of those dolls, then you put the doll under your pillow. The doll takes care of the worry for you. Neat idea, huh?

When I look at something I’ve written–especially if it’s brutally honest–I can walk away feeling as if I no longer need to be consumed by it or let it drain me of time or energy. Whatever “it” was from then on can belong to the worry dolls and the scapegoats of the universe.

Writing helps me tell the truth.

I can’t be phony when I write, because it’s so ridiculously counter-productive. Besides, it’s too painful to see a lie when I put one on paper.

Writing can create a bond of trust, if I allow it to.

Sometimes, writing makes it easier for the other person to “listen.” They can do so at their own pace, and they can re-play whatever they need for clarity or simply for pure enjoyment if they wish. They can chew on my concepts, ideas, and words and decide on meanings for themselves. That in itself helps me learn how to trust.

Sometimes, I go in empty-handed.

I didn't say, "empty-headed." I said, "empty-HANDed."

When I sit down with an open heart, I often wind up sharing what I didn’t even know I had to say. I don’t need to know the end from the beginning—in fact, there are many times when I don’t even know the beginning from the beginning. I just start writing.

The important thing.

The really important thing for me about writing is the self-disclosure. If anyone is interested, they’ll read it. If they aren’t, they won’t. But at least I’ve done my part. I’ve actually let down the walls and opened up. Consequences be damned! Good for me!

If anyone is actually reading this blog entry—whoever you are—you now know more about me than you did before you started reading. Good for you!

Karen

Little airplanes, postage stamps, and such...

2009-07-02T14:09:00.001-07:00

A leisurely pursuit. A diversion from reality. A way to pass time by getting involved in an activity purely for its entertainment value. An eclectic obsession. A quirky fixation on something that speaks volumes to my heart.

I've always wanted to be the kind of person who has a hobby.

Yeah... but will it make me rich?

I have interests and activities, yes, but no hobbies, really. The types of things I do in my spare time—like sewing and writing—are more practical than entertaining. Even if I were to take up something like quilting, I’d probably turn it into a money-making venture.

It’s the same with reading. I don't usually read just for the fun of it, but rather in order to learn and grow. I rarely read fiction.

They do TV shows about people like this.

I respect people who have hobbies. They somehow seem more relaxed, or more passionate, or maybe just more fun than the rest of us. I get the feeling they don’t always need to be doing something productive. For instance, they can gather together little treasures just for the sheer joy of it. I find that charming.

Oh, THAT? Well, let's see... that's the "Old Crow" P-51B Mustang with the British Malcolm Hood. It's a replica of the one flown by Capt. C. E. "Bud" Anderson.

I have a friend who has an impressive collection of little airplanes. These are apparently true-to-life replicas, and they’re displayed throughout his home. My friend knows the name of each one, in rapid succession! When I asked him how he learned so much about them, he seemed almost puzzled by the question. I concluded that he simply soaks up his knowledge through osmosis.

I actually did have a hobby once.

As a young child and throughout my 20’s, I collected stamps. My collection won a blue ribbon in the Mariposa County Fair, the same venue that awarded me prizes for sewing and, of all things, barrel racing. Anyway, I passed on my stamp collection to my daughter, and I have no idea what became of it. I’ll have to ask her about that when I see her next month.

Some collectables really take up space.

I collect coffee mugs, but it’s an obsession more than a hobby. Years ago, I traveled regularly on business, and I bought mugs with city names on them at airports. At some point, I had amassed over 500 mugs. A particularly spiteful ex inadvertantly did me a favor in 1988 when he stole most of them. The bulk of the remainder of my collection is in storage today. Friends who travel often bring me mugs from airports along their journeys. Those are the most precious ones in my collection—I keep them handy and use them often.

Just so long as it's not CATS!

I think it would be fun to be known as someone with an unusual, over-the-top hobby. That way, people could refer to me as, “You know… that really nice gal who has that huge, mind-boggling collection of ... .”

What am I THINKING??

Time is precious, though. Days fly by, and often nothing gets done that should be done. Perhaps a hobby would interfere, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll wait to develop one after I retire.

Karen

Love doesn't really stink, does it?

2009-07-02T14:03:00.000-07:00

Not too long ago, I tuned my home stereo to the local soft-rock station and went into a house-cleaning frenzy. Singing along with all the out-dated love songs, I buzzed around vacuuming, scrubbing, sweeping, and dusting. My then-dog, Lucy, followed me closely from room to room, ferociously attacking the vacuum cleaner and innocently interfering with my overall progress.

At one point, while taking a break on the sofa, I decided to sing one of those sappy radio love songs to Lucy. She stood spellbound as I cradled her big yellow head in my hands and sang right to her. She listened intently, staring deeply into my eyes, panting eagerly, and wagging her tail to the beat of the music...

I never had much going
But at least I had you
How can you walk out knowing
I ain't got nothing left if you do baby
You're my soul and my heart's inspiration
You're all I got to get me by
You're my soul and my heart's inspiration
Without you baby what good am I
What good am I

I stood up to resume my housework, breaking the spell between Lucy and me, but the lyrics lingered in my mind. The Righteous Brothers were proclaiming total failure should love be lost. “Ain’t got nothing left… you’re all I got to get me by… without you baby, what good am I?” Incredibly intense lyrics!

I recall when love was that intense for me.

When I was in my teens and even my 20’s, love was powerfully distracting and all-consuming. So forceful and profound, I certainly imagined I would surely die should love be lost. My soul and my heart’s inspiration, indeed. Excessive, impassioned, raging emotion. The kind that led to promises of devotion to one person for the rest of my life, without reservation. *sigh*

I defined “true love” by that intense emotion. Anything less was dismissed as counterfeit. If I was consumed with unbridled, passionate feelings that forced me to write Righteous Brothers-style lyrics… yes, that’s when I knew I was in love for real.

I've learned a thing or two about love along the way.

For instance, I've learned that intense, raging emotion is never permanent. I've learned, too, that relationships end, and when they do, I don’t die. The planet keeps spinning. The sun, moon, and stars appear and disappear right on schedule. Go figure.

But, hey… what happened to “Ain’t got nothing left… you’re all I got to get me by… without you baby, what good am I?” Was all that a lie? Or maybe I failed. Maybe I’m not the kind of person who can sustain a love like that. Maybe there’s something wrong with me.

It’s funny—what music, media, and culture can do to a person. I grew up believing that The Cleavers modeled a successful marriage; that Mary (Tyler-Moore) Richards demonstrated genuine career success; that a "perfect" body had to look like Jeannie's; and that The Righteous Brothers were the authority on love.

Today, I know that love isn’t static.

As days go by, love ebbs and flows, always morphing, always taking on new shapes and colors. At times, love can still feel overwhelming, just like it did when I was 16. At other times, love hangs loosely off my shoulders like a comfy old sweater—it keeps me warm, though I’m hardly aware that it’s there.

Love isn’t what I thought it was. And maybe I still don’t have a handle on it, but at least I recognize that. Today, I know that love isn’t always dressed up in red hearts and warm fuzzies. In fact, it rarely is.

When I was drinking...

I carried around a heavy hunk of cement in the empty cavity of my chest, where a heart should have been. Today, after 16 years of sobriety, that hunk of cement has been replaced by a fully functioning, beating heart that’s able to offer and receive love. And not just that sappy, Righteous-Brothers kind of exaggerated emotional love. Instead, real love, for real people, under real-life circumstances. Day-in-day-out love that ebbs, flows, morphs, and recreates itself time and time again.

Tonight, my heart is filled with real love for you.

Karen

Abundant Bullshit

2009-07-02T13:58:00.000-07:00

I had a couple of friends who were working on some landscaping improvements at their respective homes. They both decided awhile back that their not-so-fertile soil needed a little boost. To that end, they traveled to the outskirts of town to visit a local farmer-friend, and being the kind o’ gal who’s always up for an adventure, I decided to tag along.

The farmer-friend had a large corralled area behind his house. There, a pretty cow and her calf were spending their lazy days of summer. And sure enough, my friends found exactly what they were looking for, in abundance. The corral was indeed a veritable treasure-trove of—you guessed it—bullshit.

(Alright, alright, I know... technically, it's cowshit. But that just doesn't have the same ring to it though, does it? And besides, the term "cowshit" isn't exactly in keeping with the purpose and objectives of this particular blog entry. Heck, I'm a writer, not a ranch hand, for crimineeee sakes. So, let's just let that one go, shall we? Thanks.)

Now, if you know me at all, you know I can be somewhat of an odd-ball at times. The fact that I admit I thoroughly enjoyed myself out there on that bullshit-harvesting excursion is no doubt bona fide proof. So, okay, I know I’m weird.

But as we shoveled and sweated and loaded up the trucks with mounds of well-seasoned bullshit, I silently reflected on the meaning of it all… the profound philosophical perspective hidden at the core of the activity in which I was happily engaged. Ultimately, I arrived at the following conclusion:

In life, bullshit happens. Sometimes, in abundance.

And when it does, surprisingly, it can be either horribly unpleasant or curiously palatable. What makes the difference? Well… I think, in a big way, it depends on my own attitude. A solid sense of humor doesn’t seem to hurt, either.

Here are some of the sub-conclusions I drew as I shoveled:

It seems that, as a general rule, what goes in must come out. It’s just nature. No use arguing with it. Might as well accept it.

In life—as in a corral of bullshit—sometimes I have to dig a little deeper in order to get to the really good stuff.

I should try not to be fooled by the “seemingly bad.” Something might appear to be just downright shitty. But I should give it a little time. I should try to look at it from a new angle. I might discover that what seemed bad can actually serve a valuable purpose in life.

It’s best not to go shooting off my mouth and taking credit for the origin of anything. There’s a darn good possibility that someone or something else came along before me and played an important role.

There’s nothing wrong with being a very dirty girl once in awhile.

Proper aging fosters value and nurtures perfection.

Some—not all, but some bullshit on this planet is free for the taking.

And last but not least…

If it looks like bullshit, and it smells like bullshit, and most of my closest, most trusted friends agree that it’s bullshit, then I probably shouldn’t second-guess it. It’s probably bullshit.

Karen

Extraordinary

2009-07-02T13:54:00.000-07:00

The world is overflowing with the ordinary—ordinary actions and reactions, standard responses, typical expressions, and unimaginative imaginations.

People live in safety zones, never going out on limbs their whole lives. No one takes a stab at bravery or attempts the seemingly impossible. Few ever truly speak from the heart. It’s rare to spot anyone taking a chance.

Friends treat each other's feelings irresponsibly and carelessly. Lovers toss one another aside. Words are nothing but superficial syllables: “love” means little more than selfish desire, and “hate” is as common as peanut butter and jelly. Senses are dulled. Attitudes are callous and distrustful. Insensitivity and cynicism are the norm. Bridges over troubled waters have long ago been swept away.

It’s excruciating to me…

… the thought of living an ordinary life. I don’t like to do things without imagination or conviction. I am repulsed by hypocrisy, and I have little respect for those who won't extend themselves beyond comfort, especially on behalf of another human being. Above all, I have no use for empty words and trite platitudes.

I’m fascinated with the quote attributed (I recently discovered) to Socrates: “An unexamined life is not worth living.” Pretty bold, no? I don't know if I totally agree with his panoptic conclusion, but I hear where he's coming from. After all, what's the point of dabbling in the ordinary? I believe that “gusto” and “conviction” and “principle” and “courage” should be primary ingredients for an extraordinarily-lived life.

Friendship, Devotion, and Love

My thoughts this evening revolve specifically around those qualities. Offered in the ordinary sense, they are mealy at best these days. One bump in the road, one unpalatable moment, one unexpected upset and POOF! Commitment is abandoned. And tsk, tsk tsk… another one bites the dust.

I want to be extraordinary!

Should I offer my affection and devotion to you, I hope to do so without reservation. When I call you my friend, I plan on meaning it—even in the face of turmoil, miscommunication, and distress. I enjoy celebrating your idiosyncrasies! I appreciate your quirkiness! And no matter what the cat drags in, I hope my friendship will never become ordinary to you. It will weather the storm, and it will prove to be as above-the-norm as I intend for it to be.

Your extraordinary friend,
Karen

Is it love? Or just a crush?

2009-07-02T13:49:00.000-07:00

It’s happened to me as long as I can remember. I hear a piece of music that (as my friend Brian says) “puts me in orbit.”

Awhile back, Brian shared a favorite mp3 with me. It attacked my heart with a vengeance. It owned me for days. The melody barged its way into my soul and refused to leave.

It’s like being in love, in a way. When I fall in love with a song, I can’t function. I can’t focus on my work. I find myself wanting to take long, hot bubble baths with my mp3 player -- candlelight, incense, the whole bit.

At the very least, I hit “repeat” on my audio device and memorize every note.

Falling in love is a strange event, because love is so blind.

Maybe I just think he’s an amazing man. Maybe I’m just so overwhelmed by fantasy and desire, and that aching thing that tugs at me. . .

Oh, wait – I was talking about music, right? Sorry. Got a little off track there.

What I meant to say was, love can be so deaf.

I began to question my love for this song. Is it really as good as I think? Or is this just a crush? Won't the crush eventually wane? Will I wake up to my senses one morning and realize that this song is nothing special? Will I be embarrassed by this silly outpouring of emotion?

I decided to do the practical thing and send the mp3 to my friend, Tom. He knows music. He studies music theory in college. He plays music—for fun and for money. He conducts bands. He gets the “falling in love with a song” thing. I asked Tom to give me his thoughts on this object of my passion.

I admitted that I was in love. (With the music, I mean.)

As expected, Tom wrote back with a compositional critique, but then he also shared these wonderful words of assurance:

“Don't feel bad over having a crush on music. It's just art. You grow, your tastes change. Enjoy it for however long you want. I have CDs in my collection that I bought years ago, listened to like crazy for a while, and now I can't even remember the last time I played them. It might be fun to go dig them out and listen again to see if they've held up.

XOXO

t.”

Ahhh... it's good to have permission to indulge a crush. Tom always gives me plenty of leeway to indulge anything I wish, come to think of it.

I thought about his words, though. Isn’t that the way it is with love? We enjoy it for however long we want, then we leave that love far behind. We grow and our tastes change. We love like crazy for awhile, then wake up one morning realizing we can't even remember the last time we thought of the objects of our long-lost affections. The passions of our hearts. The loves of our lives.

So... is it “fun to go dig them out” again?

That's doubtful. Chances are, they haven’t held up.

XOXO

Commitment

2009-07-02T13:43:00.000-07:00

I’ve come to a conclusion about marriage.

It’s not about romance.

It’s not about diamonds or flowers or candlelight dinners or romantic get-aways. It’s not about birthday, anniversary, or Christmas gifts.

It’s not about mushy words, whether they’re whispered in the heat of passion or scribbled on a greeting card.

It’s not about family photos or scrapbooks.

It’s not even about the sex.

It’s about commitment.

It’s about two people making the choice to stick together. Consciously deciding to be honorable and dependable—at least enough to stay. It’s about two people getting involved and staying involved.

All that other lovey-dovey stuff is icing.

My last husband summarily failed in the commitment department. Throughout the 8 years we were together, he said a lot of things to me. He made promises. He went through the motions. He pretended to be honorable and dependable.

But when all was said and done, he bailed.

I’ve been in and out of relationships my whole life.

It’s strange that I just now figured out this commitment thing. I’m pretty sure I’ll never marry again, but the principles still hold true for other forms of friendships or relationships. All the diamonds and candlelight in the world won’t matter much unless both people are committed to the relationship.

Karen

Expectations

2009-07-02T13:04:00.000-07:00

"In a world full of options, why limit yourself by having an expectation?"
Julien Hernandez said that. He's a character in some raunchy film I watched awhile back. The line startled me, so I hopped up, grabbed a notepad, and jotted down the words so I could chew on 'em later.

Life Is a Game Show
Remember the Match Game? Contestants teamed with celebrities and tried to answer fill-in-the-blank questions. Gene Rayburn would stroll around the set waving a phallic-like microphone in peoples’ faces, asking them to match the thoughts of the likes of Charles Nelson Reilly, Richard Dawson, Brett Somers, Nipsey Russell, and McLean Stevenson.

Gene Rayburn: “Blank Expectations. What do you think, Contestant #1?”

Contestant #1: “I’m going to go with Great Expectations, Gene.”

[applause applause applause]

Charles Nelson Reilly: “It’s the story of my life. Falling short of Expectations.”

Brett Somers: “Oh, no! All I could think of was Living up to Expectations!”

Richard Dawson: “My darling, you should have gone with Unmet Expectations. Then perhaps I would have met them for you.”

Nipsey Russell:
“Charles Dickens
Would not stay at Brick Inns;
He had Greater Expectations
When he went on Vacations.
Great Expectations!"

[ding ding ding]

Another fill-in-the-blank game show was Family Feud. Drunken Richard Dawson (apparently unable to secure a real job after Hogan’s Heroes) sexually harassed all the females members of the contestant families, and then asked them to figure out how audiences responded to survey questions.

Dawson: “100 people surveyed, top eight answers appear on the board: BLANK Expectations.”

[Contestants slam their fists on red stoppers to buzz in.]

Sexually-harassed Female Family Member #1: “CHRISTMAS expectations!!!”

[Dawson snickers at the stupid answer.]

Dawson: “Survey SAYS: [BIG FAT RED X] Sorry! GREAT expectations, number one answer.”

Okay, that's enough fun and games...
This topic of “Expectations” is very serious, don’tchaknow.

Expectations of Life
I don’t remember having too many expectations for my own life, probably because I’ve never really had a plan. I’ve historically been more of a go-with-the-flow kind of person. I’m willing to experience whatever is right around the next corner. And since I’m never able to accurately predict what that might be, I’ve successfully avoided forming expectations that could have remained unmet, thereby rendering me disappointed and bitter.

Expectations of People
Sometimes I think I expect far too much from other people. And because no one can ever live up to those expectations, I sometimes feel disappointed, shocked, confused, heartbroken, and betrayed.

But to simply take people as they are -- without any expectations -- would involve a degree of detachment that I think I would find impossible, and perhaps even repulsive. It would mean unhooking my feelings from other people's behavior. I’m not sure I’m willing to do that.

Expectations of Myself
It's quite the conundrum. On one hand, expectations fuel my motivation. On the other hand, sometimes dwelling on them too deeply actually hinders more than helps.

What About "Reasonable" Expectations?
Can’t I reasonably expect certain things from life and from my friends? For instance, isn’t it reasonable to expect my friends to obsess over me as much as I obsess over them?

Okay, maybe not.

So maybe there’s no such thing as a “reasonable" expectation. Because apparently, by definition, expectations are unreasonable.

Those Annoying A.A. Slogans
“Expectations are just resentments waiting to happen.”

Well… perhaps.

I’m not really getting anywhere with this topic, so…
I started with a quote, so I’ll close with one:

"Because you're not what I would have you be, I blind myself to who, in truth, you are." -- Madeleine L'Engle

*sigh*
Karen

Letting go of whatever isn't working

2009-07-02T12:53:00.000-07:00

One of my goals in sobriety has been to learn how to let go of whatever isn’t working.

Throughout my life, I admit, on occasion, I've clung to things—relationships, employment situations, activities and long-range plans—that either no longer work or never worked well from the get-go. Sometimes, I have refused to let go long past the point of rationality and sanity.

These episodes have been my unhealthy and misguided attempts at self-preservation and survival.

I think it would have been nice if I had learned at a young age that everything will be okay, that life will unfold as intended, and that God has not left me with the task of universe-management.

It would have been nice, but that’s not what happened.

I stopped trusting when I was… oh, about 10, I suppose.

I decided very early on that other humans were inadequately equipped to care for my well-being. That job, I concluded, would rest solely with me. I learned to take control and fight for what I thought was best for me.

With each passing year and each bitter disappointment, that early conclusion became solidified in my heart. I learned to trust less and less. Instead, I relied heavily on my own judgment and abilities. Whenever I failed at a relationship, a job, or any other pursuit, I simply tried harder.

I can look back now and see that the more I failed the harder I tried, and the more I tried the more I failed… ad naseum.

Through AA, I am learning to trust God…

…rather than relying solely on my fellow earthlings or myself. Little by little, I’m letting loose of those old self-preservation tactics, including my habit of clinging to what I think I need in order to survive. I'm learning to watch how God brings me through difficulties and works things out for the better.

Today, I think I can let go.

I don’t need to cling to whatever isn't working. I can let it fall through my fingers like sand. And I can stand here, today, free.

Niccole with 2 c's

2009-07-02T11:33:00.001-07:00

Her name is Niccole Michelle. I gave her that name myself. Her dad, her grandmother, and her great-grandmother all had other ideas about what her name should be, but I made the final decision and I chose the name Niccole.

Niccole with 2 c’s. Those 2 c’s were very intentional.

When Niccole was living in Australia, she wrote to me asking why I spelled her name with 2 c’s. That question is still to this day my very favorite question that anyone has ever asked me! I was really happy to share my answer with her.

After giving birth, (in those days, we couldn’t take our babies home from the hospital for three days!) I practiced writing her name over and over. I printed it, and I wrote it in cursive, and I tried out different spellings. I tried saying it out loud, and I whispered it softly during the night.

I wanted her name to be beautiful and lovely… not cutsie, and definitely not stuffy. I thought it should be gracious and feminine. She was the most beautiful baby I had ever seen, and her name had to be as sweet as she was.

I wanted it to be different, too – not like every other little girl’s on the block. I wanted it to be unique. Special. It had to be an important gift from me to her.

Today, whenever I write her name, or type it, or say it out loud, or think it in my mind, or cherish it in my heart, I remember the day I gave her those 2 c’s. I remember kissing her little cheek and calling her “Niccole” for the first time. I remember telling her how much I loved her, and how happy I was that she was finally there with me. I remember writing her name on the paperwork for the birth certificate: Niccole Michelle.

And I remember being so happy that I thought my heart would explode.

I don't pray so very well

2009-07-02T11:25:00.000-07:00

I don't pray so very well

With all the levels of divine contact newly devised

And all the assorted certainties of those who know

Far more about God than perhaps He does Himself.

I'm still in the back pew with the publican,

Struggling to believe, pushing through today's pain,

And worried about what's in store for tomorrow.

I hang on to simple things -- like a Father who never

Gives a stone when I ask Him for bread.

Some of the greatest gifts I received were when

I never asked at all,

When a loving, unseen hand took me safely along

Some precipices I'd not like to walk again.

God is still a mystery to me and my faith is probably

As weak as any man's alive.

But I never quit believing in love and joy and serenity,

And knowing that somehow I am a favored child

Whether I deserve it or not.

Our relationship keeps getting simpler:

I picture the kind of child I really want to be,

And in bits and pieces He gives me the help to be it.

(Thanks, James Kavanaugh!)