I’m grateful for a fabulous day. I’m grateful for an armload of berries and sweetcorn from the Farmer’s market. I’m grateful for a trip to the bookstore. I’m grateful for Schubert spinning on the turntable. I’m grateful for knowing I don’t have to go back where I was. I’m grateful for the chance to help other alcoholics. I’m grateful to be sober today.
Saturdays are my favorite day of the week. When I was a kid, there was nothing better than Saturday mornings. I’d finish my paper route around 6:30am, ride my bike over to Mr. Gillespie’s home office and pay my bill. He was the Des Moines Register manager and had an office with an actual counter where eleven-year-old newspaper carriers would show up on Saturday mornings to pay their bill. I collected money from my subscribers during the week, pay the wholesale rate for my newspapers on Saturday mornings and then I got paid. A quick trip to Lausen's for candy and maybe the Honey Wheat donuts if they were fresh and still warm and then back home for Bugs Bunny and the rest beginning at 7am.
I didn’t want to miss a minute of those mornings and I really didn’t mind getting up at 5:30am, because that meant Saturday morning was a little longer. I loved and still love the feeling of being up really early, when almost no one else is. I loved that the rest of you were missing it because you were sleeping. It felt like I had this great secret and didn’t have to share it with anyone. Well, my brother got up early too and I usually brought him some candy, too.1
I still go to bed on Friday nights excited that I’ll wake up to Saturday morning. My routines are different now. Back then, I had a Schwinn 3-speed with a yellow banana seat and the super-cool but maybe super-dangerous stick-shift mounted on the tube just behind the handlebars. My last paper was the Doermann’s who lived just behind us. I’d drop off my yellow and red Des Moines Register newspaper bag, get the bag with my collection money, get on my bike and head out. 2
Mr. and Mrs. Lausen were the best part of the trip. They ran the corner grocery at the end of Koser Avenue by the football stadium and I spent a lot of time there. My mom would send me on errands and the Lausen’s knew to ask me what I’d been sent for, because I’d get distracted and not be able to find or remember everything I’d been sent for and that meant a follow-up phone call or visit from my Mom and no one wanted that. On Saturday mornings, Mr. Lausen was always behind the meat counter and would call out to me when I came in, “Hey, my paper is late.” I would then point out that he was, unfortunately, not on my route and that my 34 daily subscribers never got their papers late. If there were fresh donuts to be had, Mr. Lausen might mention that, but the purpose of the trip was candy and when I’d made my selections, Mrs. Lausen was at the cash register and always had this warm smile while I counted out the change for my purchases.
Those Saturdays were about independence and freedom and the sweet feeling of discharging responsibilities. I savored every moment and that’s why beating the sun up was no kind of sacrifice. Your Sponsor says that getting sober is the process of discovering yourself, so Saturdays are still my day. Waking up early on Saturday morning is still a delicious feeling—the whole day stretching out in front of me.3 These days, Saturday is a trip on the ferry downtown, browsing used book and record stores, the farmer’s market, exploring, whatever.
When I was drinking, I was running from things. I was running from the pressures of the life I was living, I was running from my difficult relationships with other people, I was running from all of the conflict and resentments and fear, I was running from myself. I spent a lot of time by myself during my drinking career, and I used to think that loneliness was one of the reasons I drank.4 Of course, looking back, sitting at the end of a bar somewhere, drinking lots of Sauvignon Blanc and reading on my phone doesn't sound like the antidote for loneliness.
The reason I drank was that I was empty. The life I had built was built around a version of me that wasn’t authentic, even when things went right, it felt kind of hollow. Looking back on all of those years when I was drinking, it seems like another person sometimes. I think it was. The process of working the Steps showed me how far I had gotten from myself, how far away the wrong path had taken me. The Steps forced me to face the rampant self-dishonesty in my life and the way that fear, resentments and anger drove me.
Things are better today. It starts with me being happy with me. One of things I lost along the way was the sense of who I really was and what really made me happy. It turns out that it’s not terribly complicated. I loved Saturday mornings when I was drinking, too. It meant a day of complete unaccountability for me; a day where I could drink, drink, drink and there was nothing or no one to stop me. Saturday nights and Sundays and the rest of the week, the rest of my life were empty and remorselessly hollow. Those Saturdays were about running from myself.
Yesterday was sublime. A trip to the bookstore, an armload of produce from the farmers market, a meeting and an old French movie at the Film Forum. To be honest, it’s not too dissimilar from the way I spent my time when I was 17.5 It turns out I had a pretty good sense of myself then, it was right before alcohol really took hold of my life, so it makes sense that when I finally slipped free and got sober, that's where I got re-deposited. Turns out, it's a pretty good place to be, especially on Saturday mornings.
Thanks for Letting Me Share
I think managing expectations is super important and that’s why I would never bring E his favorite kinds of candy. I’d bring him one of his B-choices and tell him that they didn’t have $100,000 bars or Bubs Daddy gum (his favorites). Maybe I was teaching him how to be grateful for less early on? I needed to keep him somewhat happy because my parents didn’t know and would not have approved of the candy runs and a squealer of a little brother never helps things.
Now, I learn that these beauties are considered “antiques.” My old bag could have fetched more than $300 today. I’m guessing it’s probably wherever my baseball card collection ended up, right, Mom? Always thought it was odd that it disappeared right around the time of that Mediterranean cruise. Just saying, I had a lot of good cards and I took care of them.
I’m not going to lie, when my kids were younger and the typical Saturday included what seemed like 17 soccer games, 2 birthday parties and a baseball practice, I did sometimes use that early morning time to pray for rain. More than once.
This is a consequence of how alcohol systematically destroyed all of the relationships in my life.
I loved going to movies then at all of the campus film societies.
This was a great article! I really enjoyed your description of your childhood memories and how you look back and process your thoughts and feelings. Photos of produce are awesome and I know you enjoy them . I enjoy reading your posts and pray you are doing well!🦾🌈🙏🍀🦋❤️
When I was drinking, I was running from things.
A local AA friend likes to say that he is now “participating” in life.
When I joined the staff of the Drug Court, I asked one of the women instrumental in getting the Drug Court established in our Circuit Court, how she described my clients. The P.O.s used “cases” and I was hoping to find a mutual term that worked for my Progress Notes and their use of Cases.
The word she had come up with was “Participant.” Click. My brain connected my friend’s statement with all the “client’ connections I had formed over the years and my own life experiences when I looked around and realized what I had been missing.
I had to look up Sauvignon Blanc. I never cared for wine, but in an emergency (no mun, no fun, or nix kix for JoJo), I was partial to Ripple. It came in 4/5 of a pint bottles. The only time I consumed an entire six-pack, I headed up the stairs to bed, took the first step a few feet early and faceplanted on the steps.