My Twenty-Fifth A.A. Birthday

I am an alcoholic. I haven't taken a drink in a long time. (My sobriety began on Oct. 1, 1989, the day I tearfully left the rehabilitation center at Memorial Hospital in Ashland, Wisconsin.)  I was also full of trepidation for the future, rooted in lectures by counselors, "After five years only one in five will still be sober. Alcoholism is a disease characterized by relapses."

 I arrived at the aforementioned facility, in a state of tremors and a mental blackout. I remember the tremors, holding a styrofoam cup (filled with coffee only halfway) with both hands. I was brought there directly from Grand View Hospital by my wife, Lois who had saved me from swallowing my tongue and by a dear friend, Judy Schulze.

My brain began to operate beyond the reptilian level the next day and I was astonished at my surroundings. The windows were reinforced and the place was spotless.I had no idea how I had arrived or where I was. The nurse came in to monitor my hand tremors, take my temperature and blood pressure and watch me wash down several pills with a glass of water. "Relax,George. No one is going to harm you," the nurse said in a soothing voice. I had heard the term, 'detox' and thought this must be where I was.

Boredom set in and I had a book about the Twelve Steps of A.A. I had read it and it was boring at the time. It would come alive later as I progressed in recovery. At the end of the book were several blank pages. I was thinking about an algorithm to get me out of this mess. The whole universe is defined by mathematics and the solution was there! I just had to solve it. I went to the desk and asked for a pen.

I wrote what I thought to be profound mathematical discoveries revealing the process of becoming sober. I would come to dismiss these great 'discoveries as delusional scribbling.

After being released from detox and integrated with the 17 other treatment patients my thought processes began to clarify. I no longer dismissed the treatment program as a foolish waste of time. God had removed the hostility and fear that had held me hostage.

One day I came to the realization that the awful, grinding craving for booze had left me. Was this possible?
Other patients confessed that they still had cravings. I declared that the cravings had left me, bringing a sharp rebuke from one of the counselors. I yielded to this counselor but I knew that the cravings were gone.

Before the dawn of my recovery I could not go without a drink of vodka for more than about two hours. That meant taking drinks during the night to ward off the poison dreams that would have me sit up screaming.
It also meant that I would need several hearty swigs from a pint bottle when my legs failed to work. I couldn't move them. I would crawl to my stash of booze and with shaking hands put the bottle to my lips. In a few minutes I could walk again. It also meant furtive trips to the liquor store, driving while I was drunk.

I told a doctor that I had been the recipient of a miracle and the doctor dismissed this, saying, "The alcohol must have burned out the brain cells that caused your addiction." This postulate that I had cured myself by drinking was laughable, I thought, but out of respect I did not argue with the doctor.

On October 1, 2014 twenty-five years will have passed since the dawn of my recovery. I have not had a craving for a drink in all that time. I still attend Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, which help me to remember that I am still an alcoholic and will be until they shovel dirt on my coffin. The meetings also help me remember the power of alcoholic craving, the hopelessness that I felt, and the welcoming spirit and acceptance of Alcoholics Anonymous.

Psalms 18:17-20 came to be my favorite Scripture, "He delivered my from my strong enemy, from those who hated me, for they were too strong for me. They confronted me in the day of my calamity, but the Lord was my support. He also brought me out into a broad space." Verse 20 is the amazing part, because I had  thought the Lord was through with me,  a quivering booze hound who passed himself off as a born-again Christian. "He delivered me because He delighted in me."

My twenty-five years of sobriety have been 'God stuff.'

A Saved Vacation- Part 3

As I sat on the bed with the bottle of cold water held to my swollen knee I heard voices through the open door. Women milling around, talking, admiring the decor, probably. Darryl wasn't home at the time. I heard people climbing the first stairs and soon recognized that it was Lois, Michele and Kenlyn.

They ascended to the third floor and admired our room.

"The room is so tiny, "Kenlyn said.

"Still, it's the best room I ever stayed in."

"Did you fall and skin your knees?" Lois asked.

"I did a little more than that. I stood and Lois could see the extent of the swelling."

"We'll take you back to Michele's and she can give you a cold compress. Did you take anything?"

"Tylenol- two pills."

"Can you make it down the stairs?"

"I did before to get the bottle of water but the swelling has increased since. I'll try."

I made it down the two flights of stairs by holding my left knee stiff and then we got out to Michele's truck. Getting in was painful if I flexed my knee but I made it. I remembered my Kindle.

Conversation centered around Michele'd dining table and Corva was the center of attention. And why not? She's adorable and she's an extrovert. She received Christmas and, I think,  birthday presents which would have been too expensive to ship overseas.

We ate steak for supper, prepared by Ken on the barby  and later on the family split into conversational groups, one at the dining table and one in the family room. Those of us in the family room viewed TV for a while and I kept my left knee up as per Hadley's instructions. (Hadley is a registered nurse.) Nurse Hadley prescribed Alleve and cold compresses to diminish the swelling.

The front view from Beech Street.

Lois and I enjoyed the hospitality at Isadora's once more in our luxurious bathrobes. I made coffe for myself on the Kuerig and Lois took tea. We indulged ourselves with Cadbury chocolate bars and once more took in this historic place.

Here's where we signed in, as guests would have done in a bygone era.

The next day we started with a hearty breakfast. First a strawberry banana split with yogurt instead of whipped cream. We shared breakfast with a woman from Columbus, Ohio, actually a member of the faculty of Ohio State University where she researches the effects of poverty on young children.  Lindsay asked where we hailed from and I sensed, from her reaction that the upper peninsula  of Michigan was obscure to her, something like the Yukon Territory. We explained the term, "Yooper," which she found delightfully amusing.

The second course consisted of hash-browned potatoes in casserole form and poached eggs, of which I have never had, but enjoyed.

Lindsay told us that her mother resides in West Bend. When Lindsay told her she was staying at Isadora's her mother objected.

"A bed and breakfast is only for couples."

This is where we breakfasted.

Lindsay was going to take in West Bend with her mother, so we wished her a happy time with her mother.

We reluctantly began to pack for the trip home. I say reluctantly because this was the best and most unique lodging experience we have

The view from Beech Street.

ever had. Sure beats the cookie-cutter approach of the national lodging chains. This place was about warmth and historicity and fascination.


After packing and loading up Ken's truck which he generously let us borrow for the evening, we walked the huge veranda and got a sense of how high the mansion rested above Beech Street.

The front stairs overlooking Beech Street, featuring the babbling fountain on the first landing.

We will definitely stay here again!

I wondered at how long it must have taken to build this enormous residence and the number of workmen involved, since much of the work was done with muscle power rather than machine power.

We recovered our car and painfully paid the bill. I realized that the car troubles didn't ruin this wonderful visit with family. We returned Ken's truck and said our good-byes, punctuated with hugs. With this visit I realized how much I love our family and how much they mean to us.

This prayer opens our AA meetings. I was also saying it silently at times during our vacation.
The frame is an antique from the Weiss family and the cross-stitching was done by our talented niece, Kenlyn Knop.

The homeward trek had only two minor incidents: Lois forgot the cross-stitching project. We doubled back to get it  and we thought we had taken the wrong exit to get on Highway 10. We stopped for gas and coffee and Lois asked the clerk for directions. (We were both wearing t-shirts that we bought from our church. On the back of each shirt was this Scripture: "Show me the right path, o Lord; point out the road for me to follow." Psalms 25:4.) We could see Highway 10 from the gas station, once the nice lady pointed it out.

This vacation had its ups and downs but it was the most unique experience we've had. Always uplifting to visit our family.

• 
  

The Saved Vacation- Part 2

My groggy eyes opened after what seemed like a long sleep, but it was shortly after seven o'clock and I heard water running in the bathroom- Lois washing up for breakfast. My feet dangled from the high bed as  the ghosts of last night began to seep into my consciousness.

It was a sunny day, warm with robins singing outside our window. I parted the curtains and looked outside to see a lovely blue sky and a woman running on the sidewalk past the B & B. and then I thought of the car, the brakes. How much were the repairs going to cost? How would we pay the bill?

Lois entered and we said 'good morning.'

"If you hurry up and get dressed we can go downstairs and have coffee,"

I obeyed Lois and in a few minutes we were slowly descending the two flights of stairs. I noticed the sketch of Jesus with His crown of thorns and the agony in his eyes. I think Michelangelo did this.
The morning light came through a stained glass sun-catcher, brightening the second staircase. The stair walls displayed many photographs of the Mayer family and there was a singular photo of a woman in long skirts, hair done up  and she w
 standing sideways to the camera. The aroma of French toast beckoned us.

We took coffee right away in the dining room which was dominated by a long table, covered by linen with a plate of thick glass over it. Three candelabra graced the elegant place settings. We sat down and shortly Darryl served us warm grapefruit  with the sections all severed so all one had to do was spoon out each bite. I remembered to put the linen napkin on my lap.

Darryl told us about the renovation process that had taken seven years to complete. Plumbing, electrical wiring and drywall were new where required. Three new furnaces were installed, plus central air-conditioning and energy-efficient windows. The dark buffet at one end of the table had a mirror and drawers and magnificent woodwork. Darryl said they tore out a wall that had covered this buffet. It is a deep fixture, as Darryl demonstrated how deep the drawers were, about three feet, I think.

He waited until we were both done with our grapefruit and then brought us our French toast and pork sausages. We have never experienced such an elegant presentation of food. There was a glass rod to the right of each plate for us to lean our forks and knives so we wouldn't sully the meticulously kept tabletop. By the way, the coffee was bold but not overpowering and begged a second cup, which Darryl so thoughtfully poured. He had all the technique and manners of a butler.

After we finished, we lingered over coffee and Darryl joined, standing as he talked.

"Could you please give us the number of Lifetime Auto?" I asked, concerned about getting the car into the shop as soon as possible.

Darryl brought out a phone book and looked it up and gave me a slip of paper and a pen to write it down.

"My nephew's name is Bob and he's a skilled mechanic and honest. The name of the place is Lifetime Auto."

That recommendation satisfied me as I perceived Darryl as an honest Christian man.

I told Lois , "I'll give you a ride to Ken and Michele's and come back."

Darryl said he would then drive out to the shop and I could follow.

Bob was the friendliest, most animated mechanic I have ever met.

"Hi, how are you?" Bob said,  smiling a warm genuine smile, extending a soiled hand. I took it and introduced myself.

"Whattya got wrong with your Nissan?" His animation came out strongly, like a doctor asking a patient what's wrong.

"Brakes. they grind when I hit the brakes."

Then his affect changed to one of concern. "That's serious. You're from Michigan?"

"Way up north on the Wisconsin border, next to Hurley. A lot of West Bend people don't know where Ironwood is, but they know where Hurley is."

"I assume you'll want your car fixed sometime today? Were you planning on leaving for Ironwood tomorrow?"

"If at all possible. Looks like you have a lot of cars to fix."

"Yeah, and I'm working alone." He didn't say why he was the lone mechanic but this bit of information put perspective into the situation.

"Hey, where's the little clicker that attaches to this key?" Bob asked.

I took it out of my pocket and handed it to him.

"Why do you carry it around all the time?"

"To lock and unlock the car. Then I take the key out and start the car."

"Did you know that you don't have to use the clicker to unlock your door?"

I must have had an inquisitive look because he became ever more animated.

"I'm walking to my car after a hard day and I don't have to dig the key out of my pocket, or your wife doesn't have to dig it out of her purse, assuming you're married, of course."

I nodded to affirm my marriage.

"I just stand near the car and push that tiny black button on the door handle and..." He dramatically paused and raised his hand in a flourish as the car opened up.

"And, that's not all, George." He got into the car. "I'm sitting here with my key and clicker in my pocket and all I have to do is..." he turned the ignition without the key and the car started. Then he turned the engine off without the key and got out, closed the door, hit the black button and the car locked.

"Aren't these smart keys cool?"

"Thanks for showing me." I tried to hide my embarrassment.

"Okay, don't worry, I'll try real hard to get 'er done today. I'll call you before noon with an estimate."

Darryl drove me back to the B& B as I told him I wanted to take a run before I visited the Knops.

"There is a terrific running /walking trail just beyond the bridge on Washington.  It's concrete, twenty-six miles long and well-maintained."

"Thanks, I think I'll try that."

The cool morning had passed by and now it was uncomfortably warm, yet I was determined to go for a run. Running straightens me out when my mind is bent out of shape. I was dwelling on the car and I got my running shoes on. They were the old running shoes; the new ones were back in Ironwood. I sighed, "Lord, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change."

I ran down to the trail and decided to estimate my run based on an easy rate of a mile in 12 minutes. I looked at my watch, which was twenty minutes slow, since the battery was failing. The exertion felt comfortable and comforting.

It is to West Bend's credit, this wide and well-maintained trail. No hazards, just a smooth, attractive trail. I had just broken a sweat when my phone rang. It was Lois.

"Where are you?"

"I was running on the splendid trail that runs by the bridge on Washington."

"Why don't you come and help Ken with the branch on the birch tree?"

"Okay. I'll be there in a little while." I knew about the job.

Sixteen minutes had elapsed so when I arrived at the bridge, making the run was about three miles. Now I ran up Washington to the street that curls around Regner Park up to Greentree Street.

Ken was sawing up a hefty branch that had been a hazard. I went through the gate and waved to Michelle. Ken sawed for a while and shut off the saw. We shook hands.

"How can I help you, Ken?"

"You can pick up the sawed pieces and pile them on the side of the house. There's a woodpile started already."

I started hauling and piling and soon had caught up to Ken and He shut off the saw again. Time for a break in this hot morning. We stood and surveyed the birch tree.

"Where did you take your car?"

"Lifetime Auto. The mechanic is supposed to call me before noon with an estimate."

"Tough when your car breaks down on a trip."

"Yeah, whatcha gonna do? It is what it is."

"Want to saw for a while?"

"Sure," I said. That was like asking Pavoratti if he wanted to sing.

This was great- a run and now I was sawing firewood. Something about a chainsaw clicks with me. I worked for the U.S. Forest service many years ago as a cutter. I also sawed up logs delivered to our house, ten logger's cords each year. Running a good saw is like driving a fast car, sharpens your senses because one little mistake can wreck a lifetime. I liked the power of Ken's new Riobi saw and was disappointed when I ran out of wood to cut.

We finished the job and Ken raked up the mess and then we sat down in the gazebo with refreshments. It was a good time, catching up on each others' lives and having a laugh or two. Ken and Michele Knop make you feel at home. They are good people.

My phone rang again and it was Lifetime. I went away from the gathering to hear what was wrong with our car. My stomach tingled and Bob revealed a litany of automotive woes.

"I'm not gonna pull any punches, George. It's not a cheap date. Your rear brakes were metal-on-metal and the rotors are completely destroyed."

I anticipated that, but I wasn't ready for the rest of the story.

"Your left front wheel was wobbly and I found out that there was nothing left of the wheel bearings. You are real lucky to be alive."

"How about the front brakes," I asked, suspecting them also to be worn out as well.

"Your front brakes have 10% left on the pads. If I do the rear brakes, the front brakes and the new hub assembly the bottom line is just over a thousand bucks."

I felt sick in the pit of my stomach, somewhere between miserable and nausea.

"Can I make it home to Ironwood without doing the front brakes?"

"I can't give a guarantee. that is up to  you, George. Do you want us to just do the rear brakes and the front hub? That would come to
$718.00, including labor and sales tax."

"Let's do that, okay."

"It's your call, George. but I'd get those front brakes done in the very near future. I'll try to get it finished since you said you were going home tomorrow."

"Appreciate it," I croaked. I was flattened by the news. I couldn't think or speak or move. In a few minutes I shared the bad news at the gazebo.

Somehow I was cheerful over lunch. I was even conversational. I don't know why. My personal prohibition against spoiling this gathering would not have kept me stable. Something else was working then and I can realize it as I write. It was God stuff.

Nephew Michael Knop,  his wife Hadley , daughter, Corva and beloved dog, Tula.

After lunch when Ken was napping and our nephew Mike and his wife, Hadley, on furlough from their work in Germany arrived. They brought their two-year-old daughter, Corva. We hugged and made such a racket that we woke up Ken. Mike's sister, Kenlyn also joined us.

I remained on the periphery of things as I usually do and when the tenor of the gathering relaxed I recalled that I didn't have my Kindle. I wanted to go outside and read a few chapters of The Wind is not a River. I told Lois that I would run back and get it.

"Take it easy. It's hot out there," Michele cautioned.

I ran around the curve alongside Regner Park again and this time I ended up on Main Street instead of Washington. No problem. I knew how to get back to the B & B. I remember seeing the Toucan custard place just before I sailed through the air, hands before me like Superman, my glasses flying off me head and my left knee bouncing off the concrete. Then I slid on hands and knees. All this seemed to happen in slow-motion.

I got to my feet quickly and retrieved my glasses. Heavy traffic whisked by and I hoped no one had noticed. Both knees were bleeding and I wiped away the blood with some tissue from my pocket. I resumed running as though nothing had happened.

In our room at the B & B, I viewed the damage in a full-length mirror. A piece of skin had been scraped from my right knee, about the size of a quarter. The left knee was also bleeding but swollen twice the size of the other.

A bottle of cold water from the dining room refrigerator would suffice as a cold compress. I judged the swollen knee wasn't broken, else I wouldn't be up here in our third-floor room. I thanked God for that and sat on the bed holding the cold water bottle against the swelling.

======== To be continued. Part 3 is coming!==========

A Broken Vacation Saved - Part 1

We headed down Highway 51, rolling out of Minocqua, Wisconsin in the Nissan we bought three months ago, sun roof open and commercial-free tunes playing on the Sirius XM radio. We talked and laughed and forgot about the vexations of everyday life. We were relaxing in the soothing sun as we rolled toward our destination which was Isadora's Bed and Breakfast in West Bend, Wisconsin. Neither of us had stayed in a B & B before, but our lodging options had narrowed in the wake of summer activities in West Bend. Lois' sister, Michele already had overnight guests so  I had found our new adventure in lodging online and booked it through Priceline.com.

There was no set time for us to arrive and we were in the most carefree spirit in years. We remarked at the urban sprawl and the complexity of overpasses in Appleton, Fond Du Lac and Oshkosh that have appeared since we last passed this way, some two years ago.

Our lightness of mood suddenly halted as we pulled into a gas oasis in Stevens Point. As our car approached one of the gas pumps a horrible, grinding sound emanated from the rear. We looked at each other.

"That doesn't sound good. Not good at all," Lois said, her countenance darkening into concern.

"Shit!" was all I could say.

The car needed fuel and I needed to use the facilities and to refill my coffee mug from the many choices inside. After filling the tank I was at the coffee bar and decided on filling my mug halfway with Colombian coffee. I topped it off with a liquid candy called English Toffee. We paid and went back out to our car. It was after six and there would be no car repair service available. The city was congested and there would probably be no lodging available.

The noise came and went and disappeared when we were on Highway 10, exiting Stevens Point. I kept pace with the flow of traffic but drove conservatively. We didn't hear the noise at all until we got on the ramp to Highway 45. We went through one of those ridiculous things called a turnabout. It routed us around 360 degrees and then some and I lost all sense of direction. I had to slow down considerably to negotiate this crazy, winding menace the highway engineers inflicted on unsuspecting motorists. Must have been insane highway engineers.

The noise came again, wrenching, grinding, frightening, compounded by heavy traffic. When we left the turnabout and accelerated the noise ceased. By now my mind was going wild. I was in three lanes of traffic and four at times, all going one way and looking for overhead signs to be sure I was headed in the right direction. Lois activated the GPS. She is the navigator. I am flying the plane with the unknown mechanical malfunction.

With Lois' skill at using the GPS we got to the last leg of the trip at the Allenton exit on Highway 33. There was a stop sign and when I came to a complete stop it became apparent that it was the brakes as the scraping grind intensified to a shriek that set my teeth on edge. Careful driving would get us there. Nonetheless I prayed non-stop.

Once in West Bend we had to find Isadora's B & B and I thought I knew where it was from the Google map, but the night plays strange tricks on one's senses. Things look completely different. Then the GPS took us to an old abandoned block structure on Main Street. "Make a left turn, immediately'" the female voice said,  in and we did. We were routed into a dark alley. A chime sounded and the female voice on the GPS said, "You have arrived!"

We exited the dark alley and the voice said, "Please make a legal u-turn whenever possible." My frustration boiled over and I told the GPS voice to shove it where the sun never shines. On the homeward trip I named her Gertrude.

Gertrude had obviously failed us, so Lois told me to pull over as soon as I could and she would call Darryl at the B & B for help.

As Lois talked I went out with the flashlight to look under the car for anything that might be hanging down or damaged. I didn't find anything so I got back into the car and Darryl stayed on the line with Lois to become our live GPS as it were. In a little while we found our destination and parked the car with tortured sounds reminiscent of the Titanic. Darryl was there to greet us. I was shaken, frustrated and tired. I looked at the rear wheels with the flashlight and saw irreparable scoring on the brake rotors. Now I felt defeated. I was never going to take another road trip again never!

I recalled the trips to West Bend with mechanical failures: the Ford Torino station wagon, alternator failure; the Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera failed Lois on a solo trip, computer failure; the Dodge Dakota needed a sudden tune-up on the day after Christmas and the distributer gear failed; the F-150 blew an alternator on a homeward trip in the winter in the middle of nowhere; the Ford Taurus never failed us.

I followed Lois and Darryl silently fuming and cursing. Yes I curse when my buttons are pushed. I admit it. I'm saved by Jesus through His generosity and grace but I'm human, no better or worthy in the sight of God than anyone else. My old nature takes over at times of my weakness. I confess it to God . I carried some of our luggage down the sidewalk and turned into the path to the front porch.

living room with bay window

I was unprepared to step back 120 years through a massive front door. The door squealed loudly as I closed it and I came to the dim foyer. A small desk lit by a small table lamp lay before a staircase adorned with pictures of the

original owner, Stephen S. Mayer.  He was the president of West Bend Aluminum company and later he founded  West Bend Mutual Insurance Company. This house boasted the first flush toilet in town and utilized the refinements of steam heating. The steam was piped in from the West Bend Brewery.

We ascended a winding staircase to the second floor  library with period furniture and a Tiffany lamp overlooking a high-backed chair. Our room was on the third floor, The French Nook. We went up another winding staircase. This one was narrow and carpeted and our room was right at the head of the stairs.

I threw the heavy suitcase on the full-sized bed adorned with pillows of various sizes. I sat down on the bed which was so high that my feet dangled. I was trying to take in all the European ambience but the stress of the drive weighed heavily.

"How many times have we come down here and our car broke down. First it was the Torino wagon..."

"Don't." I looked up at Lois, who had just rebuked me and I deserved it. I desperately wanted to avoid spoiling this family reunion, but I was mad, embarrassed at having our newly-acquired car break down, and ashamed at myself for my anger and inner feelings  and  my break from fellowship with God.

We went down again and met with Darryl Ziebarth for the guided tour. (His wife was out of town.) Antique furniture graced the massive living room and rich curtains and drapes framed the bay window in the front of the house. A headless mannequin modeled a black wedding dress. The room had a somewhat masculine quality as dark woodwork bordered the ceilings which were painted works of art. I retrieved my camera and tripod and photographed until my eyes wouldn't focus.

We said good-night to Darryl, who had been a missionary in Somalia. He was, calm, gentle and walks closely with God. He told us about a garage on Highway 33, Lifetime Auto that had a reputable mechanic, none other than his nephew.

We went up the two flights of stairs again and washed up in the adjacent full bathroom with shower. As we settled into bed I turned on my Kindle looked for some guidance from the Radio Bible Class web page, rbc.org.

I went into the section Been Thinking About and chose a story about Jacob. He was bad to the bone, stole his brother's inheritance and lied to his father among many other failings. His son, Joseph was upright and walked closely with his God even though he was kidnapped, thrown into a well, sold into slavery, etc. but the Bible refers to Jacob's God twenty-five times, never to Joseph's God.

Jacob did eventually get in synch with God but he is easier to identify with. I felt like Jacob and I went to sleep asking for forgiveness from Lois and God.

But I still worried about our car.

========= To be continued, end of Part One==========