The Flying Mind

November 25





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.







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

Posted in Hope, Humor, Poetry, Rain | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Like Peace

November 24





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.




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

Posted in Hope, Humor, Poetry, Relationships, Wisdom | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Pride Goeth Before a Fall

November 23





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.







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

Posted in 12 step recovery, Affirmation, Alcoholics Anonymous, Hope, Humor, Poetry, Wisdom | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Jellyfish and Peanut Butter Cards

November 22






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.




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

Posted in Affirmation, Hope, Humor, Poetry, Wisdom | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Floral Trophies

November 21





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.








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

Posted in 12 step recovery, flower garden, Hope, Humor, Poetry, travel, Wisdom | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Nuzzle’s Offering

November 20





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.







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.








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

Posted in 12 step recovery, Alcoholics Anonymous, God, Hope, Humor, Poetry, Relationships, Triumph, Wisdom | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Driveway Time

November 19





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.







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.






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

Posted in 12 step recovery, Affirmation, Alcoholics Anonymous, driving, Hope, Humor, Poetry, Sponsorship, Wisdom | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment