ME & GOD

"We came to believe a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity"

I am supposed to be looking for a God of my own understanding.
For years I have walked around saying things about God that sounded smart (to me) like:
"There is not enough data to support a conclusion"
"When you die you are dead a long time"
"We are carbon compounds and noble gases"
"I don't believe anything my senses cannot confirm"
"I am a Karrass...that is to say I seem to be doing Gods work without really knowing what I'm doing"


I like to say this kind of stuff, but I'm starting to realize that I can't really take any of it to the Bank.
It doesn't sound as smart as it used to.
And really, it hasn't exactly been working for me.

So what I have tried to discover this week is what a God of my understanding would be.
This is where I am starting:


The God of my understanding may or may not actually exist.
Right now, He is a God of my Misundersatnding.

That doesn't sound any dumber than what I used to say, and right now...
Its workin' for me!

OH,THANK GOD

Sometimes leaving a comment brings back a memory and a good story....this was a comment I left last week.
I had a paper route a long time ago.
There was a certain house that gave me a lot of trouble. Everytime I would try to throw the paper there, My arm would bang against the roof of my Van .

Hurt like hell, so I would have to roll the passenger window down and toss that way, but it always landed short. So i would have to get out of the Van and get the paper out of the gutter and throw it to the porch.

Anybody watching would see me go thru the same routine every night;
First, my hand would come out the drivers window and I'd stop myself because I didn't want to bang my arm.
Then I would roll the passenger window down and make a really lame toss that landed in the gutter.
Next I would get out and put the fucking paper on the porch.

Why I didn't just do that to begin with is a testament to my laziness.


I know this hasn't been the most exciting post you ever read, but It gets even more boring.


Sometimes, when I was really lazy, I'd go ahead on and make the toss out the drivers side window and every time I did that I'd scream in pain when My forearm slammed against the van.
It was impossible!


Then one night... Success at last!
I broke my arm, trying to make that toss!!!
Oh Thank God!
That was the end of that.
No more Paper Route!

Thanks Mike!

Also, I didn't realize when I posted this that it would be a perfect Dedication to Barbara, who fell and broke her hip yesterday. Go wish her well!

Update #2- I tell this story at NA Meetingfs sometimes. Its changed somewhat, because the reason I had the paper route in the first place was in hopes that I could use the money to buy more dope. It was insane, and by breaking my arm I found some relief from my addiction. For the addict it can take something that drastic to restore us to sanity.

INAUGURATION DAY

I have added the following to my sidebar. Go by and see 'em. Tell 'em I sent ya!

Ifs of Og- This guy took some time off.
I thought I was the weirdest Kid on the Block till I met him!

Mike the Waiter and
Waiter Extraordinaire- These two are Foodservice folks. They are friendly and smart and they are among some of the most fun loving people in the world.
Mike, you need to get your spot more accessible...I have to sign in and stuff every time I come by-why is that?

Angela- Kindness and good feelings just pour off her site. She says 'lets sit down for a chat" and its like thats what happens!
"E"@ Life in Progress- she is new to blogging, but it won't take long for her to make a lot of friends. Count me in.
She has the shortest name...I'd like to add an "ieio" to it!
Both eieio and Angela are friends of Barbara.

Laffin@sluts-Poor Laffin! She is the Eeyore, the "Martin from RedDwarf" of the Blog. If you are not weeping by the time you leave her site, then perhaps you have fallen onto her understated humor. She's been around for a while and I like her.
Her posts are way too long, but HEY!….its free!

Dmarks- He is a Science Fiction guru and collector of ancient postcards. I believe he has in his possession the first postcard ever sent…from Alexander to Campaspe as he stood looking over the Rubicon…or something.

Lily & Cornbread – These two are at the tip of a loose network of friends that seem to have family members with Alzheimers. Anyone who has been around here for long may know about my father, whom I have written about a lot. I like them a lot.

Lets see...oh yes...RicOShay....he don't post a lot but he comes by and I like him. He has some funny stories, and some bad health and he is working on it. Hey Ric!


You know, the only thing better than posting a blog sometimes is posting a comment.
I love to leave comments!
Since i started this Blog, I’ve tried NOT to add a whole bunch of links and at one time I had a whole list of reasons NOT to link someone.
There have been some I didn’t link because they already got 30 comments on their site everyday. They didn’t need my comments.

But, things change.
Everybody I have added today I have developed a running conversation with that I enjoy very much. I am a bit afraid that if I have too many, I will run out of time to be friends, and were it not for the fact that some on my list have not posted a great deal I probablty would not be adding these.
Forgive me if I do not get by as often as I'd like to. When I do come by I promise you will have my undivided.

OhOhohOh….
I almost forgot one!
She has too many aliases to begin to try to name, so lets just call her the Red Dirt Mule!
I call her on the phone sometimes, but she has a Boyfriend.
I just love other peoples girlfriends! (OPG's)
Hi Red!

I SWEAR

I would be remiss if I did not direct my readers who are unable to attend tomorrows Gala Inaugural Event in DC to my man on the ground, Unremitting Failure, who happens to be smack dab in the middle of this Historical Event and is giving us a running commentary (in his own inimitable style) for the last few days of everything going on in the Capital.


You can almost smell the Crepe' paper, Shoepolish and Gun-Grease.

A DREAM COME TRUE

"About a hundred and ninety-two Negroes were registered, on the average, a month in the State of Mississippi; all over the state, a hundred and ninety-two a month. Now, on the basis of this rate of registration, it would take exactly one hundred and thirty-five years for half of the Negroes eligible to vote in Mississippi to become registered."

Dr. King, 1965 on the Voting Rights Act of 1965

Undoubtedly, this country has made great progress. Tomorrow is a testament to this as Obama is sworn into office. I swell with pride at the thought of it.

Its like a dream come true.

The following I wrote two years ago, and i am happy to report that no switches have been cut to thrash the Country into making better choices.

Its been a Switch of the Mind.

Thank you Martin. How brave you were!

MODERATES

My mother was one of four sisters. Glesnal was the eldest of the four and when I was young she was certainly the one to be given the widest berth. She would go and "cut herself a switch" at the drop of a hat and she would drop the hat herself. Any hint of misconduct in her presence was dealt with in a fast and firm fashion.

I can scarcely pass by a Crepe Myrtle tree or a Chinaberry without thinking of Glesnal.

It was precisely this quality that endeared Glesnal to me later in life.

When I was 5 or 6 years old I remember visiting Glesnal in Little Rock Arkansas. The year was 1962 or 1963 and tha topic of discussion was "nigras" causing a lot of trouble in Mississippi. The strange thing was that Glesnal, while seeming to be sympathetic to the "nigras" cause, and seemed to maintain that the whites were in the wrong, and had been in the wrong for sometime, was not ready to go cut herself a switch.

This was an attitude I was not accustomed to from her, and over the next ten years I would see this attitude displayed by most of my family and my race. And it would be longer than that before I really heard it defined.

Today we celebrate the birth of a truly great American, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr..

I do believe that any understanding of our country must be based on the fact that we fought a Great Civil War over Civil Rights, in which 600,000 Americans died, and that that war was still being fought 100 years later when I was just a boy.

The case is easily made that it is still being fought.

There are switches still to cut.

My parents and Glesnal were "Moderates"; that is to say that they were more concerned with keeping order than with Social change. I was too young to understand that then. But I was old enough to think that somewhere, someone ought to be cuttin' themself a switch.

Dr. King wrote a letter in a Birmingham jail that said this:

"I have been gravely disappointed in the White moderate. I have almost reached the conclusion that the Negro's greatest stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is not the White Citizens Council, or the Ku Klux klan, but the white moderate more devoted to "order" than justice".

I was in Detroit during the 67 & 68 riots; it was the first time I can recall hearing my parents say things that disturbed me... down deep. I guess they were scared. Dad came home one day in August and said we were going back to Texas. We stopped in Chicago and I watched hippies turning cars over outside the Democratic National Convention.

They had cut themselves some switches.

As the years went by I saw more and more people who were willing to lay it down for a cause.

There were some, like at Kent State, that laid it all the way down.

So did Dr. King.

It seems lately however that there are fewer and fewer of these people. We seem to be better informed about the issues; and the comedians these days can make a pretty good joke of the most serious of issues; but what has happened to the lost arts of getting upwind of tear gas and how to assume a fetal position when the billy-clubs come out?

Who wants to go cut themselves a switch?

Anyway, we know that I am better at telling you what happened to me than trying to write an Editorial...Mainly I just want you to know how much I admired Dr. King and his dream.

I used to have a copy of his "Dream" speech set to music... his voice and delivery is so lyrical; if you ever come across it it is worth a listen.

Beautiful.

WHY NOT ME?

There is a difference between "Being clean" and "Staying clean".
I have been clean for six months before, but I was steady working 12 steps back towards using again; that is to say I had no plan and my days were filled with...nothing.

Today, I picked up a Keychain for having stayed clean for six months, and I am trying to work a 12 step plan designed not to just keep me clean, but to lead me to a Spiritual Awakening. Every week I discover... something.

I think it is noteworthy that in these 182 days, I have done 172 posts.
i owe a few posts to ya'll. tomorrow will be Inauguration Day at Bulletholes and I'll add a few new friends to my Mailbox.

I owe Grizzbabe and "E" a post about what a Master Chef like me has done with my diet in order to deal with my Diabetes. My glucometer numbers are great!
I think maybe I'm cured!
I have been healed!
I don't have Diabetes anymore!
When I tell people this they look at me like I'm nuts and all I can say is:

"Why not me? Why can't I get cured?
I could have a miracle happen!
I could use a Miracle!
Am I not worthy?
I saw a guy get healed on TV.
He had the Diabetes and Mad Cow and the Vapors and he didn't look like any less a loser than me!
Why not ME!"
and I say it in a real whiny voice and they feel bad then we all laugh.


And Barbara sent me Questions for an Interview! That will be fun!

WE WERE ALL A PROBLEM (REDUX)

"Sometimes we'd wonder if he ever took anything seriously, then we'd see his class rank."
Steve Bettner, class of 1964, from the West Point Eulogy page.
Thanks Steve.


My brother has been on my mind recently.
He was born Feb. 1, 1941 and fell to Cancer January 4, 1997.
His Class rank I believe was 1st Academically and 2nd Scholastically.
He is the father of Dave Mows Grass.
He was a hero to me.
I can not write about my father without writing about Don.
I was proud to know them both.



There's an old magic Eight Ball
Right next to my plate
When I ask it a question
Regarding my fate
It says "reply hazy, please try again"
It wont say where I'm going
It don't know where I've been
….but I'm right here now…
james mcmurtry



I have heard it said that the bond between a Father and Son is a fragile bond, full of mistrust and fears and failures on both sides. By the time I graduated High School, the bond between Dad and I had been severely tested.
On Friday nights as I prepared to go "carousing" around, Dad would give me $10, and say "Don't spend it all in one place!"
Every week the same conversation would ensue.
"Right Dad"
"What are you getting into tonight?"
'Nuthin' I can't handle Dad"
"Well, just remember… that Wisdom… is the greater part… of Valor."
"Fer shure' Dad" and within the hour I would have a $10 bag of trouble, which would greatly enhance my other pursuits, chiefly Sex and Rock and Roll.

I didn't realize back then that Dad was really being kinda cool about the whole thing. Those mornings years later, when we would talk as we ate breakfast, he referred to them as my "Wild Bill Cody" days. I definitely had the hair for it.

It took a some years, after the Diagnoses, after considering the years he spent severed from his family, splintered from even himself, living an unimaginable existence that could not be foreseen, that I came to realize what a problem I must have been.
Dad was a man of few words. He told good natured stories, clean bone dry jokes and used the ever present cigar for punctuation. He had a slow and steady cadence to his pattern of speech that allowed every word to sink in.
He met and married my Mother after returning from WWII.
She had a 4 year old son, Don Lynn, and Dad legally adopted him, giving Don his name and his love.
Don told me a story about the first time that Dad was going to discipline him, and give him a spanking. Don could not recall what the infraction was, but this he vividly remembered:
"Mother, not wanting her child spanked, jumped to my defense.
'You are not going to spank my Boy!'
Dad turns and faces Mother and in his slow methodical way, says softly but firmly;
'We... are going... to start right now.
You are my wife…and this is MY son…and ..I am going to…to raise him as best… as best as I know how"

My first memory of Don was the day he snatched me off the front porch as I was taking a piss and spanked me pretty good. I was about 3.

Don came out all right…he graduated from West Point in 1964.
In 1982, Mom had a stroke. After a few weeks she seemed to be making progress, and I had been keeping Don advised, but he was able to come home from his station in Saudi and I was glad to have him there.
During a late night conversation , I expressed regret at having been such a problem for Mom and Dad through the years.
You know what he said?


"Steve, we were all problems."





Pretty Smart, my Brother.

VELLY BAD

During my Hospital stay they did a lot of what they call blood work. Every two hours someone came in and took blood for testing The Voodoo looking lady during the deep-night shift I nicknamed Twilight. She could stick the shit out of you.
There was s dude during the daytime with a hard edgy look to him and he seemed to be an expert at finding veins. It really made me wonder. I called him Spike.

My Dr. was a very nice Indian lady named Dr. Shakeyerbooty. She came to me after the first few rounds of tests and said, in her perfect English grammar coupled with the Hindu inflections:

“Meestair Booletholes….yoor blud….ees thee wrlong color! Ees creemy!”
"Gee Doc, is that bad?“
“Yez, velly,velly bad! Yoor Tlygleeceerlides are 2100! Yoor Kolestearool ees 425! Yoor blud…ees the wrlong Color! Velly bad!”
"Creamy, Huh? I wonder why that is..."


I didn't tell her that the day before they admitted me I had managed to drink a whole gallon of milk.

ALIENS

Its 23 degrees outside right now. Doesn't get much colder than that in these parts.
People are getting laid off everywhere.
my upstairs neighbor got laid off and right now there is an extension cord running from my Apartment to his because the Electric company decided for 175 dollars he could do without heat.
I'm glad to do it for him.

Anyway the point is, its 23 degrees outside and anyone with a job is just holding on for all they are worth. I got my evaluation yesterday. I half expected that it would be a good time to let ol' Bulletholes go, but I actually walked out with a raise!
Boss says I'm a real asset with my bright cheery voice!
Sometimes, when I answer the phone I can barely get through my spiel without bursting into laughter! Thats how bright and cheery I am.
When my bosses boss calls, and I get through my spiel, only I am crackin' up because I couldn't help it, She says
"Hi Steve...its MaryAnn! You certainly sound cheery this morning!"
And I say
"Oh Thank God its you! I was afraid it was a customer!"
And we both just laugh!

When the Corporate folks came down last month from D.C. they all had their Washington Redskins hats on and I kept asking for one.
'What do you want one for" they ask "You are a cowboys fan"
Yeah well" I say "I want to smoke one"
And we all just laugh.

Sometimes when I call the Radio Division in Chicago, I ask to speak to Wolfman Jack.
Yesterday it was -3 degrees up there so I called and mumbled over the phone:
"I'ya god me dam-dung ffwooze sduck do a dantenna. Elp! WhaddooIdoo?"
I think this is why they keep me on here.

Anyway its dropped to 21 degrees out there now and guess what?
The Landscapers just showed up. Theres one with an edger and another is trimming the shrubs.
Whats this?
Oh, here comes the guy with the mower. Its throwing out green Chlorophyll ice...ice...ice....Icycles! (Almost forgot what an Icycle was)
Those guys are holding on to their jobs for dear life.
I bet we could be having a Tornado, an Earthquake and an Alien Invasion and they still be out there.
Very commendable.

DIGGIN' A HOLE

TO FEED OR NOT TO FEED

THE MAN SAID...

"Its like you got two dogs fighting for your soul. One is a good dog and the other one is a bad dog. Do you know which one will win?"

"No Sir. Which one will win?"

"The one you feed. Its the one you feed that wins."

"YEAH, BUT HOW CAN YOU TELL MAN,
HOW CAN YOU TELL?"

DO THE NEXT RIGHT THING

"I TOOK A LONG, DEEP BREATH AND WONDERED AS USUAL, WHERE TO START.
YOU START WHERE YOU ARE, IS THE SECRET OF LIFE.
YOU DO THE NEXT RIGHT THING YOU CAN SEE.
THEN THE NEXT."
anne lamott

I don't know who she is. That is to say, I had never heard of her. it seems there may be a lot of people that don't like her.

At the meetings I go to I started to notice a term they were using...
"Do the next right thing"
So I Googled it and found Anne's Quotation.
And also I read Angelas post today, which seemed like it was related.

There is something almost relaxing thinking about doing the next right thing.
I don't have to do everything right.
I don't have to choose the best thing to do.
I don't have to see what I cannot see.
It may be a while before the next thing comes along that I see how to do right.
I may have it all wrong, everything up till now, but there will be an opprtunity to do the next right thing.
You can depend on it.

Hello, Ya'll!
Have a Shrimp Gut day!

SHRIMP GUT SANDWICH

When cleaning raw shrimp it is necessary (and polite) to remove the ‘Sand Vein” from the shrimp. What that amounts to is taking out the small digestive tract of the shrimp. Only the size of a toothpick, they are usually filed with what amounts to partially digested plankton.
Shrimp Shit.
That’s all it is…
Prawn Poop.
The amount of time it spends in the shrimp is probably less than the time it takes for a human to chew and swallow a Shrimp, but in more polite company, the sand vein is considered to be quite rude.

Of course, in the kitchen there is not a whole lot of polite company in proximity, so the following recipe has been developed for the Sand Vein.
The first ingredient you need is a new guy, some youngster that is hungry for knowledge and eager to be a chef.
Add to that 100 pounds of Shrimp to clean and you have the perfect environment for making Shrimp Gut Sandwiches (SGS).
You show him how to remove the Vein and set up a little crystal bowl for him to save them in.
You help and assist him in peeling and cleaning the shrimp, all the while explaining the different variations of SGS’s.
Some folks like ’em on a Bun, some on Wheat toast.
Some folks want theirs with Mayonnaise and other prefer Remoulade Sauce, or maybe some Raw Horseradish.
Some like the Bacon SGS, some Gilled CheeseSGS and others with the standard Lettuce tomato and Pickle.
That’s how I like mine and with a thick Chocolate Shake to go with.
All you have to do is put the raw shrimp guts on any sandwich and you are ready for a real delight!

When the lad has collected enough Shrimp guts to make two Sandwiches, you get his order, how he likes it made and you prepare it along with one for yourself.
And this is the key….
When you make his sandwich you slather it with all those shrimp guts.
But when you make yours, you only put guts on half….the half that he will be able to see.
The half that you are going to take a bite out of…and this is important…has no Shrimp guts on it at all!
You’ve talked it up for an hour;
“These Sandwiches, in some cultures, are considered a delicacy!” (what isn’t?)
“Many people include them in Religious Ceremonies as a Pathway to Enlightenment and a source of Visions!” (near death experiences)
“It is medically proven to increase virility!” (results vary)

Now you both have your sandwiches and Chocolate shakes and you find out a lot about the new guy real fast.
Most of them can’t believe you just took a bite out of your Shrimp Gut Sandwich…others are curious and somewhat amazed that people can eat shrimp shit, but there is no way they are going to try…they may even be envious that their mental taste buds are not yet refined enough, and worried that they are too “close-minded” to be a Real Chef.

Then there are the few that you have to stop them from taking a big bite of Shrimp Shit.
There was even one guy that I was too slow to stop.
Son-of-a-Gun dove right in.
He told me later:
“Wasn’t as bad as one might think”.

Next up….
"How Drinking Urine has Saved Lives and Cured Everything from Diabetes to Bull-nettle"

SULLY CAPS

Banquet Manager brings up something I never heard of....Sully Caps.
Apparently he spent part of his youth melting crayons into bottle caps, creating some kind of toy to be played with, won and collected.
I have to wonder where the heat source for this project may have come from and whether production of the Sully Caps was under any adult supervision.

Me and my peeps undertook a related project one summer.
We set up a 6 inch cast iron pipe, sparked a fire underneath it and lowered lead fishing weights into the top of the pipe using steel wire. When we pulled the wire back out from our Lead Smelting Plant, the lead would be gone. Then after the fire went out and the ashes cooled, we would find a nice shiny hunk of lead.
We tried to get our furnace hot enough to melt copper.
After a time we gave up and went back to using cans of Hairspray and Deodorant stolen from our mothers and sisters as blowtorches to incinerate ant-beds and stuff.
Pretty cool.

MARBLE-EYED

We went thru the marble craze in Detroit. We didn't really play Marbles, we just traded them around and stuff.
It was 2nd grade, 1965.
Mom and Dad took me and bought me the biggest bag of marbles you ever saw.
Probably weighed twenty pounds.
I probably could have traded for Manhattan with a bag that size. Or Boblo Island, where there was an Amusement park.
I was totin' it down the hall before class when it broke...f'n marbles everywhere, all clatterin' rollin down the hall. Everybody started to scramble to get MY marbles. I stood there, shell-shocked, afraid to cry, but powerless over my marbles.
My life and my marbles had become unmanageable.

Kids started skiddin' on them, going down fast. It was like a disaster in a Ball-Bearing Factory; like a sketch out of a Cartoon.
Everybody got the Jimmie-legs. They looked like they were running but no one was going anywhere.
Arms flailing, frontwards, back-peddlin', side-to-side...
I saw two girls holding onto each other trying not to fall, legs going every which way.
two teachers came out into the hall and *WHOOPS* feet flyin' up in the air.
It was like a scene out of "Kansas City Bomber", only without the tits. I think there were two cracked skulls that day, and if that were to happen these days they'd probably prosecute my Mom and Dad.
I never lacked for nuthin'.

I also remember the Baseball Card game, on the playground before School, where you got to go up on the Slide, call out the name and stats on the card, then flip it out to the crowd, which would turn into a mob at this point, all clawing and fanging their way to the prize.
With all eyes upon you, you holler:
"Al Kaline, "Mr. Tiger", 1968!
Batted .379 in the World Series!
Fields Right, Switch-Hitter and 10 time Golden Glover!"
You felt like a cross between Howard Cosell and a Circus Barker.

I can't believe I gave away my Ryne Duren card like that.

WE WANT WHAT WE WANT

I was driving through the old neighborhood with my friend Kim last night.
“Hey , you remember the Gibsons Department Store that used to be there?”
“Yeah, what was next to it?”
“Man, I don’t remember. Oh yeah, a Myers 5&10 Store”
“Right, I bought my first record there. A 45 of “Incense and Peppermints”. I was 12 and the Cashier was 16 and she said “Great Song” as she put it in the bag for me and I thought maybe she might want me, like as a lover after that and I would go in there a lot to buy records. After a while, she never said anything about my choices and I lost interest.”

“Probably because you weren’t buying good records” says Kim.
She knows how to hurt a guy.

“No, “Snoopy Vs. The Red Baron” was a classic. So was “A Boy Named Sue” and “Theme from Hawaii 5-0. Maybe I shoulda gone with "The Rain the Park and Other things”.
“Right, Steve” as she rolled her eyes.

Anyway, that was back in the day before Strip Centers and Malls. Gibsons was the early day equivalent of Walmart and it was the only place in town you could go and buy everything from Underwear to Fishin’ poles to Car tires and appliances.

Kim says:
‘Yeah my Dad bought me my first bike there. It was pink, with little pink and white streamers from the handlebars, sparkly wheels, and a decal of Barbie on the frame. It had a little bell you rang with your thumb that went "Ka-ching".

I looked at it and frowned.”
“I hate it” I told my Dad
‘Why honey? He asked.
“Because it doesn’t have a Banana Seat” and I started to cry.
Mama snatched me up and spanked my butt. I tried to cover up with my hands but she was really mad.

Mama said
“Your Daddy worked extra hours to get you that bike, its not Christmas and its not your birthday and you better be glad to have it.

We ain’t exactly the Got-rocks you know.”

So I asked Kim if she ever got to liking that bike.
“No, I still hate it.” She said.

My experience was kinda the same. I saved my money up mowing yards one summer and the day before Dove Hunting Season, Mom took me to Gibsons where I bought a Double-Barreled Shotgun for $60.
I could hardly wait for Dad to get home to see it. It was a big Side-by-Side 12 gauge and had some scroll work on it and I loved the way I might look trudging through a field with it.

Dad got home and at supper I pulled it out.
“Look what I got Dad!”
Dad took one look at it and we loaded up the car and went back to Gibsons where he added $120 to the kitty and we exchanged my Double-Barrel for a 12 Gauge Remington 1100 Semi-Automatic.

It was a major upgrade from a cheap scattergun to a Top-of-the Line Firearm any Sportsman would be proud of.

“There’s what you need boy” and Dad grinned down at me.
All I could do was frown and bite my lip.

God, how I wanted that side-by side 12 gauge Double –Barreled Shotgun.

I still have that Remington Model 1100.

I haven’t fired it in 20 years.

I wouldn’t trade it for all the money in the world, but I might trade it for that big Double-Barrel.

HOW IT WORKS

"We keep what we have only by giving it away"
NA Literature

This is partly why I am telling my story.
But mostly I think because:
Our stories all deserve to be told…does no good to keep them all to ourselves all the time.
I find a lot of clarity in the telling, sometimes a little, sometimes a lot, and sometimes a whole new perspective too, just for having written it.
Hard to take credit for things that just happened by accident. I never meant to be whatever it is I’ve become.

What would I save my story for?
Sainthood?
Virginity?
A seat in the Senate?
My Golden Years?

“The most important things are the hardest to say.
They are the things you get ashamed of because words diminish them, words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when brought out.
But its more than that, isn’t it?
The most important things lie too close to where you’re secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away.
And you may make revelations that cost you dearly, with a lump in your throat so big you can barely say it, only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you have said at all or even why you said it.
That’s the worst I think, when the secret stays locked within, not for want of a teller, but for lack of an understanding ear.”
stephen king, author


So I have to give three cheers to all you understanding listeners out there.
Makes it easy to seem so brave.

HIGHLY-RESOLVED

Well, its been a helluva year!
I’ve traded black-eyes with my son, soothed my daughters psyche only to yell at her about fleas, reached the softest spot I can imagine with my Ex, gotten shed of a half dozen bad friends, gotten shed of 2 good friends, and picked up 3 new good friends and a huge support group.
I’ve been to jail and ICU for a night.
New Years Day found me 167 days clean and sober.
My doctor says he doesn't see many like me that get their Diabetes under control as quickly as I have.
'I'm impressed" he said.

I just keep writing in a way I never would have expected to write about things I never would have known to write about.
I sense that someday I might even have a message.

Funny, I found a line in the NA book I really liked….
“It may be the last freedom we claim in recovery is freedom from the Stigma of being an addict”
I don’t know…I’ve already claimed that one.
Maybe its because of my age, my 35 years of using; maybe something else…
So far it has been easy to stay Drug-Free, but I sense tougher days lie ahead.

This is the year, I have resolved, that I get really healthy.
I told my daughter:
"You have no idea how good your daddy looks at 210 pounds instead of 250. You better tell all your friends "Watch out for my Dad""

At any rate, I usually spend my time during good times wondering when the next disaster will come.
These are good times but I’m not doing that these days.
Its going to be a good year, clean, sober and healthy, come what may.
I hope it’s the same for you, and all our friends and family.


I have created a new label for posts about Drugs and Diabetes called HEALTH, if anyone wants to read all about it.

"SUSPENDERS ARE SUPERFLUOUS"

In this case, Einstein got that one wrong.
This was seen at a local Music venue. The table directly behind him was never occupied for more than a few moments.
This was a full grown man mind you. He and his partner seemed completely oblivious.


BOY NEEDS TO BUY A BELT...


AND SOME HIGH TOP BRIEFS!

A PANCAKE PRIMER PART 2

"PANCAKES ARE LIKE SNOWFLAKES, NO TWO ARE EXACTLY THE SAME, NO."
bulletholes, about 20 years ago

Continued from Part One (clickHere)

So, during my Hospital stay in which I was pronounced Diabetic I had the pleasure of eating Hospital Food. It seems to me that Hospital Food has come a long ways, or else I have been a bachelor too long. my first lunch was a Grilled Chicken Breast with 3-Color-Fire Roasted Peppers.
Let me tell you, friends, how good it was! The breast was firm plump and juicy, just like I like 'em.
And the 3-Peppers were Sweet and Earthy with a hint of woodsmoke.
I have personally served worse shit, I kid you not.
Never mind that I am accustomed to eating like a horse, and breakfast had left me a tad unfulfilled...

Anyway, the Maitre' D Hospital came that afternoon to get my dinner and lunch selections.
"What would you like for Breakfast tomorrow Mr. Bullets; Eggs and Bacon or Pancakes with Sausage?"

The Magic Words!
I could scarce contain myself! Were it not for the IV in my arm I might have done a Triple-back flip and landed on the Nurses Station in my very revealing Hospital gown!
Pancakes!
Pancakes the man said!

"Yessiree-bob, put me down for those Pancakes"I said.
"Thanks you Mr. Bullets" he said as he walked out the door.
"Oh Thank You!" I hollered after him, too busy thinking about breakfast tomorrow to notice the cold hollow feeling I had right now, or the Portobella Mushroom Steak I had ordered for supper.

Pancakes!
Never mind that they would come with only a little pat of butter, and some kind of Diabetic Syrup. It didn't matter, because Pancakes, any Pancakes, no matter how burned, how mishapen, or cold are still Pancakes deep inside.
The poorest Pancakes can still right all thats wrong with the world.
If Israel and Palestine would just have a Pancake Supper together tonight, they could end this foolishness going on.

Sunday Morning I woke up. I washed up, opened the windows wide and sat at the edge of the bed in anticipation of the cart and my tray of Pancakes.
My mouth was watering, my eyes like saucers and my stomach growling.
The tray was rolled in; the air was electric, like Times Square on New Years Eve.
The Maitre'D' fixed my pillow and adjusted the height of the Roller Stand
"Enjoy your Pancakes, Mr. Bullets" he said as he left.
"Oh, I intend to" I hollered behind him.

I rubbed my Hands together, I could almost see em, almost taste 'em.
I lifted the Silver Plate cover and...voila!

"SCREW ME"

Centered on the plate was one tiny, lonely pancake!
Who the hell ever ate one Pancake?
This pancake was so even colored and devoid of personality that it may as well have been a Hologram.
Screw me doggiestyle!
I had to check to make sure it wasn't painted on the plate.
It looked like a picture of a picture of a Pancake!
Looking at this pancake, I had to question everything I ever thought I knew about pancakes.
If this Pancake was not a clone, then what was it?
A Droid Pancake?
Made from Stem Cells of other pancakes?
Certainly you couldn't get a Pancake like this at Whole Foods...probably this Pancake came from Dow Jones.
Maybe it was a Toy pancake from China, for little girls to have Tea parties with and Stuff.
Screw me.

I Buttered her up, and put the whole pack of Diabetic Syrup to her. How I wished she had a sister as I brought the fork to my mouth.
It was cold as a toad, the butter un-melted.
But do not cry for me....
It was the best Pancake I ever ate that day!!!