Am feeling a bit overcome by how uncannily life’s lessons come so blatantly at you, as if served by a butler on a silver tray. The past indeed comes back at you. The other night I realized, at the neighborhood night out against crime, DUDE-I dated that guy!….I have a pretty protective trap door response in my brain; I easily forget the things I am not proud. This was my late twenties when my drinking really took off, shall we say…. I had a vague recollection of the story he told…..alcohol damage probably? He said “suit” and I could picture pinstripes, I do love men in suits. Shit that stuff IS more dangerous than pot, pot was never dangerous because it was called a drug so I avoided it. Alcohol IS truly a drug. Distilled, from the earth organic, that lock and key response that sends me gang busters out the door of mayhem, taint no sipping beverage on a patio. It’s dangerous enough to make you want to come face to face with an old acquaintance and simply say I am sorry. He told ne of the story of how we went swing dancing and he still has the suit, I know it has to be pinstriped….I know this happens to you too. Life has a way of coming ’round to us to let us finish the unfinished. Together you and life can team up, but it takes courage and full-on honesty. Nothing feels more invigorating than the chance to cross the T in the word respect; or dot the I’s in the word, inconsiderate.
SO, if there is no God or higher power, how is it- that this all went down on the same street, at the same hour as the episode where the cops took me away after an icky domestic display on the very night the beginning of the end, the abysmal, gut-wrenchingly, awful night I got sober?
So with a lovely gathering of neighbors on the street, purple coleslaws, more coleslaws, fruit salads, a laborious presentation of cheesy goodness, Lasagna in the heat of summer, mmmmm. We came out to take back the neighborhood, stand in our communal streets as a message about banning together against crimes, and here is the last guy I used to date before my descent into drinking? Indeed I said, I remember you, do you remember me?…..Lisa, I said, followed by a stoic “I don’t drink anymore.” I hugged him, and nervously pointed in the direction of my house perhaps to prove to him I had one? I told him I was a bit of wrecking ball back then and that I was truly sorry. He half smiled as if to say good to complete that question of the past. It really is funny how life brings me the opportunity to make amends on my block, on the very night where we take back the night to crime. Who said the crimes against ourselves didn’t count?