8. Half Measures

The man’s name was Herbert, but friends called him ‘Matey.’  Matey wasn’t a reference to pirates, but a slurring of ‘M80’, a firecracker that blew off the tip of his pinky finger when he was a teenager.  He never drank vodka again.  He stopped drinking tequila after his first DUI; whiskey when he got caught shooting at a cow, from his car, without a hunting license, during small game season. (He claimed from a distance the cow looked like a groundhog.)

Matey reminded me of people who don’t take an entire course of antibiotics, killing some but not all the bacteria.  The bugs that live grow stronger, more resistant to medicine.  Avoiding certain drinks let Matey believe he was in control, so he fought going to rehab. While he resisted treatment, alcohol’s hold on him grew stronger.

Today I’ll beware of ‘half measures.’

Sober Not Somber © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Sober Not Somber is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

7. I Made Me

I heard an older couple arguing in the hall the next morning on their way to The Other Ken’s family group.

“If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t do nothing,” she said. “You wouldn’t even be here.” She recited a long list of things he did because of her.

“You’re right,” he said. “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t drink, wouldn’t need no rehab.”

“See! I can’t even leave the boozin’ to you.”

I decided to pull him aside to point out nobody made him drink.  ‘Tomorrow,’ I said to myself. ‘He’s heard enough for one day.’

Today I will remember nobody makes anybody drink, smoke, overeat, gamble, hit, cheat, etc.

Sober Not Somber © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Sober Not Somber is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Happy Thanksgiving!

Sober Not Somber will return on Monday, 11/30/15.

6. Cats and Dogs

When I woke up, I remembered something I’d written years before about cats and dogs in a workbook called Meditations for the First Thirty Days: 

“My dog’s brain is the size of a walnut.  We used to walk in the woods. Two days in a row he got a big thorn in his paw.  Now we walk the other way.  When I try to walk him toward the woods, he sits down.  He cannot be forced onto the path where he felt the pain.  I have a much bigger brain than my dog.  Time and again I walked down a path that nearly killed me. I know he knows he’s smarter than I am.  (Now and again I have to remind him who smashes his muzzle on the cabinets because he’s forgotten for the umpteenth time he cannot stop on the linoleum.)

“My cat has an even smaller brain than my dog.  He can transform a ray of sunshine into an event.  He has an insatiable curiosity, and no creature better exemplifies gratitude and contentment.  Several times a day he takes an inventory of himself, cleaning what needs to be cleaned, and stretching what needs to be stretched, and purring about nothing.”   

Today I will try to be as smart as the average dog.

Today I will try to be as grateful and content as the average cat.

Sober Not Somber © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Sober Not Somber is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

5. Peer Pressure

The next day I was on my laptop at home, working against a deadline.  The dog curled up next to me on the couch.  She put her head on my leg, went to sleep. 

“You’re a bad influence,” I said to her as I scratched her ear. “I gotta finish this today.” A sunbeam hit the back of the couch.  Our cat stretched out behind me, warm against my neck.  He purred briefly before going to sleep.  Before I knew it, I was asleep as well.  Peer pressure can be subtle and pleasant.

Today I will beware of peer pressure in any form.

Sober Not Somber © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Sober Not Somber is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

4. Accepting the Unaccepting

I went to an AA meeting that night.  Standing at the entrance with the other smokers was Tucker, by far the most miserable dry drunk I’d ever met. We had our usual bitter argument about all the things he disliked or resented.  Finally I asked, “Will you ever accept education has its merits? Young people can sincerely want to get sober? Rehabs can be helpful? Antidepressants and heroin aren’t the same?” He spit on the ground, muttered an obscenity, and stalked away.

It dawned on me he was never going to accept what I saw as the undeniable truth. Nor was he likely to let go of his resentments because of something I said. The sooner I accepted his lack of acceptance, the less angry I’d be.

Today I will accept other people’s lack of acceptance.

Sober Not Somber © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Sober Not Somber is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

3. Locks

The next day I provided two trainings at a maximum security prison.  The prison was designed so ever smaller sections could be locked down, isolating violence.   Everywhere I went I passed through gates and doors.  At some junctions I could almost stretch my arms between the locked doors. 

Outside the prison, rolling hills had been plowed into wide open fields. Ducks on ponds rested up for their trek south, free to see the entire eastern seaboard.  At the bottom of the hills, the Monongahela River meandered through wide banks, giving way to steep hillsides.  A traveler in a boat could float all the way to Pittsburgh, where the ‘Mon’ joined the Allegheny to form the Ohio River.  On the Ohio, he could tour three states.  From there he might ride the Mississippi through the Southlands all the way to the Gulf of Mexico.

As I drove away I was struck how a few decisions might make the difference between encountering locked doors or passing through locks on rivers.   

Today I will make decisions that keep the world open for me to explore.

Sober Not Somber © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Sober Not Somber is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

2. What Can I Do For You?

Brat Boy got home from basketball practice and slumped onto the couch next to his sister. “Who’s calling you?” she asked him.

Puzzled, he looked at his phone and said, “Nobody.”

“Exactly. Yesterday I told you to call one of my freshmen teammates. If you had, your new girlfriend would be calling today. You wouldn’t be alone and miserable, a smelly pile of broken spirit and defeat.”

Brat Boy looked baffled. He pointed out he wasn’t lonely.  His spirits were high. He’d just showered.  I told her he was happy with the status quo and it wasn’t her job to find him a girlfriend.

 “Didn’t you say brothers and sisters should look after each other’s best interests?” she asked.

“I also said sometimes the worst thing you can do for someone is something they can, should, or want to do for themselves.”

I was glad Blondie was only half serious about picking her brother’s next girlfriend.  I’d seen too much deadly serious enabling, meddling, and manipulating, sometimes done with love, sometimes disguised as love and done out of spite and a need to control. 

Today I won’t do anything someone can, should, or wants to do for themselves.

Sober Not Somber © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Sober Not Somber is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

Sober Not Somber

1. False Start

Blondie, my teenage daughter, was sitting next to me on the couch, doing homework.  I was writing my fifth or sixth opening sentence of a new daily messages blog.  I typed, muttered ‘another false start’ under my breath, and jabbed the backspace key. 

“Whatcha doing, Daddy?” she asked.  I explained I was trying to start a new blog, but I couldn’t come up with an opening sentence I liked.

“My track coach says false starts show you’re eager to race.  Gotta false start now and then, or you’re not trying. You never win sitting on your heels in the starting blocks. Better to false start than to start too late.”

Today I will start something.

If that something doesn’t work out, I will start something else.

Sober Not Somber © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Sober Not Somber is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

101. Lessons Learned

Sam completed treatment a few days later. We talked about the lessons he’d learned so far.

“Some things I learned too late, like taking the courts seriously,” he said. “I’m never gonna get custody of my son. On the other hand, I learned some lessons sooner than my friend who had a stroke, or my cousin in jail. My other buddy just found out he got Hep C.  I’m glad I learned my lesson before I did more damage.”

I had done some damage with my own drinking.  I’d learned some of life’s lessons later rather than sooner, but I too was grateful for lessons learned early, learned in time.

  

Today I will be grateful for lessons learned in time.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

100. Easier To Than Not To

I went to the gym that night and ran into a guy I knew from AA.  He struggled with his weight, but never missed a workout.

“I’m not a gym rat by nature,” he said. “It’s not easy for me to make myself exercise, but it’s been easier than trying to change my eating habits.” He smiled and added, “Reminds me that it’s easier to stay sober than to get sober. That’s why I don’t pick up the first drink. I don’t know if I could stop drinking again.”

Today I will remember:

It’s easier to sustain a good habit than to break a bad one.

It’s easier to stay sober than to get sober.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

99. A Kid Driving a Tank

A week later, Tara decided to leave treatment to take care of business and her husband. He had gotten lost in his own housing plan.  A neighbor kid had found him crying on the swing set in the park and brought him home. She wanted to work from home to be with him and her son.

The dentist she’d had the affair with offered to let her continue managing his practice if they resumed their sexual relationship.  She counter-offered not to forward the dentist’s erotic texts to his wife and/or his wife’s attorney if he never mentioned the affair again. Tara could still play hardball.

 “When I was drunk, I was a train,” Tara said. “Powerful, but stuck on a rigid track.  I would have ignored my husband, plowed ahead with my life without him.  The dentist’s wife would have had those texts a minute after he threatened me.”

“What are you now?” I asked.

“I’m a tank, driven by a kid.  I’m still powerful, I work hard and get things done, but I can change direction. I can go new places.  The kid in me gets out of the tank and plays, mostly with my family.  I like being a kid driving a tank.”

Today I will be a kid driving a tank.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

98. Be Reasonable

The next day Phil blew a .07 on the breathalyzer. Per their agreement, The Other Ken called Phil’s wife. Carolyn had told Phil if he drank again, she’d divorce him. He stormed down the hall, looking for someone to complain to.

“Point oh seven?” he said to me. “She’s going to divorce me for .07?  That’s not even a whole drink. She can’t divorce me, I’m not legally drunk.”

“You agreed she should divorce you if you drank again.  Nobody mentioned being legally drunk.  You’re trying to move the goal posts.  She won’t let you.  She’s done enabling.”

“She’s done being reasonable,” he said. “Got nothing to do with goal posts or enabling.” He stormed off. We never heard from him again.  At the time I thought Carolyn was being completely reasonable. Clear headed reasoning told her Phil just didn’t get it, and she had every reason to think he might never.  Being reasonable probably saved her a lot of heartache.

Today I will be reasonable.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

97. Flag Day

Sam showed me a picture of a small church cemetery.  A white and/or a blue flag adorned about a third of the headstones.  Sam explained the white flags were people who had surrendered to addiction through death.  The blue were people killed by another person’s addiction.   

Sam said, “Gloria’s boyfriend is buried there.  She convinced the pastor to ask the congregation to mark the graves with the flags. Gloria thought maybe one family might go along.  The flags sat in boxes at the back of the church for weeks.  Then one by one, people began putting them on the graves. Each flag chipped away at Gloria’s hatred for the drunk driver who killed her boyfriend. It was like exposing the depth of the problem exposed her wound to the sunlight.  She started to heal.” He paused. “The more difficult the situation, the more creative she gets. I love that about her.”

Today I will look for creative ways to handle difficult situations and emotions.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

96. Friends and Family
The next day was Brat Boy's birthday. We laughed our way through dinner. Family blew up the phone calling to wish him a happy birthday. It truly was a happy event.

Sadly, my years as a therapist had taught me birthdays bring out the pathology in some families. Certain personality types had trouble putting their issues aside long enough to be happy for someone else.

• The Drama Queen, furious because her present wasn't opened first.
• The Naysayer, determined to find fault where none existed, "Nice kid? That's what they say about serial killers after they're caught."
• Mr. Gloom & Doom, telling an eight year old to enjoy today, because life becomes one long kick in the teeth.
• The Competitors, divorced parents trying to be the kid's favorite.  "Daddy took me horseback riding.  Mommy bought me a pony. We had to sneak him into the apartment."

My extended family and my friends had their quirks, but they could be genuinely happy for each other.

Today I will be grateful for family and friends who can be happy for family and friends.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

95. Moving On

Mick called to say she had officially changed her name to Ashley, no more Mick.  Ashley was thrilled the baby was starting to move around.

“I told my brother he had to stop dealing and stop drinking if he wanted to be in my baby’s life.  He said he wouldn’t drink around her. He’s kidding himself.” She sighed. “I’m moving on, he hasn’t and won’t. I’m going to have to leave him behind.”

Today I will accept moving on may mean leaving something or someone behind.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

94. True champions act like champions long after new champions are crowned.

Blondie’s soccer team lost in the semifinals of the regional tournament. They had won the regional title the previous two years, but injuries had kept Blondie out of the final games.  She’d lost her last chance to play in the championship.  She and her teammates were devastated. The coach gave them the next night off. 

The consolation game to determine the third and final team to advance to the state playoffs was scheduled for two days later.  Blondie and her friends got the team together in the park for an informal practice.  Champions act like champions regardless of their circumstances.

AA has a slogan, ‘stick with the winners.’ These winners are sobriety champions.  They work their recovery when loved ones die, disasters hit, people hurt them, and diagnoses scare them.  They act like champions regardless of their circumstances.  

Today I will stick with the winners, I will strive to be a champion.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

93. Ready or Not…

Tigger bounced into my office on his way to lunch. He told me was getting discharged soon, he felt prepared, but not 100% ready.  As we talked it became clear he defined ‘ready’ as thoroughly confident and completely at ease. 

I told him how I had hesitated for months after deciding to write a blog.  Home Groupies, my first daily message book, had been written.  I had amassed thousands of email addresses.  I knew how to use the technology.  Completely prepared, I felt totally unready.  I kept waiting to feel confident and calm. Finally I accepted I was prepared and sent out the first message.

“Tigger, I try not to do anything unprepared, but if I waited until I was completely ready, I’d get nothing done.”

Today I will move forward, prepared if not completely ready.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

92. Kindness

Tara had a son ten years older than Amanda who was leaving the military to help with his dad. 
Tara said. “Darren loves us, but he really doesn’t owe us anything. We neglected him while we got our careers started. He made his own way. Darren joined the Air Force and put himself through school.” 

“Then why do you think he’s coming home?” I asked.

She smiled. “If I wasn’t there for the birth I wouldn’t believe he was my kid.  He’s a kind soul.  I’m grateful for him.  When the world seems unfair and unkind, I think about my son, and it balances things out.”

Today I will be grateful for kind people.

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)

91. Assuming the Worst

The next Monday I realized we hadn’t heard from Mick the previous Friday. My mind jumped to all sorts of negative conclusions.  She had relapsed.  She had relapsed and lost the baby. She was in jail.  “Dammit,” I muttered under my breath. I emailed The Other Ken.

Mick was fine, the baby was fine, nobody was in jail.  Mick and her mother had spent the weekend with Mick’s grandmother, patching up their relationships.  Her mother wanted to be part of the baby’s life.  Mick forgave her mother for naming her “Glinda Belle.”  Assuming the worst had been depressing, and not very useful.

Today I won’t assume the worst.

           

Writing My New Story © 2015 by Ken Montrose

(Just a reminder: Writing My New Story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to anyone you might know is purely coincidental.)