Birth of an Apple

October 24

BIRTH OF AN APPLE

When an apple gives birth what is the result?   Seed or sauce?  Crunch or crisp?  The act of creation is so much an act of sacrifice, how can it be limited to only one kind of delivery?  The children of effort produce fruit of their own; who am I to call them other than my kin?  How many times have I thrown over bluster for blizzard?  But snow is snow.  I can accept every squall if I keep clear and willing.  I may finish my days in a winter orchard if I spend my life picking not choosing.

Keep two lists: what you want and what you have.

*

Behind Closed Doors

The children of happy fathers make no sense to me.

I have known no such peace.

What is it to live in a world where there is a man

who likes you, someone who approves?

I feel like my chin would have always been out there to see,

no ducking, no need to hide,

had there been a good man to whom I could turn.

The dark circles under the eyes of my soul make me old,

old and different from those kids, mere children,

safe in a home with a happy man whose joy it is to be their Dad.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Choice

May 21

CHOICE

Growth is my decision.  I don’t need conflict or catastrophe to bring me to change.  I choose each day come what may, to roll out the refuse.  I am not tempted to leave it in to rot just because the sun is shining.  Good days are good times to improve.  How could integrity be retarded by joy?  I am not punished into recovery.  I will never accept a Higher Power who set up a system like that and I give wide berth to people who claim their Higher Power did.  My bottom may have been an inducement to start but choice keeps me coming back.

Smile in the mirror and look into your eyes.

*

Balustrade

Just because you appeared from the dark

doesn’t make you a wizard.

Just because you make the world safe for mankind

doesn’t make you Hercules,

nor does your power and foresight make you his father.

Your resourcefulness and guile doesn’t make you Ulysses.

And just because you spend so much time

strapped upon that cross doesn’t make you,

well, we all know the rest of that refrain.

Human is what you are whether I see that in you or not.

Human is a blessing even if it feels to me a curse.

I need the superhuman strength you seem to offer

but I must live in the world of what is real.

I want to be stolen away to the safety of your lair

and not live on my feet and fight for my life.

I have to stop wishing to be your captive

and work harder at simply being your friend.

If I can let you down off your pedestal perhaps

I could then climb down off mine.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

You are allowed to close windows or keep them open

March 8

YOU ARE ALLOWED TO CLOSE WINDOWS OR KEEP THEM OPEN

Not every open window offers a warm and welcome breeze.  There are windows, which greet with artic blast and little else.  Frosted cheeks and chapped lips, I face these frigid openings believing it is my lot to forge ahead in this bluster.  Never did I think to shut the glass on this disagreeable weather.  I am allowed to close windows but I didn’t know it.  Every irksome thing that comes my way is not mine to face; many things will pass my way.  This does not make them my responsibility.  On the other hand, when spring blows honeysuckle through the air, it is a fine idea to prop the window open with a stick.

Wave gently good-bye to yesterday.

*

Migration

Why does an alcoholic leave the drink behind?

To go where it’s warm,

because drunkenness has become cold comfort,

because the climate has changed.

The wind resists the flight from the bottle

and the initiative to break the flow

is rotated among the flock.

Though each member of the band plays their part,

the one diverting the air just ahead of me

and the one just behind trumpeting

still hold the majority of my attention.

Flocking is my primary purpose

because survival is the intention of life,

demise the intent of my illness.

One more sober day is all I can ask,

it’s all I ever need,

it’s all that’s ever offered.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Dichotomy's Embrace

March 4

DICHOTOMY’S EMBRACE

Contentment and security bleed in through the doors and windows of my heart.  Peace blows its fine wind across my mind.  I fear for my identity.  I raise my hand to beat the drum.  Is my pulse still there if the beat of discontent is not?  The warmth seeps in, my fingers uncurl.  I resist the urge to tilt my face to the sun.  How can I be I, if my countenance is not bleak?  Mirth escapes my lips.  Am I a creature of laughter?

Shadows play across the shade.  My brain feels through levels of sheltered memory.  I am old and age hangs from my brow.  I am young and exposure stings my flesh.  In all this, joy?  Where can I enfold this antithesis?  A child of extreme, yes.  Brooding and rage; hounding and silence.  How have sprinkles and starlight added to the mix?  Purring, musing and sweet kisses.  What am I in this embrace?

Write a collage.

*

The Horse of a Different Stripe

When I arrived at the horse and pony show,

I saw all there was to see;

there were Morgans, Walkers, and Paints.

Yet I couldn’t help but return

to this particular zebra,

the spark of my imagination,

the inspiration of my dreams.

There was no help for me,

I want what I want and need what I need.

It was all about spirit, all about soul.

The fire in its eyes matched

the burning of my heart,

ignition at the point of recognition.

Then I stumble, then I fall,

bad behavior and wrong thinking,

the selfishness of the self-involved

takes hold and runs my mouth, “

Nice mount, great steed,

But can nothing be done about these stripes?”

The flash in those eyes,

the knowing knickers, said it all.

I was trying to stay in my small place

and that would never work with her,

if I wanted the Zebra,

I had to be willing to go to Africa.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Thin Ice

February 18

THIN ICE

The ice is brittle, transparent and breaking away.  I brace for destruction, turmoil and frigid descent.  I am stuck in my topside thinking and can not realize the chance for freedom the cracking expanse promises.  I am an oceanic creature.  I can escape my watery bonds with the splitting of the ice.  Trapped in a hole I keep open only through the friction of my unrest, I am kept from the community of life to which I belong.  My reflection mixes with my view of the sky and I forget my place, forget my name, forget how I have come to be trapped here.  The pining after what is not mine to have has brought me to this thin edge.  I must break through to be who I am; in doing so I shatter the illusion of who I thought I was.  Zeal to zenith I must move away from the phantasm and mockery and take refuge in what I am.

Remember your genius.

*

Hiding

“Defeat is what you make of it,” says my sponsor.

“Fighting a thousand secret battles

when you claim that you want peace is not right.

The agony of defeat is when you keep on fighting.

There is no honor in waving the white flag,

but never laying down your arms.”

“I can’t just give them up

they have been in the family for years,”

my whining retort.

“I’m sure they have, darling, I’m sure they have,

and haven’t done any of you a lick of good either,”

her smug reply.

“They are good for sabotage,”

I begin my running start at her.

“Sabotage is something you only do to yourself,

because who else can you really sabotage?

Who do you really hate enough other than you?”

“My hobby is denying that you know.”

“Yes, and sweet lot of good it does you,

The war rages within you

and outside you say it’s harmony,

no matter all the signs of discord.”

“And if I were to really give up.  If, I were really tired enough,

how can I insure my safety?”

I asked with my hands nearly in the air.

“Tell the truth, even if it’s only to yourself.

Put space between you and weapons of mass destruction.

Oh, and make sure you surrender to a friend.”

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/Sober-On-The-Way-Sane/dp/1440417342/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576888&sr=8-1&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/More-Lines-From-My-Life/dp/1448677203/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1388576956&sr=8-1&keywords=More+Lines+From+My+Life

Jacks

October 23

Jacks

Born crazy, is that better than becoming deranged?  Do birth affects excuse my unrepentant glee?  Does irrepressible sardonic wit explain the order of restless exposition?  Can you count on Cicadic enthusiasm to carry me, or flightless fancy to keep me down?  I am beyond redemption, beyond reception, beyond device.  I arrived riddled with chaotic cracks, but I am more than just a glaze and deep down I’m more than sound, so walk with my wild side and your thoughts I’ll rearrange.

When you can’t fill the void, wallpaper

*

BEFORE THE END OF THE ROAD

Before the end of the road tiny stone lay on the side
Freshly painted lines glimmer in this twilight trance.
Walking the macadam, the crunch underfoot
Changes my perspective.

No steering wheel or accelerator
This is ankle express all the way.
Walking the road , step by step, on my own
I am part of the soft and growing world.
Progressing on a plan of separate integrity

Moist, lush wonder, is missed
By the motor speedway I let rule my life
Honeyed sweetness covers the vegetation
Swaying in the undulating air born pulse.

I am tempted to lie down and have a roll
But my role tonight is to reach the end of the road.
When my goal is achieved I may choose
A woodland life or an urban endeavor.

Seeing the end of this path is job enough for now.
Decisions anticipated prior to arrival
Are foolish diversions.
I need to stay, not stray with the dancers in the wind.

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

Saltbox House

October 2

Saltbox House

Refusing to make reasonable demands is quite as dysfunctional as making unreasonable demands.  The opposite of an extreme is often twice as crazy and harder to explain. I open my mouth and dry toast is the reply.  Nothing should be said when nothing can be done and to do nothing is harder than one might think.  I fold my hands but my lap rejects them; I quiet my mind but my soul objects.  I must let my heart sing and trust you enough to ask for help.

Check your speed and direction

*

REJECTION

Rejection as a game of endurance,
A boundary enhancing process
A test of survival
Rejection sought or unsought is a challenge.

Sometimes rejection is a flare
Lighting the need for change of tactics or direction.
Though it is hard to view rejection as a beacon
Rather than condemnation.

Rejection is also the counterbalance for acceptance.
Risk is nothing if rejection is not part of the equation
I cannot value yes if you could not say NO.

Rejection is the safety valve
For putting myself in situations where I don’t belong.
I get sent back to the world of possibilities when the kindness of rejection

Ejects me from wrong choice.

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

Green Wood

September 26

Green Wood

When a nail is hammered into a living tree, the tree is forever changed.  Even if the barb is pulled out the tree will never be the same.  If the spike remains and the tree lives; over time the nail will be incorporated, the tree will get on with the business of living and carry the thing as just a part of what it took to get here.  What was trauma is trauma, but life is big and the longer it gets the larger the life, is the hope.  Piercing experience is engulfed by rings of fresh wood and a will to grow beyond the moment of impact.  The tree branches out and even a hundred nails can’t stop that.

Educate domination when you can and cage it when you have to

*

VIRGINIA CREEPER

In a clearing grows a vine

As seasons change the leaves turn pale.

This type of vine grows throughout the woods

But does it grow pale everywhere

Or only in this sunlit space?

I see the trembling of the lovely foliage

And wonder the destiny of the flora.

Does growth have a will of it own?

Does it grow to light or is it a must?

Can I turn my face

Even if Virginia Creeper cannot?

And if I can------------

Should I just to prove a point?

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

Mercy

September 21

Mercy

The rearview holds the vision, the sad figure on the corner as I drive away, all that is left to me are memories of G-d, the rest I ejected and sped from as fast as I could.  I cannot face what is left when I make G-d homeless and unloved.  Though living together was tough sometimes, living alone is unbearable.  Nothing cooks right, cleans right, tastes right or smells right, even the moon won’t rise right when I am strictly on my own.  And G-d wasn’t built for the streets, that corner is not someplace my Higher Power fits in.  We are meant to be together and apart the world spins off its measure.  Pitiful is what I am, so I swing around the block, fling open the door and take pity on G-d and go home.

Make time for lullabies

*

BELLS

The bells are ringing but no one sings

There are no peals of laughter and that’s just fine

For pleasure is not the only response to sound.

Shock and distain are other options, too.

I have what I want in relationship to the buzz in my ear

Equal opportunity attitude, pro and con.

Some songs bring joy when they end.

I have to lower my expectation of pleasure

And value my distaste for tinkling sounds

Or any other preordained sweetness.

You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

http://www.amazon.com/More-Sober-The-Way-Sane/dp/144141231X/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1374072329&sr=8-3&keywords=sober+on+the+way+to+sane

http://www.amazon.com/Lines-My-Life-Sherrie-Theriault/dp/1448652820/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374072576&sr=1-1&keywords=Lines+from+my+life%2C+Sherrie+theriault

Good Samaritan Pie

December 16

GOOD SAMARITAN PIE

The meal prepared from my cognition, the bread and jam of humility, salad of expectation, roast of determination and Good Samaritan pie, wait on the table to be devoured.  The courses pass and come dessert my kindly intentions are cut to wedges and pushed from setting to setting.  I can, with dollop after dollop, cover the requisite desires of this tart in an attempt to deny my addiction to fixing or I can serve up the plain truth.  I help and help and wander down roads looking for lost puppies to return to their homes.  I must admit my longing to lend support is sometimes half-baked, and if kept to home and hearth it might serve me better and make a sweeter dish.  Assistance is best in proportion to the meal.  I must live my life and save my pie till last.

Hold each other's hands but explore.

*

Touch Your Toes

Funny how we deal with feet.

I have seen a woman cradle hers

and treat it like the dearest babe.

I know some folks who shun their feet;

can barely stand to think of them,

let alone to touch them.

There are the Mani-Pedi people

who leave it in the hands of others.

I met a guy who soaks them soft

and tucks little bits of cotton

under the corners of his nails.

I know too,

the woman with the snarling crusty dogs

that serve to others as a warning.

My grandma warns me

not complain about my shoes

lest I meet the man who has no feet,

but I doubt I would fit in his.

Quilter

November 11

QUILTER

What more comfort can exist in the world than a conglomeration of turned edges and love?  Fancy stitches or not, the assembled world of cloth stands testament to devotion and diligence.  Careful collections, meaningful to the collector and mysterious to the possessor, fulfill the primal urge to shelter and be safe.  Time is testimony to endurance.  Thread against thread, solidarity is strength embracing flexibility.  The bed of life is made and remade daily with the affection of kind quilters’ needles of love.

Find a room for zeal.

*

Wrong as wrong as wrong can be

To be wrong in my family and in my past

meant to be tortured and I prefer death to torture,

so being wrong meant death or longing for death.

I tried never to be wrong

as a way to stave of the desire to leap from tall buildings;

I did not turn into superman,

wonder woman or mighty mouse through my efforts.

I did turn into someone else;

I became a cartoon of a real person,

two dimensional and overflowing with irrational color.

Now I see how wrong, wrong can be.

Wrong is not an allowable excuse to be tormented.

It can be the turning point for knowledge if I choose

or the stairway to something deep dark and ugly;

my choice, always my choice.

Clinging

November 9

CLINGING

Large bugs cling to the soffits, upside down, as an alternative to the rain soaked landscape.  I salute their efforts to find security in a shrinking list of possible locations.  Awkward situations place me, fingertips and toenails holding position, trying to avoid life’s harsher choices.  Bitter, chilling options are cheerful alternatives to no options at all.  I can take the difficult positions as an advantage.  I have survived and this is the goal of the game.  I am here come what may.  I make the best of the worst times so God can help me make the best of the best times.

Turn with the tide.

*

Picture Window

When God sticks His face in my window it brightens my day.

What that shining face looks like in other windows I do not know,

but I try to memorize the eyes, the brow, the winning smile

before my time is up and the wind shifts.

The flash of a friendly face lights up the house,

my yard, the corners of my soul.

I imbibe the rich glow before it moves on,

letting my core charge with incandescence, warming my mettle.

I am long and longing for this happy countenance

and only when the blocks tumble in my mind

do I realize that it is two- way glass in that window

and stick my face in it and offer it to God.

Hawaiian Graffiti

August 9

HAWAIIAN GRAFFITI

White pebbles spell themselves across the black of lava grown cold.  Personal announcements proclaim love, school pride, religious freedom.  The care of placement and consideration of design make the roadside an ongoing mineral memo.  What message would I care to share?  What words would prompt me to bring a pail of crushed marble to the edge of the road?  Is there a truth so urgent I would take time from paradise to spell it out?  A few more miles and I see the words I live by strewn down the thoroughfare, “it works if you work it.”

Joint your possibilities.

*

Pick up Your Hammer and Saw

The task infers the tool, I know this,

yet I resist clearly mapping my insanity.

I look into the well of my despair

then quickly I look away,

I fear informing God what I need

lest the need be filled.

I need to believe that a power will heal me,

but if I am provided with the force of life,

I shrink from the prospect.

This too, must be added to the list

of my emotional woes and mental shortages.

This too, will be healed.

I look at my problems

and then realize, that like the moon,

who pulls the water from dry shore to dry shore,

solutions are installed in heaven and earth

if I know what the problem is.

Choice

May 21

CHOICE

Growth is my decision.  I don’t need conflict or catastrophe to bring me to change.  I choose each day come what may, to roll out the refuse.  I am not tempted to leave it in to rot just because the sun is shining.  Good days are good times to improve.  How could integrity be retarded by joy?  I am not punished into recovery.  I will never accept a Higher Power who set up a system like that and I give wide berth to people who claim their Higher Power did.  My bottom may have been an inducement to start but choice keeps me coming back.

Smile in the mirror and look into your eyes.

*

Balustrade

Just because you appeared from the dark

doesn’t make you a wizard.

Just because you make the world safe for mankind

doesn’t make you Hercules,

nor does your power and foresight make you his father.

Your resourcefulness and guile doesn’t make you Ulysses.

And just because you spend so much time

strapped upon that cross doesn’t make you,

well, we all know the rest of that refrain.

Human is what you are whether I see that in you or not.

Human is a blessing even if it feels to me a curse.

I need the superhuman strength you seem to offer

but I must live in the world of what is real.

I want to be stolen away to the safety of your lair

and not live on my feet and fight for my life.

I have to stop wishing to be your captive

and work harder at simply being your friend.

If I can let you down off your pedestal perhaps

I could then climb down off mine.

The Playground

April 14

THE PLAYGROUND

Getting my ass kicked in the playground of my mind was once a daily event. Now, it is a far off memory. I absent myself from the jungle gym the same way I absent myself from bars---places set with traps and schemes I am no longer attracted to. Bullies and ego trips can’t draw me toward the fence. Dares and double-dares are such ancient devices I can’t even find the trigger they used to pull. Trouble doesn’t know my new name, my sober name; I don’t answer to the old one. I hate to admit the isolation of my school yard days, but no one I knew back then will keep me on the road to the future. So, I leave the ball in their court and wish them well.

Expectations are lovely as long as you leave off the outcomes.

*

Not Fur but Fin

You can’t delay the river,

I’ve tried, all it does is distort.

I block the flow and swamp ensues,

mighty oaks waist deep in water.

The current is strong

and I fear being swept away,

not realizing I was born to swim.

Dreading the swim back for spawn

I try to stay too close to my origins,

never make it to open water,

never to live the life I was intended for.

I’ve heard it said,

“Don’t push the river it flows by itself,”

but I can’t stall it either.

You are Allowed to Close Windows or Keep them Open

March 8

YOU ARE ALLOWED TO CLOSE WINDOWS OR KEEP THEM OPEN

Not every open window offers a warm and welcome breeze. There are windows, which greet with artic blast and little else. Frosted cheeks and chapped lips, I face these frigid openings believing it is my lot to forge ahead in this bluster. Never did I think to shut the glass on this disagreeable weather. I am allowed to close windows but I didn’t know it. Every irksome thing that comes my way is not mine to face; many things will pass my way. This does not make them my responsibility. On the other hand, when spring blows honeysuckle through the air, it is a fine idea to prop the window open with a stick.

Wave gently good-bye to yesterday.

*

Migration

Why does an alcoholic leave the drink behind?

To go where it’s warm,

because drunkenness has become cold comfort,

because the climate has changed.

The wind resists the flight from the bottle

and the initiative to break the flow

is rotated among the flock.

Though each member of the band plays their part,

the one diverting the air just ahead of me

and the one just behind trumpeting

still hold the majority of my attention.

Flocking is my primary purpose

because survival is the intention of life,

demise the intent of my illness.

One more sober day is all I can ask,

it’s all I ever need,

it’s all that’s ever offered.

Relay

December 4

Relay

I have waited so long for the chase, the trap, the dig a ditch for safety, to be over and here we are; ringed, safe and surrounded. Now the sweet work of living the life we have striven for, striven to. I now long to be my best, do my best, for you are the best for me and I am the best for you. I tense and press against the blocks; the race I wish to run, but all I knew was to wait.

Explain how petals are different from leaves

*

YOU ARE ALLOWED TO CLOSE WINDOWS

OR KEEP THEM OPEN

Not every open window offers a warm and welcome breeze.
There are windows, which greet with arctic blast and little else.
Frosted cheeks and chapped lips I face these frigid openings
Believing it is my lot to forge ahead in this bluster.

Never did I think to shut the glass on this disagreeable weather.
I am allowed to close windows but I didn’t know it.
Every irksome thing that comes my way is not mine to face.

Many things will pass my way.
This does not make them my responsibility
On the other hand, when spring blows honeysuckle through the air
It is a fine idea to prop the window open with a stick.

Blanda

November 21

Blanda

I know how good a quarterback you are on Monday, safely at home. What were you like on the field, gameday? You act as if seeing your mistakes in retrospect is the same as not having made them, but the game is lost and a rematch is not a do-over. The score is final, whether you accept the stats or not. Defeat does not deter my love of the game and doesn’t diminish my affection for you, but history has been made and I don’t wish to repeat it.

Step aside and let fury pass

*

PERSONAL DICTIONARY

Everyone keeps a dictionary in his or her head.
All the words lay on platters
Each with its own flavor and meaning

There are favorite menus and phrases
Which form warmly in the mouth
And hang sweetly for the ear.

Other vocabulary is exotic, pungent
Occasionally with strong after taste
Or off key ringing
Abundance brings a wealth of conversation
And keeps the cold of boredom at bay.

Free for the taking words grow out of life lived.
When we have lived separately
Even if only in our separate heads
Meaning vary and reference must be checked.

Blue sky is blue sky
But do you speak of azure, cerulean or peacock?
Life is so much show and tell.
Drink the sunshine with your eyes
And flow it out to me with your words.

Things Which Are Thicker Than Water

August 15

THINGS WHICH ARE THICKER THAN WATER


“Pudding, mud, ice cream, cement, sauce, paint, sap, drool, gravy, wood.”
“What is that?" I ask my sponsor.
“A list of things thicker than water. There are so many; why do people get so hung up on blood?” responds my sponsor.
“Survival? Or maybe comfort? Tradition?" I counter.
“I’m sure you’re right. I’m sure there are many benign reasons why we strong-arm one another into relationships with family we may or may not be ready for.”
“You mean the families we drank with?”
“Or sometimes drank to get away from. But it’s not the family; it’s us. We have to learn to do what we need to do. We can’t force ourselves into relations with anyone for any reason other than it’s what is best for our sobriety. Shoulds and oughts have no place in the family situation.”
“So I can just walk away from them one and all?”
“You can’t do anything in that sweep of the wand. In the same vein, don’t obligate yourself to people due to viscosity.”
“Got ya. There has to be a real choice made.”
“Sounds like a promising start.”


Have what you want unless what you want is MORE.