Down the yellow brick road
On Friday a girlfriend invited me and another pal over for dinner. She made thin, crispy breaded chicken cutlets and served a yummy salad on the side studded with apples and walnuts and a side of roasted brussels sprouts with toasted chunks of halloumi on top. After 30 years of serving as the official short order cook of my family, I think it’s the height of luxury to have someone else cook a meal for me, especially one so delicious.
The three of us sat around the dining room table enjoying the meal and talking about our kids (shocker) and sipping fancy ginger drinks from delicate glass tumblers. When I’d arrived, my friend had offered to make me the same concoction she was drinking, which was some fancy lemon/ginger tonic with a splash of seltzer and squeeze of lemon. In my 15 months of sobriety, I’ve pretty much avoided anything that hinted at a cocktail, but I guess I’m far enough along in my recovery that it wasn’t triggering at all. It didn’t make me wish we could pour a big dollop of vodka in it for good measure and get the party started.
After dinner, we cleaned up (classic moms getting in there and scrubbing roasting pans and wiping counters) and then went into the den to enjoy the to-die-for key lime tart our friend brought from a new local bakery. We raved about the graham cracker crust and planned an upcoming getaway we’ve got coming up to Vermont and listened to Lyle Lovett singing in the background about cowboys down in Texas (one of my absolute favorite songs).
Our hostess is, among many things, an artist, and has amassed over the years a beautifully curated collection of other people's art that has whispered to her heart in one way or another. Watercolors and pencil drawings of mountains and waves and a woodblock print of a woman sitting on a beach chair looking off towards the ocean that reminds her of her mom from when she was younger.
For the last few years, she’s been collecting pieces with the intention of hanging them all together in a wall gallery and had asked if we’d help her measure and position all the pieces on the wall of her den over a new couch. She’d already laid all the pieces out on the floor and taken pictures of how she wanted them grouped together and then traced their outlines onto plain brown paper that she cut out for us to hang with tape.
She brought out the measuring tape and we set about finding the length and width of the space she wanted the gallery to hang. Then a lot of other complicated adding and subtracting happened. The size of the pieces. The space we wanted to leave in between each one. We even divided something in the end. We measured and scribbled numbers down on the envelope to some utility bill and I dutifully plugged the measurements into the calculator on my phone and then we began taping the brown paper cutouts onto the wall, a flurry of manic energy putting all of the pieces in place.
When we’d hung the final piece we stepped back and assessed our handiwork and laughed when we realized that the entire composition seemed to rise up slightly higher as the eye moved to the right. “You’ll just make sure to measure down from the molding at the top to make sure they’re all even before you hammer in the nails,” our one friend observed and they both seemed to think that made sense and so I stopped trying to make sense of that in my head.
I started to bundle up for the short drive home and my friend gave me a little container of magnesium powder she swears helps her sleep better at night AND keeps her regular (this is where we are in life) and we all hugged goodbye.
“Girls, who would have thought we’d be doing math on a Friday night?” our hostess said as we walked out into the cold dark night towards our cars, laughing at how our lives had changed. How in our mid-50s we're more content with an evening enjoying each other's company and sharing tips for improving sluggish digestive systems than needing booze-fueled adventure.
There was a time not long ago that the evening would have been a lot different. Number one, I’d have wanted to go out somewhere and get it popping. Number two, if I had to comply and eat dinner at my friend’s, there would have been a lot of alcohol involved. A fancy cocktail to start and then endless glasses of wine. There would have been no measuring and definitely no math and I would have woken up with a killer hangover the next day.
Instead, I got up early yesterday and did my usual routine. I had my morning convo with God and then did a little meditation to help set my jiggly thoughts and calm my always busy brain down. I wrote down things I was grateful for and did some writing exercises before heading off to an 8:30 recovery meeting. Then I hung out with my sponsor after that to talk about dropping things I've been carrying around with me for a long time. Fear and resentments. I had dinner with two other friends that night, which included French fries and a delicious butter cake and zero alcohol and I woke up this morning feeling kind of great.
And I know now that the change in thinking has a lot to do with not drinking, but only because it has opened up a pathway to so many other possibilities of what life could look like. And what I’ve come to realize is that what I used to want was more – of pretty much everything. From babies to money to booze. Nothing was ever enough. And I also was pretty sure about the life I was supposed to want.
And now I’m really happy with what I have (I mean, usually). I have a happy little life: An exciting and challenging job with a great company and equally great coworkers. A nice house with a closet in my bedroom that would make most women swoon. Amazing friends who make me dinners and treat me to dinners and are a source of support and companionship. A sponsor who is helping me peel back all the layers to look at what was preventing me from moving forward for so long. A new writing group that I get to work with over the next year to give and get support as we work towards some lofty writing goals. Four healthy and thriving children who I not only love, but I think they really (mostly) love me. And on top of it all, God gave me really great hair. I’m just gonna own that shit and not feel bad about it.
You know, we're all a lot like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, walking around in our black-and-white lives. So many of us are so weighed down by lugging our ruby slippers around on our backs instead of putting them on our f'ing feet and letting them take us where we need to go. Down a path filled with challenges and wonder, but at the end thankful to wake up in our own beds. Ready to start a new day.
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SUNDAY SHARES: Read, watch, cook, buy
Still listening to a lot of audiobooks. People ask when I find time for that and I've come to realize that it really becomes something I start to do out of habit. I listen walking the dog and getting ready in the morning. Sometimes while I eat my lunch and even, if I'm really into the book, lying in bed at night. Last weekend I sat on my couch for a while and listened to the Irish writer Nuala O'Faolain read her memoir, "Are You Somebody?" Gorgeous.
I also sat propped up on pillows in my bed one night last week listening to Mary Karr read her memoir/master class on the subject in her "The Art of Memoir." As if the beauty of her writing is not enough, the experience is elevated by hearing her read them aloud, her East Texas twang infusing her words with the whiskey and tumbleweeds of her youth.
I'm halfway through Season 2 of Yellowstone. I can say that I am not in love with it, and yet find myself watching an episode when I eat dinner or to settle my brain after a day of work. It's like if the Roy family in Succession were cowboys with less talented writers penning their lines.
Guys, I've taken the plunge into progressive eyewear life. I used my FSA money at the end of last year to buy 2 pairs from Caddis and I'm still trying to figure out if I like them. Like, sometimes I forget I'm even wearing them, and other times they make me dizzy. And I still don't know exactly when I should and should not be wearing them. However, I will keep experimenting because life with readers on top of my head and in every room and tucked into my shirt collar and still not being able to find a pair when I need them (which is almost all the time) is annoying.
With the rest of my FSA money, I bought this cozy neck wrap that you microwave (or freeze) and it smells like lavender. It arrived right when I had covid and was struggling with a literal pain in my neck. I wore that thing 24/7 for about a week and it made me feel cozy and very happy.
If you're doing the Dry January, here are some fun mocktails to experiment with. Or, just go buy some fancy ginger tonic (if you're local, you can grab at Sickles).
Finally, if you are a late bloomer like me, you might find inspiration in this article filled with advice from people who prove that it's never too late to pursue your dreams.
Wow. Thanks for reading. Seriously, you're the best.
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