Loonfeathers

Ice Capades

2008-12-30T09:36:00.001-08:00

So.....in getting up early to make a drive for a much needed 12 Step meeting today, I drove a mile and an inner voice of reason and common sense brought me back home. Frozen rain turned the roads around here into Skateland. Sure of my ability to navigate on half and inch of ice, the "other" cars on the pond were sliding aimlessly, white knuckles apparent, into ditches and snow berms in unison. Lot's of silent screaming visible through oncoming windshields. I now sit safe, having had an hour of dialog with my housemate, the topics of survival from relationships gone awry, sex, and his current insights from the readings of Don Miguel Ruiz's Four Agreements and The Mastery Of Love. The next best thing to a meeting for me.

Spud called at 1AM to let me know he was still drinking himself to death. I listened to his slurs of altered wisdom as he was in need of being heard. I blessed him, told him I loved him and pondered his fate as I drifted back to sleep. Dreams of walking on ice with tread less shoes prevailed as I interpret sure footedness is required. It seems I have been walking on ice most of this year, yet the ice has been thicker than expected.

Standing outside a while ago with a cup of coffee, the Crows and Steller's Jays aware of my new back of peanuts. The Towhees saying hello from the safety of their leafless brier. Tossing the peanuts like a princess in a parade to the hungry children as they say thank you, scrambling to get their fair shares. One of the Jays, a constant who awakens me every morning from a tree next to my window, singing a song in mock of another species. Not the sound of a jay but a Robin on high volume. As I step out the door, he is right there greeting me as a good friend indeed.

As my body acclimates to graveyard shifts, exhaustion takes hold. The human condition of wintertime hibernation taps me and beckons me to recline with a good book and a nap. I will do that soon as the rest of the world will patiently wait for me to do my dance. A dance of social healing based on the theme of recovery. As my reality is shifting, it is as if the melting ice and snow is revealing something of newness, of mystery. For the moment I must wait and allow the melt to occur around me, as me and all my perceived power will only melt what is beneath my warm feet.

StevenLoon

--
If I can get through the day without condemning, criticizing or complaining, it's been a good day. If I don't give advice, it's been perfect. - Flloyd Ashcraft

Holidaze

2008-12-12T10:08:00.001-08:00

So.....HELLO......There's an article in the December Reader's Digest called Hello Everybody. It is about a man who greeted everybody in his path for a month with a hello or by waving and smiling. He cites 11 things you can learn from one small change.Good article and I won't drone on with the details, yet I ask you to read it and perhaps practice it. I have been practicing it all my life as I am a friendly kind of guy, regardless of the fronts I build and masks I wear. Those of you who know me intimately, know that I am a kind man. Those who don't are terrified of me and think I'm a prick. I am both.

Yesterday I waved at a driver. She was in the turn lane banging her hands on the steering wheel and yelling through the windshield what appeared to be bad words. I stopped and waved and let her turn into her asphalt ramp into shopper's blissland. She looked at me sideways like I was up to something as the driver in the car behind me started banging her hands on the steering wheel. It was like I transferred the first woman's load into the woman behind me. I waved at the woman behind me and she flipped me off. I started laughing and shaking my head as it was so ridiculous, which made her flip harder for emphasis. I laughed harder and waved as she went by in the other lane spewing what I'm sure were bad words. I don't think she could have been sitting any farther forward on the seat of her SUV as she was screaming SOB. Better her than me.

I pulled into a video store to rent Dark Knight, which saw in the theater a few months ago. I walked in saying hello to the clerks, who in turn said hello. I said hello to a customer who was scanning the shelves nearby, and she mumbled hello without a glance in my direction, an automatic response. As I could sit and watch people all day for entertainment, and I sometimes do, I am having fun with this. Especially that most people act like they have never heard the word hello before. I judge that they are waiting for a sales pitch or a spare change comment. Granted I have long hair, but I dress well and look halfway successful. Perhaps I might ask for change for a nickel.

Loon

--
If I can get through the day without condemning, criticizing or complaining, it's been a good day. If I don't give advice, it's been perfect. - Flloyd Ashcraft

Father Spud

2008-12-02T07:29:00.001-08:00

So......Spud's Father, Curly is 83 with close to 20 years sobriety and just as stubborn as his spawn. Curly had back surgery on November 13th, put off from weeks early due to heart concerns and subsequent testing. Initially when Spud called me back in early October, his words were, "Steven, I need to sober up so I can be there for Dad." Knowing good and well that a man's motivation to sobriety in most cases must be for self, as I reflect on the many times I tried to get clean and sober for my woman or my family. It did not gel until I did it for me me me.....

I arrive yesterday to take a sober man to see his Father. To dance with the facility who was nurturing him post-op. A meeting with a team of four who were processing Curly back to his world of living in an upscale "crusty old fuck" apartment complex surrounded by medical services, including a major Catholic hospital across the street. Spud was shaking horribly and a total embarrassment to himself, asking me to stop at a bar on the way to the meeting. The meeting being that he, Spud, held power of attorney over Curly's affairs. His mind was sharp as a tack, yet his body betrayed that intelligence by the visible shaking, so he sat on his hands as the one hour meeting kicked off.

Two of Curly's sponsee's were in attendance as they had been picking up the slack from Spud's inability to be there for Dad. As we left, a few documents were handed to Spud, which I took and filled out when we got back to his house. His plea for a drink were akin to a child at the candy store window as I pulled into the liquor store to buy him a pint of vodka and a Starbucks Capacino for the mixer. Now, keep in mind that I have not bought a bottle in a liquor store in over 22 years. In fact the only times I have been in said stores was for moving boxes. As a look at the many flavors of Absolute Vodka, I felt I was looking for the right size of pants for my arduous frame. Ah.....there it is, 14 buck a pint? Monarch is five bucks, yet he may as well have his brand as it is the best and he may as well go down in flames as he is sitting outside in the car a total fucking pathetic mess, rocking back and forth like a junkie waiting for his fix. I take my time, not to be cruel but social with the dolt behind the counter who works for the state. No sense of humor as I try to engage her in smalltalk.

Spud is shaking so bad that he cannot open the Starbuck's as he screams, "fucking packaging. Steven, will you open this please?"
I look over my glasses at him and say "you want me to just put a nipple on the bottle", to which he replies "fuck you." I open the Starbuck's with a knife as it was childproof, not to be cruel..... 10 minutes later he is normal and not shaking. Keep in mind here that no one has ever died of Heroin withdrawal, yet many have keeled over in their vomit from sudden alcohol withdrawal. Spud now wants to live, for his Father. Funny how the ultra intelligent, pickled in their addictions, process denial.

After he is back in the groove, we talk about which inpatient he will attend soon. He already contacted Hazelden in Michigan, his alma mater, having been there twice already, yet he won't answer the phone when they call back. I tell him that I will get him to the airport and feed his cat, clean his house up, and do the next indicated thing around Curly. He balks. I then ask him if he wants cremation or burial, Stubborn Nordic Asshole on his tombstone. I offer to call a hooker as I plug in Ken Burn's The War Part 2 as I fill out the paperwork he was handed at the meeting earlier.

Four hours now and it is time for me to leave. He asks me to take the rest of his vodka to which I respond to keep it. I tell him I am not going to babysit him and once again get hooked into his drama. That he has an appointment in the morning with Curly and company to transition him into his home. I tell him that when he is ready for a ride to the airport that I will be there. I will call him at 8AM every morning for a while to remind him that he is loved and cared about. That I will love him until he can learn to love himself. He is grateful and respectful that I sobered him up long enough to take care of business. Until the next time.....

Today I go north to hook up with a man I will ask to be my sponsor. He is 20 plus years clean and sober. A Sundancer I have been in the Lodge with a few times. He will introduce me to some 12 step meetings I have not been to in my new geographic. I was talking to him on the phone when I was on my way to Spud's on Sunday. He told me to "walk tall" as we ended our conversation. I have a warm feeling in my heart in anticipation. It is my turn now to get some healing as I am so fucking cut up. My turn.....

StevenLoon

--
If I can get through the day without condemning, criticizing or complaining, it's been a good day. If I don't give advice, it's been perfect. - Flloyd Ashcraft

Testimony...

2008-11-30T07:13:00.001-08:00

So....last night at my workplace, I circled up 18 men and women to hear the testimony of one woman. Her story was 20 minutes long. She spoke of her addiction to crystal meth and the holes it had put in her brain, thus the reasons for the voices in her head. Voices she claimed were not hers. When her story was finished she was wanting to go. To be done and run away from the "hot seat" she was anticipating. I smiled at her reassuring, and opened it up for questions. As I could not participate, I encouraged the others to ask her anything that they may be pondering. The questions were few, yet the one that hit home was, "will you use meth again?" Her answer was,"If I do, I will be taken to a mental institution for the rest of my life." She was very clear about that.

I left feeling hopeless and helpless for this woman. Her story described her three children, their two fathers, and her betrayal of her current husband, who is fighting in Iraq. Of her rape and escape from being murdered years ago. Of the voices, telling her to use meth. The woman is young in her early thirties and very beautiful in appearance, yet her inner world is not so beautiful. There is potential for some major healing for this woman, yet the odds of her recovery are nauseatingly slim. The demons speaking to her have her outnumbered. This is her second 45 day visit in six months and she will most likely become a dire statistic.

Last year I bought a t-shirt that reads across the front, "Don't Piss Off The Voices." A shirt that I choose not to wear to work. Yet it is my work to rile up the voices, give them what they want in most cases to quiet them, and shut them up when they are saboteurs and demons. I am really fucking good at this as it is not only my training, but what I believe to be a Spirit given gift. Yet the gift has a couple of hooks in the aspect that my own voices are a virtual symphony of chaos and rebellion. My own voices some would call "the committee", which I am the chairman. The visual for me is best described in today's reality of Obama circled up with a bunch of Grand Dragons of the KKK. In other words, hard work akin to pissing in the wind at times.

On my drive home from work last night, 25 miles on relatively quiet back roads, music off and eyes peeled for ever present deer, a hawk snatched a rodent illuminated by my headlights. Had I not slowed down, the hawk would have been a grill ornament and a five minute stop in the middle of my adventure homeward. As I know that when a hawk passes in front of me, the message is to look closely ahead. As I proceeded somewhat slower than the 60 mph I was driving, around the next bend were two deer in the road dong the mosey. I honked, they bounded, and back to 60. I was grateful for the 45 second interlude that I was witness to. My mind recalling an event a couple of decades ago when I missed a deer by mere inches going 70 plus on my motorcycle, causing a sudden release of intestinal gas as I ramped down the shoulder into the roadside brush.

The woman with holes in her brain is in my heart today. I will put her name on a prayer request when I go to church. She will be held in the hearts of a few people who will hold loving intention for her. I will continue to hold the same as I detach from her emotionally as much as I possibly can. Detachment from those that I could assist in their healing is hard, yet I am harnessed in the aspect that I cannot counsel patients in my "bottom of the ladder" position where I work. As I work in the 3rd rated Native American treatment center in the country, whatever they are doing is working. I must be careful not to break what is not broken. Yet my voices tell me otherwise. They tell me to "break what is not broken."

Eyes open, watching for hawks........

Loon

--
If I can get through the day without condemning, criticizing or complaining, it's been a good day. If I don't give advice, it's been perfect. - Flloyd Ashcraft

Murphy One

2008-11-26T13:42:00.001-08:00

So....Murphy was my first real sponsor in 12 Step Recovery. My previous two sponsors were really ineffective in my sobriety path. The first man bombarded me with his religious beliefs. The second man was intimidated by my drug use history and did not understand my needs around talking about it. Murphy was a fearless total asshole and embraced me without judgment. He died of brain cancer 17 years ago. I still work with him in Spirit. I will now begin to tell you about him......

In June of 1986 I walked into an AA meeting, walking distance from my house. It was in a city council chambers and there were two meetings a week held there. A year earlier, I was asked to leave that meeting and go to Narcotics Anonymous as I was a "drugger". The "old timers" in that meeting did not want to hear about intravenous drug use and all the bells and whistles that accompanied such atrocious behavior. Yet I got more out of AA so I went back with a few months clean and sober....

There was a man in the meeting who was disruptive, profane, and made me laugh. They called him Murphy. I continued to go to that meeting just to hear him speak, as he spoke what he felt. I pretty much kept my mouth shut as I knew not to talk about drugs as per my previous experience. Murphy and I had not talked, yet we sized each other up and smiled a smile at one another. Two troublemakers in a room of 50 or so people, and I had yet to cause any trouble.

One Friday night, I found a meeting in the University District of Seattle. A Men's Stag meeting which was in the basement of a Church. I walked in and lo and behold, there's Murphy. He smiled an impish smile at me and nodded his head. There were about 20 men there and I was in an angry mood. Every man talked in this meeting and it was over when it was over, sometimes running a couple of hours. Turned out to be the oldest meeting in Puget Sound at the time, something like 46 years old.

As I sat and listened to six or eight men, my turn came around. I started talking about my drug use and one man interrupted me and told me to go to NA. I threw a fit and wiped a few ashtrays off the table and flipped the table upside down, sending a couple of cups of coffee spinning on the floor. I ranted for a few minutes about all the old assholes in AA that don't welcome a man like me, even though in my alcohol use I drank a fifth a day plus a six pack or more of beer. When I drank wine, I would drink the whole half gallon. Yes, I was also an alcoholic, and I just happened to do drugs as well.

I stood there with my fists balled up and vibrating like a jackhammer when I finished my oratory. Murphy spoke first by saying, "are you done?", to which I replied that I was. He then said, "keep coming back so we can needle you a little bit", and they all laughed their asses off. I then walked out slamming the door as hard as I possibly could, then went home feeling better after speaking my voice about not feeling accepted in AA.

At the Sunday city hall meeting close to home, Murphy sat next to me and wanted to know if I drank or used after the Friday meeting. I told him no and he invited me for coffee after the meeting. He thanked me for waking up the Friday Men's Meeting. He said that after I left, the men felt like shit for laughing at me. He asked me to come back and tear into them again. The following Friday, I returned to open arms and more laughter than I could have expected. On crusty old curmudgeon handed me a box that contained a foot long Veterinary syringe. I sucked up his coffee with it and threatened to put it in appropriated orifice. This was the first time I felt totally accepted in AA.

I walked up to Murphy after that meeting, pigeon toed and hesitant. He saw me coming and braced himself as he intuitively knew my intention. I asked him if he would sponsor me. He said, "fuck no, go get a sponsor in NA." Then he started laughing and said yes, that he would sponsor me. He told me sobriety was easy. "Just inhale and exhale, and don't drink or use between breaths". He told me to go to the meetings he attended, (which I already was) read the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous, and work the steps with him. I now had a sponsor who, as it turned out, sponsored a couple of dozen men. I was so very grateful to have this caustic, profane, prick of a man to look up to.

StevenLoon

--
If I can get through the day without condemning, criticizing or complaining, it's been a good day. If I don't give advice, it's been perfect. - Flloyd Ashcraft

The Fuckit

2008-11-25T20:26:00.001-08:00

So......ever wake up funky? Commonly called "the wrong side of the bed" with an attitude of "fuckit". That was me this morning after a ten hour shift, getting to bed at 2AM and up at nine. As I lay there not wanting to be conscious and deal with the day, I recognized that much of my squeaking squirrel cage was someone else's rat and not the cute fluffy squirrel with the velvet painting eyes that I know and love.

After laying there for an hour, tossing, turning, and churning in chronic negativity, I got up and smudged, prayed, picked up the phone and called someone I love and talked about it and cried for half and hour. It took me some time to recognize that in what I call my "empath glitch", often feeling so much for others and ignoring or denying any empathy for myself. Seeing myself as running on empty so to speak. Fucked up thinking perhaps, yet that's how I awakened today.

I got a call last night from a man in Massachusetts. He spun out his car in a snowstorm coming home from Vermont and was out in the middle of nowhere at midnight, his car totaled, asking me to call any MKP Brothers I know to help him. I immediately felt his panic, fear, and hopelessness and had to tell him I was working and could not talk. I wished him luck and had to hang up, yet I was hooked into his drama and worried about him. On of the rats on my wheel this morning.

Now this man I have an attachment to. A former client who almost made it to the weekend a few years ago but turned around half way there because he was afraid his woman would leave him, which she eventually did. He carries twice the drama that I drag around in my life, yet I feel for him. I have watched him grow leaps and bounds by simply following my suggestions around books to read and a couple of hours a month of my "giveaway therapy" over the phone. He is actually doing his work in some manner other than MKP. He also has double digit sobriety and continues to devote himself to 12 Step work.

Additionally, Spud called me yesterday and verbally abused me for not keeping him sober. I listened to his drunken rants on what an asshole I was as I could not come over and "fluff his pillow". When I told him to stop drinking and consider yet another journey to inpatient, he once again said, "fuck you Steven", and hung up. Another rat on the wheel.

So, as I feel so much for these men in chaos. I must, absolutely must, stay present with gratitude for the here and now. I have noticed as I get hooked into the drama of the chaotic events that show up in my life, that I suffer hugely. Perhaps I simply can choose to not answer the phone as I know who is calling? Can I be so cold and callous as that? No, I will pick up the phone. I will always treat others the way I wish to be treated. After all, someone picked up my phone call this morning and listened to my pain. For that I am grateful.

StevenLoon

--
If I can get through the day without condemning, criticizing or complaining, it's been a good day. If I don't give advice, it's been perfect. - Flloyd Ashcraft

Catharsis Homophobix

2008-11-17T22:20:00.001-08:00

So.........I talked to a man today who attended a men's weekend in another part of the country recently. I was part of a similar weekend in my neighborhood at the same time. He told me of the many Gay men on staff with him, being "cruised" and not wanting to be "eye candy", and to not be perceived as homophobic. My own journey into that neighborhood of pain surfaced as I heard and consoled his fears. I told him I would write a story.........some of you know parts of this story. Perhaps I will go deeper........

My sexual wounding began very early. Raped at four, molested at eight, molested again at ten and eleven. I was sexually attacked by a man on a train from Pocatello to Seattle when I was 15, the conductor threw him off at the next stop and kept a close eye on me the rest of the trip as he was a caring man. It seemed as if I were a magnet for men who liked boys. As the years progressed there were dozens of similar episodes. As I began to mature into a man, the only boundaries I knew were to run, say "leave me alone", or close my fist and start hitting. I broke a nose or two along the way, breaking my hand once on a man who tried pulling me into his car when I was in a blackout.

My first sex with a female was also at four, again at seven, and seduced into a house by a naked older woman when I was eight. Again, a magnet. So much sex education for a youngster in the late 1950's. Considering myself heterosexual, the thought of having sex with men was there at times, yet the violent nature of the beast I experienced blocked my venture down that path. A path of pain and fear for me. I love women and having sex with women. The thought of having sex with a man does not excite me, although today I accept sexual preferences as I understand them.

In my first I-Group, 11 years ago, there were three Gay men in our circle. . I was very homophobic and judgmental and acted like all was well, yet I would drive home in tears of fear after group. Eventually I faced my dragon by taking action and finding the man who molested me when I was 10 and 11. I sent him a letter asking him why. He answered within a few days and I forgave him as a result. I read the letters to my I-Group and the process work began.

I did not know that Gay men were heterophobic. I was picked to play the Gaybasher and got all my judgmental voices heard as the Gay men played my perpetrator. Anger was released along with fear and sadness. After a few weeks, I relaxed into the joy of no longer being triggered by the sexual advances of men. That I was able to voice and hold my boundaries without verbal or physical threats. Catharsis Homophobix I call my work in this. A new found freedom as I took the shards that surfaced a little later on to a Gay man I trust.

Last year, I staffed the Gateway Weekend here in the Northwest, enrolling an 18 year old Gay man from a place I once worked. Being one of eight straight men on staff, I was totally at ease with the flow of the weekend. Of all my staffings to that point, that weekend was the most emotionally healing for me. Shortly thereafter, I began to reach out to Gay men in my community and show them the way to the weekend.

I still get cruised and approached by men I do not know. They ask me if I am interested and I say no. I take some time to talk and if it fits, I pass on a brochure. One man at a time......

StevenLoon

--
If I can get through the day without condemning, criticizing or complaining, it's been a good day. If I don't give advice, it's been perfect. - Flloyd Ashcraft

--
If I can get through the day without condemning, criticizing or complaining, it's been a good day. If I don't give advice, it's been perfect. - Flloyd Ashcraft

The Work.....

2008-11-11T14:29:00.001-08:00

LOVER----For me, it is easy to love you. To love me, the man in the mirror, is not an easy battle to ride into alone. The woods are dark and filled with assassins, demons, and monsters of dimensions known and unknown. Hacking through the undergrowth, snagging skin on thorns, leaping chasms with eye on the prize of reflective glass. Once there, sweating and exhausted, I see familiarity in the recent stranger. I hold his gaze and welcome him, telling how much he has been missed. We agree to get to know each other, smiling a solemn, sad exhausted smile.

WARRIOR----For me, it is easy to anger you as easily as you anger me. I will curse, threaten, and piss you and me off in ways that appear out of control with confusion and misunderstance. Hacking through once more the clutter of flying bullets, knives, and fire that blast in my direction. Nicks, cuts, and burns ignored until I arrive on the battlefield of survival. Through the gauntlet into the arena of steroidal rage. Kicking the ass of the gnarly son of a bitch that blocks me from my growth, my power, and my peace of mind. The reflective glass behind it all reveals the killer with hostage. Cutting through the chain that binds them and discovering they are one and the same. Hideous laughter from the raging one in the glass.

MAGICIAN----Fearful now, the darkness. Relying on sound, smell, and tactile touch to find my soul. Spirit is in this house of black as my stomach falls repeatedly. The snoring bear stinks of carrion. Crawling sounds above and all around as I stub toes on sharp and dull hardness. Speaking out for support and guidance as I am the blind seeker. Show me the way, for in my fear a am frozen and ask for a hand to lead me into the light. That when I exit this darkness, a breath of calm will escape my being. That I may be rejuvenated in ways never imagined. Embraced by Spirit as I coast into the last of my life. Leaving the glass behind that

KING----Joy with a heavy and smiling sigh. The bliss of arriving intact, sitting in the easy chair of comfort and blessing. Shoulders sag relaxed, pondering my life path to the serenity I bask in. Children and their children's children pawing me with love and glee, as I paw back. My kingdom comes to me now. They ask of my wisdom, experience, and blessing. My laughter a contagion, spreading through the room like the smell of baking bread. Home on the throne of joyful bliss, sharing the gold of my life. The glass reflecting sparkling brilliance.

StevenLoon

Tombstones

2008-11-10T08:00:00.001-08:00

So.....the man has chosen death by alcohol. I told him to write his epitaph and to know I am here if he chooses to live. So hard to let go, yet I must. Another man I know called me yesterday, wanting detox from his pain pill addiction. I gave him the numbers to call and will get him there if he chooses....if he chooses. I left him to ponder and write his own epitaph. Serious homework for a man who writhes to ask for help.

Dennis was a bright light. He came to my home in the late 70's. Southern boy with charm and charisma. Good looking lad who attracted women with ease. Dennis had a blackbelt in blackout drinking. One Halloween, he came home wounded and in serious pain. His drinking buddy drove the car in a ditch and Dennis tried to flag down a car on a blind curve while standing in the middle of the road. "Whump Whump" as the car ran over his legs. His buddy dragged the driver out of the car and beat the man. One of many head shaking memories of Dennis.

I watched him progress and digress over the years. A life fueled by alcohol. He came to see me at work one day knowing I had a couple of years clean and sober. He was sitting with his sixth and most recent drunk driving citation and wanted me to help him get into a treatment center. He came out a month later on fluffy pink cloud and flourished. I was proud of him. We talked a lot and went to meetings together, giving him a one year coin as time passed. He remarried and had a beautiful pregnant wife. Good job. A good friend with good friends. Life was good.

A bottle of whiskey and an old friend changed it all. A blackout event that cost him more drama than he could take, so he took his own life. I was there to clean up the messes he left. The service was small as he lay in a simple wood box that would fly in a cargo hold to Alabama, where is twin sister grieved the arrival. So many hostages......

There have been so many men die in my sobriety. The 12 Step axiom, "Some of us have to die, so the rest of us can live", is so simple yet complex. "I was just getting to know you.....getting to know all about you".

Loon

--
If I can get through the day without condemning, criticizing or complaining, it's been a good day. If I don't give advice, it's been perfect. - Flloyd Ashcraft

Sweet Potatoes

2008-11-09T06:15:00.001-08:00

So.....the phone rang at 4:18. Fumbling in the darkness for my glasses as to see who it was, hoping not a family emergency. Spud says,
"Steven, I don't know what to do". I responded, "Stop drinking. Consider inpatient." A short pause with the response, "I ain't going there, Fuck You!" Click. I will visit him this morning after church. He has not returned my calls in a few days, so he can wait. He hopes I will come, and I will as I will not abandon a dying man. My science project is fermenting. I pray that rotten potatoes is not the final result.

Hideous thing Alcoholism. Alcohol being a solvent which dissolves life. Houses, cars, marriages, families, health. All eaten away until the last breath is gasped in chronic fear and loathing. Spud very well may die soon, as some of us must die so the rest of us can live."I really don't have time for this shit", I often say, yet it is just the words I think out loud. I care too much to not be the life ring. I remember the word HELP. Oh how I remember.

Years ago, in my first marriage, I worked for an electrical contractor. We were upgrading an apartment complex downtown Seattle. The St. John on Capitol Hill. An old complex that took our four man crew two months to rewire. One resident was an alcoholic and we worked around him. Carpeted with beer cans, wine bottles, and liquor bottles, plates of moldy food filled the sink and counters. The place smelled septic and dying. We called the unit Stench and wired it up in record time. As we pulled out the stove to get to the wires, it was like discovering a new species in the Amazon. The man was never conscious as we worked around him. Sad thing.....

The highlight of that job was when a movie was filmed across the street at an old Gothic church. Vincent Price and Richard Pryor were in it. We watched the production crew dump a case of MD 2020 wine in the gutter near a drain as they used the bottles for props as Pryor played a wino. A few drunks walking by went ballistic at the sight they were beholding. We were watching out a window from the St. John, laughing in the sadness of it all. The late 70's was still a toxic time for me. My wine of choice then was a little more top drawer.

Loon

--
If I can get through the day without condemning, criticizing or complaining, it's been a good day. If I don't give advice, it's been perfect. - Flloyd Ashcraft

Fwd: In The Present.....

2008-11-07T07:40:00.001-08:00

So.....12 Step wisdom states,"If I live my life with one foot in yesterday, the other foot in tomorrow, then I'm pissing all over today". My spiritual community is a little more new thought, "Stay in the now". MKP says to "stay present". A Native Elder simply says to me, "Be grateful for what you have right here, right now". It is often difficult to not regret the past and worry about the future. This appears to be the work now. For me, the planet.

As I woke up in fear this morning heart beating fast, scrunched up face, breathing erratic, I realize it is all about what will happen next. Expecting the next nail in my foot, as opposed to the next miracle. I am so very used to failings and wailings that I am expecting more of the same. Yet miracles are happening all around me as they always have, and I suspect will continue to happen.

I was in a 12 Step meeting last night sharing my highs and lows, listening to others sharing the same. A young man across from me who walks the sea floor harvesting Goeduck, said he reached out last Sunday for help. He wanted to drink and drug on Halloween, and instead called for help. I teared up as I looked at him and he did the same. Then the others began to feel the sadness and joy of the present, the now.
He then said he struggled with being proud of himself, instead saying he felt good about what he had done. I was reflecting on the words "Native Pride" embroidered on the sweatshirt of the woman sitting next to me.

After he was finished speaking, the Elder next to him spoke his turn. He put his arm around him and told him, "I am so proud of you". He then spoke of all his relapses and not reaching out to his sponsor, or others for help in those times. A very nice way to end the day for me. Then driving home in the rain, as the rains have come. Full speed on the wipers, slow on the driving. Must be careful now as my little car hydroplanes a wee bit, as I sit a couple of feet lower to the ground now. I miss my truck yet I am so very grateful that I have a new car. So very grateful, right here right now.

Loon

--
If I can get through the day without condemning, criticizing or complaining, it's been a good day. If I don't give advice, it's been perfect. - Flloyd Ashcraft

Pay it forward........

2008-11-06T07:41:00.001-08:00

So....the trick is to bring all the positive from yesterday into today, leaving the negative there. However the negatives are laden with blessings and lessons that must be squeezed out, akin to a sticky sponge. I am getting better at this, yet something always sticks. The sticky woman I love is the big one.

As I sat in the rainy darkness a while ago squeezing sponges, the flow of positives began. Like priming a pump with a cupful of water, the thirsty can drink now. The blessings of yesterday are several. I was hotseated by loving women at the Northwest Indian Treatment Center and hired on the spot. TB test and off to the clinic to piss in a cup. Last night, I circled up with 13 loving women and meditated for an hour. So many women yesterday, something is going on.

A man called me yesterday in the midst of it all. I was at Raven's Brew Coffee and Books in Shelton, looking for a Raven cap looking at cards. I stepped outside, sat on a bench and listened. He said he shared a story I wrote about my father, The Blacksmith, with his men's group last night. They all cried. He said that each man will share a story of their his father in future meetings. He honored me for what my story brought up for him and the other men. I began to cry as a woman pulled up in a car and looked at me through her windshield. As my tears were joyful, the woman smiled at me knowingly. A loving woman.

Yesterday was a very good day for me. Soon I will begin working graveyard in a place I believe I am supposed to be. The money sucks and no benefits, yet it matters not as my foot is in a new doorway. A doorway that offers benefits of the soul. As I look at the fortune from a cookie I ate last week, it says, "You will soon be asked to join a team. Work cooperatively".

Loon

If I can get through the day without condemning, criticizing or complaining, it's been a good day. If I don't give advice, it's been perfect. - Flloyd Ashcraft

Sleepy Voices

2008-11-05T05:55:00.001-08:00

So........as I awaken, red blurry numbers coming into focus, it is way to early. All my mind needed to sputter to life. Yet recently, the mind snaps to in a heartbeat or two. Useless to close them and grab a couple of more hours of peaceful sleep as I already had a few. Plus the two hours of much needed nap, yesterday afternoon on the couch, missing most of Brother, Where Art Though.....Narcolepsy, thanks to the worlds greatest hypnotist, television. Have not napped for weeks. Not a bad concept as my optimum creative time is before sunrise. Before the drama of humans begin.

Recognizing I sleep only four to five hours, believing as I age I require less slumber. When I try for more, the sleepy voices say, "ass up, the world needs you." Then the rest of the committee chimes in unison, "Early bird, go get worm." Dad say, "up and at em' Knothead." The angelic choir, turning up the volume in the background, singing "Oh What A Beautiful Morning." Then I see Elmer and his shotgun, rolling out of the sack to that classical spring morning song orchestral, to get the cwazy wabbit. "All right, I'm up!!"

Once I am up, then choices have to be made. Toilet, coffee, tobacco ceremony, write, shave, shower, shampoo, clothes, phone, drive.....not necessarily in that order, and often two or three of those at a time, such as toilet, coffee, and phone. I am amazed at how much personal tasking goes on for a human prior to leaving the abode. Supposing the house breathes a sigh of relief to see them leave. The house is silent and resting now.

Today is Wednesday. A new POTUS is on deck.(acronym for our new President) I am not military or a vet, yet I am up on terminology. I do not watch TV or read the paper but once a week, and sometimes I miss a week. My choice as I can get sucked into the negatives so very easy. I will go out the door in a couple of hours to a Native American treatment center and show myself to them. I will be going to work there soon, doing what I do. I will ponder my own acronym. "Go get worm."

StevenLoon

If I can get through the day without condemning, criticizing or complaining, it's been a good day. If I don't give advice, it's been perfect. - Flloyd Ashcraft

Coffee Press

2008-10-31T08:26:00.000-07:00

So.......I drink coffee like I used to drink alcohol. Last month, I was off to a gathering of 200 plus Elders for the long weekend, and I bought a coffee press. A less-than "primo" grocery store model that allows grounds to float in the top of my cup. I channel my "tea leaf mystic" and come up with with the same answer as I ponder the meaning of the floating coffee grounds. The answer is always, "drink me, sleepwalker."

Funny thing about coffee, as I drank it as a child for what was then called hyperactivity, which is now labeled ADD and ADHD, the prescription mostly amphetamines. Had more than my share of those little white pills in years gone by now.....remembering the TV commercial of two eggs in a frying pan, "this is your brain on drugs. Any questions?"

Coffee is BIG here in the Northwest. Howard Schultz, creator and king of Starbucks. I fill my diaper at the concept of five bucks for a cup of high octane with all the "foo foo" as my friend Sawyer calls it. His description began as "Loon's foofullated coffee", as I shortened it. Presently my "foofoo" is Hazelnut liquid creamer. When I do the "Starbucks Experience", I drink house coffee, flinching at the fact that what used to be cents is now dollars. Good atmosphere and music takes out the sting.

My adeptness at building coffee is journeyman level with a touch of "mad chemist." The christening of my coffee press was so very simple in the process that my brain was struggling to comprehend it's meaning. As I pressed down the plunger, my inner addict felt the rush a drug addict feels, anticipating while spooning his fix. In recovery it is called mental masturbation. One of the perks of living a clean and sober lifestyle, another chapter of my life......

StevenLoon

Just be a head gasket......

2008-10-30T08:27:00.001-07:00

So.......under the hood we go. Spud is assisting, pointing and shooting as I spin the wrenches. He has first hand knowledge and experience at what we are about to do. Funny how it turns around, rescuing the rescuer. This is a hard piece of work for me to do. There are more reasons not to do this than to proceed. Surprised I slept through the night. Yet I know when our two brains begin the job in a couple of hours, we will be magnificent.

Thirty years ago, I worked in a control fabrication shop. The owner's son and I were good friends. He worked one weekend on his old Ford pickup, changing head gaskets and the related items, which include exhaust manifold gasket, valve cover gaskets, draining and refilling fluids....it can get busy.

He showed up at work on Monday proud of his work. At lunchtime he was filling his truck at the company gas pump. A few men wandered over and he popped the hood to show off his workmanship. I snuck up and crawled under the engine and as he started it up, I began tapping on the frame rapidly with a rock. I could see their faces, they not mine. The best "Oh Shit" expressions I have ever seen. Mine looked that way yesterday I'm sure. Lot's of laughter at the relief of my prank. My turn now.

The timing of this so very much sucks for me, yet I know there are no accidents in life. I am grateful for the roof I am under, and the ability to sit here and write my life. I am in better shape than some, worse than others. Flloyd would say, "right where you're sposed to be".
For example, men were spanked on the staff list this morning for missing the phone bridge staff meeting. One man's excuse that I read a few minutes ago was that he was diagnosed with kidney cancer a few day ago. He checked out of the weekend. Pray for "Young Bear",
Perry Sims.

Perry had a man physically attack him a couple of months back as he used the man's driveway to turn around in while lost on his motorcycle. He told the man in court that he would drop the charges if the man does the NWTA. The man is coming to the weekend.
Fucking amazing how this thing we do reaches men.

Got to go light up the garage now and slip into something less comfortable. Coveralls.

Love and Laughter, with a few tears.

Loon

--
If I can get through the day without condemning, criticizing or complaining, it's been a good day. If I don't give advice, it's been perfect. - Flloyd Ashcraft

Boing

2008-10-29T18:34:00.000-07:00

I worked at Boeing for a little over a year, about a decade ago. Production line on the big one. I look back on the experience in amazement of the worlds largest human worker beehive. I will speak to the fun stuff as it was mostly hard work as well as an exercise in tolerance as I was forced to slow my pace, as my pace has always been fast. First day on the job, a man told me to slow down, that I was making them all look bad. I told him to speed up. I was soon surrounded by a crew of those who agreed with him. We had words. Mostly profane.

We all soon became fast friends. This work was all they knew, most of them grandfathered in. I took a huge pay cut to work there, seven ten hour days a week to compensate. As I had a trade and about 30 jobs in my resume, I was free to leave anytime. They were stuck in the hive. My plan eventually failed and I moved on.

There was a small man they called "the little bastard", and he filled those shoes. As they were all devious, he was the prince. As a frozen rivet was delivered in a steel box full of nitrogen pellets one morning to fill an oversize hole, a two liter bottle was produced by Mike. He dropped a pellet in the bottle which contained a few inches of water, screwed on the lid and threw it in the chute which led to to a dumpster on the factory floor. The crew started counting as they peeked from the structure. In less than 20 seconds a huge boom blew most of the debris out of the dumpster. A Quality Assurance man standing nearby dropped his clipboard as a few pigeons and dust fell from the rafters. Then it was back to work as if nothing happened, full blast rock and roll on a boom box amidst the riveting. Double hearing protection a must. Marshmallow earplugs beneath headphone style noise protection.

The teamwork there was incredibly strong. The integrity of the product speaks for itself as pride in workmanship was genuine. A lot of down time between delegated processes and restocking stores for the next line move. Therefore, time to plot and plan the next devious episode. One morning a zip lock bag of "doggie doo" came out of a pocket and was passed around for inspection. "The Little Bastard" was elected and with his latex gloves, he deftly packed a managers desktop phone mouthpiece, neatly beneath the speaker. He then called him from afar on his cell phone. All were peeking as he answered. All laughing as he held the mouthpiece far from his face, which was suddenly scrunched into a gagging scowl. A short time later, facilities replaced the phone. This process was repeated once more that day with the same results. The crew, congratulatory and satisfied in their successful assault on management, lounged and talked about the next notch in their collective belt.

In all of the jobs I have held in the electrical industry, Boeing was by far the most edgy and counterproductive as far as management and blue collar working in harmony. I will say I learned a lot, yet I was lied to when I was hired and promises were not kept. So many stories......another time.

StevenLoon

Fwd: The Blacksmith

2008-10-27T09:08:00.000-07:00

So......Dad worked with steel all his life. After the war, he and another man opened a Smithy in Firth, Idaho. I came along 10 years later and life began in Pocatello, where T.L. "Buzz" Tracy was Superintendent at Gate City Steel, a huge fabrication facility. A land of agriculture, mostly potatoes, sugar beets, and phosphate fertilizer, all being the dynasty of the potato King, J.R. Simplot. At the end of his life, Buzz was a blacksmith again, playing songs on his anvils and hammers supported by McNaughton's whiskey in the Quonset behind where he retired in Soda Springs. Home of the natural soda geyser that he capped and regulated with a timer, which goes off every hour on the hour. One can witness this out the back door of Stockman's Bar after having a drink with Buzz, telling war stories....

Buzz could do amazing things with steel, much like a master carpenter with wood. It was so easy for him to throw a welder in his truck and fix a farmer's harvest machine, or snowmobile in return for a bottle and a key to a gate to some of the best stream fishing and hunting on the planet. He had an impressive ring of keys as well a cases of McNaughton's in the Quonset. Listen to the anvils sing....

Dad had 144 medics in his command. When the U.S. stormed into Germany, he and his medics were the first into the death camps. After the war, he would go into bouts of crying where my mother would tell him to "be a man." Mom was a self absorbed and often heartless woman. Dad drank and worked himself to an early death. I miss him as I look at his picture, above my monitor. I am so very grateful he is in me, more so than mother.

As I visited him a few months before his death, 30 below wind chill on the flats of Southeast Idaho, he was a wisp of a man wearing his familiar Red Wing work boots to give him stability. (to this day, my sister wears those boots around the house) He and I spent hours talking about his life. I bundled him up and drove him around town. Visiting old friends of his as he "showed off" his youngest son. The hippie kid from Seattle. Most of these folks were "good Mormons" , as he and I were born into that. Dad pulled us out of the church as he did not agree with the straight and narrow path they prescribed. Two of his brothers were Bishops and he loved them, but told them to "Fuck Off" when they would take another run at him. He spoke his common sense voice, which always made common sense to me. I know I channel him as I show up in the world. I feel him. Feel him now as I write.

I remember hunting once with him. Sitting on some rocks, eating a sandwich with our vest bags full of Sage Hen. As we ate, he took out an ordinary slingshot, and took the head off a grouse that was sitting 20 feet away. His ammo was half-inch steel slugs, punched out from quarter inch steel plate. He was lethal with a slingshot. Over the years, I always sent him the latest technology, as he had a variety of Wrist Rockets and the like. His favorite was a pistol grip I sent him. It had a rubber condom looking chamber that would hold a few or more BB's, which gave it a shotgun effect. He would sit on his deck with a mouthful of BB's and wait for the neighborhood cats to come around the can of Tuna. He and McNaughton's......

It has been just over 12 years now since his passing. I went to the New Warrior Weekend 3 weeks after his death. He came to me there on Sunday, in the darkness. He came to me last night in the darkness of the Lodge I attended with the Squaxin. He always hugs me from behind when we sing the "calling in" songs. I am so very grateful for his presence of Spirit for I know his works through me as many others. I never saw him cry until the end. I played him a song on my CD player, headphones on his head. Father And Son, by Cat Stevens. He asked to hear it again and we both cried, but just briefly. And then he told for the first time in his life, "I love you Son."

I love you Dad,

StevenLoon "Knothead"

Fwd: The Wind

2008-10-23T17:10:00.001-07:00

So......Sitting outside and hour ago in the dark stillness, stars brilliant watching a satellite track the sky. The wind came up briefly as if to say "good morning", then stillness. I close my eyes as my coffee steams and listen to nothing. Morning meditation, listening to God, Spirit...as I understand or don't understand. The answers always come most clearly in the still......The wind returned in a short puff and my eyes opened.

I remember a time in my very early twenties, snowmobiling with a friend, outside Pocatello. In the mountains, making our own tracks in the new snow. Nipping on blackberry brandy laughing. Mike was a lineman and had a couple of pairs of pole climbing spikes. We went up a couple of "Old Ones" until the branches stopped us, tied off to the branches and tossed the bota bag back and forth. Able to see for a hundred miles in the clear air on the mountain top with a pleasant buzz from the brandy and green veggie matter we smoked, the wind came up.

At first the laughter as we hung on, swaying slowly in the same direction. The gusts became constant and windblown snow was in a flurry all around us, instant ice on the mustache is a good indicator to get out of the wind. Mike's tree made a loud crack as our weight made the wooden horse top heavy. The mutual vision of screaming men on broken treetops, poofing into the snowdrifts brought our eyes together. Without saying the word "down", we took the express elevator. The wind stopped as soon as the drunken laughing snow angels were made on the snow near those trees. Not to mention yellow snow.

I have always paused and listened to the wind. There is so much to hear.........

Loon

-

Fwd: Falling Leaves.....

2008-10-23T16:48:00.001-07:00

-

So........my favorite season as the air is crisp and cool, landscape on fire with color. Wanna go play in the leaves soon. Remembering Ravenna Park in North Seattle. Hiding under a pile of leaves, hiding from Kodi, my Malamute. He's sniffed me out as I grabbed his leg and the wrestling and rolling would echo through the park. Kodi was a wonderful dog. His mom and dad were sled dogs. Their human, an Iditarod musher. When I first saw him, the other pups hid in the doghouse as he stepped forward and gave me a little wolf howl. He picked me and home we went.

Kodi became an alcoholic by accident. As I lay on the front lawn after work one day with a glass of 100 proof Yukon Jack and ice next to me, I dozed off. His drunken licks on my face woke me as I watch his legs buckle and fold. "Ah shit", as I stuck my finger down his throat and called the vet. He slept through the night and was lethargic the next day. He went to work with me daily and grew into a beautiful black and white goofus. Malamutes are quarter Wolf and have a rowdy, roaming personality. A drunken one is a bit of a thug, more so at 100 pounds, a pound of that being his balls. Kodi had balls.

He's sit on a barstool at the tavern and drink beer from an ashtray, get rowdy and steal the cue ball from the hole in the end of the pool table and run. He was fun until one day he killed a family of Possum in the back yard and got the taste of blood. He went over the edge of meanness then. One morning as he snarled at our Great Pyrenees, Molly, keeping her from her food dish, I pushed him away and he lunged at me and I had to smack him out of it. My choices were cut his balls off, intensive inpatient for alcohol, put a bullet in his head, or give him to my ex-wife. The ex took him and he killed two Standard Poodles in her neighborhood. The judge ruled 3 options. Get him out of King County, cut his balls off and relocate him, door number three was death. Off came the balls and Kodi lived happily with a Gay couple downtown Seattle.

OK.......leaves are falling. I miss my back porch, morning coffee watching the Maple's fall from the grove. The beautiful carpet of leaves blanketing the ground around the Lodge. Sitting this morning on my new front porch, a garden of shrubs filled with Steller's Jays, noisily taking my gifts of peanuts. As the perch and flap, leaves fall. Little green ones turning yellow. The lake like a mirror, across the street. A few days ago, a flash of white on the lake as I focused to see a Bald Eagle (Wambli) lifting off the water clutching a nice trout. I am so very grateful for my life in the now. My reflection of the then's, and the possibility that tomorrow will come gently as my life slows a bit now. Time for self care much needed.

Loon