Life Without Alcohol

I'm an alcoholic. On my own, I would probably go back to hiding in an alcohol-fueled fog. It's a lot easier that way; I could continue my slow suicide, and no one would care. Fortunately, I'm not on my own, and there are quite a few people who care. I have been living sober for a long time, going back to the 20th Century (sounds kind of impressive, huh?), but it all comes down to choosing not to drink on a daily basis. Not that it's much of a choice anymore, but that isn't my doing, to be honest.


I am a fortunate man. I have a family that was willing to forgive the times I lied, missed games, or missed a performance, due to my addiction. I have gone to each of them, acknowledged my wrongdoings, and have received their love and appreciation in return. Materialistically, our needs are met, and we live fairly comfortably, but I am not a materialistically-wealthy man by any means. In other ways, emotionally, physically, spiritually, I am a very rich man. I would not exchange my riches for any material wealth.


Anymore, my thoughts rarely wander into a bar, but I get the occassional "Wouldn't an ice-cold beer be great right now?" I usually just laugh it off, because it happens at odd times. I've even had someone ask me that, on a hot Northern California afternoon. "Yeah, it would." I answered, acknowledging that it would, but knowing it wasn't going to happen.


It's not a choice, so much, anymore. If you could see, through my eyes, all that has changed since I became sober, the choice has become automatic. It's like the old joke about playing a Country song backwards, I got my wife back, my kids back, my life back, and much, much more.


When I went, kicking and screaming, to the Navy Alcohol Rehab Center, I couldn't imagine a life without drinking. When I left, I had a plan, but life overcame, and I began to drink again. Few, in real life, ever realize that moment of absolute clarity, and come to know that their lives have been in the Hands of God, and that there is something I need to accomplish in this life. I have, and have told the story before.


After that experience, I attended my obligatory AA meetings, and had a spiritual parting of the ways. AA is focused on "higher power," my higher power is the One God, and His Son, Jesus Christ. AA doesn't want to "go there," and I felt my spiritual progress was being hampered by an inability to get beyond the philosophical differences. Make no mistake, AA helped me a lot, but only to awaken my spiritual-self. The quest to build a personal relationship with my Heavenly Father was taken alone.

Once again, I began to think of life in real terms, not as opportunities to drink. I had a minor "slip" in January of '99, and decided to quit once and for all. Six months into my new sobriety, I bought a house, and was having friends help us move our stuff about a half mile. One friend happened to be the Principal for Summer School, and needed someone to teach either eighth- or ninth-grade English, for a stipend of $4,000. I took the ninth-grade class. We had about six weeks, two hours per-day, each, Monday through Friday. Somehow it satisfied some requirement, and students were credited with 90 hours of learning in 60 hours. If you think that doesn't make sense, try making lesson plans.

At the end of Summer School, I went back on the Sub List, and refused a job offered less than a week after my six week learning experience. I wasn't ready, at least, not then. As was my habit, the day after I refuse a job, I'd go in and talk to Mary, then Robin, who used to make the calls personally. Mary asked me if my degree was in English; I told her "Yes." She says, "Go to Vaca High, see Bob Johnson, they have a 60% position that needs to be filled." I went, Bob wasn't there. I ended up getting the job, and taught at my old high school for four years, total. I taught most of a calendar year, and taught Summer School 2000. I did it all sober. Lord knows I wanted a drink from time to time, but I didn't. That long school year may have been one of the factors in my stroke in 2001, it was 24 straight months, in a high stress job. Sober.
I survived a stroke, sober. I survived a whole lot of other things, too, sober. Some major life-changing decisions, all made sober. Perhaps the best decision, in terms of my spiritual well-being, was to move to Spokane, Wa.
I believe the decision to move to Spokane was part of a personal revelation; made possible by a few years of sobriety, and an desire to become active in my Mormon faith. I believe this because of the people I was to meet, and the opportunity to live in a community with a large Latter-day Saint population. Spokane, you see, is roughly a geographic, and population equal to the communities of Dixon, Vacaville, and Fairfield, Ca combined. There are Stakes in Vacaville, and Fairfield, as well as a Ward in Dixon. In Spokane, there are five Stakes, and a Temple. It's not like both of my neighbors were LDS, or anything, but members of Evergreen Ward were very close-by.
One of the most amazing things I learned in Spokane was that the LDS Church was developing an Addiction Recovery Program, using AA's Twelve Steps as a basis. It had been a "pilot program" in Vacaville, Mary was the Group Facilitator for a while, but it had, apparently, been picked-up Church-wide. I attended a few meetings in Spokane, but my "change of heart" came as a result of meeting a guy, the High Priest Group Leader in my Ward.
To say that Bob and I lived parallel lives would be most appropriate. Bob, however, had long ago accounted for his transgressions, and taught me a lot about repentance, and about the Atonement of Jesus Christ. Living among the members of Evergreen Ward, I learned about Service, both as a recipient of, and as a provider of. I had a number of talks with Bob, and with our Bishop, and realized that the only thing standing in the way was me. After that, my "conversion" to my religion, after 35 years of being a member, happened pretty quickly.
Life is good, now. All of that baggage that I've lugged is gone. I am finally free to live in Today, only looking at Yesterday as a "benchmark" (as in, "Am I better Today than Yesterday?"), and preparing for Tomorrow (whatever that brings...). I am following another personal revelation, to take care of my family, first, and then my Priesthood responsibilities. I was promised that if I focused on those two things, "everything will work-out fine". Guess what?
Everything is just fine.

A Ramble

Lots of things going on in the world. Not much of it good, either. In my position, as a partially-disabled, unemployed American, I have lots of time on my hands, my mind begins to wander about, among the junk that lies in there, picks out a topic, and I spend some time thinking about it. Lately, it seems, I keep finding 2012.

Yeah, I know, end of the Mayan Calandar, yada, yada, yada. I'm not going to don my sandwich board, claiming the end is near, but it makes me wonder. There is conflict in the Middle East, and if Iran goes nuke, we're definitely looking at a major disaster brewing. 2012? Weird, huh?
I think the thing that scares me the most is that, left unchecked, the current administration and its progressive followers are bent on destroying the Constitution. With tentacles invading the banking, auto, and health-care industries, we are losing our rights to competition. Soon, if they keep having their way, we are looking at a nationalized system like Venezuela's. Hugo Chavez is almost idolized by Obama, where the hell are we going?
I've been watching the Tea Party Movement, and it seems to be growing. I have to admit, their basic ideal: "Taxed Enough Already," has my approval. The thought of "redistribution of wealth" through controlling the industries that provide the greatest portion is scary, scary, scary. Even the idea that Government knows what is best for me smacks of Orwell's Big Brother. Are we headed in that direction?
To say that I love my country is a great underestimation. I spent my youth in the Nation's service, and regret nothing. It's the time that I spent outside of the U.S. that has given me a chance to appreciate our Constitution, and the protections it provides. Many's the time I've stood at attention, while on deployments, and wiped tears from my eyes at the raising of our flag, and the playing of our National Anthem. Despite my training and education, I lack the ability to describe what it feels like, just knowing that Home is there.
Our nation, even after 234 years, has yet to find it's full potential, although we lead the world in innovation. Trust me, I've met many, many people across the world who would love to be here in the USA. I've also met those with the attitude of "American, phoey!" Most of them would love to live here, but would never admit it. I've never had problems communicating with any citizen of my host country. English is a required language, world-wide, and is taught to students at an early age. Even the ones who protest to not speaking English show a great deal of linguistic fluidity if approached appropriately.
I learned, phonetically, to be able to regurgitate phrases in Greek, Italian, French, Spanish, and Japanese. Stuff like "I do not speak [language]. Do you know someone who speaks English?" The results were amazing, well, at least to me... Suddenly, I was treated like someone who had taken the time to have good manners. Communication became easy. I was even able to make friends with a group of Russian sailors, one of whom spoke English fairly well. How much of that was vodka, I couldn't tell you...
I never understood why English was so important abroad, until I took a "History of the English Language" course at Chico State. Our Professor, Dr. Harriett Spiegel, PhD, asked if anyone knew what the most commonly spoken language was. Guesses were made, Spanish, English, Mandarin Chinese, and Dr. Spiegel wrote them down, in that order. Then she told us that we had three of the top five, and reordered them Mandarin, English, Spanish. English was the second-most common, behind the 6 billion Chinese speakers. She asked if we knew why this might be, and laid out the many things done in English, like air travel and technology. The list was long, and I realized why it was so easy to find English speaking people while abroad. It's also one of many reasons why people dislike us. I get it; got it a long time ago.
I admit to being somewhat of a chameleon, I seem to be able to blend in at just about any occassion, and with any group. I've been in, what at first may seem, awkward situations, getting aquainted with various groups of people, but find myself being accepted wherever I go.

Vocational Rehab for a PhD?

I have the form, typed the cover letter, and will shortly mail my request for Vocational Rehabilitation, now that I've been rated at 30%. If you've read any of my crap, you know I have a thing about being a teacher. You also know I have a bad back, and that picking up for public school kids was killing me. Some of my former coleagues tell me it's only getting worse.

And I thought, about two years ago, about getting my MA, or PhD, and teaching at community college. Two years ago, I wasn't in a position to do the studies, a PhD is not cheap, no matter where you go, or what you have for help. Now that I've broken the 20% level, and I have a new award letter, the question is: Will the VA pay for my PhD? At age 60?

Okay, okay... I'm not taking drugs, haven't drank in years, but if I can no longer manage the custodial chores of a public school classroom, doesn't the VA help me to get into a position to where I can still do the job I love doing?

Sorry, I know this is pretty self-serving, but I haven't worked in three years. I'd like to do it again, before I'm no longer able. I'd make a good college professor for a JC. I could work a couple of classes, two or three times a week. Not a whole lot of stress. Sounds to me like Heaven.
Doctor Martin... has a nice sound. Kinda flows off the tongue nicely. Yeah, I know it isn't like that, but when you can put PhD after your name, people tend to pay a little more attention.
Right now, it's a fantasy; tomorrow, who knows? I've heard of Voc Rehab doing other things, why not finance my graduate program? I mean, c'mon, give a brother a break, eh?
Oh well, guess we'll see...
Back on Planet Earth, had my back "shot" back in June. Usual response, but feeling a twinge at under 30 days. EZ told me, from Day 1, that the effects would not last forever, and sooner-or-later not work at all. aheu9pyqef8v Pardon, just got a chill thinking about that.
Ah, well, screw it! No one ever told me that aging was "fun," although the conveniently neglegted to mention that it began to hurt.

Some Needed Relief

On Thursday, June 24, I was able to receive my fourteenth epidural steroid injection (ESI), to treat a bulging disc at L5/S1. The treatment, thus far, has been a phenomenal success, my sciatic symptoms have abated to relatively zero, although the arthritis is causing some discomfort, now... Ah, life begins at 50... Yeah, it begins to hurt! Next year, I get to move into some new territory, the 60's.
I am totally indebted to Dr. David Gover, Major, USAF. He's the guy who told me about ESI, and it's the best thing anyone has ever done for me. I initially started my treatment with Dr. Ezell Askew performing the procedure, Dave has inherited the job, and has performed it well. On this occasion, Dave was assisted by a Dr. Edmonds, who happens to be a neighbor of my daughter, and is a friend of my son-in-law, Peter. Dave is trying to instill confidence in me, of Dr. Edmonds abilities, I'm quite sure, but Dave has already told me that he is capable, and that's good enough for me. It's quite nice to know your doctor beyond the hospital, so I know that Dr. Gover is a very conscientious guy, and would not give his recommendation lightly. I believe that Dave is trying to prepare me for a time when he is no longer there, and it really isn't necessary. I've been around military medicine my entire life; born in a military hospital, treated in military hospitals both as a dependent, and a sponsor, ever since. I've never been in a civilian hospital, well, a couple of ER's maybe.
I guess I just realize that Dave is an Air Force doctor, and won't be at David Grant forever. Lord, how many Primary Care physicians have I had? Nine, I think, since 2005 alone. You get used to being treated by different people. Some are great people, with great technical skill; some aren't, but both accomplish the same thing. My new Primary Care physician is Dr. Pettit, a Doogie Howser-esque young man, who has already endeared himself to me by apologizing for his youth. I told him "No problem. That just means you have the latest info on stuff." He smiled, and thanked me saying, "I wish everyone had that attitude..."
I just got through a physical with him, and my numbers were all very good. He knows about my back problems, and has talked with Dave about my treatment. He's very responsive when I call for pain meds, because he knows I don't abuse them.
Despite the almost constant changing-of-the-guard, I've been very pleased with the military health care I have received, and especially for the way my family has been treated. We've had everything from subluxations, to strokes, to sclerosis, to brain surgery, and have been treated with the utmost care throughout. When Mary had to have her brain surgery, I asked a friend, within the hospital, to quietly find the best person for the surgery. I was presented with several pages of information, and the best person turned out to be a Dr. William Henry Harrison, LCOL, USAF, currently assiged to David Grant Medical Center, and Mary's assigned surgeon.

I'm ba-a-ck...

Hi all. It's been a while. Lots of back problems, as we've gone through a weird Spring, aggravating my arthritis, and my last epidural only lasted about seven weeks. Got in for my 14th procedure yesterday. So, I'm back, and ready to pontificate of some new subjects...
I read, in the newspaper, that the government is now worried about a growing number of "home grown" terrorists, U.S. Muslims who go back to the "old country," to take up arms against the nation who helped raise their families from the squalor of some Third-World country. Unfortunately, it seems, we are raising a First-Generation children who have decided to bite the hand that, in essence, feeds them. When Arizona first passed it's now-imfamous immigration law, Hispanic students, shouting "Mexico," were all over the newspapers, and news shows. I'm an intellegent man, but I find this almost incomprehensible.
Let me state, again, as I always seem to have to, I totally get cultural diversity, I cherish the ability to celebrate one's heritage, and protected the right to do so, over a 20-year Navy career. I'm pretty well traveled, having set foot on every continent except Austrailia and Antarctica. I hope, one day, to visit Austrailia, but will pass on touching them all. Everywhere I've gone, I've tried to honor the ideal of "Ambassador of Good Will," honoring the laws of the host nations, and trying to make friends among the local population. I can tell you some great stories of encounters with folks from many countries, but suffice to say, I've seen and learned a lot.
I abhor any semblance of racism, whether intentional, or not. I was once told, "We're all pink inside," and while that came as a lusty response to a racist question, it struck a nerve. Racism is ignorance, pure and simple. As the character Atticus Finch, in Harper Lee's classic, To Kill a Mockingbird, "You never know a person until you consider things from his point of view -- until you climb into his skin and walk around in it." Once you get past the surface, we really are all pink inside.
Getting back to my original ramble, I have read the Arizona Immigration Law, and find absolutely no conflict. The Arizona law is merely the authorization to enforce existing law. It is against the law to fail to properly identify, or misidentify oneself when requested to do so by law enforcement personnel in the performance of their duties. Period. I see a potential for abuse in the Arizona Law, but believe that such cases will be resolved fairly in court.
It was the reaction of U.S.-born Hispanics that throws me. I live in a community founded by Mexican immigrants, and know many people who have immigrated from Mexico, both legally and illegally. I've taught their children in public schools. Most of the parents I've met, treasure being in the United States, having gotten an opportunity work towards their own goals, and be able to support their families, in a manner unthinkable in Mexico. Get beyond the tourist route in Mexico, and life is pretty hard. I remember "Cardboard City," a collection of shanties on the riverbed between Tijuana and San Diego, it was awful, but marginally better than what people live in outside of the major Mexican cities. My conundrum: I fully support every legal means to immigrate to the U.S., but do not feel responsible for those who cannot, or will not go through the process. Twelve million people, at last estimate, many taking advantage of the variety of social programs available, taking tax dollars from people who rightfully, legally deserve it, and straining our economy. OK, this is why I call it a "ramble".
The kids, though, I don't get at all. I know that many visit family in Mexico, and just can't believe they don't see what I've seen. To be proud of one's heritage is one thing, to protest against a perception of injustice is another, but to damage property is a criminal act, aimed at a system that tries to help them live in relative comfort. "Mexico! Mexico! Mexico!" and it's oppressive system, mixed with a government run by corrupt officials, is not such a great place to be.
Perhaps it's the "gang-thing," that attracts them. Perhaps, when shown video of illegal border crossings, they see the Coyotes as some kind of underground heroes, rather than the greedy, violent criminals they really are. Or is it the drug smuggling? Either way, I can't understand their devotion to a nation whose citizens are willing to commit crimes, and pay enormous fees to do so, in order to get out and have a chance to succeed.

A Dad Moment

Two days ago, May 18, 2010, I listened to a voice mail from my daughter Tyffany. I could tell by her voice that she was struggling with life, and not without reason. Peter (Tyff's husband, my son-in-law) is currently somewhere off the coast of South Korea, on a training cruise for the students at CSU-Maritime Acadamy, and is doing well... Meanwhile, Tyff is managing to hold up under increased pressure in her supervisory position, trying to catch up some work so she can take a two-week Family Medical Leave, as Victor (my soon-to-be grandson) starts living with her tonight, I could understand her troubles.
She asked me to give her a Father's Blessing, something I have done before, but a long time ago. How could I say "No"? This is the first time, in a long while, that she has the faith in my Priesthood Authority to bless her according to the Spirit. It was a truly spiritual evening, I do not remember what I said, exactly, but I know the blessing addressed all of her worries. She's going to be a great Mom. Victor is such a wonderful little boy. I can't wait to have him become a part of our family.
That's it.

Paying Homage to Spokane, WA

We lived in Spokane, Washington for about 18 months. When the Vacaville Unified School District recinded my tenure, stripped me of three years seniority, and handed me a pink-slip, in 2003, the VTA refused to represent me, or even hear my story, so I was "done" with Vacaville. During Spring Break, I attended a teacher's job fair in Tacoma, WA, and met a whole bunch of folks who were interested in hiring me, especially folks from Spokane.

We took a "leap of faith," sold our house in Vacaville, and moved to Spokane. I immediately started looking for work, and got hired in Coeur d'Alene, ID, right before the start of school. I was 52, had suffered a stroke a year before (which wasn't my first, I was told), and once again had "that feeling" that something was missing. We were hoping for a fresh start, in a new city, and were not disappointed. I found out why I was having "that feeling".

I was OK, I hadn't had a drink in a long while, although I was a bit "crushed" by the lack of support I had received in Vacaville. We had visited Spokane, and fell in love with the city moments after our fist view of it. We had a three-bedroom apartment, with very low (by California standards) rent in Spokane Valley, one of many, many suburban areas that surround the City proper. It was a nice, residential area, not far from Couer d'Alene, and close to just about everything.

Stll, something was missing. I was going to Church, more or less, and we were meeting some really great people, making friends, and enjoying the new environment. I was in the habit of getting up at 5 am, getting a paper, and going to a shady spot, and listen to the Bob and Tom Show on the radio. When school was out, I kept the habit up, because it gave me the opportunity to think about "stuff". I came to the conclusion that I wasn't happy, it was my fault, and I needed to start considering that it was due my own stubborness regarding the Church.
Tyffany had told me that she would be married in the Temple, regardless of my status at the time. It meant that much to her, but I heard the unsaid urging, very loud, very clear. I knew that more than a Temple marriage, she wanted her dad to be there when they made their covenants. I had a lot to consider, and only a short time to do so.
I quit smoking, started to attend all of my meetings, and generally got involved in Church-stuff, We started having some of the young families over for picinics, dinners, and always a few games and things. In AA, we often talk about having a "hole" in our hearts, or souls, that we try to fill with booze and drugs. After years of not drinking, I still felt that hole, but after each picinic, or dinner, it got a little smaller.
I heard that the Church was sponsoring a "program" for members who had addiction problems, while in Spokane. Although I was not attending AA, by that time, I saw the potential of the Addiction Recovery Program, and figured it could answer the questions that arose, once AA had awakend my spiritual-side. I went, a couple of times with the Missionaries and an investigator, and noticed a change in the Church's attitudes about "sinners" such as myself. For the first time, in a Mormon Church, I held my head up, knowing that I was not the only "sinner" in attendance. Nor, did my sins seem to be the worst.
I started to read the Scriptures, and made it a habit to pray, often, in my own way. I know that they were heard, because they were answered. I was given to know that, because of my faith in Jesus Christ, my sins had been forgiven long before. I was the only one with regrets and recriminations, I was the one who felt un-worthy, no one else even wondered. If I were ready to move forward, Heavenly Father would guide those first steps.
We lived eight-tenths of a mile from the Spokane Temple. After I got my Temple Recommend back (in time for Tyff's wedding), we attended pretty often. When I was told that I would not be re-hired at Coeur d'Alene, May 15, 2004, we attended a session at the Spokane Temple. When we were in the Celestial Room, I said a prayer, basically to the effect of "What do I do now?" The response was quick, and forceful, and I knew in my heart that everything would be OK. I was to take care of my family, first and foremost; magnify my callings in the church, and to be a worthy Priesthood holder. Since that time, I am fulfilling my side, and receiveing the blessings He has seen fit to bestow upon me.