A season of memories

 In my regular Wednesday meeting, on Thanksgiving eve, I found myself misty as I thought about Thanksgiving, 1985 sitting across from my mother at the holiday table.  At that point, I'd recently signed myself out of a hospital treatment program, and my brother had ratted me out to Mom, i.e. the true extent of what I'd been doing to myself. With tears in her eyes, she looked at me and said, "I just don't understand." 

Forward to Thanksgiving, 1986 and I sat at the same table, this time with nearly 11 months sobriety, a new friend from treatment there, as well as "Boxcar Leonard," the old-timer who was such an inspiration with his "Will power will not keep you sober, but want power will" refrain. What an amazingly huge difference in such a short period of time. I am one of the fortunate ones who took to this thing, and connected with others who felt the same. 

I was in a good Alanon meeting this week on the topic of choices. In the moment, I don't always recognize that I have a choice to respond (or not) rather than react. I am beyond grateful that we don't have active alcoholism in our lives today, and there can be a fair amount of "ism's" floating around, especially in this busy time of year when something as simple as going to the grocery store takes on a frenzy with increased traffic on the roads and people in the aisles. Always, always my HALTs come in to play. I had a boss once who said that when someone was on her last nerve, she pretended she was watching a TV show - a bad comedy perhaps - to help her detach from her reaction. "How important is it?" is my current favorite slogan.

My sister-in-law passed this weekend, with my brother breathing a sigh of relief, aware that a new chapter begins. I'm feeling sad, and a bit weepy. We really were not close, and she was part of the family for 40-plus years, my brother's wife. I cry for his loss. I cry for the loss of another family member. I cry for all those who are no longer here, those who are my history, the seeming-stability of those around the holiday table, the laughter shared, good meals (she was an excellent cook). Each new loss tends to connect to all previous losses, even if just for a minute. And, I know what grief feels like. I know about the business end of death, with forms and phone calls to be made. And I know about that quiet place that now feels both empty and full. 

I'm sure my brother will be fine. He's a loner, though acknowledges he does need people - not too many and not too often, but social interaction is a good thing. I can be a good sister, even when, or especially when he doesn't want to talk about loss. I learned that with my mom - I'm a good 12 Step emotional processor. She was born in 1926 and kept many of her feelings to herself. 

The day after my sister-in-law passed, my dear friend's father died, again, not unexpected, while a seismic shift for the family. These recent losses, including my eldest cousin a few months ago, and a longtime AA member in recent weeks, cause me to feel the earth shift just a bit, moving me and my generation a wee bit closer to the edge where it will be our turn. Getting older is certainly not all doom and gloom, and there is a gravity to loss, a recognition of the inevitable that was below the surface even a few years ago.

And, this is the season of memories - some good, some not so good, but definitely a time of remembering. Listening to one of my playlists the other day, I found myself literally weeping to an old Glen Miller song that my mother loved. This is the time of year that my ancestors, old and newer, feel closest. I don't need to succumb to maudlin, but I can acknowledge what my heart is telling me. As we hear, "Don't bother looking for your feelings - they'll find you." It's when I try to ignore, out run, or talk myself out of it that I wind up in knots. So, I will say, "Hello Mom and Dad. I miss you, and Dad, the conversations we never got to have." I can hold my people close, never skipping an opportunity to say, "I love you," because the time will come, on their end or mine, that won't be possible - in this realm anyway.

I'm sounding more blue than I actually feel. I have noticed over the years that feelings ebb and flow, especially during holidays or the changing of seasons. Noticing, sticking close to program (never a bad idea), striving for gentleness with myself and others, as well as reminding newer folks of the Bermuda Triangle we're in the midst of, I know that this too shall pass with joy and laughter, and yes, a few tears.

How do the seasons hit you? How can you practice compassion, with yourself and others, this time of year and always? Where will you create quite moments in order to hear and honor your feelings?

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It's nearing the time of year you may want to undertake an inventory...  The NOW WHAT workbook is 78 pages of topics and processing questions, great for solo exploration or in a small group. Go to the WEB VERSION of this blog page for the link on ordering (PDF for those outside the U.S., or who prefer it, or hard copy mailed to you). 

Contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. A reminder that the workbook is available at Portland Area Intergroup, 825 NE 20th. for local folks. And Jackie, of TMar, has a supply as well, if you're at a conference where they have a booth

Tis the season for ups and downs

 A few months ago I wrote about Barb B, a long-term AA friend who is now in 24/7 Alzheimer's care. On my way out of Taos, I stopped to meet, in person, a woman who grew up with Barb, and who'd put me in touch with her brother. In the six-degrees of separation department, this friend is the aunt of my Taos pal's bestie, and was in town recovering from surgery. Again and always, I'm amazed at random conversations that lead to cosmic connections, and those places where a connection might've been missed had I turned right or left. My spouse and I noted the 16th anniversary of our first date this week, which might not have happened had either of us decided not to go to a home group potluck where we struck up a conversation that resulted in that first date a week or so later. One day at a time, one choice at a time.

I came home to learn that my sister-in-law was placed on hospice care, in her memory care housing. In some ways, this feels like a relief. She's been in dementia care for over two years, and in rapidly declining physical health the past few weeks. Both my brother and her daughter see this as a liberation of sorts, freeing her from the anxiety of memory loss, while acknowledging it will be a tough  transition. Dementia and Alzheimer's are called the "long goodbye." So very hard to watch the person you know slip away.

I had a jolt of another kind this week upon learning I likely need my 22 year old home re-sided. Ouch - a big expense. Should we have caught the water damage sooner? Would that have made a difference? Why don't they build things like they used to?! Fortunately, both the handyman who identified the issue(s) and the contractor he referred me to, are in program. I appreciate the common ground of the 12 Steps, the language under the usual talk of bids and schedules. As he was leaving, the contractor noted that I seemed to be handling the news calmly. What are you going to do? I've felt the fear of financial insecurity when I had both more and less money than I have now, so it's not about the cash. I trust the process that it will all work out. My past wealthy boyfriend had a good attitude that I've tried to carry with me: money is a tool, and keep it flowing rather than holding on too tightly. I know, easy for me to say with good credit and a retirement account, but/and doing my best to keep money in its true perspective is important to my peace of mind. 

And so, here is the holiday season in full swing with Thanksgiving in the U.S. tomorrow. Gone are the days when I felt obligated to go to this gathering and that, out of perceived need vs desire. It took a few years after my mother died to reshuffle holiday gatherings, but we've settled into Turkey Day and Christmas at my sister's from another mother house, with a meal or two with visiting step-daughter, the Year End Round-up at the Oregon Coast, and a quiet meal or walk with my brother. We do host a couple of parties this time of year - a good reason to clean house - but even these have taken on the sheen of tradition. A friend once noted that I'm not very spontaneous. Not at all, I'd say. I plan ahead, though usually happy if someone cancels. 

The longer I'm on the planet, the  more I enjoy quiet time at home (interspersed with visiting faraway places). I'm getting over the need to rate my retirement - am I doing "enough?" Am I spending enough time in contemplation, reading enough, spending enough time with friends? Am I sufficiently concerned with how to approach the end of life (mine or my loved ones)? 

How about simply relaxing into "enough" (and doggone it, people like me, said Stewart Smalley). How about letting myself feel sad about my sister-in-law, even if we weren't close? How about deciding what actually needs doing vs a self-imposed idea of the perfect holiday decor (ha! two kittens have adjusted that expectation!) 

And another note to self: It is not inevitable that holidays equal weight gain! Last year I completely dove into my sugar compulsion, even knowing that one is too many and a thousand not enough. Again and always, one day at a time, one decision at a time.

How do you utilize program tools when life hits? How do you remind yourself that you are enough? How will you relax into whatever holiday gatherings you partake in (or don't). 

I very much appreciate you, dear readers, in this month of gratitude and always as I putter along each week and share my musings. It's a wonderful life, this recovery, especially knowing it could've gone either way. Take care, and best wishes to you this season and always.  

listening...

 Last week I was concerned about getting out of town, while this week I'm grateful the airport mess is over for now, headed to home, sweet home.

I've spent the last week in the glorious southwestern U.S. I couldn't live there, there of weather extremes and little greenery, but what a breath of literal fresh air to visit. The wide-open spaces are not a cliche, and, I think, good for the psyche (just like returning to the mossy PNW is good for my soul).

Visiting Monument Valley,  with a day trip to the amazing Antelope Canyon and Horseshoe Bend,  the line from the Big Book, "Who are you to say there is no God?" came to mind. Whatever one's concept of a higher power is or isn't,  Mother Nature is a power way greater than myself. I'm so very grateful to have experienced these places I hadn't even heard of, and that I have compatible travel companions (truly a gift)

Last week, while walking home after taking my car to the shop, I passed the house I lived in when hitting bottom. I don't get too squirrelly around anniversary times like I used to, but as my sober-versary nears, I do get hit with random memories, especially when walking by the scene of the crime, now an actual lifetime ago.

Whenever I have the opportunity to tell my story, I recognize that any assumption about motives or what I was thinking at the time are pure speculation. I actually did keep a journal back in the day, though for a long time, even lied to myself (lies of omission) by not telling the whole truth in my scribblings (and they were scribbles, especially at the end). What a gift it is to not make choices I need to lie about, to myself or anyone else.

And what a gift of long term recovery to have learned to pay attention to my joy-meter. Several months ago, a proposed trip next summer sounded great. This week,  reality hit, with other travel and household expenses on the docket. I sat with it a bit, and let my friend know I won't be going. There is the plane ticket cancelation to deal with, but I'm at peace with it. Sometimes I say "yes" to something because it sounds interesting,  which is fine, but the bigger YESES are where I want to direct my attention. And, to pace myself. As I've discovered,  if everything is special,  nothing is.

Always, i need to leave space for quiet in order to hear the still, small voice within - usually more a deep knowing than an actual voice. I'm not great at sitting meditation,  but I do find peace in moments of solitude, on my walks or at home. 

It wasn't a still, small voice I heard on the 4 mile event in Monument Valley- more a chant of "keep moving!" on a very challenging hilly, sandy, course. The fun news is that I received a medal for being 2nd (out of 5) in the 70+ age group. Just keep showing up!

Is getting quiet a regular practice for you? How does your still, small voice show up? How is the telling of your story different than it might've been when you were at, say, 90 days or 3 years? What are you saying YES to today?

No whining on the yacht!

 This week I've tried to stay out of obsession-mode, wondering whether or not my flight to meet friends for a vacation (and a run in Monument Valley AZ) would be cancelled. In the grand scheme of things, it's a luxury problem. As with most things, it's been the waiting, the not knowing that's tough.

I'm reminded of a treatment counselor who, when we'd go on about one "what if?" or another would say, "Have you had enough to eat today? Do you know where you're going to sleep tonight?" Well, then, all is well. I loved hearing what a friend said in a meeting this week, that she'd heard in earlier sobriety: No whining on the yacht! Indeed. All of my needs and most of my wants are taken care of today so I can live from a place of gratitude and positivity vs a sense of lack. 

And really, it's the "what if's" that are like spitting into the wind. Are my fears real and tangible, like worrying about hurricanes or floods in certain areas of the country? Well then, assess the situation and take action. Are my worries primarily in my head, based on what I think might happen? Then come on back to the here and now. What is true in this actual moment?

So, assessing the situation, I 've checked out possible train or bus travel (not feasible - way too long), and now know the hotel cancellation policy. I packed my suitcase like I usual and kept an eye on the airline website. My spouse and I attended a friend's potluck, and drove a delightful fellow to his cancer appointment. I made dinners and cleaned the kitchen.  In other words, I put one foot in front of the other. Years ago I read a book, Creative Visualization, by Shakti Gawain, that like most descriptions of affirmations, says that one is to think and affirm that the positive has already happened. Instead of "I hope I get a good job" I'd affirm that "I have work I enjoy." So this week, I've been imagining myself walking my friend's dogs in Taos on Wednesday evening. 

A weekly post I receive, Sermons on the Couch, pointed out that there are a mere eight Sundays to go before we enter 2026. Eight! A few blinks and I'll be cursing the midnight fireworks on New Year's Eve as I've fallen asleep well before the clock turns. A friend once pointed out the number of months she likely has left. If I last as long at my mother, I'd have 180 months (though my intention is aiming for a healthy 100). Sounds odd when it's broken down like that, and we just never know, but time and again I'm reminded that there will be an end to this story. And time and time again, I ask myself, ala Mary Oliver, what is it I want to do with what remains of this wild and precious life?

I enjoy the writing of Alice McDermott, and am just reading Absolution, a novel about an American wife in South Vietnam just before the American War. She, along with a military wife and a couple of soldiers, are trying to do at least a bit of good in a country where there is much poverty. One of the soldiers has a permanently positive attitude, which she describes much like the Big Book talks about the joy in escaping a sinking ship, a sense of wonder and appreciation for this interesting life, despite the sorrow all around. 

On a good day, I'm right there with him, marveling at having recovered from a seemingly hopeless state of mind and body. It's been so very long now, but not so long that I've forgotten the sense of despair that colored my days. I am grateful for the newcomers in meetings who remind me of what was, but I'm telling you, I have enough vivid memories of my own should I ever be tempted to think, "Maybe it wasn't so bad." Yes, it was - bad and worse and I'm lucky to be alive.

And, after all my worries vs trust this past week, here I sit at the Portland airport, on my merry way. As someone once posted, nothing I've worried about has come true, so apparently worry works! (that's a joke....)

How do you remind yourself that many of your problems are of the luxury variety? What does "No whining on the yacht!" bring to mind? When there are actual troubles in your life, how do you us the principles of the program to assess the situation and take action?

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The NOW WHAT workbook is 78 pages of topics and processing questions, great for solo exploration or in a small group. Go to the WEB VERSION of this blog page for the link on ordering (PDF for those outside the U.S., or who prefer it, or hard copy mailed to you). 

Contact me at SoberLongTime@soberlongtime.com or shadowsandveins@gmail.com with questions. A reminder that the workbook is available at Portland Area Intergroup, 825 NE 20th. for local folks. And Jackie, of TMar, has a supply as well, if you're at a conference where they have a booth.