PICTURE THAT!

 THE FARMER AND THE FOTO
 
I love looking at pictures
Of people, places and things
I search them out, to view again
.....Again and then the
Dammmm phone rings...

"Hey YOU! Did receive my photos?"
Of course I did, my Baybeeee
I wish to look more and see
You. But where are your clothes?

You were else nought
But very bold
At the same (Wow!) hot
But very cold

Thank you again
For what you send
I SO love the view
And I SO love YOU

Riinnnnggggg! That phone again?
Nope! Alarm clock telling me time
To awaken. Just how
Am I supposed to now
Get up and push that plow?

No dreams tomorrow night of mine

--steveroni

In the late thirties and early forties I lived with a group of six "bachelor farmer" type men
(Army rejects) and my family. Looking backwards, I know there were many dreams in that farmhouse...mostly of girls, nakedness, drinking, fun, and fun, and not much else. Not yet age ten, I was secretly one of those dreamers.

Never once did I say to myself in the mirror, "Hey, you...steveroni. Maybe one day YOU can drink a pint of Muscatel before breakfast, be drunk before dinner, and not remember supper. Then Steve, YOU can also lead a life of pure (false) guilt and misery, and be filled with a hundred forms of fear, paranoia, resentment, anger and jealousy.

And you can finally graduate (Oh! finally?) into the ranks of daily drinker, daily drunk. And one day your GOD (alcohol) will turn on you and leave your heart and soul bleeding. Instead of making yourself believe you were above--better than--the others, your God of 20+ years will say 'fuck you', steveroni, as He abandons you.

 Then that God--alcohol--will look for millions who have not lost much yet, and proceed to lead them down the same dark stairway to hell-on-earth. Now, Steve--isn't that an ideal life--he way you WANT it to be?"

Alcoholism, the killer disease, wants me and countless others DEAD. Alcoholism tells me I do not have a disease--just a slight lack of will power. Alcoholism is patient, having until the end of time! I don't have that long.

Peeps! Without any intention of doing so, I really got on the soapbox this time, right? Well, I wish for everyone here who needs and wants it, to experience the peace, love, and happiness which has been given freely to me through the AA program, the lives and life it has redeemed.

S

BUT THAT WAS LONG AGO.....

THEN AND NOW

As wonderfully exciting; as scintillating (to me) as some part of my past has been, there were too many horrors in which I do not dwell...rather I try to forget. While thinking of the past, I clicked on a favorite blog written by LU ANN.
 

Wouldn't you know? Her topic was so utterly similar to my thought of that moment, that I'm blogging my own feeble--yet necessary, to me--version of then and now.

During the thirty-or-so years when I was making my annual pilgrimage from Naples--1,150 miles to the parental home, dragging my wife and children along, I would at least one or two days, ride to the inner city.

While reading LuAnn's blog post, I pictured myself walking the streets of downtown Cincinnati, doing the same thing. I really "saw" once a little boy, about age 9, carrying a violin case and a book-laden bag, perspiring, and oh, so tired. IT WAS ME, so much full of fear of the people all around who did not even "see" the terrified boy. And the ones who smiled at me longingly and tenderly, OMG!--those "men"...made my hair actually stand out on my neck. All alone, going to a downtown college for my lesson--which was unprepared, of course. I played this scenario out 2-4 times a week, year after year.

Then the long bus ride home, between 1-2 hours...after dark, like 10 PM. I lived on our family farm, one mile up a winding single-lane road, up and up, no lights. (I loved, absolutely "fell in love" with moonlit nights!) My whole body was frozen in fear of whatever...and yet I moved, climbing that hill over and over. I have stories about those nights, some of which are still buried a few mental layers down.

Next--in this memory-- I lived my "I don't care" years.  I should have cared, because these were bad. I've heard many a sad "prison" story in my years in AA, but none have yet stirred me past my own self-constructed walls, which left me about 6 inches of freedom in any direction from my cold heart. This was JAIL, and it was of my own making. How SICK! A drink of wine for me then was a gallon of 22% (in volume)White Port. Hopefully, some would remain in the jug for my breakfast.  I never shared my alcohol--NEVER!

"Take my shirt--take my shoes
But don'tcha DARE take my Booze"...
is my motto (just now made that up--grin!)

While "in" Lu Ann's blog, I could not help but remember at once those hardest, darkest of days, during which I'd never expect to see the sun rise.

Enter a new me, in a new life of Alcoholics Anonymous 36 years ago. I was not really "new" for a long time. And now it seems I've gotten "old" again, meaning my "old" thinking has seeped back into my head the past few years. This I DO believe...well, I KNOW it: Every day is a New Beginning. A reprieve from my old way of living is granted daily by my Higher Power according to the maintenance of my spiritual condition. Yeah!

And one more thought I left in a comment on LU ANN blog..."We are going to know a new freedom and a new happiness...and We will not forget the past nor wish to shut the door on it!..." (Pg 83 Big Book)

My past is ALL I HAVE with which to help another one day--and I do!  (Actually I just mouth the words, God does the actual "helping"--grin!) Right?

--steveroni
Sober Today
Somewhat Happy Today
At Peace Today
Love you, Peeps!

POOR ME

My favorite Sunday night place-to-be is The Second Road aka TSR and here is WHY:

Get together with us in the chat room on Sunday night, at 8pm, to discuss Gratitude. Bring your personal experiences, musings, and questions. Our hostess is Ms. Hen, aka the Frugal Hen, Betty.

 1958 was a drunk year, best forgotten by me, and anyone who knew me then.....

I can not write, for I am without words
I Cannot paint, for I am without imagination.
I cannot love, for I am without a companion,
But I can drink, for this bottle is my own.

Cannot eat, no appetite
Can't sleep, no peace
I can not work, for ambition has left me
But I can drink, for this bottle is my own

I cannot see, I am blind
I cannot hear, I am deaf
I cannot breathe, I am choking
I can not live any more

For this bottle, my own, is now empty.

--Steve  E  Sep 7,  1958

NOTE:  It would be 16 years more of heavy drinking and downhill life, before I could put down the bottle for the last time. March 18, 1974 I shook myself into my first AA meeting, and met you peeps, and met God..for the first time.

Peeps, it is not my anniversary.  On the other hand, EVERY day is Anniversary day, when you been where I came from.

Sober. Peace. Love.

SUNDAY'S INSPIRATION OR MEMORIES?

INSPIRATION

For tonight's blog I had in mind two topics but could not become enthusiastic about either. Then I read a blog from a really classy daily contributor to our little group of AA, Alanon (and "other") recoverers. Mary Louise (Mary LA) began her May 16 blog describing herself as "dance, dance, dancing" in the cold, pelting, late autumn South African rain. Click HERE. The remainder of Mary's blog is devoted to her alcoholic friend who is living in a "danger zone" (my words).

For some reason, my mind whirled back to a time when I was "in lust" with a ballerina, who also "liked" me, the alcoholic violinist. The ballerina chose (wisely so -grin!) to further her dancing career instead of her potentially chaotic life with me.

Some few years before, Nat King Cole recorded--and sold a gazzilion copies of--the song "Dance, Ballerina, Dance", in which the lyrics (below) portray a situation of a ballerina whose career choice overruled her heart choice, resulting in a lost love.

For a musical change, click on the sad words of this song out of yester-year. In less than four minutes you will learn a bit about popular music during the early alcoholic life of Steve E:

NAT KING COLE sings DANCE BALLERINA DANCE

Lyrics:

Dance, ballerina, dance
And do your pirouette in rhythm with your aching heart.
Dance, ballerina, dance
You mustn't once forget a dancer has to dance the part.

Whirl, ballerina, whirl
And just ignore the chair that's empty in the second row.
This is your moment, girl,
Although he's not out there applauding as you steal the show.

Once you said his love must wait its turn
You wanted fame instead.
I guess that's your concern,
We live and learn.

And love is gone, ballerina, gone
So on with your career, you can't afford a backward glance.
Dance on and on and on
A thousand people here have come to see the show
As 'round and 'round you go
So ballerina, dance
Dance, dance!

______________________________________________________________________________

Thank you for being with me this Sunday in May. You--ALL of you bloggers are in my prayers and in my heart.

Peace and Love,
Steve E