True Voice

December 23

TRUE VOICE

Some tears pour from my eyes and others from my heart.  What once was a head-game and theory is now heartfelt and real.  I have grown in my compassion, leaving qualification on the curb.  Letters and notice mean so little in the full-out scheme of all the world; like fashion, what is true today, stood on and dependable, is next years joke and off-hand reference.  The thump of the muscle deep within me is a compass I can trust.  The daily tide of splash and rush can spring water to my face, but what rouses my spirit is much more.  I needn’t worry for its receding or discount that it is faithful; it abides with me still and will keep me if I let it.  Some sounds ring from my voice; others resonate from within, these are the ones that last.

Aim is as important as a strong arm.

*

Entrée Entrée

I am not one to order an appetizer,

I prefer the main meal.

Even if I carry the majority of the entrée home

I like to have it all there before me.

Knowing there is enough, might I want it,

means peace of mind

and I can relax and eat what I wish.

That’s how much I fear.

Fear opening my mouth to ask for more.

Fear not anticipating my actual appetite.

Fear of having nothing to show for my evening out.

What could it all be like

had I felt free of rules and public policy

that must be carried out in private?

I might never know,

but what I do know is

that I need to overcome this.

Not because of starving children near or far,

not to eliminate the science experiments

of mold growth and wilted lettuce in my frig,

But in order that I have a chance to have my desert

and eat it too

and leave the rest unordered.

Vlog: http://youtu.be/xKD5QInmQak

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

Recognizable Nonexistence

September 13

RECOGNIZABLE NONEXISTENCE

You will never take time to tell the truth.  You will always take time to tell a joke.  As you run from your life I see the familiar vapor trails of an unlived life.  When I flee my life through caretaking I leave the same mist of unfulfilled desire behind me.  I look at your potential and the damage that you do by not being here.  I turn the magnifying glass on me and search for the same trends.  I feel abandoned by you, the you, you never were but always should have been.  I pray for the key, which will get me on the other side of the door you never opened.  I hope to live life as it is rather than the comedy it can never be.

Cross the rivers in your mind.

*

Cadentia

The randomness of love

is matched only by the randomness of loss.

What slips into view or out of grasp

whispers beyond my control.

Like cookies baking in a nearby oven

I long for the sweetness to be inside;

even if it is simply in an olfactory way.

The similarity of the pain of what I have

and the pain of what is no longer mine

haunts me; scares my security,

rattles my hope, affects my sleep.

For minutes make a life

and moments are all it takes to remove the very same.

In the end all that I know is that loss does not remove love

and love does not remove loss.

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

Dessert

May 4

DESSERT

I have to be my own appetizer; I have to be the thing that entices and intrigues me.  I must be the roughage, the salad full of color and variety.  The entree must be me, as well.  The things that sustain me, the meat of my life, I have to supply and swallow down.  I can be all this.  I run to the sweetness of others but this cannot be my source of sustenance.  The greater part of me needs to derive from me.  I can set the table and fill it with the fullness of who I am.  I am enough and others are dessert.  Twinkies will never be sufficient.  They can only be a treat.

Make sure your work area is well ventilated.

*

Yield Don’t Stop

If I let amazement stop my progress

I will become landlocked instead of becoming free.

Picture wagon wheels planted in Kansas

when the destination had been California.

Yes, the plains are great,

but if that was not my aim it is a far cry from heaven.

Arriving at any haven is tempting;

when it crosses to captivating then to captivation,

here is where the problem lay.

Steps six and seven changed me and this is good.

If I allow this to halt me this is disaster.

If the wheels fall off the wagon I walk.

If I grow too tired to walk I pant with my friends

and we carry each other, we don’t stop.

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

The Meal

May 2

THE MEAL

Home cooking is the key.  I want to order in, have my life delivered to the door.  The takeout menus entice me.  From three courses on china to burgers handed through sliding windows, it all sounds good and I request all for take home.  But this is not the way.  I must light the flame and chop the veg.  I can’t have a life prepared by others.  I can share recipes and suggestions; this is help not displacement.  I can stand and cook with others and together make the feast.  I cannot sit and wait to be served.  I stand at the range while the sauce simmers and it comes clear; I am my own meal.

Nothingness won’t necessarily consume you but it does block the view.

*

 TWC

I wake early and watch the lazy rain

fall in slow fat random drops.

I view it with silent awe,

only part of my recently somnolent mind bewildered.

Dawn advances toward me and I register a new concept:

snow, it is snow; the sky had been,

too dark to allow me to see the white,

all I could comprehend was the fall.

The lighter the sky becomes

the more the precipitation behaves like snowfall.

I muse this to my sponsor and she laughed,

“Well, we all misname things in the dark,

Sweetie, lighten up and give yourself a break.”

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

Sod

February 25

SOD

Green and black, pinwheels of rolled grass speed by me on a flatbed.  Sod headed for home.  That is how it is for me.  I grew in a place of impermanence, a place clearly not my destination.  Uprooted and prepared for relocation, I am in transition.  My future surroundings, unknown, will be a perfect fit.  I have been anticipated, grown for a purpose, of which I am uninformed.  I have done my part.  I am ready to lay down my roots and become a lawn of seamless expanse.  Somewhere my Higher Power is grading a hill, smoothing the way.  I am ready to take my place in the landscape of sober living and right thinking.

Advocate for the sweetness inside you.

*

Cured

Ham is cured.

Thank God I’m not ham.

Ham likes to be the center of attention.

Thank God, I’m not ham.

I can’t be the worker among workers

if I believe I don’t need to work.

I can’t be a friend among friends

if I am an island or a precipice,

above or away from the need or reach of others.

Cured is a one way street

that leads to a dried up lonely end.

Just the same way that turning my cucumber

into a pickle took me out of the garden,

Curing takes me away

from the only home I know, recovery.

Though I am often raw and sometimes fresh,

these I can survive,

Finished due to the drying out process

that would be a living death.

Thank God I’m not cured.

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

Entree Entree

December 28

Entrée Entrée

I am not one to order an appetizer, I prefer the main meal.  Even if I carry the majority of the entrée home I like to have it all there before me.  Knowing there is enough, might I want it, means peace of mind and I can relax and eat what I wish.  That’s how much I fear.  Fear opening my mouth to ask for more.  Fear not anticipating my actual appetite.  Fear of having nothing to show for my evening out.  What could it all be like had I felt free of rules and public policy that must be carried out in private?  I might never know, but what I do know is that I need to overcome this.  Not because of starving children near or far, not to eliminate the science experiments of mold growth and wilted lettuce in my frig, but in order that I have a chance to have my desert and eat it too and leave the rest unordered.

Lubricate the places where you get stuck

*

Burying the Impossible Dream

I didn’t waken it and twist it in a shroud

I propped it in a corner and attempted to play house.

I didn’t face the truth and love the loss that goes along

I clung tighter than tight and buried my face in the back of its shirt.

I didn’t stand and look in the mirror

I stared into space and played the film strips of futurity.

I didn’t breathe in and out keeping my heart aloft

I held it all with empty lungs and pallid pulseless bosom

I didn’t do the things I could not do

I did the things I had to do

I didn’t think I could ever let it go

I know now that I must

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

Speak!

July 24

Speak!

Are there songs a bird must not sing while communing with the flock?  Do fish learn to restrain their expressions while schooling?  Or are we the only animal versed in the language of taboo?  I wonder when I hear the cows lowing in the night are they giving whispered voice to things they longed to moo about all day.  I know what to keep inside, things too flamboyant for out of doors.  I understand to keep body and soul together I must keep down and hush, but when I complain to my pup does she comprehend or is it just blah, blah, blah; in her world of speak maybe it is like it is?

If your pallet is limited broaden your ideas

*

SHARING

Please take a bite of my PB&J,

I made it myself, it is fine as it is

I slathered the bread and cut it neatly

Still I can’t help but want to offer some to you.

I know to stand and smile next to you

Watch you lick the peanut butter from the roof of your mouth

Have you dab jelly from the corner of my lips

Will make this sandwich even better.

You bring so much to this meal

Something bright and clever --you bring you.

I can pull things together and set it all up

But somehow my creation is never quite complete

Until I share it with you.

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

Coming Home to Work

April 25

Coming Home to Work

I have arrived home to a beehive; everyone industrious, everyone filled with purpose, everything buzzing right along.  My response to this of course is anger.  I have a sting and I want to use it.  I have a place it falls into yet I fear falling.  The living world is now opened to me, but my destination had been death for so long that the prospect of diligence ignites steel blue fury.  I divide my time between gratitude and rage.  I want to accuse myself, rescue myself, then I remember everyone in this place has a buzz, a stripe and a stinger.

Hum in a foreign language

*

DESSERT

I have to be my own appetizer

I have to be the thing which entices and intrigues me

I must be the roughage, the salad full of color and variety

The entrée must be me, as well.

The things which sustain me

The meat of my life

I have to supply and swallow it down

I can be all this.

I run to the sweetness of others

But this cannot be my source of sustenance

The greater part of me

Needs to derive from me.

I can set the table

And fill it with the fullness of who I am

I am enough and others are dessert

Twinkies will never be sufficient, they can only be a treat.

Do Not Drink the Tap Water on Alpha Centauri blog 2

Soup Envy

I had no intention of traveling to Limelight for lunch, but whoever does their advertising earns their keep.  The promise of the perfect hernekeitto was irresistible; hence I didn’t resist and had the most delectable hernekeitto of my life.  Which if you’re wondering, hernekeitto is essentially split pea soup and theirs is the best I’ve had other than my mother’s of course.  

Limelight is a planet with no original population.  A couple of geeks broke down the obstacles to creating water from atoms on a large scale using iridium, then went in search of a real-estate agent with an extrasolar iridium rich planet to sell.  They found one, bought it produced vast amounts of water, installed the strangest semipermeable membrane which served as a placeholder for the atmosphere until one developed, then they hired the PR team who placed ads in every galaxy with the slogan You Never Have to Go Home Again If You Come Here.  The response was better than they could have imagined; who knew so many were looking for a geographic cure.

The planet was assigned a designation but the International Astronomical Union being what it is and the IAU’s nomenclature being what it is the planet was soon renamed for the candoluminescence of stage lighting which was a similarly great discovery in its time.

Not surprisingly the humor of runaways has caused green to be overly popular on their new home; they have the most beautiful green dwellings, green transportation and the best hot green soup.  Try the recipe I’m sure you will be green with envy that you weren’t on Limelight having lunch with me!

SPLIT PEA SOUP

1 pound of green split peas

1 medium onion chopped

2 medium carrots peeled

   and finely diced

1 bay leaf

8 cups of water

Place all ingredients in a crock

pot and cook on high for 4 hours

or until the onion and carrots have

almost disappeared.

Remove the bay leaf and season

with salt and pepper.  It is nice to

add some turkey ham chopped up

after the soup is cooked. Refrigerate

for a day to allow the flavors to blend.

This recipe can be cut in half if

only serving  two people. 

Here is the link to ABouquet of Recipes: From Sherrie's Mon

 http://www.amazon.com/Bouquet-Recipes-From-Sherries-Mom/dp/1481019279/ref=sr_1_7?ie=UTF8&qid=1358272921&sr=8-7&keywords=winnie+jenkins

True Voice

December 23

TRUE VOICE

Some tears pour from my eyes and others from my heart.  What once was a head-game and theory is now heartfelt and real.  I have grown in my compassion, leaving qualification on the curb.  Letters and notice mean so little in the full-out scheme of all the world; like fashion, what is true today, stood on and dependable, is next years joke and off-hand reference.  The thump of the muscle deep within me is a compass I can trust.  The daily tide of splash and rush can spring water to my face, but what rouses my spirit is much more.  I needn’t worry for its receding or discount that it is faithful; it abides with me still and will keep me if I let it.  Some sounds ring from my voice; others resonate from within, these are the ones that last.

Aim is as important as a strong arm.

*

Entrée Entrée

I am not one to order an appetizer,

I prefer the main meal.

Even if I carry the majority of the entrée home

I like to have it all there before me.

Knowing there is enough, might I want it,

means peace of mind

and I can relax and eat what I wish.

That’s how much I fear.

Fear opening my mouth to ask for more.

Fear not anticipating my actual appetite.

Fear of having nothing to show for my evening out.

What could it all be like

had I felt free of rules and public policy

that must be carried out in private?

I might never know,

but what I do know is

that I need to overcome this.

Not because of starving children near or far,

not to eliminate the science experiments

of mold growth and wilted lettuce in my frig,

But in order that I have a chance to have my desert

and eat it too

and leave the rest unordered.

Entrée Entrée

December 28

Entrée Entrée

I am not one to order an appetizer, I prefer the main meal. Even if I carry the majority of the entrée home I like to have it all there before me. Knowing there is enough, might I want it, means peace of mind and I can relax and eat what I wish. That’s how much I fear. Fear opening my mouth to ask for more. Fear not anticipating my actual appetite. Fear of having nothing to show for my evening out. What could it all be like had I felt free of rules and public policy that must be carried out in private? I might never know, but what I do know is that I need to overcome this. Not because of starving children near or far, not to eliminate the science experiments of mold growth and wilted lettuce in my frig, but in order that I have a chance to have my desert and eat it too and leave the rest unordered.

Lubricate the places where you get stuck

*

Burying the Impossible Dream

I didn’t waken it and twist it in a shroud

I propped it in a corner and attempted to play house.

I didn’t face the truth and love the loss that goes along

I clung tighter than tight and buried my face in the back of its shirt.

I didn’t stand and look in the mirror

I stared into space and played the film strips of futurity.

I didn’t breathe in and out keeping my heart aloft

I held it all with empty lungs and pallid pulseless bosom

I didn’t do the things I could not do

I did the things I had to do

I didn’t think I could ever let it go

I know now that I must

My Most Important Meal

December 5

My Most Important Meal

Sweet potato pudding sits on the plate; I sit in my place and wield my spoon until the plate is clean. I’m fed, my day begins. If this is the best part of my day, life is still sweet and fine. Time skips its way through and I meet and greet the splendid and the few. Picking my way, the raindrops step aside; I am gratified, though I never mind the rain. When the mud has settled and my bed calls me home; I look back to the start of the day and pray to begin the next one the very same way.

Look for your eyes in a crowd

*

WATER PROOF

What could water prove anyway?
I get in the water and I get wet.
I’m sure there is a theorem
But a proof is highly doubtful.

Naiads dance with tridents in their hands
Illustrating the beauty and danger of the waves
But this certifies nothing.

Juiceless arid dirt can make no claims either
I see ducks take flight
Pushing the air with their wings
And rivulets trailing from webs.

This is the thing to scoot beneath at the surface,
Take sustenance and pleasure
but never to become so saturated that the air is lost.
Waterproof, is the way to go.

Pastry

July 8

PASTRY




Like French pastry, sobriety gets richer with each layer. As I investigate these layers I approach the buttery center. The fat seeps through the years, makes boundaries crisp and intimacy velvety. Ingredients, which ordinarily wouldn’t mix, somehow blend and counterpoint one another in a flaky shell. Fruit and nuts improve every bite. Though there are times which are a bit crumbly, most of the structure is strong and the invention skillful. Pastry and sobriety are compositions of strength and brilliance, which are meant to be taken internally.


Juggle solutions.

The Meal

May 2

THE MEAL


Home cooking is the key. I want to order in, have my life delivered to the door. The takeout menus entice me. From three courses on china to burgers handed through sliding windows, it all sounds good and I request all for take home. But this is not the way. I must light the flame and chop the veg. I can’t have a life prepared by others. I can share recipes and suggestions; this is help not displacement. I can stand and cook with others and together make the feast. I cannot sit and wait to be served. I stand at the range while the sauce simmers and it comes clear; I am my own meal.


Nothingness won’t necessarily consume you but it does block the view.

Willing Piecrust

April 13

WILLING PIECRUST



I lay the crust of my will over the pie plate of God’s will for me. I must have the willingness to trim off the excesses. I hesitate; I worked hard to roll it out. I know from past experience, when hot issues come up, these tags and hangings-on burn and drop sometimes ruining the flavor and appearance of the whole. It is easier to cut loose the things outside God-given intent. I get the pie in its entirety when I crimp and bend to the shape of my life.


Hope is free, so spread it around.