Adventures of One Sober Woman

Tuesday's Menu

2011-06-28T07:44:00.000-04:00

It has occurred to me that I speak little about my cooking lately. It truly is an integral part of my life ~ both professionally as well as personally. The story of how I entered into the culinary world [for pay] could be described in a brief telling statement, "mid-life crisis". The longer version can wait for another day, as today will be an in-the-kitchen day to start shortly after my big book meeting this morning.

To whet the appetite ~ here is the menu that will be served up to my new clients for this week:

Fresh Fish Packet, served with a squash medley and orzo with cherry tomatoes and fresh basil
Balsamic Marinated Flank Steak, served with garlic spinach and sauteed sweet onions and mushrooms
Artichoke Lemon Chicken, served with Jasmine rice and roasted tomatoes
Spinach & Mushroom Quiche, served with rosemary roasted asparagus and minted fruit salad

In a word, YUM!

I leave you with a special scrapping page I created a few days ago. The photos were taken at the farmhouse on the hillside town in Provence where we wound up our culinary tour and training of France, all a part of my professional training I began in Denver ~ shortly after I declared my departure from the world of technology to enter the amazing, senses-filled, satisfying world of food.

Have a delicious day!

A Week of Busy

2011-06-27T15:25:00.000-04:00

Before I get behind the eightball again, I figured I'd better dash off a quick bullet list to update the past week of life. Some of the busyness included another all-night working on digital scrapping projects and the subsequent napping. Other than my graphics creating. Here's what else is going on in my world:

A local teenager was arrested for multiple burglaries in the area ~ scores of items were recovered. Unfortunately, he didn't make his way to my house...my things are still MIA.
I had my first session with India in quite a while. It felt like a great homecoming.
Willow, after spending 34 days in jail, was released on her on recognizance. Her future is tenuous, with felony charges hanging over her head. The state has 175 days to file formal charges (she's been told they probably will drop the charges) ~ additionally, there is a 3 1/2 year statute of limitations if she doesn't request the charges be eliminated. It is good to hug her. She looks and sounds great, for today. I continue to pray for her.
Huck has announced his engagement. I am going to be a mother-in-law ~ holy crap! His beautiful fiance has already bought her dress. We are probably looking at a February wedding.
I start cooking for a new weekly client. They are self-proclaimed foodies ~ which is right up my alley...I hope to push my creative envelope.
New Beau treated us to a great weekend away in Mount Dora. I am quite spoiled. He will be moving in with me ~ not exactly sure when...but relatively soon.
Loving life today.

Here's the scrapping of this weekend:

Friday Flash 55 [ Daytime Mask

2011-06-17T00:00:00.000-04:00

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Flash 55
Wanna join in?
Read about it here
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Have a wonderful weekend.
Think good thoughts.

No Longer the Bag Lady

2011-06-16T08:12:00.002-04:00

I'm trying to keep my sense of humor in light of the recent events occurring in my home. Yesterday was a day enrobed with emotional charges ~ it involved compiling the list of stolen items for the investigator assigned to my case. Currently exceeding a purchased value of over $25,000, with the price of gold and silver these days, replacement value would far surpass that figure. Needless to say, you can't assign a value to the priceless sentimental items that mean absolutely nothing to the person(s) that more than likely dumped perceived "worthless" things along the roadway somewhere.

Oh, the sense of humor part?

Throughout my years with Ex-Beau, I coined myself "the bag lady". During the periods I didn't officially live with him, I was inevitably the one that shuffled between our two homes. Any consecutive days spent with him meant loading my car with items I might need ~ my travel bag, laptop bag, make-up bag, tennis bag, and so on. I often complained about this ~ though never made a firm stand to change anything. With New Beau, I made a request from the get-go that he be willing to share in that sense of displacement by being flexible in his daily routine ~ he has complied without one complaint. There is a beautiful equality in our relationship that feels so right. I don't feel quite like the bag lady anymore.

It's a good thing too! The crooks that wreaked havoc in my home depleted my supply of bags by a large margin. Other than the 40” flat screen TV [a 2-week old gift from New Beau…purchased just in time for me to enjoy the French Open], and a chocolate fountain in a box, it was an assortment of bags and all of the contents contained therein that were lifted. Including the tools of my trade ~ my knife roll, with over 20 knives and chef tools; the tools of my joy~ my tennis bag with two racquets, sunglasses and Sony Ericsson visor; the tools of beauty ~ my make-up bags [yes, I had several]; my travel bags ~ including my passport, Euros and winter clothes; my Mama's bag ~ including vintage purses and her wedding ring [the only item of monetary value she had when she passed away 11 years ago]; my jewelry bags/boxes ~ 2 wedding sets plus heirlooms for my daughters; my craft bag ~ all of my handmade jewelry. And the list continues...........

I might add that the bags themselves were no slouch containers either. The value of the bags alone are enough to make me scream ~ and again, not just the dollar amount...most of them were gifts from someone I love and care about. To a theif they are just something easy to grab and transport ~ to me they contain memories of special days in my life.

Today, rather than feel angst however, I have become lost in gratitude. I have not been robbed of my memories.

Peaceful hugs,

The Intruder

2011-06-13T12:02:00.003-04:00

how often had you passed
without my notice?
did your smirking gaze
meet mine?
or was a blending shadow
lurking in the background your mode?
a finely-tuned execution or
spontaneity born of desperation?
can i identify you
without a glimpse?
wicked malice,
vengeance for repulsion of your existence?
did you knock?
what did you happen upon?
did you smell the hours old sex?
sense a hasty departure?
did you finger the rings first
or just squirrel them away?
ponder meaning or
calculate value?
could you feel the labors of love
sifting possessions?
the two beating hearts ~ did they follow you from room to room?
treasures of time vanished.
gifts of love evaporated.
private lives violated.
intrusion of life
meets
invasion of soul.
sacred domain sacrificed.
fuck you.

Sometime yesterday, between the hours of 9am and 6pm, while my BFF and I took a 24-hour respite on the beach of Sanibel Island ~ someone broke into my home, stole my possessions and violated my space. While things are just that, things...my sense of self and safety have been taken from me. Did I know this person? What more do they want that they may return for? If only cats could talk...

In Between Day

2011-06-11T10:34:00.002-04:00

Today is "in between" day. Huck turned 24 years old yesterday. Tomorrow, my oldest son Hunter, turns 26. My oh my, the memories of days gone by. If I'd had all the time in the world, I would have scanned photos of each of them since infancy ~ but alas, today is also Saturday, and I had planned on spending it in its entirety with New Beau. Again, he has gotten the short end of my attention span this morning. So...here is the collage as it stands. Just a mini-glimpse of me and my boys. Love you two with all my quaking heart and soul.

Have a terrific Saturday,

OSP [ Graffiti Jam

2011-06-09T19:40:00.001-04:00

Submitted to One Stop Poetry

My friend Daniel participated in the Jam and also took most of these pictures. It was quite the street scene in Milano that day.

Friday Flash 55 [ Repeat Echo

2011-06-09T09:22:00.002-04:00

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Flash 55 & Poetry Jam
Worth checking out!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A double submission today. On Poetry Jam we had 3 photos to choose from as our prompt. I chose the one below. I decided to pen my 55 today as well ~ so it's a two-for-one. Backstory inspiration is below, as always.

For 6 weeks during the months spanning March and April, our community just shook its hanging head as a collective. No less than 10 young people lost their lives in that short period ~ 6 in car accidents, 3 to suicide and 1 to a drug overdose. While I was saddened by all the deaths, it was one in particular that hit too close to home. I run in the same tennis circle as the mom whose daughter lost her addiction battle. As a result, I've seen, heard and shared the grief of she and her family. It was a blunt Facebook post reading, "something I never expected to have to do: cancel cell phone service for my dead daughter" that hit me square between the eyes. I read with empathy and compassion her writings every day. She has lifted me up, in spite of her own grief, to be a "warrior" with my own children. I had no idea that when I chose this photograph I would pen such sadness; I can only imagine what those repeating echos must sound like. Peace be with you, warrior mother and your fallen angel.

Just For Today

2011-06-07T09:19:00.008-04:00

Chatterbox. You've had this experience, right? You reach a point where your head feels like it just might explode? Brain overload. For me, it comes in the form of my "committee" jabbering about this or that. While I've accomplished one of my goals of simplifying my life [thank you Italy for teaching me about quality vs. quantity], I am still quite capable of complicating it by jamming too many square pegs into round holes. The noise it makes can be deafening.

Sloth. One of the seven deadly sins, right? It is also one of my major character defects and a huge contributor to the overwhelmed panic I throw at myself. A master procrastinator, it is when I get short of breath and that head popping off thing starts to occur, that I know I need to look at what I'm putting off today in favor of more enjoyable activities. It always seems to coincide with a new hobby.

Awareness. It's a beautiful thing, right? That I can even connect the dots between why the chatter is there, the signs of panic before it gets out of control and what I can do about is a miracle. In years past, I couldn't shuffle by step one [noticing the committee] before I'd pour myself the first glass of wine. Before long, the bottle would be empty and the "oh whoas me" would begin. I don't do that today. I have the awareness ~ what a gift.

Easy Does It. A procrastinator's dream slogan, right? Thank G-d I have that awareness today. While I don't need to go full bore plowing through that to do list, I also don't need to take the "easy does it" approach to the Nth degree and twist it into, "don't bother doing it at all". I am acutely aware of this trap I set for myself from time to time. So, just for today, I'm going to take it one next-right-thing at a time. It does a girls brain good.

Free Fall

2011-06-06T13:06:00.005-04:00

Thanks to consummate blogger Brian Miller, I have been further inspired to write more with purpose in mind. I've been directed to two new meme's, Poetry Jam and One Stop Poetry. Unconventional by graphically emoting I know, I just can't seem to help myself. My photos inspire my thoughts and sometimes, my thoughts inspire my photos. "Swim Swam Swum" was the prompt for Poetry Jam and Free Verse the theme for OSP. I hope this is suitable for both ~ it is my first effort ~ please be gentle. If interested, read below the poem for the backstory.

After silently quitting the football team as a sophomore in high school, my son, Huck, tried out springboard diving. [Hubby #1 was adamant that all of our children be involved in music, sports and foreign languages ~ never letting up and ignoring all complaints and excuses...including mine]. Diving became Huck's life, and in turn, mine. His grades improved, his confidence built and his circle of friends widened. Being a natural, in an extremely short period of time, he began competing with the best in the country. In spite of being in the sport for only 18 months at the time scouts started their recruiting hunt, Huck was offered, and accepted, a collegiate scholarship. It's hard to say what happened in his first, and only, year in Buffalo; however, he began a free fall of an entirely different kind. Those of you who have followed my blog know that Huck is an alcoholic like myself. In and out of the program now for a couple of years, only a few months ago we talked about diving. He shed a tear. So did I.

Blessings on this perfect Monday,

Karis

Sunday 160 [ Left Behind

2011-06-05T00:02:00.000-04:00

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160 Challenge
Wanna join in?
Read about it here
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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I have been very busy with my newest "thing" ~ digi scrapping (digital scrapbooking). I never did get into the whole scrapbooking thing, believing it only appropriate for Suburbanite moms residing within white picket fences. Digital is something entirely different in my mind. I went a few days ago to finding free "stuff" on the internet, to "scrapping" that idea in favor of using my own 1,000s of photos to cull from. New Beau has been largely ignored in the wake of this hobby [read: obsession]. I've promised him he'd get me back between the lull of this wearing off and the next new thing.

Have a peaceful Sunday,

Karis

Friday Flash 55 [ You Brighten My Day

2011-06-03T08:54:00.002-04:00

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Flash 55
Wanna join in?
Read about it here
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I wrote a few days ago about my creative self. I haven't slept much lately. I bought another magazine, Somerset's Digital Studio. I'm in BIG trouble now. I created this for a different challenge and 'lo and behold, it was 54 words. A little tweak and now it's fit for today as well. This 55 is less about the words and more about the hours I spent creating the digital piece, learning many new techniques ~ though it does serve as a journal entry of a recent weekend with New Beau.

No doubt, I'll be showcasing more of my efforts in the next several days as what I've done here is child's play compared to what I've been inspired by. Stay tuned!

Have a wonderful weekend. Hugs,

Karis

Wordless Wednesday

2011-06-01T11:14:00.000-04:00

Boy oh boy did I get bitten by the inspiration bug. Other than my tennis activities last night, I plopped myself in front of my computer from yesterday mornings post until 5:15am today. Perhaps, if you've visited me before, you've noticed some graphical changes. Tomorrow I will give all the shout outs to those I was inspired by, helped by and kept rapt attention by in learning new cool blog thingys! In the meantime, I wanted to share a few pictures of recent outings with New Beau, AKA Skipper. [He calls me his First Mate].

Sunrise on our first day in Cedar Key
May 2011

My Skipper, my love, my rock

Sunrise in Cedar Key
May 2011

The boat that says it all

One of my pastimes is beachcombing
Miniature shells collected on a recent outing

Have a great Wednesday!

A Crafting Karis? Who Knew?

2011-05-31T09:11:00.004-04:00

I picked up a magazine yesterday entitled Artful Blogging. Have you ever heard of or seen it? I devoured every word, soaked in every beautifully laid out piece and wanted to earmark the day for visiting new blogs. The featured bloggers seem to carry a theme: they are creative, in a visual sort of way. Reading what each of them penned, expression through the written word is not lost on them either. It got me thinking about my own creative side, something that has been buried between the lines now for months. In fact, I'm not sure I've even revealed that side of me here. Who knew?

I come from some very talented stock. Mommie Dearest and her 3 siblings are extremely crafty. My childhood included matching dresses worn by sissy and I during our annual Olan Mills portraits, products of mom's sewing machine. These days Mommie Dearest is at one with her camera and canvases [something I now too enjoy]. She is an oil painter ~ something she does with seemingly amazing ease and eye ~ and world traveled shutterbug. My local auntie is a gourd crafter, with loads of shows under her belt, teaching stints and representation in a local studio. Idaho auntie has never met a craft she hasn't liked or been fluent in. My Ohio uncle, who suffers greatly from Parkinson's disease, has long been a drawer and painter. With very limited motor skills these days, he has become a prolific zentangle artist and was recently featured in his local paper.

While my dad never considered himself creative ~ he can manhandle a camera with the best of them and has some fabulous photographs worthy of walls. Painting also reached his side of the family with 2 cousins both extremely deft with the brush.

While drawing and painting were a lost art for me in my early years, I do recall having some success with a crochet hook. I may have mentioned it briefly, but for the record, my stay in Italy produced a large number of knitted and crocheted scarves and hats. Upon my return to the states, I even found myself teaching crochet at a local yarn shop for many months. If you were to ask Hubby #1 or any of my children if I were artsy, they undoubtedly would laugh and say, "which craft would you be referring to this week?"

I squealed in delight when I rented my current home, as I devoted a whole room just to my art. I moved in February 1st ~ set up the arts & crafts room and have barely walked into it since. Kind of like my blog, my crafts get ignored and then, as though someone bopped me on the forehead with a 2x4, I say to myself, "oops, I forgot, I'm kind of an artist" and off to the races I go! I dare admit here that in late December I was so busy with my newest art form, felting, that I quit my day job to become a full-time artist. I sold a dozen or so handbags and assumed it would be my newest fortune. Damn.

So, here I sit with time on my hands today and an abandoned craft room. Before me lies a magazine of hope and inspiration. Inside of me resides desire and good intentions. What to do, what to do. I will search my photo files and see what strikes a chord in me today. Here is some of what I see:

~ Quilting ~
An art quilt for Mommie Dearest
bad picture, nice quilt

~ Stamping ~
I hand-carved the torso stamp
Layered with paper elements

~ Photography ~
I'm a hobbyist at best; however,
this one was selected for a juried show.
"Cortona Man"
taken in Cortona, Italy: 2003

~ Oil Painting ~
First class was in 2006
Here I used my favorite photo
It is now my favorite painting

~ Felted Crochet ~
A short-lived money making endeavor
Commissioned handbag
December, 2010

~ Felted Crochet ~
This one is all mine
Fully lined with closures and pockets
A friend calls my purses "Art Bags"

~ Needle Felting ~
Another commissioned felted handbag

There are SOOO many more. The jewelry; bath and beauty products; paper crafts; gourds; greeting cards; ALL of the photography (numbering in the thousands). Yes, I am a crafty Karis. Some days it's overwhelming and I become paralyzed; others I feel movement. As for today? Perhaps I'll finish something I started or maybe begin a new project. Or maybe I'll just take a nap.

Have yourselves a creative day.

Sunday 160 [ The Visit

2011-05-29T11:05:00.004-04:00

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
160 Challenge
Wanna join in?
Read about it here
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

todayi saw you smile,

todayi observed laughter.

asibling bond

playedout between

shatterproofglass

and

videomonitors.

contentto be only a

spectator,
i
smiled
too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The photo above was the last time I saw Huck and Willow together ~ it was Mother's Day. Their bond has always been a special one. Today was no different. It warmed my heart to be a part of their interaction ~ limited as it is these days. Lacking most was the ability to so freely give the hugs we so often share.

Hugs,

Karis

Storytelling

2011-05-28T18:38:00.007-04:00

This morning marked another opportunity to tell my story. I've had several cracks at it and just prior to "taking the stage" [literally and figuratively], I made the comment, "I wonder which story I'll tell today". I never quite know what might come out of my mouth. As I've done every time previous, I prayed, asking my higher power to give me the words and the wisdom.

Today was a bit different for me. I was pretty convinced I would guard my share. New Beau, who has been to only a few meetings with me, came to this one. In spite of the fact that I first met him when I was 12 years old, we spent no time whatsoever together, or even kept in touch, as adults. By the time we graduated high school and parted ways, I hadn't even taken my first drink.

Whenever rigorous honesty is a topic in the rooms, I pipe up with what mine looked like before I hit the rooms of AA. I am a shock factor kind of gal. Not a Howard Stern in-your-face type, per se, but seeing what kind of reaction I can gain from someone had always been a secret pleasure of mine. Sometimes at the expense of others. I've learned that this is gossip ~ even if it's about myself. I've always said [and still do], "my life is an open book"; however, I now understand appropriate honesty. I save certain things for my women's meetings now. That was a HUGE step for me.

Where am I going with this? Displaced fear. In retrospect, I don't think there was a whole lot left for New Beau to learn today that might make him scratch his head and say, "hmmmmm......didn't know that ~ see ya". Even before he was a beau, I managed to yack about my past encounters. At the time I didn't have, or use, a filter. Of course, in the beginning, I didn't consider we might someday be a couple [he was, after all, in a long term committed relationship at the time ~ and I, now a woman of integrity and dignity had no intention of interfering with that] so I had nothing to lose by letting him leaf through my open book.

My share, what I remember of it, went fine. After a few awkward moments [I'm huge on eye contact and avoided one set initially] I got into my experience, strength and hope groove. After the meeting, New Beau was somberly quiet. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but soon realized it was just him processing the information and observing the fellowshiping in action, including the feedback. He got to hear from others that I, in spite of my past ~ or perhaps because of it, am inspiring to some. When before I would accept The Academy for my award, I was humbled and almost embarrassed by the attention. Humility. Another gift I've received on my journey of recovery.

Today was a good day.

Hugs,

Karis

Friday Flash 55 [ Doing Time

2011-05-27T08:19:00.002-04:00

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Flash 55
Wanna join in?
Read about it here
~~~~~~~~~~~~
I can't believe it has been a year now since I've posted a 55. Of course, I can't believe I "abandoned" my blog either. Somehow, life just got in the way. It has been a struggle since I returned from Italy, a year ago now. Reintegrating into a life I left and a new one I wish to begin has proved challenging. Along the way, two of my adult children moved from their home in Denver to Sarasota to follow mom in her recovery footsteps. "Sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly" jumps to mind. Painstakingly slowly ~ or perhaps never ~ may be the case with Willow. This 55 is for her, about her, in spite of her, to honor her and to remind me and whoever else might be watching, where drugs and alcohol can take you, "death, jails and institutions". I love you and pray for you Willow.

Hugs and Happy Memorial Day Weekend,

Karis

A Story in Fifty Minutes

2011-05-25T11:14:00.002-04:00

What can possibly happen in 50 minutes that can change your life forever? [As Joplin, Missouri experienced yesterday, it could be just seconds that change your life ~ or take it. A blink of an eye and your world is never the same.] But this morning, it is 50 minutes that I focus on. I am having trouble finding little irony between a couple of events that have forever altered the way I think, breathe and live ~ both taking only 50 minutes to occur.

My youngest child, Willow, has been referred to as "the lunch hour baby". At the time she was born, my husband and myself worked for a tyrant. Though I was on maternity leave, hubby was not. He knew his job was in jeopardy if he took any time off upon the birth of our daughter. On top of that pressure, a good friend of ours, and my labor coach, was also employed by this maniac and quite under his spell of power. It was made clear to her that she would be granted no special privileges should the baby choose working hours to make its grand entrance. Forgive me, for I have digressed.

My doctor broke my water at exactly 12 o'clock noon with hubby at my side. Labor coach arrived 10 minutes later (our offices being only a couple of miles from the hospital). Willow was born at 12:50. Coach returned to the office with news of the birth by 1pm. She clocked in and out for lunch and just happened to hold my hand and utter "push" in the meantime. Her job was safe. My life was forever changed. Being a mom can kind of do that to a gal.

Fast forward 20 1/2 years to yesterday, as the side-stepping digression between these two moments in time is in and of itself a book in progress. With my father at my side, I registered for my first visit with Willow, who has spent the last 8 days in jail. I have never been in jail, inside a jail or even in a building that housed one. I am a newbie. As it turned out, I still haven't been in any of the above. Unbeknownst to me, the "visit" would be via monitor screen, with my daughter in a building a street apart from me. If it hadn't been for her county issued orange wardrobe and the obvious set of circumstances, it felt little different than when I Skyped with her while living in Italy.

My visit, as all visits are, lasted 50 minutes. It was, other than the day of her birth, the longest 50 minutes of my life. The digitally displayed countdown on the webcam monitor ticked off the seconds with sluggish deliberation. I wasn't sure if it was in slow motion or if it was the reality of my life, and hers, that crawled in front of me. Pain and agony. Sadness and despair. All were present and all were thick around me. I was lost in a surreal dreamlike trance I couldn't seem to escape.

It is also not lost on me that it took no more than 50 minutes for a situation to escalate itself to the point it did 8 days ago. Fifty minutes can change a life forever.

Make your next 50 minutes count for something good in the world. I know I will.

Hugs,

Karis

I WON'T run away ~ I WON'T run away

2011-05-24T07:54:00.004-04:00

March came and went.
April came and went.
May is here and nearly done.

Once again, I sit at my keyboard with a modicum of disgust at myself for failing to write. As I oft mentioned in my previous FEW posts, I think about it, lament over it and then do nothing to change it. I've written very little of anything ~ anywhere. I have some scattered about-the-house Post-It notes with reminders to do this or that. I have stacks of unopened envelopes (bills mostly) with scribbled phone messages, thoughts for recipes or appointments scrawled on them. I DID invest ($1.00 at the going-out-of-business sale at Border's) in a purse-sized calendar and I DO actually use it. Baby steps I suppose.

Another bullet list? How do I recap all that has happened in the past few months? How much of my daily life is all that important or memorable in truth? Here are the highlights:

Huck has continued to bounce in and out of the program. He has moved into a place of his own and holds his job and is seemingly happy. He will be venturing out to 2 concerts for the first 2 weeks of June. He will meet up with his brothers and some friends. I worry, but I've let go.
4 weeks ago I told Willow she was not welcome to live with me anymore. She was arrested a week ago today. I've been praying for her arrest ~ I should have been more specific about the charges. I will get to visit her for the first time today.
New Beau and I have now surpassed the 6-month mark in our budding relationship. I am giddy with him. He has been my rock.
My mother, who has been attending Al-Anon now for close to a year, recites the "3 C's" regularly. I didn't cause it. I can't cure it. I can't control it. Along with The Serenity Prayer ~ it is comforting to know and to believe.
I am still sober. I am a miracle today.

Hugs to all,

Karis

Fending Off Loneliness [ Entry #3 of 31

2011-03-04T10:38:00.002-05:00

First off ~ I missed posting yesterday. I was going to post-date an entry and fudge, but couldn't do it. I've decided that I'll make it up by posting twice on another day.

I have accepted a service position in one of my two home groups ~ the Happy Cookie Hour. Beginning tonight, and for the next 2 months of Fridays, I will be co-chairing a beginner's open discussion meeting. When I first got sober, this was my favorite meeting of the week. The format is a little different than others I have been to. A topic is introduced and everyone with a year or less is encouraged to speak ~ if nothing else, at least introduce themselves. Cross talk is also encouraged between the newcomers and the chairpersons, allowing for questions when they arise.

I selected our first topic, which will be Fending Off Loneliness. It's dealt with in Chapter 14 of Living Sober ~ a wonderful AA approved piece of literature focused on the newcomer. I came to rely on Living Sober for its practical advice on everyday obstacles and was pleased to find it was what we read every Sunday in Milan.

I chose this particular topic because of my own tendency to isolate when I'm feeling miserable for one reason or another. This week has been "one of those weeks". I still haven't gotten my period, still have the blues and have managed to isolate more than usual. The topic is ripe for me tonight.

As is suggested in the reading I'm culling from, I always felt lonely, even when in a crowd. Granted, as the alcohol consumption increased, so did my gregariousness ~ up until I crossed over the line. You know that line, the one when all of a sudden happiness turns to sadness; you realize that you're not beautiful, but old and ugly; that your dreams of financial security and independence are really hinged upon winning the lottery ~ not your scheme-of-the-month in which you will reap wealth and capture the limelight. Okay, maybe your line is different...this was mine. The problem is, for me, that I still have these types of "revelations" in sobriety; however, they almost always ONLY come when I am sitting alone.

A quote in Living Sober that I will be sure to pass along tonight: "Almost any company is better than a bitter privacy". This has surely been my experience. When I isolate, miss meetings, don't talk to my sponsor or another alcoholic in recovery, I am in bitter privacy with myself. I then become my own worst enemy.

Loneliness is but one of several triggers for us alcoholics. HALT [Hungry. Angry. Lonely. Tired.] was an acronym my first sponsor passed on to me immediately. I repeat it often to the newcomer as well as repeat it to myself when I start feeling rough around the edges. Since I am rarely hungry, love to sleep, and keep anger at bay most days, it is the "lonelies" that creep up on me the most and threaten my sobriety. Taking this role as co-chair is a step in the right direction for me today. It allows me to get out of myself, help another alcoholic and surround myself with like-minded people who "get me".

I leave you with this quote from Living Sober ~ which I strongly resonated with:

The brittle shell of protective and fearful egocentricity we have dwelled in so long is cracked open by the honesty of other recovering alcoholics. We sense, almost before we can articulate it, that we do belong somewhere, and the loneliness starts rapidly leaking away.

Hugs,

Karis

Prayer & Meditation [Entry #2 of 31]

2011-03-02T15:42:00.004-05:00

I touched on it briefly yesterday ~ in the same sentence that I used the word disciplined ~ something I am not. How ironic was it that Step 11 is what we read in our weekly Step meeting this morning? All things considered ~ not at all ironic.

A brief history of my prayer and meditation life goes something like this:

I was raised Jewish. We went to synagogue. We prayed in Hebrew. I can't translate Hebrew. Hence, I never felt like I was praying. It was the singing that appealed to me most ~ and it too was done in Hebrew ~ a language I could memorize but not decipher. So for me, it was no different than memorizing Frère Jacques as a young schoolgirl ~ I loved the melody but had no clue what it meant. After I graduated high school, I stopped going to temple.

As for meditation, I had a bout with it in college as a part of my psychology coursework. I also fell in love with the idea of Buddhism [well, for a semester anyway]. At the end of the semester I ceased to think about conscious meditating and would only describe myself as "spiritual, but not religious". My spirituality came in the form of being a strong believer in karma ~ the cycle of cause and effect. I didn't really attribute anything to G-d ~ good, bad or otherwise. I was "neutral" on the subject.

I can honestly say that I can remember only a handful of times when I have prayed, in English, outside of temple ~ and every single time was a prayer of desperation...mostly about one of my children or a failing marriage. But truthfully, one handful of prayers ~ tops. Until I came into the rooms of AA. I started slowly ~ with the Serenity Prayer...silently leaving out the word G-d. But, I was starting.

Since this is my brief synopsis, I'll skip over the fact that I spent almost a solid year working on Step 3 ~ the whole "G-d thing" and all. What I will tell you is that I do pray today and do so daily. I even use the word G-d...though I'm not sure I could tell you what it is I understand ~ just that there is some thing, some power, greater than I.

Meditating is a different story. The first time I tried meditating in the rooms, I came out suicidal. The committee refused to be quiet. It is the ONLY meeting I have ever been to where I felt worse [suffice it to say, dangerously so] coming out than when I went in. My sponsor told me not to meditate for a while. I heeded her advice. When I was just shy of my 6-month mark, I spent 2 weeks at Hazelden at the Dan Anderson Renewal Center where I participated in 3 workshops: 1) Emotional Sobriety; 2) Step Three; and 3) Prayer & Meditation. It was there that I learned techniques to still my mind and begin to listen. Today I can meditate ~ it's simply finding the time, er... the discipline to do so.

Hugs,

Karis

Wherever You Go ~ There You Are [Entry #1 of 31]

2011-03-01T11:42:00.001-05:00

I feel like running again. It started yesterday. Usually when I have days like that, I look to the next 24 hours to start my period. No such luck. I like to have some justification for the tears, flood of emotions and overall uneasiness. The good news is that I feel better today, but my tennis shoes aren't quite back where they belong.

A friend of mine who is a student in art school posted a link to a blog that intrigued me. [Check it out if you're so inclined: http://www.elizabethperry.com/woolgathering]. There are 1,000 consecutive entries. When I started this blog, I had a similar ambition but no follow-through.

DISCIPLINE

It's my latest buzz word. It's the word that my new sponsor and I have decided to focus on. For 2 weeks I am supposed to be disciplined enough to pray every morning and then listen [aka meditate] for just 5 minutes. I've been pretty good ~ though not perfect. I'd like to add to that, the discipline to make a daily entry on my blog. I'm not going to shoot for 1,000 consecutive entries like Elizabeth has done however. I'm going to make my goal a bit more manageable and shoot for the month of March. Thirty-one consecutive entries. That's all to start with.

Today is Entry #1

Hugs,

Karis

Lost and Found

2011-01-27T09:25:00.000-05:00

Missing: One blogger
Last seen: August 29, 2010; Sarasota, Florida
Please return to blog if found
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Found: January 27, 2011; Sarasota, Florida
A little embarrassed, but no worse for the wear

Here I am ~ back in blogland. How long I will stay may remain a mystery. I'm learning not to over-promise and under deliver. I'm hopeful it is a New Year's Resolution I can stick with.

How can I possibly catch up for the last 5 months and do justice? I'll hit the highlights. Please don't call me out on lack of chronological order.

I celebrated my 49th bellybutton birthday on September 7th. Can't recall any fanfare.
I celebrated my 2-year sober birthday January 4th. Much fanfare there. My parents, only sibling and 2 children were in attendance. Huck presented me with my medallion, shortly after Willow picked up a white chip.
Huck celebrated 4 months sober January 16th.
Willow returned from North Carolina December 30th and has been clean since January 2nd. She goes back tomorrow morning for a court appearance and will spend a week with rehab romance. I'm praying she will return in one piece.
I moved out of mom and dad's January 1st. I move again tomorrow. Drama with living situation. I don't like drama. I am hopeful for a better situation ~ I took my time and prayed a lot this time.
Speaking of drama, ex-beau and I ended our relationship (yes, again) the first of November.
It was suggested I take a year off of relationships. I re-negotiated 6 weeks. I just about made it.
New beau and I have a history. You can read about it here: New Beau. He's the 8th grade boyfriend mentioned in that post. New beau isn't gay after all.
I quit my day job to become a full-time artist in late November.
I have a job interview today.
The day after ex-beau and I broke up, I caught a cold.
I just finished the antibiotics for advanced bronchitis yesterday. A lot of toxic shit to process out of my system.
I've considered running during times of anxiety. It's what I do. I'm still here. That's progress.
Marco, from Milan, comes to Sarasota Sunday. He'll be bringing me the last of my personal items I left behind. It will be good to catch up on the boys, country and experiences I so miss.
I continue to play tennis ~ though it has been sketchy during my battling of this cold/flu/bronchitis stuff. Never being one to "rest", I no doubt have exacerbated my own healing. Imagine that.
Speaking of tennis, I have a match in an hour and need to go get ready. Today will be a good day.

So happy to be back. I hope to see you again soon.

Hugs,

Karis

Dear Blog...

2010-08-28T18:19:00.005-04:00

OMG ~ I have actually been avoiding looking at my own blog as if it might smack me upside the head and say, "where the hell have you been?" It seems as though the longer I go ~ the longer I go. I had developed such discipline when I was in Italy and discovered I've set the same expectations stateside and, as a result, have failed miserably. So, instead of beating myself up and isolating from my blog, I've come by to pay it a quick visit and make an amend.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi Blog ~ I know you have been without me for a little while, but I have been pretty busy reestablishing myself here in Sarasota. It has been a whirlwind of activity with a lot going on, but I have been taking pretty good care of myself. Truth be told, I've thought about taking us on the run again ~ justifying that keeping you current is my mission and it can only be done away from here. However, when I stop long enough to think, pray and listen, I get to the deeper seeded issues and I'm here to tell you, they are all fear based.

I certainly think about you almost on a daily basis. Every time something exciting, sad, new or different occurs ~ I compose my words, but have come up short in telling you about it in the end. And now that it has been over a month, I feel overwhelmed with trying to play catch up because I don't want to bore you, belabor issues or forget anything. I have your blog friend, WaystationOne, to thank because he had his human come over to check on us. I'm going to do my best to give you a "Brian/brain dump". I suppose I'll hit the highlights, forget the minutia and hope for my frequency in visiting to increase.

Since we last connected, this is what has been going on in my world:

* Willow made the decision to move to North Carolina with her new boyfriend (rehab romance). She has been gone 3 weeks tomorrow. She knew she couldn't stay here and use. Being powerless over her, I've had to learn to let go. It has been painfully difficult and yet freeing all in the same realm of consciousness. I had to lean on my Higher Power, my sponsor, the fellowship, my family and my tools to fight back the urge to wrestle her to the ground and pound into her what a gift a life of sobriety is. I rarely speak to her, though I know she arrived safely and has now secured a job at a local pizza place. She and "the boy" relied on the local mission to feed them, while they looked for work. Hearing that broke my heart ~ but not enough to wire her money that she asked for. Thank you Al-Anon.

* After a now 3rd failed suicide attempt, my son Huck made the decision to follow in Willow's footsteps and seek help and a road to recovery here in Sarasota. On his way home from our cousins funeral in California, my father stopped in Denver and visited him in the hospital. It was of my sons own volition, and not something anyone else brought up, that he asked to come back with his Papa. There was quite the irony of timing to his overdose. Huck called me at 3 o'clock in the morning, espousing his love for me. Quite by coincidence, I was wide awake ~ sadly, it was because I was back in the ER with Willow who had self-mutilated again. Because I was in the throes of hospital paperwork and could tell my boy was doing the "drinking and dialing" thing I was personally guilty of and familiar with, I brushed him off and asked that he call me in the morning. When I didn't hear from him the following day, I knew. Two days later his roommate called Willow and told her what had happened. Huck was then on his way to the psychiatric ward, where he asked to stay on for extra help.

* I got to present Huck with his 30-day chip on August 20th. For today, he seems strong and focused. He got a sponsor almost immediately and goes to 1-3 meetings a day. He has aligned himself with a lot of other young men in the rooms. He laughs a lot. He looks great. He works as a gymnastics instructor and is thankful to be far away from the restaurant industry. I am grateful to have him here and working a program of recovery. I learned from my experiences with Willow to back off and not shove program down his throat ~ in spite of the fact that he doesn't believe in a Higher Power or the need to in order to stay sober (groan); in spite of the fact that he "hangs out" with other newcomers (worry lines); in spite of the fact that he doesn't come home until after 1am, following the midnight meeting (sniff ~ sniff). I practically chant the Serenity Prayer all day long ~ but that is where it starts and ends. Huck has his program. I have mine.

* Speaking of my program: Since I wrote last, I have gotten my first sponsees ~ three, in fact. Two gals from the Salvation Army program and one woman from my morning home group. I feel wholly inept in many cases, but feel blessed to be able to begin service work. I need to in order to keep my own sobriety. I call on my own sponsor daily and when we're not talking about my Step work and program, I'm running theirs by her and asking for her guidance. I've already had to take a hard line with one sponsee and draw a boundary around myself for another whom I want to "fix" so badly it hurts, because she reminds me of me.

* Tennis ~ now there's a moving subject. I'm getting back in the swing of things and when it doesn't rain, manage to play 3 times a week. It feels so good to be active and on the courts. I'm making a new set of friends which has also been a nice homecoming.

* Ex-Beau ~ Three months has elapsed and things are status quo...which isn't such a bad thing. Just like I can't shove program down the throats of my children (or the benefits of Al-Anon down my dads), I can't shove relationship and future down that of my beloved. It must come naturally and in its own due time if it is to come at all. I try very hard to focus on each "now" moment with him and relish in the gratitude and joy I experience at having him and his love in my life once again.

* Work ~ I cook, I bake, I eat. I did, however, make a promise to myself to keep my fingers out of the batter and have been successful in doing so. Too many empty calories, and as a result, now 9 pounds have made their way back to my hips and tummy. I'm hopeful that my new habit of keeping a bowl of fruit on my work table, and increased physical activity, will aid in getting those unwanted pounds back off this bod.

Well Blog, I'm going to end here. The tip of the iceberg, so to speak. I ought to be back to check in with you again very soon. I have high hopes of writing some new Flash 55s and even snapping some Weekend Reflections. Who knows, I might find some time for a 10th Daughter of Memory Challenge soon too.

I've missed you ~ though you're never far from my mind...or my fingertips.

With love,

Karis

M.I.A. ~ A Bullet Day

2010-07-13T17:46:00.000-04:00

Yes, I have been missing in action. So much going on in my world every day that I haven't found the time or energy to write ~ ANYTHING! It's going to be a bullet day to play catch-up and then I'll do my best to fill in the blanks as I go forward.

First and foremost, I celebrated 18 months of sobriety on July 4th. I spent the day with family and friends, prepared a great Independence Day meal and watched fireworks from the roof of my parents home. We enjoyed displays from 3 counties perched high above the bay ~ lucky were we.
Shortly after Willow came home from rehab, my parents left for California to spend some quality time with our cousin, who succumbed to a 4-year battle with cancer on Monday, July 5th. My mom, who had recently begun attending Al-Anon, sent me a thank you note for my encouraging her to do so ~ describing how the meetings had come at a perfect time as she practiced Letting Go and Letting G-d as she took on the role as caregiver for the final 12 days of our cousins life. A powerful, and timely lesson for her.
The same evening my family was grieving the loss of our beloved Candi, Willow relapsed. This came 6 days after we spent the early morning hours in the ER as I watched her receive 43 stitches in her left forearm ~ compliments of her penchant to self-mutilate...the second time since she commenced from rehab, though this was the first time she's ever required medical attention.
On July 7th my own program and tools were put to the test. It was that evening I found out about Willow's "slip". At 12:30 am my 19-year old daughter was packing a backpack [though in slow motion] explaining ~ and I quote, "I'm leaving so I can do whatever the fuck I want". Not finding the right words and not wanting, myself, to act out on the potential drama and chaos that would be sure to unfold, I tried, unsuccessfully, to call my sponsor and 2 other close friends in the program. Left to my own devices, I found myself praying out loud to my Higher Power to guide my thinking, words and actions as they related to angst ridden Willow. What kept ringing in my ears was, "love her until she can love herself". That's exactly what I did and after 30 relatively calm minutes, she dropped the bag and attitude and then fell soundly asleep in her comfy bed. The following day she said she was glad she made that choice.
As best as I can tell Willow has stayed clean the past week. Her good spirits have returned, she has found a job as an apprentice to a photographer, continues to go to meetings daily and sees a therapist she "absolutely loves", twice a week. Things have returned somewhat to normal this week.
Throughout all of this, Ex-Beau and I have managed to find a comfortable groove. I suppose he's not "Ex-Beau" today considering we are, once again, in a committed and exclusive relationship ~ though that has been his pseudonym since my very first post almost a year ago. I've thought about what I might call him from time to time and have considered Paul Eastwood or Clint Newman. He has the chiseled good looks of Clint combined with the baby blues of Paul, both of which can hold my gaze for hours on end ~ I never tire of looking at him. I will work on a suitable new name for him soon.
Life with "Not-Ex-Beau-anymore-but-with-no-new-name-yet" is familiar and yet strikingly new. He is cautiously optimistic about the changes and growth he sees in me. I think as a result (actually, I know this to be true) he is more reserved with the level of intensity he puts into the relationship. He has asked me to be patient with him and understand that he still has fears about our past challenges and overcoming them today. I simply pray for that which is to happen, to happen and the acceptance to receive whatever that brings.
He too has grown. Or, perhaps I am seeing him in a new light. Whatever the case may be, I am content and excited for each new experience we have together. I feel the connection between us has deepened as a result of our year apart and the 7 weeks we have shared together since my return.
I LOVE my job! The downside is that I am a much better baker/pastry chef than I thought! Do you have any idea what size beaters I am licking, now that I'm working with a 40-quart mixer? I've managed to find 5 of my lost pounds and struggle with keeping my hands out of the batters and taste testing everything that comes out of the oven. I see another 12-step program in my future if I don't learn to have some restraint.
I am in good health. I had my annual physical last week and the only trouble spots are with my B12 (I'm getting monthly shots now) and cholesterol (a consequence of all the cheese and gelato I ate in Italy). While my levels are still within the norm, I have a blood abnormality and the genetic predisposition to develop coronary heart disease; therefore, my doctor wants to see it 30 points lower ~ back to where it was before I left the country for higher dairy pastures. This is a challenge I relish as it should help with the 5 aforementioned pounds at the same time.
I am SO grateful to be back where I can attend daily meetings. My home group seems to have grown in numbers and remains nothing short of amazing. I'm also mixing up my meetings a bit and have gone to a few new ones as well. This fellowship is such a gift in my life ~ it's a blessing I count every day.
I'm working on my 6th Step and hope to get it completed this week with my sponsor.

Much more going on, no doubt ~ but my stove is calling for my attention...Black Bean Soup in process.

I hope to check in and catch up with my blogging friends soon. I apologize for being M.I.A, and yet, it has been time well spent.

With love,

Karis

Where Does The Time Go?

2010-06-12T07:09:00.001-04:00

Boy oh boy. There are several reasons for this mornings post title:

Where have the years gone? Two of my children celebrate birthdays in June. Thursday, Huck turned 23; today, my oldest child, son Hunter, turns 25. In the last year, I have felt more like his 25 years than the 49 I will turn in a few short months. If it weren't for reminders like night sweats; some aches and pains on and off the tennis court; hair coloring appointments every 6 weeks; and those pesky kids chiding me ~ I tend to forget how old I actually am. I am fortunate to come from a fairly generous genetic pool when it comes to a youthful appearance; and the lifestyle changes I've made in the last 17 months have greatly aided in keeping me looking and feeling young. When I look at reality head on, I find myself a little disappointed in my chronological age, wondering where the years have gone and wishing to get a "redo" for many of them. Conversely, I look ahead to the coming years with gratitude at the blessings a rich sober life can bring to me and those around me.

Has it been 3 weeks or 3 months? Tomorrow marks 3 weeks since my return from Milan and almost the same since my last post. As I sit here this morning, I marvel at all that has happened during that passage: I have already put in two weeks at my new job; I've played tennis half a dozen times; I'm attending daily meetings; and quite significantly, Willow celebrates her 30 days clean tomorrow and graduates from her 28-day program Thursday. I have been shaking my head the last few days thinking how, less than a month ago, I was sitting on a street corner trying to have an "Italish" conversation with a homeless woman I wanted to bring home with me. While Sylvie (the proper spelling of her name as I was to find out the day before I left) still remains on my mind ~ it seems a mini-lifetime ago that we crossed each others paths ~ that's how full each of my days have been here.

One Day At A Time. No time like the present to remember this slogan. Being faced with challenges of Life on Life's Terms has taken on new meaning back in Sarasota. In Italy, I isolated a lot and could go days without substantial encounters with people. I've had the reality check of interpersonal relationship exchanges daily, mostly with people that are quite significant in my life ~ a huge shift from the past 9 months. Living with my parents; having a daughter in the same town in the beginning days of recovery; daily communication with my sponsor and other alcoholics; reconnecting with close friends; being in the throes of reestablishing a healthy relationship with Ex-Beau ~ all this provides many, many more opportunities to practice the tools of the program in all of my affairs. On one hand exciting ~ on the other, a bit overwhelming. That being said, I feel that the time I spent alone (which was fraught with its own set of tests) has prepared me quite well to integrate back into the daily flow of life here.

Today I am a happy woman. The years that have passed by me have shaped who I am. The weeks "back home", have affirmed that I am, indeed, home. Each 24-hours that goes by sober is a blessing and fills me with hope as I continue to live my life to the fullest with the ability and desire to be present for every moment of each and every day.

With love,

Karis

The MotherShip has Landed

2010-05-26T10:37:00.000-04:00

I have safely arrived in Sarasota and am on day 3 of my return. It has been quite busy already catching up with family and friends. My greatest gifts came on the heels of my first evening home. On Monday morning, my oldest son and his girlfriend flew in from Denver to visit until Friday, and in the afternoon I was able to see Willow. Due to the fact that today is another busy day, I will be brief but wanted to offer an update.

Willow arrived in Sarasota on May 11th. She went through 5 days of detox and entered into a 28-day residential rehab program on the 20th. Her spirits are high, her attitude good ~ she seems to be right where she should be. I will get a chance to be with her during visitation hours this weekend and also participate in some meetings and/or family counseling. She looks better than I've seen her look in a long time. I continue to pray for her on a daily basis.

I have already been to several meetings, despite the jet lag. They infuse me with such tremendous support. On Monday I shared with my group what has brought me back before I had anticipated. After the meeting a woman said, "that is so wonderful ~ you are here to take care of your daughter." Without thinking, I responded with, "no ~ I am here to take care of myself, while my daughter learns to take care of herself." What a difference I hear in my own words these days. No longer taking on the role of rescuer, I am quite clear that the nurturing I must work on first is towards myself.

Without my strong program and a personal commitment to working it, my ability to carry the message to anyone, including Willow, would be compromised. Physically, yes, I am close at hand for my girl. But I am also where I reap the most benefit to keep myself focused and healthy. Ultimately, the path Willow chooses will be hers...just as mine is the one that I own. Today ~ it is sobriety and growth.

As for my oldest son, I am just so happy to be in his presence as a sober mother. Regardless of the choices he makes for himself, he gets to experience a mom with different behaviors and a different outlook on life in general.

I am a grateful and blessed mom today. It is sun shiny ~ inside and out this morning.

Hugs,

Karis

Friday Flash 55 ~ The Girl in the Mirror

2010-05-21T03:56:00.003-04:00

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Flash 55
Wanna join in?
Read about it here
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In two short days my stay in Italy will come to an end. The lessons learned have been immeasurable and have far exceeded my expectations. Italy has been good to me and I, in turn, have learned to be good to myself. Grazie mille Italia.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Silvia's Story ~ Finding Compassion ~ Part Three

2010-05-20T09:12:00.010-04:00

em·pa·thy -noun

the intellectual identification with or vicarious experiencing of the
feelings, thoughts, or attitudes of another.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As I watched Silvia take the last of her 4 trips across the square, toting all of her things, I was composing in my mind what I would say to her. I wanted her story; I wanted her permission. Would I get it? Would she be receptive to the idea? I paced to and fro on the street opposite of where she would land for the day.

As she settled in, I began my walk over to her. I was not sad, rather deep in thought and hopeful. Again, the bounce in her step and the way in which she moved gracefully and with the constant grin, kept my own spirits high. As I approached her, she looked at me a bit quizzically, head cocked to one side and a half smile spread across her face.

"Buongiorno", I said, using a formal greeting while standing next to her. "Ciao", she responded, as a friend would. I then stooped down to eye level, not wanting to be intimidating by hovering over her. I began in Italian by asking her name at which point she very proudly stated, full smile with teeth showing, "Silvia". I then explained that my Italian was not very good, does she speak any English? "English, yes, I speak English." Relieved that we could dialogue in a common language, and with her patting the ground to her right, I sat beside her. I noticed immediately that the odor that was so off-putting at the supermercato three days hence was not evident. No longer reeking of booze and days left without bathing, I was encouraged that perhaps I had caught her in a sober moment.

My first question to Silvia was to inquire where she was from. She told me Navigli, and then began pointing to the various spots she had been living. I got the sense that she had misunderstood me. I asked if she was Italian and she told me, "no, American"; something else in common. Asking again where she was from, and specifically in America, she repeated her hand motions and began mumbling something in a mix of Italian, English and incomprehensible slurring. My optimism began to fade as I realized it would be a difficult task to understand her and therefore my ability to formulate a clearer picture of who Silvia actually is.

Due to the broken bits I did comprehend and the length it took to do so, it does not serve me to attempt to recreate our hindered banter. What I was able to grasp was that the polizia kept her on the move, that she had no cigarettes and that Navigli is her home. Beyond the inarticulate words, what struck me most about Silvia that day was her beauty and her appreciation to have some company. With high cheekbones and a glint in the bloodshot eyes, I could see a younger polished woman. What brought her to Italy? How long had she been here? Was hers always a street life? Did she have family and where were they now? These, and so many other questions, lingered as I began to take my leave.

Never with her hand held out or a request for anything, I offered her €2,00. With an enthusiastic hug she thanked me, quite clearly, for the gesture. I asked if I could please take her photograph to which she jumped to her feet and obliged. She was intrigued by seeing them through the LCD and also approved of the ones I had taken before we met. As I told her good-bye, she did ask if I had a cigarette. I told her no but that I would be happy to return with some for her. She sat back down with a nod in my direction and a "grazie bella".

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As I wandered along Corso Porta Ticenese, so did my thoughts of Silvia. With her striking features I envisioned a disillusioned young model arriving in Milan to pursue a high-fashion career. Was that her story? Did her dream go awry among the world of drugs and prostitution? Underneath the alcohol and street life did she have full mental capacity? What had been her state of mind and undoing?

I was close to the Duomo before I happened upon an open tabbachi to purchase a pack of cigarettes for Silvia. With the sun still shining I followed the music blaring from the piazza. Hundreds of people had gathered in front of a stage set up with musicians entertaining the crowd. I stayed to watch and rock with the others for about 45 minutes until the clouds began rolling in with a start. The sky blackened quickly and with thunder and lightning in the clouds wake, and no umbrella on me, I swiftly left the square and made my way to the tram.

Descending one stop before my own, I set out to give Silvia her cigarettes. Walking towards her I could see that she had scrunched herself up against the building she nested by to afford her protection from the rain. She was sound asleep with her bare feet sticking out getting drizzled on. Next to her was a plastic glass holding what was left of the crumpled red wine box. Not wanting to wake her, but also not wanting to leave her package in a place she would not see, I gently nudged her shoulder and repeated her name several times. Her eyes fluttered open and with recognition, she managed a small grin when I handed her the pack of Lucky Strikes. She took them in her hand and snuggled with them as though a stuffed animal to comfort her, and mouthed "thank you" while pursing her lips together in a kiss. As quickly as she opened her eyes, she closed them once again and drifted back to where she had been.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Making my way back home, I stopped in the church that had been my original destination on that Sunday, Mother's Day. Had I not made the error in time, I would have stumbled upon a sleeping Silvia in the rain that afternoon. I may not have ever had the opportunity to make her acquaintance; attempt a conversation; or feel the overwhelming compassion and empathy I now had after spending some time with her. I took a seat on one of the old wooden pews in the dimly lit sanctuary and prayed. I prayed first for my own life; and the sobriety I have so humbly and gratefully embraced. I prayed for the children that made me a mother on this special day of celebration. And I prayed for Silvia. I prayed for her health, well-being and safety. And I somberly thanked her for filling my life with fullness and appreciation that day. Godspeed Silvia.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Epilogue: I have spent the past two days sitting with Silvia and getting to know a bit more about her. As with all people, she has a story to tell. I have done my best to relay what I have learned of her ~ and from her. She is a human being with a beating heart and a kind and gentle soul. Never has she once asked for money ~ rather she has offered it to me to buy her cigarettes. When I brought her clothes and a blanket yesterday, she affectinately offered to share her meal with me. I have now seen her as sad as I have seen her happy. She shared a story of crying for a home and of the stares she gets from children who see her in a way adults do not.

While our conversations have been fraught with fragmented understanding, what I have taken away is that I could never fully pen the experiences I have had by being in her presence. Any remaining stories I have to tell will be what I take home with me nestled in my heart.

Good-bye Silvia and thank you for brightening my world.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Silvia's Story ~ Finding Compassion ~ Part Two

2010-05-17T07:04:00.001-04:00

a constant. in the square. on the street. at the park.

laughing joyfully. dialoguing with invisible friends.

at the supermarket today, i inhaled your scent.

urine merged with the filth of no water.

and full of booze.

like your basket today.

why do you smile so?

why my tears of joy?

could i be you?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Those were the 55 words that flowed freely upon my return from that impressionable visit to the supermercato. I knew immediately after my work day concluded, I would add more. Nothing to expand on the writing, instead an element of personification by including a photograph of my muse. It would then become my contribution to Friday's weekly meme, Flash Fiction 55. It has become my signature to combine a pictorial with my words to typify my subject matter or heighten the mood of what I am trying to convey. This is of course not a fictitious story, but that has never posed a problem. What did present a complication, was the simple fact that I did not have a picture of Silvia. Hence my search for her began.

With camera in tow, some loose change and a handful of practiced Italian questions, I set out that night just after 10. It was a warmer evening than it had been all week ~ streets were full of people returning from dinner and even more just beginning their nights activities. I was beckoned to enter Gottardo 29 by Diego as he was singing John Denver's Country Roads ~ Thursday's he stays open late with live music which typically draws a considerable English speaking crowd. I blew him a reciprocating kiss and continued along my quest. If I were successful, perhaps I would join them later.

Reaching the end of the street by Banco di Credito, where Silvia can often be found, I had a sinking feeling my efforts may be in vain. The only people present were those waiting in the queue to enter the ATM vestibule. The streets were abuzz with lively energy but I felt oddly out of place. Usually on an evening stroll I soak up the spirit of those around me; this night I remained in a more contemplative mood. Like a racehorse with blinders on, I was on a mission. Another 40 minutes of walking the streets I hoped would lead me to Silvia confirmed my gut instinct by the bank. I did not check the parks ~ I've been warned that, "even in Navigli", these were not places for a lone woman to be wandering around at nighttime. Heading back, when I came upon the voices now singing an upbeat tempo, I passed by with just a wave in Diego's direction.

Arriving home feeling a bit defeated, I began mulling over the idea of using a stock photograph for my submission the following day. Perhaps this would prove the best solution. Could shooting and using Silvia's face [I was determined to capture her beguiling smile] be considered exploitative given her unfortunate circumstances? Searching various archives I found a plethora of other homeless images I could use, saving my worries over potential outcry should someone feel I was taking advantage of her plight. Though in viewing the numerous photographer's galleries, I felt no ill-will nor did I think they had misused their subjects in any way. I was feeling highly sensitive to my own compassion towards Silvia and had only the desire to do right by her. Having mixed emotions about what to do, I went to bed knowing my answers would come. For now, I would put aside my penned words in exchange for another topic that was weighing heavily on my mind ~ my daughter. This is a struggling young woman not yet ready to give up her personal fight, as it seems Silvia may have. So different these two, and yet potentially so devastatingly similar.

Knowing I would more than likely run across Silvia in the coming week, I made sure to have my camera battery fully charged and with me at all times. Friday and Saturday kept me indoors most of the day not wishing to do battle with our constant shift in weather. Our beautiful springtime that had been ushered in on the coattails of Easter had quickly disappeared. More times than I can count I've heard, "we've never had a May like this ~ so cold, so unusual". A taxi cab driver even blamed the volcano, with the unpronounceable name in Iceland, for the unpredictable state of temperature and precipitation. In any case, I avoided the elements those two days. Furthermore, there were other pressing matters for me to attend to than scour my city with a shoddy corner-bought-umbrella for a woman I may or may not find.

Much needed sunshine reappeared by 1pm on Sunday. My soul craved the opportunity to get out of my confining apartment, so I readied myself for the afternoon. Still pocketing my camera, I first headed to a local church service. While I'm not a church-going kinda gal, it was Mother's Day and I felt a strong urge to sit in a place of peace, surrounded by joy and song ~ even if I didn't understand a word of it.

As fate would have it, in the end, I had remembered the service hours incorrectly and arrived 3 hours early. Not wanting to waste a sunny day and being in a festive mood, I decided take a walk. Sunday's provide for some very interesting people watching in Milan's major Piazza and shopping district, so I headed north towards the Duomo. I didn't make it far however. In minutes, arriving at the the bottleneck of cars, public transport and people in Navigli's Piazza Ventiquattro Maggio ~ I spotted Silvia.

She was standing on the fringe of the square, scattered belongings at her feet, waiting for a tram to pull away from the curb. Instinctively, I pulled out the digital and started shooting as she began traipsing all of her things from one side of the square to the other. Trying to be somewhat inconspicuous, I also took pictures of some of the other buildings around me. She was still too far away for me to snap anything that I had envisioned. In that moment, my uneasy gut gave me a sign. I would wait for her to finish and then attempt to have the conversation I had anticipated Thursday night. I didn't want to use any of my pictures without her permission and I also yearned to learn more about her. I wanted her story.

P.S. Part Three of Silvia's story tomorrow.

Silvia's Story ~ Finding Compassion ~ Part One

2010-05-15T09:00:00.013-04:00

com·pas·sion –noun
a feeling of deep sympathy and sorrow for another who is stricken bymisfortune,
accompanied by a strong desire to alleviate the suffering.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It didn't take but a week's time in my new city to start seeing familiar faces in and around my small neighborhood. I visited Gottardo 29 every morning and was soon greeted each day by Diego or Julia as, on cue, they would prepare my capucinno con cioccolata, bollente latte per favore e canna da zucchero. In true Starbuck's style, I had to have a lengthy "discussion" about my coffee order and couldn't come close to a typical Italian who casually strides in, utters "cafe", takes one deep swallow like it was a shot of tequila, and quickly scampers off to work. Coffee, however, has no significance to this story.

I first noticed Silvia perched atop a heap of her bagged personal items under the protective awning of Banco di Credito, sipping from a beer bottle while being watchful of a small scrap of fabric with a scattering of various coins she had collected. It was in a sweltering heat, though you wouldn't know that by the layers of clothing she had draped on and around her body. Her face was gaunt and thin while her body appeared plump with all the coverings. She was deeply engaged in a conversation with an unseen visitor but quickly shifted her attention to a male companion, also hovering in the corner, when he spoke to her directly. This was in early September.

Ever since, I have been acutely aware of this thin, oddly beautiful woman, in various locations in Navigli. She certainly isn't the only homeless person contrasting a bustling town, broken up by a myriad of canals that are the setting of popular aperitivo evenings where young, fashion conscious hipsters gather. Silvia has, however, stuck in my mind. Perhaps it is as much her exotic look as it is the ever present smile she wears ~ day and night; in rain, snow or cloudless sunshine. For some reason I rarely take note of her peers, moving about the city, as they seem to change as regularly as Silvia changes her wardrobe. And this she does often.

Silvia never dons the popular iPod accessory the Milanese wear to shut out their surroundings as they move about their daily routines. She doesn't need the music to flow through her to give rise to a swaying body. When she is not embroiled in a tête-à-tête, she sings. Sometimes loudly enough to be heard as she rocks and swings to her own beat; other occasions resting somberly, seemingly to soothe and please only herself.

Alongside the homeless in Milan are the beggars. I make a distinction, not because the homeless themselves don't anticipate alms for the poor, rather because I don't see the beggars sleeping on the sidewalks cocooned by discarded boxes, tattered sheets, or plastic bags. They arrive at daylight and disappear before the shadows of their silhouettes are cast. They have no totes and push no carts. They are empty handed save for a cup. The beggars actively beg, rattling collected coins upwards towards you as they wish upon you a good day and rave of your beauty. Silvia and her contemporaries are more subtle and undemonstrative. Some days I observe a cap's bounty pooled and happily divided by all around it, other times there is nothing evident in which to leave a token. Avoiding eye contact with the beggars doesn't thwart their efforts as you pass beyond them. Meeting the eyes of the homeless typically garners a smile, a shrug or a face devoid of any emotion whatsoever. The beggars have their regular posts and aren't disturbed. The homeless are often times confronted by the polizia who assure they don't overstay their welcome in any one given spot.

It was on such a day, last Sunday, that I finally met Silvia personally. I had been actively seeking her out.

Three days prior to watching her haul all of her worldly belongings across the piazza, I saw her indoors for the very first time. It was on Thursday when I was shopping at my local supermercato for ingredients to prepare that evenings meal. On the slowly descending escalator I had ample time to sense her presence even before I saw her smiling face. Just set aside to the right of the landing, along the entrance wall, were numerous bags holding her possessions. I recognized the green and purple duffle from Alaska as belonging to the lively black woman I've come to think of often. As I combed the aisles dropping items into my basket, I came across her speaking with another customer by the abundant cheese section. Our eyes met. I nodded and in return she flashed her effervescent grin, showing up close for the first time the rotting teeth and toothless gaps. It wasn't in recognition of the American who saw her so frequently in our common town, it was just Silvia's way.

As I proceeded to the checkout where the long lines had begun forming in the after-work hours, I sidled up behind the hip-hopping Silvia. It wasn't the shortest line. It was where I was drawn. As we waited for our respective turns I took in her odor. It was highly unpleasant and disturbing. I found myself inhaling long breaths of her stench and instead of reeling from it, exhaled only to take another. The whispers and avoidance of her did not go unnoticed by me. Silvia, on the other hand, was nonplussed and unaware. I continued to gulp in the air we so closely shared. It was as though I wished to be enveloped by her very being ~ an acknowledgment of her existence. As her place in line brought her to the moving belt scanning items for purchase, she unloaded her basket. I counted 8 large bottles of pale lager, 2 small boxes of vino rosso and 1 very sad batch of 4 overcooked and shriveled chicken wings. This was the only non-liquid item for the noticeably thinning homeless woman. Her total cost: €6,42. As she rustled through her badly stained Hello Kitty change purse, the impatient housewives and suited businessmen began to nervously shift their weight back and forth. Their tolerance for the wait decreased substantially when Silvia had to move to her various bags to sift for more change. All the while I willed them to find the patience to see her though the lengthening transaction.

By the time I easily paid for and quickly bagged my groceries, Silvia was still arranging as many shoulder straps as she could possibly fit on her small frame. As I was being carried back up towards daylight, I glanced backwards to see her grooving to a new rhythm as she was humming aloud. I walked the two minutes back to my home in a deep meditation barely aware of the tears that were finding their way down my cheeks. Full of empathy, when I returned home I quickly found my fingers flying across the keyboard. It didn't take longer than a minute or two before I would compose 55 words to capture that encounter. I wouldn't see Silvia again for three days.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

P.S. ~ Please join Silvia and I tomorrow for Part Two of her Story.

Friday Flash 55 ~ Silvia's Smile

2010-05-13T19:00:00.001-04:00

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Flash 55
Wanna join in?
Read about it here
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Silvia's story will be told tomorrow. For today, it's just in 55.

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A Rebirth

2010-05-13T04:05:00.003-04:00

"And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom." ~ Anaïs Nin

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

My countdown has begun. In ten days I will be returning to Sarasota. My home. The day I leave will mark almost exactly 9 months since my arrival in Italy. Just as it takes 40 weeks for a child to come to full term within a mother's womb, I have grown ready for a re-birthing; reuniting with a new and brilliant world. I came in search of growth and a deeper appreciation of the woman I am and to understand the woman I have yet to become. The stumbling blocks I encountered and have gingerly taken down have provided a new perspective on navigating my world. Experiences have helped me to discover and embrace my strengths and not fear my weaknesses. I no longer struggle inwardly and have learned to better express myself outwardly. I have come to comprehend serenity and to know peace. My whole attitude and outlook on life has changed. Nine months, ninth step promises. I have blossomed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"The stories do not end." ~ Anaïs Nin

Wordless Wednesday ~ Some Things I'll Miss

2010-05-12T07:54:00.001-04:00

The countdown has begun. I will be leaving Milan on Sunday, May 23rd. There is some significance to the timing that I will talk about tomorrow. For today, I have collected just a small handful of representative pictures of "some things I will miss". Enjoy.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Soccer matches with Milo

Creamy ricotta, paper thin fresh lasagna sheets

and all the other wonderful ingredients at my fingertips

The various mouthwatering Panetteria's

The contrast of old and new

The amazing architecture and rich cultural history

Did I mention I'll miss the food?

Oliver, aka "Merda", who has been a daily visitor

now for quite some time

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

P.S. Things I won't miss: dog shit, winter returning in spring and winter.

Taking Flight

2010-05-11T05:08:00.008-04:00

Today you take flight.

On the wings of angels

among the heavenly clouds.

May you be weightless,

liberated from fears,

set free of troubles,

lifted and transported

to a new horizon.

Today you start fresh.

A journey of hope,

a path of awakening to

limitless possibilities,

and reconnected to

the spirit that resides

inside the beautiful soul

of your innocence.

Today is your day.

A day of dawning.

Be embraced by the

illumination of

immeasurable love

and boundless strength.

May the essence of your heart,

the pureness of your core,

emerge, renew, restore.

On the wings of angels,

today you take flight.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

P.S. Today my daughter will be traveling from Colorado to Florida to begin her journey of recovery. Soar, Willow, soar.

A Mother's Day Gift in Milan

2010-05-09T05:04:00.006-04:00

It is Mother's Day in Milan and I feel I have already garnered the greatest gift I can possibly receive ~ a second chance to truly embrace my own motherhood. I've considered all types of stories I could pen about becoming a mom, or the relationship I have with my own ~ but have decided against it. In light of the events of this week, I've decided to go to a church service instead and reflect on my gifts today in a place of reverence and peace.

I will leave you with some photos to enjoy instead.

Karis with Sissy, Papa and Mommie Dearest

Circa 1966 ~Southern California

My 5, always fondly referred to as "The Bunch", and Sissy's son

2001 ~ Poi'pu, Kaua'i

"The Bunch"
2002 ~ White Stone, Virginia

The Bunch

2002 ~ Denver, Colorado

Mom, "The Bunch", and a couple of extra kids
2007 ~ Denver, Colorado

A presentable Bunch
2008 ~ Sarasota, Florida

A Mom with her Bunch, her dad, Sissy's son and a couple of extra kids
2009 ~ Denver, Colorado

Three generations
2009 ~ Denver, Colorado

A mom and her girl
2009 ~ Denver, Colorado

Papa and Mommie Dearest
2010 ~ Sarasota, Florida

~~~~~~~~~~

Happy Mother's Day Mommie Dearest ~ I LOVE YOU!! Thank you for a lifetime of love and support. It has been a journey and I am so happy that we have been on a lot of it together. I draw so much light and joy from you. I can't wait to get creative in the studio with you again soon ~ what a great place for us to enjoy one another.

To my wonderful kids ~ you are all my treasures. I am so grateful to be your mom. Thank you for allowing me to be all that I can to each of you. I am blessed beyond belief.

Friday Flash 55 ~ Butterfly Kisses

2010-05-07T05:49:00.010-04:00

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Flash 55
Wanna join in?
Read about it here
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Today I take the liberty of doing a Friday Flash 66 ~ please forgive me the additional words. I did my best. Today, I ask for your prayers and good wishes for my daughter, Willow. There is more to the story from yesterday's post below: A Second Chance. You can click on the photo for a larger version.

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A Second Chance

2010-05-06T06:40:00.004-04:00

My Higher Power has "spoken", as it were ~ and I have been given a second chance.

These last several weeks have been a time for me to reflect on the journey I embarked upon when I came to Italy and to consider my options of "what next", as my commitment to the family I work for comes to a close June 30th. The experiences I have had; the discoveries about myself and the world around me; and the ways in which I have touched and been touched, have all been a part of my thought process. My decision was all but made a few days ago when I was given the chance of a lifetime. And everything has changed.

I have been given the magnificent gift of being a mom again.

Stop the presses...it's not what you may be thinking: there will be no baby shower or discussions of "blue or pink?". Let me clarify.

As many of you know, I am mom to 5 grown children. By grown I am simply conforming to the legal definition of adulthood and the fact that they all live independently. At 48-years old, I too fall into that category ~ but I still need my Mommy and I am, thank G-d, still growing.

Two days ago my youngest daughter, Willow, asked for help ~ my help. Loud and clear. She is a drug addict. A junkie. She is only 19 years old. The fact that this time she has expressed the desire and intent to get clean, as opposed to being mandated by her father and I into a residential rehabilitation program, as she was at 15, is a huge step for her. And it is a blessing for me. I have been given a second chance.

I am not one of those mothers that can state proudly, "my kids have never seen me drunk". I was that mother who exposed her children to difficult situations and could-be-fatal circumstances based on the choices I made during my active drinking days. I do not wish to shut the door on my past; however, in this 24 hours, I get to be the sober adult in my childrens' lives.

I have been bestowed with a second chance to be the mother that I know I am today. One filled with hope, gratitude, serenity, a program of recovery, spirituality and an unconditional love for her children that extends beyond the reach of the body of water that separates us. I get to be that mother who can confidently lead by example. A mother who is no longer numb to life and the surroundings about her. A mother who is conscious, present and, most of all today, available.

The exact details are yet to be finalized and ultimately it will be Willow's choice to make the changes she has strongly articulated she seeks. I will be there physically, emotionally and spiritually to support her decision. I am not attached to the outcome and continue to work my own rigorously honest program. And I pray. I pray for Willow, my other children and, taking the breathing mask first so that I may better assist them all, I pray for myself.

Willow wants what I have. A sober life. Is there really any other choice for me to make?

I've been given a second chance to be a mother. This is the gift of my recovery today.

P.S. As addiction is a family affair, I have my own incredibly supportive parents to thank today for their willingness to facilitate Willow's desire to trudge the road to her own recovery in my hometown of Sarasota. Thank you Papa and Mommie Dearest. I will see you both very soon. I love you.

Sweet Sixteen

2010-05-04T09:36:00.001-04:00

Today marks my 16th month of continued sobriety. I think it simply calls for a gratitude list, what do you think? I've done an A-Z list before at the urging (read-->really strong suggestion) from my FL sponsor when I was struggling. Today I am not experiencing that same struggle, but it gives me 26 things to be grateful for...so, let's get to it:

A is for Awareness
B is for Beaches
C is for Courage
D is for Dessert
E is for Ex-Beau
F is for Friends in the fellowship
G is for Global program
H is for Humility
I is for Italy
J is for Journaling
K is for Karis ~ for all she was and all she is becoming
L is for Letting Go and Letting G-d
M is for Music
N is for Nespole
O is for Opening my mind, my heart and my soul
P is for Parents
Q is for Quiet
R is for Reaching out
S is for Simplicity
T is for T.I.M.E. (Things I Must Earn)
U is for Unity
V is for Vision
W is for Wisdom
X is for Xenodochialism
Y is for You
Z is for Zzzzz's

Thank you for taking this ride with me. Another 24 hours ~ another day of gratitude and love to fill my heart.

An Open Letter to Elizabeth Gilbert

2010-05-03T05:31:00.002-04:00

Dear Liz,

Considering you were a voyeur in my life and chose to penabout it, I feel close enough to call you Liz. Oh, by the way, I’m Karis. Ibelieve that concludes the introductions.

Before I go any further, I will state for the record that Ihave only just completed chapter 56 of your book, Eat Pray Love. The fact that I didn’t pick it up much sooner doesbear some explanation, as I feel it is as significant as the words I’ve pouredover and cling to, now that I’ve cracked open the vault.

Sure, I saw it displayed prominently on the bookshelves ofmy local Barnes & Noble bookstore in Sarasota, Florida. I also noticed itin a myriad of HMS airport stores as I continually moved and traveledthroughout 2006. I thought it was very clever to have “Eat” made up of pastaand “Love” spelled out in orchids. What a great way to disguise a book aboutpraying ~ a subject I wasn’t about to get roped into by virtue of the shrewdbook jacket designers. Nice try, but not a chance.

I didn’t watch much television when I was living in Kaua’i,so I missed your appearance on Oprah discussing the overwhelming response toyour memoir and hence the subject matter. Your damn book continually called outto me however ~ it was everywhere. Stubbornly, I kept a tight reign on mynon-belief status and averted my eyes. I just wasn’t about to be lured intogoing there. Nope. Not this kid.

It wasn’t until I had decided to run away from home lastAugust…to Italy of all places, when my sister asked if I had read your book.Astonished, I inquired, “You readthat religious book? That is so unlike you.” She couldn’t help butlaugh out loud as she headed to our mother’s room to grab it. She thrust ittowards me and said, “just read it Kar ~ it’s your life ~ I think you’ll enjoy it, and you mightjust learn something.” It was only thenthat I held Eat Pray Love in myhands for the first time. The first time I ventured to read the synopsis on theback. Still skeptical, I took it ~ it was going to be a long plane ride afterall and I couldn’t solely knit for such a lengthy journey. Besides, my sisterchallenged me. Furthermore, she and my mom both read it andhadn’t appeared to change their religious affiliation in any way ~ and they aremore easily influenced than I. I might be safe. Moreover, I could always stopreading it, throw it away or forget it on the plane.

I could be cliché and say, “everything happens for areason”. Okay, I will, but I will add to that, “and in its rightful time”. Fact is, had I read your book when itwas released, getting all of its initial hoopla, I would have been just anotherbook club reader engaged in conversations pontificating on what I might havedone (or not done) in this situation or that circumstance. I can hear the coffeeklatches, wine gatherings and yoga studios filled with hypothetical dialog,“sure wish I could take a year away”; “if it were me, I would have never comeback”; “she whines too much ~ take your lumps and stay put”; “too manycoincidences for me to believe”; “I just called my travel agent ~ they have EatPray Love tours now ~ isn’t that amazing?”

I mean, Liz, how many women actually do what you did? Failedrelationships? Of course, most anyone can identify with pieces of thosestories. Crying on bathroom floors? Maybe. I’m a corner hugger myself ~ mostany corner will do ~ preferably NOT in a bathroom however. Soul searching? Ithink a lot of people go down that road, but to the highly evolved, intensiveexploration that you embarked upon ~ I would venture to guess you are in theminority chickadee.

The journey you chose to carry you through difficult lifestruggles was most certainly beyond the scope of what most individuals are evencapable of conceiving as an option. You didn’t just take a language course,move across town, drown yourself in booze or buy that new pencil box todistract you from your depression and troubles. Nope. You packed up and leftfor an entire year. It’s the stuff movies are made of. Indeed!

The purpose of my open letter to you simply boils down to this: “IGET YOU”. To say we are kindred spirits of sorts would not be an exaggerationin my mind. The fact that I heard from more than one friend, “so, you’re doingwhat that author of Eat Pray Love did, aren’t you?” and responded by giving themthat quizzical, are-you-kidding-me look (you know, the praying thing) is atestament to my own chutzpah and originality [thanks Rose, for that coinage]for dropping out of my personal society to find something within.

I have been gone now for 8 months and I, indeed, have foundsomething deep inside of me that I never knew existed. Peace. Serenity. Calm.Joy. Spirituality. Yes, I pray ~ daily.

Where our respective lives have intersected has given mecause to not only read your book, but rather study it like a manual. Idon’t wish to recreate your experiences; however, they most certainly encourage me to continue thinking outside of my box. Truth be told, I did contact anashram recently and had to chuckle to myself when filling out the informationrequest. When putting in my Italian address, I could hear the office inKodaikanal saying, “another Elizabeth Gilbert seeker ~ sure enough she’ll leavehere and head to Bali”.

My reality today is that my intense desire for a deeperspiritual journey will more than likely take place outside of India; and theroad to Bali, and that “Love” thing, will be found somewhere in the UnitedStates. I am nearing the end of my year with both a heavy heart and a filledbucket. Our reasons for the “Search for Everything” are similar; our cast ofcharacters are remarkably parallel; our journal entries, no doubt, read akin toone another; however, you’ve completed the book and moved on to the next. Istill have my chapters to finish.

I am grateful to have dropped my preconception of who youwere and what your agenda was. In the end, the striking similarities are not atall lost on me. Life’s a giggle, isn’t Liz?

P.S. Think she'll read it?

Wordless Wednesday ~ Really

2010-04-28T04:37:00.004-04:00

Decisions, decisions ~ these views have just been added to the mix. Italy? Florida? and now Hawaii? Okay Higher Power ~ I'm listening.

The Art of Doing Nothing

2010-04-26T09:09:00.012-04:00

It's not as though I actually did nothing. It's simply that what I did had no impact on anyone but myself. It was pure beauty. Calming. Relaxing.

I was offered the chance to get out of the city ~ which for me means out of the cave that I tend to hibernate in during the weekend ~ save for my meetings. With spontaneity and no second thoughts, I gleefully accepted the invitation. I would hop a train Saturday afternoon to Piacenza, where I would be picked up and carted off to my final destination...Pecorara ~ a hillside town in the Emilia-Romagna region.

I was treated to a fabulous dinner featuring regional foods such as coppa and pasta fagioli. My main entree was a delicate carpaccio of beef with rucola and thinly shaved parmagiano-reggiano set atop a mustard sauce with just enough zip to spurn my tastebuds to cry out for more. It was true perfection.

Second to none was the conversation and company at dinner. My host and I, in an effort to acquaint ourselves better, played a game of "10 questions" (surprisingly, not my suggestion ~ as this is an "exercise", if you will, that I often enjoy exchanging with interesting people I meet). We traded our thoughts on subjects such as best childhood memories, worst habits, traits we would change in ourselves, favorite color, places we would like to visit and other topics. What was interesting to me was the depth with which my questions were answered ~ almost to a philosophical level. It made for a very contemplative evening all around. So much for "nothing".

Sunday proved nothing short of one of my most memorable days in Italy to date. I managed to sleep in until just after 10am. I awoke to a message to make myself at home ~ which I did...embracing a long warm shower, sipping on my espresso and crocheting, while listening to the Cafe Ibiza CD left on the stereo. The afternoon had been set aside for lazing in the sun, reading and partaking in a simple lunch. A drive in the jeep took us through a winding sloppy road up the hill further to a home, yet to be restored, for the days respite.

As I wandered through the empty and chalky-white-stucco-covering-original-stone halls (peccato) of the former residence, my mind was ablaze with potential for the charming place that seemed to hold a spirit which comforted me. I could smell the bread baking in the hearth already established for the chore. The rosemary from the hearty bush outside would pair perfectly with the local agnello. The vision the owner has for private dinner parties kept my mind, as the hopeful chef for such events, preoccupied with menus and elegantly simple table settings in the room off to the right of where the kitchen will surely reside.

I was quick to imagine what Frances Mayes (author of Under The Tuscan Sun) may have felt as she lovingly renovated Villa Bramasole. It spawned an immediate idea for an exchange of my physical labor for an opportunity to spend time there to write. I do believe the concept was met with agreement. I had visions of sitting in a chair on the patio, legs propped up on the railing overlooking the fields of green and vines, typing away on my computer. It was an inspiring moment. It left me with a long exhaling breath and a slow "ahhhhh" escaping my mouth.

After our sandwiches of prosciutto and salame, and when the sun became just a bit too high in the sky, we moved into the house, where a lettino had been set up for such occasions. I settled in while reading, "I Am My Mother's Daughter", though quickly drifted off to sleep. When I woke up I recalled my gentle mid-day dream. It was nothing more than an expansion of what I had been daydreaming while combing the grounds of this simple, yet splendid property. I was all but ready to begin using the push broom sitting lonely in one of the corners. My host chuckled, but gestured to begin packing up as it was time to head back to the city.

After closing up both homes, we stopped for an obligatory ice cream from the local bar. The old-timers playing Sunday cards, who know everyone and their business, noted I was a stranger in town and began an inquisition. I could only shrug my shoulders and repeat to them that I am an American with very little Italian. They didn't seem to mind or care and continued with laughs and winks all around. I imagined sharing the table with them someday ~ their friendly dispositions far superceding any attempt at intimidating the newcomer.

Our hour and 45 minute drive back to Milan was nearly as relaxing as the weekend itself. Other than the occasional blasting of an oldie but goodie from the 70s & 80s radio station we found, we were mostly silent ~ both reflecting on the peacefulness of the weekend and soaking up the few moments we had left of it.

It's "back to the grind" Monday, though I'm still left with traces of tranquility. The blissful thought for me is that I am fortunate in my station. I have thus far created the ability to be freed of the hustle and bustle of city life, while living in the city. I was however, transported to another time and place this weekend. I hope it is the first of many opportunities to be busy doing nothing.

Posthumously Yours

2010-04-23T10:41:00.003-04:00

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Written for The Tenth Daughter of Memory. The Muse is Hounded.

P.S. This is also this week's contribution to Friday Flash 55 in memory of the 11thanniversary of the Columbine Massacre. As the mother of 5 school-agedchildren that experienced lock-down on that fateful day in Colorado,one can only hope that the issue of bullying continues to get theattention it deserves.

Bettina

2010-04-22T01:06:00.003-04:00

Bettina...she's a comforting reminder of my youth. Long ago there was a black and white bear I slung my right arm over in a peaceful sleep. He was my Teddy Weddy. Teddy had a worn thin spot where one disjointed leg had been re-stitched to his body ~ a soft patch I stroked. I can still feel the silky "fur" underneath the pad of my middle finger. There is a dusty photograph in a worn cardboard box, stacked among many, in a storage unit that brings a smile about. I was perhaps 4 or 5 years old donned in a blue and white nightgown. Who took that picture? Was it mom? My Mama or Papa? What had they thought when they saw me, pouting lips pushed out of a tanned baby face, in a sound slumber? And what might they think if they were to glimpse me sleeping today? 48 and still tanned, but with the lines on a face that speak of experience and show stories behind them? No longer clinging to my Teddy [whose fate was meted out by Hubby #1 in a cleaning purge one rainy Santa Cruz afternoon], rather to Bettina ~ a funky brown deco cat ~ my first purchase in Italy?

Yes, I sleep with a stuffed animal. While she serves a more rudimentary purpose as a neck pillow, I only discovered this fact well after I acquired her in a roadside store I happened upon in my first few hours roaming my new city. I promptly perched her at the helm of the numerous bed pillows, snapping my own photographs like a proud new mother.

I awoke this morning at 4:15, unaware of the time but vitally conscious of the soft friend in the crook of my right arm. I couldn't help but chuckle to myself. I thought ahead to a day where I might be sharing my bed with a lover ~ what will Bettina think when she glimpses me wrapped around another? Ah...someday Bettina, maybe someday soon.

P.S. When I was back in Sarasota, I caught a glimpse of my BFF with Bunny. She looked as happy as I feel when I have my source of comfort on otherwise lonely nights.

Breaking Down Fear

2010-04-21T05:17:00.002-04:00

FEAR. I drank to avoid it, to numb it, to stuff it ~ now that I am sober (Son Of a Bitch Everything's Real), I have a crystal clear choice; I can face it or run from it. Running will lead me right back into the arms of my cunning and powerful seducer. Facing it, fearlessly, means using the tools of my program.

Until last night, I have simply prayed to have fear removed so that I don't remain stuck from living a happy, joyous and free life. (Still being a relative newbie ~ I "wing it" with the best I have until I am given a better suggestion). My higher power brought Felicity to me last night and she offered a more thorough approach ~ an entire 12-step process to identify, breakdown, manage, face and pray about my fears. What a concept!

What I thought on the surface was a fear that I might not make the "right" choice ~ [read: a perfectionists view of screwing up HPs will for her] really was much deeper than that. I'm speaking, of course, about the "should I stay or should I go?" question of yesterday. Yeah, I'm hearing The Clash too ~ but let's stay focused.

Felicity started our conversation off by asking me what part I was playing in struggling with my indecision. Not understanding this approach at all, I needed further explanation. "Are you being selfish, fearful, self-centered or dishonest?", she asked. This question confused me even more. Fortunately, my friend is patient, loving and tolerant...she seems to follow our code to a tee. I explained that my biggest concern was that I wouldn't get a clear enough sign from my HP about which path to follow. "I want the post-it notes, the neon flashing sign, Felicity", I whined. "Cute", she chided, "but not real". She made me right size and told me it was time to get to work.

She gave me the above list again and I immediately picked up on being fearful. I've lived my life from a fear-based stance and this time proved no differently. I identified instantly with the word and feelings that embody it. This is where we began the work and what the 12-steps revolved around. Where it led me later in the evening, by going deeper as suggested, surprised me. I could, in fact, find all 4 traits rearing their ugly heads in my indecisiveness. It's no wonder I couldn't see the post-it notes, hear the crackling of the inert gasses illuminating the neon...my brain was too mired in defects.

By breaking down my fears (and ultimately identifying where my selfishness, self-centeredness and yes, even dishonesty, fit into the equation) I was able to connect with my Higher Power in a way I've never achieved. These character defects were blurring any possibility of making a sound choice by turning up the volume of white noise. It's not at all in the visual cues ~ it was in the quiet space of listening that my HP connected with me. Of all I discovered last night, this was my most profound lesson.

P.S. My gratitude to Felicity is immense today. She gave me new tools which led me to what seems to be a spiritual awakening. Are there words to use that are greater than thank you?

Decision Week

2010-04-20T04:11:00.012-04:00

It seems that this week will be one where some decisions are made. I have options to weigh, which is comforting. On tap are the following considerations:

If it weren't for June, July and August, it would be a simple "do I stay or do I go?" choice. However, there is summer, and like a school teacher, I have free time to ponder. Milo and Luca will be out of school beginning mid-June and will be busy with camp for the balance of that month. July they will either go to the beach with their dad, or spend time with Nonna. August, across Europe, is vacation month (sounds nice, doesn't it?). The entire family, along with most of Milan, will be gone from the hot and humid city and seek solace near the water and cooler weather. I have not been invited to join them as of yet. The family is talking this week, I'll know more about their plans ~ and if I fit into them ~ soon. In past years, this is the time their sitters go back to their home countries. So goes my dilemma.
If I can get some relatively guaranteed work from the caterer (we meet this week) between now and July, and I can stay in my apartment, then I may stay to earn travel money. She too will leave in August. With some €uro's in my pocket, I can spend August traveling as well.
If Chiara does not have work, then I can spend 3 weeks in Sicily with another family that has asked if I would accompany their 2 children to their grandparents home. I will be paid for my work, and again can look to August as a roaming the countryside month. This is an opportunity filled with anticipation and excitement. No English is spoken, so I will have to dedicate myself to learning ~ finally. It is also a part of Italy I would like to explore. Not a bad option.

No matter what, August and September will be right around the corner. For that matter, so is mid-June...my first opportunity to move back to the states.

Looks like no matter what the next few months bring I'll still be faced with the "do I stay or do I go?" troubling bit (did I say simple? as if). Therein remains my most substantial deliberation and where I move into FEAR. Clearly, this is the reason for my post today and where I feel stuck; hence the motivation to spell it all out here in black and white.

Time to pray and ask for guidance. No doubt I will be welcomed back to Sarasota with open arms and potential opportunities there. Am I ready? Really ready to return? This is where the reflection will focus.

Today I remain calm, though tinged with a bit of apprehension. What to do ~ what to do.

P.S. Did I mention that I also have Willow reminding me that I have 5 children who live in Denver, and wouldn't that be a nice place to live again too? Boy oh boy. G-d, if you are there, what is your will for me today?

A Quiet Mind

2010-04-19T04:47:00.004-04:00

Today the sun has returned and I have a quieted mind.

It has become evident that an internal shift has taken place and left me with a calmer soul. It was apparent to others before I was even aware. Family and friends pointed to a softer-around-the-edges Karis. I didn't hear the same just 3 months ago when I was in Florida. What is the difference? I have been giving it much thought as I have returned to my daily routine again. Still, back in Italy, I have a sense of peace that I didn't when I left. I think it goes something like this:

Chaos, all but vanished,
pockets the endorphins.
An ally of peace
sweeps drama aside.
Crisis fails to seize a psyche
entangling emotions ~ blurring fact.
Letting go prevents the urgency
to create the next fix.
Loosening the death grip of control
permits the universe to be director.

Once blind to the path and
deaf to the message,
there is liberation.
An ability to observe
boundless discoveries.
A yearning to hear the voice
proclaiming a future.
The hostage of self
has been freed to live.

Have a peaceful week,

P.S. The sunrise photo above was taken by my daughter, Willow, on a visit to Sarasota in January.

Spring Has Sprung

2010-04-15T03:06:00.009-04:00

i first noticed the change as the train raced along the rural outskirts of milan. the newly formed green shoots on the tips of proud shrubs. the delicate pink blossoms of the cherry trees smiling through the sunlit early morning. deciduous landscape dancing merrily back to life after a cold winter's gloom. disembarking at the station near my home, i sense the shift in those prancing around me. falling footsteps of weeks ago have been awakened. no longer the cast downward faces shuffling to return home to warm the chill. eyes bright with cheer meet mine, nodding in agreement that the season has indeed shifted. the canals three weeks hence have transformed; debris scattered replaced with glistening pools. parks filled with children's laughter and mother's chatter. flannel sheets drooping from windows put back in exchange for breezy cottons in brilliant blue and crisp white. spring has sprung and so with it has my gait intensified to that of a freed horse to green pasture.

Hello, Blog? Are you there?

2010-04-12T11:19:00.002-04:00

Well, well. How time flies when you're having fun! This will be an exceptionally short post as I am on the flip side of my trip. Currently sitting at Tampa International Airport awaiting the boarding of the plane that will carry me back over the pond to Milan.

My time in Sarasota was busy, busy, busy; however, the words frenetic, overwhelming, chaotic, dramatic or frantic were never used. Surely they could have been but someone else has inhabited this body of mine, though after 2 1/2 weeks, it is comfortable.

Highlights of the trip:

4th & 5th steps completed ~ I survived without incident
Many meetings attended
Lots of tennis played
Spent time with ex-beau ~ I didn't fall apart
BFF and I connected in new ways ~ she is amazing
Ex-neighbor and I spent a lot of time together ~ sadly, the relationship is strained today
Put an offer in on a business in Sarasota ~ no deal was reached
BBQs, parties, family & friends ~ everyone is healthy and happy
Loads of pictures taken at a variety of events
Latin dancing is fun
Karis is at peace

I will say that leaving this time is bittersweet. What I have come to realize this trip, that was not evident in January, is that I am emotionally ready to return to Sarasota if that is what I choose to do. There was no drama or emotional upheavals as I faced situations that used to baffle me. Hmmmm....can we say, Higher Power?

I go back to Milan without truly knowing what path I will follow ~ and I'm just fine with that. My next scheduled return trip to Florida is for June 30th. Today I don't know if I will stay in Italy longer, come back to Florida for a summer visit, or return permanently. I was prepared to return to stay with the business offer I presented ~ so I know I'm ready. Perhaps HP has a different idea ~ I stay open and willing to listen and be guided. I have learned to detach from outcomes, lower my expectations and today, as a result, I know what serene feels like. YES ~ ME...serene.

Time to board. See you on the other side.

BlastOff to a 4th Step

2010-03-25T01:21:00.000-04:00

I'm late
I'm late
For a very important date
On an airplane

headed for the United States!

No time to blog ~ I must grab my rain gear, suitcase and close up the laptop to walk to the bus to take the metro to catch the train to board the plane to fly me to the car ride which will deliver me home. In approximately 24 hours, I will have reached my final destination.

Yes, planes, trains and automobiles will be in order today ~ but I'm thrilled! I won't be bored on my way however. I have my journal, pencil, and tissues and will be trudging through the 4th Step on the path to meet my happy destiny. I've geared myself up to get those columns going. My goal is to have completed what is needed so that I can treat myself to a massage and pedicure in Atlanta during my 7-hour layover. We shall see. I will be reporting back to home base [grin].

I have a lot to be grateful for as I head back to Sarasota again. I'm quite ecstatic to be able to share those things and experiences with my parents, as I will get a chance to spend a good week and a half with them. This is so comforting to me. I also already have a session with India lined up. Other than that, I've left myself wide open for my meetings, friends and tennis. I'm on the "no plan, plan" this trip.

If I get a chance, I'll check in again in Atlanta.

Hope you all have a fabulous day!

P.S. I hope to get my voting in for 10DOM sometime tomorrow.

Lights Out

2010-03-22T08:33:00.006-04:00

Sitting in darkness.

Legs tight against my chest.

Rocking.

Swaying.

Sobs of sadness.

Mind circling paralyzed fear.

Head banging against the wall,

meeting soft padding with skull.

Noiselessly.

Piercingly loud.

Click

The door unlocks.

Glass clinks on the icy barren floor.

“Here you go”, she says, chuckling.

Click

Bolted in again.

Alone.

Frightened.

Cold.

Twelve dark hours.

“Find the light”, my head screams.

Eyes failing.

Blinded by black.

Knees ache unfurling,

crawling across the floor.

Hands patting along the way.

Searching.

Parched dry lips.

Waterless throat desperate.

Pat

Touching a cool bottle.

The other hand finds a tiny glass.

Gasping.

Trembling.

Pouring one found object

into the other.

Lifting the tiny cup to my lips.

Instant salivating.

Nose burning.

I heave racking sobs.

Lowering the glass,

I pat again.

Searching for the alternative.

Nothing.

Nothing else exists.

Smash

Chest bursts in anger.

The blackened room explodes.

Shot glass hurled.

Whiskey bottle shatters.

Deafening screams escape my mouth.

Click

“Mom? Mom?”,she says panicked,

Flipping light switches

illuminating the bedroom.

“Mom, it’s okay.

Another dream”, she soothes.

Brushing sweat clumped hair.
Revealing my eyes.

“Here you go”, shecoos.

Gulping water,

I stop.

I pray.

Grateful.

Another 24 hours.

Sober.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is my first attempt at a writing challenge I learned about from The Tenth Daughter of Memory. We are only given a prompt, which for this challenge is: "A Shot in The Dark".

Drunk dreams can be terrifying for an alcoholic. I've had my share. Today, I am grateful to be awake, sober and living the life I'm meant to live.

It's the Little Things

2010-03-21T16:36:00.002-04:00

I spoke earlier this week about acquiring the acclaim from others for my talents as a chef. It was a spectacular feeling and one I will carry with me from week to week as I continue doing what I love ~ providing scrumptious meals for people to enjoy. It's an ego boost and certainly doesn't hurt in the self-esteem department.

However, it is in the little things that go unnoticed by others that give me the moment by moment satisfaction. Self-satisfaction. Purpose to continue along my path. Giggles as I'm walking that trail. India says, "Life's a giggle". I've come to appreciate those small flashes of glee I get when I know that I've done something new, different, or out of my comfort zone. Living in a foreign country provides many opportunities for me to experience these silently secretive events.

I confess that I feel like a child when the smile passes across my face; I wonder to myself if someone knew the reason for the smirk if they might dismiss it saying, "what's the big deal?" Perhaps that is why they are private acknowledgments, for fear of embarrassment of what and why it is, in fact, a big deal for me.

Most of the challenges that I face daily have to do, of course, with the language barrier. I'm pleased to report that my Italian is improving. Last week afforded me many more occasions to use what limited words I possess, simply because I was off the computer and out and about ~ a sure sign to me that ungluing myself from the keyboard was a good move.

My first catering gig is to prepare 5 quiches for tomorrow. The agreed upon contract is a flat rate that is to include all of the ingredients ~ so it behooves me to pay attention to both quality and cost. Farmer's Market saw me early Saturday morning. I managed, with my Italian, to buy 30 eggs; the necessary vegetables; and make the correct discernment between the types of Ricotta cheese to choose from. Maybe not such a big deal to some ~ for me...HUGE! It's intimidating with so many booths and people hawking their goods. The first two times I went to the Farmer's Market I left empty-handed. The third visit, I pointed like a deaf-mute. Yesterday, I was gabby and downright giddy.

I had dinner with a friend last night and was given an address to join him. I knew the street location and tram number to take. I've walked around town enough now and have surprising familiarity. Taken for granted by most ~ for me, a victory...especially with the way the streets twist and turn and change names mid-block.

I finally played tennis yesterday. Ran my ass off for well over an hour. I had to cross to the other side of Milan in uncharted territory. I am an awesome map reader. Unfortunately, the Sports Center was off the map, so I turned to a website I've become quite familiar with navigating for public transportation information. It's in Italian. It's a bit tricky. It requires precise input. It doesn't always spit out precise results. Between my trusty held-together-with-tape city map and the ATM site (as in Azienda Trasporti Milanesi), I was early for tennis. Piece of cake? Maybe. For me, it's the whole damn torte.

My street cat, Oliver, is a constant for me now. Luca named him "Merda" [shit] and frankly from his appearance, it fits. I named him Oliver because he always wants "more food". When he sees me from across the courtyard on the roof, I know within 2 minutes, he'll be rubbing up against my leg. For animal lovers, it may be as big a deal to them to know I've befriended a toothless, wreck of mats and fleas, as it is to Oliver and I. To the people that know and love me and know I had to leave behind 4 cats in the US, they'll understand it as healing. To the rest of you that are thinking, "what's the big deal?", Merda to you.

I'm a regular at the few restaurants and coffee bars I patronize. Like at Cheers, they know my name. Okay ~ maybe not my name...Karis is quite peculiar for the Italian's ~ but they do know my face and what I'm having. I smile because it's comforting. I grin because the fact that I'm prancing around town BY MYSELF is a monumental thing. Maybe a teeny tiny detail to the gregarious go-getters about town ~ for me, triumph.

I'm no longer preyed upon by the aggressive street vendors.
I have not ONCE stepped in dog shit.
I haven't been pick-pocketed.
I know when the fans at San Siro stadium are whistling, it's equivalent to our booing.
I understand and love watching soccer, making me a minority by gender.
I can convert pounds to kilos; inches to centimeters; celsius to farenheit.
I can successfully navigate the confusing post office and bank queues.
I know to buy stamps at the tabacchi; thereby avoiding said post office.
I've learned what few grocery stores are open on Sunday ~ or Monday mornings for that matter. I also know which ones are likely to have change for large bills; thereby avoiding said banks.
Milo's teachers recognize me immediately and wave.
The "soccer moms" sit with me and ask for help with their English. I've even taught one how to crochet.
The church men playing biliardo nod in my direction Monday nights ~ I'm still waiting to be invited to play, though it's doubtful that will happen.

These are just several of the memories that make me snicker, make me feel at home and keep the fire stoked. I've penned blog posts about some when they were challenges in the early months here. I welcome the challenges now as opportunities to reap the rewards of conquering them.

Fresh moments arrive daily and for the most part, they will pass over me once the regularity of them settles in. I've been glowing a lot this past week, so I just thought I'd share a few of my giggles and grins with you today.

Have a great week.

Friday Flash 55 ~ Pride

2010-03-19T06:40:00.003-04:00

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Flash 55
Wanna join in?
Read about it here
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am back in the fold, once again. This 55 has a story (don't they all?) behind it. The long version is the post from yesterday, directly below the 55. The short version is that it has taken me a lifetime to feel good about myself and have any semblance of confidence. This 55 is a tribute to my growth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buon Appetito ~ have a great weekend!

Taking Pride & Validation

2010-03-18T10:27:00.012-04:00

There is one thing I have always felt very confident in, and that is my ability to create incredible meals in the kitchen. For all the insecurities I have had and still struggle with, I can say with complete pride that I am a damn fine chef. Well before I honed my skills and knowledge in culinary school, I brought happiness, delight and a few extra pounds to anyone that sat at my table.

When Sissy and I were but mere children, we used to play this game of "kitchen surprise". I think we were about 7 and 9 at the time. There was no cooking involved...just rummaging through the pantry and making some sort of concoction. I think the goal was to really gross each other out like putting tuna on a vanilla wafer topped with something disgusting, like peas, and serving it up with a smile. What I remember about the game is that I wasn't willing, even back then, to waste good ingredients. My crowning glory was presenting to Sissy and her friends Oreo cookies with mint Duncan Hines frosting and Cool Whip. The game was forever changed after that.

As we got older there was a decision made during one of our weekly "Family Meeting" nights. I was the secretary at the time and remember making the notations of the unanimous vote in the notebook we kept. Each week Sissy and I would take a turn at menu planning, shopping with Mommie Dearest and preparing a meal one night a week. I was particularly thrilled with the concept that the cook did not have to set the table, clear or wash the dishes. I immediately began devising a plan by which to con Sissy into trading her turn with me. I'm sure it involved either physical threats or a promise to let her keep her allowance that week! Nasty little bitch I was. The memory I carry with me to this day is the menu that involved preparing a shrimp dish. Mommie Dearest reminded me that it would not be easy or inexpensive (we were given a budget as well ~ an effort to teach us something about money...that lesson was forever lost on me). It was a huge success and I truly believe that it was in that very instant of seeing my families surprise and glee that I had found my niche. Too bad it took me another 27 years to answer my calling.

During the course of our time together, I had only one notable failure with Hubby #1 ~ a Mexican dish when we were poor college students. Lacking in funds to afford disasters, we rinsed off overly spiced chicken so I could saute it in a mild sauce and serve it over rice ~ so in the end, even it was saved. I still marvel at what I was able to do in our hotel-room-turned-student-living-quarters. We had an apartment size refrigerator, one hot plate and a toaster oven. Somehow I even managed to bake rye bread in the toaster oven. When we moved into an apartment with a full-size kitchen, it was always our home that our friends gravitated to. Up at 1am with the munchies from a night of smoking dope, it was my pleasure to feed them all. (Even back then it was alcohol for me ~ they could keep the weed...it just put me to sleep ~ how could I cook then?)

Feeding people fulfills my nurturing nature. Our basic instincts tell us that we must eat to survive. Why not eat well if you can? I believe, for me, the gratitude I receive when I provide even the simplest of meals has been enough to feed my need for approval to never want to stop. It is a feeling that I have difficulty even putting into words.

Is it no wonder that my favorite part of early motherhood was breastfeeding my children? Thinking of those cherished moments can still easily bring tears to my eyes. Should it have come as a surprise to anyone that when I made another career change at 41 that it might involve cooking? While it seemed the most natural course of action to me to be taking ~ I assure you it was met with some rather volatile emotions and less than favorable feedback. "C'est la vie", said I and off to school I went. That was in 2003 and I have never looked back or been happier.

When I started this post, there was a point to it all. The diversions of my memories of how I got to where I currently am have brought a smile to my face however, so for me, the added words today have special meaning. Perhaps for some of you they will have as well. In the end, this is the story I have to tell:

I cooked for a party of 10 last Thursday evening. It was the first dinner party I've prepared since arriving in September. Marco and Silvia had invited friends for dinner. I was given 24 hours notice and a directive to, "pull out all the stops and give us your best meal". With that objective in mind, I prepared the following menu:

Rosemary Roasted Almonds
Chicken Caper Salad on Endive
Mushroom Duxelle Vol au Vent
Osso Buco
Risotto Milanese
Sauteed carciofi e porro (artichokes and leeks)
Insalata Mista

I was introduced to and mingled with the company ~ not only as one of them, but as the "esteemed" chef. I was told by Silvia to sit down so that I too could be served as one of the distinguished guests. After an ignored protest, I took my seat.

After the first bites of Osso Buco were taken a slow, but building, round of applause was given in my direction. Throughout the meal I was given compliments in both English and Italian. As I took my leave for the evening, the guests stood up and applauded once again. Marco, puffed with pride for having hired me, then said to them, "not only is Karis a spectacular chef, but she is also an award-winning poet". Again, the clapping commenced. I was overwhelmed but filled with humble gratitude for the acknowledgment. It was an incredible experience for me.

Ultimately, it wasn't the applause and appreciation of my accomplishments by others that sustained me. It was my ability to say with complete pride and confidence a simple sentence that India has taught me to say, and more importantly, believe: "Thank you for validating what I already know."

P.S. The day after the dinner party I was retelling my story to SF-AA. He said, "you have big balls to prepare a classic Milanese menu for the Milanese. They are the pickiest people when it comes to food and fashion. Brava Karis, brava." Yes, big balls indeed.

Creating Community & Fellowship

2010-03-17T08:32:00.003-04:00

Damn, I feel good today!

Today is day 3 of being off of Facebook and, with the exception of wondering what is going on over at DearBubbie's place, I am not missing it one bit. Being at Bubbie's is like sitting down at your favorite comfortable coffee shop with a group of friends discussing the woes of relationships; the struggles of mid-life; the joys and challenges of our children (both the two legged and furry varieties); what moves us and what gives us pleasure. I like partaking in the warmth of Bubbie's online community and being a part of the greater good when we've helped someone in need ~ or being on the receiving end when I've reached out. I'm really looking forward to the real-life version when I return to Sarasota next week. Many of the Bubbie's live there and a get together is planned for April 7th.

I recognize that a part of my obsessive behavior has been in longing for the community I lack here in Italy. I have rationalized the hours spent on Facebook as "keeping in touch" with friends and family. Granted, it does that ~ but before social networking via the internet was in vogue, when did we ever inform our friends, on a daily basis no less, that we are going to the symphony, gardening, feeling like shit, having yet another 'first date', harvesting imaginary corn, reading an enlightening book; or that we have caught a cold, secured the job, bought a house, gotten a divorce? Add to that, everybody's ability to chime in on what they think about that particular topic. Publicly. It's kind of fucked up when you think about it. We are all part voyeur, part exhibitionist when we partake in this type of community. Admit it. How many of us have used the expressions or been guilty of, "creeping a profile"; "stalking an ex"; "collecting 'friends'"? We get to do it from the comfort of our own homes or offices and, for the most part, without anyone's knowledge. Again, a little creepy and a tad sinister. I've written here about my own manipulative behavior with Hubby #2. So, I will be the first to raise my hand! Again, I digress ~ this seems to be a common occurrence, my apologies.

Part of my objective in taking a break from my online, somewhat artificial, community is to have more face to face contact with real breathing human beings. It forces me to move and think in more positive and productive ways. I can be afforded the opportunity to meet people that I live near to build a circle of friends I can be with, rely upon, be active with and call ~ much like I have when I am back in the US. Why I have avoided doing that while clinging to "home", I'm not quite sure. I suppose I have had a fear that "out of sight, out of mind" would apply to my friends and I would somehow be forgotten. F.E.A.R. = False Events Appearing Real. These are my friends I am talking about! Fortunately, I have the awareness to make some healthy changes for myself now.

I have also created much more time for myself to be active in my AA fellowship ~ a must for me to maintain my sobriety and sanity. I have a great home group and being an active member helps me to keep my 3-legged stool propped upright and steady. My sponsor reminded me Monday night that in spite of only 14 months sobriety, I am somewhat of an "old-timer" in our group. We have a number of newcomers and, as such, my presence is needed. I like feeling needed. And I know I can be helpful ~ but I have to suit up and show up. I'm happy to say that I'm more emotionally and physically available for that now.

So, just for today ~ I will abstain from Facebook once again. Bubbie's community has grown into a well-rounded group of participants...they will survive without me, and I without them ~ for today. If I have something important to discuss with one of my 119 FB friends, I will pick up the phone and have a live conversation where emotions, voice inflection and tone can be heard, avoiding the possibility of misunderstanding. As for Bubbie ~ I have her personal number and always know she'll take my call if I'm in need. THAT is real community. THAT is real fellowship.

I am blessed and grateful today and I feel great!

Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves

2010-03-16T05:10:00.001-04:00

I first came to Italy in 2003. I was a student at Cook Street School of Fine Cooking in Denver, Colorado and the capstone of our education was a journey to Italy and France to study alongside the masters of the cuisine we had trained in.

In preparation for the trip I devoured everything I could get my hands on. I rented DVD's to discover the regions we would be in. I enrolled in an Italian class (we would spend most of our time in Asti at the Italian Culinary Institute for Foreigner's). I bought and read cover to cover guidebooks. I ordered a Rick Steve's travel backpack and money belt. I purchased luggage tags and a passport holder. I was ready, albeit terrified.

The guidebooks warned me that if I wasn't alert, aware and diligent I would be mugged, roughed up and stripped of all my personal possessions in broad daylight while taking pictures of fountains in the Piazza's. Who wouldn't be paranoid? I had a dry run of how I would wear my backpack-style handbag on my back, my travel pack on my chest and my money belt tucked deeply in the pants I would have to wear to conceal it. I just don't wear pants. I'm a dress and skirt girl ~ this was a concession for me ~ but I was going to be damned to be outsmarted by these greasy Italian's.

I arrived at Malpensa airport tense but in position. The guidebooks informed me that airports and heavily trafficked tourist destinations are ripe for thieves. I kept my wits about me. While we were waiting for our bus I sat upright on a bench, pressed tightly against the column behind me (they won't get the purse); clutched my zippered and locked backpack (can't rip that off); my legs slung over my suitcase (good luck there); the money belt digging into my stomach (ouch). I sure as hell wasn't moving from my post ~ not even for the "fake baby" the gypsies might toss in my direction to distract me from being vigilant.

My belongings and I made it to the bus in one piece. I slowly loosened the death grip I had by wrapping my hands around the straps of both purse and travel pack. I had won this round.

By the second week my money belt had found its place in a drawer next to the padlock for the travel bag. Though my senses remained heightened, I delighted in shedding some of the preventative measures I took and started to enjoy myself. If there were thieves amongst us I didn't notice them. When I arrived back in the states, I still had everything I started with save for the money in the money belt ~ it had been spent.

Fast forward to present day.

The gypsies, tramps and thieves do exist. I've seen them. I ride the metro with them, I walk past them begging on the streets and I've heard the stories. They are prevalent and they are smart. My mother-in-law had her backpack purse ripped off her back while visiting Paris ~ in broad daylight. Just last week a friend of Silvia's had all of her personal possessions stolen out of her car. A well-dressed man informed her that she had dropped something outside of her car ~ while she stepped out of the driver's side to retrieve the missing object, someone snatched and grabbed everything that had been laying in the passenger seat...laptop, house keys, handbag, briefcase ~ everything. I heard about it in Italian and didn't need to understand all the words to comprehend the devastation on her face. The thieves are bold, brazen and crafty.

What I've learned is to walk among the locals like a local. Walk at a quick pace with your head moving taking note of who is around you. I've been fortunate, so far. I don't have the money belt anymore. I don't lock my backpack. I don't keep a death grip on my handbag. I am aware however. My aim is to enjoy my life in Italy and not live in paranoia ~ but I'll still be damned to be outsmarted.

Tears for Getting Active

2010-03-15T08:43:00.003-04:00

I was fortunate to chair our Sunday morning "Living Sober" meeting yesterday. I say fortunate because it forced me to get to a meeting, I had the keys after all ~ and also because evidently I really needed to be there to hear what I heard. Once again I am found saying that I get what I need when I need it (even when I didn't know I did...thanks HP).

Sunday's are usually a pretty small group. Yesterday there were 5 of us. The meeting is just one hour (Saturday nights are 90 minutes) and the format is to read one chapter from Living Sober and have a round robin discussion. As seems to be customary, the chairperson shares last. We were on reading #6 ~ Getting Active. Seemed to be a pretty mild subject and an easy one to discuss. Direct and to the point. Don't sit still. Find something to fill the hours of time previously spent in the throes of drinking and its aftereffects. For some, those hours stretched into days. Even for me. I found myself drinking every other day ~ I needed the in between day to recover. No doubt I wasn't terribly productive on my "non-drinking" day. Needless to say, there's a lot of time to be filled with healthier activities.

After the reading our sharing began. Long story short ~ everyone had a long share! By the time it came back to me, the hour was up. I was content to wrap up the meeting when one of the members took a group conscience to allow me the time I needed to share. Quickly accepted and agreed upon, I got my turn. Instantly, the floodgates opened and out it all came. I shocked myself with the emotions and tears. Even sitting here typing I can feel a tug at my gut and my eyes getting warm.

The reading was like someone (HP?) taking out a billboard advertisement:

I've discussed my propensity to isolate here before. I have a keen awareness that I do it. Even as I'm wiling away time doing truly meaningless things, my little nudge of a voice is saying, "Karis, it's sunny out. Karis, your camera is dusty. Karis, your blog is lonely. Karis, do your laundry. Karis, Karis, Karis..." I manage to rationalize the voice into a dull murmur and eventually I drown it out with iTunes playing Sting, Sheryl Crow, Alicia Keys, Coldplay, John Mayer, Prince and The Rolling Stones. If I really want to get weepy, I'll select Sarah MacLachan, Adele, Norah Jones and Natasha Bedingfield. I have a mix for every mood. I know how to steer my emotional well-being just by the music I play. My manipulative character defect isn't picky ~ it will even go after me.

I was reassured yesterday that I am right where I'm supposed to be. Why does everyone always say that? Certainly there's a manual with a recovery time-line with all of these milestones showing me when to expect things like: resentment, joy, anger, pink clouds, loneliness, isolation, despair, happiness. Someone ~ please enlighten me!

One of the members commented yesterday, "we are like children, aren't we?" He was referring to the actual list of activities not related to A.A. provided in our reading. That as adults, we would need such a thing. He said it with gratitude however, knowing that we are indeed children requiring the guidance and direction to learn new behaviors. I was thankful he gave us permission to need the list. The reality is, it helped me. In my haze, as I call it when I'm isolating, I have forgotten the simple things I enjoy. Reading. Strolling. Taking pictures. Drawing mandalas. Writing poetry. These are healthy activities I had planned on doing with some of my extra time. Spending empty and insignificant hours on my computer was never on that list.

And then there are the things I could be doing to enhance my experiences here. Studying my Italian. Sitting in a cafe and striking up conversation. Reading my Italian cookbook in the park. Translating newspaper and magazine articles. Listening to my Italian tapes on my iPod while taking a walk. Writing more about my experiences in a foreign country. Now that the weather is improving, I can do almost ALL of these things outside ~ or at least outside of my apartment.

My number one problem is my addiction to my computer. It's as though it is my umbilical cord to a life-sustaining elixir. I will actually sit and stare at Facebook, waiting for the US to wake up and start posting something so that I can breath life. How fucked is that? And while I'm waiting for them to get their lazy asses out of bed (I mean, who wants to sleep past 6am?) I play games. I rationalize them as creative and productive because they are word games. "They improve my vocabulary". Bullshit. They waste time. My vocabulary is better improved by reading and writing.

I expressed all of this at the meeting yesterday, through tears and choking sobs. I feel as though I have wasted 6 months of precious opportunity in Italy. Intellectually I know that is being extremely hard on myself, but I had higher expectations and as a result, I am disappointed in myself. I can hear my FL sponsor now, "the higher your expectations, the lower your serenity". True ~ but I can easily use that as an excuse to have NO expectations. I know how my mind works to stay active in my lazy energy. (How do you like that oxymoron, India?)

WOW ~ I already feel better. Kind of like a mini-meeting. Before I logged on to post this I stopped over at my little place on Facebook. My status for today is, "I am taking a hiatus from Facebook. I can be reached by e-mail and Skype". I have no expectations of how long I will be off the site, but I would ideally like to try it out for this week and see how it goes. I suspect that I won't miss anything of major importance. The people that know me and love me can reach me in far more enjoyable ways ~ like through a phone call ~ if they are so inclined. My guess is that the world won't stop without my comments, status updates, pokes, photos or heart requests. I will be so bold as to state that I don't think I will stop breathing either.

This is where I will be found for any important news. Back to where I started and this journey began. Good thing I have a laptop ~ we'll be spending time on a park bench enjoying the hints of Spring coming our way.

P.S. Billboard background image from troxel.com

Word Games

2010-03-10T05:15:00.003-05:00

This was going to be Wordless Wednesday, but can I ever be "wordless"? Rhetorical question, mind you. Once again, Susan at Stony River has inspired me. It was just a quick 140 character microfiction meme on Monday ~ but it brought to mind some really fond memories of my paternal grandmother, "Mama". I could dedicate my entire blog to the memories of Mama, but I'll reign myself in and stick to the subject at hand ~ Word Games.

My first exposure to the love of words, as I recall, was playing Scrabble Jr. with Mama. Could I even read before she had me searching for words nestled in the rack of 7 tiles? I'm not sure. I eventually graduated to the adult version of Scrabble. It was pulled out on a regular basis on "game night" in my home. In fact, I'm not sure I remember any other game that we played when Mommie Dearest and dad were involved. (Candyland; Chutes & Ladders; and Trouble were games I remember playing with Sissy ~ when I wasn't playing "how do I bilk her out of her allowance this week?") As I got older, I loved making my own "Word Search" puzzles. It seems that from a very early age WORDS were very important in my life ~ finding them, understanding them, using them correctly, stringing them together, manipulating them, telling tales with them. Yes, words are a lifeline ~ like breathing. Again, I digress.

Somewhere along the line, one of our family members came across the game of Boggle. It was introduced by Parker Brothers in 1972 ~ I'm pretty sure we would have been among the first consumers to gobble up Boggle. I know with certainty that in our household it was a very welcome change of pace ~ literally and figuratively. There is a time limit of 3 minutes for each round. Mommie Dearest, Sissy and I could have an entire meal or watch an episode of The Brady Bunch while dad took one single turn in Scrabble. To say we are competitive is an understatement. At some point, we actually started using our Boggle timer in Scrabble ~ what a concept!

Mama LOVED this game. It is quick-paced; we could and would play for hours and hours. She was never without it. Actually, not one of my family members on dad's side of the family leaves home without Boggle. Ever. I bought a new travel version for Italy, leaving behind my other 3 back in Sarasota. It was none other than Mama who introduced the game to each of my 5 children, delighting in the fact that they also took to it like bees to honey.

The memory that was brought to mind by Susan was a particular day Hubby #1 and I were playing with Mama. Along with her Boggle set she also kept The Official SCRABBLE Player's Dictionary in tow. This woman took her word games very seriously. At the time of this story Mama was about 67 or so. Age notwithstanding ~ she was my grandmother. In one round, Hubby #1 used the word "smiley" ~ as in smiley-faced...the example he used when arguing the word that Mama challenged. (If you think my family is competitive, holy hell ~ then there's Hubby #1. Our poor kids don't stand a chance!) After Mama consulted her dictionary and after quite a heated discussion, Hubby conceded the points, albeit very begrudgingly.

The very next round came to an end and Hubby and I read off our lists, crossing off duplicates any other player also found on the 16-tile board. Last to read was Mama. She looked sheepish as hell. Almost like a small child that had found something they shouldn't have and they were going to have to talk about it. She read from her list the words that remained and she would be accumulating points for. At the very end, she took a hard swallow and said, "I have a vulgar word, but it is legal ~ it's in the dictionary", as she tapped the thick book at her side. Now, keep in mind that the inventor of the game thought ahead about vulgarity. The F and K letters are on the same cube and only used once ~ preventing the obvious. No bother ~ that wasn't the word: My Mama used the "C" word in Boggle! She apologized for it ~ but I'll be damned...she took the point ~ and the game.

In early 2000 Mama got ill. Fortunately she was visiting Mommie Dearest and dad in Florida from her home in California so they were able to get her to the doctor's. I remember the phone call that came when there was contemplation of a risky surgery for a woman of her age ~ 83. I immediately flew in from my home in Denver. A lot of relatives flew in. Hours and hours were wiled away in the hospital for a couple of weeks by playing Boggle. For three minutes at a time, our thoughts were elsewhere.

Mama passed away on January 21, 2000. When she was laid to rest at Forest Lawn Cemetery in California, beside my Papa, she wasn't without her Boggle set.

P.S. I've found a new word game on the internet that I now play daily (when I'm not trying to outscore Hubby #1 in online Boggle ~ yes, we still compete) called Word Play by MindJolt Games. Mama would love it with the ability to make 10-letter words. It's not a timed game ~ I won't be playing with dad anytime soon :-)

Just So We're Clear

2010-03-07T17:10:00.002-05:00

Well ~ I've had a first. While I may have 53 followers listed, there are but a handful that come along each time or so that I have a new post. I know of a couple of others (Mommie Dearest and India) that read every post but don't share with the rest of the world their thoughts. I honor and respect that ~ I hear from them in each their own way.

I have received a private e-mail from another individual, who I know personally, that has made a request of me after reading my last post. I have been asked to "reveal to my readers" a few things. Before I do such a thing I must state for the record that the e-mail, while short and to the point, really struck a nerve with me. I fired back a multi-paragraph retort. I did my best to rationalize and explain the circumstances that I felt were contrary to the beliefs of this person. I stated that there were inaccurate and unwarranted statements. When we spoke briefly on FB chat after my reply had been read, I was reassured that I was "a good person", "a generous person", but that I was "clueless and in denial about my situation". Ouch.

That is as much of a tirade as I will go into here, because that in effect, is not the point I am attempting to make. Something much larger happened for me after all of that. I began to stew and fume and before I knew it, I had a huge resentment growing inside of me. It became toxic and spread quickly. This is a person I care deeply for. I don't want the resentment because it makes me angry, fearful and overly emotional. Those are dangerous places to be ~ they used to be good enough reasons for me drink. As much as I love this special individual ~ they are not worth losing my sobriety over. What the fuck am I supposed to do? I want to keep my sobriety AND my friend.

I prayed The Serenity Prayer over and over again. It didn't seem to help for any longer than the moments it took to recite it. I was going to hop back on my computer and write about it (read: bang on my keyboard) when I noticed that my new Milano sponsor had just added me to Skype. Ummmm....can we say Higher Power? I did something next that I have not done once since I arrived in Italy. I asked for help. "I am having a resentment and don't know what to do with it", I typed as quickly as my fingers would go ~ hoping I would hit the enter key before she logged off.

A good 20 minutes or so of dialog followed. You know the kind ~ where it isn't necessary to give gory details. Regurgitation of words and events aren't important. It's about acceptance, awareness and action. What is my part? The resentment has dissipated and when I go to bed I have pages 66, 67 and 86 to turn to. I have my Higher Power and I have prayer. I also have Steps to work.

Bottom line for me is: I HAVE A PROGRAM that helps me with anything and everything that I struggle with. I don't have to drink over this. I won't drink over this. I am a sober woman today and above all, I am grateful. I am grateful to my friend for being able to be honest about their beliefs and feelings; for me to have my feelings; and at the end of the day, I didn't drink. Is this what is meant by the miracles? Feels like it to me. Wow!

Okay ~ just so we're clear:

I have in no way tried to paint a picture of "pity", or meager means in Italy. I live simply and without many luxuries by choice. I only work 17-20 hours/week and am compensated justly because I have chosen that lifestyle for myself today. I manifested and created that for myself so that I could write, work on myself and experience a different culture. I am fortunate to have some money back in the states to "fall back on", should I need it. I also have an incredibly supportive family, who in times of dire need have always been there for me. I am truly blessed on many levels.

I have lived a life of "more than many" and "less than others". I've been on both sides of that financial street. Just as I have been on both sides of the bottle. Today I live outside of the bottle, outside of my comfort zone and outside of anybody's box. Today I live for myself and I do so with grace, gratitude and a thankful heart.

My wealth today comes in the form of what is inside of my spirit, not my bank account. It comes in the form of true friendships and relationships that I can be proud of. It comes in the form of fellowship and a connection with a G-d of my understanding. It comes in being able to look in the mirror with self-love for the reflection. I wouldn't trade that for all the money in the world. You can bet your bottom dollar on that.

14 Months & "The Real World"

2010-03-04T03:24:00.005-05:00

Somehow last month my anniversary came and went without my making note of it. I don't necessarily think that is a bad thing, but I do like my milestones. Today I celebrate 14 months of continuous sobriety and I am feeling particularly proud of that today. I continue to be grateful for my program of recovery and the experience, strength and hope I receive from my peers. I know that I am lacking in my active participation here; using the weather, my mood, the distance and other variables as excuses to miss out on the few meetings even available to me. It could very easily be a slippery slope and I am vitally aware of that.

I made the decision yesterday to use some of my Poetry winnings for a ticket back to Florida. I leave in exactly 3 weeks and will have a little over 2 weeks there. My main objective in returning is to get an infusion of meetings and also do my 4th and 5th Step's with my Florida sponsor. My secondary objective is to play as much tennis as possible with my friends and an in-person session or two with India. Beyond those things, I have no expectations. I had mixed emotions about going back, and still a touch of that now, but feel it is the right move at the right time for me.

I was chatting with a friend of mine on Facebook yesterday after I booked my ticket. She and I used to be drinking buddies. We were friends on and off the tennis court, but I noticed once I went back into the rooms, the time we spent together became less and less. I guess that happens. As a very strong-willed and opinionated woman, I always enjoyed her frank conversations and advice about a myriad of subjects. She is one of those folks that doesn't mince words and who I learned to take what works and leave the rest. She made a comment to me yesterday that really left me thinking. When I told her I was coming back for a visit she said, "good, it's time for you to get back to the real world". Hmmmm...... My response to her was a quick non-confrontational retort, "I like my life here, it is simple and manageable". The subject was changed at that point, but I have been thinking about her comment ever since.

What I told her is exactly true. For the first time in my life I feel as though my life is manageable. I like small, bite-sized chunks. I don't choke on them. I can't suffocate or inhale them too quickly. I eat them slowly and savor every bite. I don't take them for granted. As my recovery progresses and I become more comfortable in my own skin, I do feel the urge and desire to fill my plate a little more ~ but slowly. So, for me, this is indeed my real world.

I've had abundance. At one point in my married life my husband and I owned a 3,600 square foot primary residence in a new Denver suburban neighborhood with a 3-car garage (filled with cars). We also owned a brand new ski town home in Winter Park and a beautiful brand new villa in Princeville, Kaua'i. We shared a booming technology business together. We took our collective 5 children on great summer vacations. That was my "real world" then. Problem is, it became overwhelming for me and, don't forget, I'm a runner. When I got scared and that "fight or flight" instinct kicked in, I fled ~ 100% of the time. It may not have always been physically, but most certainly emotionally. I shut down and found myself seeking solace and answers from my best friend, Chianti. And not the hippy friend, Chianti, that wears a straw skirt. The uptown Chianti straight from the Florentine hills in a sleek and elegant dressing.

That was then. This is now.

Today I live in a 300 square foot monolocale. My furniture consists of a dining/writing table, 3 chairs, 2 side tables, a bed, Ikea closet organizer and a tiny butcher block kitchen stand. My shower is 2'x2' and allows for no more than a 7-minute bathing opportunity. My arrangement with the family I work for is that they pay all of my living expenses, including cell phone and internet connection and all of my food (assuming it is purchased at the grocery store). In addition to that, I receive €50,00 per week. As of this morning, that amounts to $68.21USD every Friday. This is my real world ~ it is manageable and I love it.

So, my questions of the day: "what is your real world?" and "how do you define abundance?". I feel as though I am in my real world with abundance today. It does not consist of things, rather in the abundance of gratitude for the healthier life I am living today and all that provides me. How about you?

Bragging Rights & Inspiration Award

2010-03-02T05:22:00.004-05:00

Wow! I am still trying to wrap my arms around the announcement last night regarding the winners of BookRix's Winter & Poems writing contest I entered on December 2nd, 2009.

I WON

Okay, back down to earth Karis. Holy Hell Batman...I won First Place, out of 218 entries. The cash prize isn't chump change ($1,000) ~ but in all honesty, it is the honor of being selected by the judges as having the top work that has me floating in the clouds today. I am so filled with gratitude that I want to make my acceptance speech, right now, in my jammies from my desk in Milano! So, here it goes:

"First I would like to thank..." Just kidding, but I do want to give a few shout outs. There is no hierarchy to my gratitude to the people below, by the way. I am equally thankful to all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The book that I entered was dedicated to Ex-Beau as it is primarily a collection of poems that I wrote to him during the course of our relationship and quite a number that I penned, after the fact, in Europe after I ran away from my pain. I did let him know that I had entered the contest and jokingly mentioned that if I won anything he just might be entitled to royalties for his inspiration. Now, I've stated before how my Higher Power has a keen sense of humor. Thank goodness for that yesterday.

Quick little ditty: on February 22nd I wrote Ex-Beau a letter...it is the first time I sent him anything of discernible length and that dealt with sticky things like feelings and emotions. Essentially, I thanked him for making the tough decision he had made exactly 9 months previously. I let him know that by "setting me free" I have been able to find my center. Insightful things like that. At any rate, late yesterday afternoon I received a kind reply from him. However, his last sentence was a request to cease any further communication between us. He explained it was to protect himself from the emotions he still has.

HP's sense of humor? It was only a few hours later ~ after I wiped away the tears that clung to my cheeks at the realization that the door is now finally closed shut ~ that I read the announcement that I had won. I won't share my news with, nor fork over royalties to Ex-Beau. (As if!)

Next shout out goes to my dearest friend, ex-neighbor. She has been one of the biggest fans of my most recent writing. She constantly encourages me and also doesn't mind letting me know when she doesn't understand or even like something. I am thankful for her honesty.

Mommie Dearest ~ thanks so much for ALWAYS complimenting my writing...ever since I was a kid trying to write adult poems about subjects, like love, that I thought I knew something about. You have never doubted my abilities and have always encouraged me to write. I have been inspired by you and your own skills. I love you.

My next shout out goes to two specific bloggers that I have "met" here. Without the two of them, I would not have a) known about this contest, or b) had some unique offerings. I have noticed here and there (and everywhere) in blogland awards of different types. I've even been bestowed a few myself. I have never thought to ask or query how, why or when they started. So ~ I've decided to create my own personal award! It's my blog, so I guess I can do that. I am calling it "The Inspiration Award". It is really my way of showing gratitude to people that have inspired me to do something that I wouldn't have otherwise. There are no rules for the award other than to Pay it Forward to someone that has inspired you in the same way and to tell the story behind it. You can do this retroactively, or wait for your next inspired moment. That's it! So, my first two Inspiration Awards go to:

Susan at Stony River. Susan is a writer herself and provides such a wealth of resource information that it is overwhelming. In fact, I don't look at it all that often because I start to hyperventilate at the thought of trying to enter every contest. On one particular day, for some unknown reason, I took a closer gander and read on her blog about BookRix.com. Upon some investigation, I took the leap and entered a Short Story. It placed in the Top Ten, but did not earn a prize...just a lot of chest puffing and some lessons about what a Short Story is and isn't. I enjoyed the process so much, I decided to enter the next contest, which was the Winter & Poems contest. Which is a great segue to my second award recipient...

G-Man. I don't remember how I found out about his Friday Flash 55 meme, but as soon as I did I started to participate. It wasn't long after that I began my own signature 55s that combine my love of photography with inspired words. It is a meme I look forward to and think about all week. I've missed a few, but not many. If you read the book that won, Winter Nights by The Fire, you will notice a distinct number of 55s in the collection. I included these because of their uniqueness in the genre of poetry. I believe that the inclusions gave me a bit of a "leg up" due to the originality. I'm just sayin'!

So, a huge thanks to Susan and Galen for prompting me to think outside of the box and have the courage to believe in myself. I hope you will both pass on the award to someone who has equally inspired you to think outside of your respective boxes.

My last shout out goes to my blogging community. I started my blog as a way to practice writing and also to remain accountable as I continue on my journey of recovery. I started with no followers, no fans and no readers (well, maybe Mommie Dearest). That didn't really matter to me but over time I have come to get to know a few of you better and better. I personally think we are a unique bunch with great gifts and big hearts. I love it here and all of you continue to inspire me on a daily basis. Thank you, thank you.

With that ~ I have a new story to write for the next contest. It is a one word prompt, "Hollywood". Should be a fun one. Peace out, my friends. Have a great day.

The First Drink

2010-02-25T03:48:00.004-05:00

I don't really even remember taking my first drink. I do recall stories of how, when I was a young girl of about 3-years old, making my way to my Papa's side to eat his martini (probably gin) soaked olives. To this day, I love olives. I never did like gin.

I don't have memories of raging parties thrown by my parents or of ever seeing them inebriated as a kid growing up. The fact is, my father is a teetotaler. He tells the story of his older brother barfing from being drunk when they were teenagers and my dad hurrying to clean it up to avoid my uncle from catching hell. Evidently, that was enough to turn my dad away from the stuff.

I think my first real recollection of drinking in our family was during Passover. My sister and I were allowed to have a bit of wine during the seder. I'm pretty sure it was the disgusting Manischewitz wine ~ I can assure you that I never developed a taste for it. Give me grape juice any day of the week.

I myself never went to raging parties either. The only one I remember where there was drinking was when I was in 8th grade and the only person I remember drinking was a boyfriend I broke up with that night. He left and got a 6-pack and brought it back to the party. I didn't imbibe that night. The parties I went to were the ones I threw, always chaperoned by my parents. For me, it was about the social aspect and never the drinking. If my friends were drinking, I never ever knew it.

When I was 17 I borrowed the ID of a friends older sister to get my way into a club called Ruby Tuesday's. I remember being terrified of getting caught because at 17 I looked about 14...tops. My boyfriend was already sporting hair on his chest and whiskers to form a quasi-beard. He didn't even need his fake ID. The drinking age at that time was 18. In spite of the fact that we were in a bar ~ we didn't drink. We were there to practice all of our disco dance moves we had learned at Arthur Murray Dance Studios. We had visions of being on Denny Tario's Dance Fever. Geeze...the memories!

When I started as a freshman at Florida State University the drinking age was 18. I still hadn't turned but did have beer with my roommates. I hated the stuff, but drank it anyway. I'm pretty certain I never had enough to get drunk ~ just enough to fit in. I was more consumed by my boyfriend (the disco dancer) who was at Emory in Atlanta. I spent more time in Georgia than Florida ~ as a result, my grades were tragic. It was after my boyfriend of 3 1/2 years ~ a virtual lifetime at that age ~ and I broke up that I remember drinking. And I didn't drink like a lady. I drank like a drunk ~ immediately.

I was devastated by the break up. By now I didn't need the fake ID to get into Ruby Tuesday's. All I remember is that I started ordering vodka and tonics ~ with a lime (okay, maybe a little ladylike). For some reason sitting here I remember my mom maybe having them before, so I must have thought if she liked them, I might. I did. A lot of them. My next memory is being on the beach, in a purple silk dress, with some college kids from Drake University. I only remember it was Drake because at some point I was in someone's condo, in the bathtub, fully clothed only to get out and being handed the sweatshirt. There was a blond nameless boy I can vaguely make out if I close my eyes and think about it. I'm pretty sure there was some kissing going on ~ but beyond that, I have no clue.

This is my first vivid memory of my first "real" drink. I was 18-years old, in a filled bathtub in a purple silk dress with a blond boy from Drake University. And I was drunk.

My second memory is worse. It was Christmas break. My now ex-boyfriend was also home from college. I was prepared to make my pleas to him to take me back. I drank for courage. I showed up at his parents home and finally convinced him to open the door. He and a friend were going out, but seeing me in the condition I was in he told me I could stay there until they returned. He refused to speak to me about "us". While he and his friend were gone I rummaged through his mother's medicine cabinet and found Valium. I remember laying on her bed with the television on counting the pills as I started taking them. I was going to show him. That is all I remember.

To say that I started my drinking career straight out of the gate as an alcoholic is pretty clear to me. I drank to numb. I drank for courage. I drank to fit in. I drank to be social. I drank to forget. No sense in a drunk-a-log at this point. I simply write this to remember my first drink. And I need to remember it. I needed it this past Saturday when the urge to drink was stronger than it has been since I have been sober. I can honestly say that one of the 9th Step Promises came true for me on Saturday, "G-d will do for you what you cannot do for yourself". I did not use ONE single tool in my sober toolbox on Saturday. Nothing. Nada. Niente. And yet, I still didn't drink. I sit in amazement today and full of gratitude for my program. Without it I don't know that I would be recounting any of this today.

I have to remember the first drink ~ it will always, always get me drunk.

With blessings,

Friday Flash 55 ~ Know

2010-02-19T04:40:00.000-05:00

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Flash 55
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I may not be following the traditional rules of a Flash Fiction 55, but when was I ever a traditional girl? As with all of my 55s, there is intense meaning behind the words. Today the picture also has great meaning. I shot this of my son when he was visiting me in Milan. Today's 55, which I had penned for myself in July (long before I knew anything about 55s) and needed to be reminded of myself today, is dedicated to my son.

I love you Huck. ~Mom

I Am Lacking Program

2010-02-17T06:19:00.001-05:00

I realize that I am lacking in my program when I fail to write here. It all comes down to motivation ~ and I have been struggling to find it lately. To do just about anything. I had the flu last week, so that definitely sapped my energy; however, I have been back on the mend and have still found plenty of time to be on my computer. Obsessing mostly. That is never a good sign for me.

We had the CER conference here again which was wonderful. Our Saturday evening meeting was filled with people from all over the European region. It was filled with laughter and a lot of experience, strength and hope. I said to myself, "I am really glad I came tonight". A good 30 of us went to dinner after the meeting and continued with our fellowship. It was a wonderful night. Since then I have stayed pretty much in isolation.

Okay, I did have a date Sunday in Genova. It was lovely. Luca #2. A real gentleman who I have things in common with. The overwhelming interest in him is the fact that he is also a tennis player. And he didn't pressure me to talk about, think about or have sex with him. Not Sunday anyway. Time will tell. In the meantime, I'm off the dating website. I have come to the conclusion that it breeds serial dating and that just isn't my thing. I'm a one-man woman and have certainly been challenged to find any Italian men that think in the same way. Makes me homesick.

Speaking of being homesick ~ I am. I have found myself wanting to be back in the states again. I feel as though I am not taking full advantage (not even half) of the experiences I have in front of me. I have this whole week off of work and had planned to travel somewhere. Sadly, the weather prompted my decision to stay put rather than spend the money to go somewhere only to be hotel bound with rain. Not a bad decision, but here I sit.

Okay...I have been knitting. I finished a scarf, a pair of fingerless gloves to match and started another new project. So, it's not all a waste, right?

Then there's my program. I haven't picked up my Big Book or even made an attempt to start my 4th Step ~ a request of my sponsor here. He did mention that it takes 3 months to complete, "6 hours to write it and 3 months to fuck around"...guess I'm in the fucking around stage. I'm not depressed. I just feel numb today and I needed to be honest about it, to speak my truth. That seems to be of some help.

I am also worried about my children. Son #2 continues to struggle with his drinking and Willow is struggling with her own demons. It makes me feel powerless. I pray for them daily and myself as well. The Serenity Prayer is my constant companion these days.

On the upside, I have another meeting with my language exchange partner who I met through Silvia. We have met already 3 times and get along very well. Tomorrow we will spend the majority of the day together. I like the friendship she and I are growing. She is a source of inspiration for learning the language. I have also been teaching English again to my adult student twice a week. So, it's not as though I'm not interacting at all. It is just limited by my own damn self. Time to refocus and get off my ass!

Okay...that is it for today. Well, except for a gratitude list...which I can hear my Sarasota sponsor yelling for from across the pond! So, here I go. Today I am grateful for:

My sobriety
My health
My declining weight (down 13 pounds now)
My friends in Sarasota I do stay connected with
DearBubbie ~ as a personal friend and Facebook medium (Check her Facebook Fan Page out ~ it is awesome! She met with a local reporter yesterday which is very exciting.)
My very patient Milano sponsor
My Milano fellowship
My ability to be honest
My creative outlets
My parents
My children
My blog
My youthful genes
My ability to read maps so well
Finding my passion in cooking
My faith in a higher power
BrainyQuote.com
Other recovering bloggers who openly share their experience, strength and hope
Weekly memes such as Flash 55 and Weekend Reflections
My courageous spirit which brought me to Italy

I'm sure there is more ~ but this was a good start for me. I feel better already :)

Friday Flash 55 ~ The Gift AND Weekend Reflection

2010-02-11T21:46:00.003-05:00

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Flash 55
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I have found an apropos photograph to use for both meme's this week. First, in my contribution to this week's Friday Flash 55 ~ The Gift. Below it you will find the original photo, this week's Weekend Reflection installment ~ The Love Canal. Both are in honor of the upcoming observation of St. Valentine's Day.

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Weekend Reflection
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This remains one of my all-time favorite photos I have taken since my arrival in Milan. It is of the Naviglio Grande, just two streets over from where I live. I found it fitting for Valentine's Day.

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The promised update from last week was posted late yesterday afternoon and can be found below. It is long. It is about dating. (I quit). More to be revealed. More to be required.

May cupid's love-drenched tip strike who and where you'd like it! Make it a great weekend.

Writer's Block (aka Lazy Boredom) ~ A Long Post

2010-02-11T08:03:00.016-05:00

I admit it...I've bored myself to tears. I have been sick in my apartment since Monday. Unintentional isolation and I'm now crawling out of my skin. Light snow and rain showers have finally given way to sunshine and so I shall shower off the days of ick and get my ass outside. My prayers yesterday morning asked for the strength to write. Damn. I found myself staring at my computer screen watching Episodes 2-13 of Glee while knitting a scarf. Yep. I need to get out.

I've felt Writer's Block, no, let me retract that. I am using Writer's Block as an excuse for being lazy and bored. I've had plenty to say and I've never been short on words. I just feel like a bit of a broken record lately and am embarrassed to admit my shortcomings. My mind has been on one thing: MEN. Now that I'm [kind of] "over it", I'm ready to pen about it. So there!!

Last week I started a post that began something like this:

"I’m thinking of doing a weekly update on Monday (or Tuesday, as it is) since I am committed to other posts on the weekend (Friday Flash 55 and Weekend Reflections). This will help put some order in my life and get me into a routine ~ a new behavior and a much desired one. So ~ here’s my weekly update."

So much for the desired new behavior. Maybe next Monday...or Tuesday...or Thursday, like today. Considering I did put a lot of effort in on that particular update I will post it now, more than likely with sidenotes to update the update. I apologize in advance for the focus on men...but, I said I was ready to start dating and like any good addict, it's never enough, is it?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I’ll begin with Son #2. First of all, thank you for all of your kind thoughts, words and prayers. I have spoken to him only a couple of times in which he remains somber, if not a bit annoyed with my worry and my “blabbing”. I’ve explained to him that the worry by others, and me is simply an extension of our love and wishes for his well-being. He gets that, no doubt; however, he seems a bit overwhelmed and perhaps pressured. I spoke with Willow Sunday and she has talked him into seeking professional help. He, not unlike me, I believe, suffers from clinical depression. I hope he will follow through. Please keep him in your prayers.

sidenote. I still haven't spoken to Son #2. Willow reported yesterday that he seems to be happy, but has not sought any outside help, for depression or any other life challenge.

The Cub. He is history already. I am trying to take with me some lessons I learned. The first 4 days of our dating seemed dreamy, as I reported. In spite of the lie about his age, which I let rest figuring he would divulge it at some point, I continued to see him to see how it would play out. The short story (and about all it’s worthy of, quite frankly) is that after those first four days, I never heard his voice as he communicated only through text messages. Through them I discovered he was sick; that he didn’t want me to post anything on his Facebook page (“I don’t want everyone knowing my business” ~ I suppose 'everyone' would be any one of his 950 FB friends); he asked more than once, “do you still like me?” and finally, when I didn’t respond to a “good night love” text on the night I was caught up with the drama of Son #2, I got dumped … of course, via a text message. The Cub showed his age (29, for the record) and is no doubt still on the hunt with his pack. I’m sticking to men my own age.

A man my own age. Prior to leaving for the US, I had been involved with several conversations with a man I’ll call Michael (his doppelganger is Michael Douglas a la "Romancing The Stone" era). We had planned a date upon my return. While in Colorado, I received an e-mail from him explaining that he had started seeing another woman and did not want to “write two love stories at one time”. He expressed that he hoped I wouldn’t hate him. Hmmmm…interesting choice of words considering I didn’t even know him. I assured him that I didn’t and wished him the best.

Evidently the love story had an ending and a rather quick one at that. Wrote Michael, “I didn’t waste my time”. He and I had our first date last Thursday [sidenote. Now 2 weeks ago]. It was pure magic. He did and said all the right things. Our evening began with a stop at a bar with live music. Michael, a musician among other things, borrowed the singer’s guitar, and sang, what I perceived as a love song, to me ~ his eye contact with me never wavering. What woman wouldn’t swoon over that gesture? Next came a long dinner in which we held hands across the table and gazed into each other’s eyes as we shared conversation about our families, our travels and our relationship goals.

Our next stop caught me off guard. It was a VERY cold night and neither one of us wanted the date to end. I didn’t feel comfortable inviting him to my tiny monolocale (studio apartment) and suggested another restaurant that might have a quiet bar where we could enjoy each others company. We hopped in his car and I innocently commented, “if we were in the United States, I would suggest a nice hotel with a lounge where we could listen to music and be warm and comfortable”. So, we know where this is going, right?

Holy mother of......oops...again ~ magic. However, I am left with an uneasy feeling in my gut. I went against my better judgment (perhaps my HP with a neon flashing sign?) and without alcohol, engaged in behavior that I always assumed would only be the result of being drunk. Ah, so many more things to be revealed. I can’t say what will transpire, if anything, between Michael and I. We do have another date lined up and have communicated every day…by text.

A postscript to the texting: I have asked a few Italian’s about the phenomena of SMS. As it is explained to me, speaking on the phones here is extremely costly whereas SMS is pennies on the Euro. Knowing this, I am forgiving of Michael as he, unlike the cub, does not try to have lengthy conversations on a keypad that these eyes can barely see, with reading glasses.

sidenote. My much anticipated second date with Michael is scheduled for 8 pm tonight. Our weather forecast has been iffy at best, with snow predicted. It has come and gone in Milan, for now. I'm unsure of the weather where he is an hour away. I am hopeful.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

That was my update as I wrote it on February 2nd. The balance of my "man-mania" includes:

Luca #1. A second date. He never bothered to ask a thing about me except when I thought I might be ready to spend the night with him. He's history.
Luca #2. We have a tennis date set for this Sunday. We have spent, like the others, a good deal of time "chatting" real time. The difference with this one? He hasn't mentioned sex once...well, except to point out that he hadn't mentioned it. Does that count?
Flyboy. He showed great promise by actually taking an interest in getting to know the me behind the pretty smile. Our first date became complicated by driving restrictions in Milan. I told him I'd wait to hear from him to reschedule. Still waiting.

That's it. As of yesterday I deactivated my online dating profile. Too many fucking frogs.

P.S. Just got a text from Michael letting me know that "All's fine for tonight". Hope he still feels that way when I reveal that bed won't be a part of the date this time. Time to take a step back and re-prioritize.

Friday Flash 55 ~ Checkmate AND Weekend Reflection

2010-02-04T18:11:00.002-05:00

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Flash 55
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I have discovered that online dating is like playing a chess match. I never was very good at chess.

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Weekend Reflection
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This was a a "bad photo" from a birthday dinner on a cruise ship. I have never deleted it as something about the lights and shadowy, almost ghostlike, figures have always grabbed me. It now has a rightful place to be displayed. How many people do you see? Enlarge to see them all. A little spooky.

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Hope everyone has a great weekend.

P.S. Update is coming soon.

Weekend Reflection ~ Focused Fisherman

2010-01-30T09:35:00.000-05:00

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Weekend Reflection
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While the reflections are simply sailboat masts and shadows, it was the face of the focused fisherman as he was baiting a hook, that I shot the picture for. This was taken in the early morning light in Sanary-Sur-Mer, France.

Friday Flash 55 ~ Wounded Bird

2010-01-28T19:50:00.003-05:00

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Flash 55
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The 55 below is a poem I wrote for my son. I have had a very emotion-filled 24 hours and this Friday Flash 55 rolled off my pen in less than 2 minutes. I didn't count the words, I just wrote from my heart. When I was finished all I needed was to add one more word. The story behind the poem is the post below: That Feeling in Your Gut ~ A Prayer for My Son. I am asking for your prayers for him today.

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Be grateful for the people in your life. Tell them you love them often. Be their shoulder when they need one. Take care of yourself so you can care for them when they are in need.

That Feeling in Your Gut ~ A Prayer for My Son

2010-01-28T08:30:00.005-05:00

I have come to the conclusion that my Higher Power resides in my gut.

It took me a long time to complete Step 3. I had some real struggles connecting the dots. And I did a lot of complaining ~ at meetings ~ out loud. I didn't deem it "fair" that in turning my life and will over to the care of my HP I didn't, in return, get post-it notes or neon flashing signs indicating exactly what HP's will might be for me. How in the hell is a girl of little faith supposed to know? It was explained to me by my sponsor, "Karis, that is what faith is ~ trusting that you will know". Well, well then ~ perhaps it isn't some esoteric concept after all. Yeah, right.

Call it intuition, a feeling, a hunch, an instinct ~ hell, call it a psychic phenomenon if you wish. The last 2 days I have just not felt right with my world. There has been no pinpointing of where my angst has come from, but my gut just hasn't felt right.

Yesterday I found myself reaching out in ways that are out of the ordinary for me. Firstly, I used my cell phone to make two international phone calls (something that I NEVER do because of the cost ~ I use Skype) to Hubby #1 and my mom. My message to Hubby #1 was to please phone because I haven't heard from any of the kids in 10 days and I had "a feeling". To my mom, I was returning a call ~ one I could have done from my computer, but I had a sense of urgency and need to hear her voice. Secondly, I sent an e-mail to Ex-Beau that I wouldn't have ordinarily sent. Just a quick note to let him know he had been on my mind all day, which he had ~ though I wasn't sure why nor do I send notes like that to him anymore. Lastly, I found myself on my computer, kind of zoned out and playing games, much later than I have allowed myself since my return. I finally shut it down about 1am (past my established and until-last-night-kept-to bedtime).

As I headed up to bed, something gnawed at me that caused me boot up the computer, one last time, and check Facebook. In the time it took to ready myself for bed, Hubby #1 (unwittingly on his Wall and without ever receiving my earlier message) posted a very disturbing message. It was meant to be a private e-mail, but he's evidently not well versed in the proper usage of the social network. At any rate, an immediate phone call ensued and so went the next 3 hours for me, vacillating between states of grief, numbness, shock and dismay. Son #2 (who I have spoken about in my early posts when he was visiting me in Milan) had another very drunken episode late Monday night/Tuesday morning in which he became extremely depressed and despondent. It took his roommate and Willow to break into his room to prevent him from hanging himself.

I do not post these words lightly, needless to say. I share them openly because this is where the disease of alcoholism can take us ~ young, old, rich, poor, male, female and so on and so on. My 22-year old son knows he is an alcoholic; however, he has not been ready to stop his behavior. This is not his first suicide attempt nor heart-wrenching incident as a result of his drinking. I can only pray it will be his last.

He was somber when we spoke. I could hear the unease in his voice, the vacant feeling of knowing you need to do something ~ but not wanting to or knowing how because what you really desire is that crystal ball to know it will all turn out okay. He is so very much his mother's son and I can identify with him on many levels. Perhaps this is why my heart aches so very much for him. I feel and know his pain.

My gut, my Higher Power, has guided me the past couple of days. I have been where I needed to be, when I needed to be there. Everything was aligned and all I needed to do was "show up" and have faith. And now I will pray. I will pray that my son will find his path and that someday he too will have a connection with a G-d of his understanding...perhaps something in his gut that will be reminiscent of a post-it note or neon flashing sign.

It is with great humility and gratitude that I share with you my words today. I am incredibly thankful for my program of recovery and all that it has brought into my life.

P.S. Please say a prayer for my son.

Wordless Wednesday

2010-01-27T17:48:00.001-05:00

As most of you know, I have great difficulty being wordless, but today I give it a gallant effort. I had planned on more for the day but alas, it is already over, so I leave you with photos instead. The pictures below are from my visit with my kittens that I had to give for adoption when I moved here. My how they have grown. My nail technician in Sarasota graciously gave them a home and boy-oh-boy are they ever spoiled! I am so thankful to she and her children for loving and caring for Pace and Puma. There is no doubt they have been placed well. I was able to play with them for about an hour while I was back in town. Enjoy!

Pace is ALL lap cat

Pace's tail rivals most feather dusters

Puma is quite the squirmy kitty

Regal King Puma