I could probably have blamed any number of things for my inability to meditate back then. Constant back pain; constant muscle spasms and cramps; shaking leg syndrome; PTSD; the things I had done before, during and after my addictive behavior, which made me vigilant about being aware of everything going on all around me at all times; and so on, and so forth, ad infinitum, ad nauseum.

It wasn’t until I took a Step Workshop, and we got around to the 11th Step, that I finally had some success in the meditation department. Mind you, it didn’t happen immediately; it didn’t happen all the time; and it also doesn’t always work for me. But I’ve had more success with meditation when I do it the Workshop way than with any other meditation trial I’ve encountered, having tried a great many over the years!

In addition, with a loss of feeling in my left leg, the loss of use of my left foot, and the nerve damage from my military, service-connected disability, it isn’t always easy to follow the spirit of the exercise.

And lest we forget that the 11th Step doesn’t stop after improving our conscious contact with God as we understood Him – through our prayer and meditation – it goes on to tell us what, exactly, we are to pray about – which is only the knowledge of His will for us, and the power to carry that out.

But getting back to the Workshop, in order to meditate, everyone laid down on the floor; then got into a position that was comfortable. Then concentrate on your breathing. In and out; in and out; in and out….

While concentrating on breathing, individually raise each limb, one at a time, slowly, just a little off the ground and let it drop back to a natural, neutral position. First the left leg. Lift it slightly and let it fall easily. Right leg next. Up; and drop. Continue to concentrate on your breathing.

Next, do your arms, one at a time, same drill. Breathe. Hips. Torso. Carefully, your head and neck. Breathe.

Now imagine, during each inhalation, that you are breathing in clean, clear, fresh, give-you-goosebumps, air; and on each exhalation you are expelling dirty, blockage-causing, pore-closing air.

Additionally, with each inhalation, starting at the very top of your head and increasing as you go; filling you more and more, cleaning and refreshing as it takes over; you can feel the clean, goosebumps-air tingling. First your hair tingles; then your head; then your face.

It continues through your neck and down your chest; and back and belly. You are filling up with good, clean air; and the soot is flowing out with every exhale.

Finally, you are completely relaxed and clear from the very top of your head to the very bottom of your toes. And that’s where my HP dwells.

I love this Program!

Que sera. But while munching down on some Hebrew National Hot Dogs and chicken quarters, I was approached by a couple of close friends and fellow congregants. They told me of a man, just getting out of the military.  He has a disability.  He showed up at services a couple of times.  He was having some trouble with finances and housing, as he just celebrated 90 days clean. I was approached for obvious reasons; and I was asked if I would mind calling this gentleman and taking it from there.

Well, I got the number, waited until my daughter had gone to sleep, then checked the clock. It was 10pm. With 90 days clean. Lemme see.

Meeting at 8 or 8:30; over at 9:30; talk for a few minutes; maybe share with the speaker or chairperson about something we have in common; head back to the ‘house’ before curfew. Yup, 10pm would be a good time to call.

So I called the man. Indeed he was in either a treatment facility or a half or 3/4 -way house. And right after I let him know who I was and why I was calling, I gave him my stats: Clean, NA, disabled vet, Jewish War Veteran… and then I listened.

He spoke for about 15 minutes. He’s got 90 days clean. He lives in a town a little ways out from me, because it has a VA Medical Center, because he wants to be near the VAMC. And then I listened to the drama and the pain.

The drama sounded all too familiar. Nowhere to go when I get out. I’m not yet on VA Compensation. I’m in a great deal of pain because of my disability. My hearing isn’t until September or January.

Did I say, “I” and “my”? How coincidental!

He said that he wants to meet. He said that he wants to go to a meeting. He said that he wants to join some of the groups that I belong to. He said what I said. Or was it what I wanted to hear? Or was it what he thought I wanted to hear? Or was it what I thought the guy I was talking to wanted to hear?

I gave him the best direction I could. But he’s got 90 days clean and has so much drama and pain. I don’t know what he heard. I know what I heard back on that day that I reached out for help. I heard the guy on the phone telling me, “You’re in luck – there’s a meeting right down the block from you at 8pm – and I could meet you there.”

I told him that he was in luck, too. And I told him that I know that it works. I hope talking to him helps keep him clean one more day.

One of the things we were told when I was working the Helpline is that it’s a successful 12th Step call if I stay clean. I did. And I’ll probably reach out to him again in a few days.

I love this Program!

Interestingly, none of the people that I Sponsored have ever stayed with me through all of my trials and tribulations, let alone theirs. All of those that I have Sponsored eventually found people that they liked/wanted/needed as a Sponsor more than they liked/wanted/needed me. I can assure you that I am all right with that. That, like everything else in my recovery, comes when I can handle it, because He/She/It/ knows that I can handle it, even if I don’ think I can or I question it!

I would like to name a few of those relationships, if not by name than at least by situation; and show how it worked in my life and recovery. First, however, I need to give you a little background – that is, for those of you that have never read my writings or heard anything about me.

I came into my first meeting on a motorcycle. I had long hair, tattoos, and wore a leather jacket. I came from New York, traveled a bit to try and get away from myself, and ended up in Florida to avoid a legal situation. The rest of my story is just like yours: I used drugs, drugs used me, I hit a bottom, and I ended up In The Rooms. The details are just window dressing.

Needless to say, which means I probably need to, (or someone will test the theory themselves), I became a part of a recovery motorcycle club, which was a support club for the lead club in the area, and spent most of my free time riding my bike or going to meetings. Let me add, too, that this was at a time when people actually rode before getting clean. But I digress.

So one day, with about 4 years clean, I pulled up to a meeting held at a warehouse in North Miami with a few of my brothers, and up walks (NOTE: Names will be changed, where appropriate, to protect anonymity. So, for this story’s purposes, I will call him ‘Bruce’) Bruce. Bruce was a flaming homosexual (do I sound homophobic enough?). Bruce had flowing blond hair, walked with a sway and a swagger, carried a clutch purse, was a tiny little thing; and couldn’t stay clean.

In the middle of all this leather and machismo, Bruce came straight to me and asked me if I would Sponsor him; in front of all my brothers. I asked, “Why me?” And his answer was, “I like your recovery. I listen to you share. I watch you live what you say. I would like to have that.” Which, of course, couldn’t have been a better answer.

I called and asked my Sponsor if it was a good idea – and of course he said that it was. So I called Bruce. I told him that he needed to realize that there was going to come a time when he would want to share stuff with me that I had absolutely no point of reference for; and that either he or I would need to find someone else for him to talk to about those things. He said that he understood, so we started a relationship.

I don’t know what happened to him. After a while he had a different Sponsor; went a different path; found a new way; something; but I don’t Sponsor him any more. Point being, that I never needed to find anyone else for him to talk to – he used drugs, drugs used him, he hit a bottom, and he found himself In The Rooms. The rest was just window dressing.

Some years later I found myself in another part of the world. One day, a black guy (who I’ll call ‘David’) who recently got out of prison, who was a member of a black prison gang while incarcerated, who had a really big chip on his shoulder for ‘whitey’, asked me to Sponsor him. Once again I asked my Sponsor. Once again he said, “Yes.” Once again I let him know that there would come a time that I couldn’t relate. Once again I started a relationship.

After a while he got a different Sponsor; or went on a different path; or found a new way. I don’t Sponsor him any more. Although I have to say that I never needed to find anyone else for him to talk to. Y’see, he used drugs, drugs used him, he hit a bottom, and he found himself In The Rooms. The rest was, well, y’know.

Some time later I was approached by a lady in recovery. I called and asked my Sponsor. I told her that she needed to realize that there was going to come a time when she would want to share stuff with me that I had absolutely no point of reference for. We started a relationship. You would think that I would learn. She used drugs, drugs used her, she hit a bottom, and she found herself In The Rooms. I never needed to find anyone else for her to talk to.

Today I Sponsor one lady and one guy. She has over 20 years clean. He has over 20 days. I didn’t ask my Sponsor this time. I hear his voice in my head so often, I think he knew before I did. Hell, he mighta sent them! I didn’t make any pre-relationship speeches about what might or might not happen with them. Most times I feel as if the Sponsoring does more for me than them. Most times it is so rewarding that I cannot imagine what recovery would be like if I wasn’t Sponsoring them.

It would sure be nice if they could stay with me through all of my trials and tribulations – and theirs. But the thing is, I don’t have a plaque on my wall saying, “I have (so many) Sponsees” and then need to change it each time I add one or one leaves me. But, whatever happens, I know I can handle it, because He/She/It/ knows that I can, even if I don’t know it myself.

Furthermore, I am truly grateful for the opportunity and the give-and-take that I get; that makes me a better person; that being a Sponsor surely does for me.

I love this Program!

I’m not entirely sure why, but being at a hotel a mile from my home, sitting here in the middle of the day, got me thinking about other times that I was away from home and other places that could have kept me that way; things and places from the before part of my life.

In no particular order, 5 items ring clear and loud about times when, if there was nobody looking out for me, and coincidence and circumstance could not explain it, I could have had a very different life. The first one I think about is a time when I was muling across the country and I got pulled over by the Border Patrol in New Mexico. They had dogs and a road block and went over every third car with a fine tooth comb. I was a third car and my load was in one of the three toolboxes I kept in my trunk. But when they asked me to open my trunk, I queried, “May I ask what it is you’re looking for?”

The reply was, “Illegal aliens.”

So when he then asked me if I would open up one of my toolboxes, I asked, “How many illegal aliens do you think I can fit in those toolboxes?”

With that, he chuckled and let me go.

Another time I was heading to New York from Miami and as I waited in line at the airport to drop off my suitcases, I was grabbed by the arm and escorted into a men’s bathroom by three men in dark suits. There, the man closest to me, still holding my arm, told me to go into a stall and flush whatever I didn’t want him to find before he came in to search me. So I did. And then he did. And then they brought me back to the line and I completed that trip with no further inconveniences.

Another time, close to my bottom, I was riding my motorcycle to cop, wearing dark sunglasses, a full-faced helmet, a t-shirt, shorts and sneakers. I know. What an asshole.

But there I was, in cop-town, buying cut dope from corner boys. And I took the heat sealed, shrink wrapped, plastic bags and shoved them in my sneaker and took off. But before I got out of the general area, I was pulled over and practically strip searched on the side of the road. The cro-magnon in blue told me to take off my sneakers and shake them out in front of him. And since I wasn’t wearing any socks, I slipped the sneaker off, just knowing I was about to see my world go up in smoke – pardon the pun.

But lo and behold, the baggie stuck to the bottom of my foot; and after I got my kicks back on my feet, the guy let me get back on my bike and he let me go. Which I gladly did, at record speed.

Another time, again loaded with my wares, I boarded a north bound bus in Fort Lauderdale, on my way to a delivery in Maryland. Not 30 minutes into the ride, the bus was pulled over and cops boarded the bus and did random searches. My bag was searched and when they found my footballs of product I was told to follow the cops off the bus and not to make a scene.

Doing like I was told, I followed the lawmen off the bus; but when they continued forward, toward a parked sty-car about one hundred feet ahead, I slowed down to put some space between us.  Then, when I thought they were far enough ahead of me, I turned and ran.  And I kept running until I could run no more. Seeing how they never caught up to me, if they even tried, I used a pay phone and called a friend to come and get me.

To say that there were no consequences would be a lie. For one, when the guy I was delivering for found out that I had lost another shipment, he came to my house, grabbed my .357 from under my couch, pointed it at me and pulled the trigger. During those days I always left the first chamber empty for superstitious reasons.  That day my superstitions came in handy.  When the gun only clicked and did not blow my head off, my boss put it down, asked me to repeat the story again, and then he left without further incident.

Why now?  Why these things?  I won’t even attempt to guess.  Although, when I look at what I have today; what I surround myself with; who I surround myself with; who I share my personal stuff with; and who shares and trusts in me, I cannot be thankful enough for all of the things that I have been given since I got clean, regardless of whether they are physical, spiritual or otherwise.

Furthermore, there are still some bad days. There are still bad things that happen once in a while. However, when I look at all the good days, good things, good friends, good relationships, and good feelings about myself, I can’t help it but be grateful for the way my life is turning out.

I love this program!

Getting back to what I was saying, this is a topic that I have mixed feelings about, because if you need help, I am the the guy who tries to help you. However, I was always told that I needed to make the effort, if I wanted to stay clean. That I needed to ask someone to sponsor me, if I wanted a Sponsor – and if i wanted that person to be that Sponsor. I was told that I needed to show my willingness.  If I wanted what you had and I was willing to make the effort to get it, then I was ready to take these Steps.

I want you to have a Sponsor.  I want you to recover.  I’d love to help you.  The Program is one of my favorite topics of discussion.  But I have to believe that if it worked for me the way it worked for all those before me and a whole lot after me, than doing it that same way not only will work for you, it really is the only way I know of for it to work for you.  This is about us being alike and recovering; not finding differences and using those differences as reservations.

So, with mixed feelings I reiterate that I’m available to sponsor. I am willing to Sponsor. I work a Program. I have a Sponsor. He works a Program. He has a Sponsor.  And so on. And, by the way, my Sponsor can probably beat up your Sponsor – and he’s fairly well known, too.

Now, returning once again to the original subject, I think, that from now on though, I am no longer going to send people messages saying the same thing every time. “Hi. I understand you are looking for a Sponsor. If you’re interested, I am available. I work the Steps. I have a Sponsor. I live a Spiritually fulfilled life; and I have the time, the energy and willingness to Sponsor you.”

No. From now on, if someone wants me to Sponsor them, just like it was for me and just like it was for hundreds of thousands just like me, if you are willing to make the effort to get what I have – and you want what I have – than just like it was for me and all those others, you need to make the effort to get it; and you need to ask me to be your Sponsor.

So, for the last time, again, if you are looking for a Sponsor, and if you’re interested; I am available to Sponsor. I work the Steps. I have a Sponsor. I live a Spiritually fulfilled life; and I have the time, the energy and I have the willingness to Sponsor you.

I love this Program!

You might think that it’ simply because I lived in Chapel Hill for 10 years. But that really doesn’t explain why the rest of the country hates Dook, too.

Or it might be that I love the color of the sky when it’s a bright beautiful day and that darker blue means it’s gonna rain. But that really doesn’t explain why people who like burnt orange, green and gold, maroon, or any other college school colors that aren’t Carolina Blue also hate Dook.

Or you might think that it’s either because I am an adamant North Carolina fan, win or lose, rain or shine; or that they’re both in the ACC and have to play each other numerous times over the course of a year’s worth of college sporting events. But that doesn’t explain why the War Eagles or the Jayhawks or the Red Raiders also hate Dook.

No, it goes much deeper. And sometimes it’s hard to explain. But for the entire country that is not Durham, North Carolina and Princeton, New Jersey, I’m going to give you a few notes to help youse put your finger on some of the reasons we can all get behind the “I Hate Dook” movement.

If you’re wondering why I spell it, “D-O-O-K”, it’s because the other spelling burns a whole in my screen. And I have to give thanks to Reed Tucker and Andy Bagwell for getting me started. Although their book gets a tad comical and ridiculous at times, some of their more realistic and important discussions led to my in-depth pursuit of the truth.

First up, is their basketball coach’s attitude and his remarks. Am I jealous that he has the most wins of any NCAA coach? No. He’s been around the longest. If I coached that long I could pile up an impressive number of wins. The fact that he doesn’t hold the highest winning percentage proves my point. If you coach for 50 years and have a .500 winning percentage, but you have 1000 wins, it also means you have 1000 losses. I’d much rather be coached by someone who has been coaching 30 years and has .850 winning percentage. Wouldn’t you?

Once again, no, it’s not jealousy! But let’s listen in on a few of his comments and look at some of his out- of-a-time-out play-calls.

Let’s go back to 1992, during a tie game with just seconds to go: Dook’s Laettner smashes his elbow into Montross’ face, sending blood all over the court and making it hard for Eric to see. He went to the foul line and made both to win the game 75-73, but that’s just the start. The hits just keeps coming.

In 2003, Dook’s Jones broke Wake Forest’s Gray’s jaw “setting a screen”. But wait there’s more. Jones also elbowed UNC’s Felton in the face 2 months later and sent blood flying everywhere. And according to an NBA analyst, in 2005 he tackled Shawn Marrion in the playoffs, and in 2009, he committed three flagrant fouls in the playoffs – 2 in 2 consecutive games. A behavior he was taught by K-however-it’s-pronounced.

In 2005, K-whatever-he’s-called changed the starting lineup before a Wake game to send the never used reserve named Davidson in solely to be a thorn in the side of Wake’s point guard, Wes Paul. After continuously fouling Paul until the fouls caused him to be pulled, he received a hug and a congratulatory smack on the butt from head coach, K-wherever-he’s-from.

Oh, you’re thinking, “Bam got this one wrong. The Coach is always allowed to change the starting line-up. Maybe this was a no-meaning game and the guys wanted to play once before graduating college?” No, this game meant a spot in the rankings and the chance for a bid to the NCAA Big Dance and it came on the heels (pardon the pun) of a 2 game losing streak for the down in the dumps, feeling blue Devils.

Additionally, in 2007, after Dook’s Henderson sends his elbow into Hansbrough’s nose, breaking it and sending blood all over the court, because they were losing by 6 with 14 seconds left, K-however-it’s-spelled made the remark to the press that it was UNC’s fault it happened because the starters shouldn’t still be on the court when the game is almost over.

In other words, he never leaves starters on the court until the end of the game, even if it’s only a 6 point game; and if he ever did, it would be fine with him if the opposition smashed their elbows into his players’ faces? I wonder if we can take him up on that?

Oh, I got more. Lots more. But this should get you started until I get around to Part Deux. And anyway, what does this have to do with recovery? Well, you can only get clean and stay clean if you work the Steps and learn to hate Dook.

I love this Program.

Which got me to thinking; I have a neighbor like that where I live; and I have a couple of neighbors like that out at Caiman Ranch; and with my luck, I’ll have a neighbor or two like that where we just bought another 10 acre ranch down in SW Texas.

And the other thing I was thinking was that I remember how different it was when I was growing up. How people didn’t call the cops when a couple of kids were in a fight.

Everyone stood around and watched and made sure it didn’t get dirty and when the fighting was done, we became friends. And I know this because a few of those fights, I was in, and I became friends with a few of those guys. One of the closest, I think, was after a fight with Duck. We scraped a bit and got scraped up a bit, but later that week we were back at the Penny, shooting pool and making fun of some transient bar customers.

There were also some exceptions to that rule, like for some reason these two brothers, Pat and Dan, just don’t want anything to do with me or my brother, even today, but, c’est la vie. And then there was the Bird Brigade; boys like Sandor and his minions, who would never fight if they were alone or if there were more than one of us, but were very brave when there was a group of them and only one of us.

But today, even if you live in a cul-de-sac, if you park your car in front of your house facing the (lack of a) flow of traffic, that asshat is sure to call the cops. If you park your trailer on the street overnight because you’re gonna fill it with trash and bring it to the landfill in the morning, that asshat will call the cops.

Back in the day, you would egg their car on Halloween and toilet paper their house. But today, some other asshat with a phone will video tape it and then the asshat will call the cops.

I guess, the bottom line today is that I follow a set of spiritual principles that prevent me from toilet papering the neighbor’s house or throwing eggs at their car … most of the time. But they always continue to help me improve as a person and have kept me out of jail for quite some time!

I love this Program!

Lemme ‘splain: When I was using, like everyone else I know, I used any excuse to get loaded; it was raining, it was sunny, I failed at something, I aced something. Hell, I used if you failed or aced something!

So, this is how my last few months have gone:

We went to visit relatives for Thanksgiving. Actually, we added the visit to the relatives to explain the other thing that we were doing. Y’see, we planned a trip around a UNC football game in Blacksburg, Virginia, followed 5 days later by a UNC basketball game at the Dean Dome. Then we added a visit to my cousin, my sister-in-law and an aunt, in various places around North Carolina.

Then we headed to New York for Thanksgiving with my wife’s mother-in-law. And on the way home we stopped at the Crayola Factory in Pennsylvania and the Safari Park in Virginia for my daughter (and her mother!).

Then, what should have been a quiet, relaxing ride back to Austin, was anything but. We made it to Alabama just in time for the traffic heading home from the Alabama-Auburn football game; and it was dark and rainy. Then in the stop and go of I-20 traffic we get rear ended by a kid in a big pick-up truck.

Thankfully, he told me and the investigating officer the two things you probably should not be telling the other party and the investigating officer: “I’m so sorry. I know it’s my fault. I had just told my mom I was 20 miles further down the road and was just trying to hurry up and get there because I was with my girlfriend, who my mother doesn’t like.”

Everyone was relatively all right, for being in an accident; and we drove home, only to be told by our insurance that the truck is totaled and we can’t drive it anymore because it can’t be insured. Then fighting to get a check from the insurance company, so that we could make a down payment on a new truck; and making appointments to see doctors and chiropractors and lawyers. Oh, my.

After a few weeks of hassle, we decided to go to Shreveport for the UNC Bowl game, to relax a little. We end up spending enough time and money on the tables that we got our room and food “comped” for the whole weekend.

And once we get home, we get a call from the Sheriff’s office that our neighbors are once again complaining that we aren’t feeding our horses. Don’t you just wish people who have no idea what they’re talking about would just shut the hell up and drop dead!

In case you’re worried, there’s nothing wrong with the horses – in fact, the vet was out this week and gave them a new Coggins, updated their vaccinations and deworming meds, and gave them a clean bill of health.

And then it’s New Years Eve and New Years Day and I’m another year “clean.”
So, as I look back on all of the things that have happened, all at the same time, I can’t help but think that any one of those little things, all by themselves, would have been enough to get loaded over in years past. Yet, here I am, having lived through them all, in just 2 short months, and I’m celebrating another year clean. Not for nothin’, but that really is recovery.

I love this program.

It all started simply enough. We were invited to go to New York, to spend Thanksgiving with my wife’s in-laws. We looked at the driving directions and then at the UNC football and basketball schedules and the following is all about what happened next.

On 13 November 2011, at 9pm central time, we set out from Texas; my wife, Terri; me; and our almost two-year-old toddler, Bella. Because she’s only just turning two, we drove each day until Bella was through, not when we were. So, every two hours or so, we stopped for gas, to stretch our legs, to change the baby, or to grab a snack or a meal before heading back on our way. No “DTs”; no jonesin’. No rippin’, runnin’, or copping.

Our first planned stop was in Birmingham, on 14 November, at 6pm, local, where we met up with my brother, Tim, who always comes with me to the game. We ate there and spent the night, and continued the next morning at 4am.

On 15 November, at about 3pm local, we stopped at our Cousin Lesley’s house in Ashville, North Carolina and had dinner with Lesley, Joe and Britt. We were off again by 7pm.

On 16 November, at about 11:30pm, local time, we arrived in Christiansburg, Virginia. The next day, 17 November, we went to Virginia Tech’s campus, in Blacksburg, Virginia. We tailgated with the only other UNC fans we could find in the snow, and then went into the Inn, on campus, for a Ram’s Club buffet. Then, in 20 degree temperatures and only an hour or so after the first snow, we took our seats. The next morning, 18 November, we set out for Chapel Hill.

We arrived at the Courtyard in Chapel Hill on 18 November at about 4pm local time. We visited a sister in Creedmoor and got back to the hotel at about 10pm, for the night.

On 19 November we visited an aunt in Holly Springs and had a nice relaxing day. The following day, 20 November, we hit Franklin Street, a few must-see sights in Chapel Hill and then went down to the Dean Dome to see the Tar Heels tip-off against the MVSU.

The following morning, 21 November, we checked out of the hotel and headed to New York. We arrived in New York 2 days later. We had Thanksgiving Day dinner with the ‘rents; and left to go home on the 25th.

On the way home, we took the fastest route projected by our GPS, instead of the picturesque view we took on the way up. On the way home, there were no mountains, no colored leaves filling the trees, no country roads; just straight highway and 70-75 mile an hour speed limits. And no fear of police intervention!

In Pennsylvania, we saw a sign for the Crayola Factory, and had to stop. Then in Virginia we saw a sign for Safari Park and had to stop. Then we drove and stopped for another two days, until in Alabama we were rear ended, while driving in traffic, in the rain

And yet again, there was no fear of police action, since we were hit from behind; and not only were we not loaded, but we weren’t even considering using. Not before, not during, and not afterward!

Then one more day’s worth of driving and we were back at home, sleeping in our own bed, a little bit stiff, a little bit sore, but clean, happy and relatively healthy.

I love this program!

And one of the things that I’m doing to prepare for the trip is to get the truck in good condition; clean it, make sure the oil is up to snuff, check the fluids and tires, get it tuned up, and do every other normal interaction that takes place between a car and a car-guy.

On a side note: That’s something that my kids just don’t understand. And never will. It seems that with the advent of computers and cell phones and all the other tech-stuff, there are no more “car-guys” any more. And that’s a shame.

Anyway, getting back. Once the truck has been sufficiently groped and prodded, I plan to sit down and write out a temporary itinerary. I know there are certain times and instances we need to be at specific places; like on 17 November we need to be in Blacksburg, Virginia, because we have tickets for the UNC vs Virginia Tech football game; and on 20 November we need to be in Chapel Hill, because we have tickets to the UNC Basketball game at the Dean Dome; and we need to be in New York by Thanksgiving – no, there’s no UNC game in NY that day – well, not that I know of, anyway.

And because there are friends and family along the way, I would like to try and fit at least a few of them into our schedule so we can see as many as possible, not knowing when we will be out that way again.

And that’s where things got funny. I sat back, while looking at Google Maps, and thought about they way things were back then. You know what I mean by “back then.” I was thinking about how I used to think about what was going to happen and how I would write a “script” for all of it.

Oh, c’mon: I would come home and she would be mad; and she would say this and I would say this; and she would say this and I would say this; and she would say this or this – and I would answer this.  Then she would do this and I would say this; and she would say this or this, and I would say this.  Then she would say this, I would say this, and it would be over.

So I’d come home and she would be mad; but damn it, the bitch forgot her lines!

Not today, thank you!

I love this program!