NYC Update--May 31

Wow, it's been a long day. It's 11:10 pm and I'm winding down from a nice evening. I walked back down to Times Square and there, amongst the throngs of restaurants, I found an Olive Garden...yeah, yeah, not unique, but I was really hungry and it is one of my favorite places to eat. I rarely get to eat there...So, I got myself a table and basked in the solitude of a meal without having to say "Sit down! Use your fork!" or having to escort anyone to the bathroom. Being alone, had I done any of those things this evening, I might have been escorted away as a lunatic, but then again, who knows, it is NYC. Anyway, dinner was great! After dinner, I strolled down back down the other side of W 46th Street to the Richard Rogers theater, where Movin' Out is playing. I was a bit, early, so I just walked up and down the theater district a bit. For a former theater major, this is heaven. To pass a door that says, "Stage Door" gave me tingles. One of them was cracked open just a bit. I "almost" wanted to just peek in. Ok, I'll admit it, I wanted to sneak in and get a good look around, but common sense and my conscience won out. Finally, the house opened and I was able to take my seat. Great location; TKTS is awesome! I'll write a full review of Movin' Out tomorrow: first, I need a night to let it all sink in and two, it's late and I'm not sure I'm even writing coherently now, so, that wouldn't be a fair review, would it? Around 10pm the show ended and walked 5 minutes back to my hotel...passing Times Square once again. I didn't have my camera because I knew there was no picture taking in the theater and didn't want to run the risk of having it confiscated. But, I do know that when I return from the Javits Center tomorrow--after my conference--I am heading out with the camera and capturing NY at night...Things have certainly changed in the area since I was a kid. I certainly never thought I'd feel safe walking in the area at night alone, and back in the 70's and 80s, I probably couldn't have. It's been a long, but awe inspiring day. My alarm and wake up call is set for 6am, so I should head off to sleep. Conference news tomorrow! Night!

Live from New York! It's....

Me! After almost 7 hours in the car, I made it down to Manhattan. Overall, the trip was really good, although coming out of New Haven and then right before the Geo Wash Bridge were tied up badly (added an hour to the trip.) Amazingly, though, traffic downtown wasn't anything like I thought it would be. It seems as though I inherited a bit of the city driver blood from my folks--either that or it really is true that "you can take the girl out of the city, but...". Normally, I'm a pretty cautious driver and like to give people a wide berth. There's no room for that in midtown Manhattan, though, and I held my own. Currently, I'm about one block from Times Square, where I stood not even 10 minutes after I got my car into a parking garage to get on the TKTS booth line. All I can say is God Bless this place--50% off Broadway show tickets for the same-night performance. Of course, it's still a pretty penny for a show (at least compared to Maine!), but after waiting a little less than a 1/2 hour, I scored a seat for "Movin' Out", which is only about 2 1/2 blocks from my hotel door! I do wish that Jon was here so we could share this together, but I'm still admittedly excited. Tomorrow morning, I get to hail my first cab in order to get to my writing conf. I guess if I can drive down here, I can hail a cab, right? Also, as I drove down the Henry Hudson Parkway toward W 46th street, I discovered that it's FLEET WEEK! here in NYC--aka a big party for those shipmen/women who are serving us so well. Fleet Week is well known down here and it's usually quite rowdy. I counted dozens of seamen as I made my way to the hotel...Buckle in NY, it should be a fun week. Talk about timing! Ok, more later. I haven't eaten since this morning and the head is throbbing a bit. I'll post again in a bit!

New Memoir Chapter: How the hell did I get here?

Ok, so here's another installment for my book--(Heidi, you can get off my back about posting, k? LOL LOL LOL LOL LOL). I think this will be kind of like the intro for the book and then the last chapter I posted will come right after, but who knows, I may change my mind...stay tuned and find out. On Tuesday, I leave for NYC for a writer's conference and hope to present a proposal (including a few sample chapters to agents and editors. I pray that I have it done by the time I have to leave--but toinght's work has broken about a two-week block for me. THANKS HEIDI!) So, here it is! ******** HOW THE HELL DID I GET HERE? Each night, I turn on the cold water, fill a glass and place two small pills on my tongue. It’s only been about seven months since I started this little routine, but I’ve found that the process is almost natural now—I can do it without thinking. While the process may be second-nature, the reasons behind this recent addition to my life still nudge at me almost every night: two tiny question marks that punctuate the larger question of “How the hell did I get here?” Of course, if I had the answer to that question, I’d probably be a millionaire, and, in truth, I’m really not looking for the answer to the more abstract version of the inquiry. It’s just that sometimes, I truly wonder how I wound up being a 34-year-old woman, married almost nine years to a great man and mother to two beautiful daughters, ages seven and three. The paths I could have chosen--that many people in my place have opted to go down—are often too frightening to think about. Contrary to Robert Frost’s beautiful piece, the road not taken does not always lead to a better destination. As the daughter of an alcoholic father, I know that I’m not alone. Some statistics say that at least 1 in 4 children under the age of 18 are exposed to alcohol abuse (American Journal of Public Health, Grant, 2000) and more than one-half of American adults have a close family who has or had alcoholism (Dawson and Grant 1998). Statistics are good: they can help people get a clearer picture of large or abstract concepts. Sometimes, though, I think that statistics have a tendency to make issues too simple, allowing the public to see them as merely numbers and not how certain things affect individuals. Somehow, the personal stories of children of alcoholics get buried beneath the numbers. While the numbers give me comfort in the fact that I haven’t traveled down this road on my own, I don’t want to be known merely as a statistic; I’m not just a number in some group or agency’s report. Besides, statistics aren’t necessarily truth. According to other statistics about kids of an alcoholic parent, my performance in school should have been below average, many of my relationships should be dysfunctional and it is highly likely that I abuse alcohol, too. While these things may be fact for many family members dealing with alcoholism, it is not my reality. This is not to say that my life is idyllic. Remember my little admission above about my two little nightly pills? I’m sure the depression and anxiety I deal with is tied to my history. I don’t believe that anyone, be it daughter, spouse, parent or whoever, can come out the other side of alcoholism without some lingering effects. But, hey, I’ll take two little pills every day over any of the other options listed above. Back to my question, though, of “How the hell did I get here?” As I watch my daughters grow up and see time take its own toll on me, it is a question that I know has not one, but many answers. Some of the stories included here are my attempt to dig around a little and hopefully unearth some of the answers to this question that may be buried in my experiences. Others are just included simply because they paint a fuller picture of what life in my family was like. Yes, my father was an alcoholic. Yes, there were many difficult times. As a child, many of the moments went by in a blur of confusion and anger. However, there are also moments of laughter and love that I cling to and I know helped to shape me into the woman I’ve become. By accepting the good with the bad and understanding that my life doesn’t have to be defined by one of the other has been a first step into helping me cope with many of the uncertainties in my life, both past and present. Most addiction treatment programs, be it for addicts or family members, contend that acceptance is the key to healing. Acceptance just takes longer for some than others—for me, it started almost 11 years ago and has been a work-in-progress ever since. And, it began with five simple words… “My dad’s gonna die, guys.”

New Memoir Chapter: "Visions" (part one)

Hey all, I know it's been a while since my last post, but it's been quite busy (more details tomorrow). I'm wrapping up a long weekend in Cinci to visit Jon, who's been away on business since 4/3 and will return on 5/20. I'm a bit reluctant to go home, but the girls need me (and I do miss them--a little ;), the in-laws need to get back home and Jon and I need to get back at work... So, while I was gone and Jon had to work, I managed to bang part of another memoir chapter out. This is about 1/2 to 3/4 done, and it is unedited, as I continue to struggle with my first draft perfectionism syndrome. Commentary/corrections are welcome here. Will post tomorrow night, when I return to beautiful Maine (alone--sniff sniff) -----VISIONS (INCOMPLETE MEMOIR CHAPTER) “Did you see him?” Dad looked over at me as I entered his hospital room, with that all-too-familiar glint in his eye. Never mind the fact that he was sick, he only had one thing on his mind. “Daddy…” “C’mon honey,” he encouraged. “He’s young, good looking, and a doctor!” “Yes, he is all of those things.” Sometimes it was just easier to play this game than fight against it. “So? What do you think? I’ve been telling him all about you.” I heard a small groan escape my throat. “Like what?” “That you’re getting your Masters Degree! And that you’re smart and funny and…” “Dad, you shouldn’t be talking to your doctor about me,” I reminded as I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. I sat in a chair I pulled up along side the bed. “And why not? You’ve got a lot to offer a man like that…” “You should be the topic of conversation, Dad! After all, you are the patient.” “Aw, hell, pumpkin, he has all of his charts and tests for that crap.” He frowned, trying to look angry. He did all he could to avoid the most obvious topic: his health. It was like that cliché of the pink elephant; everyone sees the damn thing in the room, but no one wants to be the first to mention it, just in case it’s really not there and he’s deemed to be crazy or something. “Besides,” he continued, “you can’t blame me for wanting a good thing for my girl.” I leaned back in the chair. “No, I don’t blame you for that, Daddy. And, he seems like a very nice man…” “Well what’s the friggin’ problem, then?” “The problem is the ring he’s already wearing on his finger!” The look of realization on his face was priceless and I did all I could to suppress a laugh. “If you’re going to spend your time trying to set me up with men, Daddy, the least you can do is make sure they’re single first.” “Damn,” he muttered. “I didn’t notice that.” “Of course not. All you see is the Dr. in front of his name and your brain goes into meltdown mode.” “I’m just trying to help.” He folded his thin arms in front of his chest. “Don’t worry, Dad. It’s just that we are trained to look for the ring. If it makes you feel any better, when I met him for the first time, it was the first thing I looked for.” A wry smile spread across his lips. “See, I know what you like.” “All right, I won’t argue. What’s the point, anyway?” “None, so forget it.” I studied him for a moment. Dad looked better, comparatively, than he had for a while. Time in the hospital forced him to “dry out” and stay away from the cigarettes. He face was still drawn from all of the weight he had lost, and his skin coloring didn’t look quite right; but, his eyes lost some of the cloudiness that had settled there. “What did the doctor say, anyway?” I asked carefully. Dad glanced sideways at me. “He told me you sounded like a charming young lady.” “I’m not talking about that.” “Hmm, well…they’re gonna be doing some tests tomorrow. See if they can figure out what’s going on with me.” He avoided my glance by staring out the window. I nodded. “What time?” “I don’t know, around 9:30 or so.” “All right, I’ll be here,” I stated as I got up and poured a cup of water from his plastic pitcher. “No way!” he barked, “you have finals.” “Finals don’t start until Monday, Daddy.” “So what? You have to study.” “I have all weekend.” “Why do you insist on arguing with me?” “Because you insist on being stupid.” “I…what?” His eyes narrowed as he realizes what I just said to him. “Never mind.” “You’re less than two weeks from graduating, Marie! You’re gonna screw that up?” “Jesus, Daddy! You’re always so dramatic!” I drink down the water and sit on the edge of his bed. “An hour or so here in the morning is not going to stop me from graduating from college!” “Your mother would have a friggin’ bird if you…” “Would you just stop worrying and let me do what I want!?” He sighed as deeply as his one remaining, damaged lung would allow. “Damn stubborn. Just like your mother.” “Like mom?” I replied with a laugh. “I think I got that trait from both sides of the family.” “Yeah, well…fine.” We sat in silence for a few moments. Then, it came out of nowhere: “I don’t think I’m gonna make it to your graduation.” On the surface, his declaration sounded so simplistic. I don’t believe, though, that its more complex meanings escaped either of us. Usually, I had no problem finding a comeback to toss at my father, whether it was sarcastic or sincere. This one had me at a definite loss. “Dad…” He leaned toward me. “I’ll do my best to be there, ok? I really wanna be there.” “You will be.” “Yeah.” He began a coughing jag. It took at least two minutes before he fully quieted down. “How about for right now, you worry about doing what the doctors tell you and I worry about getting through finals and graduation.” “All right, all right,” he conceded reluctantly, reclining back on the bed. “You know that I was only trying to help before.” My forehead crinkled with confusion. “Huh?” “With the doctor. I was just trying to help you out.” My eyes rolled, although I knew that he hated that. “We’re back to this.” “What’s wrong with finding a man?” I shook my head. “I can’t help it if most of them are losers.” His blue eyes narrowed. “The guys at your college, they’re nothing. Wait until you go to Ohio.” “You said that when I started school,” I reminded. “Didn’t do too well in that department after five years.” He waved his hand at me. “They’re boys, sweetie. You’re gonna meet a man in Ohio.” The look on my face was clear to him. “You don’t believe your father?” He loved nothing more than a challenge. “You’ve rarely been right so far about most things.” I could tell immediately that my words stung a bit, but he carried on. “I know I’m right about this. Remember, I’m psychic.” “Oh, of course,” I played along. “I forgot. And what’s this Prince Charming going to be like?” His reply was slow. “I’m not sure…” “Some psychic you are…” “But, he’ll be a man who can take care of you the way a man should …the kind of man you deserve.” “Ha! See, I know you’re wrong, because you’ve always told me that there was never going to be a man that was good enough for me.” “This one is close enough. I know it. I can almost see him. He’ll be a good man.” For a second, I was a bit frightened. Daddy’s psychic visions were always a little joke between us; something we’d laugh over. Something in his eyes this time, though, was creeping me slightly. “Yeah. Ok, Daddy. I’ll tell you what, if you’re right, I’ll bring him home and tell you to your face that you’re right.” His eyes darkened, but a small smile settled on his lips. “I’ll never live that long.” He was trying to be funny, but somewhere, deep down, he was having another one of his visions. “You’re not going to meet anyone in Ohio, though, if you don’t get your ass back to school and study. I know you think you’re smart and all, but you still need to study.” It was time to wave the white flag this time. “All right, all right. You win.” His smile widened. “Don’t get too cocky. I’m still coming back in the morning.” “Your mother will be here.” “I know, but someone has to be here so the two of you don’t drive each other nuts—or worse—kill each other.” “Funny,” he said with a scowl. “Get here whenever. These people aren’t letting me go anywhere.” “I’ll see you in the morning.” I reached over and hugged him tightly to me, gave him a kiss and left the hospital. In the twenty minutes it took me to get back to my house on campus, I discovered that I, too, possessed my own form of psychic powers. The car managed to get parked properly and I found my way back to my home. I yanked open the screen door, which was letting in the breeze of the evening air and I plopped down on the couch and spread out fully. “Hey!” Jen, one of my housemates, greeted as she walked by me toward the kitchen. I raised my hand slightly. “Hey.” “Late class?” “No.” Chad, the residence director, who was a year and a half younger than me, entered and jumped over the armrest of the easy chair next to me. “Where were ya?” “Hospital.” Jen looked at Chad and then at me. “Damn. Sorry, I forgot. How’s your dad, anyway?” “He looked better tonight.” I had to close my eyes; I felt a headache descending. “That’s good news,” Chad commented a little too quickly—an attempt to prevent the awkward moment from spreading much farther. I moaned something unintelligible and then the inevitable strained silence filled the room. “So…” Chad bravely tried to keep pressing onward. “What happens now?” I opened my eyes reluctantly, not only because of the building throb in my brain, but also because I did not want to acknowledge the vision I had all the way home. But, there was no denying it. In one motion, I sat up and looked at my two friends. “My father’s gonna die, guys.” * * * *