Saturday, June 23, 2007
Sober at Midnight
Breakfast is finished and I have washed up. I turn on the TV to the Weather Channel as Maggie plops down at my feet and stares at me insistently.
"What do you want, girl?" I ask, reaching down to rub her head.
Maggie whines putting her paw on my knee. That is her way of saying, "Walk me. I need to get out of the house."
"Okay, I get the hint," I say as I grab her leash and my keys and we head out the door.
It is a beautiful morning and almost chilly belying the forecast of one hundred degrees today. I have become extremely dubious of the daily claims of my beloved weather guessers. Lately, they get it wrong more than right.
Maggie stops to smell every interesting looking piece of debris on the road. She is in dog heaven with a world guided by aroma. The neighbor's trash is an especially interesting stop as we make our way back home. I have to pry a discarded piece of foam plate from an old package of ground beef from Maggie's mouth. She is none too pleased. I scoff at my neighbor's terrible handling of their trash.
I am still sleepy from last night. The witching hour found me at a midnight A.A. meeting in a town about 30 minutes away which are held every Friday and Saturday nights. It was a small group of mostly desperate alcoholics trying to stay sober during what is primetime drinking time for us ex-inebriates. I felt right at home. We went around the room talking about what our lives were like on a weekend when we were still drinking. I heard quite a few tales of woe. One fellow sat with his hands shaking. I wanted to reach out, hold them, and steady his nerves. I've been there before.
The drive home was long and quiet up the interstate with thoughts of my warm bed and a cold glass of milk on my mind. I arrived home to find a message from my father saying my final move to my new house will be next weekend. He and Charlie are gathering lots of help so we can move in one day. Finally! A home of my own with privacy without prying parental eyes watching my every move. I will never be homeless again. It was fittingly good news to the end of a good day.