Day 64, Wednesday May 1, 2024: Fairbury, Nebraska to Olathe, Kansas

Carnegie libraries visited: Wymore, Nebraska and Hiawatha, Kansas

Nebraska greeted me with emerald eyes this morning. The lawns, parks, and fields – those that have already been planted — are all lush. The library here would not open until 11.30 so, remembering my boss’s instructions, I drove out of camp promptly at 9. Although the library wouldn’t open until 11.30, the liquor store down the street was open by the time I pulled up my wheels.

God I love my country. The land, if not always the people. Everyday on this trip is a new adventure for me, and although I don’t know exactly what I will see I know I will be delighted. The long beaches of the Outer Banks. The spanish moss dripping off the branches of the stately oaks across the south. The craggy mountains of the Appalachians, the Smokies, the Ozarks. The rolling hills, limestone cliffs, and Ashe junipers of Texas. And on down the road…

I began listening to a new book, Gathering Blossoms Under Fire: The Journals of Alice Walker. Walker and I might seem to have little in common; we differ in sex, ethnicity, profession, talent, and awards. AA has taught me not to “relate out” but to “relate in,” however. Rather than focusing on our differences (I have never totaled my car; I have never been sent to prison) AA encourages us to find our common ground (e.g., alcohol has made my life unmanageable). Walker and I have in common an experience in college that served as entry into the wider world. She had never flown on a commercial plane until she had matriculated, and then a scholarship trip took her to Finland for a conference that exposed her to that country’s arts and politics. I also had never flown commercially until after I had graduated from high school. Within three years I flew all over the world: South Africa and Rhodesia (as Zimbabwe was named prior to its liberation), the various countries of northern Europe, and Japan.

The Seneca Free Library was not on my list to visit, but the building was so enchanting (the old part is in a steepled church) that I decided to stop in. Kate, in two-tone black and silver hair (silver on top, black curling out below), floral shirt, and green and gold glasses, greeted me in the way to which I have become accustomed. When I knock on her door asking “Hello, do you have a minute?” the initial look is of I-have-so-much-to-do-today-and-here-is-just-one-more-thing which turns into “Tell me more”. The Seneca Women’s Club was the driving force in the creation of the library. Kate took me into the local history room, where the shelves were stuffed with folders and then admitted that she had no idea where the relevant material might be located. I said “not to worry,” relieving her from duty. I could see that she was glad to get back to her desk.

I had likened my library quest as a fishing trip, on which I would toss my hook into the water in hopes of catching the big one. My skills have now been honed. I spit (figuratively) at most of the libraries I pass, knowing that whatever walleyes are there are likely to be swimming on the bottom. I open my tackle box only at the most promising fishing holes. Sure, I’ll probably miss some good stories; I only have so much time and energy.

My phone still creeps me out sometimes, as I know my apps are talking to each other even while I am not listening. When I pull up my Sheets (the Google kind) to see what’s next on my itinerary, my Google Maps is eavesdropping. When I open the map to plug in my next destination, it is one step ahead of me. So, you’re driving to Hiawatha, are you? Well, yes, yes I am. Thanks for asking.

Things I’m Getting Better At	Areas in Need of Improvement
Standing on my ride leg in a stork pose Putting my socks on Setting up and taking down camp Finding ice cream shops	Car hygiene Dental hygiene That thing I don’t want to talk about Cutting down on ice cream intake

I attended back-to-back AA meetings tonight with the “OG” (Olanthe Group); my meeting the day before was with “High Tolerance.” The first meeting was a meditation. Candles were lit and we closed our eyes the better to listen to a recording that reminded us of how to get better. In the second meeting, we heard from someone here on her first day (she had relapsed, and was welcomed back with the words “we don’t leave our wounded behind”), another heavily tattooed guy celebrating his 6th anniversary of sobriety (after his sister had committed suicide, he had built a small farm at which he welcomed others seeking recovery), and a teary-eyed man making a special May Day tribute to a long-term atheistic member who had recently died whose self-proclaimed higher power was the not-quite-in-jest Cosmic Muffin. I was touched by them all.

The accounts of alcoholism and recovery familiar to me (such as John Mulaney’s hilarious show “Baby J” and Mary Karr’s Lit, Drinking: A Love Story) spend much more time on drinking than on recovery. Stylistically, this makes sense, as the drinking contains the drama and the recovery the calm (outwardly, at least). It’s easier and more entertaining/frightening to describe the whirlwind of blackouts, the fights, the wrecks, the destroyed careers and relationships as compared to the gentle breeze of the day-to-day efforts at recovery. “I attended another AA meeting” is not as gripping as “My hair on fire, I lit another match.” Recovery occurs, at least for me, in sticking with the plan, taking my medications, clicking on the “Today, I will stay sober” pledge on my I Am Sober app, and taking the time to attend an AA meeting. 

For years, I thought that trying to manage (for that was my goal) my drinking would take too much time. Attending an IOP (Intensive Outpatient Program) – which I did twice, once  in about 2010 and again 2016, at the Kolmac Clinic in Washington, DC) required me to attend three hour sessions five times each week for the first couple of weeks, and then a couple of times per week after that. So much time! How will I get my work done? I now realize that I wasted far more time on planning to drink, drinking, and dealing with the consequences of drinking. Looking back, I would have had so much more time to do things I love, I value, I enjoy if only I had been serious about my addiction.

If only. AA’s Third Promise states that “We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it.” I don’t think that’s quite right. It’s too hard for me not to have regrets, so my promise to myself is not to dwell on them.

The Wizard of Oz takes place in Kansas, which bills itself as “The Land of Ahhhs” and I’m glad to open my mouth wide to say it.