A Trickle of Rain

"There was nothing separate about her days. Like drops on the window-pane, they ran together and trickled away."
- Dorothy Parker

That sums it up. Dorothy Parker describes quite well what my life was like in the last year or more of my drinking career. Each night when I crawled into bed I promised myself that I would eat something when I awakened. At best, I would sleep fitfully for a few hours, and the cycle would begin again, just like the days stretching behind me like a red carpet to Hell.

When I woke up, it wasn't long before the shaking started. Then I would vomit. This happened every morning, and it would come on so suddenly that I started keeping the kitchen trash can right in front of my chair in the den. The vomitus was black as pitch; my body was expelling a bellyful of putrified blood that had collected in my stomach while I slept.

All thoughts of eating were wiped out of my mind. The only thing that would stop the violent tremors that wracked my body was another drink. It seemed like the only solution at that moment, even though I knew it was killing me. I couldn't see any way out.

I'm sad, and a little angry this evening. This morning, when I answered the local AA phone line, I got a call from a man who was reaching out for help. He was at the end of his rope. After twelve years of sobriety, he started drinking again last June. He thought he had his problem licked. Now, at the beginning of 2009, he cannot stop drinking.

Last night, he went out to his shed to look for a hose he could connect to the exhaust pipe of his car. Only the worry of what would become of his dog kept him from finishing the job. I told him that, although suicide was an option, it was also a permanent solution for a temporary problem. I told him I knew how it felt to feel hopeless, to dread the brightening sky at the end of each night and think "Oh, please, not another day. Not another day."

From the way he answered my questions, I knew he was in the danger zone. His pattern of long-term constant drinking meant that withdrawal from alcohol must be medically managed. Without treatment, alcohol withdrawal syndrome can be fatal. The mortality rate is 35% if untreated, and drops to 5-15% if treated early. Complicating his situation is the problem of his relapse after a period of sobriety. Alcohol withdrawal symptoms can increase in severity following each relapse. This phenomenon is called kindling, and frequently leads to full-blown delirium tremens, seizures, and heart failure or stroke.

After spending time with him, assuring him that he could get better, that help was available, and that he could start enjoying life again by getting help, I got busy calling people. I found a man who wanted to help. He took our fellow to the emergency room nearby. And that's where things went downhill.

Our helper spent hours in the emergency room with our man, waiting for a doctor. Meanwhile, our fellow starts craving another drink. His heart is racing and his blood pressure is very high. He is disoriented, and wants to go home. He is hooked to an IV, so at least he is getting some good fluids.

And finally the doctor comes in. He tells our guy that he is drinking too much, and needs to stop. And that he is wasting his time. And he sends him home.

And that is why I am sad, and more than a little mad this evening.

too oh oh 9

The Pauli Effect on Planet Bill

The other day when I dropped in on Java, she mentioned that both of her family's vehicles were near collapse. I knew just how she felt. Lately my home has seen things go blink, splat, whap, crash, clunk, and snap.

The toilet in the third bathroom has sprung a leak somewhere between the wall and the bowl, so the valve is shut off at the wall. The sink and the tub are still usable, but are not substitutes for a working toilet.

Two of my kitchen drawers are out of the wall units, because the thingamabobs at the back of the cabinets are made of plastic, and finally snapped in two, making the drawers unusable unless I yanked them out and set them on my barstools. On a positive note, finding the kitchen gadgets is a breeze.

Bulbs in hard to reach places have burned out simultaneously.

My microwave oven is haunted, and started coming on for no rhyme or reason, so I now leave the door ajar so the house won't burn down. It's plugged in behind the refrigerator, so it's either an open door, or have a contortionist on-call to unplug it after every use.

The downstairs vacuum cleaner groaned and coughed one day in the living room, and now wheezes along ineffectually with half-hearted suction. This means the upstairs vacuum cleaner has been pressed into double-duty, and will soon cop an attitude and follow suit.

The control knob on the washing machine snapped off in my hand, which makes doing laundry an adventure.

The pipe leading from the toilet in the downstairs bathroom makes a horrendous shuddering groan every time I flush.

New, fabulously expensive siding (Hardiplank) has been installed on my home recently, and I noticed a large water stain on a wall in the den after a hard rain storm.

The "Yikes! Your trunk is open! Pull over immediately" light on my car's dashboard came on last week, and stays on even though the trunk is securely latched. Or is it?

The outside light beside the front door has been on the fritz for a long time.

The car CD player doesn't.

All things considered, I'm looking forward to 2009.

Happy New Year!!!

Hangover

I woke up the morning after Christmas with a hangover. Ugh! I hadn't had one of those in a long time. Unlike past hangovers, this one was caused by too much food on Christmas Day. I'll need to work on the Santa-like hangover in the belt region caused by all the holiday fare. Think smaller portions, Bill.

I woke up early on Christmas morning; the alarm was set for 5am but I was awake before four o-clock. I went to the 6:45 meeting, and we had a smaller group than usual, although we did have a couple of visitors from Brooklyn. We had a nice discussion inspired by A Christmas Carol about our Christmases past and present (our adventures before and after). Since we only had about fifteen people, we went around the group so that everyone shared, which encouraged someone fairly new to talk. After the meeting I dropped a buttermilk pound cake with coconut & fresh cranberries off at Sheldon's so he could take that to the Christmas celebration at his brother's in North Carolina.

I went to a Christmas brunch at Robert's, and took a loaf of cranberry-orange bread. Here is where the trouble started. Robert & Jim had prepared Eggs Benedict, potatoes, bacon & sausage, cheese grits, fruit salad, asparagus, apple-currant cake, and a gingerbread trifle. I'd like to say that I took small portions and didn't go back for seconds, because that was my plan, but my taste buds conspired against me. There was a nice group of people assembled for the holiday gathering, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

Later, I went to Sherry's for Christmas dinner with her family. This was another food extravanganza, and I took my mother's famous corn casserole. Sherry's husband's family was there in full force, and it was an ecumenical event since they are Jewish. I enjoyed hearing them talk about the Torah as the lights on the Christmas tree twinkled and gifts were exchanged. Everyone was proud of a toddler who had learned how to say & spell "Happy Hanukkah." I was slightly better with portion control at Sherry's, but it was diminished capacity rather than willpower that kept me away from extra portions.

Since Christmas, I've stayed home to recharge my batteries with solitude and baking. Today I'm going to venture out to the movies with John to see Milk. Afterward, we'll exchange gifts and enjoy dinner out. I hope your holidays have been filled with merriment and quiet time as well.

I'm posting a few photos below of Monument Avenue's Christmas Caddy. Each year this car is decorated inside and out with lights, toys, and ornaments at the corner of Monument and Strawberry Street.

Betty Helps Filthy Parents

The gestation period for this infant must have been three days. These parents seem completely unprepared for their new family member. Maybe they simply woke up one morning and found a newborn in bed with them.

While Daddy roots around in the basement for a forgotten baby carriage, Betty White is enlisted to sanitize the bathroom. She certainly has her work cut out; look at that sink! Perhaps Mommy forgot to wipe down the basin after her appointment with Lady Clairol.

Betty, though, has made a surreptitious call to Social Services, and stalls for time as she cleans the tile. The cannister of Fantastik is employed as a changeling, and the infant is whisked off to a home where cleanliness reigns, much like my own mother's home.

I found this 1960's commercial clip on a site with similar snippets. If you're interested in vintage marketing, I also highly recommend a trip to Lidian's blog; she unearths some of the most interesting moments in American print ads.

First Amendment

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

There. I said it.

A Lunchtime Stroll

I love my job, but sometimes I need to step out of the office to recharge my batteries. Fortunately, I have some nice options for varied scenery just a few steps away from my workplace. Behind the office building is an odd area known as Scott's Addition, named after General Winfield Scott because the land was originally a portion of the 600-acre estate he inherited named Hermitage. Originally planned as a residential section of Richmond, the rerouting of the RF&P Railroad led to its development into a commercial and industrial center, although scattered houses and apartment buildings still dot the streets.

Walking a few blocks across from the front doors of the office building will take you to Monument Avenue, and that's where I headed recently on a brisk, sunny day on a lunch break. Here are a few photographs from my midday meander.

Let's get out of this office building a take a little walk around the neighborhood.

This is a lovely home on an over-sized lot. In fact, everything about this house is on a grand scale. It's a shame I didn't catch someone outside the home so that you could get a sense of scale. The rooms inside would be massive.

This house, built in the English Cottage style, looks like it would be full of interesting nooks and crannies. This house rambles back quite a ways, and has a side entrance.

I've heard that this home was built by the owners of a local stone quarry. Another large home built with a cottage-like front elevation, most of this house is not visible from the street. This is one of my favorite dwellings on this part of Monument Avenue.

Here's another nice home. This street is lined with them. Most of the houses on this stretch of Monument Avenue were built in the 1920's. The economy was booming, maids and gardeners were readily available, and who gave a heck about heating costs?

It's almost time to get back to work, and there's always plenty to do in the office. I'm refreshed after my walk, and I'm glad you came along.

Cold Weather = Baking

Baby, it's cold outside. Last night when I scampered to the grocery store for Half & Half (must have that for my coffee) it was snowing. Today I stayed inside at home, relaxing, and catching up on laundry. Reading about Amy in New Zealand enjoying a hot day at the seaside made me want to avoid going outside on a cold, windy day like today.

I think I just had a narrow escape from several hundred unwelcome roommates. This may sound familiar to any of you who were reading this blog last year. Several weeks ago, before the first hard frost hit, I moved my ficus tree back indoors. It's been dropping leaves, its usual behavior when I move it back inside, so I started picking off the leaves that were turning yellow. There, hidden in the foliage, cleverly disguised as wood, was another little package. I quickly clipped it loose and threw it outside. I don't want to relive last year's horror. Maybe they're still dormant, and they'll start appearing next spring. Outdoors. Where they belong. I've been putting my little tree out on my deck for years in the summer, and last December was the only time I ran into trouble when I brought it back inside. Danged if they didn't try it again this year.

This weekend I did a little baking. Staying warm & cozy during cold weather makes me think of baking, so I'll share a few recipes. I modified the first one using a recipe I found on the web last year. The cranberries stay bright red, which looks cheery and Yuletidey.

Orange-Cranberry Bread
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup granulated sugar
1-½ teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon baking soda
¼ cup cold butter
1 egg
¾ cup orange juice¹
1 tablespoon grated orange zest¹
1 teaspoon orange extract (optional)
1-½ cups fresh cranberries
½ cup chopped walnuts (optional)
I don't even use the electric mixer to make this, so you really don't need special equipment. Throw the sugar in a large mixing bowl, sift in the flour, baking powder, salt & soda. Cut in the cold butter; I simply used a knife to do this. Just keep cutting it in until there aren't any large butter pieces.
Add the egg, and mix. It will be dry. Add the cranberries and toss. Add the orange juice and grated orange zest. Add the orange extract if desired. Fold in the nuts if you want them.
Preheat your oven to 325° while you grease & flour a loaf pan. You can also sprinkle additional sugar on top of the batter after you put it in the loaf pan if you want your bread to have a sparkly look. Bake for 50-60 minutes, or until the bread tests done in the center. Your baking time will depend on the type of pan you use, and the idiosyncracies of your oven. Cool loaf before removing from the pan.

You can do this next one by hand or with a modern mixer; your choice. This recipe makes two loaves; one for you, and one for the dog. Or your neighbor.

Date-Cherry Bread
1-½ cups chopped, pitted dates
2-¼ cups boiling water
3 teaspoons baking soda
1 cup chopped nuts
1 cup dried cherries
¾ cup granulated sugar
¾ cup brown sugar
4 tablespoons butter, softened
2 eggs
1 teaspoon salt
4-½ cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon vanilla
Put the dates in the hot water. Add the baking soda. Soak for 30 minutes. If you are a bad person, the mixture will foam up when you add the baking soda. Actually, it will foam up anyway. You can pretend that you're a mad scientist. Do not drain the dates! You will use the dates + liquid in the batter.
Cream the butter and sugars. Beat in the eggs thoroughly. Add the salt, vanilla, and the foam-rimed you're-a-bad-person mixture, and mix well. Toss the nuts with the flour, and gently mix the dry ingredients into the date mixture. Evenly divide the batter between your greased & floured loaf pans. Bake @ 300° for 60 minutes, or until each loaf tests done in the center. Cool before removing from pans.

Okay, the last recipe I'll share today is one that I got from Sheldon. He's a good cook. This is a good old-fashioned spoonbread, and it's great comfort food. It's easy to make, and it goes well with pork. Sometimes I nuke the leftovers, add some butter, and have it for lunch.

Sheldon's Spoonbread
1 cup self-rising cornmeal²
2 cups scalded milk (I use the microwave)
2 eggs, beaten
½ cup sugar
Mix and bake in a greased baking dish @ 400° for about 30-35 minutes. That's all there is to it! I use a whisk when I mix the batter to get the lumps out. You can omit or reduce the sugar, but it sure is good sweet.

I'm satisfied if the finished product is edible, and comes out of the pan. But take a look at the incredible cakes that someone in St. Petersburg (Russia, not Florida) has made. Click here for the photos.

¹ If the fresh oranges at the market look sad, you'll be fine with storebought juice, and grated orange peel from the spice aisle. I use Penzey's grated orange peel if a fresh orange isn't handy.
² You can make your own self-rising cornmeal right at home! 1 cup cornmeal, 3 tablespoons flour, 1 tablespoon baking powder, ½ teaspoon salt.

Pilgrimage

On the first weekend in October, I took a road trip to Vermont so that I could be present at my friend Suzanne's wedding. The drive from Virginia to Vermont is long, but I had a fine trip, arriving at Bennington in the early evening on a Friday. It was dark by the time I reached my destination.

The next morning, even though I had only had a few hours of rest, I awakened refreshed before the alarm went off. I hopped out of bed, shaved & showered, and dressed warmly in wool pants and a bright orange sweater. I headed to the other end of Main Street to a 7:00 meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. It was a chilly but sunny day.

Thirty 30+ people gathered at the Baptist church, and there was one newcomer, so the group shared short personal stories about their experiences with alcohol, and the strength and hope they had found in Alcoholics Anonymous. I mentioned how grateful I was for the meeting, since I was traveling solo from out of town, and would be attending a social event which would include an open bar later in the day.

Afterwards, I was invited to a coffeehouse with several members of the group, and we had a nice time getting to know one another. There was some talk about local real estate, and one woman mentioned that she & her husband had purchsed an old house from an elderly couple, and found out after they moved in that the previous owner was a crossdresser. One room upstairs had been turned into an enormous closet for his finery, and he had enjoyed making grand entrances via the sweeping staircase to the foyer. Just when you think Vermonters are a little prim and boring...

I was able to get confirmed directions to East Dorset over coffee and an almond scone. Before I left Richmond, I learned that Bennington is just a few miles south of the birthplace and final resting spot of Bill Wilson, one of the co-founders of Alcoholics Anonymous, so I was determined to make a pilgrimage to East Dorset.

One of the ladies at the table, Sue, had inherited property south of the town of Bennington, and operates an antique store. After coffee, I moseyed around a church bazaar, and then visited Sue's antique shop. While I was at Sue's, my sponsor called to see how I was getting along in New England, so I told him about the meeting. Then Kristen, Suzanne's maid of honor, called and we made plans for breakfast.

After breakfast with Suzanne & Kristen, the three of us went on a hunt for large glass vases for the roses Suzanne had flown in from South America. Things were looking grim until the frustrated bride suggested trash cans. I found two mock cut-crystal plastic trash cans in the bath section of Walmart, and the problem was solved. No one would have guessed they weren't expensive vases once Kristen arranged the roses in them.

I decided that Sunday would be the day for my journey to East Dorset, so I took off after breakfast. The fall colors were beautiful on the trees, and soon I was standing outside Wilson House, the inn where Bill W. was born in a room behind (appropriately) the bar in 1895. The building still operates as a bed & breakfast, and draws recovering alcoholics from all over the globe. Many old homes in New England have the barn attached to the back of the house so that livestock could be tended easily in cold winter months. The barn at the inn is now a huge meeting room, with comfortable seating areas and a large stone fireplace. Everyone I met was happy to be there and very friendly. I was also given a key to explore the small house nearby where Bill spent many of his childhood years with his grandparents.

On my way back to Bennington, I had one last stop on the outskirts of East Dorset. On the west bank along Route 7 lies an old country cemetery. Here, Bill and his wife Lois are buried. As I pulled into the cemetery, I scanned the hillside and wondered how I would find the graves. On a far slope to the back of the graveyard, I saw a dozen people standing in a circle. I knew that was the spot.

The group was leaving as I approached, so I stood alone at the grave of an ordinary man who made an extraordinary difference in my life and the lives of many others. Because of him, I am alive today. He had faced the same struggles as me, felt the same hopelessness & despair, and been wracked by the bewildering craving for another drink - even though it was killing him. He discovered the key that eluded the medical experts: recovery from this fatal disease is possible when one alcoholic helps another.

The graves of Bill & Lois are honored with simple tokens left by other recovering alcoholics: stones, medallions & chips, meeting schedules from distant places, and personal thank-you notes. The grass was worn bare around these graves.

Not too long ago, I could not have imagined that I would be at this place, feeling the warm sun and the brisk breeze, seeing the splendid autumn colors of the trees, and being overtaken by a deep sense of peace and gratitude.

A Christmas Potty

I'm having new siding put on my home, and the worker's have a porta-potty nearby - I think there's a state law where I live that there must be a portable toilet handy for outdoor workers if indoor facilities are not available.

Anyway, I'm out of the house before dawn, and I get home well after dark, so I haven't been able to see much of the siding project. When I drove home Saturday morning (daylight!) from the yoga lesson and following meeting, I noticed that the portable toilet is all decorated for the holidays. It's a cute little unit on its own merits; fancier than most porta-potties, with its mock-wooden siding and contrasting trim. I especially like the crescent moon design on the door.

The red bow on the door and the red bead garland around the sides and back are festive, but the little red & green glitter tree at the apex of the roofline is the brilliant crowning touch.

I might have to bake these workers some cookies.

Update: I noticed this morning that they've added a gold tinsel garland to outline the edges of the johnny house, and a red dangly thing on the door latch. I hope this remains a work in progress. Maybe they'll have a manger scene by the time Christmas is here. I'll take pictures on a sunny day if there are additional improvements to the holiday theme. I wonder if they have decorated the interior?