May??? It's May Again?

Gosh, I looked at my blog and realized it's been over a month since I've written anything. Just when I think things are going to slow down a bit, I find my calendar filled. Guess who fills it up by saying "yes" to too many things? Oh, well, staying busy keeps me happy and sober and useful. I'm looking forward to a vacation, though. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that I'll be able to take one in July, which is not that far away.

I took the picture at the top one evening after work when Morris and I went for a walk through historic Monroe Ward in the downtown area. The picture shows the back of an old store on Broad Street. This area is typical of most cities; a former residential neighborhood turned commercial, followed by a decline as suburbs sprang up around the city. Now, though, people are moving back into the downtown neighborhoods. New apartment and condominium dwellers are revitalizing empty buildings, and events like weekly evening art walks & street festivals bring in people from surrounding areas.

I've been going to brunch, too. I got this plate of goodness at Northside Grill. Richmond is a restaurant town, and there's no shortage of great choices when it comes to dining away from home.

I took a segway tour, and it was a blast! I want to do it again. I went with several of my friends, and no one got hurt. Segways are very easy to navigate, so keep your eyes open for the chance to ride one wherever you live.
Segway of Richmond offers a choice of tours, and they provided friendly instruction.

The weather has been pleasant overall, so I've been exploring the city and going out with friends when I'm away from the office. I usually have my camera charged up and ready for any photo opportunities. The picture below shows the view from Gamble's Hill looking across the James River.

I've been to a couple of cook-outs, and there's nothing like your first hot dog or hamburger off a charcoal grill to convince you that summer is on its way. We were at a picnic in the country, and nearly choked on our food when the seat of Robespierre's camp chair suddenly gave out.

I try to be a good citizen these days. My face hasn't appeared on any "Wanted" posters around town lately.

A cook-out I attended at a friend's house last week featured a delicious Hummingbird Cake. My mom used to make these. Looks good, doesn't it? We also watched an old movie called I'll Cry Tomorrow, starring Susan Hayward, chewing the scenery and trying to dance. The 1955 movie was based on the autobiography of Lillian Roth and her alcoholic downfall. I love old movies.

Last Sunday a friend invited me to the Picasso exhibition (fabulous) at the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts. No cameras allowed inside, of course, but I took a couple of pictures of the new addition to the museum.

Those are a few of the things I've been doing lately. My life has been full and rich, both at work and play, and I would not be able to say that if I were still drinking. When I was newly sober I met a guy named Jimmy who was trying to get back into recovery. We hung out together quite a bit, but after a year without drinking, Jimmy drifted away from recovery. I was sorry to hear that Jimmy died a couple of weeks ago at the age of fifty-four. I'm sad about that, but there's some anger, too. Jimmy loved life, and he had the tools he needed to live happily but he put them down and the insanity returned.

The other day as I walked out of the museum, there were three goblets of white wine on an outdoor table. The day was bright, crisp, and sunny. The wine was the color of straw, and looked lovely in the tall glasses. A petulant voice in my head said "Why can't you have a glass of wine?"

Instantly, the response came "Because I'm an alcoholic," and I was glad that the answer carried no bitterness or regret. There was a time when I first got sober that these two voices would have held a debate in my head. As I walked across the green lawn at the museum, I chuckled. Remember the old Looney Tunes cartoons that featured an angel on one shoulder and a little devil on the other? Just for today, the angel has the stronger voice.

Shelly

Sheldon & Son
Virginia Beach
For me, one of the unexpected pleasures of getting sober in AA has been the many fascinating people I have encountered. When I first got here, though, it was difficult for me to grasp how willing everyone was to lend a hand just for the sake of helping out a stranger who was trying to stay sober. I met Sheldon at my third AA meeting. He came right up to me at the end of the meeting, shook my hand & introduced himself, and asked me how I was doing. He told me about a meeting at another location the following night, and I started attending that one, too. In fact, I still do. After being in several meetings with me and seeing how lonely I felt, Sheldon asked me to his house for dinner one night. He was the first person to extend the hand of friendship in the fellowship, and we are still best buddies today.

Sheldon at work, with his gigantic printing press
Sheldon & I are an unlikely pair to the casual observer. He loves sports; I hate them. He's conservative; I'm liberal. He's industrious and I like nothing more than a nap on an afternoon off work. He gets excited about fishing; I yawn. He's straight and I'm gay. But we have found that these are minor differences. We complememt one another in our friendship, like a pair of salt & pepper shakers.

When I went to Sheldon's for dinner that first evening, we took a walk around his neighborhood. I was charmed by the number of cats that would run out to the street to greet him when they saw him coming. You might be able to fool people, but you can't fool a cat. If they were delighted to see him, he must be a nice guy. Toward the end of our stroll he said "You know, Bill, I don't mean to offend you, but I've been around a few 24-hours [fourteen years at that point] and I can honestly say that I have never seen anyone that looked as bad as you did when you first came in. I was really worried that you were gonna die."

Sheldon insists on trying McDonalds in Canada to see if it's the same as the ones back home; Robespierre looks on with disdain
Sheldon is now approaching his 18th AA anniversary, and our friendship has deepened over the past four years. We laugh and cut up like two 5-year olds, but we are also honest with each other when one of us gets off the beam. He gives me good counsel when I need it, and I try to do the same for him.

Not catching a thing
Neighborhood cats aside, Sheldon at times has an uneasy relationship with wildlife, like the time he was in his backyard, and nearly got killed by a bird. There's a grapevine on a low arbor along the side fence, and Sheldon parted the leaves to peer at a brown thrasher on her nest. The bird fixed a cold glare at Sheldon for an instant, and then exploded off the nest directly at his face. He took a strong peck about a centimeter from his eye, and fell backward onto the lawn - flat on his back with the wind knocked out of him. After cussing & catching his breath, he realized that his head had landed a few inches from a horseshoe spike.

A virgin at the drag show (Sheldon; not the drag queen)
Last summer, while we were vacationing at Sadie's summer home, Sadie was zipping Sheldon along the river on her sea-doo. He had been urging her to "Slow down! Slow down!" As he held onto Sadie, he sensed something over his shoulder, and discovered a very angry seagull bearing down on his head. "Speed up! Speed up!" Sheldon screamed, gripping Sadie tighter and ducking his head. The gull kept up for awhile, but they managed to outrun it before Sheldon went the way of Suzanne Pleshette in The Birds.

Sheldon dated a few goats before he found his true love
This past winter, driving home from from an evening meeting, a deer loped across Staples Mill Road, making a beeline for Sheldon's van. The deer felt it had a date with destiny, for it ran directly across a six-lane thoroughfare devoid of traffic so it could run smack into the front of his van. Sheldon attracts deranged animals.

Sheldon ♥ Sadie
The common squirrel is Sheldon's nemisis. He's indulgent with kitty-cats (I gave him some Hello Kitty stickers and plastic sandwich bags, and he put a sticker on his checkbook), but he shows no mercy to squirrels. I went by his house one time, and asked why he had the kitchen window open. "Shootin' squirrels," Sheldon answered.
"Bastards are eating up my garden."

My pal Sheldon has helped me grow into a better, healthier, happier person, and I've seen Sheldon grow and change, too. It's never too late to become the person we were always meant to be.

What Happened

March 2007

Sometimes when I would wake up, if the skylights were dim and the clock read five, I would lie there in bed and wait. If the skylights grew darker, I would know night was falling. If the light grew stronger, I would have to face another day. The hours on the clock held little meaning for me; time had become strange and warped.

If I couldn't fall back to sleep, I would get up. Within about twenty minutes, the trembling would have turned into violent shakes. Despite having promised myself that I would eat something - anything - when I got up, I would reach for the gin bottle. I knew the only thing that would stop the tremors was more booze. It was challenging trying to control the ice tongs sufficiently to pluck ice cubes and get them into the cocktail shaker successfully, and pouring gin without spilling it all over was hit or miss - pun there for the taking. I'd pour the drink, and many times have to leave the glass on the counter, bending down to take the first sips. I was too shaky to lift the drink without spilling it. Oh, and the glass would have been the least filthy choice near the sink; short, squat juice glasses that were tip-resistant. The days of elegant, chilled cocktail glasses were long gone. I was too weak to stand up long enough to load the dishwasher, so a dirty glass would have to do.

After the first drink, my shaking would subside - but so would any desire for food. The first drink would lead to another. And another and another until I blacked out and the cycle repeated itself. For many months, nearly every morning started with an episode of black vomit; I was bleeding internally, and blood would collect in my stomach while I slept causing sudden nausea when I awakened.

My body was starting to shut down. Standing upright for more than a few minutes put me at the edge of collapse. My thoughts, ranging from despair to apathy, were like confetti blowing in a silo, hitting me in the face and then whirling away. Sometimes I would think that I could still get a grip on things, but more & more frequently I just wanted for it to be over. I dreaded each new day, and death seemed like the kindest outcome. Arrangements were made, a will and all the related legal papers prepared, but when I went to have them signed I could only make it as far as the lobby, so that's where we did our business. A few hours later, I fell into a seizure at a dear friend's house, and was taken to the hospital.

I told the doctors that my problem was alcohol, and they ran all sorts of tests. My organs had started giving out, and none of the test results looked promising. I wasn't allowed solid food, but I got insulin, oxygen, anti-seizure medications, and bags & bags of blood and potassium. I didn't know it at the time, but I was going through a physical detox regimen. It would take half a year to determine what liver function remained, the doctors said. Once stabilized, I was told that if I drank more alcohol I would die. After four days, I was sent home.

"Well," I thought, "this is the end of the line. No more alcohol. Look what it did to me, and how lucky I am that they got me back on track. No more drinking for me." By early evening, I had the cocktail shaker in my hand.

For two nights I drank. Life during the previous years had seemed like a dull nightmare, where the edges are blurry. Now, this was like a lucid dream in high definition, and it wasn't fun to watch. Now, I did not want to drink and I could not stop myself. Before, I had been able to soothe myself with the idea that I could stop drinking at a time of my choosing if I truly had the desire. I suddenly realized that this thing was far bigger than me; more powerful, stronger.

Man, I thought I'd hit rock bottom before, what with the vomiting, tremors, starvation, seizures, and then having hoses and tubes inserted into every orifice on my person. But on this second night after returning home, this drink in my hand when I wanted so badly to live, well, it crushed me. Terror is the best word to describe my predicament when I realized I could not stop drinking even though I wanted to stay sober. I was utterly defeated and I knew it. I just did not know what to do about it. The answer would be revealed to me while I slept.

Upon awakening the next morning, I found a local website for Alcoholics Anonymous. I read everything they had to say about alcoholism. I found the listing for a meeting very close to my home later in the week. I looked at the information about the meeting over and over. I knew I would go. I made that resolution with some excitement & fear, but as I sat there contemplating my decision a sense of calmness settled over me. The turning point had been reached when I decided to ask for help; my clumsy prayer was answered. It was April 7, 2007.

And from that moment up to today, I have not found it necessary to take a drink.

So Long, 2010!

Let me apologize in advance. I had dreams of crafting a poignant and deeply meaningful post about personal growth and the transition of the years with such simple eloquence that you would be left dabbing your eyes and whispering "Bravo. Well done."

But, here it is New Year's Eve already and I'm dressed for a party, and my French cuffs make typing an annoyance. You're stuck with another dashed off bit of fluff and a few recent photos. Who was I trying to fool, anyway? Deep & meaningful? You can't get blood from a turnip.

The picture at the top was taken at Homemades by Suzanne, a fine cafe & bakery in a small town just north of Richmond. Morris & I were eating lunch in the front dining area when I noticed the warmth of the old wood of the tables & chairs. It was a cold, windy day and the cafe was cozy.

We rode up the Old Washington Highway to Ashland. The narrow road was still icy from our Christmas weekend snowstorm. Along the way, we passed through the former whistle stop known as Elmont which is surrounded by large stretches of farmland. The wind raised snow wraiths from the fields, and we were happy for the warmth of the car.

Ashland is a charming town with the railway running right down the middle of the main street, Railroad Avenue. Many beautiful old homes and buildings line the split street, and an Amtrak train rumbled by as we drove along.



The picture below was taken at an old church on England Street.

Next we have the train station, built in the 1920's when some Ashland residents would take the local train into Richmond each day for work. Behind the station is the Henry Clay Inn, still in operation.



Ah! Lunchtime! The fare at Homemades by Suzanne is mouthwatering comfort food, especially on a cold, wintery day. I had a deviled egg, succotash salad, and macaroni salad. Perfect.


Later that day, back in Richmond, we had dinner at Garnett's. After Morris & I parted, I walked for a bit along Park Avenue and took a picture of one of my favorite churches at the corner of Park Avenue and Meadow Street.



During my workday, one of my duties is answering the local Alcoholics Anonymous hotline. By now I know that the call volume ramps up during and after the holidays. At the end of the day, I transfer the calls to a volunteer for the night. While I was at home one evening, I got a few text messages from that night's volunteer.

Lyssa: (9:12pm) Lord...was I this pathetic and wallowing?

Lyssa: (9:18pm) Clearly, I was. Don't want to sound callous.

Lyssa: (9:20pm) I must have been a real bite in the ass to be around...

Me: (9:23pm) Are you on the phone with the still-suffering or just randomly musing?

Lyssa: (9:25pm) Just hung up but was held captive by former (still, occasionally?) self for twenty minutes.

Me: (9:27pm) I know the feeling. I talked to me this afternoon for about the same amount of time.

And that's how it can be when we answer the phone. Sometimes the caller is ready for help. Sometimes they just want a sympathetic ear. Some callers get hooked on the sympathy, and still keep on drinking until they lose everything.

I always keep in mind something a man with 30-plus years of sobriety shared in a meeting:
"Sympathy will kill an alcoholic."

I remember that, and dole out sympathy sparingly, but I can go long with empathy & encouragement. I'm incredibly grateful for the opportunity to answer those calls. Those of us who do agree that it goes a long way in helping us stay sober. It's a marvelous mirror of our former selves. When I hear the misery, self-delusion & self-absorption, the bewilderment & madness, it reminds me that that's how I was, too. I do not want to ever return to the life I led before I found recovery.

Happy New Year, everyone! I'm off to a big ol' party. See you next year.

Cake Walk

Last Saturday morning was an opportunity to sleep late. The soul was willing, but the body woke up at four in the morning. I could tell it would be useless to fight it, so I went ahead & got up, fixed coffee, got scoured & dressed, and went to Walmart before everyone else decided to go. There were few shoppers (nice!), but I also missed out on photo-ops for POW. I wasn't there to roam the aisles, though; I was on a mission to buy my neighbor some holiday containers for the party mix she makes each Christmas.

I went to my group's Saturday morning meeting (8:45 instead of the weekday 6:45), picked up a box of pastries that Romeo made for a party I was attending in the evening, and went to Jean-Jacques Bakery for a cake I had ordered for the same party. By the way, the first photo shows a sidewalk dispenser for a local weekly periodical, in case you were wondering, and no, I have no idea who that lady is supposed to be.

This all leads to the photos I'm posting today. I had called Jean-Jacques Friday to order an Almond-Amaretto cake, but they told me they couldn't make one for the following day so I went with a Chocolate-Rum cake.

Jean-Jacques is a bakery of local renown in Carytown, an upscale street of retail establishments in Richmond. I popped in at ten on Saturday morning and was told the cake wasn't quite ready. I said it wasn't a problem at all and that I'd just wander around Carytown for awhile. I grabbed my camera from the car and took a few pictures.

The bakery is in Cary Court, a very small shopping center in the heart of Carytown that opened in 1938. It was Richmond's first strip shopping center, and was an instant hit. Soon, other properties along Cary Street were converted to retail shop space, and the area drew tourists as well as locals.

Below are some views of modern-day shop windows. Sorry about the glare on the windows; it wasn't the best time of day for taking pictures.





Today's Carytown is billed as "A Mile of Style" and is clearly a commercial street, but this merchant district got its start during the Great Depression (the economic depression of the 1930's; not the current one) when residents began converting the lower floors of their homes into small shops. With the fabulous Byrd Theater and Cary Court drawing visitors from surrounding counties, residents gladly took advantage of ways to make the most of the traffic. These blocks of Cary Street gradually transitioned from residential to retail, and by the 70's became known as Carytown.

Below is a new photo of a placque in Cary Court that shows an old photo of Cary Court. Trippy, huh? Other than the cars, it looks very much the same today.

More window shopping below, this time at For The Love Of Chocolate, a very dangerous store in Cary Court. Very, very dangerous. This photo shows a mere snippet of the alluring perils that await visitors. For a candy store, it covers a lot of square footage, and every nook & cubbyhole is packed with sugary hazards and menacing chocolate pitfalls.

I stumbled out of the chocolate shop with my virginity intact, and went back to Jean-Jacques to see if my cake was ready. The young woman behind the counter greeted me with a rather sick expression on her face.

"Um, we found your order and I don't know what happened I'm sorry we've looked everywhere and here's your order form but they must have forgot to make the cake we're so sorry would you pick out another one from the case and we would like you to take it please for free okay?"
"Gee, sure. No problem at all. Could I have that Almond-Amaretto cake?"

So, somehow - planetary alignment, Fortuna's Wheel, my Higher Power peeking at my bank balance, take your pick - I walked out of the bakery with my original choice free of charge.

I actually felt a twinge of guilt, as if this shouldn't have happened to me. Then I considered that I've learned to accept the bad things in my past and the troubles of today with as much grace as I can muster, and I need to learn to do the same when good things come my way.

Farewell, Fall! ...or Guerillas in the Mist

Winter doesn't care about our calendars. She has already flounced in and sat down, disdainfully waving off December 21 and declaring "I just happened to be in the neighborhood, so I thought I'd drop by." It's been quite brisk in the mornings when I leave the house, and the Farmers' Almanac is predicting "colder-than-normal temperatures" for my little God's half-acre.

It was 16º when I drove away from home this morning. The air felt cold & harsh; Sarah Palin weather.

I am grateful for a home with heat, a car with heated seats, and an indoor job. It's also a beautiful, clear-skyed sunny day, even if it is cold.

Before autumn gave way to winter, I was out early one morning when a lingering layer of fog gave an ethereal look to Richmond. I took a few pictures on Monument Avenue before heading to the office, and I'll share a couple of them here. The first is of the Matthew Fontaine Maury Monument, erected in 1929. This monument is unusual in that Maury is depicted seated, and is not the dominant feature. F. William Sievers, a Richmond sculptor, felt that a man's ideas are bigger than he is; a large globe behind Maury is surrounded by farmers & sailors in a storm. The globe itself is detailed with wind currents that were mapped by Maury, the Pathfinder of the Seas. These images are appropriate to Maury's analysis of weather systems to improve the lives of sailors & farmers. The base of the monument is surrounded by reverse intaglio images of fresh & saltwater fish. It is a lovely and atypical memorial sculpture along Richmond's famous avenue.

Of course, I also had to see how General Lee & Traveller were handling the fog. They were in the thick of it on their forty-foot granite pedestal. Traveller was the most famous of Lee's horses, and Lee remarked in Lexington, following the Civil War, that his horse was "presenting the appearance of a plucked chicken" because souvenir seekers yanked his tail nearly bald. Traveller walked in Lee's funeral procession with his saddle & bridle draped in black crepe, and died the following year from tetanus. The Lee Monument was unveiled in 1890, and stood alone in the middle of nowhere for eleven years until development of Monument Avenue caught up.

I had a wonderful Thanksgiving. Four years ago I would have been home drinking & feeling sorry for myself. Each year in sobriety has been better & better. I had a full day, and was tired by the time my head hit the pillow.

I was out of the house before the sun woke up, and went to my usual 6:45 meeting at Holy Comforter Episcopal. Then Robespierre & I met at Lakeside Presbyterian because we thought they'd be eating breakfast. When we walked in they were having a meeting, so we turned tail and met friends for breakfast at Aunt Sarah's (a pancake house, not a relative). After that, Sherry & I went back to Lakeside for a 10am meeting. From there, I dashed over to Ginter Park Baptist for a Thanksgiving dinner/midday meeting. Then I bought a plant for my friend Brenda, and went by her place for a visit. From there, to Robert's so I could meet his mother who was in town for Thanksgiving. I ended the day at my neighbor Karen's for our own Thanksgiving dinner, and she made enough food for an army. Just when I thought I would pop after dinner, she announced that she had made a sweet potato pie (her first), so what could I do?

I woke up in the night with a food hangover. I felt a bit miserable until I considered that it was a hangover borne of food & fellowship, not loneliness & alcohol. I met some new friends, and spent time with some dear old ones. All in all, a wonderful Thanksgiving that left me feeling very thankful, indeed.

Autumn Night at Ashland Presbyterian Church

Scenes from Hither & Yon

It's November already! The month of giving thanks and incinerating turkeys. The 11th month, when at some point we say "Oh, Crap! It's almost Christmas!" I'm trying to coordinate an office move, so I haven't been writing much on here lately. I've had a few photo-snapping adventures, though, and I wanted to post some pictures today.

The top picture was taken at an open house one Sunday. I'd noticed that an old house on Riverside Drive was up for sale, so I called Jean and we took a tour. This picture was taken in a sunroom off the master bedroom, and I liked the view of the trees. Three walls of windows looked out toward similar views, and it would be the perfect room for curling up with a good book. I got a bunch of other cool shots at the house that I may post later.

This past Saturday I was invited to a pig roast on the Northern Neck, about two hours from Richmond on a peninsula between the Potomac & Rappahannock Rivers on Chesapeake Bay. Morris & I traveled together. Outside Irvington we spotted this giant corkscrew at the entrance to White Fences Vineyard. When I was drinking, gin was my preferred poison, but I would make do with wine on Sundays if my bottle was empty. It would have taken a bottle this big to handle my alcohol addiction!

Morris & I stopped by the Tides Inn to walk around the grounds & poke through the gift shop. The picture below shows a sailboat on Carter's Creek taken from the lawn at the inn. It was a brisk & sunny fall day, and we were looking forward to the pig roast.

As we drove up Route 200, through the pleasant town of Kilmarnock and toward the bridge over the Rappahannock, we saw an old church on a small hill in the country. Morattico Baptist Church was founded in 1778, and the current church was erected in 1856. There were many interesting markers in the surrounding graveyard.

In short time we were at Cheryl & Jan's campground. The pig was on the roaster, being tended by their neighbor, Phil, who knows all about smoking a pig. We spent the day there, enjoying the company of friends and campground neighbors. I was impressed with the casual atmosphere and genuine friendliness of the folks who stopped by. The campground is a seasonal resort where people set up permanent campsites, so all the residents zip around on golf carts and wave, or stop to chat. Everyone had a splendid time, and the food was wonderful. Not a good event for vegetarians, however.

A couple weeks prior, when Jean & I went to the open house on Riverside Drive, we drove along the James River...
...and then continued on through old Bon Air, which was a Victorian-era resort outside Richmond. Now, Bon Air is a Richmond suburb, but many old homes still reflect a time when this area offered a respite from the sooty summer air of the 19th Century industrial city. One item you may find interesting: Polk Street in Bon Air was named after a local pharmacist who founded a pet care product company as the result of creating treatments for his favorite hunting dog. His dog's name was Sergeant.

The remaining pictures are just random shots taken around town and beyond. It's fun to get out of the house with my camera to see what I can find. The weather has been comfortable, after a summer of wilting heat, and I enjoy exploring.

Some of you may remember the pictures I posted from Goochland's Field Day of the Past back in September. One of the event organizers saw the photos on this blog, and asked whether I would be interested in photographing their event next year. He said they liked my pictures better then the ones they got from the company they hired. Isn't that a hoot? All I've got is a cheap point-n-shoot digital camera and an untrained eye.

The 3rd Generation Barber & Beauty Salon on East Grace Street.

A window display right next door to the 3rd Generation Barber & Beauty Salon.

A Richmond landmark, still working faithfully since the 1960's.

The Scott House bathed in the early morning sunlight one Sunday on my way to Perly's for breakfast.

A lakeside stroll in Forest Hill Park.

Oregon Hill, with downtown beyond. Oregon Hill sits on a bluff overlooking the James River, off-camera to the right.

The last picture was taken in Amsterdam last December. It reminds me that days are getting shorter. I rather like the feeling of cozy warmth when I'm indoors with hot coffee and a book, in the glow of lamplight as the autumn night presses against the windows.