Sober September

A crazy idea should never be voiced, particularly when it’s 2:00 in the morning. Furthermore, crazy ideas shouldn’t even be whispered when they sound something like “what if we didn’t drink any alcohol during the month of September?” And when you’re talking to a person who will be on a silent meditation retreat for ten days of the month anyway, you might as well not even open your mouth because the answer will no doubt be "let's do it!"

In honor of the 46th anniversary of Star Trek, “Captain’s Log: Stardate 13 days sober”. Believe it or not, we are now boozeless for almost two weeks. What on Earth, Mars and Venus was I thinking? This was the burning question as I sat on the screened porch this past weekend, bathed and relaxed after a hard day of working in the yard. The moment when I’d normally be breaking the blow-dried seal on a frosty growler of some hoppy brew or, more likely, asking Doc. B. when we could open the bottle of white (that, by the way, has now been chilling in the fridge for 14 days, since of course we didn’t know we’d be doing this sober gig 14 days ago!).

Contrary to popular belief, there are only two times I drink: weekends and holidays. By weekends, I mean Friday, Saturday and Sunday. And by holidays, I of course mean it in the British sense of the word which includes vacations. So let me spell it out - by “holiday” I mean:

1. Anytime Doc B and I vacation,

2. Anytime I visit my family or Doc B’s family,

3. Anytime my family or Doc B’s family visits us,

4. Anytime I take trips with my family (and I don’t mean the acid type),

5. All Christian, Jewish and Pagan holidays such as Christmas and Easter, Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashanah, and Solstices, Equinoxes and moon day eves,

6. All government holidays including Confederate Memorial Holiday and Robert E. Lee’s birthday, (don’t scoff, when in the south, do as the southerners!), and finally

7. Any obscure, but socially, culturally or spiritually important holidays such as Groundhog’s day, Multiple Personality Day, National Tortilla Chip day and the Dragon-Con parade.

So you’re probably wondering how I’m doing since in the last 13 days, there have been several desert-parched weekends and multiple dryer-than-Sauvignon Blanc holidays including Labor day, Newspaper Carrier day, Cheese Pizza day, and Read a Book day, to name just a few? Well, the house is pretty much spotless. The cats have been combed once a day and the boxes have been scooped twice a day. I’ve finished three books. Work seems less stressful despite the number of times I’ve heard the statement “end of the ‘physical’ year”. And most importantly, I’ve decided I don’t care what J. Crew shoes Michelle is wearing or what Oscar de la Renta dress Ann is sporting, I’m still voting for Obama. Okay, true, that last one had nothing to do with being sober. But on a side note, I might just get my toenails painted gray (very nicely done Michelle!).

What else have I noticed? References to alcohol are everywhere. TV shows and commercials all seem to mention booze and of course PBS just had to be running a three part series on Prohibition this month. Speak easy? Easier said than done. The books I’ve read focus on an alcoholic father (the Glass Castle), wine trees and wine canals (The Martian Chronicles) and a cat whisperer who used to be a druggie (Cat Daddy).

What hasn’t happened? I’ve not lost any weight. Yoga feels the same. I still like Billy Joel. I don’t and never did understand where lupini beans come from. And finally, I’m not sleeping any better. Yeah, yeah, that last one might have something to do with the two 17 pound cats that joined our family a month ago and were given free range of the whole house, including the queen-sized bed, three weeks ago.

So, let’s just see if I can make it to my birthday. At least as I’m driving down DeKalb Avenue, swerving like I’ve had two too many as I dodge potholes, sink holes and drunks, they won’t be able to prove I’m one of the latter.

Cheers to me making it at least to my birthday! 24 sober September days would be a true accomplishment, no?

Veterans Day 2009

Here are some special pictures sent from Viet Nam just for me - beer and chicken!





Veterans Day - 11/11/09. 12 days and blubbering, I mean counting, until Doc. B. returns from Viet Nam. Of all of the days since she’s been gone, this one has been the hardest – because it’s Veterans Day AND it’s the first day since she left that I didn't have the distraction of work AND it’s the first day that I’ve not made plans with anyone. Well, on second thought, I didn’t have to work this past Sunday but I did enjoy bright sunshine and Fat Tire beer at the U-Joint with D and K. Today I haven’t spoken to anyone (Facebook doesn’t count) other than the lady behind the dry cleaning counter. I told her Friday would be perfect for my new Squash Blossom pants to be hemmed. And maybe, since Doc. B. is gone, I’ll wear those new pants with some borrowed engineer boots that are looking grand yet lonely in the upstairs closet – don’t tell! If all of the stars are lined up just right, the only other person I’ll talk to today is Doc. B. – we’re going to see if we can get "Skype" to work!

The cat’s on my lap as I type. He’s been following me around all day wondering when I’m going to make up my mind and stick my butt in one chair. Of course this is long after he spent a good hour wondering when I was going to get up this morning. Apparently 6:30am on a non-work day wasn’t good enough for him. The Decatur Police department could pull a good set of paw prints off the bedroom door if they could work around the scratch marks. That’s how I started my day, with meowing and clawing at the bedroom door.

It’s exactly 12 hours ahead in Vietnam. So when I got up, my hope was that I could clean up the house (that Doc. B would have been embarrassed to see), swiff up all the cat hair, make some fresh ghee and set my mindspring account to check for new e-mail every 5 minutes in hopes of hearing from Doc. B. (before she and the other Viet Nam travelers tucked in for the night). I lucked out and got a quick e-mail at 9:00am, 9:00 pm, Hoi An time. I was now free of any responsibility for the remainder of the day. Unless you count feeding the cats, which I did.

My 40 minute jog this morning was at the gym. And since I wasn’t there at 5:30am like usual, I didn’t know anyone and didn’t talk to anyone. I didn’t even see (Hanoi) Jane or any of the other famous people that go to the gym mid-day. It was one of those mornings where I could have gone on jogging forever. The rain was coming down outside, the iPhone was charged and humming one of my favorite playlists, there was hardly anyone in the cardio room to see my body jiggle, and the Fresh Prince of Bel Air was on one of the overhead televisions. What more could you ask for?

After the gym, my intention was to go to the Decatur cemetery for a Veterans Memorial Day service. Instead, as I watched the rain fall, I turned on CNN to watch our President lay a wreath at the tomb of the unknown. His speech made me think. He remembered a time when our nation betrayed a sacred trust with our warriors. He recalled that Viet Nam Vets had come home to no thanks or help but rather neglect (I’m taking liberties). But he did pledge that under his watch, this would "never happen again." He further promised to "take care of our own."

This then got me to thinking about the Fort Hood victims. All week, I’ve been wondering about that crazy shooter and when someone would "take him out." Would it happen by the hand of some hospital worker (like on that recent House episode)? Or would it have to wait until he went to prison (like Jeffrey Dahmer)?

Then I took a break from my thinking to eat a late lunch and look at Doc. B.’s upcoming itinerary. On Sunday, their group will be visiting the Thien Mu Pagoda, the home Pagoda of peace teacher Thich Nhat Hanh. And the pondering began again. As much as I despise what the shooter did, is he a victim too? Whether it was his religion, how he was raised, his ethnicity, harassment from other military personnel, or some other reason we’ll never know, isn’t he also a victim of sorts? From what I’ve read, he’d never been in combat, but I understand now that you don’t have to see battle in order to suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder. I don’t know the answer, but I do know that I’m seeing things from a very different perspective after witnessing Doc. B.’s preparations for this reconciliation journey to Viet Nam.

If the thought of considering the shooter a victim sickens you, like it did me earlier this week, consider these words of Thich Nhat Hanh who considers compassion a verb:

"When another person makes you suffer, it is because he suffers deeply within himself, and his suffering is spilling over. He does not need punishment; he needs help. That's the message he is sending."

Cheers to all of our Veterans...

I Was There! And I brought my cat!

I went to work yesterday morning and plopped my backpack in its usual spot on the side chair. There were so few people at work and it was so quiet that at around 9:30 I could hear my cell phone vibrating from inside my backpack. It was Baby Sis calling direct from the Washington, D.C. Mall. I was so excited to hear from her on inauguration day that as soon as I hung up, I called Doc. B. to share the news. Doc. B., in a classic channeling of Grandpa Albert, said "Why is she out shopping on such an important day?" I had to chuckle and pass out a big A+.

At about 10:00, I filled out my vacation leave slip and made my way to the inauguration. That's right, I was there! Right there cemented onto my very own comfortable couch, the one with my butt print solidly centered on the left cushion. The temperature was 68 degrees with no wind chill, but I kept a turtle neck on just so that I could better empathize with those that were standing in view of the Capitol. Rumi the cat also sat on my lap to keep me warm and witness history.

I saw Diane Feinstein introduce our new president:



It was nice to see Diane since I hadn't seen her since Christmas. That's when mom, dad, Doc. B. and I saw her in the Harvey Milk movie.

I saw Justice John Roberts feed Barack the wrong oath line:


Then I witnessed a great speech that included many favorite lines. From not apologizing for our way of life, to reaching out a hand to those who will unclench their fists. From proclaiming an end to petty grievances and false promises to picking ourselves up and dusting ourselves off (the latter is one of my favorite sayings from when Kali's boys were young!).




And I can't write this blog without a comment on Rick Warren's invocation. I thought it was going along well until he spoke the Obama kids' names in that weird way. It was just "icky" for lack of a better word.

And how cute was Reverend Lowery :) Did you see the cut to the president with a little smile on his face when the Reverend started talking about the colors of the rainbow?

The bottom line for me is "Happy New Year!" I felt like today was the start of a new year, a new era, a new everything. Or not? Because we still have Rush Limbaugh, hoping Barack will fail, to remind us that not everything is going to change with a new (p)resident in the White House.

Note: all photos courtesy of my AT&T, formerly Cingular, formerly Bell South cell phone and our 1995 Sony monster T.V. (who needs a flat screen plasma?!)

At a Loss due to the Win?

I've always found it easier to write during a period of angst. Come on now you psychology majors, say it with me like Carl Jung would, with an umlaut over the "a"...ah-ngst....

Well, 138 blog entries and 17 full journals later, I can officially confirm that for the past 8 years, I've been in a long, drawn out, down to my stem cells, period of ANGST....

I NEVER wrote during the Clinton years unless it was checks, love letters, birthday cards, or loan applications. On the other hand, for the past 8 years I've written like a newspaper gossip columnist covering the lives of Brad Pitt, Angelina Jolie and Jennifer Aniston. And now it seems I have nothing of any substance to share other than the "what are you doing now" statements on Facebook.

My days since the election have been filled with work that I love SO much more knowing that I'll have a new boss as of 1/20/09. So since I only have the exasperation, I mean inspiration, of George for 55 more days, I thought I better at least jot down some thoughts/questions. Perhaps they'll become full blown blog entry topics at a later date. Like when I become depressed and inconsolable because John Lewis won't send me VIP inauguration tickets.

1. Why is there always one person within a couple who is in charge of blattodea and rodentia?

2. Why does that one person in charge use a trash bag, turned inside out (like the people who pick up their dog's poop) to remove the deceased rodentia (mouse) from the basement?

3. Is a Kroger bag, turned inside out, just as safe as one of those red hazardous material bags?

4. How is it that two of my facebook friends, who don't know each other, both posted that they made pot roasts on Sunday?

5. Aren't olfactory memories cool? I have them when I open the spice cabinet, when I'm at the Candler Park MARTA station and Edward's Baking Company is in full swing, and when I'm out in a woodsy area after a rainfall.

6. To avoid traffic on the perimeter today, I took back roads home from the dentist. How is it that I just randomly passed the new Drepung Loseling Monastery, Center for Tibetan Buddhist Studies, when I'd always wondered where it was?

7. How can I have had the same routine with the same cat for over 20 years?

8. How did I get suckered into taking care of the chickens over Thanksgiving? What happened to "cluck out of luck?"

If you have the answers to any of these questions, please share them with me. In the meantime, I hope you all have a memorable thanksgiving.

A Mark on, I mean in, the "W" column...

Courtesy of The Sun


At 11:00 pm on Tuesday, November 4th I awoke to the sounds of gun shots and fireworks. That's what our neighborhood typically reserves for New Year's Eve and the 4th of July. Well it certainly was an evening worthy of the bubbly and even more so, an independence day, an American revolution, worthy of excessive and over the top celebration.

As John Adams wrote to his wife, Abigail, July 4th "...ought to be solemnized with pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations, from one end of this continent to the other, from this time forward forever more."

I think this moment in America is just as deserving...

It's still sinking in that on 1/20/09, I'll have a new boss. A boss I can already be proud of. A boss who won't speak in malapropisms. A boss who will support the things I feel strongly about. A boss who won't make us look bad to the rest of the world. A boss who will have some very high expectations placed on him but who will be able to handle them. A boss who will inspire vs. conspire. A boss who will consider the options vs. ignore them. Obama is the boss I've been waiting for since I became a federal employee and the President I've been waiting for since Clinton.

Maya Angelou said Obama is a clear and clean wind, a breeze. ... There is some poetry in him, yes. Who could say it better than that?

Okay, enough of my sap. You get the point. at this point, I'm either preaching to the choir or rubbing it in.

What I really wanted to write about was my conversation with Mrs. Jones, our next door neighbor. Mrs. Jones is a black woman who has lived in Atlanta all of her life. She moved next door in the early 1960's, after divorcing her 1st and only husband, and proceeded to raise her 4 children as a single mother. I stopped to chat with her on Thursday afternoon as she was tending to her beloved rose bush, a shrub rose that is the centerpiece of her front yard and that was started from a cutting of a plant that belonged to her mother.

I said to her, "it's a great day in Atlanta, don't you think?" And she replied "honey, it's a great day in America." As I almost choked up at hearing that, she went on to say that she just knew this day was coming and that she didn't even watch the returns on Tuesday night. She felt it in her heart that the right man would win the Presidency and that she would just wake up Wednesday morning and confirm what she already knew to be true.

She went on to reminisce about when she was taking her practical nursing training at "the old Grady Hospital." She commented on how the black students were separated from the white students and the black patients were separated from the white patients. To support herself through school, she did "domestic work" for a woman in town. She recalled being sent to the Atlanta downtown shopping area to pick up a hat for her boss and having to state, out loud, that the hat was not for herself, but for Miss so and so (she wouldn't tell me the woman's name). In other words, she would not have been able to buy a hat for herself, it had to be for her "employer."

And God forbid if she had to use the restroom while she was shopping for her boss. The stores wouldn't let black people use their facilities, she'd have to go to the bus station or the train station down at what's now called Five Points.

I asked Mrs. Jones if she'd seen the acceptance speech and she replied that she didn't need to. She already knew that the Obama family was a sight to behold and that they would do our nation proud. She noted how she saw Barack as a role model for our young black men (and white men too) in that he wasn't a thug; he was educated, smart, eloquent, and handsome. She kept commenting on how pretty the whole family was; almost as if she saw her own family in that light but would never say it out loud (they are, by the way, quite an attractive family).

We talked for a long time about how she'd been waiting for a role model like Obama. And she closed by saying she had mentioned to her grandson that our new President was a "Real Man." She told her son's son that she hoped that all "them kids" would finally "buy belts and jack them drawers up off their butts."

Can't think of a better closing than that...

So what'd you have for dinner?

Only two days left until the election and what was I doing last night? I was at home alone trying to decide what to watch on television. Doc. B. is cat sitting at our friends’ "OTP" house (FYI, OTP stands for "outside the perimeter" and is also now known as Palin-Ville). So I was home all by myself, responsible only for me. Here’s how the evening went...

I said to myself, "what will it be?" CNN? A Fox election special with Brit Hume (to keep up with the other side)? Larry King? Hardball with Chris Matthews? 60 Minutes? No, somehow those shows just weren’t up my alley last night. It’s not like I was trying to impress anyone; it was just me and the cats… so who would have known what I watched on TV let alone that I had popcorn and red licorice for dinner?

So as I scrolled through the Dish menu, here’s what really caught my eye: Lara Croft: Tomb Raider, Harold and Kumar go to White Castle, the E! True Hollywood Story of Star Jones, Sex Change Soldier on BBCA, Fun with Dick and Jane, and last but by no means least I didn’t know I was pregnant on TLC. As I was in the midst of this major decision-making process, up pops a commercial for stuffed crust Pizza Hut pizza. Normally, this wouldn’t even faze me, but after my carb-fest of a dinner, that bread stuffed with cheese was sounding really tasty for dessert. But you’ll be glad (and so am I) to know that I resisted and did not go into the light of Pizzahut.com to place an order.

Instead, I decided to hit the DVR to watch the most recent episode of Saturday Night Live. You have to give the old guy, I mean John McCain, credit with the whole QVC spoof thing he participated in. And then when he went on the "Weekend Edition" segment and explained his last ditch fallback efforts… well, that was just priceless. My personal favorites were the "Double Maverick" where he goes totally berserk and freaks everybody out and the "Sad Grandpa" where he reminds us that Obama is young, will have many chances to run for president and to take pity on McCain.

As I was L’ing OL at the TV, the robocalls continued to come in. Even at 9:15pm, the caller ID was displaying "Unavailable." I was thinking to myself, “Hmm… I’m really busy right now and also unavailable” but, having not had any human interaction in just over 4 hours, I decided to pick up the phone so that I could tell them I had already voted. But my speaking didn’t make a difference to that pre-recorded message – it just kept on playing. So I hung up, angry that those robots couldn't carry on a conversation and that they were calling so late (after all, with the time change, it was really 10:15 and it felt like it!).

I eventually finished watching TV and decided to check my e-mail one last time before hitting the sack. If the robocalls weren’t enough, I was surprised to see that I had about 10 new incoming messages. They included e-mails from Al Gore, Hillary Clinton, Bill Clinton, Michelle Obama, Joe Biden, Joe Solmonese (HRC President), and Barack himself. Like the robots, I guess they too wanted to make sure that I had already voted, but didn't really want to have a conversation with me. Can you believe that every single one of those e-mails said "do not reply to this message." Thank goodness for Facebook where you can hold real conversations with people you haven't talked to in 25 years.

Well, in about 24 hours, we should know who will take over the reins in 2009. I hope the person you want to win, wins (unless that person is John McCain, Ralph Nader, Bob Barr, Cynthia McKinney or any of the other write-in candidates…).