November 2

VICTORY


Victory is a funny thing. Bursting across the finish line ends the joyful competition and begins the wait until the next endeavor. Pushing for success drops my life off the radar screen. Power can propel me out of range, the center of my life overshot in and attempt to be a winner. I am stripped of my commonality in striving for singularity. Looking for acclaim leaves me lonely. The winner’s circle is very small, and while the flash explodes, the development shows I am now alone.


Curiosity and beauty are their own reasons.
*


Bride in a Bentley


Who determines your worth,
the one who sets your ransom
or the one who pays it?

Will you recognize yourself
once you have been bought and paid for?
Will your life exist upon your return?

How many times has the road and its inhabitance
taken me far from what I’ve known
and extorted an exorbitant remuneration for restoration?

Redeemed is what they call it when the price is met,
yet this might not be the feeling it evokes.
Deliverance is never 100%
and reclamation is not always possible.

So keep your mind free,
but know your own worth.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

November 3

SPONTANEOUS WILLINGNESS


At my local coffee-mart there is a strip of cellophane tape adhered to the mid of a Plexiglas panel built into the barrier where the line forms. Only at a certain angle can this satin finish tape be seen. When I first caught a glimpse of it I recognized others had stood there and responded to the sight of this strip by prying bits of the edge with fingernails; I was drawn to do the same. I could not pull much up, but each time I stand there I work diligently for the moments it takes to make it to the head of the line and be on my way. Unseen others pull fragments while I’m away. Over time we will accomplish this task, unbidden, unknown to each other except through this common goal, spontaneous willingness to do what can be done.


Build a boat in your mind and push off.
*

MISS DIRECTED

I called and rambled at my sponsor.
After a significant time had passed,
she stopped me and asked with a tone in her voice,
“and why are you calling me?”
Startled, I replied, “for your advice!”

“Are you sure that’s why you called?
Because I can give you my advice,
but I have given advice to you before
and received only a severe case of the ‘Yeah, Buts’ in return.”

I was about to say ‘yeah, but you don’t understand’
when she cleared her throat to quiet me
and continued what she was saying.

“Seems to me you really want more than a sober ear,
you want magic.
You want me to take your crazy, dramatic thinking,
put it in a hat and pull it out formed, as all your dreams,
and then you want credit for making it happen.

But, Kitten, I have news for you,
I’m not Mr. Roark and this is not Fantasy Island.
This is sobriety and you can’t just have your way.”

This is when I realized I was on a dry drunk.
I don’t know what the first signs are,
but I do know when your sponsor asks,
“and you’re calling me, why?” the jig is up.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

November 4

CONTROL


I have everything in the world but control and yet it seems to be the only thing I yearn for. Past history has made it difficult for me to have faith and I have clung to scraps of control as an alternative. I have hope but I have hope in the way a disgruntled gambler has hope. The horse may cross the finish line first but it’s a long shot. This is the trouble with control. If I could ride the horse, I might be able to exert some sway in the situation, but since my jockeying would only make things worse, my inability to secure the outcome leads me to despair and here I am. I am not in the race. I will not risk betting on the horse. I have no skill accepting the capricious nature of life and work hard not to be capricious myself. This maybe the crux of my problem; I work so hard to do things right instead of having fun. I try constantly to keep things from going badly; I focus no time on creating joy in my life. I may not believe much, but I do believe God wants me happy. This could be the seed, which starts faith.


Feel free to laugh.

*

Natural Law


The boat captain can’t change the river;
navigate it possibly,
but rule it never.

Birds don’t control the wind,
only capitalize on it.
I can’t reign my sobriety,
I just get to take the ride.

My choices greatly affect the quality of this journey
but not the nature of recovery itself.
I am powerless over gravity
but am thrilled at my ability to use it to my advantage.



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

November 5

BEFORE THE END OF THE ROAD


Before the end of the road tiny stone lay on the side, freshly painted lines glimmer in this twilight trance. Walking the macadam, the crunch underfoot changes my perspective. No steering wheel or accelerator, this is ankle express all the way. Walking the road step by step, on my own, I am part of the soft and growing world progressing on a plan of separate integrity. Moist, lush wonder is missed by the motor speedway I let rule my life. Honeyed sweetness covers the vegetation swaying in the undulating airborne pulse. I am tempted to lie down and have a roll, but my role tonight is to reach the end of the road. When my goal is achieved I may choose a woodland life or an urban endeavor. Seeing the end of this path is job enough for now. Decisions anticipated prior to arrival are foolish diversions. I need to stay, not stray, with the dancers in the wind.



Execute the detractors in your mind.
*


Let the Groundhog Sing It


Mistakes and poor choices save me
from attempting to climb out onto moral high ground.
Moral ambiguity keeps me protected
from the illusion of relentless righteousness.

Lopsided living is a fate I am spared
due to my flawed execution of perfection;
all in a day’s work for a functional human.
Left by the wayside is the fantasy that I am all right.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

November 6

PICK ME SIX NUMBERS



Knowing all the page numbers and quotes out of the big book, but not being able to apply them, is like knowing all the winning lottery numbers with the inability to buy a ticket. Telling my story has little or nothing to do with public speaking. Recovery has so much more to do with willingness than studiousness. Popularity contests, policing meetings and service politics is a circus I have attended far too often. Empty rooms sporting great curtains do not a home make. Comprehension is no substitute for acquiescence.


Stock your mental stream so there is something to catch.

*

Uggs



This is a big hurdle until it becomes a little step.
I will struggle with it as long as it takes
for me to see it as something I can conquer
a bit at a time, then, often as if by magic,
it will melt into curbside snow
and I can slosh through it in my boots.

I am vanquishing obstacles,
which seemed insurmountable mere months ago.
I am not so much stronger than I was,
but I have stopped feeding the weakness in my mind
and this has made all the difference.



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

November 7

DETAIL DAYS



Detail days seem like lost, soulless days. I sort the piles of endless junk mail; catch up on bills, letters, laundry. I don’t leave the house, but in some way I feel like I’m not in my home. It’s like a day of pulling out all the needles, splinters and thorns that accumulate under my skin from rough weeks and road rash. I steel myself to the pain of relief and rescue. Cleared counters, emptied baskets, finished worry lists leave me with that newly moved in feel. Piles overwhelm me, but sometimes, details define me.


Can-can in your head.

*
Thief in the Night


The moon ran off the night you left.
Instead of west it headed south with you,
but I doubt it will stay.

You are learning to play a new part,
another ill-suited role
which I don’t believe you will carry off
with much aplomb,
Bad actors have no leg to stand on for critique

You may have found yourself
a kinder critic or a more likened mind.
What you have taken I can’t expect to return,
but what I have gained I will never give up.

I don’t think you ever intended me any harm,
but protection is something you never provided;
something which I was sorely in need of.

I was fortunate to return to the house of my father
for that is the shelter in which I can breathe.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

November 8

SLAYING OLD DRAGONS


Your roar is Doppler-low and I can feel my steps move the earth as I go forward. Former dominator, scary from every angle, I come for you today. The scales are falling. I don’t rip them but they fall. I can breathe at the heights of your lair; I am not shrinking. The booming voice you had is gone, the power spilling away from you. I don’t fly from you. Gone is the tremble you once instilled. The curtain has parted and you are revealed not as the dragon, the serpent, the monster but as the peacock you have always been, preening and screeching as ever.


Put your foot down and dance with the other.
*


Come What May



Inevitable things are very much like inedible things;
you can’t quite swallow them yet they are hard to throw up.
It can’t seem to get here quick enough to comfort my fear
nor will it pass with any speed once it has arrived.

I am like a boa with a hedgehog as my lunch,
the shredding is rightfully dreaded and in no way preventable.
Not everything that wings my way is anxiety driven,
but I have to admit that some things are.

I cannot spend my days wishing the storm clouds away
so I will put on my slicker and hunker down for the drenching.



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

November 9

CLINGING



Large bugs cling to the soffits, upside down, as an alternative to the rain soaked landscape. I salute their efforts to find security in a shrinking list of possible locations. Awkward situations place me, fingertips and toenails holding position, trying to avoid life’s harsher choices. Bitter, chilling options are cheerful alternatives to no options at all. I can take the difficult positions as an advantage. I have survived and this is the goal of the game. I am here come what may. I make the best of the worst times so God can help me make the best of the best times.


Turn with the tide.
*


Picture Window


When God sticks His face in my window it brightens my day.
What that shining face looks like in other windows I do not know,
but I try to memorize the eyes, the brow, the winning smile
before my time is up and the wind shifts.

The flash of a friendly face lights up the house,
my yard, the corners of my soul.
I imbibe the rich glow before it moves on,
letting my core charge with incandescence, warming my mettle.

I am long and longing for this happy countenance
and only when the blocks tumble in my mind
do I realize that it is two- way glass in that window
and stick my face in it and offer it to God.




You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

November 10

I DON’T SEE HOW


This is the smallest of the fragile excuses I use to keep from doing things to make me happy. Petty in a way I would never be with others, I rake my desires and tiny little hopes over the coals. Tired platitudes are plated up as first serves by my short order shortsightedness. Protecting crusted-over nonsense, I live the life of a lockout, not even a squatter on the fringes of my dreams. I stumble in my efforts to see hope, joy or my purpose, ignoring the fact that I must step from the box before I can see the horizon or more.



Rub your own head.
*

Olive Juice


For whatever the reason olives are often pitted
and once they are pit-less
there seems to rise an irresistible urge to fill that wound,
whether with pimento or children’s chubby little fingers
as they fish them from the can.

There is an opening, an answer must be found.
When I find my center gone
I have that same yearning, fill that hole!
It is an imperative,
a need that must be met no matter how poorly.

I will stuff just about anything in that gap;
the list is longer than the Bell directory
and yet none of it is an adequate replacement
for what has gone amiss.

So here I stand rife with questions.
What to put in there, what to keep out.
Is cream cheese preferred to cobwebs?
Prosciutto better than ice?

Nothing is better than some things
and the right thing is better than having given up.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

November 11

QUILTER


What more comfort can exist in the world than a conglomeration of turned edges and love? Fancy stitches or not, the assembled world of cloth stands testament to devotion and diligence. Careful collections, meaningful to the collector and mysterious to the possessor, fulfill the primal urge to shelter and be safe. Time is testimony to endurance. Thread against thread, solidarity is strength embracing flexibility. The bed of life is made and remade daily with the affection of kind quilters’ needles of love.




Find a room for zeal.
*




Wrong as wrong as wrong can be

To be wrong in my family and in my past
meant to be tortured and I prefer death to torture,
so being wrong meant death or longing for death.

I tried never to be wrong
as a way to stave of the desire to leap from tall buildings;
I did not turn into superman,
wonder woman or mighty mouse through my efforts.

I did turn into someone else;
I became a cartoon of a real person,
two dimensional and overflowing with irrational color.

Now I see how wrong, wrong can be.
Wrong is not an allowable excuse to be tormented.
It can be the turning point for knowledge if I choose
or the stairway to something deep dark and ugly;
my choice, always my choice.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

November 12

EIGHT MISTAKES CLOSER


I am eight mistakes closer to perfection. As long as I fall forward, progress is being made. I fail meticulously toward my goal, more cannot be asked. Loss, pain, frustration are strong teachers and great motivators. I suck each splinter for knowledge, extracting juice from every fragment for information. In spite of sprains and strains, I have stretched, attaining almost my full height. Growth is a wonderful thing, though cost is always involved. Mistakes are an unavoidable price but well worth the expense. They are an expense that pays dividends, dividends that move me toward perfection.



Stretch your body, flex your mind.
*


Clean Underwear

The ease of the trip is often determined
by the quality of the packing.
When I am entirely ready, travel is easier.

I wash the laundry early to give myself a head start.
Lay everything out and walk through each day’s needs;
roll up my outfits and tuck each into my bag.

I try to take less than half of my ‘what if’ worry items
and cut short my ‘disaster plan’ thinking.
If I pack positive thoughts and clean panties I am fine
and if I forget them …………………
I can always pick some up along the way.



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

November 13

FLORAL ECSTASY


I could eat fields of buttercups and drink down ponds of water lilies. Wear foxgloves and a pair of lady slippers, too. I could wrap myself in bridal wreathe and underpin with nettles. I could rise with the roses, lay with the lilies, shade with the sage, sing with the trumpet vines and run away from home with a Turk's cap on my head and a pansy in my pocket, until the four o’clocks say it’s time to come home for evening primrose and then bed.


Increase your tool chest by one.
*

When I’m Gone



When I’m gone ……
I hope they’ll say I tried real hard and did my best
But more likely will be the lament;
she didn’t live up to her potential.

When I’m gone ……
I pray the song will be one of tinkling bells and uplifted voices
But more likely is a disparate confusion of musical chairs.

When I’m gone ……
I wish that my banner will be raised by knowing arms
But more likely will be a shuffle of my undecipherable notes,
then the circular file.

When I’m gone ……
I would like my dreams to fly
to the ears and eyes of friends and take refuge
But more likely these dreams will chase me down the long corridor
and be nothing but my shadow in the long dark night.

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

I love this

November 14

THREE TOYS FLOATING

I bat the ducks across the surface of my bath. Soaking is supposed to calm me. I’m waiting. I assure you my impatience is no help to this process. These yellow, tub-bound misfits grinning at me don’t fill me with the joy of living, either. I have blown bubbles until I’m blue. I smell like a French elevator from the bath oils. My hair is stiff with conditioner; my face packed with mud. “Do the right thing," said my sponsor. She is such a pain. Here I am bubble bath to my armpits, and not a hint of peace. Her question rings, “What do you want?” But isn’t it obvious? If I knew that, what would I be doing wrinkling in this swilling vat? I wouldn’t. I would be out doing my ‘thing’, whatever that ‘thing’ is. How I’m going to figure myself out I don’t know. And ‘she’ is no help, (you know who ‘she’ is, she the sponsor lady)
So what do I want?
World peace. A clue. Maybe just a hint.
But I know part of it. I know more than I admit.
I want sobriety and happiness, dignity and respect, enough time to do these things, and love.
“Well," says she, “those things are easy. Work the steps, then the traditions; practice them, do service, and take the advice you give to your own sponsees.”
I stick out my tongue in her general direction.


Creep toward the unknown.

*


Surfs Up

The first time I arrive at the beach the tide is a shock to me.
I had no way to anticipate it.
As the days pass I calm, realizing there is a rhythm
and that the sea won’t escape the shore.

Over time I begin to anticipate the movement
and then rely on it.
I learn to live with the in and out nature of the water
lapping the lip of sand;

What it brings and what it takes away.
I am human, I adapt, I survive.
How do I make the jump to blessing the moon?
How do I touch the divine?

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

November 15

DESERVING


Tender toes crushed by moving memories, fresh pain from ancient injuries, shock incurred from these lifeless reminiscences. Unhappy reconstructions slap unsuspecting faces. The people, who stood by to let the chips fall where they may, try to feign 'innocent bystander' now that shit is falling from the sky. Unexposed skin will burn when the flames leap high. Idiotic excuses will not retard the fire of injustice coming to call. Too late tears carry no freight with the past recipients of the it all runs down hill award. Cowards make themselves cripples and fracture at the force of incoming reality, and deserve more than they get.


Once well is a full feeling.

*
Induction

I have a massive energy transformer that lives inside me.
It is explosive in nature and risky to toy with.
But if used properly I can power my whole world
with the current which flows through it
to me from my Higher Power.

If I use it improperly
I can melt down my core and burn down my life.
The connections are of the utmost importance,
insulation is a priority as well.

I know that I am conduit and so much more.
I must do my part as the carrier and the arbiter of change.



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

November 16

DOWN THE UPSIDE



On the downside of a rising star there is too much fear. Anticipation is recommended for ascent, delight should be encouraged, but all out alarm is usually sounded whether it is needed or not. Panic dims the shining pleasure of mounting the sky. Refuting celestial status, denying astral projection, I renounce myself. Attaining height, my position in space is apparent to bystanders and onlookers. I need to ride the comet and accept fate, my nemesis. Fortune shines on me, I should not squint away kismet.


Expand your spiritual muscle.
*

Who is the Parent?


There are more liars in my head than anywhere else
and they will say the most errant nonsense,
making it sound totally convincing.

First of all they use other people’s inventories
to leverage me into believing
that I am just what is needed
to lift each person’s universe from despair;

Then they insist that my life will be incomplete
until I have saved nations and secured borders,
all the while failing to mention
the deadly nature of these attempts.

None of this is a problem unless I listen.
Liars’ lying causes me no trouble
until I accept and act on this bunk.

This is where a thorough inventory saves the day.
When I am clear about the truth of who and what I am
I can’t be easily led astray.

I know I am God’s child and the resemblance can be strong,
but today that burden is not mine to carry,
so I can stay busy being me.


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

November 17

TIMELY

Spend a minute to rub the sleep gently from your eyes.
Spend an hour smoothing lotion from one end to the other.
Spend a day in tribute to the gifts you give and gifts given you.
Spend a week researching your goals, dreams and hopes.
Spend a month routing energy to a viable flow.
Spend a year studying truth.
Spend a life living it.
Your life is worth all the time you have.
Take it.


Balance doubt and dreams.
*

Human Sacrifice


How much does it have to cost me
in order for you to feel better?
Why is it that my suffering improves your mood?

Does it confirm for you that you are not alone
when you are feeling scared?
Or does it give you the sense
that at least you’re not as pitiful as me?

Is it pleading that strikes a chord,
is it the animal pain which stirs your compassion?
What about this scenario completes the cycle for you
to be able to move back to your comfort zone?

What happens if I don’t fall to pieces?
If I hold my emotions to my chest,
take them to my sponsor,
in some way keep them from your hungry eyes?

Will you move on and leave me behind?
Will you climb over the hurdle
which currently stands between us?
Or will you store away this bitter thing
like a rotten nut hidden by a Secret Squirrel?

Youtube Vlog: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z9bR...ature=youtu.be

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

November 18

MAIL FRAUD

The open envelope betrays the tampering I suspect. Too bad my critics are snooping, not my supporters. When they are finished tearing open my mail, they tear me apart as well. Shredded, I feel unable to handle further correspondence. I shut down communications. There is no channel for benefactors to travel. My champions are at a loss to defend me from my opponents; the struggle flounders. Misunderstanding the meaning of messages, I have been mocked and enslaved. I would love to vanquish my foes, but you see I am opening my own mail.


Ask often all the questions.
*

The Story as a Stowaway

I want to tell you a story,
but I want to tell it to you quickly,
so I can give it to you and then you can carry it
on your way, for what good is my story to you
if you must leave it where it lay?

Your need to be elsewhere presses on us both
and I wish to give you what you can take rather than
to try to stall you here for an epic you might never lift
and certainly not dream of dragging along.

I want you to be on your way
and take a part of me with you.
I wish to sew myself in your mind;
tether my tale to your soul.

I believe in forward motion and the need to carry on.
Where you’re going I can’t go on my own
but I know that if I am funny, quick and lite,
part of me goes even to the end of your world
and my hope is to help you make it bright.


Vlog: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uLoOa_Mx-CQ


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

November 19

DRIVEWAY TIME


Layer after layer of blue stack the sky, the moon risen and the sun dipping away. I wait for the twin lights, the constellation of headlights---my ride to the meeting. It will be the entry vehicle to a world of population, leaving behind the galaxy of me, the single star. I stand silent and the feeling of fellowship carries the miles. Laughter flies the winds of memory and all the old jokes of truth and tribute are fresh and abide with me until the car arrives and we make it all new again.


Ride a horse to a pony show.
*


Blanda


I know how good a quarterback you are
on Monday, safely at home.
What were you like on the field, game day?

You act as if seeing your mistakes in retrospect
is the same as not having made them,
but the game is lost and a rematch is not a do-over.

The score is final, whether you accept the stats or not.
Defeat does not deter my love of the game
and doesn’t diminish my affection for you,

But history has been made
and I don’t wish to repeat it.


Vlog: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-OBA...ature=youtu.be


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

November 20

NUZZLE’S OFFERING


Like a vegan kitten who wrestles long tailed leaves and twigs, subduing them and dragging these prizes to the feet of human parents, I fight paper tigers and bring the tatters as tribute to my Higher Power. These bloodless battles are pure practice; future wars may not be as clean. I can not enlist my God to fight these skirmishes; I would never believe in one that I could. I accept Deus as creator and cheerleader, but champion, no. Foliage and foes are mine to fight. The spoils, I bring back for pats on the head and bragging.


Talk to things other than people.
*


Triumph


God and I are experience junkies;
part of why I am here is so God can take me for a ride,
but also for the treat of God tucking into the sidecar
and letting me take us out for a spin.

I am God’s audience and God is mine;
though we are not peers we are comrades.
Life is a serious business I am sure and
profit and loss are always there to be considered.

I can barely describe to you
how much being in love with my creator is a joy,
but even better is being the apple of my creator’s eye.



Vlog: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T7X9...ature=youtu.be



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

November 21

FLORAL TROPHIES


Captured pet plants grow in my window. Why these specimens are given such regal care I suspect, but can’t explain. Delicate shoots pile out of sturdy stalks; roots force the confines of my decorative pots. How many neighborly blooming faces stare into my kitchen, greeting me mornings? I am amazed what good company my leafy friends can be when I am loving myself. Advantageous to my mental health, I breathe their exhaust and they breathe mine. Symbiotic, we live. I grow and flower; grateful these plants keep me.


Allow also small dreams that fit in your hand.
*



Jet Lagging


Baby’s feet kick in the isle
and we are all cocooned in our seats.
The movies play and earphones dangle in our ears.

We are jetting across the country in our own little worlds.
Landing can not happen soon enough for me,
not that I want to foreshorten the flight.

I just know I have a stack of lives waiting for me
and I would like to get back to living them.
I have been a week away, a vacation for sure and true
but I have my keep to earn, my obligations are many.

I hope to have done myself proud when I am through,
but until then there is much to do.



Vlog: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OCezu...ature=youtu.be



You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

November 22

JELLYFISH AND PEANUT BUTTER CARDS



Jellyfish and peanut butter cards make for busy days and cheerful nights, sunlit at the beach and lantern light filled with double-decker solitaire. Camping as a way of life suits some as they run from their lives. For the more balanced, camp is a temporary retreat. To the overly invested, camping is an aberration, a threat to the foundations of civilization as we know it. I can take a bit of sand in my hair, smoke in the air. Though I do dread the feeling of coming back to the life I love and feeling like a stranger. Temporary disengagement estranges me from the place, the things, the dog. I need time away, variety of experience, expanded horizons. I need my entrenched home life. I need it all and must accept the clock never stops running anyplace on the planet even if I am enjoying a good game with sticky camp cards, regaling tales of man-of-war.



Don’t break your wishbone.
*

One and One


The person who has nothing is vague.
The person who has too much alludes.
And these people may falsely mistake one another
for kindred
when what you draw your conclusions from
are the poems and sweet words,
which flow out of these divergent folk.

A paper house is built, but the living is impossible.
Tying strings to dreams doesn’t permit you
to fly away to fairylands it just leaves you prone
to lightening strikes and long wet wicks.

What could be the truth unfolded;
spread broadly for all to see?
Where could the roads so very far apart
lead to a home, a hearth, a life?

Or is this just a field of fantasy flowers blooming in our minds?
Mist is vapor pretending at a marriage
to a world it will soon evaporate and leave.
You and I are passing ships on a short sad night.
Vlog: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eSJYc...ature=youtu.be


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

November 23

PRIDE GOETH BEFORE A FALL


In truth, pride goes wherever it wants, it’s pride. Pride wanders alone, for no one enjoys its company. Pride travels far but gets nowhere. Pride rises above reality and seeps beneath the surface. When pride wears out, love and honesty poke holes in it until it is grounded and transforms to humility. Pride’s past is remembered with flush and embarrassment. Recounting yesterday is pride’s unenviable task. Keeping it from recreation is mine.


Dress yourself with love.

*
No Mickey Mouse


The Wonderful World of Disney
belonged to normal children;
kids with Sunday nights
and not the tear filled screaming
which punctuated my weekends.

I had no time for the creative melodrama
built to add interest into the dull little lives
of safe little ones, there is no Disney for me;
no clean pasteled figures frolicking.

I know only the freshened wit of the wizened rabbit
and the frenetic slamming of that distorted duck;
these are there for me.
Teaching me the dark humor of the life I lead;

Preparing me to laugh at M*A*S*H,
yet still never cluing me to the fact
that Carroll O’Connor was only teasing,
so still I cried to hear his rants,

But the dry irony of Hawkeye,
war and blood, those I got.
I was carefully led there by the Merry Melodies.




Vlog: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R7AIC...ature=youtu.be

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

November 24

LIKE PEACE


Peace, like an elephant on my chest; I can’t breathe but at least we are not fighting. The rigid air hangs like sheets on the line, stiff but dry. Plastered smiles and short salutations get us through until bedtime, but what we can hold in standing up pours out lying down. Tender feelings are compressed and come out only as water. Anger bubbles and brews. Disappointment lives down deep and sours the milk of love. There are things worse than cross words. Moldering, festering, frozen words pound spikes in a relationship fraught with apprehension. The truth is I would let these pent-up things out, but I don’t trust you and I don’t trust me.


See through time.

*
How I’ve come upon the World.


My first exposure to Bogart
was as the man who was after Bugs Bunny,
and Lauren Bacall was only referred to as Baby.

I only ever heard Kaw Liga because
Stephen King referenced it too often
and I had to go have a listen.

I come through the back door on so much of the world
and it has served me rather well.
Yes, I often feel ignorant,
but at least the knowledge never sees me coming
and I get the drop on it.

There is a quality to not having been spoon-fed,
that keeps me sharp and allows for depth.
The universe sends me clues and I go investigate.

It cuts down on the agendaed learning of the social norms
and cuts me a wide swath beyond the common path.
There are times when conformity is key;
then again it’s a sweet thing to have a choice.


Vlog: http://youtu.be/vOk4ICNxMiE


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

November 25

THE FLYING MIND


When my brain flies out my ear, destination unknown, I am left mentally bereft. I feel intellectual convolution and show no affliction other than my inability to fulfill my assignments. I stare out sure a ring of blue birds circle my head, or maybe stars like any other cartoon patsy. What to do? These parodied wingdings ridicule me privately leaving the impression of idiocy with onlookers and supervisors. My focus and perceptions quaver and I lose my place. I have to find a way to spot and keep my emotional balance, the same way I stay upright during pirouettes by watching one doorframe or light switch. I need an unmoving object in a sea of swimming thoughts. I still need to make the mental turns but this should be much easier if I stop landing on my face.


Work with yourself.
*


John Grisham


My time hovering low over the ocean
has filled me until I am ready to drop.
The weight of what is inside me bears down.

I know with the slightest cooperation
I will become a rainmaker.
I am mostly fine with this.

I know from whence the rain was derived
and I can let it fall in peace.
What I don’t know how to handle
is the acknowledgement.

The difference between what I know
and what you might think is vast
and if I try to dissuade you
I sound disingenuous or fraudulent.

I have to get my head around the part I play
and accept the roses when they come.
I don’t understand how this looks from offstage
or what it means to those who watch.

I hope they will enjoy the work
but never mistake me for the playwright.




Vlog: http://youtu.be/VePH0r1p3_M


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

November 26

ASSURANCES OF GULLIVER


Poor Lilliputians and my egg shaped conundrum! At least they have the strength of their convictions when I have only pondering to share the space between my ears. What sense could the world make if there is no one right way and each person is free to open the egg from either end or leave the thing intact, having instead maybe a bagel? I have been looking for the combinations to unlock the universe when possibly it’s an egg shaped thing with no doors or locks and all that’s left is to break in or out.


Believe what you can do.
*



Poorly Chirping

She writes poetry like fusion jazz,
more fun to make than to listen to.
She stands at the podium serving as a bad example.

I pray as she reads,
“Lord, please don’t let me get sucked into
the self-importance of bad poetry
for the sake of peering peers,

Forgetting to write what is there
for the world, the readers,
the things which bring the word pictures
and sets them before me.

Lord, remind me that the writing is not done for me,
but done for as Billy Collins quotes,
for the love of strangers.”


Vlog: http://youtu.be/ded-ZwPisXo

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

November 27

THE STORYTELLER



Funny stories I long to share with new friends have to be put aside while the core of this entity is built. Mutual memory is the siding on a house framed in integrity. Treading together through the past, we strengthen each other's perception; it's the only support that can be offered without time travel. We take hands, then link arms, wander happily toward the future having the keys to history jangling in our fists; we can return whenever prudent or necessary. We forge a fresh path and hope for a pleasant journey; between us we figure we have slain all the dragons.



Invest in idealism.
*


At The Dodge


I remember so long ago
when I would come and sit and listen;
soak in the poets and the Consort,
sop it all into the sponge that listened and sat.

I did not know exactly what they were doing
and I didn’t know why I was there,
but I went and had a soak.

Now so many years hence
I am the writer I never knew
and I know just what they do ,
because I do it too!



Vlog: http://youtu.be/KdHEGLintMM

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

November 28

NAVY DUCK

When the postcard is hung upside down the plane flies away on its back. I know one of those irregular days with the disposition of a bee-stung mule is on its way to visit me. I have found diplomacy goes a long way and when it runs out, humor is the best fallback, nothing mean or sophomoric, but the ability to laugh is a fortune in the face of a bankrupt day. When the sun sets on these spare and harrowing days, I mortgage strength from tomorrow and right the picture then try to fly right.


Plod when you can’t skip.

*
The Twelfth of April


When I met you,
you were a power tagged and trapped in a box.
A tiger caught by its toe and yet I could do nothing
but fall under the spell of your roar.

The suppressed growl you leave for me
like an invitation I could never decline.
I write to you a note of explanation;
words testifying to my desire,
which I promise to hold back out of respect for you.

And a wish to survive my drive toward you
and your furious stripes and claws.
Your bite which I long to feel,
yet know I must not ask for.

When I inquire if you have read,
you say with sanguine smile, “Read it to me.”
When I am done and with tear stained face,
all you reply is,
“I have lost my taste for anyone but you.”



Vlog: http://youtu.be/BErwEM4t6Hw

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

November 29

ENDLESS PASTA


Having limits in a seemingly limitless universe makes me feel horribly inadequate. I am a sad little creature in the face of overwhelming tasks. Pressure and unwarranted ego compress my ability and eager disposition. I am forced to see there are chores outside my qualifications and willingness. Going on in the face of crushing requirements extrudes my life force into a plateful of capellini lying exposed with no gravy to keep me warm. It is hard to realize, in this world of wonder and delight a plate of naked spaghetti can’t do it all.



Put a penny in your sock.

*
Relay

I have waited so long for the chase, the trap,
the dig a ditch for safety, to be over and here we are;
ringed, safe and surrounded.

Now the sweet work of living the life
we have striven for, striven to.
I now long to be my best, do my best,
for you are the best for me and I am the best for you.

I tense and press against the blocks;
the race I wish to run,
but all I knew was to wait.


Vlog: http://youtu.be/Hl6Vd8z-p3c

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

November 30

FLAW IN SNOW

Waiting for snow. Waiting for cold fingers, slick roads, warm beds, reading by firelight. Waiting for the proof of lack of control. Waiting itself proves lack of control. I can dance the snow dance and refuse to buy new shovels, hang out laundry, put out every manner of storm tempters; still I cannot force the hand of nature. I must sit with my crystalline optimism and endure these cloudless skies. There will be snow, it will fall somewhere, but I mustn’t grow overanxious ‘cause it may never snow in Miami.


Treat yourself with learning.
*

My Most Important Meal


Sweet potato pudding sits on the plate;
I sit in my place and wield my spoon
until the plate is clean.
I’m fed, my day begins.

If this is the best part of my day,
life is still sweet and fine.
Time skips its way through and I meet and greet
the splendid and the few.

Picking my way, the raindrops step aside;
I am gratified, though I never mind the rain.
When the mud has settled and my bed calls me home;
I look back to the start of the day
and pray to begin the next one the very same way.




Vlog: http://youtu.be/0_muX8IfQHI

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

December 1

ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT


Arrested development was bad enough; the living death sentence it imposes is completely unacceptable. My childhood ran down the hill away from the mountain of confusion that is life in this society. My ability to mature was damaged and what I learned to do was mutate. I could move laterally but never grow up. I became the goose being grown for its liver. All the honk and squawk in the world couldn’t change my plight. I don’t have to understand how I was let out of the prison of addiction. As long as I don’t go back I’ll never fear breaking out in handcuffs or getting locked in my crib.


Effort is already made, just add your hand.
*

Flower Power


The man with the chrysanthemum on his head
walks up and down the isle.
Do I look like that, I wonder to myself?
Have I taken personal style to the point of caricature?

What is the boundary by which
the embarrassment is kept at bay?
Is there a point at which I can overcome
who I present myself as,
and represent the best of who I can be?

Who I might be if only I can manage
not to get carried away by impressionism?
I am given this dwelling and it suits me quite well,
when I treat it as a temple and not simply as a shrine.


Vlog: http://youtu.be/yHOob7gAEMQ

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

December 2

There are only 23 more shopping days left till my nervous break down


Shoppers beware: I have a careful plan! I can juggle these thirty things, keep these twenty people happy, dig around in the dirt at these three excavation sites and hold on to my sanity for twenty-three more days.
My sponsor says having a plan like that means I’m already crazy. My sponsor says I don’t have to please anyone but myself, my Higher Power and her. That can’t be right. What is the point of sobriety if I can’t do it all?
She says I don’t even have to please her or myself. What does that mean? How can I tell if I’m pleasing my Higher Power?
She says, “Shut up and you’ll find out.” Great! What a plan. I like my countdown better. Of course I do, it’s mine. My countdown, my life, mine, mine, mine.
Maybe my sponsor is not all wrong. OK, quiet......da,da,da.....da,da. OK, quiet for real. Hmmm. I don’t, don’t know. This isn’t working. I can’t do this. Why would I need to stop being me in order to get better?
“Who are you?” she asks. She thinks she’s so smart. I’m the one in the middle. She says the eye of the storm is empty and I need to get a life of my own.




Endurance lets you live in the house you built.
*

Anti-Forfeit Activity


I don’t want to write
bad, forced, poor, weak, care-worn poems,
but I won’t write any good ones if I don’t lift this pen.

The embarrassment I might feel for lackluster lines
is far less than the shame of empty notebooks.
I don’t always like what flows when I open the gates,
but I am sure glad the current is live and so am I.


Vlog: http://youtu.be/1K9UEf2__xk


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

December 3

MIRACULOUS


Sometimes the blind lead the deaf. The subtle signs are the bumping into trouble and inability to listen to reason. It is an expedition into disaster unfettered by common sense or boundaries. Tumbles and falls propel this pairing to unknown destinations. The attraction is baffling but undeniable. These pairs can be seen through the ages. In spite of this confounding coupling, sometimes the blind find their way and the deaf hear the call. And even when they don’t, life seems to roll along. But try to keep your eyes and ears open anyway.


Set the goalpost where you can see it.
*

Precious Cargo


Do I carry myself as well as I could?
Do I understand the value
of what is contained within me?

This journey matters,
it requires my attention and comprehension,
if only I am able.

When I fall short the road changes.
The distance I go has much to do with how well
and whether I acknowledge the nature of the cargo
with which I am embedded.


Vlog: http://youtu.be/iPT2N2sthu4

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

December 4

PERSONAL DICTIONARY


Everyone keeps a dictionary in his or her head. All the words lay on platters each with its own flavor and meaning. There are favorite menus, phrases, which form warmly in the mouth and hang sweetly for the ear. Other vocabulary is exotic, pungent, occasionally with a strong aftertaste or off-key ringing. Abundance brings a wealth of conversation and keeps the cold of boredom at bay. Free for the taking, words grow out of life lived. When we have lived separately, even if only in our separate heads, meanings vary and reference must be checked. Blue sky is blue sky, but do you speak of azure, cerulean or peacock? Life is so much show and tell. Drink the sunshine with your eyes and flow it out to me with your words.


Write on scraps then tape them together.
*

Night Spaces


When it gets dark it gets dark fast.
They say, night falls,
though sometimes it feels like it falls down.

What is little realized is there is a lifting
when the light has gone away, the sky raises
its roof and there is more air to breathe.

Long lost is the pink wisp
that heralded this night
and far ahead is the next wisp
of pink singing of the moon.



Vlog: http://youtu.be/N7qvZVKXWPs

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

December 5

THE BOAT

On my ride home from work there is a boat stuck between two trees in the middle of a horse pasture next to a riverbed so dry it's filled with grass. I think the boat is me. I feel for the boat every time I see it. Turned on edge, waiting for a river, which doesn't exist anymore and may never exist again. Placed on edge for protection, not comfort. Although having my bottom rot out, well, let's just say might be more uncomfortable. What good will I be even if the river runs again since I'm fenced in? My sponsor says I shouldn't ask any question which starts with the word 'why'. You know my reply.
If my Higher Power has a plan...if it includes a river and a fence… if I'm in this plan, me, the rowboat…I just don't see it. Not seeing my purpose in life is a theme in my life says my sponsor. I don't tell her the theme in hers.
Truth is, I don't want to face the fact I might float away. Even though I'm supported by two big trees. Even though there is a tall fence all around me. Completely in spite of the fact THERE IS NO WATER! My Higher Power loves me. I am the boat.


Enjoy the flowers and slide on the snow.

*
It All Points to Joy


Can Love reweave the fabric which hate destroys?
Can Kindness resew the field
torn through with disregard?
Can Beauty paint the world anew
after so much ugliness has rained down upon us?

My heart believes these three cannot fail
to make things right
for what other point could there be than Joy?

Vlog: http://youtu.be/chEY7foQ0Eo

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

December 6

MOSAIC


I couldn’t prevent this plate from shattering, so I saved all the pieces, losing none. I laid them edge-to-edge and made a design, secured it with thin-set. Pieces of pattern framed with grout are seen, as they never could be when this dish was whole. I am part of this construction more than just handing china onto the table. Integrity has been lost but replaced with fractured openness. The plate has lost personal unity to become an ingrained part of my personal archeology.


Fly your kite in the wind.
*


The Way West


The sun reflected in the windows
winks at me as I fly over.
The plane climbs higher
and the reflected light no longer reaches me.

I slip from my eastern bonds.
I am west coast bound.
The carpet of snow was laid down
to quiet the passage.

Clouds take over the task,
then part to reveal the patchwork
of the middle ground.

We cross the Stateline without a sound;
a few more miles then touchdown.



Vlog: http://youtu.be/RQcqROgXhRY


You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

December 7

ORIGINS


Pain-filled interactions with people better suited to be left alone changed me in the way of acceptance. Wretched relationships with people made it difficult for me to have a loving relationship with the world. I had imprinted as a fledgling on sarcasm and ridicule, bitter milk that starved my expectations of kind response. I could not greet the world eagerly. Having never embraced the world I failed to hang on as it turned. I slid on my face and hands. Mud covered, I try to keep an open mind and attempt a connection with this spinning orb.


Color your emotions.
*



Flight 548


What a happy flight wing to wing,
smiles, good cheer, the air is kind,
sweet, dry, easy to breathe.
I am so blessed.

I fly to destiny
watching the traveling baby circus
play around me.

Giggles and drool surround me,
infuse me with glee.
People wander the isle
looking like well loved characters
from long forgotten books and we soar.

Time does not pass any more quickly this way,
but it is similar to time in heaven
rather than time spent in hell.


Vlog: http://youtu.be/3cbyYoE_W-E

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

December 8

THE WAY I DO IT


Cooking by smell, parking by ear, recovering by touch. The latter has to be done this way; I cannot see into the black-box technology, which keeps me sober. Feel through the resentments, pain, sadness, joy; find myself under a pile of rags with a match in my hand. The many times the steps have saved me from becoming a human torch are balanced by the weight of the rope, woven from these same rags, that together we use to drag one another to safety. The savory scent of a meal, or the glee of front row parking can’t compare with the tender sense of a sober heart.


Write bad advice on tissue and wipe with it.
*

Master Mind


I was taught that it was my job to master fear;
raised in a religion swearing they could master death.
I used to spend all I had trying to create a master plan,
while trying to keep secure using a Master lock.

I have seen Master & Commander
and do not long for that burden;
in fact mastery is so much a snare and illusion.

Life is quite improved
when we each have an oar and we all row on.

Vlog: http://youtu.be/J9IaheHYzsg

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

December 9

CLIMBING ON THE ARC


If time swings and the seasons swirl and I pulse out my existence, why does the bird's wing flap and the rain fall down? If the song comes from my mother’s lips and my father tells his tales and I dance my heritage with each step I take, then why does the flower open to the bee and the swan trumpet her way home? If everything pulls from the ground and reaches for the light, then how can I duck my head, hide my heart and pass this all off as a coincidence? Am I less than the rain or greater than the swan? Why can’t I just climb on the arc and let the continuum spin its web around me? Well, you see I can, but will I?


Let little birdies speak.
*


What I give you

If I give you a piece of my mind,
a piece of my heart, a piece of my liver,
how do I go on in its absence?
Or does it ever leave me?

Is this more like an excision than segmentation?
Is it similar to how I carry you with me
when I catch a resentment; only in a good way?

I don’t know that I can be truly divided up,
but I do know that parts of me
don’t belong exclusively to me anymore
and I believe this is all for the better.



Vlog: http://youtu.be/o1vQoGu2yOU

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault

December 10

ELECTRIC CONNECTIONS


I step into a room and take its currency. Is the flow good? Steady? The pulse even and strong? Where are the power brokers and are they sharing the time or using their magnetic personalities to draw the current off others? I check the complement of resisters, examine their stripes and assess the possibilities. I pump in energy when I can and take when it is available. I keep in mind we are all transformers and change is possible for everyone as long as we make the connections.


Rich mistakes make good batter.
*



What’s that in the Pool?


Parts of the Rocky Mountains look like
algae bloom out in the Indian Ocean.
Parts of me look like parts of you
and here we go with oneness
being nothing more than
pattern recognition and optical illusion;
though I hope there is more to it than that.

My hurt might not be your hurt,
but I have a sense of it.
Likewise your hope may not resemble mine,
but it cheers you just the same
and we are all the better for it.

We needn’t replicate each other
or attempt imitation,
but recognition is a kind thing
and art is what we all have to share.


Vlog: http://youtu.be/ymX2yjLcpws

You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault