One of my favorite things about traveling is getting in below the surface level and experiencing the culture. For this reason, it has been amazing to know not only my beloved profe, but her entire family here in Ecuador.
I have experienced not only the Ecuadorian culture, but also the tourist culture, and the retired gringo culture. They are, of course, meshed within each other, but I have gotten a distinct experience of all three.
When my beloved and I are alone, especially when we are zip lining or wandering through the rain forest with a tour guide, we have gotten to experience how Ecuador, or Mindo specifically, treats it’s tourist. The people are so kind. They are light hearted and knowledgeable. I’m not sure if we have asked a single question that has gone unanswered. Many speak English, but if not, they are super patient with our Spanish. The prices are set; the currency is the American Dollar, and we have not been overcharged or had to “haggle” for anything.
We have also experienced retired gringo life, some first hand, and some in stories from the over a dozen friends of Keri and Paul that we have met. Keri told us that the vendors here will raise prices for building materials and services for things like wood or working on their house. They told us that if their Ecuadorian daughter goes in first to set a price on something like building materials for their house, they are grated a better price than if they were to go in on their own.
From left to right: Kansas, Canada, Paul, Missouri/Kansas, England (2), Missouri (2), and I think Michigan. Jose, the gentleman on the right is Ecuadorian by birth but lived many years in the US, and then returned to Ecuador. He is the owner of the establishment that we had our coffee tour. He built that business from the ground up and then retired, leaving his daughter in charge.
White people are assumed to have more money than Ecuadorians. To a certain extent, this is true. The Ecuadorian minimum wage is $4.25/hr, so if you are traveling, depending on your budget of course, your money will go farther here, as a general rule. Most touristy things are not overpriced. We have spent $10-$20 per activity on touristy things: zip lining, night walks, coffee tour, etc.
Also, depending on how much you retired with, of course there could be a reserve that would go farther here than in the US. But once you move here and become part of the permanent community, it is my humble opinion that you should be granted the same prices as the Ecuadorians. You are living here, you are building and maintaining your home here. You are contributing to Ecuadorian work in many forms.
We have been invited to several of the retired gringo lunches and activities. They definitely live a different life than the average Ecuadorian. They are the owners of several of the establishments, hotels, restaurants, even some of the tourist attractions. We have been to some of the nicest restaurants in town on account of the retired gringos. If you are white, no matter where you retired from, you are considered a gringo. It’s possible that this is a self-named title. I am not certain.
One particular gentleman that we met is Eric, here living and making his living because of “all things creepy and crawly” according to his website and tourist attractions. He is a guide and has built a business on the reptiles, amphibians, and arachnids that many of whom, only existing in the climate and location on the earth. The biodiversity here is second to none. We took his night walk tour and it was fascinating. His employees are bilingual and very knowledgeable about many many things in the rainforest. The tours are on his own land up in the mountains near Mindo where he also lives. It was beautiful. He is a conservationist, a scientist, and an Ecuadorian, but he is also a gringo. I personally felt super grateful to have met him. He is a super nice guy who is fascinated with anything that moves in Ecuador.
Terrible picture of Eric on the right, who is originally from Canada. Many other cultures were represented at this dinner as well.
The night we met him, we had been invited to a fondue party at another expat’s house and restaurant, Di Di, the Frenchman. Eric had a snake in his bag that we all got to hold and play with. He had found it on his way. Angela asked him how many snakes he owned and he quietly shrugged and said, “It’s hard to say, because I picked this one up on the way here.”
Because Keri is such an a awesome tour guide herself, we have learned about many of the typical Mindo experiences, road construction, customs, and gossip. My reference point has been good ole Ellsworth, Kansas. Mindo is about the same size as Ellsworth. This has helped me exponentially. There are many things that they have to “go to the city” to get. There are no big grocery stores here. No Home Depot. No Cosco. Quito is the nearest city and it is two and a half hours by car. I’m sure further by bus, but there are busses that go there. One could exist here without a car, but a car is handy.
This is a single Catholic Church in town. It is small and quaint. I have seen one other church. While we haven’t walked every street, we have been down many and have walked everywhere in town.
Wood carving of St Francis of Assisi. The tree branch next to him is covered in beetles that have been preserved. They are, however, real beetles called rhinosaras beetles. “Be Always Happy in God.”Adoration Chapel with host holder carved from wood. Cross on the side of the sanctuary that I can only assume is used for reenactments. It is tied up with green cord and has a place that a human might stand for reenactments.
We have bought food off the street from street vendors: cookies and fresh fruit. There are vendors that have carts that can be pushed, hooked to bicycles, some even motorized. There are also trucks that drive around the streets selling fruit or bottled water. The water here is used for washing dishes, showering, etc, but not drinking or preparing food unless boiled.
There are no closed doors in Mindo. By that I mean that everything is open space. Many homes do no have windows and all store fronts are open air. There is no winter here although it’s kinda chilly in the morning. As I write this, I am in track pants and a sweatshirt. Everything is damp.
The main street is lined with shops that are also open air. Several of the grills for the restaurants are located on the street in front of the stores. I think most of the stores have pull doors that close over them at night, like in a mall, but I have not been awake late enough or early enough to see this for myself.
If you can afford to do so, the best home designs are built off the ground. Some are just a few feet off the ground and others have their first floor as their garages. It is naturally dryer in town than in the country and especially in the cloud forest. The hotel where we are staying, Hotel de Libertad, has it’s first floor made from cement and holds the laundry room, the pool, and facilities for the pool like showers and restrooms. Bikes, motorcycles, and cars can be stored here as well for guests or residents.
My current view including humming bird feeders. There are 48 different species of humming birds in Ecuador. We have spent several mornings in the common space watching the humming birds come to the feeders. The sound is the dog rescue place up the street.
The wood starts with the stairs leading to the second floor with reception and several rooms. There are three or four separate stairs that have rooms, and the final one is the kitchen and dining area. There are no screens on the windows. The gathering areas in reception, my morning sitting space, and the kitchen, are all open air. No windows.
Let’s see, what else? Because many people do not have cars, there are taxis readily available even though the town is the size of Ellsworth. Taxis will take you to any tourist attraction in the mountains, and even the airport or the coast. I would assume they would also take you to Quito for your big city needs, but a bus would be much cheaper.
Tourists, gringos, and locals. Not bad. Three cultures for the price of one. Thank you Keri, Paul, Grace, Estepha, Leo, Wendy, Jeremy, los gringos, y la gente de Ecuador.
These are the fruit or the pods of the Cocao tree.This is the single fruit we worked with.This is Carolína, our guide. Carolína cut the fruit without cutting into any of the seeds. She said that if you cut into any of the seeds, you release bacteria into the entire fruit and none of the seeds would be useful for chocolate. Close up of the inside of the fruit with the cocao seeds. The fleshy part of the seed is had an awesome sweet tart taste. We each got to suck on several. The texture was wet and cool. The pure cacao seed cut in half. That is the most raw version of cocao. If you were to bite into the cocao at this stage, it is super bitter and raw, kind of like a peanut or a coffee bean. Carolína said that it would suck the moisture out of your mouth. It is worth stating that there is no sugar in cacao. We add that as humans. It’s quite bitter in it’s natural state. I am personally not a fan. I like my Hershey’s with all the milk and sugar that they can cram in to it. Cacao in it’s natural state is nothing like a Hershey’s bar. Headed out to see the Cacao trees. This picture shows the Nacional Cacao tree. It grows about three feet and then splits off. It does not start producing fruit until it is three years old. The seeds take on the flavor of nearby plants. For example, if you plant vanilla close to a cacao tree, you will have a hint of vanilla in your cacao seeds. Although you cannot see the base of this tree, this is the hybrid called CCN51. It was developed in the 1970’s but did not become popular until the 1990’s. This tree produces fruit in two years. It also produces twice as many fruits to be harvested. The down side is that it does not have as much flavor or variety of flavor from seed to seed. The farmers and producers of chocolate like it, however, for obvious reasons. This is the flower that turns into those huge fruits. The flower is pollinated by mosquitoes. It’s super tiny compared to the giant fruit that comes from it. Notice the tiny flowers in the top left corner of this picture compared to the fruit in the center of the picture. These are the fermentation boxes. They ferment the seeds for two weeks flipping the boxes every 24 hours. The fermented liquid drains out of the boxes and is caught in containers below for booze de cacao. Nothing is wasted. It was hot as shit in this greenhouse. Easily 20° hotter than the temperature outside. The moisture is kept in the boxes with banana leaves. The boxes must be carefully maintained as well since the seed could still take on any flavor they come in contact with. The drying process. This was in the same greenhouse as the fermentation process. Dried cacao beans that have not been shelled. We tasted five different cacao beans and each had a slightly different flavor. Here the shells of the seeds are removed after drying. They use the shells of the seeds for cacao tea. Again, nothing goes to waste. This machine takes the seeds and turns them into a thick paste. Here is a close up of the gritty paste. 100% pure cocao which contains the cacao oil. Then the paste is put into this machine that grinds in stone on stone at over 100 degrees. I can’t remember how long they did this. Here she stated that the shiny color starts to come out so you know if it is good chocolate or not. She also stated that these two types of trees do not produce bad chocolate. The chocolate is them moved to a cold room which is 70 degrees. The chocolate is poured into molds or drops and sold as bars or bags of drops. 100% cacao does not melt like milk chocolate. For example, the “cold room” and the loco chico are at 70°. 100% melted cacao. When we tasted this, it is bitter and sucks the moisture right out of your mouth. Your whole mouth becomes void of moisture and you have to lick the roof of your mouth and lips to re-moisturize. It was rough on this milk chocolate lover but I loved the experience. 100% melted chocolate. The final product and taste test of the different percentages and additives. 67%, 77%, 85%, cafe is with coffee, macadamia is obviously with the macadamia nuts, jengibre is with ginger, ají is with hot pepper, sal y pimienta is salt and pepper, cardomomo is cardamom. The front three were sugar, raw sugar, and 100%. The molds for the chocolate bars. Examples of the final chocolate bar product.
It’s pretty intense the things we do for travel. We deprive ourselves of sleep, comfort, regularity, routine, home. We save and plan. But if you have the travel bug, there is not much you can do to suppress it for too long.
We save up our vacation and take time from work. We enlist our friends and family to watch our dog, our house; take us to the airport at god awful hours. Or we semi-abandon our cars in parking lots. We take cars to busses, to trains, to planes, taxis, hikes, bikes. We put ourselves in dangerous places. We visit doctors and get shots. We bring medications and comforts with us. We converse and dream. We research and look at pictures of far away places. Exotic plants and animals; people, food, destinations and places on the way. We plan timing and location, things to do, experiences to be had. We hire guides and talk to strangers. All in the name of Travel.
I have long called myself and experientialist. I have traveled to many of the places that I have on my invisible list. I have done many of the things I would like to do.
This particular trip started with a grand plan, as usual. This plan was a loose plan. There are certain points we need to hit like flights, but the soft center is quite open. Stay tuned for my final review on the when, but my lovely wife, Angela and I both got off work at 5pm on a Friday. Our flight was not scheduled till Monday morning. The same is true for coming home. We arrive on Friday and will still have the weekend before returning to work. This sounds like perfect timing to me, time to get ready, and time to decompress.
I don’t think I can continue without acknowledging my privilege. For me, as a recovering alcoholic, gratitude and privilege tend to be intertwined. I could not speak on my privilege without speaking of my gratitude and versa visa. I don’t know if my gratitude changes my privilege. That is an entirely different blog post.
3 am on the shuttle bus from parking lot to airport.
One of the many many gifts of this trip was that we were able to each take two full weeks off of work. We have weekends bookending our trip. I think that sounds divine. Our first morning started at 1am getting up in order to catch a 5am international flight. I don’t know if things are more relaxed at airports or if people who use airports are just more used to all the hullabaloo. In any case, We were up at 1, on the road by 2, and in the airport by 3 for a flight at 5. I didn’t think much of it until I started to calculate when we would be arriving in Quito, Ecuador. We had a 9 hour layover in Miami, where we decided to hit the beach and get some Cuban food. Sounds simple enough. And before I go into the full story, I want to say that we nailed it. We were back in the airport with plenty of time to catch the flight. Some of you may remember that we were not quite that lucky when leaving Chicago that one time.
I love traveling in big cities and taking public transportation. It’s always like a puzzle that you need to figure out. Our greatest delay in our Miami travels was figuring out how the hell to get out of the airport. Once we nailed that, we found a very friendly public transportation worker, told her our plans for the day, and she guided us on a day pass for the buses. We hit the rail out of the airport, then hopped a bus to Miami Beach. The bus dropped us off two blocks from the beach. Minutes later, we were on the beach staring into the Atlantic Ocean.
We had come directly from the airport, so we were still wearing travel clothes but had our swimming suits with us. We grabbed a little fold up cabana thingy and changed in the sand. A few minutes later, we were in the ocean. The waves were soft and the water was warm but not too warm. The sand on the bottom was gradual enough that we were able to go out quite far and still be able to touch. If that was what got us into a little trouble, it’s hard to say.
At some point, we started seeing translucent objects floating around us. The first one I saw, I let pass without much of a thought. The second looked like some kind of mesh trash. I reached out and touched it. It was smooth like the sting rays we had touched in Chicago. I knew just enough to know that it was a jellyfish and that they stung so I pulled my hand back. At this point I was feeling little stings here and there. All of a sudden we were engulfed in jellyfish. We quickly swam out of the area, but not before Ang was stung in the back of her leg. I was feeling little stings here and there. I’m sure for all the ones we could see, there were probably many more that were smaller. Ang was a pro, very calm and cool. We left the water and she promptly peed on herself, letting it run down the part of her leg that had been stung. I believe she was still feeling pain for a little while, but managed to keep it decently in check. She was always calm.
About the same time, a storm rolled in, so we were forced to pack up and find some shelter. I was kind of grateful for that since I was feeling some smaller stings on my thighs. Jellyfish can be quite small, so I didn’t know if I had any caught in my shorts. We packed up and headed back off the beach to the nearest overhang. You quickly realize that you are out in the open world with no car, no home, etc, when a storm rolls in and you have no shelter.
We found a hotel overhang and hung out while we decided what to do next. As it started to rain harder, I rinsed the salt out of my hair and swim shirt and shorts in a run-off from a roof on the edge of the hotel drop-off spot. Something like that can make you feel so alive. Away from home and rinsing your hair in the clean water Mother Nature is providing. Also the stinging stopped.
After the quick and wild ride of several emotions, I was pretty spent and not fully funcional as we decided what to do next. Cuban food. But where and how do we get there? I searched for an Uber. She suggested a coffee shop to regroup. My solutions was something like $20. Hers was a two minute walk after we got our bearings. Since we each paid something like $2.50 for the day bus pass, $20 was a large increase. Instead we found Starbucks literally across the street. We were not alone either since the storm had sent all the beach goers away. We dried off and searched for a Cuban restaurant.
Two tries and about a mile later, we walked into Bella Cuban Restaurant.
The appetizer we ordered was half and avocado with shrimp and greens. When it arrived at the table, it was massive. Neither of us had ever seen an avocado that big. Main course was a traditional Cuban sandwich with pulled pork and Swiss cheese. I’m sad to say that the pork was dry, but there was a strange sauce on the side that made it manageable. It was something like mayonnaise, but orange. For dessert we ordered caramel flan. It was divine.
A little bit of caramel and the cinnamon from the decoration on the plate made it incredible. I found out quickly with a small test that the dark brown liquid was rum instead of caramel, so I steered clear of that part, but otherwise, marvioso!
At this point, I think the time was creeping into midafternoon. Our flight was at 6:57. We wanted to be back to the airport about 4:00. We had already walked about a mile with backpacks and such, so the nearest bus stop back to the airport sounded like a plan.
There is a similar bus in Mexico City, maybe for folks just like myself that have a layover and want to see the city. It goes from the airport to downtown in the touristy spot and back. Again we hopped the 150 bus right back to the airport with minimal stops. One direction was about 40 minutes and again for about $2.50, beats a $40 Uber for these travelers any day.
Back to the airport and through security again just so we could lay on a hard dirty floor and wait for our next flight. Ahhh, travel. We were asked by speaker and Angela’s great detection skills to change gates where we did more laying until boarding. Boarding an airplane is always an adventure in itself to stow your crap in the overhead and find a tiny little seat in this cramped space. Our first flight was half empty so we got our own rows, but this one was full, and longer.
Turns out that the flight was about an hour longer than scheduled because we had to divert between two of the storms coming in to Florida.
Not really knowing any of this, we sat on this plane wondering, has it been four hours? Did the time change back from East Coast time? We were both too tired to calculate it. Once we arrived in Quito, another burst of energy got us off the plane a to wait for our luggage and find our friends who awaited with smiles and cameras.
Their foresight from doing this with other friends paid off as we settled in for the night at a local hostal ten minutes from the airport. The time then was about 12:30. After getting up at 1 am to leave from Kansas, it was very rewarding to fall asleep in Quito, Ecuador.
Not as rewarding as waking up to this view, but rewarding all the same.
I don’t know if anyone noticed the date on that last post, but it was August 3rd, 2023. It took me till yesterday, August 22nd, to share it.
There has been some hard fought work going on. A lot of processing and all the emotions. I went through several days of hard hard depression, not getting off the couch, some isolation, and a decent self-pity party for 1. Yesterday alone was a ride of emotion as I dropped another $800 to my attorney and made the mistake of doing the math on how much she makes over some time.
Let’s talk about what did not happen. I did not fight and struggle against the brick wall that is Bella’s other mother. I did not defend, rationalize or explain anything. I did not mention the matter.
EVEN WHEN a DCF worker contacted me telling me that “someone” had filed a case of emotional abuse against me. “Emotional abuse” that sounded like a laundry list of 8 year old problems. “We don’t have food that is liked by an 8 year old. We withhold food. Or food is taken away. We yell. We drag the child out of places.”
Well, y’all know Angela and myself so this is almost laughable, but not when one of the choices of this report could land me on a Child Abuse Registry.
But again, guess what I didn’t do? I did not contact any “someone” about this report. I did not speak to the child about it. In fact, as far as the child and the other mother were concerned, it didn’t exist. I believe that the other mother was trying to “strike while the iron was hot” so to speak. It saddens me.
Wanna rewind with me for a sec to 2018? Recall that yes, we fought. There was yelling. I broke a plate. I was drinking. Also recall that I was home asleep in my bed when the police knocked on my door. I have maintained stupid ridiculous behavior, but no crime committed since that fateful day in 2018. I am a moron when drinking. I am not a criminal.
And so, what did I not do? I didn’t talk to the other mother about this. I responded to the report, as did my beloved. We spoke our truths and got advise on moving forward. We need a family therapist, y’all. For real for real. Raising Bella is going to be as much undoing as doing and I sure as shit need help with that. But I didn’t reach out. I did not make things worse. I did not fucking drink over it, wouldn’t that be something if that was a motive behind a motive? I stuck to my side of the street and managed myself. Full time job, I assure you.
1185 days ago, I took my last drink. So much has changed since then. My higher power that I choose to call Mother today, Mother Google if I’m feeling spicy, has guided me to be softer, more compassionate, more caring, understanding, to recognize and realize my own damn humanity. I am far from perfect and I don’t even know what the hell is best for me, so how would I even begin to conceptualize that for another human.
Hey Holly Dolly, remember when you said that you would change? Don’t let me down.
A quote from a Gwen Stefani song called 4 in the Morning.
15. If Respondent fails a breathalyzer test or refuses to take a breathalyzer test during her parenting time, her parenting time shall immediately revert to supervised parenting time.
Oops. I didn’t think to get a backup plan. I didn’t think to ask if the breathalyzer failed, what then? I just said okay and skipped out of court. I wonder if anyone outside of my circle will believe me? Alcoholics are liars. Once a liar, always a liar? Not so, in my case, but I can see that side.
I really want to be mad at Bella’s other mother, too, but I don’t think I can be. If she let’s this one slide, what happens on the next one? I never considered the possibility that this could happen. I wonder why my attorney didn’t mention it. Yes, if I am drinking, my visits with Bella should be supervised. I probably shouldn’t see her at all, but if I was drinking, it would take care of itself, because I would eventually stop seeing her by going to rehab or jail. If I was drinking…
Fuuuuuuck… So last Friday, July 28th, 2023, I blew numbers other than zero into the breathalyzer. If it wasn’t so tragic, it would be a funny story. Let me say this, no good can come from stealing office supplies. It all started when I decided to bring home a package of alcohol wipes from work. I had intended on using them on my dashboard. I went to the river last week solo with my kayak hanging out of the back of the Prius. When I hit the dirt road, the dust kicked back up into the car and my dash was covered, and I mean covered, in dust. So I was going to use them to clean the dust off of the dashboard. There were other things going on besides the dust. I had wood in my car at the beginning of the summer and the inside of my windshield got coated in water that had evaporated during work. So I took my finger and ran the water off the inside of the windshield. Several pools of water formed on the dash from this and I had just let them dry. I was going to clean the hell out of this dash.
First pause, why the hell did I need those wipes from work? I have wipes in my home. We have cleaning products! So stupid.
Angela and I are headed to pick up Bella and Angela mentions something about the state of my dashboard. Oh, I say, I have some wipes right there in my bag if you wanna start cleaning all this dirt off while we are driving!
Hindsight: I very rarely circulate the air from the inside of my car. 97% of the time, I would have had the air coming from the vent and not recirculating. But the air gets cooler if you recirculate and it was over 100°. Ang even asked me if the smell was going to bother me, and it never occurred to me to change the air to vent because the smell was not going to bother me. I use the alcohol wipes at work on my mouse, keyboard, and desk.
Angela proceeds to clean the passenger side of the dash including vents and part of the center section where the radio front is… and where the breathalyzer is stored. I would have to ask her how many wipes she used. I would guess two. We get to the destination, I blow in the breathalyzer in the car and hop out to get my Bella while it processes. Bella gets out of the car with a friend’s baby to show me. Cute kid. All the coo’s and kisses. Bella goes back to put the kid in the car. Bella’s suitcase is sitting by my car, she is grabbing her phone, and I go to show her other mother the screenshot of the breathalyzer, and it has a red number on it. .027. I look at it and say aloud, wait, what the hell? That has a number on it. I look again in disbelief.
I won the court case to have unsupervised visits and parenting time with my Bella on November 2nd, 2022. I had my first full weekend with her November 5th, 2022. Ne’er once has there been an issue.
I don’t think I even batted an eye before I was like, wait, that has to be wrong. That has to be a misreading. I take the breathalyzer outside and again, blow a number that is not zero. .015. I take the test again two more times within 5 minutes, standing outside on the asphalt in 100 degree weather. All red. .013, .011. At this point, I am assuming that the device is overheated since I keep it in my car and my car was parked in the parking lot all day and it’s hot as hell. Angela steps out of the car and I’m like, I’m getting a reading. She says, here, let me take it. I switch to the free app that isn’t monitored and she blows. .01. I try it. .01. She tries again. .01.
I’m so stunned that I’m not even going over what might have happened, other than the heat. Bella’s mom says she can wait about 15 minutes and we could try again. We all get into our cars and wait. Angela and I discuss different things that could have gone wrong with the heat or the calibration. I think we started looking at the BACtrack website for storing temperatures and such. I would like to go on record as saying that my wife recommended that I not keep the breathalyzer in the car during extreme heat or cold because it could mess with the device. After all this has happened, I am looking at the website, and she was 100% right.
Five minutes later, I take the test again. .018. What the hell? Now it’s going up again? Mind you, we have returned to the car that is running, with the air circulating. I thought nothing of it and couldn’t have told you if there was an alcohol smell in the car. This is all hindsight and research on the website. The minutes are starting to get long and this wait is difficult. 6:12, .018. 6:30, .013. I get out of the car and tell Bella’s mom that I don’t know what the hell is going on and she says we could try again tomorrow. I think she said that. I am bummed, but no where near going to worst case scenario. Doesn’t cross my mind. I open the back door and let Bella know what is happening. I tell her that the machine is malfunctioning and that I have absolutely not been drinking. She says, I know mom, you never lie to me. I ask her if she remembers what Pastor Valerie said in church last Sunday, about where is god? She says yes. So I tell her we will just have to see what god has in store for us here.
Bella had texted me earlier in the day and asked if she could come on Saturday morning. She wanted to help babysit the twins that her mom was babysitting. I said no, that our time was our time and I would see her at 6pm. Then I messaged her mom and told her the same thing.
Still leaning in the car, I cock my head to the side and ask, did you pray for this? I start poking at her so she knows I’m kidding. She giggles and says no. I said, did you pray for this so you could stay home and watch the twins tonight, while poking at her and tickling her more. “No, noooo,” she says. Okay, I say, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Her mom says to message her in the morning to arrange pickup time. And I walk around my car and get back in where Angie waits. I’m a little stunned, but it really doesn’t seem too bad. It could be worse. She could have canceled the whole weekend.
I took the last breathalyzer at 6:30 and by 6:34, had called BACtrack customer service, gotten a voicemail, and messaged Bella’s mom that information. Angela and I and Bella were supposed to have dinner plans with friends, so we drove back to Lawrence from the pickup spot in Bonner Springs and went to our friends’ for dinner.
Now why oh why did I not take another breathalyzer sooner than 10pm, I have no idea. I never took a breathalyzer when I was actually drinking, but I know that the human body can process approximately a drink an hour after the first three drinks. I also know that .08 is the legal limit. Math tells me that the highest reading of .027 theoretically could have been processed back down to 0.00 in an hour. But I don’t take another breathalyzer till 10pm. I go to my friends’ house. I leave the device in the car. I tell the tale of why I don’t have my little beloved with me, and we eat and watch a movie. I thought about taking another one at our friends’ house once. I think I said it out loud, should I go take one? Should I get it out of the car? Laziness won that one because we were eating and watching a movie and the car was all the way down a flight of stairs out in the driveway. I still didn’t think much of this. I was not freaking out. I was not worried.
I took the test again at 10pm when we got home, sent the results to Bella’s mom, and told her that we thought the machine had just overheated. I had also been on the website and found out that you are supposed to get the damn thing calibrated once a year, so had paid like $35 to send it in immediately Monday morning for calibration. I communicated this with Bella’s mom. She replied that the entire weekend was a “no-go for her due to positive results.” She also asked if BACtrack would be able to confirm product malfunction.
Having no answer available at midnight on a Friday knowing customer service would not open till Monday morning, I went to bed without responding and slept 12 hours. Have I mentioned what is going on at work these days? Oh yeah, so we are getting a new computer system. And I work at a bank. Banks call their computer systems cores. I suppose it’s because we work with a ton of other programs, but the Core is the main guy where all the money is “kept” and accounted for. I have never worked at a bank other than this one, and I have never been through a core conversation, but apparently it’s a big deal. NOT only that, but we are also getting a new online banking platform and mobile app. They, the other bank work people that have been there longer than myself, say that it’s common to do one or the other, but both in the time they gave us is kinda nutty. My days have been full.
So I slept. I turned off my alarm and I slept for 12 hours. I can get away with four or six hours of sleep for a night or two. Hell, I can travel across the country on an airplane with two! I prefer eight. When I’m bad and watch an extra show in the evening, I get seven. Nine is lavish. I thoroughly enjoyed sleeping till noon on a Saturday.
When I woke, I told Bella’s mom that I did not know if the company could confirm malfunction, but what I did know was that I hadn’t had a drink in 1160 days, I planned to send the device in Monday for calibration, and I would check with customer service on their thoughts about leaving the device in a hot car, if it would cause it to malfunction because yesterday was probably the hottest it had been in 1160 days. And then I sent her a picture of my sobriety counter.
I was not trying to be flippant and I don’t love that I am saying this now, because it feels like I am defending possible flippancy. Or perceived flippancy. I sent it because I am proud. And there is no way that device showed a number because I was drinking. No way. Oh wait…
I think it was around this time that Angela and I started to put together the whole alcohol wipe thing. We talked about the vent being closed and the car air being full of alcohol while the device sat in a little cubby just below the dash, below the radio. We went back to the website, and sure enough, it has warnings about keeping the device around cleaners or household items with alcohol.
I had to crack up a little when reading this because there is no alcohol allowed in our home. This includes mouthwash and cold medicine. We both abhor hand sanitizer. I would be shocked to find a single bottle in our home. I don’t even know what household cleaners would have alcohol in them besides actual alcohol wipes. We use hydrogen peroxide for sanitized disinfectant and blood. My darling wife prefers, how shall I say, kinder softer gentler natural cleaners whereas I like to bleach the shit out of things and Dawn the hell out of floors or kitchen sinks. And neither one of us wears perfume.
So we start putting this together, that it was probably the alcohol in the air in the car from the alcohol wipes that she was using to clean the dash. And sure enough, we went back to the tests, which have screen shots of my face while blowing, and the test inside the car when we first got there was the highest, then lower but not gone outside, I took two more tests, and then back inside the car, the number went back up a little before dropping a little. It went from .011 outside to .018 when I got back in the car. Then .018 seven minutes later in the car and .013 fifteen minutes later in the car. All in the car with the AC on, circulating, not venting.
I am trying to kind of low key document some of this stuff that I am finding instead of blasting Bella’s mom with it. I load some docs into the Family Wizard app, the calibration receipt, the shipping receipt, and the pics above. I load the documents Monday, July 31st and then on Tuesday, I send her a message stating that I loaded these docs in there if she wanted to look at them. I stated that Angela and I had found an article on the website about cleaning with alcohol and that we had been cleaning the dash on our way to meet her. I mentioned the upcoming weekend. She had stated that I could make up the weekend that I missed due to the malfunction in the device. I stated that I had sent the device in and the return time quote was 10-14 business days so I didn’t know if I would have it back by this weekend. She did not respond to that message.
She did, however, send me a message a few hours later stating that, per court orders, my parenting time would return to supervised and to contact her when I wanted to arrange that. She directed me to my attorney if I had any questions. Sometimes the pause button works and sometimes it doesn’t. I did respond to that message, but I didn’t say anything bad or mean. I said the positive was 100% false. I told her that I understood not wanting to do a visit until we got the device back, but that I had not had a drink in over three years.
See, if you let me go for a while, I eventually come ‘round to a circle. Or a point. Or progress. Back to not being mad at Bella’s other mother: I don’t think I can be. If she let’s this slide, then what? Why didn’t we have some kind of a contingency plan? I don’t ever even remember talking about it with my attorney. Ne’er was a malfunction discussed. In fact, I think former spouse wanted to talk about or set a plan for if I ever started drinking when Bella was in my custody or care, and if I remember right, I didn’t want to have anything to do with a “what do we do if Holly drinks” plan. I was adamant in court, trying to convey a confidence to the judge, that that wasn’t something that needed entertaining. If anything happened, I think I said Angela would return Bella with me or I would contact Bella’s other mother if Angela was out of town.
And so I signed a paper with the first line of this very long blog post on it.
My last contact with Bella’s other mother was August 1st. Tuesday. Today is Thursday. What I have done in between is roll out a hell of a lot of new stuff coming in from other departments. I have sent out assignments to test my rep’s paperwork docs, printers, and sign-ons. I am sending out information as quick as I can collect it and if one of my people asks a question that I don’t know, I shoot out more emails to other departments. It sounds stressful, but I find myself doing the best I can nearly all of the time and my goal is to get my people what they need to be successful. I find it very rewarding.
I have also contacted my attorney. She has not responded and again with the frickin’ hindsight, but why did I text her? I should have sent an email or called. So tomorrow I will send an email or call. I am scared about how much more money this will cost. That’s why I texted. I wanted to be like, oh hey here’s this casual little text, please don’t charge me 15 minutes on a $300 hour to read it.
I wonder why we didn’t put something in place for this. Why no one said anything about a device malfunction versus the alcoholic drinking. I know I cannot be the only person that this has happened to. I wonder if writing that little wiggle room into a legal document would be all an alcoholic would need to take advantage. Well, I know the answer to that, but what about the alcoholic that actually needs a little wiggle room because of a device malfunction?
I guess we are up to date. I am mad at myself for not saving money. After the divorce, I had less things. When I went to treatment, I had a few suitcases. When I went to Wichita, I had a carful. I have everything I own now under one roof. I like things. I like all the little gadgets and tools. I like having money to spend. And I need all these things, dontcha know? I wish I had saved more money. Perhaps after Ecuador.
When I started writing at the beginning of the year, I found that I did not have something to say every day. The effects from shingles continue and I started sleeping later. This was self care for me. But then I had gotten out of the habit, lost my built in time, and now things have started piling up.
Where do we go from here? Every time I think of this phrase, I think of the song from Evita. I don’t know who wrote it. Please hold.
Tim Rice, performed by Madonna for the movie Evita, written in 1996, and that’s how long I have been listening to it. The song is about the wife of Juan Perón, Eva Duarte Perón, who gets sick and is no longer useful to him as a politician, yet he stands by her side. She realizes that he loves her for her and not what she can do for him.
Where do we go from here? The song has meant different things to me over the years. I think I used to sing it to myself when I let someone down. These days I sing it to myself when I let myself down.
“Where do we go from here? This isn’t where we intended to be. We had it all. You believed in me. I believed in you. Certainties disappear. What do we do for our dream to survive? How do we keep all our passions alive, as we used to do?”
“Deep in my heart, I’m concealing, things that I’m longing to say. Scared to confess what I’m feeling, frightened you’ll slip away. You must love me.”
Before we get all excited, I want to state how much I love myself these days. So nothing major has happened like it might have in the past. No one drank, no one lost a job, or a car, or custody; nothing like that. I just haven’t been myself lately and I need to start talking about it again.
The first two years of my sobriety, I had a routine where I got up in the morning and read my prayer and meditation books and wrote on them. I decided to try something new this year by writing daily, but then discovered that was quite a challenge. I just didn’t have that much to say. So now I am not journaling, and not writing.
If we add this to life, which continues to happen, I have lost some of my processing power, a tenet of my self care. So I sit here, staring at the blinking cursor, a little dumbfounded, because I do not want to go back to journalling daily just yet, but I don’t want to write BS in my blog, and I need to keep blogging. Processing.
Before complications from shingles, I would read an actual book when not writing. And I really enjoyed the quiet house to myself in the mornings before the world woke up. If I could get back to getting up sooner, I could read, then write when I needed, and publish whenever the hell I want because it’s my blog. Ha!
The morning inspiration, however, appears to be in remission. Where do we go from here?
The final Transformations was held this weekend. It was full of emotion for me and many others. I competed in Transformations in 2016.
Opening number outfit. (2016)
For those of you who still don’t know what Transformations is, it started as 10 women, then later changed to 10 men, competing as female impersonators, or drag queens, in a pageant style event for the charity of their choice. I competed for DCCCA Women’s Treatment Center. There are an evening gown, talent, and onstage question portions. Each contestant has a consultant who is an active drag queen. The consultants helped with everything from costumes to makeup and wigs to talent.
Just the start of the makeup. (2016)Mostly finished makeup (2016)Me and Miss Priscilla, my consultant. (2016)
For me, and I believe many others, Transformations was an incredibly intense event that led to extreme bonding with those in the same experience. As I attended Transformations over the years, there was an instant connection with those that were fans, audience members, other participants, and other consultants. Many of the contestants bonded deeply with their consultants.
I was among those. Miss Pricilla MC’ed and performed at my wedding reception in July 2016. Another consultant from my year in Transformations altered our wedding dresses. I stay connected with other contestants and consultants via Facebook. It also changed the Kansas City drag scene for me. When I go to Kansas City for a show, I usually personally know at least one of the drag queens performing.
I got 10th out of 10 contestants in 2016. I wouldn’t change a thing.
In 2017 I performed as a backup dancer for two other performers. It was a thrill to be on the stage again. The creator/director of the entire 12 year event is Brandon Eisman and he is a joy to work with. I can only imagine wrangling 10 seasoned drag queens and 10 men and women who may have never performed before in their lives. Not to mention backup dancers, stage crew, friends and family, and Brandon always ran the show as Deja Brooks herself.
After 2016 and 2017, I was always on the lookout for tickets to the event. The event changed from men to women and sells out rapidly. As most of you know 2017 is when I hit a tumultuous time in my life. I missed Transformations 2020 due to relapse. That is something I will never get back and it stings.
Transformations 2021 was a redemption year for me and a living amends to my person, who had bought the previous year’s tickets. 2022 was just gravy. I was emotional the whole night. I was able to bring my kiddo with me and show her the love I and many others had for this gift to the community. Over the course of the 12 years running of this show, Transformations donated over $120,000 to local charities, and, like I said, brought so many people together.
We dressed up, did makeup, went out to eat downtown, and made it a real Lawrence, KS night on the town. From the moment we arrived, Isabella was on the hunt to get her picture taken with the drag queens.
Isabella and Deja Brooks. This moment was spectacular. This red carpet spot was swarming with people. Isabella has attended Reading Rainbow hosted by Deja Brooks for years and was on the lookout for Deja. The moment we saw her and asked for a picture, she took us to the red carpet, dispersed all the people for this one on one shot with Isabella. Then waved her hand and the crowd was back. Isabella and Daisy Bucket (pronounced bouquet). Daisy hosted a KU drag show in 2015 that I attended with Isabella strapped to my chest. Baby’s first drag show with Daisy Bucket. (2015)Isabella and The Whore of ‘84, Genewa Stanwyck. Ang and I are huge fans of Genewa. Raven Waye. L’Oreal.Red carpet.Family red carpet moment.
For me, in recovery, with moments from my past that have led to broken relationships, there were no less than three people in that audience that I owe amends to. None of those three people are interested in hearing my amends. That is hard. They were once part of a strong tight knit village. I ran into one of them, who was thrilled to see how much Bella had grown. One of the tenants of amends is that we do not cause more harm, so if someone has cut ties with us, we do not force the amends. So it’s something that just sits with you. Well, it’s something that sits with me anyway.
On this final night of Transformations, I was thrilled just to be in attendance, and amazed that I had my beloved and my kiddo by my side. I can be proud of the life I have built and still be sad of the collateral damage that I have caused. For me, the emotions ran the gambit on Saturday night at Transformations 2023, The Finale.
It was a long show. Someone didn’t quite make it. Transformations wasted.
Let’s add a nice phlegmy cold to the shingles and see how it changes the numbers. I don’t know why I thought my recovery from these blasted shingles would be linear. I adore linear for about 75% of my world and the above graph for the other 25%. Since I like to control things, I’d like to choose the 25%.
But I started feeling better! I chopped wood! I tried going back to work and then found a great excuse to quickly get the hell out of there. I got so frustrated that I actually did the math to calculate how long till my retirement. Spoiler alert: it is not close.
I know that I will do myself no good if I stress about recovery or missing work or working from home or my participation level at home or how well I am performing as a mother or looking towards upcoming events.
I was just thinking this morning, how can I wrangle my boobs for Transformations so I am comfortable and still look nice. I want to make a big deal of this last Transformations but anything more than a T-Shirt is painful and, at best, very uncomfortable without a bra. I also tried a bra on Monday and it was a hard pass. Gen Xers don’t freeball.
The very last Transformations is coming up this weekend. We have the moon and I want to take her out and show her a lovely Lawrence, KS evening. I want to do makeup and all that girly stuff that she loves. I have pictures of me in jeans and a hoodie as well as a nice dress from past Transformations.
It all just makes me tired and anxious. I hate anxiety! I’m sure anxiety loves that.
It feels like I have been sick forever. I added a cold to this ball of awesome this past weekend. What is my body trying to tell me? How can I better serve myself? What is it that I need in this moment? Use your training, Holly.
A quick google search on recovering from shingles only tells me to steer clear of people as long as I have open wounds. I have not had open wounds for a month. I still cannot move without pain, cannot wear my trusty over the shoulder bolder holder, and don’t know if I am supposed to ignore the pain and press on or rest. I am frustrated. I am tired. I am grumpy and worn down. And I am sick of all those things as well.
The new routine with the moon lends itself to less down time. I am so grateful to my person who has been taking art classes and exercise classes and generally doing her own thing. She has been taking care of her while shingles and joint custody have taken my time. It’s very inspiring to watch. I am so grateful that we have built this life together. It is, and I pray it will always be, the backbone. If my recovery is my foundation, then this life with my person is the ground level, the cornerstone.
Thanks to all who continue to show up in physical life, digital life, spiritual life, and mental and emotional life. I dig you all. Love, Holly.
Author’s note: this is the latest communication I am sending to a friend. I am putting a digital stamp on this one because I think she will be tickled to be contributing to this blog.
Double note: THIS DOES NOT WORK IF YOUR ONLY COMMUNICATIONS ARE TEXT. Get out your pencil and a stamp.
I am a little old school when it comes to formal communication. Let’s put it this way, last year, I ordered something like 500 or 1000 thank you cards in bulk from Amazon. You get the idea. It’s not the damn card, it’s what is inside.
Dear Goddess,
Thank you for your latest communication. This may or may not have been your intent, but I could not get the glitter off my fingers for the rest of the day after reading your card. It was beautiful.
It was nothing compared to your words. Why are you so good to me? You know I love that support and I pray that I give it as good as I get it. I’m so glad you love the blog. I am thrilled to make it a part of my new morning routine. Almost one month in, and I feel like I am more in touch with myself. Luckily, I love writing, so the outcomes were not planned, as it should be. It’s been fun just to see where this goes. No destination, just the journey.
If I haven’t already, I’d like also thank you for the Christmas card. It gives me such joy to see you and your person’s joyful faces on our Christmas card wall. We put all the cards up over the walkway from our kitchen to our front room, so I see your joy every day. One new thing that we did this year was put our own Christmas card on the wall. It’s such a great reminder to love myself with all the others who send their love.
I also want to thank you for the wedding present. How did you even find the registry? Ang and I were just figuring out how to put one together at the request of another guest that can’t attend, and here comes this giant box on our porch. We were baffled for several moments. It added extra joy to the gift itself.
We opened it with Isabella and placed it in her room for the time being. She has been using the mirror that goes with the dresser in her room which is currently on the floor. I can’t find the darn hardware for it! And who wouldn’t love a full length mirror in their room but a stylish 7 year old? I watched her fix her hair in it Tuesday morning before school. Such precision.
I am so grateful for our friendship. It feels like it continues to grow despite our physical distance. Speaking of growing, thank you for continuously sharing your journey with me. It has been an absolute pleasure to watch you grow and flourish. I follow you on the social media as well. I cannot tell you the joy it brings me to see you so happy.
What I know is that, like so many of us, this has taken work. Not only have you put in the work, but you have been open and honest about it, and shared what worked for you. I have been privy to the lengths you have gone to find yourself. I know from experience that you didn’t find the love of your life until you found the love of your life in yourself. Sometimes I wonder if people who have not experienced lows like us really know what the highs feel like.
Anyway, thanks for being a part of this morning and unknowingly contributing to this blog. If I know you, I think you will be tickled. I shall close and continue with my morning routine. I am finishing “Quit like a woman.” The book that you gave me last year, “How to do the Work,” is actually going to get read with this new routine. I’ll let you know how it contributes to my life, since it helped you.
Thank you for everything. Thank you for being you. I love you.
I am currently reading “Quit Like a Woman” by Holly Whitaker. I think someone recommended it, probably a year ago like most of the books I am reading.
The book seemed to be marketed and sold as a look on the obsessive nature of alcohol in our culture, and while the first part of the book is focused on that, Whitaker then takes a hard left and describes her self-created recovery plan of feminine-centric recovery.
I was in before, but now I’m really in. Once you get past the part about the general obsessive nature of alcohol in our society, she focuses her lens on women and other marginalized groups. I am only half finished with the book. This isn’t a review.
What it is is my nature of integrating what I read into my life. I love nonfiction. I really don’t love the idea of self-help books, but I love expanding my spirituality and I find it easy to do with non-fiction “self-help” crap. They are like my romance novels to myself.
So discipline is out and commitment is in. Here’s why: Whitaker describes discipline from Webster’s dictionary as “control gained by enforcing obedience or order; orderly prescribed conduct or pattern of behavior; self-control.” Secondarily, “punishment.” There are so many four letter words in that definition that it made me cringe.
Control, enforce, obey, and punish. For me it would read self-control, self-enforce, self-obey, and self-punish. Nope.
Commitment, on the other hand, as described by Whitaker, for her own effect I assume, is the “complete opposite of discipline, in that it blossoms from one’s own will. We commit to things we want to do, not things we’re supposed to become. It is also more forgiving than discipline.”
Discipline calls for repenting while commitment calls for refocusing. Commitment calls us “sweetie” while discipline calls us “lazy.” Commitment is focused on the journey while discipline sees only results. Commitment begs us to stay with ourselves as we try something new. Discipline says we either succeed or fail.
This is a perfect example of how I get in my own way. Set up the roadblocks. I decided on a word for myself for the whole year, that has several of my character defects embedded in it’s definition and meaning! Things I didn’t love about the house I grew up in. Things I don’t love about how I am in my own home and how I treat my partner! Oh my goodness. I can be so on the beam and so off the beam.
I can even think I am dead center on the beam and not even be in the building in which the beam is housed. My very own recovery allows me to self correct with love and laughter. Holly, you silly. Refocus. Recommit. I love you.
Move in day December 30th, 2020
One of the major things I want to commit to this year is my home. I have never been a home owner or lived in a place that was mine. I want to keep it lovely so I can enjoy it on a daily basis. I want to keep the kitchen counter clean and wiped off. I want to keep the kitchen table clutter free. I want to keep the wood burning stove area swept up. I want it to be a warm and inviting place to others and I don’t want to have to clean the whole damn house when someone is coming over. But I don’t want to present a home to others, I want to keep it for myself. Come spring, we taking all the above energy into the yard and garden.
But again, I want to do these things for myself. I don’t want to punish myself if they are not kept up and I certainly don’t want to put this on my person. We each struggle with our own demons when it comes to home upkeep. I want to do this for me. I guess in the long run if you are a line person, or to circle back, if you are a circle person, I want to commit more deeply to myself and my own needs and what makes me happy and thriving.
I’ll be the first to tell you that two years and eight months or 971 days of sobriety is a long time, becases it fucking is, but for me, settling in to my body, my life, my future marriage, my home… I’m just getting started. And I’d say commitment to all those things in 2023 is an excellent correction.
The Isms of the Ic 