Just mommy and me

I'm still chanting how much I hate this place. I've rented a car and I'm up here in the mountains at the end of Canyon Road in an area where the museums are. I'm sitting in the car and there's no one around when out of the desolation comes this open tour bus. My solitude suddenly turns into a corny movie set. Is any one in a huge hurry? asked the tour leader. And before anyone could answer, "O.K. then take 20 minutes. I'm at your command." Oh God! Why am I the way I am? I feel angry. Things are looking up. I found the Friendship Club, so my soul food will be taken care of. Also found a new restaurant; I have to eat too. I wandered into the library, and while the storm was cresting, thought this was a safe place to be. Read a story, "India India" by Claire Booth, I think her name was. Silly story I thought, but then again, it could be me. Last night was the turning point for me. Just when I was about to give up and go home, the phone in my room rang. It was the girl I had met at the Friendship Club who had asked me if I would lead a meeting at this club where there were more New Mexican natives than transients. Those brown faces staring back at me as I shared my story made me ask myself why is it that I feel so safe here? Some have had their egos washed away by addiction, others may never have had any to begin with, yet they all seem to have a high level of spirituality. The safe feeling of having their own seats in that room was generating gratefulness That may have been why I felt so safe... they made me feel grateful too. I thought how important it was to make one's nest in this sober world. Finding our twigs in the voices of the men and women who have been beaten down by this disease. Friday May 12, I will be picking Mom up soon. The weather is 73 degrees and clear. I have sharpened my data sense, and with a little help from Swifty-Rent-A-Car, I'll be in Albuquerque with time to spare. Driving from Santa Fe to Albuquerque, I found myself taking inventory of my week in Santa Fe. I didn't pick up, not even a cigarette. The meetings gave me a good sense of the character of the people. I was also told that this was a woman's town with lots of men depending on your taste and level of self-esteem. I guess mine must be high: this outfit I have on is proof, oxford style shoe, white stockings, and a short skirt. I look like Liv Ulman in her native country, very Dutch. One comment that stood out in my mind was made by a man in his fifties: ''Fighting the truth is where the fight is. Accepting it is when the battle is over, and one can get on with the living. As I wait for U.S. Air to deliver my mom, I observe a man with crutches maneuvering his body in and out of the telephone booth. I set my mind up for this poem, my poetry skills be as they may, does not prevent me. I reclaim my space among the ignorants once more and lie in gardens once mine, and write down my poem:

Mother's Day 1989

I have no control over why I'm me Or why he is he His shoulders high from crutches With legs that wiggle from side to side Here she comes! U.S. Air Mom She has no control over why she is she Oh Daughter, enjoy her company

I did enjoy her company, now it's time to go home. U.S.Air takes Mom back to San Fransisco, United takes me back to good old R.I. While I was cruising in the lobby this morning at about 6 a.m., I met a Mexican boy,15 years old, who was going to work at the news stand. He told me he had had the job for three years now. Somehow we started talking, I told him I didn't drink. ''I have three months in N.A.'' he proudly announced. Just before I left that morning, I dropped off three of my stories: Madonna, Bill Wilson, and 20th Anniversary with my signature. ''Hold on to these," I told him, "they will be worth something someday.'' My last words to myself as I said goodbye to Santa Fe were ''Write, write, Ruth, don't put it off. Do what you have to do, cut your hair, bake your cakes, and do your breathing exercises, so when the demons come to block your new frontier, they will find that they're up against a new woman." And so it went. My arrival home was filled with new challenges. My buttons were pushed and tested, only this time new vision kicked in, and dictated: No more! I have paid the last payment for every drink, for every infidelity, and for all my sins against man.

Copyright; Ruth Mahoney Thursday May 11,1989