AA-FOUR STEPS?

FOUR STEPS???

"Abandon yourself to God as you understand God.

Admit your faults to Him and to others.

Clear away the wreckage of your past.

Give freely of what you find and join us."

--Alcoholics Anonymous, p 164, last paragraph, 1st four sentences


These four sentences--simply and succinctly--entrust to me all I must know, in order to stay sober and live sober. My beautiful Twelve Steps have been given to me here in a version I can memorize, internalize, live with, and work with.

When I find someone troubled by the word or action of meditating, I feed them this group of principles, to think about, to get to know, to love.

I listen in disbelief when someone new in the program reads the Big Book, and says in all seriousness--and in truth!--"I read that chapter and really like it. I could identify with what Bill Wilson was trying to say there."

And I look at the new man--or woman--and remember silently to myself the many times I read the Big Book in my earlier daze. There were no letters or words in my book. Just hundreds of pages of fly shit. (My mother used to call them fly specks, but we knew what she meant -grin!)

But as time and coffee healed me physically, my eyes began to see better, and my brain......well--uh, hmmmm--how should I say this? My brain was not too well meshed right from the start. Let's face it, 1933 was NOT a good year for me--I was born! Things went downhill from there.

But, I digress!

The year 1974 WAS a good year for me, but I was unaware of that fact. Things began to slowly drift uphill. Alcoholics Anonymous was the reason. And after about a year, I could see the words on the pages, but still did not understand them. Even now, I do not understand a whole lot. But I DO know this. It works!

Of course, everyone knows that MY "primary purpose" here is to make me look good, make me sound funny, knowledgeable, and endear you to my heart. When in fact I might--when the weather and the wind are right--hear one of you say, "How did HE get here? Boy is HE a sicko. Well, they say 'some are sicker than others'. I hear he is a 'Big Book Thumper'. And he always brags about how long he's been sober, Ugh...and he just LIVES in meetings. NOBODY can be happy all the time like THAT!"

IF anyone is new here and read that paragraph, I'd better 'splain. IT WAS IN JEST! OK? Anyway, when I start 'jesting' it's time to say "Goodbye" or "good night". With the usual signature L.O.V.E. I have for you bloggers...enjoy a GREAT and SOBER weekend! Yessss!

In love and service, (no jesting there)
Sincerely.
Steve E.

GRASS...NO, NOT THAT KIND!

GRASS: PERSPECTIVES

A few years ago, we spent several thousand on a 65' well, electric submersible pump. FREE water, for the yard! This past winter there have been gushers, which, if they were oil wells, we'd be really worried about all our money about now. However, my problem was not money (since we do not have any!), but getting all the sprinkler heads in working order.

So, after one-and-a-half years of careful "engineering study and research" (I tell my wife!) it was time today, to just bite that metal bullet, and "get down and dirty" once again. And I fixed all but one! So our yard is up very late tonight, and I hear it saying (whispering) (whisper!) "Thank you, Steve...thank you, Steve...thank you!" (Or was that Prayer Girl--she's been after me to do this for weeks.)

What a difference a day makes...and a few thousand gallon of water! I could see the grass turning green as it drank--or was it simply getting wet? Either way is Okay. However, that exquisite springtime smell is already sneaking its way from ground to nostril. It is rather a scent, than an odor or smell. It should be caught in a bottle and sold as perfume...or how about a "springtime cocktail"? Bartenders could name it "Grrrrrrrass"! I can just 'hear' a customer--in an effort to shorten the named drink--saying, "Hey barkeep, give me a little a**! (Oh, NO! Steve, you gone and done it again--just lost all four readers!)

I once wrote a poem about a blade of grass, and how it must feel to be trampled, mowed, fertilized, half-killed by "Feed-and-Weed", drowned , left alone, dying of thirst--for months! Only to be mowed, cut down as in a long-overdue haircut...and I lost the poem. I only recall the first few lines. I really am sorry, because it was a favorite to me:

My Friend, A Blade Of Grass

See the glistening green blade!
Please! Careful with that spade
Trillions may call him 'brother'
... But there'll never be another
Exactly just like him
In the glistening green glades of blades.

--Steve E.

In about two weeks, our lawn will be up to its old nose-thumbing ways, growing high enough each week, so I'll have to mow it every ten days, now through October. Every year--for the last 15--I've said (and will repeat it now!) "NEXT year, we're going to farm out this job." I do not wish to die while committing murder, killing the glistening green blades of the glistening green glades.

At least when I'm working outside these days, my perspiration is not dominantly alcohol--but, ahhhh! well...OK, SAY IT, Steve! COFFEE, my current "drug of choice". There, I broke my anonymity! Again!

Here I am, still loving all youse guys--yes, ALL! (Except one!) So please add me to your prayer lists. The more I think things are becoming OK, the more I need prayers. Since I was told not to pray for myself--exception: the 'foxhole' variety. I really depend on your prayers to whoever is your Higher Power: It, She, He, or....?

In love and service,
Sincerely.
Steve E.

WHAT A DAY

A RARE MOOD?

What a Day This Has Been
What A Rare Mood I'm In....

...and something tells me to stop right there, before I begin to get into trouble. Please do not ask me why! However...this HAS been an awesome day for me--Wednesday March 18, 2009. It began in the usual habitual manner, got up at 4:40 AM, made it to the 6 AM, stayed for the 7 meeting. About 80 people attended the Big Book meeting at 7. And when they asked for any "annuals" (meaning sober anniversaries) I got to tell them, "Yeah, ME! 35 years". Prayer Girl, was sitting on the opposite side of the oval spaced chairs from me, and we both walked toward each other, and she gave me a medallion, and a B.I.G. hug--the kind bloggers would recognize! --and a B.I.G. kiss.

Yep, right there in front of everyone and God Himself...shameless was she! Embarrassed was he! Yet he (me) enjoyed it immensely, as y'all can imagine. But she is so young to be fooling around with an old man like me...and pretty, too! Prayer-Girl was smiling just like I remember her on her wedding day.

I got to sit with Don B, my sponsor--who I love--and stayed for the 8 AM meeting with him. Later, a fellow who I sponsor asked me to lunch at a Skyline Chili Parlor. Boyoboyoboy! Good! And even better, since he bought! We also got caught up with each other's happenings. And I only spilled a spoonful of chili sauce on my white shirt. Nobody even notices it--unless I turn around to face them -grin!

Next thing I knew, God wasn't finished yet with making my Sober Anniversary number 35 the most memorable I've experienced. No sooner I walked in the house from lunch with Ted M, than the telephone rang with a call from Denver, and I knew who that was before she said "Hello?" It was of course--well, how would any of you know?-- my very favorite "blogger-girl" on the line. Here now, I have to ask, How many of y'all have had "Happy Birthday" sung over the phone to you by the sweetest voice of Mary Christine? (Look it up: Marilyn Monroe sang "Happy Birthday" to Jack Kennedy, U.S. President.) Note to self: Steve, let's not get carried away here now, OK?? OK!

Anyway, it was wonderful to be remembered, especially by someone who I thank God often for allowing to be part of my later (blogger) sober life. Bless you, MC., I mean it!

Later, I had a violin gig at one of the thousand Country Clubs here. The occasion was Italian Night. Imagine, the day after St Patrick's Day, the pianist and I played 3 hours of Italian music. Oh, one of the things about that job, it was so easy to work. First, my stress level was at real low tide, because of the "happies" during the day. But MAINLY because it was the first time I've played with this guy's music since I had my eyeballs repaired, and new "Restor" lenses installed. I COULD SEE THE MUSIC! No guessing the notes or their meter.

And so, I began my blog tonight: "What a day this has been, What a rare mood I'm in...." and it's time for bed. I apologize for not reading and commenting on all your blogs Wednesday, but will try to play catch-up from now through Sunday.

--smiling-a-roni

Happily, In love and service,
Sincerely.
Steve E.

I NEVER HAD ANY FRIENDS!

NO WONDER I NEVER
HAD ANY FRIENDS!!

This past week, I have got so serious,
that I really needed an emotional break,
and so I'm blogging today a poem I wrote
in 1959 while I was drunk out of my mind.
I hope and pray that your sensibilities may
not be offended. It will never be my wish
to alienate anyone here.

This is a warning--the following
is NOT the usual "steveroni" fare. This was
actually written on the 24th Anniversary of
Alcoholics Anonymous...but CERTAINLY I
was not aware of that fact!
--Steve E.

HOT EVENING IN JUNE 1959

So glad I'm not a dog
With families of fleas
Would not be a flower
And get stung by bumble bees
But wish I were a bird
So I could shit on everybody.

Would never be a lion
With all that fluffy fur
Cannot see myself a cat
Afraid of every Grrrrr--
But I wish I were a bird
So I could shit on everyone.

A horse? Never!
Work, work, work all day
And not either a fish, just
To be caught in the bay
But I wish I were a bird
So I could shit all my "friends".

I will not be a cow
And have you pull and tug
You won't hit me with your DDT
'Cause I will not be a bug
But I'd LOVE to be a bird
So's I could shit on you.

A duck I will not be
'cause he can't fly high
A 'Zookey'---nosiree!
You may be one, not I
But when I'm a bird
I'll first shit on you

Not a cow, lion or cat
Not a bug, horse, or 'Zookey'
But let me tell you, my friend...
When you look up to see----
Tweet-tweet, splat...splat
.........................think of me!

-Drunk Steve E. 6/10/1959

In love and service (Somehow that line doesn't seem to fit?)
Steve E.

MARY LA--ANNIVERSARY!! TWO YEARS

Congratulations, Mary Louisey!
TWO YEARS free of alcohol.
And you do it 'happily'.

Bonus BLG (short blog!):

Mary LA is an AA Loner, in S Africa. She has nearly non-existent access to meetings, and blogs every day. She is a professional. I mean professional WRITER (and gourmet chef--really!). Her writing is impeccable (whatever that means -grin!). If you are not acquainted, or one who goes there daily, I urge you to visit her blog HERE, check it out, at least wish her HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!

I believe it will be March 17th in her country in an hour or two. Thank you for responding, peeps...

In love and service,
Sincerely,
Steve E.

FINAL (BLONG!) "POP" STORY

TELLATOUCH

SEE NO EVIL...HEAR NO EVIL

POP: PART TWO

To understand more fully what's going on here, you might wish to read POP: PART ONE (Saturday March 14, '09...otherwise, (insert 'salute' here!) "CARRY ON, SHARGENT"!

The following is only as I, Rosanna Anna Dana--Oooops, I mean Steve E. (hope ya got that one?!) recall, and there may be inconsistencies...but I was present for some of this story.

My father, also Steve E., who I shall call Pop, was totally blind. Twenty-five years before he died, he suffered nerve deafness, and in a matter of a few years, became totally deaf. He used a Tellatouch, a device which helped end social isolation for hundreds of deaf-blind children and adults.

My parents and three siblings (I was the--ahem--oldest of us four) moved (down-sized) to a 25-acre farm with a nice pond, and new house, and quite a large barn. Being the 'free spirit' I was (did I hear "am"?), I had moved miles away from that group of people--my family--as soon as I could, somewhere around age 17, 18, or 19. A lot of my life is a bit hazy, due to my great friendship with the gang: Smirnoff, Bond and Lillard, Jack Daniels, Rot Gut, Thunderbird wine, etc. I was always...ALWAYS...surrounded with many of those kinds of friends--the only ones who "really cared". Frankly, they were all I cared about, to tell the truth.

Gobble Gobble Gobble:

It was in these 'digs' that Pop raised turkeys for a number of years. In the incubators he rolled the eggs daily. After the birds hatched he nurtured, fed, watered and talked to them, even though he could not hear them. Each year he raised upwards of 200 birds, slaughtered them, cleaned them, wrapped them, weighed them and retailed them, one at a time, mainly at Thanksgiving and Christmas. Some he froze for use throughout the year. All this while not seeing, or hearing a blessed thing, in complete isolation, except for that Tellatouch. He did have family help for these activities. We are products of a large German tribe.

I remember visiting my parents, and playing my violin. Of course, he could not hear it. He would put his hand right on the instrument grabbing it tightly, feel the vibrations, and give us a mile-wide smile. Those moments did give me a thrill. You see, I wasn't all bad--yet. But our disease--alcoholism--had me well-hooked years before.

After some time, six miles was not enough distance between "us and them" so wife number three and I moved 1,200 miles beyond, to Naples FL, in early 1965. Still ensconced in this village, I and wife number four, "Prayer Girl" live very active and (I think?) happy lives in Alcoholics Anonymous.

At the Beach:

Pop and Mom visited each winter for about seven years, lived in a 'mobile home' (hate that word also!). Using the Tellatouch seemed to be such a chore for adults, either not wanting to try something different, or shy of the "deaf-blind" guy, who knows.

Children however, LOVED to play with the little typewriter look-a-like, and they flocked around Pop whenever he was at a pool or the beach. He loved children--and children loved him. That's the way it was. They also enjoyed swimming with him, he was a good swimmer. Problem was that he'd go out in the Gulf, reach one of the barrier sand spits, and not know which was the way back to shore.

Imagine being out there, unable to hear a thing! Strangers often shouted to him that he was swimming toward (Houston?) Texas. They did not know he was deaf AND sightless. One of my sisters brought down to Naples a 100-yard boat line, tied it onto his swim trunks, and anchored it on my mother's chair. She tugged, and he returned to the beach.

At his deathbed--we had not realized he would be dead in three days--I wrote to him on the Tellatouch, "Pop, I love you, I have always loved you." He nodded that he understood, but did not respond. He did ask for a cup of water, and we 'talked' about some other things, before I left, with tears in my eyes. That's the last time I saw him alive. I was age forty-five.

Two nuns wrote a book about him after he died, title: "LIVING WITH JOY" That is the way everyone saw my father. He died in 1978, I was four years sober. NOTE: In our book Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions, Step 12 dissertation begins, "The Joy of Living is the theme of AA's Twelfth Step..."

I hope that one day when I have 'crossed over' it could be said of me, "He did live with Joy, No Matter What!" (And he lived with L.O.V.E. in his heart!) AND THAT WOULD ALL BE TRUE! -grin!

In love and service.
Sincerely,
Steve E.

MY SUNDAY MORNING:

Funny but NOT Funny

"Funny thing happened on the way to the office..." (Actually, it happened at a meeting.) First, I am really having one of those 'bad' days which I usually only read about (others).

Second I'm not sure why after all these years a situation has taken on much more meaning than it deserves. I left a meeting this morning before it was over--I could not stand for mt peeps to see me cry.

It came over me to share that my long-dead father never once said to me, "I love you, son." In fact, on his deathbed I told him I loved him, and he could not respond, although he was quite able to 'talk'--with me using his Tel-a-touch. He just could not even get out the words.

And, after a lifetime of being singled out as five hundred 'dumb jackasses'
He had been SO handicapped throughout his 'happy' life, that I felt SO guilty about not liking, loving, him. Rather what I had felt--maybe still feel, was hatred. How aweful is that?

So I had to leave the meeting and zip home to tell whoever will read this that I did cry a little bit on my bikeride home...and I hesitate to say this.....but I even had a brief thought about how nice a quart of Early Times might be, not a drink--a quart!

Immediately I knew "trouble" was brewing--bad use of word, grin!--and asked God to get to me quickly. Angel Flex, "HELP!" Then a car full of beach-goers pulled alongside of me at a light (a light which is NEVER red!) and we chatted a minute, they were happy, smiling young people. They yelled at me as they pulled away, "Have a nice day, Steve!" (These were strangers to me, get it?)

So, as of right now, I AM F.I.N.E. but I did want to get this off my chest, and to write it out makes me feel SO much better.

If anyone is reading this, you are not expected to comment, because this IS my blog #2 today. There may even be a third...after mass.

In MUCH love, service, and gratitude for you all.
Sincerely,
Steve E.

POP: PART ONE

NOTE: The following sketch of my early relationship with my father will continue Sunday night, or Monday. There IS a whole other chapter.

POP: PART ONE

My father was totally blind. He was owner-operator of a dairy farm in Ohio. That is the place I grew up. Around two hundred head of cattle made up the chief source of income. Also we experienced the raising of pigs, horses, chickens, guineas, sheep, two goats, lots and lots of cats, a few dogs (collies, shepherds, mixes, etc.), and other stuff I cannot remember.

My sister and I raised Hereford steers in the 4-H club for showing and auctioning at the county fair.

Steve (my father's real name...also) was a man admired, respected, and carefully listened to, by all--I mean ALL--who met him. Humor, and a great enthusiasm for living and life, were characteristics of his which were admired by all, even me. Sometimes I just wish I had some of that zest for life, that lack of fear of being a little "different", that joie d'vivre which is SO lacking in this great and wonderful, and well-blest country where we live. (Truthfully, I DO have quite a bit of all that stuff -grin!)

SOME MEMORIES:

On a cold, darkened, wintry morning with ice everywhere, old snow hanging around--even the snow felt itself cold at 10 below zero--the old John Deer would sometimes rebel and refuse to start. Six (seeing) hired hands had tried and failed to get the tractor moving. My sightless father climbed right up there, fooled with the engine, worked a little magic, asked for a pint of gas, poured it right into the carburetor, did a few more unseen magic gestures...and...FOOOM! BOOM BOOM, that old one-cylinder piece of machinery began to roll into action for the day's work.

He could put his hands on any one of the fifty cows milking, and tell whoever was interested, how many pounds of milk the cow produced in a day (two milkings), the butterfat content, when her next calf was due, when she birthed the last one, how old she was...etc. Oh! And her name--we named our cows, it was a real "family" business. (Don't anyone get 'smart' here, OK?)

Everything was retail, eggs, butter, cream (coffee, and whipping), buttermilk, cottage cheese, eggs, chocolate milk, ice cream (Pop used to tell little kids that chocolate milk came from the black cows). He loved children, and they loved him...always...except me!

All through my 'formative' years, Pop called me--out loud, in front of anyone--five hundred dumb jackasses. He said this in German, but everyone--especially me--knew what he meant. And he never...never EVER said those words to another human--just me!

I read constantly here and elsewhere, about some of the girls being horribly abused, even raped by their relatives, and beaten, and I pray for them, and sometimes I cry a little when I read some of your stories. But, ya know--I did not realize it--that I was also abused, in a fashion. I have not got it all figured out yet, but even though I inherited many of my father's (hopefully) good character traits, I hated him for many years. Yes, I am another one of those guys: I never once heard my father say, "I love you, son!"

Two sisters and a brother, who he told often that he loved them, all grew older with their own issues and problems. These were different from mine. My real problem was between my ears, where I planted and nurtured the seed of alcoholism--that "thinking disease"--which lasted from about age 12 to age 40. Actually, I still HAVE it...as we all know, it never goes away. It is always there in the attic of my mind, waiting patiently for whatever trigger, or series of events, will again give it the life it craves. It is the ghost of the dead drug, which will haunt me when I least suspect.

This week, Wednesday I will celebrate my 35 year anniversary of the day of my last drink. The day after my last drink, a Tuesday, I attended my first meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. Slow it has been, but finally, even I am seeing some result. For one thing, the BIG result...I am still alive. I do not dwell on other results, because that is certainly a changing state of mind and body.

Mostly though, I can sure tell you I'm a HAPPY guy, almost always at Peace, and so, SO full of love for life itself, yours and mine! Lately I have been closing my blogs and Emails with: "In love and service..." because that sounds a lot more AA-ish to me than, "OH! How I love all you wonderful bloggers, and AA,an God, etc., etc." Know what I mean???

But today is different! I'm gonna tell you like it IS. I DO love you all! I love reading your blogs, your comments, commenting on your blogs. And I love WRITING blogs. And when I think of the few of you out there who will read this and enjoy it, my heart is near to exploding with love--for you AND the others. Please KNOW THAT!!! ...And I love "Prayer Girl".

In Love and Service,
Sincerely.
Steve E.

HE SAID...SHE SAID...GOD SAID

First half of my life I wasted, asleep like "Bert"
...Now I wish I COULD sleep like "Bert"!!

HE SAID--SHE SAID...

He said, "OH! To start 'life' over again at age fourteen!"

She said, "...and DIE all over again?" (We were age 25.)

This snippet is from a conversation which happened (I was "he") fifty years ago. Some memory hook brought it vividly back to me this morning. And I am thinking she was SO right! Die all over. Die again. Finally, thankfully, it has passed, it is in the past, that life is dead. (But I cannot forget the ghost of my addiction, ready to haunt the house in which it lives...me.)

At age 25, I somehow knew I was killing myself, suicide-by-bourbon. Later on I used different bullets-- Vodka, Gin, Brandy, Scotch--I used beer only to quench the occasional need, that rising from a sense of thirst. All these ammunitions had in common one poison--alcohol. The gun I used was my own mind. My True God--Booze! Something which I L.O.V.E.D.

Liquor was one substance in this world on which I could count to make me whole again, strong, handsome, deep-voiced, whatever I was not! As a Jekyll-Hyde combo, I survived surgical procedures, two heart attacks (before age 35), weddings, deaths, births, trips, years of boating, orchestral experiences, auto wrecks--called non-accidents-- pain and suffering (due in part to my F'Kg up three wonderful marriages), and being so often broke. I still wonder, from where came the money to buy booze?

I now realize that--for me--the greatest tidal wave through which alcohol actually might have helped me live--was feeling for many years that I was unloved, undeserving of love. I was as certain of that as I was of being alive. I held those thoughts close to myself though, for fear of being--I dunno what--found out?

On the plus side, I had extremely LOW self esteem! (That's a PLUS?! Ya gotta climb up from SOME starting place -grin!)) At the same time I did know everything about everything. I always worked at jobs, ranging from cleaning out gutters and shoveling manure...to playing the same evening--costumed in full dress--in the Cincinnati Symphony, accompanying Roberta Peters (GOD, what a voice, and all else, too!), a coloratura soprano-of-the-day.

I might have known something was wrong when three thousand people stood applauding, and I, with others, stood to accept it, tears rolling down my face because I knew nobody loved me......What a jerk-off!

AND THEN GOD SAID....

Had I not heard of God? Eight years (Sisters of Charity) plus four years (Jesuits) of masses, training, praying often throughout each day, how could I not believe? Well I did NOT! But I sure pretended good. I acted my way through forty--devout-filled, yeah!--years of life.

You know what happened next? Of course you do. God--not letting on Who He was--took me by the hand, and brought me to you. YOU! And during time--oh so long a time!--you and God healed me, with my cooperation. We all did this together. And even today we continue to all do this together for each other, and for one another! Happiness for me today, is being willing--with adult supervision-- to do God's will...and doing God's will, whenever and wherever it is put in front of me. Sure I came in late, age 40...and made it in time for Act III...but hey, what about that guy in the 'other' Big Book, who worked the fields the final hour, and got paid the same as those who had labored all day long? Hmmmmmm?

"What's the point?" (Private joke!) The point is that I know now that each of us is loved by God. Next point is that we are all loved by others, especially those who chose us to "come into my closet, come under my bed, where you'll find me hiding, the fear in my head..."--Hope

Let's cooperate with God and stay sober together today. OK?

In gratitude, love, and service,
Sincerely.
Steve E.

TWO TOPICS C'MON, TWO???

ORATORY AT AVE MARIA TOWN, FLORIDA

Visiting an AA Room? From out of town?
Try a Little Humility...

Topic yesterday at 5:30 PM meeting was a bit unusual: "If you could have but ONE and only one of AA's tools, which would you pick, to help you stay sober?" I was thinking, "Here we go again, some egomaniac chair person is working to find topics which are "far out" so as to make an impression."

As the sharing traveled around the room, it seemed as if the folks were giving quite a lot of thought as each made the singular choice of one tool only, to keep.

Slogan after slogan was quoted as important to some, also virtues, also certain steps to others. Finally my turn, and I held up my nicotine-stained, cellophane-covered Big Book, stating that it had everything in it that I needed to know and do, in order to stay sober, and it has done so quite well for a very long time.

Don't forget, I've sat in this very room for many years. OK, a burly, mountain-climbing visitor from NC chimed in right after me, actually making fun of "...some of you people who are Big Book Thumpers, holding that thing up, and think you know everything...etc., etc." (Huh? Who? Me?) Thank God, no anger, no resentment, etc. When did THAT happen?

Well I learned something, but I do not think the mountain climber did. That something was, "If I am ever visiting in an AA room, don't start in picking on the guy (humble me?) who just about everyone there knows, trusts, and loves! It is not the way to get invited to dinner after the meeting with the girls and the boys"!

Ave Maria Town

What a wonderful ride from our house to the town of Ave Maria last Saturday! Perfect weather for riding, and perfect timing, between meetings and mass. The 28 miles takes 40 minutes--since Prayer Girl was riding 'shotgun' (WITH a shotgun!)--and joggers were passing us, it seemed. -grin!

Long before we were in the town limit, we saw in the far distance, the tall cathedral-type oratory, with its buttressed interior, standing sentinel in the center of our county--Collier County is larger than the state of Rhode Island...but that ain't sayin' much, of course!

The semi parish church--surrounded by a town rivaling Disney World's "Main Street"--is guarding tomato fields, and lots of 'other' fields..you can figger it out. No nooner mass, but there are three others at variously-scheduled times. We could not stay. Lots of foreign visitors, almost like a pilgrimage atmosphere. And well it should be, this is a most beautiful new--old fashioned--church, spacious interior, you need opera glasses to see the choir loft.

During the week are scheduled two Latin masses, and one on Sunday. I mean, the university choir sings the old Gregorian chant masses which I learned and loved as a child--and still love, YESSSS!
Oh! so beautiful!!! Heavenly.

Forgot to mention this is all surrounded by Ave Maria University, dormitories, all the popular facilities, where not too many moons ago was....nothing! Amazing!

However, the most important building, and the most sought, the most appreciated, is the town's only coffee shop, The BEAN of AVE MARIA where mass is celebrated on the TV screen's EWTN station. A sign announces, "Do Not Change The Channel"...

Anna and I enjoyed our two-hour walk around the town and visit to the oratory, and also enjoyed our ride home. We learned that an AA group is beginning within a couple weeks (wonder what's taking them so long? They ARE catholic, ya know!) I will get out there and see if I can help. It will be a nice, slow, peaceful, stressless ride.

I'm happy to be home with my computer...next one HAS to be a laptop! Teemed up with a Blackberry or an iMAC or some such.

Bless you all
In love and service,
Sincerely,
Steve E.