TRIED IT--AND LIVED!

I just assumed EVERYONE considered suicide for one reason or another. And I figured most people tried it now and then. Also I just knew those who lived after were not at all serious about it. 

Well, I was wrong on all three counts. And I have not thought about it for maybe eight months or so, but a blog yesterday triggered the memories...ya gotta know how that is!

 Yesterday I found myself enjoying once more "Secretia's"  blog, in which she invites readers to contribute answers to her question-of-the-day.  Sounds kinda like "Trivial trivia" (and it is) but usually great fun for some--me included. Yesterday's question was proposed in this manner:

"Sometimes the hurting gets so
Strong that we wish we were gone.
That's when we pray for
Much happier days...
  Were you ever so sad  that you wanted
  to end your life?
   you CAN be anonymous...   
Posted by Secretia Tuesday Dec 8 at 5:11 AM
39 comments Links to this post"

And I did have a comment to make but decided to post it here instead, because it was definitely a low point in the drunken, chaotic, helpless, "powerless" stage of my life at age 26, in 1958.  And I tell you that from there until 1974, the state, the condition of my life went no way but DOWN. So this is what I wrote at that time (I had already died, OK? --Alright, WHO said "Fine!"--grin!):

At last I have found my solitude
All now is quiet and peaceful
In this room

With Endless futility have I sought  
Serenity--absent ever since I lived
In the womb

At last happiness is mine since
No more must I calculate
My doom

I've considered often this moment
When I look up instead of down
At the bloom

And I SO wish to thank them
The both who laid me here
In my tomb.

--Steve E  August 3, 1958

Peeps, let us soberly, peacefully, 
LOVE all things today! OK?

Information on picture of SUICIDE can be found HERE

SUNSHINE ON A STORMY DAY

A STORMY STORY

Thirty-seven years ago I met a Hungarian couple, ages 17-18 who had escaped--after several unsuccessful starts--Communism. They made their way to South America as stowaways on the tramp steamer.  

After two months touring a jungle by canoeing alone down a thousand mile river involving with many, many dangers, adventures and exploits--they found themselves in Miami, Florida. 

On a whim, they rode stolen bicycles the 120 miles across the peninsula to Naples, Florida. And this is where I met Jack and Jill (not their real names). We became friends.  Those were still my drunk days, the final two horrible years.

Jill, age 18, a SO really beautiful young woman, so sweet, so intelligent, became pregnant. Shortly after giving birth, she was riding her bicycle on the side of the Tamiami Trail Highway.  Along came a pickup truck. The right-side rear vision mirror hit her in back of the head, killing her instantly. This left Jack with his baby not yet two months of age.

Last week, 37 years after, I met Jack at a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. What a sight we were now, both sober, both happy, enthusiastic, both friends again well-met.

Jack's Toyota with over 300,000 miles, blew its engine yesterday, now junk. So today I  moved his belongings from his addicted son's (age 36) house, to a place more than an hour away from home.  We had a grand reunion on this day, drank triple espressos at McDonald's (GoooooD!) and shared wonderful memories. It rained heavily all the morning, and was not a good day to move, but we got the job done.  I feel so good, having a new friend, sober six years. And this is probably the first male friend I have had for a long time.

Jack reminded me that I am godfather of his 36-year-old alcoholic son. What memories were stirred today, about the untimely death of his young wife at the hands of a drunk driver, and the many happenings since then in each of our lives.  We shared with each other our very soul-thoughts of today...yes we did! He is a very spiritual guy.

I talked him into beginning a written story of their escapes from Hungary, the imprisonments they both suffered, being caught several times, their final getaway. He cannot write well--so I'll get to edit these histories, stories, and it will be SO much fun, because I am already aware of some of the uniqueness of what he has to tell.

So that is my post for today, I decided to blog it. Jack's story is one of hardship, deathly fear which lingers even today, a pure true love, and experiences so wild--which will raise doubt as to their validity. But I know, and Jack knows.




Blogger Peeps, we are sober today.
We are at peace today.
We LOVE deeply...today!

"HARBOUR BRIDGE" by artist  

Australian artist Robert Bosle

artbytv.com

A SUNDAY LETTER TO A BLOGGER-FRIEND

GROVE PARK INN--ASHEVILLE, NC

LETTER TO A BLOGGER FRIEND

Saturday afternoon, I sent a message to blogger friend Catherine Vibert who lives in Asheville, NC. Halfway through the message, I realized this was my blog for Saturday night/Sunday. So here it is.

Consider it just an Email to/from a friend, which, after all, it IS! Only read this if you have time to listen to a self-centered old guy reminisce. The venue is Brevard and Asheville, NC and summer 1952. It is about a "lost love".

The conductor of Cincinnati Symphony had befriended me, and sent me and my violin to Brevard Music Camp (it was called then). Goal was for me to gain experience in playing lots of different composers, and become groomed for a position in the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra.

There I was, a farm boy just graduated from "Hahh Skou", traveling out-of-state for the first time. I promptly was booted from the Music Camp for drinking beer. (Maybe that's where we got the term "boot camp"?) Also unappreciated were my attempts to teach the younger camper-musicians how to freeze beer, and drink what's left, and ounce-for-ounce receive a much greater effect/benefit.

Anyway, I got back into the camp, and good graces of the staff, by pretending humility to the Director ((Dr)James Christian Pfohl), etc., and did my job well, playing violin in all the functions, and traveling around the most beautiful state of NC in the adult (read: "drinking") orchestra.

We performed symphony concerts several times in "The Great Hall" at Grove Park Inn. I spent a memorable eight-week summer in the area, even talked "Southern" when I left. Back on the farm they could no longer understand my words.

The most memorable event of that summer of '52 was the occasion of my falling headfirst and headlong--and deep--in love (for the seventh time?--just a guess!). But as I look back, that girl Sondra (Sonnie) Wishart could easily have been my wife for all these years--not that I have regrets. This is simply "memory lane" after all.

What a lucky woman--Sonnie! She might have been put through the chaos of hell itself as I burrowed and buried myself into alcoholism. Certainly she would have left me after the usual ten years of begging, pleading, counseling, slapping and fighting. PLEASE NOTE: I don't DO those things any more! I wouldn't even know HOW.

Back to remembering, though--the hillside, that knoll surrounding Grove Park Inn, where acres of soft grass were kept green for as long as possible. It was there, in broad daylight, we did become passionate, and performed "all but", ya know? How else would I know the grass was "mattress-soft"?

There followed six weeks of my (don't really know about 'her') being so in love, as to have been willing to die for this girl, the love of any dream I could have imagined. Sonnie stayed as the subject of my dreamworld for a number of years after. She lived in Asheville with her aunt.

Today I have no idea if she is alive even, and ours is a short-story long discarded from my arsenal of dreams. I pray today that Sonnie is as blest as I, with a spouse who cares for, shares with, and loves her, with a big heart of gold!

Prayer Girl and I have been married (next Wednesday, May 27) for 18 years! That's nearly a record for both of us. It is certainly a record if we are reporting "happiness" ratings. And I love my Prayer-girl! THAT'S for the record.

I love others also--a lot! It might even seem like I throw the word "love" around a bit--that may be true, but I DO mean what I write and/or say! After all is said and done, what is there else.......but LOVE!

And yes, I did become a symphony violinist. These days I play strolling gigs, club dates, weddings-on-the-beach, funerals, and at least two masses every weekend at St Elizabeth Seton in Naples.

I love LOVE my Alcoholics Anonymous Program and the AA membership. I love my Higher Power, God, and I love my families.

And on top of all that, I love especially the regular--and not-so-regular--bloggers, in-and-out-of recovery, who are an endless source of help for me and my still sometimes screwed-up thinking. While we all are in this "love-fest", why don't we make a plan to stay sober another day--like maybe today???

Peace, and (of course!) Love,
Steve E