Book of Jamez

55 y/o malcontent, something of a writer

Author: Jamez

  • Love Songs

    It wouldn’t be fair to say that I don’t have any love songs in my music collection, but it sure seems that way. Most of the songs in my current rotation that have to do with love are about loves lost, taken away, unobtainable or forgotten. Other songs are usually about “self” and finding your way back to yourself… not sure what that’s about.

    I do have some love songs: “Love, Love Me Do” The Beatles, “Love is a Beautiful Thing” Phil Vassar, “Let’s Make Love” Tim McGraw and Faith Hill, “Greatest Love of All” Whitney Houston… and so on.

    But the majority of the love songs are about the unobtainable or lost love: “Jessie’s Girl” Rick Springfield,  “I Miss You A Little” John Michael Montgomery, “Every Time I Hear Your Name” Keith Anderson… And the rest of my songs are about life situations and dealing with them… well except for a few Modest Mouse, Queensryche, Weird Al… I do like variety.

    Maybe it’s just I can’t find the right love song to match what I’m feeling, that’s possible. But then I hear a phrase in this song or a chorus in this one that almost meets what I need.  I guess I’ll just keep listening and hope to find the one song or several that put it all in the right spot for me.

    Maybe no one ever finds the right love song, that’s why there are so many – we all keep looking for the one that puts it all to music.

    For me today “Look At Me” on Carrie Underwood’s new CD, Play On, is pretty close. 😉 Maybe it’ll stay as the song and maybe it’ll change, I guess that’s the nature of music and love.

  • What does untreated alcoholism look like?

    What does untreated alcoholism look like?

    Maybe it’s not what you think it is. It’s not just the bum lying on the sidewalk with a brown paper bag reeking of alcohol, nor the guy or gal that comes to the bar every night and passes out or gets in trouble.

    My mothers stepfather was an alcoholic (not supposed to diagnose others as alcoholics – but if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck…). At 60 some years of age a doctor told him that he had to quit drinking or he would die. So he did – all by his lonesome. Grandpa was one of the orneriest people I’d ever met when I was a kid and we had a code word for when he was in a particularly dangerous drunk and it was time to high tail it out of there. When he was not drinking his disposition didn’t change much, if anything he got angrier and angrier. Until eventually one day my sister found him in his apartment where he had shot himself in the head. Untreated alcoholism.

    We can see it in A.A. meetings to. The drunk that keeps going back out to experiment – doing more research. They keep coming back and we keep hoping this time they will get it, this time they will start to change. Sometimes they “get it” after the first relapse, sometimes after the 50th and sadly sometimes never at all. But other people who help those folks try, they stay sober and the act of them helping the person who is struggling shores up their own sobriety ten fold. Our book says:

    “Of alcoholics who came to A.A. and really tried, 50% got sober at once and remained that way; 25% sobered up after some relapses, and among the remainder, those who stayed on with A.A. showed improvement. Other thousands came to a few A.A. meetings and at first decided they didn’t want the program. But great numbers of these—about two out of three—began to return as time passed.” Alcoholics Anonymous, page xx

    Those are some encouraging numbers and keep up my hopes.

    We see a different kind of untreated alcoholism in A.A. in addition to the chronic relapser. That’s the alcoholic who’s been coming to meetings for 19 odd years but not growing spiritually. They may be angry, indignant, self-pitying most of the time and sometimes they catch a sliver of serenity that brings a brief respite to the turmoil of their mind. But more often than not its only lip service. Their hoping to stay sober by osmosis, leeching off the wellness of others incognito.

    Sadly, they’ve only put the plug in the jug and not taken the action steps to recover. There’s an old saying in A.A. “What do you get if you sober up a horse thief? A sober horse thief.” Our liquor was but a symptom, and working the steps we get down to causes and conditions which lead to finding a power greater than ourselves to recover. It’s not easy, but usually it’s less painful than a dry drunk.

    I believe there is a solution to alcoholism in the 12 steps. I believe, based on my own experience, that it is a limitless load of serenity and happiness – if I work for it.

  • The In Between Place

    I’m not the best speller just ask my boss who frequently corrects things that I type for him. In high school I was worse I misspelled several things that I look back on now as just foolish, how on earth could I spell those things wrong. I’ve found that the more I realize my mistakes and correct them the more I remember how a word should be spelled and then I catch myself, mid word sometimes, and correct it.

    One of the words I used to misspell in high school was friend. I always wanted to put the e before the i and kept getting corrected on papers when using the word.  Until one day Ms. Gretch, my English lit teacher, explained how to spell it.

    “A friend will always END”

    I’ve never forgotten that. It seems a little harsh to be telling a high schooler, but it really did work.

    Sadly, it also appears to be true.

  • but, that's not the miracle…

    This last weekend I was at the Gopher State Roundup in Bloomington, MN. Over 8,000 people attend this round up each year and it can be a bit overwhelming. I haven’t been in a few years, the last time I was in town for the Roundup there were about 4,500 folks, so it just keeps growing. At the Saturday night speaker we found ourselves without seats in the main room, thankfully they show all the speakers on the closed circuit TV that you can see in your bed room.

    Love and Tolerance was the theme this year, I only heard two of the speakers reference it even though a huge banner was draped over the curtain right behind them. Almost every speaker did have one phrase in common though: “but, that’s not the miracle…”. Each one said it about some part of their journey in recovery and why it wasn’t as special as the real miracle.

    I had met several old friends who live in the greater Minneapolis area and go to meetings up there, it was nice to catch up and relive old times. Each of them, without mentioning it, reminded me of how pissed off I was in AA. It really made me remember all the bitterness, intolerance and selfishness that I displayed and honestly felt during the first few years of my recovery. Some people still fondly remember me as the “angry guy”.

    You see, in early recovery I still thought I should run the show and believe me, my actors and actresses kept screwing up the production. I would honestly look around the room before the meeting a criticize (in my own head most of the time) what others had done to help set up or get ready, sometimes even what they were wearing. Didn’t they know how important this was to me? Didn’t they understand how hard I was struggling to just make it through a day – they could at least try to do things the right way. But of course that was me being my selfish, self-centered, ego-centric self and wondering why you didn’t realize that pleasing me was the most important job in AA.

    At one particular meeting I was so angry you probably could have toasted marshmallows near me, other people were not living up to my expectations one more time and I was just pissed. My friend at the time turned to me and said: “no one said you have to stay here”. That was it, I really needed to hear that and I looked at her, relieved and walked out of the meeting and away from that group, but that’s not the miracle…

    Luckily, I didn’t drink or go postal during this time but I assure you that was probably where I was headed if I didn’t find release soon. I didn’t know what to believe in anymore, I had seen the program work in other people and knew that something had happened that gave them an entire psychic change, something or someone gave them a solution. I didn’t have that nor did I really know how to get that all I really knew to do was read the Big Book and pray to a God I didn’t really want to believe in. That’s all I needed to stay sober – taking actions that didn’t believe would work. But, that’s not the miracle…

    For years after leaving this meeting I would attend meetings, I wasn’t interested in sharing my experience, strength, and hope as far as I was concerned my experience was flawed, my strength missing and I had little hope. I would listen to people yammer on in meetings about their problems, rarely hearing a solution (the book, the steps) and sometimes would be so pissed off again that I would stand up and walk out of the meeting. Sometimes I would walk out just knowing who the lead was, that person will never grow or change and I’m not interested in hearing the same crap that they’ve said countless times before. That’s not real recovery that’s just bringing your body and hoping that you learn by osmosis.

    I was in double digit so-called sobriety still the angry young man. I was lost and just didn’t know it. I had put my Big Book on a shelf to collect dust, hadn’t talked to God in quite a long time (unless something was wrong and I needed a pinch hitter), and wasn’t trying to be of service to anyone except myself. I didn’t drink in any of these years, nor take a drug… but I might as well have. I had the chance to go to a meeting with my friend Suzanne out of state and I spent the whole time obsessing about what they didn’t do right that I didn’t hear the message. Afterward, Suzanne remarked on the powerful stories of the speakers and I just wasn’t at the same meeting – I was still director and my actors were out of control again.

    So that’s how I found myself on a ship, a cruise ship, looking out over a beautiful starlit sky and thinking to myself “If I just throw myself off that would be the end of it.” That thought shook me, how did I get here again, how was I at the jumping off place? I was honestly pretty frightened and avoided the balcony the rest of the trip. I was lost, again.

    When I returned home I sought out help from someone who had what I wanted – serenity. I explained that I was lost and asked for direction and help finding a path again. I committed myself to shaking everyone’s hand before a meeting. I started reading my Big Book regularly again. I sought out step meetings and examples of service and action. Slowly, I got better (I guess that’s a personal opinion).

    The miracle is that I asked for help.

    The miracle is that I remembered “Faith without works is dead”.

    The miracle is that the anger is gone.

    The miracle is that I remembered God doesn’t make to hard terms to those who seek him.

    The miracle is things are exactly as they are meant to be and every once in a while, in the group therapy sessions the locals think is AA, I hear the real message of Alcoholics Anonymous and remember that someone else might be hearing it too.

  • I Am A Foster Child

    May is National Foster Care Month

    I am foster child.

    There are stories of kids saved from abused homes, whose families have died, who have run away from home or who were rescued from other horrible circumstances… I’m not one of those. I was a bad kid.

    In my teenage years I was a thief, a vandal and a poor student. I had no respect for those around me and didn’t ask for any in return. I was of nothing, surrounded by nothing and wanted nothing.  I was living with my grandmother when I was a teen as my Mother could not be bothered. I used my cunning and guile to take advantage of my grandmother, stealing money, manipulating her and generally getting my way. I would have likely continued that behavior until I turned 18 or killed myself which ever came first.

    Fortunately for me, and for my grandmother, I messed up. I broke into one of her locked rooms and ransacked it for booze money and was shortly apprehended by the authorities, placed in a group home for the weekend.

    When the social worker picked me up from the group home on that Monday morning he informed me that I was being placed in Foster Care in Galesville, WI (about 20 miles south of where I lived) where they hoped – away from all my fellow hooligans – I would straighten out and fly right.

    I arrived with the social worker at this long brown house at the edge of the town of Galesville, I’d been to Galesville before to see a dentist as a kid but didn’t think much of the place – at 15 I still didn’t and this house on the edge of town wasn’t making a good first impression.

    Inside that house I found two of the oldest people ever (they were perhaps in their early 40s back then) with gray hair and the lady sitting in rocking chair knitting. I knew immediately that I would be able to manipulate these people as easily as I had my grandmother. I was given some basic rules, shown to my room and introduced to Steve who was a kid who had lived with this family for a long, long time.

    It was scary that first night, I don’t think I slept much. I didn’t know these people, didn’t want to know them and definitely wasn’t staying.  School was out for me as it was the end of the school year and I would have the entire summer to get to know these people. Not an exciting prospect at the time.

    What happened for me in that foster home was everything that I needed. The foster parents, Ma and Pa as I call them affectionately, taught me about life as I had never considered it before. We had dinner each night and talked about our days, we did chores together, they gave me an allowance, taught me how to wake up for school on my own, held me accountable, and even gave me my first job of mowing lawns.

    Ma and Pa, their biological children and Steve, helped me learn basic fundamental things that were foreign concepts to me. Behaviors were formed that might never have had the chance to thrive in the environments that I was exposed to back home.

    Now don’t believe that spending 3 years in Foster Care turned me into an angel – far from it. I got in my share of scrapes as a young adult even spending a weekend in jail and going through drug and alcohol treatment twice.

    The thing is the life lessons that I learned in my foster home are still in my head and have kept me from making the disastrous decisions that were only a few steps out of reach. I go to work on time, I put forth my best effort, I try to help others – just some of the things I learned in my foster home.

    Best of all was that my foster family loved me, they still do. My Pa died two years ago and it was the hardest thing I ever experienced and I cried openly as my heart lost a huge piece. I talk to my Ma and the rest of the family regularly; I go “home” at least once a year and now try to spend Christmas’s with them. I also took the steps to change my last name to theirs, as an honor to Pa and the love that I’ve received.

    Somewhere out there a boy or a girl are looking for a family, maybe a temporary family, maybe their just looking for a little bit of hope. Maybe they just need to be loved, maybe they just need to be shown another way, and perhaps their heart could use some tending.

    Consider today becoming a foster parent, I think it was a rewarding experience for my Ma and Pa as they did it for about 20 years. I can only testify that it was beneficial to me and to several of the other kids that came through when I was there – I still talk to some of them today and most of them still call home to check on Ma.

    If you’ve ever considered it or are now curious, here are a few links to look into it.

    Foster Care Month: http://www.fostercaremonth.org/Pages/default.aspx

    American Academy of Child & Adolescent Psychiatry http://www.aacap.org/cs/root/facts_for_families/foster_care

  • Time, so precious

    I’m having a reoccurring nightmare.

    I walk up the stairs to my bedroom when I have gotten home and I peek into Gary’s room seeing just his brown shoes and slacks. I assume he’s listening to his music lying on the floor, don’t know why he would be but I just go into my room and shut the door. Soon he’s at my side asking why I didn’t tell him there was a dead person in his room, he’s angry and I’m confused, I stand up and look in his room the same shoes and legs are there but I don’t venture in to see the top half of the body.

    Why on earth would someone else be lying in Gary’s room dead and wearing his shoes and slacks? I have no idea but suddenly Gary disappears and I venture into his room slowly, not knowing what I’m going to see when I get in there. It’s only a few feet but I can’t seem to reach the end of his bed to see what’s really there and then I wake up, scarred to death.

    So what the hell is this all about? I’m not sure, it certainly makes me worry about Gary, Jim and other males in my life (a woman simply wouldn’t be caught wearing those shoes…).

    Recently a member of my best friend Suzanne’s home group took his own life. Tonight will be the first time the group is having a meeting since he died, she’s obviously shaken up.

    My best friend Pat lost a client in similar circumstances – it was very devastating to him and he’s just now starting to come to terms with that. It’s affected how he deals with every day life and also how made him more active in looking for signs of depression and detrimental things to his clients well being.

    And, my sponsee recently had a friend’s partner take his own life and then a scare that her friend might have done the same. It really shook up the sponsee.

    So, maybe I’m just subconsciously thinking about death and seeing this dream over and over again is my subconscious way of dealing with it. I don’t have experience with this type of thing and I’m not sure the right thing to say to my friends or sponsee. I only know the things that have gotten me through my own crises: prayer, action, talk, and hugs… lots of hugs (god the cats hated that time).

    Anyway, if you’re reading this and you have someone in your life that you care about or worry about – take the time to tell them, let them know how you feel today because tomorrow might be too late.

  • Voices

    Before leaving the house each day we had to tape our ears shut, the criss-cross way, to keep the “angels” lies from entering our minds. We could still see them on the streets, in the hallways and in the rooms with people, but at least they couldn’t poison our minds with their corrupted language.  Mother made hand motions to remind us to bundle up and gave the warning again about our ears – “make sure you keep safe” she mouthed and we nodded.

    We had all heard the stories of the old folk that had forgotten to tape their ears one day and gone mad, or worse tried to join in the spreading of the “angels” agenda by disemboweling themselves, and screaming as they died the words the “angels” had seethed into their minds, as if coming from a neighbor it would be less maddening. My older brother claimed he once survived hearing an “angel” whisper to him, but he often bragged about things that couldn’t possibly be true.

    The “angels” weren’t like the drawing in the old religious books, well not really. They didn’t have wings or halos that anyone could see, but they did glow a bit in their transparency – I always thought they were more like specters then angelic hosts. The government and experts from around the world were stumped as to where they came from or why they were here.  The religious leaders were the ones who deemed them “angels”, and some of those leaders were always around without their ears taped to prevent the voices, but I never heard of any of them being disemboweled either so who knows – maybe my older brother was telling the truth all along.  The news reports claimed they were never seen inside churches of any denomination – attendance at churches, synagogues and temples was rising daily as it was a safe place where one could listen to the sweet silence – at least until the preachers started their talk of hell and brimstone.

    As we walked to school we could see angels hovering around this corner or that tree, floating above cars that drove down the street or peeking from windows of houses on the street, most people kept their curtains drawn and it was more and more fashionable to keep your shutters closed day and night.

    The bus arrived in the normal fashion, six or seven of the shimmering creatures around it – all of us pretended they weren’t there, our parents had told us to just pretend they weren’t there at all.  My brother and his friends sat in the back of the bus, even with our ears taped shut I knew they were back their causing a fuss, that’s what they normally would do. I just opened my book, The Grapes of Wrath, and picked up where I had left off.

    I was lost in the story and unaware of my surroundings, from pick up to school was a 30-minute bus ride and I was used to immersing myself in a story. So when the girl next to me tapped me on the shoulder I was at first annoyed until I saw her eyes wide in fright and she pointed directly in front of me.

    There was one of the creatures, sitting on the back of the seat facing me, it appeared that he had his head resting in his hands and his elbows upon his knees. I know it sounds odd to say it, but he appeared to be smiling, at what I could not imagine. Other kids were staring at the creature and in association, me. I had no idea what had brought the thing to focus its attention on me – nor had I heard of them doing this to anyone else. Judging the others expressions I would say they hadn’t either. I glanced nervously one more time at the creature and tried to return my gaze to the words on the page, but I couldn’t actually read anymore, I could still feel the creatures gaze and knew that I was somehow doomed.

  • The Benefits of Smoking

    I wish that I was still a smoker, if it weren’t for the $6 a pack issue I might still be a smoker, it’s just too expensive to smoke anymore. But I do wish I were still one of the nations smokers – no, I don’t want a cigarette and I’m not having cravings for one, I’m just tired of smelling nasty ass things on the metro and on the sidewalk. It’s possible that I have developed a sense of smell that borders along the likes of Kal-El, but it’s doubtful… and this is sadly one more reason Superman could not exist in real life, I bet Lois smells like a five dollar whore to him… nasty.

    Seriously, how much perfume do women think they need? If I can smell your perfume and your a half a block away from me that’s way too much, think of the damage your doing to the environment. I guess maybe straight guys are attracted to someone who dumped a bottle of smelly water on themselves but it does nothing for me. I shouldn’t have to leave a Metro car because I’ve gone to the other end and can still smell your overpowering nastiness. I was in an elevator today with a woman and she had so much perfume on and had to breath through my mouth for 4 floors and cover my nose with my finger, the scent lingered in the lobby of the floor for hours afterward…

    Not to be outdone, there are some men that like a ton of cologne as well, now I guess they could all be straight guys and their cologne specifically designed to attract women, but really… that much? With guys it can be the opposite as well, they perhaps forgot to shower that morning and didn’t think the other hundred people on the metro car would mind that they smell like an old gym mat. Yeah, I’m not gonna notice that your nasty.

    I never had these issues when I was a smoker, I never noticed perfumes or colognes or for that matter – my breath. Smokers, you have no idea how nasty your breath can be, your clothes, your hair… it’s just eeeewwww. But I think if you didn’t have to smell other smokers, or all these flowery folks on the subway, elevators and sidewalks it might be worth a $6 a day habit that would end my life early…. hmmm, I’ll have to consider.

  • Meeting Directories

    Wouldn’t it be nice if meeting directories had little bios or disclaimers? So you could be forewarned or at least prepared for what your about to attend or not attend, as the case may be.

    Here are some ideas:

    Monday Night Topic AA 7:30

    Disclaimer: About 65% of the attendees of this meeting also belong to the fellowship On and On… and they do go on and on.

    Tuesday Night 12 and 12 Meeting 8:00

    Disclaimer: Mostly a just a 12 meeting, they don’t like to read or follow the traditions. You also may find the step of the night to be 3 but the actual topic to be your bad day at the office.

    Wednesday Night Gay Meeting 6:00

    Disclaimer: Expect lots of references to black and white movie stars, fashion and how being gay is the cause of alcoholism. Everyone is fashionably late, this meeting time is difficult make on time, but if they do make it they look FABULOUS!

    Thursday Night Open Speaker Meeting 7:30

    Disclaimer: Dressed up, greeters, disciplined. Commitments, greeters, decent coffee, an cookies. Speakers usually talk about recovery and are inspiring.

    Friday Night Newcomers 8:00

    Disclaimer: Sadly most of the recovered community have repaired the wreckage of their past and have things to do on Friday nights, so this meeting is pretty chaotic. Lots of sickness here and no direction usually.

    Saturday Noon Big Book Meeting

    Disclaimer: This meeting can range from open discussion with no Big Book in sight, or reading the stories in the back of the book – ignoring the directions (Page 1 – 164) completely.

    Sunday Serenity Step Meeting 7:00

    Disclaimer: Step nazi’s. These people don’t tolerate whining, bitching or moaning. You’ll hear lots about the steps, history, traditions and service work at this meeting. Don’t be surprised if a sponsor is appointed to you.

    Yeah… I think this would be beneficial, and it might certainly save me some time.

  • Customer Service Nightmare – Verizon DSL – Tech support

    So I was having some issues with Verizon DSL, it would work for about 30 minutes then lose its connection, over and over again this was happening so I was getting frustrated and decided to take a chance and call Verizon Tech Support. I called the number and a woman with a thick indian accent answered the phone and walked me through several steps until we came to a No Access page that basically wouldn’t let us go any further. She informed me that if we had reached this page my router/modem was faulty and I would need a new one. After she transferred me to the ordering department, a nice lady there with another thick indian accent sold me a modem/router for @ $60. The modem should have shipped in 3 business days via UPS.

    Then the Blizzard of 2010 hit DC and that was delayed, several times. So it was 7 days later when I was hooking up the new router and it wouldn’t let me finish. I would follow the instructions completely and then I would hit a wall and it would give me an error code and tell me to call Verizon Tech Support. At this point I still maintained a bit of hope that I would be on the internet in a few minutes.

    Verizon Tech support was again answered by a gentleman with a thick indian accent and I wasn’t very patient with him. I did walk through the steps that he asked me to walk through and we tried several different things before ending up on a No Access page that was the same as the one from the week earlier. He said this meant my bill wasn’t paid. I tried to express to the man several times that this wasn’t the case, he conferenced in a woman (with a thick indian accent) in customer service to talk about my non-existent delinquent bill. Both myself and the lady in customer service tried to express to the tech support guy that there was nothing wrong with my service but he said there were other calls in the queue and he would call back once she and I fixed my account.

    This is now 75 minutes later, and what should have been a simple set up was still not allowing me to access the internet. I tried to figure out if there were anything wrong with my account and the lady assured me there was not and then put me on hold for over 20 minutes so she could discuss with her supervisor the situation. I waited patiently and then was talked to by the supervisor who said they couldn’t help me, that I had to talk to tech support…

    after raising my voice several times and asking when that might be and who was going to fix this issue they assured me they would call me back in 30 minutes (approximately 9:30 p.m.).

    Being something of a techie, I tried a few other tweaks and adjustments and finally got the internet working, perhaps they adjusted my account on their end and didn’t tell me – I have no way of knowing but suddenly I was able to connect to the internet.

    At 11:30 p.m. Verizon called, no one I had talked to previously, they just wanted to ask if I had gotten connected to the internet and I told them yes.

    I’m calling Comcast tomorrow and well be switching over our services (Phone, and internet) to them. Then at the office I’ll get rid of them there as well. Bad customer service and jobs that could have gone to American’s all over seas… yep, no need to continue to give Verizon money at all.