Vicarious Rising

Roget's Says Moderation and Temperance are Synonyms

Unpacking from this move has been a slow process. We still have one more storage pod full of lord-knows-what to be delivered to the house. At this point, it's been over two years since that particular load of junk was stowed away. Other than some much beloved books, some photo albums, old yearbooks and oft used kitchen pots and gear that we've made do without, I have no clue what is in this pod. My husband says it is fairly full. I have a good memory, and I cannot think of much of anything I am missing. I do know there are some clothes in there I was in that waffling phase of getting rid of when I packed them away. I am pretty sure they have graduated to the donation category by now.

This is a wonderful thing. I get this exhilerated feeling getting rid of old things I have no further use for and no sentimental attachment to. With this new house, I am surrounding myself with only things I love. My therapist said to me that building a dream home can be like surrounding yourself with your own parent. It is interesting to see how you choose the environment in which to enfold yourself. I know I have been mindful in designing my space - it is important how it makes me feel, not what the latest trend or what the next potential buyer or anyone else might think. This home was created for our comfort and pleasure. Luckily, our tastes run rather practical as well as beautiful. In my opinion, at any rate.

Naturally, a handful of forgotten things pop up while opening up boxes. Not too many posts ago, I mentioned selling all my "how to still drink and not die" books on Amazon.com. Welp, I found one sneaky bastard tucked in with my fairy tales this weekend. It was the tome "Responsible Drinking: A Moderation Management Approach for Problem Drinkers" by Frederick Rotgers, Marc F. Kern and Rudy Hoeltzel. Back in my boozing days, I skimmed the book once, certain that this method would work as a lifestyle for me, once I cut back to a moderate amount of drinking. One of the book's co-authors, Hoeltzel, lived in my area of NJ and held weekly Moderation Management meetings at 7:30 on Tuesday nights. I even went so far as to email him and find out when and where they met. Unfortunately, I was typically too wasted by 7:30 p.m. to drive anywhere.

So, this weekend I discovered the shiny, unused copy of this book amongst my collection of favorites and gave a derisive laugh. Then listed it for sale on Amazon.com. It sold this morning. I am shipping it off to some poor soul that I am perhaps prematurely judging to be a terribly fearful alcoholic not yet ready to give up the drink. Maybe she will google the book and find this blog. Maybe she will hit bottom some other way.

Maybe she will never end up getting help. But... I hope that the fact that she at least is researching some sort, any sort of respite from the downward spiral, maybe she is seeing that all is not right in her world.

I wish her the best, however she may find it.

Because I am So Superspecial -- All About Me

The other day I declared myself positively boring on this very blog, so maybe I can debunk my own claim by filling out this self-absorbed meme. The amazing Lea Jacobson of Geisha, Interrupted tagged me. For those of you who haven't been to her blog, you should visit her droll diary of experiences as an expat in Japan. Also, Lea's memoir, Bar Flower, will be published in a few weeks. Click here to order it from Amazon.com. I pre-ordered mine ages ago.

Lord knows why Lea'd want to know anything about my upstate New York mom-of-a- teen-boy life. But, hey, I'll take any compliment I can get because I am that deprived and pitiful. Now that I have sufficiently lowered expectations, here are the sordid details of my secret life as a horny housewife:

What I was doing 10 years ago

Living off crazy South Street in Philadelphia and attending the Wharton school for my MBA. My son was 3-years-old and I was one of only three mothers in the grad program. This was out of a total of 750 enrolled. We three were the most exhausted of any of the students, and I am not saying this for dramatic effect. All the men with kids had wives who stayed at home with the kiddos during the program. My husband and one of the other mother's husband was also in the MBA program. The other woman commuted daily from Princeton, NJ so her daughter could stay in school there and her husband could keep his NYC job. Some days we three ladies would just bleerily eye each other and mumble, "no one else understands."

I hated, hated, hated business school. My drinking became an increasing problem. Everyone kept telling me I would never regret getting an Ivy League MBA, that it was a terrific opportunity and my ticket to the big time.

I should have listened to my inner voice that wanted out. Ten years later, all I have is the student loan payments (although those are nearly done, but Ivy League tuition? Pricey. Especially when you follow it up with quitting your first job out of school within 3 months and not ever stepping foot in the corporate world again.), an impressive diploma and dubious bragging rights that I drag out every so often to remind myself that everyone else does not know better than me what is best for me, no matter how pretty the credentials look on paper in the eyes of people who don't see through mine.

I did love Philadelphia, however. I miss the food there. Not the smell of South Street on Sunday morning, though. And I missed the Easter Zombie Pub crawl this year. Bummer.

Later in the year, went for a semester abroad in Milan, Italy. Was the only thing that made going to grad school remotely worthwhile.

5 years ago

Living in the middle of New Jersey (shoot me) and selling US made handbags to vendors in Japan, Taiwan and Korea on eBay. Was a surprisingly entertaining venture, although I spent all my earnings. Had stopped drinking for a year, but not in a program. Buried up to my eyeballs in pretending normalcy. Would pick up again in about a year.

1 year ago

Probably about what I am doing now, hanging out in West Palm Beach, Florida and blogging. My son keeps asking me to play games with him and I keep refusing despite the massive guilt trips. Yep. Same scene. Not a bad scene.

Yesterday

One change in this year's agenda was that I got to see my husband's grandmother from Iowa, who is visiting. That was a treat. She's a phenomenal person. She still handwrites letters, writing things as simple as: "It's 5 a.m. and there's still frost on the ground. The brown squirrel has been searching for nuts, but has given up for the morning. It might snow tomorrow. Made a batch of snickerdoodles and thought I'd send some to you. Made a pie too, from some cherries Wendi and I bought at the Barnes store, but pie wouldn't ship well, now would it?" I adore her.

5 snacks I enjoy

1) Popcorn (not microwave popcorn)
2) Wint-o-Green Lifesavers
3) Rolds-Gold Pretzels
4) Swedish Fish
5) Cheese and fruit - all kinds, even if I can't pronounce it - either the fruit or the cheese. I'll take jams, jellies, compotes, crackers and fancy breads too

5 books I like

1) My big, old dictionary that my husband rescued from being recycled or trashed (sacrilege!)
2) The Stand, Stephen King
3) Drawing from the Right Side of the Brain by Betty Edwards
4) Any fairytale or mythology book from any country, especially by Andrew Lang, Ruth Manning Sanders, the Brothers Grimm and subsequent updates by Neil Gaiman, or any books with gorgeous illustrations, plus Roald Dahl
5) J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter books (this feels like a cop out, but I did love them. there are many, many other books I have loved. I have a rather large library)

What I'd do with 100 million dollars

1) Pay off all my debt.
2) Finish doing all the stuff to my house and yard that I want to get done.
3) Get a new car. Probably a Mini Cooper. My 1999 Toyota 4-Runner has over 100,000 miles and is great here in snow country, but the CD player died about a month ago. That won't do.
4) Set up some sort of investment to live comfortably on and possibly generate some extra money to continually....
5) Give the rest to various charities and environmental concerns, local farmers, small business loans to developing nations, etc.

.....because $100 million won't be enough, but maybe in perpetuity I can do some good. But a girl's gotta live.

5 places I'd love to run away to

1) My Dream House (of course!)
2) Emilia-Romagna, Italy
3) Provence, France
4) Fiji - why not? Actually, I'd probably rather go some place in Asia or maybe back to Turkey. But not permanently.
5) Someplace beautiful I've never seen, but I'll know it when I see it. It's there. I know it. I need to travel more.

5 bad habits and pet peeves I have

1) Pet peeve: bullies
2) Pet peeve: people who write the word "then" when they should be using "than"
3) Pet peeve and bad habit: people who interrupt/interrupting people.
3.5)Pet peeve: being poked to get my attention
4) Bad habit: staying up too late and sleeping too late
5) Bad habit: picking at scabs

5 things I like doing

1) Writing, reading, learning
2) Drawing and painting
3) Cooking and gardening
4) Torturing my son
5) Just being

5 things I would never wear

1) Lilly Pulitzer clothes
2) Fur
3) Birkenstocks or Tevas
4) A blouse with a big bow at the neck
5) A t-shirt with hateful images or sayings

5 TV shows I like

1) Buffy the Vampire Slayer
2) Burn Notice
3) House
4) Angel
5) Dexter

5 movies I like

1) Moulin Rouge
2) Gladiator
3) Heathers
4) Jaws
5) Casablanca (anything with Bogie)

5 famous people I'd like to meet

1) Freddie Mercury
2) Joss Whedon
3) Angelina Jolie
4) Queen Elizabeth I
5) Jesus (and not because I am a believer, but, man, am I ever curious)

5 People I'd like to see fill this out

1) Confessions of a Serenephobic
2) Mantramine
3) Pat of Child Lost
4) Slutty McWhore
5) Syd of I'm Just F.I.N.E.

Can I Have Pasta Instead of Bacon?

"I had rather be shut up in a very modest cottage, with my books, my family, and a few old friends, dining on simple bacon, and letting the world roll on as it liked, than to occupy the most splendid post, which any human power can give."

~Thomas Jefferson, letter of February 1788

We are finally going to spend our first night in the new house. We now have cable and internet and have deemed the place habitable. I'm sure that is what Jefferson had in mind when he spoke of the simple life at home. After all, he certainly would not have done without his pen and paper and books were quite pricey back in the day. His idea of roughing it was probably on par with mine.

Pork Bellies and Futures

I believe I could happily spend the next several months just reading other people's short stories and listening to critiques.

Mmmm. Maybe not. But I am finding it fascinating. It is not anywhere near as brutal as I'd feared; the participants seem much more interested in helping each other than in proving how much smarter they are than anyone else. Of course there are exceptions. I am in an intermediate class, and I would say the writing and reading level is quite high. We also have a larger discussion group with the Master and advanced levels in which a published author leads a discussion. There are a couple snooty know-it-alls in that crowd. Honestly, I am not sure some of them are any better than anyone else. We were not placed in writing groups. We chose what level to participate in. In my case, I took the only open slot after someone dropped out. So, someone is in the "master" course by their own determination. (Ask me about the male/female ratios. I may do an informal study.)

I am pleased to report that I can now say I am only two degrees from Kevin Bacon, if one may count herself as associated with a person by having been a part of the discussion group with the author of the book on which a movie was based on that Mr. Bacon directed. This is my convoluted way of saying that yesterday's speaker was Victoria Redel, the author of "Loverboy", a book about a mother's obsession with her son. Kevin Bacon directed a movie starring his wife, Kyra Sedgwyck , based on this book. Redel also is the author of a book published in April this year called "The Border of Truth" which is a fictional novel based on the true story of 86 passengers of a boat in 1940 whose visas were rejected by the U.S. and were to be returned to Nazi-occupied Germany. The majority of these passengers were Jewish. The lead character is a teenaged boy who decides he needs to get Eleanor Roosevelt's attention to save his fate.

Bedel was an engaging speaker, and, naturally, I am going to have to read her books, as well as try her short stories and poems. Most of the discussion was very helpful in understanding some of what she goes through in the writing process. Some of the audience questions were great. Some were stupid. Yes, I am judging. I'll make imaginary amends.

I have always heard that to be a writer you need to read lots. I always have read a lot, but the biggest thing I am learning thus far this week is how to read like a writer, which seems to be a different thing than reading as I have been. I think I have done it accidentally, when I take note of a prettily turned phrase. And on occasion I have edited for people, but in this workshop, it feels on a whole different level. I feel a little panicked, like, how can I bring all of this into how I write. I keep forgetting the basics.

Just breathe. Always. Just breathe. 

Acceptable Alternatives to Asphyxiation

I can't decide which is the better description: willfully slothful or determinedly non-projecting. Or what sort of prettified name I'd like to slap on whatever it is I am doing to prevent a panic attack about going to see my family this weekend. I still get a lot of amusement out of word-play. Keeps my mind off of muckedy-muck feelings. Downing a bottle of Grigch Hills Chardonnay or 12 is not an option. Dandified labels for avoidance of imagining worst case scenarios get the greenlight.

Amazon.com delivered the book I ordered to prepare for my summer writing workshop today. It is The Collected Stories of Amy Hempel. I thought it would be a mighty fine idea to read the work of the author who will be my writing instructor before I take the class. This book is the compilation of her four books of short stories. The cover has a badge stating this book is one of the New York Times Book Review's 10 Best Books of the Year. Cool.

I think this will be a good way to direct my attention. Especially since short stories will not require me to sit still for any great length of time. More garbage magazines are good for this too, but I have to admit, I am getting very sick of the celebrities and their DUIs. Can't these people get drivers?

My sponsor is going to be going back to see her parents this weekend too. She's not looking forward to her visit any more than I am mine. We are making a plan to touch base with each other. This makes me feel better. I also know where and when at least one of the AA meetings I will be attending is, and will be definitely going to at least two while away. It is a great excuse to get away from the crazy people.

And I know I have lots of outlets to contact should things go awry. I really don't think they will, but the truth is, I've actually got peeps now. I'm not alone in my struggles. I have people who care about me in my life now. It's all going to be fine. It already is fine.

Breathe, Judy. You can breathe now.

Irascible but Honest

Just as I was thinking that I was starting to get a grip from last week and my mom's surgery, some gremlins decided it's time to play. Or something like that. I dunno. I have no control over other people. It's frustrating as hell. I guess it is time to practice the serenity prayer.

I really liked Rexie's post on Sunday from her blog What is Your Deepest Fear? She's been posting excerpts and discussion from the excellent book "The Four Agreements: A Toltec Wisdom Book" by Don Miguel Ruiz. If you have not picked up this slim volume, you might want to check it out. I found it a great solace in my rehab days, and it continues to be a great source of wisdom. Particularly when the chaos of dealing with others feels like it is closing in on me.

In her post, Rexie wrote about taking things personally and Ruiz's passage discussed how we allow what people say about us disturb our open wounds, but the fact is, we are hurting ourselves.

I have trouble remembering this, particularly when I feel someone is either purposely or negligently treating me poorly. It hurts just to be disregarded, nevermind when someone is outright trying to cause me harm. Keeping in mind that I am doing the harm to myself by setting up my own expectations is a real pisser if you ask me. However, dammit, I do know it's true. More or less. If you make me face reality. Argh.

So, when trouble starts to seek me out, I have to ask myself if I am maybe inviting trouble, or at least making a hospitable environment for it. Stinking accountability and maturity.

And I thought I might not be able to think of something to write tonight. Hah! I'm always a blabbermouth, if a somewhat grumbling one.

The Power of Three

"This is the way to a faith that works." [Twelve and Twelve, pg. 34]

I went to a women's meeting in Palm Beach Gardens this morning. I am, to my everlasting chagrin, beginning to appreciate women's meetings. A good deal of my general mistrust remains - my mother lurks in the faces of many of these ladies - but other women, more loving and warm, are present as well.

Today was a step meeting. The borrowed step book I was using looked like it had been through a war, browning and mottled, the hardbound blue cover peeling. And yet the pages were all intact, the spine sturdy and paper untorn. It was a curious thing. I don't know if anyone else has noticed how poorly the hardback copies of the 12 and 12 hold up under frequent use. The pages fall out much more quickly than the paperbacks. So this oddly damaged yet preserved book I was holding attracted me. I had a bad urge to steal it from the meeting. Thievery is not my schtick, so I'm not sure what overcame me. (Never fear, the book did not come home with me.)

Especially since the phrase from Step Three that struck me the most today was the one quoted at the start of this post. It made me wonder what the word "faith" means to me. One would have thought I would have given hard thought to this question prior to today, and although I have peripherally addressed it here and there, I have not blatantly looked it straight on.

The American Heritage Dictionary defines faith as: "Confident belief in the truth, value, or trustworthiness of a person, idea, or thing." This gives me something to chew on for a bit. I will tell you something that makes me believe in something greater than myself.

A young man got released from jail two weeks ago and spoke at a speakers meeting on Saturday. He had originally gotten sober through AA (and the court system) at 17. He was initally very involved with AA, but after a time, life got busy and his attendance at meetings diminished. His sobriety lasted five years. He drank and drugged for a month before he landed in solitary confinement and a six year prison term. He practiced AA while serving his term. This young man, tall, handsome, muscled, nervous, and humble, cried and asked for a sponsor and spoke about how important getting his shit together was to him.

That dude spoke from the heart like no one I've seen. This program kicks ass. I have faith in that.

It's Not a Race

If you ask me, patience is a recessive human trait, despite that we consider it a virtue and try to encourage it. It's not just alcoholics suffering a paucity of this attribute; I don't know very many patient people, period. Because I had such mixed up messages coming out of my parents concerning values, I looked towards books for answers on how to sort out life. In fact, today I still tend to pour myself into research whenever faced with any kind of problem, desperately looking for reasons, explanations, solutions. It isn't a terrible way to go about things, but I have to remind myself that I am not going to discover everything simply by sheer desire for more knowledge. Not that I won't continue to try.

A favorite fable of mine as a child was Aesop's "The Tortoise and the Hare." The hare boasted of his superior speed and claimed that not only had he never been beaten in a race, but that no one could beat him. He challenged all animals to race him, but only the tortoise took him up on it. The hare thought this was a good joke, but the tortoise simply smiled and told the hare to keep boasting and get on with the race.

The hare took off at lightening speed, but soon saw with contempt that he was so far ahead of the tortoise, that he may as well take a nap. When the hare awoke, he realized that the tortoise, though slow, had made his way to the finish line and that the hare did not have time to catch up and win the race. The tortoise then says to the hare, "Plodding wins the race."

I particularly like the usage of the word "plodding" in the ending because it is a synonym for the word "trudging", as in "trudging the road of happy destiny."

The alternative ending words are often "slow and steady," which are nice too. The writing class I signed up for started today. It's called "Creativity and Expression" and part of the focus is on the choice of words in writing. I like the connotation that plodding gives, at least when I think of it in relation to my recovery or in terms of life. The implication is that it is not necessarily easy and smooth, which the word "steady" maybe doesn't quite give.

My sister liked this story also, but she always preferred the hare over the tortoise. I grew weary trying to tell her why it was not unfair that the tortoise won and that the fact that bunnies are cuter than turtles is not really a good reason to disqualify the tortoise. There are just some things not worth arguing over after a certain point.

Plastic Surgery for My Brain

There's a book I want to buy by  Norman Doidge called "The Brain That Changes Itself," which talks about research in a growing field called neuroplasticity, or how the brain can rewire itself. Scientists have found that the brain can reorganize itself after debilitating injuries or traumatic events, effectively creating new neural pathways. They think it may be useful in helping everyone from stroke victims to addicts.

The idea of literally rejuvenating my hitherto boozed-out brain by my pure willpower alone sounds pretty damn appealing. There is a school of thought around the idea you can change your brain chemistry by actively being aware of your thoughts and changing them. In other words, if you constantly are having negative thoughts, being aware of where they come from and rerouting these thoughts to positive ones lead to new habits. The author even refers to psychoanalysis as "neuroplastic therapy", according to a write up in this month's Psychology Today magazine, where memories are disconnected and reconnected. I'm not sure I'm crazy about this idea. Sounds a little Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde mad scientist to me.

The book does talk some about addiction as it relates to brain pathology, so I am curious to find out what it has to say on the subject. I feel like the constant flow of positive AA thinking and therapy and the actions of going to meetings, etc. are a way to reroute my thoughts away from the drink. Now, how permanent that can be, I would not want to put to the test. But it is an intriguing idea, a sort of training for the brain. Or "think your way to a new you!" Sounds like a horrible tagline for a pop-psyche shrink.

From what I can tell, the book, and it's brethren books about the topic, are more about the possibilities for this vein of research rather than concrete evidence of how the brain works in this manner. Our brains still remain largely mysterious organs even for the most brilliant of scientists. Just look at films and pictures of the ugly gray mattter flashing off all sorts of electrical responses. It's a miraculous, wacky thing, the brain.

What I believe is that my deepest, ugliest thoughts, memories and beliefs about myself will find dark, squishy crevices to hide in no matter how much new roadwork I lay down. Maybe all this neuroplasticity will be another good jumping point, but I think I personally need a all-angles attack to keep my demons from getting the better of me. I wish I could believe it was just a few neurons firing the wrong way or connected incorrectly that caused all my ills. The fact is, it's a lot more complicated than that. There's a lot of treacherous terrain to navigate upstairs in my head. The more tools I have to navigate, the more people I have to help me find my way, the more likely this little girl won't go too astray into the forest of my own mind.