To Sir, With Love

My sponsor passed away this week. He was 61, and was diagnosed with inoperable brain cancer several months ago. I'm glad he did not have to suffer too long with his illness. I will miss him.

When I first started on my journey to sobriety, I went to many meetings around town. I listened and learned from others who had managed to free themselves from a life of alcohol. I was amazed that these people had lived soberly each day for years. Hell, I was amazed when I saw a guy pick up a thirty-day chip at my first meeting.

I was uncomfortable trying different meetings, but I did it anyway because it was strongly suggested by people who knew more than I did about life. That's how I found my sponsor. While most folks in town were still in bed, or padding around their homes in robes & slippers, I went to the earliest meeting in town at 6:45. I wasn't being virtuous; I was scared. My alcohol abuse knew no difference between 5a.m. and 5p.m. toward the end of my drinking days.

I liked what the man who would become my sponsor had to say. He spoke quietly, and talked about how he used to be, and what his life was like now. There was never a false note. He didn't seem to be shoveling out a pile of shit to make himself sound good. If he had something to say, he said it; and if he didn't, he listened. He appeared to be calm, serene, and genuinely happy with life. I wanted what he had.

I was thrilled when he agreed to sponsor me, and we started to work right away on the steps to recovery. He helped me get my life back on track. When a situation had me ready to pull my hair out, he would look at me with his calm, blue eyes and say "Bill, why are you letting that mess with your serenity?" or "What part have you played in the situation?" He had a gentle way of turning my pointing finger back at myself.

When he shared his experience, strength, and hope in meetings, people were eager to listen. He was a gentleman, and after he had his brief say, he would always conclude with "I'm glad you are all here this morning. Thanks for letting me share."

Tonight, after I close the office, I will pay my respects to him at a funeral home across town. Tomorrow I will attend a lakeside memorial service in the country. My sadness will ease as time passes, but my gratitude for having this remarkable man in my life will never waver.

A Confederacy of Lunatics

See that critter over there? That's a Luna moth, and it was part of my vacation experience last week. Sadie & I were sitting up late one night, and we heard something fluttering & banging against one of the sliding door screens. When Sadie investigated, she thought it was a bird at first. These are some damned big moths! They have a wingspan of four inches. I had never seen one (except in pictures).

I got all excited, and dashed out another door to see it up close. It was a beautiful bright green, and it must have liked my equally-bright yellow sweatshirt, because it flew right over & landed on me. Sensing a photo-op, no doubt. You can't be that glamorous in your class without knowing it.

I figured that if it bit me, it would just be a memorable part of my vacation experience, but then I found out that this genus of moth lacks mouths. Sadie the scientist wasted no time, and was on her laptop in a flash researching the Luna moth. At this final phase of their development, the Luna moth does not eat. They're just like fashion models! They just carom about at night looking for sex, like young single people. Since they can't eat, they have to act fast. They only live one week once they emerge from their cocoons as adult moths.

Next, I have more photos for you from my Thousand Islands adventure. They won't top the Luna moth, I'm afraid.

Even though I spent fourteen hours driving up there on Friday, I was wide awake at 4a.m. Saturday morning. By 4:30, I gave up on falling back to sleep, so I got up & got halfway dressed, made a pot of coffee, and went down to the dock. Before long, Robespierre joined me, and we walked out to the back yard (the road side of Sadie's property; the front of the house faces the river) to watch the sun rise. That's Robespierre below. We saw a deer emerge from a copse, and wander over to a hay bale for breakfast. It was a serene start to our first full day at Sadie's.


Before long, everyone was up, and we all went into town for a 9a.m. AA meeting. There were about forty people there, and it was a great way to get our day under way. If you're in AA, it's a lot of fun to go to meetings when you're out of town. It's like being in a room full of strangers who are already your friends. The personal stories may be slightly different than mine, but there is a bond in the fellowship of recovery. After the morning meeting, we dropped Sadie off at a marina so she could pick up one of her watercraft. She motored back home on the river, and the rest of us returned by land.

That evening, we took one of Sadie's boats to Grenell Island, where another meeting was held. This one was a campfire meeting at a fellow's summer home. I took the following picture on our way there, and it shows the American span of the Thousand Islands Bridge.


The meeting was held right at the edge of the river, next to the host's boathouse. A big campfire blazed at one end of the circle of people, and ashes kept flying in Sherry's hair. The wind on the boat ride had already flailed her hair mercilessly, so the ashes adhered excellently to her damp locks. There were about thirty people around the circle, and the speaker was the area delegate. A storm blew in at the mid-point, so we all grabbed our chairs and made a dash up to the wraparound porch of the host's Victorian house. After the meeting closed, homemade pie & coffee were served inside, but I stayed outside to snap some pictures.

Below is a view from the house after the storm passed, followed by a picture of Sherry on the porch.



After the campfire meeting, Sherry & I fixed dinner when we returned to Sadie's. Sherry prepared some delectable jumbo shrimp, and we had squash casserole, herbed noodles, and a blueberry-peach cobbler with ice cream.

Sunday, we went back to the town of Alexandria Bay to do some shopping. It's a pleasant little town, with a lot of gift shops targeting the tourists. They even had a leather shop, but - believe me - it was nothing like the Mr. Leatherman shop that Brenda & I found several years ago in Greenwich Village. One day I may write about that little retail establishment, or maybe I'll just say that New York City has something for everyone, and leave it at that.

We saved our sight-seeing for Monday, figuring it wouldn't be as crowded. We took Sadie's boat to the marina at Alexandria Bay, and had breakfast at Chez Paris. It wasn't as fancy as it sounds. Just a small town diner with good breakfast fare. After eating, we walked to the Cornwall Brothers Store, which operates as a local history museum. The picture below shows my compatriots in front of Poor John's ice cream stand on our walk back to Sadie's boat.



Sherry & I posed for a photo as we sped away from town on our way to Boldt Castle. I'll write a separate post about the castle, which sits on its own island across from Alexandria Bay. See the green travel cup in Sherry's lap? This woman cannot go anywhere without at least two beverage cups. She carries five in her car, and they are all filled with something - coffee, diet cola, iced tea, Love Potion #9, hemlock tea. Obviously, Sherry still has a drinking problem, but at least it's not alcohol.


The next pictures are of the homes on the islands that we passed by on our way back to Sadie's. The Thousand Islands region is dotted with approximately 1800 islands of various size. Some are just large enough for a tree and a couple of shrubs. Others have one or several houses on them, and a few, like Wellesley Island, are sizable enough for roads and villages. To qualify for island status, it must be above water 365 days per year, be at least one square foot, and support at least one living tree.


Here's a nice home. No, the building behind the boathouse. The boathouse in the foreground looks nicer than my home, and quite a bit larger. I need to go back up there when I have time to troll for a rich sugar daddy.


This lovely old stone house has a quick escape hatch. If you get into an argument with a housemate, you can take the slide and start swimming for the mainland without waiting for a boat.


I could make do with this little cottage until I find a place of my own.


Who am I kidding? I'd be lucky beyond my wildest dreams if I could afford a place this big.


And soon we were safely home.

THE END
(courtesy of Robespierre)

What's your point, Vivian?

I ran away from home on Friday, and ended up in New York. The days were peaceful, the vistas clean & serene, and the nights were so quiet that I slept the deep sleep of the carefree man. Most mornings I was up before the sun, and my companions were deer, muskrat, and heron. "New York?" you exclaim. Well, yes, there is more to New York than Manhattan. I was Sadie's guest at her summer home in the Thousand Islands region.

It took quite awhile to get there, but the time spent was well worth it. I love traveling to see new places, especially in the company of friends. Sherry, Robespierre, and I made the journey together, and we returned to Richmond late last night. Sadie's place is on the St. Lawrence River just west of Alexandria Bay. Her cottage is adjacent a the tiny resort settlement on Point Vivian. I'm including several photographs of my daily sightings, all taken from Sadie's porch, dock, or yard. I hope you like them, because I took a lot of pictures, so more are sure to follow. The first snapshot shows my first dawn from Sadie's dock. The second is a view of sunset the same day.



Here's the cottage as seen from the boathouse & dock. Sadie's dad built it in the mid-70's, and subsequent additions expanded the home to a spacious house with plenty of room for guests.


The town of Alexandria Bay is just a ten-minute boat ride (or a couple of miles by land) from Sadie's house. Within walking distance is Point Vivian, a charming resort community established in the late 1800's. I was curious about this hamlet, so Sadie pulled out a booklet about Point Vivian which was written by her Aunt Louise. Louise Gaylord Cooke now makes the old family summer house her permanent home in the riverside neighborhood, and I learned about the history of this settlement from her carefully researched efforts. Bear with me while I share this information with you.

Now known as Point Vivian, the cluster of resort cottages originally had no name. It was just a grouping of small Victorian homes built by inland friends & neighbors who wished to have relief from the summer heat. Little did they know how things would heat to the boiling point in their peaceful enclave.

In the mid-1880's, one of the original residents, Pastor Josiah Clatterbuck, died of a heart attack while fishing one morning. His wife, Vivian, decided to make their small cottage her permanent home. She bade tearful farewells to her summer neighbors when they departed at season's end, and promised to greet them the following summer. Vivian's neighbors told her that they worried about her spending the winter on the isolated point, but her resolve was firm and she steadfastly refused to return to her inland town. She said she was ready to move forward with her life, and she needed to embrace the changes that God was unfolding day by day.

Vivian's lady friends wrote to her frequently throughout the harsh winter, fretting about her safety & comfort. They were relieved when Vivian replied that many of the local fishermen stopped in to provide her with freshly caught food, and even removed the snow & ice from her paths and performed household maintenance. The pastor's widow's melancholy was lifting, and letters began hinting at a gaiety of spirit that Vivian had never dared reveal with her dour husband at her elbow.

Time passed, as it is wont to do, and the summer residents returned to the lovely point on the St. Lawrence River. As their carriages rumbled through the woods toward the shoreline, the view of the blue water was interrupted by a flash of bright color. Vivian had painted her house pink!

Even Vivian's outhouse was pink, and a wraparound porch had been added to the house. And there was Vivian, emerging from the outhouse like the sun bursting over the horizon! Gone were the dark mourning gown and shabby black cloak Vivian had worn when her neighbors last saw her at the end of summer. Her clothing was more brilliant than a peacock's plumage. Indeed, it looked like a peacock had sacrificed its life for the enormous hat that adorned Vivian's head.

The summer villagers did not know what to make of these changes in their quiet friend. The women could not rouse her for their quilting bees or scrapbooking soirees until late afternoon. Candles seemed to burn behind Vivian's new garish draperies (tightly drawn) into the wee hours of the morning. Vivian's soft titter had transformed into a braying laugh that startled small children and horses.

Vivian's former benefactors, the local fishermen, were sulky, and hinted that Vivian had no use for them now that the millionaires had returned to their nearby islands. Indeed, a new hundred-foot dock had appeared near the store, and the pleasure craft of the seasonal wealthys crowded out the modest skiffs of the common folk. Nighttime seemed endless, for laughter and piano music throbbed from Vivian's pink cottage until the neighbors had to slam their windows shut for any hope of rest.

The ladies of the town, although dismayed, did their best to take a charitable view of Vivian's behavior. The poor thing had gone mad over the lonely winter, they whispered, and she would settle down soon enough now that her neighbors had returned. They would take her back to the interior of Jefferson County when summer ended. For the time being, they would do their best to ignore the liquor bottles that littered Vivian's flowerbeds.

Beneficence turned to ire, however, when the ladies' own husbands began 'taking walks' late at night, returning home at unholy hours, and giggling in their sleep. Mrs. Rhutan found a rouge stain on an article of her husband's clothing of which she claimed only she, he, and God should have any familiarity. After a hastily arranged quilting bee at Mrs. Garlock's cottage, the women marched down to Mr. Henry's store to confer with him. Mr. Henry, a fussy man, placed the 'closed' sign in his window, and led the ladies upstairs to the town's meeting room above his shop. Plans were made over the next three hours.

About two weeks later, the supplies were received by Mr. Henry's store. The ladies insisted that Vivian join them for an afternoon picnic, and served her morphine tea. Meanwhile, Mr. Henry entered the pink house, a small box in hand, and laced all of Vivian's liquor bottles liberally with laudanum. The ladies returned to the point, and deposited drowsy Vivian on her fainting couch. Later that evening, the laughter and music from Vivian & the men died down quickly.

The ladies, aided by Mr. Henry, circumnavigated the slumbering husbands & millionaires, and carried Vivian down to the dock. The firewood was already arranged in the hull of the wooden skiff, and the lamp oil was at hand. Vivian was placed atop the wood, the flames were lit, and Mr. Henry gave the boat a robust shove into the swift current. Vivian raised her head briefly and croaked "What's the point?" before falling back into her stupor.

No more was heard. The band of villagers watched silently from the dock. The breeze on the water encouraged a merry blaze, and soon Vivian & her pyre disappeared behind Gypsy Island.

The next morning, the energetic women - every last woman in town - assembled in front of the pink house. Under the firm direction of their wives, the chastened men set to work with ladder & bucket. The women barked orders to their spouses, and tidied up the yard. The interior of the house was cleaned from top to bottom. The liquor bottles, indoor & out, empty or full, were tossed in a little donkey cart which Mr. Henry supplied. The piano was carried to the store, and hauled upstairs to the town meeting room (where it can still be seen today). By the end of the afternoon, the pink house was a crisp white, but the ladies decided that the outhouse should remain pink. The women slept easily that night, and the men got whatever rest they could manage with one eye open.

And that is how Point Vivian got its name.

Today, I try to use my imagination for good, not evil. Therefore, I must tell you that this story is my own fabrication. I found no reference in Louise Gaylord Cooke's brief history of Point Vivian concerning the origin of its name, so I just did the best I could. I hope you enjoyed it. The story was inspired by the marvelous snippets of historical arcana which you will find at Lidian's Virtual Dime Museum. Admission is free; go take a look.

Come back for more tales from the Thousand Islands. Some of them may be true. At least the pictures won't lie. Here are a few more for your enjoyment...


That's Sadie's dock & boathouse above.

Sadie & Robespierre braved the chilly waters, while Sherry & I remained on dry land.




Although we were at leisure, we had occasional reminders that the St. Lawrence River is a workplace for some.



And here I am, Day One, looking a bit stunned that I am sitting on the dock of the bay before the sun has broken the horizon.


p.s. Sheldon told me that this is the worst picture of me that he has ever seen. Sweet of him, huh? What does he expect for a 5a.m. photo before a shower, shave, and second cup of coffee...sheesh!

Sunset Cruise

I took the above picture one evening last week as the sun was setting over the International Deepwater Terminal at the Port of Richmond docks. It had been an unusually busy day at work, with people crowding the office and both phone lines ringing steadily. I looked forward all day to a sunset cruise on Sadie's boat.

One of the calls I got during the day was from a man who had contacted me previously. When he called in May, he had been sober about a month and was calling for information about AA meetings in his area. Tuesday he called again, now two months sober, and said he felt like he was losing his mind. He still hadn't been to a meeting, and was trying to figure out things on his own. He thought he would feel better after he stopped drinking, but instead he felt worse. I told him that I understood how he felt.

I had the same expectations when I stopped drinking, and the same results. For about three or four months, I went through a period of confusion, restlessness, and feeling as nervous as a cat in a roomful of rocking chairs. Like the guy on the phone, I thought I'd instantly feel better as soon as I stopped drinking. Instead, my brain felt scrambled, and I could only string together about three hours of sleep at a time. I frustrated my friends and frightened small animals. My behavior was self-absorbed and erratic.

The meetings I attended regularly helped a great deal, but I knew that it would take time to smooth the rough edges. Talking daily to other people who had been through the same thing helped tremendously. I didn't feel like I was the last man on Earth. And I wasn't. Thousands of people had been through this before, and I was nobody special. It took awhile to stop taking myself so damned seriously.

I told the fellow on the phone that I would have someone in his area contact him. I called the same member, Miles, who had contacted the man for me in May. When Miles heard who was calling back for help he asked "Has he been to a meeting yet?"
"No, he's been flying solo."
Miles chuckled and said,"It's like going back to the doctor and saying 'Doc! My ass is still falling off!' and the doctor says 'Did you take that medicine I gave you?' 'Well, no...'
I'll call him again and tell him to come home to where we are."

But, that's how it is with most of us. We'd rather admit to robbing a bank or flying to Argentina to visit a mistress than stand up and say "I'm Bill, and I'm an alcoholic."

It was so pleasant to spend quiet time with friends on an evening river cruise. We took fried chicken, snacks and drinks. There was a nice breeze, and the air was cooler on the water. We talked and laughed, and enjoyed a gentle end to a busy day.

Here are some additional pictures for you to see.
First up is Captain Sadie at the helm, with Robespierre looking insouciant in the stern.


The Pocahontas Bridge spans the James south of Richmond.


Robespierre happily full of fried chicken and chocolate chip cookies.


The remains of the day settle over the historic James River...