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SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself

Amazon-Kindle-soulparole.com MARCH-2012

Step Parent? Stepson? There Are NO Steps, Only Parents and kids...

Sometimes I think there should be a recovery program for being a stepparent, or the child of one. I am both. It has been both the most difficult and rewarding experience of my life, more so than my battle with addiction and recovery.

The word "STEP" in front of “parent” or ‘child’ is as ridiculous as the term "holy war," or "amicable divorce,” because it implies a barrier between the parent and child and sets up a preconceived notion of separation between the two. When someone mentions, “stepmother,” I remember poor Cinderella being run ragged by hers. As for "stepfather,” I think of those horror movies where the guy is all cheesecake and smiles when his wife is in the room and pure evil when he's alone with her child.

My first experiences with a "stepparent" happened when I was six. I thought my father’s new wife was pretty and polite, but she brought along three daughters. I was the only boy, so I was either the lucky one or the odd man out. There were feelings of envy and jealousy at the thought of sharing my father, but I think that is pretty normal for a little kid. I also had a "stepfather," for a short time, and he would be a good candidate for the nasty character I described earlier in this posting.

After enduring the loss of two children to miscarriage in my previously failed marriages, I was angry with God for not giving me kids of my own. I prayed over and over, but the answer was always, “No,” or so I thought at the time. Little did I know He had a plan for my life, and when he didn't follow "my" plan, I thought I was getting a raw deal. My father never called his new wife's daughters "step," just daughters. I noted that early on, and it made a lasting impression on me.

When I moved in with Squeaky, I became "instafather." The position has advantages and definite disadvantages. When things were great it was, "I love you DA!" When things weren't so good, the ever popular, "You aren't my Dad!" flew like death darts. I would be less than honest if I didn't point out I pulled the same trump card early in our marriage with comments like, "YOUR Daughter “and “YOUR Son...."

As a parent to my kids, I have made lots of mistakes, both when I was drunk and when I was sober, and I always will because I am human. However, there were benefits from my “dad once removed, DNA-free relationship with my kids.” When they were small, I told them they had a father, and I wasn't trying to replace him. They adopted an affectionate nickname the Irish use, “DA,” instead of the American "Pa.” I told them they could talk to me as a friend, rather than their dad, but that I wanted their respect as the man of the house and their mother's husband.

I have different relationships and memories with each of them. I was there for Bro's first day of school. I will never forget his adorable look of excitement mixed with a touch of terror as I left him behind on that first day of kindergarten. Bro has referred to me as his DA and stepdad, depending on his entourage, and I am comfortable with either title. I know he loves me.

My middle daughter, Sunny was, and is, close to her father. Once, when Sunny and I were at a doctor's office, a man commented that she "looked just like me." We smiled and thanked him for his kind words, then laughed our butts off in the car at the congenital comparison. We had many challenges during our years of growing up together. Now we are the best of friends.

Hemingway, my oldest, calls me, “Dad,” and that makes me feel good. I was proud to take Hemi to the "Daddy/Daughter" dance her senior year. Her father has little interest in her, but I hope that changes some day. I will be happy to share her with him, but she will always be “Daddy's little girl” to me.

Growing up, my relationship with my "stepmother" was up and down. She was patient and always cordial to me, but I could sense her frustration because I always ran to Daddy when I was in a pinch or needed money. She was the “tough love” type, so I’m sure my frequent requests caused disagreements between Dad and her. I am grateful my father assisted me, yet, in my addictive manipulation, I often took advantage of his willingness to help.

During my father's illness (He was in the hospital nine times during the last two years of his life), my second mom and I grew very close. We spoke freely of my addictions and the challenging personality my father brought to their relationship. She loved him, and I could see why he spent his life with her. Today we are close friends, and I love her deeply.

If you are a "stepparent" I feel ya! If you are not, please don't judge us until you have walked a block in our shoes. I do not see my biological daughter as much as I would like to, but that is a story for another day. That will work itself out in God's time. I have two mothers, four sisters and four kids. There are no "steps" between us.

God often gives us what we want; it's just not the way "we" want it. I am blessed to be a second father to my wife's kids, and I have adopted my father's policy of no "steps" when I speak of them. Dad, thanks for the life lesson. I miss you! God, thanks for giving me the children. I have given up on trying to figure you out, but am grateful you understand me….

Depression Makes Me LAUGH!

Depression makes me laugh. What? You thought I was gonna say it makes me sad. Right? It does sometimes. There are times it makes me cry, get obsessive-compulsive, angry or giddy. On other occasions it makes me isolate or dread being alone. I dislike the word depression "sufferer." There are few moments that I suffer from my depression. There are trying times. Every so often I have a difficult day or two.

I usually speak about the triumphs and tribulations of sobriety, addiction and recovery. I don't speak enough about the world of depression. I'm not an expert on it. I live with it, and in it. A friend of mine, who's a county politician, messaged me this morning troubled with how stigmatized addiction and depression is in our society. I told her I was going to be addressing that very thing today.

I was first diagnosed bi-polar in March of 1999 when I checked myself into Hinsdale Hospital for rehab. I have since been rediagnosed as having an anxiety and panic disorder with bi-polar tendencies. My work in recovery and with a therapist has been effective in helping me MANAGE my CONDITION. I have a chemical imbalance that requires medication to stabilize my mood. I am grateful to say that over the last three years I have gone from four pills a day, to two at bedtime. I hope I get to a point when I need no medication at all. The chemical imbalance is a part of life as ME. It's kinda like the fact that I'm left handed in a right handed world. I have learned to MANAGE and ADAPT.

Bi-Polar used to be called Manic Depressive. That's a beauty! To define what I have is difficult. Simply stated I am attracted to both male and female Arctic people.  Traditionally defined, I have really high-highs and really low-lows emotionally. Most folks spend their time in the emotional middle and spike up or down. I tend to be at one of the polar extremes and have to work towards the emotional middle. My chemical receptors and plugs have a problem lining up just right. It's a bit like a car that needs a new set of wires. The car runs but it misfires.  A lot of addicts use because they have some form of depression or chemical imbalance. We self medicate because we can't cope with racing thoughts, mood swings or can't process our feelings that aren't fitting the picture. This is me.

I often have the wrong emotional response for the situation that is occurring. The world sees my actions not my intentions. When my Aunt Dora died we drove down to Carlisle, Indiana for her funeral. I was about 15 or so. My grandfather was cracking jokes about her in the family lounge. I was laughing like George Carlin was sitting next to me. Tears were rolling down my face. I was clearly boisterous and obnoxious. I didn't KNOW HOW to cope with my feelings over the death. I vented through my laughter.

 As White Sox announcer Ken " Hawk" Harrelson says, "right size, wrong shape." It was inappropriate behavior for a funeral. I was depressed and was in a high on my emotional meter. I was in a manic moment. Rightfully, my mother scolded me for my actions. I retreated into a corner feeling as if I had done something horribly wrong. It wasn't that my feelings were wrong. Our feelings are OUR FEELINGS, and are neither right or wrong. My actions were improper for a wake. I couldn't find the middle on how to react to my Aunt's death. When my HIGH reaction was inappropriate I slipped down to the low. Emotional Middle Earth was elusive for me.

I started to drink and use because I couldn't cope with my thoughts and feelings not aligning.  I felt misunderstood all the time. Sometimes I still do. It's been said that addicts are overly sensitive people. It's not surprising to me when I see us dually diagnosed. It does sting a little when I hear people say addicts have no feelings. WE FEEL EVERYTHING! That is a large part of our problem. We feel compassion when a butterfly farts! When you mix a chemical imbalance into an addictive personality KABOOM! Catastrophe is down right inevitable. It is a perfect recipe for self-destruction. However, once we get armed with the facts about WHAT WE ARE and WHO WE ARE there's hope.

The key to SURVIVING addiction and depression is reaching out for help. As an addict and a person who has wondered if I was going out of my mind I know that is a bitter pill to swallow. The thought of approaching someone about being crazy is nuts! No it's not. It's your only hope. You have to have hope. Even when your sitting under that rock. You're not crazy! You're just a little nuts!

When I addressed my alcohol and addiction issues I was having multiple panic attacks daily. Once I found out my wires were crossed I felt better. I WAS NOT ALONE. Panic attacks suck! The ones' Tony Soprano had were a party! I felt like I was gonna DIE every day! DAY AFTER DAY! That's not living. That's existing until you're finally right!

I saw a couple of noodle professionals. I  eventually found one I was comfortable with. This is not like picking out bagels! Take your time. DO RESEARCH. LEARN. EDUCATE YOURSELF. The more you learn about your melon the less you'll feel your losing your seeds! It isn't the end of the world. It opened me up to my life again. I have not had a full blown attack in over a year. I now recognize my symptoms and know I'm not going to die. To be safe I also don't let ducks raise their young in our backyard.

General public, earthlings and pundits, PLEASE don't judge what you do not understand. Chemical imbalance doesn't mean crazy. An addict doesn't have a morality problem. If it were as easy as "just stopping" ...we would. When it comes to depression, if it were as easy as, "just snapping out of it"...we'd do that too....

Parents Just Don't Understand

I remember when I was growing up, and my parents did something wrong, I thought it was high treason punishable by death! If I did something wrong, it was just a mistake and should be forgotten. For some strange reason, I thought parents weren't human. No. Humans went in one column, parents went in another. They were held to a strict double standard.

They were to dismiss my wrongs. I licked up theirs like an all day sucker. I kept a mental diary of all of their faults. Some were hurtful actions and failings, others were just resentments I held against them for not seeing things MY WAY. They had no feelings! I wasn't to be held accountable or judged based on my behavior! I knew everything! My screw ups were different!

As parents we don't keep lists. We have been where our kids are. They think we were hatched, or beamed down from a distant galaxy... just before THEY were born. When we share our experiences with them they look at us as old fashioned, preachy and hypocritical. They say, "times are different now," and that "they just don't understand." Advice burns like hot pokers in their ears. I remember that those hot pokers burnt mine closed for years.

Parents see things from both sides of the fence. Sometimes we are the good cop, on other days the bad one. We too, reflect on things we wish we had handled differently during our kids tender years. We also see where we were wrong in our youth. Some incidents trouble us greatly. We wish we could have a mulligan. Time makes memories clearer when we take an honest look back at what we have said and done. There are regrets for actions taken, and those that were not.

Each of us has a mental time freeze on an age our parents never out grow.  My parents were frozen at around thirty five. When they reached their sixties, I was shocked! I wondered what had happened to their calendars? Theirs didn't match mine! My God! They're old!

 Sometime around thirty, I started seeing my folks as humans. I realized that much of the advice they offered was right. I began to see that my perceptions of their wrongful actions were based on their fear for my safety and guidance. They had not been hatched. They moved into the human column with a parental asterisk. They really did know a lot about life. They weren't clueless.

I understood that they really had already experienced the pains and tribulations of growing up. I had been a bit hypocritical in my assessment of them. They had parents! Grandma and Grandpa had a couple as well!

I did make mistakes as a kid and parent. I still do. Check that! As a human being, sometimes I fail. I know we each share common ground in our victories and failures. I know there is no double standard... we all try our best....

SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself is on sale NOW at Amazon.com and Amazon Europe and Kindle. Personalized copies can be purchased at tommyconnolly.com by clicking the link at the top of the page. 

Proceeds benefit Chicago Area addiction, homeless and mental health programs.

Thank You! No! Thank You

I usually start out the blog welcoming the latest country to visit the blog in to my readership. Today I welcome an old friend back. Argentina. Welcome back. I am dressed like Evita right now as I hunt and peck my way through this blog but we'll save that story for my therapist or another blog. The thing that is really weighing upon my heart and mind this morning is old habits and new ones, the old and new me, and how I grow and slip back into unhealthy thinking patterns.

 I'm just a messenger. So are you. Before I dive into the 700 mile an hour salt flat speed testing site known as the inside of my mind I want to say a few HEARTFELT, "I'm Sorries." The first to my wife Kris, the second to my good friend LT in AZ! I'm sorry and Thank you are the focus of today's trip into Tommy's recovery and depression fun house. Please put your seat belt on. Do not stand up while the ride is moving and you must be taller than Frodo to take the trip.

An addict, a depression sufferer a human will say "I'm sorry," and/or "I thank you," for many reasons daily. I will speak for myself. I hope you can relate. When I was drinking "I'm sorry," and "I promise" were the two phrases that came out of my mouth most. That is after I had poured booze and whatever down my throat and hurt feelings and did rotten things. I used "I'm sorry" as a way to get out of things, to avoid shouting out how I really wasn't sorry or because "it's the right thing to say," after a disagreement or when we are wrong.

"Thank You," and "Please," are two beautifully simple phrases with a lot of power packed int a syllable or two. I used these to appear grateful, look good, show temporary superficial happiness and put on a good show. Of course there were occasional times I meant all of these phrases but they have now become so over used that they are losing their power. I/maybe we just say them because we are supposed to? I can honestly say that I have had a girl spill my coffee all over me at the gas station at checkout and thanked her for it! I have been conditioned into some of these responses. They have lost their heartfelt, soul based meaning that they are intended to partner with. I have also said "THANK YOU!" in an almost demonic tone to some rude register lady to show her how civilized I am. HUH? Earth to Tom!

There are so many of these phrases in the English language, American style has the best, that we have beaten down into meaningless innocuous, droning reactions instead of feelings. When my kids come home from school and I ask them how their day was, when they respond, "it was great." or "it was cool," or "it was fine," in all honesty I am relieved because I think to myself that I am glad that there won't be a crisis to settle that evening. That should be the time I jump up and ask them what made it "great," or "cool." I don't do that nearly enough! Why because I accept the simple word of contentedness as affirmation that all is well. When they come home and say their day was "horrible," rotten," etc.,. I won't lie. In my head I think, "oh no, here we go..." Shame on me!

For those of you who follow the blog regularly I went through a few weeks where I was very down and depressed. My depression medication had run it's course and was no longer working at an effective therapeutic level for me. I switched to a different medication. When you switch medications that are manipulating the wiring in your melon there is a transition. The switch is accompanied with yet more depression, mood swings, sleep problems and a list of symptoms unique to the med and the patient. Depression, like alcoholism and addiction is never cured, it is merely arrested, controlled and managed.

My new meds are evening out now and I feel great. I feel motivated again and have put my NIN Cd's back and gotten my Ramone's back out. I have had some moody out bursts with a few friends and especially my wife over the last few weeks. I know it's the meds. They know it's the meds. As always I must remember the world judges me by what comes out of my mouth not what goes into it.

I learn more and more about me each day and it is getting much easier to live with me, and within me. I find the more sober I get the more alcoholic I realize I really am. I have come to accept and surrender to the fact that I have some conditions that are real and forever. It ain't so bad. I am growing and happy for the most part. I make mistakes and can admit them. It sure is nice not having to be right all the time. As for those words we use like hello's and goodbyes.

I am truly sorry to my wife and my friends for shooting off my mouth, new meds or not. The best solution for big mouthitis is keeping it closed. As for thank yous. I thank you for taking time out of your day to listen to my ramblings. I hope it helps you. I know it helps me. I know I am getting somewhere down the road of life because my prayer life is less frantic and more grateful. I don't seek comfort in things I can wear, drive, eat or drink or show off. I have a prayer list. I have friends that I pray for daily. When I hit my knees at the end of the day I thank God for giving me another day of life, even if it was a rotten one by human standards. You see, it wasn't too long ago those same prayers were begging him to not let me wake up the next day. Now when I do wake up. I jump up and say "What are we doing today!"

That is after I say....."Dear Lord, please get inside my head before I do......Have a Day!

COMING NEXT WEEK!   PROCRASTINATION!

Insert Fear HERE!

FEAR is a four letter word. I believe it carries within it the same power as love and hate. It is usually the divider between the two. Sometimes they are intertwined and inextricably separable. FEAR is at the root of all hate. My fears of success and failure have left me paralyzed into doing nothing at all. For years, my fear of being hurt by loved ones made me a dark and demanding lover. My insecurities led me to dive into the bottle and a plethora of self destructive behavior.

When I speak about the isolation and insanity of alcoholism and depression, fear is at the center of my speech. You may not be an addict but I don't know of a single person who is fearless. If you say you are, you're probably afraid to talk about what's really eating you.

Some folks self-medicate with food, work, shopping, gambling or chaos. I know that chaos and drama were an essential part of my insane behaviors. When things are going along just ducky I like to toss a monkey wrench into the whole works and gum it up with some drama!

For some reason, when something good or bad happens to me I feel like I don't deserve it. Either the cosmos are dealing me a bad hand, or the big guy upstairs is rewarding the wrong fella. It's not exactly an emotional roller coaster. It's more like a hamster wheel! My mind is a switch hitter between the darkness and the light.

As I have grown in my sobriety over the last six years I've gotten much better. I don't beat my self to death with a Louisville slugger anymore. It's more of a NERF Bat. Old habits are hard to break. My 28 years of alcoholism and undiagnosed depression days were more than half of my life on this crazy spinning ball.

My fears led to isolation. Not solitude. The more time I spent alone, the bigger the fear grew and the farther I dug down into my own abyss. I can;t afford to do that these days. I need to surround myself with people who really know me. My wife can instantly see when my clock ain't ticking right. The more I educate myself about my conditions I can think my way through them instead of sulking in them or running away.

Whatever FEAR that is controlling you won't move out until you reach out and face it with a friend and your God. I'm still a hot mess, but I'm able to function without chemical courage. It really is a choice. Beyond Fight or Flight our fear instincts are self created. But I see now that conquering them is a team effort. Take it slow. Take it extra slow. But I hope you take the shot.

This is my first new blog in over a year. My fears had quieted me to mute. I'M BACK!

FAITH not fear!

The truth does set you free.

SOUL PAROLE: MAKING PEACE WITH MY MIND, GOD AND MYSELF

 
(CLICK) SOUL PAROLE is now available at AMAZON.com, AMAZON EUROPE and on KINDLE by September 15. Proceeds benefit Chicago Area Addiction, Homeless and Mental Health facilities. Click the link for more information.

  

Another preview from Soul Parole 2: I Was and I AM!

This is a first draft (like all my blogs)

We all have fears! Plug in your favorite....

BLUE......An Addict or Depression Sufferer's Favorite Color!

Just leave me alone! I just want to be alone. I need some time to myself. I'm just gonna chill tonight. I'm just tired today. I don't want to talk about it right now. There's nothing wrong, I just want to be by myself. All of these are favorites I use on family, friends and loved ones when I am in a depression rut. It is also a warning sign, or a cry for help, from someone suffering from depression or addiction and recovery.

"9 out of 10 Addicts and Depression Sufferers favorite color is BLUE! The last one's favorite is Dark Blue!" For the last week or so my favorite color has been BLUE. If I don't stop isolating, it will quickly turn to DARK BLUE! Then I am in the danger zone. There is quiet solitude, and there is also intentional isolation. Suffering from both depression and addiction, isolation is the first "friend" I turn to when I'm feeling BLUE.

Suffering from Depression really makes me sad sometimes. It is particularly frustrating when someone says, "Why are you so down," and I honestly don't have an answer for them. There is no answer because I don't know myself. A person with depression can be sitting on their own private island, with a winning lottery ticket and Beyonce rubbing their feet, and feel like crap. Depression is misunderstood by the sufferer and those around him.

Before I started writing this blog today I did some Internet research on "Famous" people who suffered from depression, or other forms of mental illness. I hate that phrase MENTAL ILLNESS! It implies that my brain has typhoid fever or malaria and I'm gonna spread it around the whole village, or go postal and wipe everyone out! No! I have a "Chemical Imbalance" in my noodle. The feel good chemicals up there just aren't produced as effectively in me as in "Normal" people. Can I stop and say that "Normal" people scare the hell out of me! I always think they're hiding something, like bodies under their "Family" room.

I always hear things like,"You're so funny, how can you be sad?" My favorite is,"How can you be a comic and suffer from depression." Those questions make me cringe, because my guess is as good as yours. Try these ones on for size. Jim Carrey suffers from Depression and Bi-Polar Disorder. Additional "funny people" who suffer from some form of depression are, Drew Cary, Robin Williams, Ben Stiller, Drew Barrymore, Tracy Ullman, Roseanne Barr, Spike Mulligan, Jonathon Winters and Louis Anderson. The Louis Anderson "Funny" reference is subject to reader interpretation.

"Funny People" aren't the only high profile people who suffer from these conditions. It has no prejudice or favorite "type" to grab on to. Beethoven, Abraham Lincoln, Thomas Edison, Teddy Roosevelt, Vincent Van Gogh and my favorite Beatle, John Lennon all suffered with depression issues. There were a total of 244 people listed on the celebrity menu of depression sufferers, that I am referencing from Google. Those folks seemed to get around it, and push forward. That is what we must do also. It does give me some comfort in knowing that there is a thin line between artistic genius and insanity. I'm not sure which side of that equation I fall. It just feels good knowing that I'm not alone.

"Alone!" "Now there's the rub!" When I am in a funk I want to be left alone. During those down times, while you see sunshine, I complain about the glare. Where you see a beautiful snow covered hill, I see the filthy slush on my street. While you see the wonders of the Chicago Skyline, I see the garbage in the alleys. The need to be alone occasionally, is important for anyone. To a person like me it can only be implemented for a short time or I will slip from "light blue," to "Dark Blue," to BLACK.

Nothing gets me out of a depression or funk better than forgetting about myself. Sitting alone listening to John Coltrane seems like a good idea but it leaves me alone with me! I have proven to myself over and over again that there are few things in this world that I can overcome ALONE. In recovery it means attending more recovery meetings and calling fellow addicts. It means turning off the Coltrane and turning up the Ramones! It means taking an interest in things outside of my mind intentionally. Sometimes I have to force it. I have to make myself engage with other people.

Knowledge is power, so I've heard, and by golly I believe it! As addicts and/or depression sufferers we tend to focus on the emotional side of our condition, and try to figure ourselves out. Emotions can lie or distort the facts. I have made it my mission to learn about my conditions from a medical and psychologically objective point of view. The more I know about why I tick the way I do, the easier it is to push past the funk. I used to analyze myself to death. Knowing the symptoms, triggers and SOLUTIONS to dealing effectively with my conditions, makes it easier to be me. I can experience negativity or downward depression and be confident that it is going to pass. I don't have to buy into the "whoa is me" mentality and go for the whole miserable depressive ride!

Surrender and acceptance of exactly who I am, is the start to making peace with my conditions. I am not a crazy drunken baby anymore. I am a person who suffers from a chemical imbalance, that I see a doctor for. I take medication to rebalance the chemicals in my melon. I go to places where there are other people just like me, who understand me and can help me through situations I can't handle alone. I have a family, loved ones and friends who I can share my feelings with. I have a God whom I can turn to at anytime and ask him to help me through whatever I am experiencing, and be confident that he will show me the way through it. Every obstacle and challenge I face no longer has to be a catastrophe as long as I am willing to reach out for help from someone else. My condition is reality. Suffering is an option....

The Dough, Ray and Me (Edgebrook Manor)

WrittenWritten 


Edgebrook Manor Home for the Elderly, was situated smack dab in the middle of an upscale residential street. It was stark and square, grey and gloomy. Built in the early 1900's it had once housed an orphanage. It had been a place for children forgotten, abandoned or simply tossed away in the streets, by parent's unable to care for their troubled child any longer. It was sold to the state in 1976, and turned into a long term care facility for the elderly whose memory and recall had left them vacant. They too, like the orphans, had been abandoned, forgotten or had become too much for a loving family to care for at home any longer.

 It seemed so out of place amongst the rows of sturdy, grand Victorian homes and towering oak trees that lined the winding street. The facility looked like it had simply fallen from the sky, a weed grown from a seed strangling out all of the beauty of the flowers surrounding it. The residents who lived on the streets, that surrounded Edgebrook, hardly noticed the thorn in their rose garden like neighborhood.  They had trained themselves to casually look away while passing by to dull the uneasy feelings the living mausoleum created. 

The accuracy that the exterior of the building lent to the period of its' construction was equalled only by the doubly drab interior that Edgebrook welcomed visitors and guests with alike. Antiquated wallpaper and furnishings appeared to be originals. Classic standards, that were once the top hits of the day, crackled through an ancient sound system. It sounded as if an old hand cranked Victrola, stacked with thick 78's,  had been placed in front of a microphone droning out tired muzak for exhausted minds.

Each corridor led to another, looking exactly the same as the previous one. New patients and their families walked back and forth down exacting hallways searching for room numbers that were nearly impossible to find. They could leave a trail of bread crumbs to mark their path, confident no one would sweep them up before they're exodus. Each room, a converted dormitory, provided its' tenant a bed, night table, a TV stand with a TV, if you provided your own, and a shared bathroom. There were no secrets between each room as the bathroom split the two like a bad hotel.

The residence that made up the permanent clientele of the ancient foreboding interior took on the characteristics of their surroundings. Some wandered the maze of endless hallways in search of a destination they never seemed to find. Still others sat stuck in corners, head down like they had been placed there for bad behavior or wanted to disappear into the drab walls that they stared at. Gurneys lined the walls with patients in various stages of sickness and impending death. Some cried out in agony at mysterious pains or called out into the cavernous hallways for loved ones long gone.

At the end of one of the corridors sunshine seemed to find it's way to one of the dorms. It was home to Benny a long time resident and a stark contradiction to those populating his ward, and the whole facility for that matter. Benny looked no more than 50. Even the nurse with the longest term of employment at Edgebrook couldn't tell you his age or how long he had been at the home. He was there since she was a nursing assistant some 16 years earlier and hadn't seemed to have aged a day. The institutionalization that conquered so many of the other residents had little effect on Benny.

Benny was a picture of serenity, or so it seemed. He wasn't prone to excitability like many of the other long term neighbors he shared his home with. He had no visitors, and never seemed to be bothered by it. He was courteous and helpful, and quick to lend a hand of strength or support to somebody in need. His salt-n-pepper hair was shoulder length but held back neatly by a ponytail. The lines in his face didn't appear carved from years of physical work or the stresses of life. They were just lines and wrinkles that seemed to make him all the more handsome. The complimentary etchings that mapped out his face were just an accent to his radiant skin. Benny was slightly browned like the dirty Irish or tribes of South America. In "PC" talk he would be labeled ethnically ambiguous.

While other residents talked of return trips home that would never arrive, Benny just nodded and smiled his support, lending hope for the unlikely trip back out of Edgebrook. His eyes burned blue and almost looked hand painted. They were eyes that saw all of you when speaking with him, and right through you when you weren't. Standing at only 5'7" his a

Reality is Real! Act 1

Last week was my five year sobriety anniversary. Yeah. Yeah. I know it's something to be proud of. I'm grateful and do not want to diminish the accomplishment. Deep down at the core of my heart I know it's how I should have been living for the twenty-eight years I was drunk. The most important lessen I have learned in my sobriety is that the world doesn't revolve around me no matter how badly I want it to and when I live emotionally people react with theirs. We all need each other.

In all of my posts I try to keep it real. I bare my soul, warts and all, because it is easy to spin things as being rosy and bright. Behind the scenes of every TV show or film is much different than what ends up on the screen. Life is the same way. I laugh when I think back to times I was with the kids at a store yelling at them and morphing into Mr. Cleaver when an acquaintance came by. It's easy to wear a mask but if you keep it on too long you might suffocate.

I stopped writing for a while because my world was changing so fast and I lost my inner voice. As my moral compass started to get unstuck and point true north again I found myself torn in a million directions. Being bi-polar I tried to take it all on. I used to watch plate spinners on TV growing up. For the younger generation, plate spinners were entertainers like jugglers. A long row of metal rods were strewn across the stage while a performer would spin plates on each one and run back and forth to keep them from crashing to the ground. Some of the performances went perfectly. Yet, others ended in disaster as the dishes came crashing to the floor. My life became one of those less than perfect performances.

You can read about the various TV and comedy work I have done over the last 3 years and 3 months at the top of this page. I am not a SAG actor yet. Most of my film work has been as a background artist, driver or stand-in. Although I have performed comedy on some of the most familiar stages in the business my path has taken me down a road to sharing my story in Senior Communities and at fundraisers. I am not rich and famous. I'm just a guy with a cool job. 

My wife Kris, better known as Squeaky, is my best friend. She has battled kidney cancer and a myriad of health problems over the last few years. She is doing great. Cancer, like sobriety, is a one day at a time battle. There have been some scares since her kidney was partially removed. She is the star of the house. She's got bigger stones than most guys I know. When she was sick I thought I was doing the best I could as a husband and friend. I was wrong.

If you have followed the blog you know that I try to keep a positive spin on every situation. That is born out of gratitude. It can also be blinding to the reality of that situation. I know this for a fact. My own blind ambition to "make it in the business," almost cost me our marriage.

As I started to work more and write less I became obsessed with MY dreams. Little did I know that I was leaving my best friend behind. I was thrilled that my message was being well received by the groups and audiences I shared my stories with. I twisted what I thought was what Squeaky wanted into what I actually wanted. She had given me signs of growing discontentment that I ignored. Italian women say more with the unspoken word than anything that could come out of their mouths. I love it.

My odyssey to Hollywood began on September 19, 2012. I had just finished appearing on the Steve Harvey Show and Hardcore Pawn Chicago. Friend and Actor Steven Eich had an apartment on Yucca Street right behind Highland Donuts just a block from Hollywood Blvd. He was moving out in a few months and lost a roommate. I jumped at the chance to catch my dream! Squeaky was scheduled for surgery the first week of November. I would make it home for that with SAG card in hand and a ticket to easy street.

Squeaky was slipping away. She was frustrated that I was so willing to help other people but so easily dismissed her cries to have me there for her dreams. I had become alienated, or more accurately self absorbed, by my own ambition. I wanted what I wanted...when I wanted it. Everyone else had to step to the rear of the bus. I was in LA for about three days when she announced that she wanted a divorce. She told me she had moved out and we were done. I had lost the one person who had accepted me for who I was. I hadn't considered that catching her dreams were as important as mine....

Thanks God...for what you haven't given me

Soul Parole 2 Preview....

"Soccer Moms' Please Drive Thru"...

As an addict I have a thing about taking on baggage. I love baggage big and small. I hoard it. The more emotionally painful the package the more I can obsess about it. The more rotten the deed done to another in my past the bigger the package grows in my mind. I caress it and beat myself to bits with it. From a passing comment probably not even meant for me to a second grade fist fight, I remember it all. I have a database of emotional unfinished business that used to make my life unbearable.

The pressure, guilt, remorse, shame and self-loathing created the need to try to escape myself for those many years through bottle and drug. Addicts live emotionally not intellectually or logically. Our emotions make our decisions in most cases. I reacted emotionally then would sort out the fallout from my behavior. We remember everything by our PERCEPTION of the emotional impact people and situations had on us or we had on them. That is why we create chaos in others lives. It is for the emotional insanity and drama. It is our ultimate drug. Chaos.

As our mind clears and we begin to work recovery strategies we try to reduce the baggage which in turn lessens the desire to use. We begin to feel comfortable in our own skins and minds. We try to go back through the rubbish pile that was our past and clean up the joint. The people we have hurt and lied, cheated and stolen from whether it be financially, emotionally or physically are met face to face and we come clean with a sincere desire to make things right. Sometimes it works out and there is a happy ending. Other times we get a dressing down. Still other times we are told that we had no impact at all.

 All of the reactions are growing experiences and are important if long term sobriety is to be achieved. If a flower wants to grow it needs space in the pot or its' roots will rot and it will die. The same goes for drunks like me. I was going crazy from all the baggage. As I have cleared it away and made peace with my friends, family and self (to an extent) life gets better. God has given me the strength to stay clean and my mind is less packed with that crap. The worries, fears, pain and shame of who I was that paralyzed me is now setting me free by cleaning it up.

Now I am able to look at people in the eye with confidence and honesty. I can be a true friend. I can be of use not a user. I can sit with Tommy Connolly and not want to stab the guy in the eye with a fork! Wherever I run to I will always be there to meet me. That is a fact. It gets a little bit easier to hang with me the more I get right with God, man and me.

There are some people I can't make things right with. Some are dead. Some have new lives and I can't disrupt their happy harmony with my horror show rewind. Some I can't find but am ready to make things right if I find them. In these cases I try to be of service in other areas. On one occasion I stole something from a store that I could not go back to for fear of Shaw Shank Redemption. My mentor had me buy dog food in the amount of the item taken and had me take it to the humane society. Perfect! Karma square! I felt better that I was able to make the situation right. In a few years I will go back and make the situation right with the store. The point is that baggage was removed and I am a bit more okay with me because of the cleansing.

Yesterday I went with a friend to work at a food pantry here in Joliet. It is called the Family Outreach Food Pantry. I did not go there for any particular reason. My buddy called me at 6:10 am and asked if I wanted to volunteer at the food bank at 6:30. At first I was miffed because I hate to be late. Its' part of the new me. The only thing I was on time for in the past was beer sales and fresh bales. I said sure, and away we went. I can tell you now that God had my friend call me. There are no coincidences.

My vision of a food bank and food lines takes me back to my grade school history classes and the "Great Depression". You remember the old films and the market crash of 1929. There was the dust bowl and the people getting broth put into tin cups. I had a vision of homeless people coming up to the food bank and us handing little packages to the less fortunate. You know? It was going to be people in ratty cars and ripped clothes and winos and all the stereotypes I try so hard to fight when it comes to the labeling of alcoholics, addicts and those who suffer from mental disorders. I was doing the SAME thing before we got there.

We arrived at the tiny tavern parking lot where the food distribution point is and my friend was assigned to traffic control. WHAT? Traffic control at a food bank! He had the vest and the cool little flashlight with the pointy orange end on it and everything. I was jealous for a minute. I was assigned to fill orders. That was to put the boxes of food into the vehicles as they pulled up. This is where the story gets interesting, horrifying, eye opening and real folks. It was the real state of the STATES.

As the cars began to pull up I was taken aback. This can't be! There were a few beat up cars and a few homeless folks walked up whom I greeted with a grateful hello and a "God Bless you." The vast majority of the cars were "Soccer Moms." There were cars of all makes and models right up to a Tahoe with leather interior. The common denominator was all of these people "needed" food. There was no scam. Some folks looked down as I put on a smile and made a quick joke as to let them know it's a beautiful day as I slung the food into their back seats.

Single parents' pulled through with babies strapped in and we offered extra bread to those who wanted it. Every single family wanted it. Like alcoholism and addiction the people in the line to receive the food were a perfect cross section of Americana and it blew me away. Some folks looked as though they had stopped on break from work or were on the way to drop the kids at school. It was heartbreaking and gratifying at the same time. It is a day I won't forget.

In 90 minutes we handed out 300 boxes of food. When that ran out and we had only bread left people were happy and humbled to have a few loaves of that alone. I went home and sat silent for awhile. We are in trouble in this country. They have the food pantry every week and turn away more and more families.

I stood in front of my fridge and looked at the food and saw that our pantry was filled and it made me think of the times when I have said there is nothing to eat when in fact there was plenty. There just wasn't what I WANTED TO EAT in the fridge or pantry at that moment. I will be back to help again next Thursday at the  pantry.

 I remember not having food. I remember not wanting food because it would take up space my booze needed to fill. I also remember eating garbage when I wanted to eat and had to use my money to buy the booze. I've seen it from all sides. I think if there is anything that I can leave you with it is be thankful for what God has given you... and more thankful for what he hasn't...

Silly Putty and Ramen Noodles

I am grateful to GOD for giving me a sense of humor. I am more grateful that HE has one too. As an actor, comic and writer, part of the gift of that humor is that I verbalize the things that people are thinking but don't have the nerve or need to spit out. That's great because it keeps guys like me, philosophers, pundits and poets in business. Tom Dreesen told me that Carl Reiner advice to him early in his career was to "show people your pain." I have always done that in my act. I poke a lot of fun at myself. People identify with the daily mishaps of just trying to get by.

The distance between the frontal lobe (MY MELON) and the voice box (MY BIG FAT MOUTH) is only a few inches. I have seen many pictures of the brain. It looks to me like chubby Ramen Noodles mixed with Silly Putty all smushed together and placed in an airtight bonehead container. It's quite a fascinating looking machine. When I am told that we use less than 10% of it I am appalled. What the hell is flying around in the other 90% of the noodles that we don't use?! The few I am trying to get a rise out of are driving me and everybody around nuts!

I need to call the people who design filters for water or furnaces because I have a bit of a problem. In my personal life those same skills that make me a funny comic or good improv actor sometimes make me a poor communicator. That's PC talk for sometimes I say exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time and I can't help it! I want a filter between the Ramen Noodles, The Silly Putty and my pie hole!

As a recovering alcoholic/addict the problem is doubled because we learn to use words as weapons of mass destruction like fists, knives and passive aggressive napalm! We find our loved ones' tender spots in passionate moments of weakness, trust or sweet confession and BAM! If we get pushed the wrong way we will pull that sweet secret you never told a soul and spit it in your face like rattle snake venom. 

In recovery that doesn't just disappear. It slowly goes away but I still have my moments. I'm not beating myself up right now. Don't worry I'll do that when I get to my rant about procrastination somewhere down the line. I am just becoming more self aware of some of my character flaws. Some of the time I am hilarious. Yet other times I can be critical and hurtful and not even realize I am doing it.

The power of a word is more damaging than a fist in my estimation. Both are violent. A sore chin will heal. The wounding of the mind through criticism and demeaning can be crippling. A perfect example is that there were many times my wife called me an alcoholic and every swear word her Berwyn upbringing could conjure up, and they meant nothing to me. The day she called me PATHETIC was the day I took my last drink. Why THAT was the word that pushed my "get sober" button GOD only knows. 

The point is that a few simple letters put in a prearranged form said at the right time, under the right conditions had a life changing impact on me. The biggest argument my wife and I EVER had was about...wrapping paper! Yes you heard it...WRAPPING PAPER. Left to it's own proper use wrapping paper is associated with joy and gift giving. In the context of the argument it was connected to my ex-wife and it was a hot button for Squeaky. We were screaming. There were attorneys involved in the uproar. She shouted that I was an "Oedipus Complex!" I spat back that she was an "unclean female dog." It really got ugly. By the time we got home we had pulled over and stopped to laugh at the fact we were going to divorce court over...Wrapping Paper.

The most frequently mentioned subject in the Bible is our words and how we use them. The second is fear. Usually the two go hand in hand. I have a tendency of shooting my mouth off when I am scared of losing something, someone getting hurt or someone hurting another person I love. At that point the Ramen Noodle-Silly Putty-Tongue is connected. That is dangerous for me and something that I am working on. The quick wit and snarky comment work great on stage and for hecklers. Not so for family and friends.

I am trying to incorporate a few new rules into my personal behavior for rules of engagement. These help me with human relations and how comfortably I live with myself. They are as follows and are not all my creations. Most of them were taught to me:

1. I do not have to be right nor have an opinion on everything. 
2. It's okay to say "I don't know."
3. I refuse to have arguments with people unless they are actually there!
4. The phrase "hold your tongue"... can actually be done.
5. When I am unsure of what to do, phone a friend is good. 
6. When I react emotionally so do other people!
7. Doing NOTHING when I am unsure is acceptable.
8. I do not have to jump into every conversation I meet.
9. Whatever dress I want my wife to wear... pick the opposite one so she wears the one I like.
10. Turn to GOD more often Tom. When you lean on his words you need less of your own...


SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself is available on AMAZON and Kindle. Proceeds benefit Chicago Area addiction, mental health and homeless facilities....

A Beauty and a Beast

A Sliver of Hope, a New Direction and a Genius Idea!

This blog is an updated version from September of 2011. It did not make it into SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself. It will definitely appear in SOUL PAROLE: I Was and I AM.


SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself is NOW available ON Amazon.com, KINDLE and Amazon Europe. 

Proceeds benefit Chicago Area addiction, homeless and mental health programs.

NOTE to reader: I write about addiction, recovery and depression. Those are my challenges and issues. Please replace the word ADDICTION with the word that best suits you. Fear, insecurity, envy, jealousy and materialism are just a few. Facing the things that are holding us back from reaching our potential and finding peace within is my purpose... 


My baseline thinking as an addict is usually me. I want the universe and all of its' atoms formed, or random, to revolve around my plans. Whoever came up with the expression "there is no ME in team" was not an addict. I can say that with almost complete certainty. It is not that we don't have feelings for others but that we are so focused on survival when we use it's a challenging mind set to overcome in recovery.

In my sobriety I have found that the biggest problem that fueled my years of self-destruction was the love-hate relationship I had with myself. I would wake up each day and hate myself more and more.Chemical escape enabled me to cope with my crushing self criticism   My addiction LOVED it. The more I hated me, the more I would turn to chemicals and booze to try and escape MYSELF temporarily. The next day I would wake up with an extra helping of self hate and some physical pain, guilt and shame to throw into the party mix. Then the mental "rope-a-dope" would begin again for another 24 hours.

 I realize now that I was using because I am wired wrong inside. It was my thinking. I had a twisted perception on reality. More precisely, I used because the people and atoms of the universe didn't act in a fashion that met with my satisfaction. As I grow in sobriety I have learned to like myself by letting the world do what it is supposed to do. I try to accept others as they are. Most importantly I try not to spend too much time alone in my head. I'm cool in a crowd, but when I'm alone a fight always breaks out.

Squeaky and I were going through a rough season leading up to the "Rally Round Recovery 2011." I was working on a film. I had just returned from California after a week shoot for an "Animal Planet" series. I am in final editing of my book Soul Parole: Making Peace with My Mind, God and Myself. I am about to start 2 new films. I was working to promote the premier of "Chasing Hollywood." I was in hyper "ME" mode. This happens in sobriety and reality.

Squeaky's kidney surgery was scheduled for 2 days later. The doctors were not sure if they were going to take a portion of her right kidney or the whole thing. I cleared my schedule of EVERYTHING. I thank GOD for giving me the sense to do that. It was crystal clarity. I made arrangements to stay with her while she was in the hospital. They were very accommodating. It was one of the most fearful yet enlightening times.

As the time passed all I could think about was the stupid arguments leading up to that day. I questioned GOD about putting her through this instead of me. I was the idiot! After 28 years of trying to destroy myself an inch at a time, my health was perfect. My heart was shifting back to center. Why is it that we have to be in a big pile of shite with a loved one, or they're in an operating room or funeral parlor for us to look at how truly dear they are to us? It boggles my mind! We fight about wrapping paper and who ate my cereal? For the love of GOD who cares?!

The surgery went better than we could have imagined. They were able to use the Da Vinci robotic surgery method on her and as the doctor said, "if her kidney were a hamburger we only had to take two pickle slices." It was the greatest horrible analogy I have ever heard.  It did make me a bit crazy that they assign patients numbers now during operations. They have a television you can check like an arrival board at the airport to see if they are "boarding," "on the runway," "ready for takeoff," "inflight," "on the tarmack" and "safely on the ground." Her flight was near perfect.

He said she would be staying for 2 nights. Whatever she needed I would be there. They would know if it was cancer later in the week. She was medicated.  Her family was there to support her. It kept me calm. In post-op she smiled and spoke in tongues. She looked glorious. Every time she moved I jumped up, afraid she was in pain or going to fall out of bed. I was asking if she needed the nurse every time she winced. I contorted myself up in the tiny Hobbit like chair and slept with one eye open grateful that we had dodged a bullet.

Being the real alcoholic I am I spent the hours beating myself up. I also replayed my behaviors over and over. and realized I was not sharing enough of the projects I was involved in with my wife. I am proud she appeared with me in "Chasing Hollywood." My Squeaky is on IMDB as Pina Connor. That is the Cats Pajamas! But I used to read scripts to her. I used to read all my blogs to her. I used to consult her on every career move I was making, while I was making them. Her opinions play into my decisions on what road to take.

I can't tell you what we talked about during her 60 hour stay there. I honestly don't remember. We just talked and laughed like things were early in our relationship. We were focused on each other and I was in the NOW. I was right there and not so danged worried about the future. We laughed at stupid stuff. I fetched ice chips and cups of coffee. She's a java junkie. I can live with her addiction. It creates the jitters at worst. I started calling her sliver kidney. She chuckles at the nickname.

Everything I try to do is for the betterment of the family and marriage. When things are going wrong in my life, I need to look at myself first. The problem I often have is that I have a grand plan inside my head. It is carefully crafted. Sometimes I can't differentiate between what is best for me or us. That is an honest assessment of myself. She can't see my thoughts. She sees my head hunkered down in front of this laptop like a man possessed. Period. ACTIONS speak louder than thoughts. God calls the shots. I just show up for each DAYS game and try not to worry about making the playoffs.

We have some new challenges facing us now. We made it through one war, now there's another one shaping up on the battlefield. I know we can get through it if we keep our faith strong. I know that if I am sure that I'm doing the right thing, I do it. If I know it's a poor choice I don't make it. When I honestly don't know the road to take I sit back and wait. The answers will come when it's right, and I'm willing to listen to the messenger....

" Sweet Release, I love how you use me." - Morriso-

I love Van Morrison. Most people associate him as the singer/songwriter who penned, Gloria, Domino and Brown Eyed Girl. I agree with those who call him the Irish Bob Dylan. I see them both as poets who use songs as their medium.

I am a lyrics guy. Some folks dig a song for the tune. I tune in for the message. When I can't seem to cobble my words together effectively, I'll ask the person I'm trying to communicate with to listen to a song that better conveys what I am trying to express.That thing hanging in the back of my throat seems to change my wonderful thoughts into misunderstood ramblings.

The book release party for Soul Parole: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself was July 28, 2012. It was a week after the second anniversary of my father's death. I thought it was fitting to have the release around that date. He had an impact on my life more than anyone. He was usually around for me, when I was no where to be found.

Writing the book was an emotional journey. The baring of my soul on paper was liberating. It was also painful and difficult at times. Recounting the things that I regret, and am ashamed of from my past, was a closet most folks would spend a lifetime trying to keep closed. For the most part this blog was the source of the books content. "Every Day Is A Gift," reached 19,000 reads today. That is truly humbling. The fact that I've only been writing it for nineteen months makes it mind blowing.

As an author, when you present your work to the world, you're hopeful that it will be gobbled up by the masses. I was certain that friends, family, and most importantly people trying to overcome obstacles, would have it flying off the shelves. As of this writing, seventy one copies have been sold. That is far out!

So far the reviews have been positive. That is truly satisfying. A few have said it has given them hope. I hope all who read it find that it is about overcoming our past and reaching for our future, not just about my addictions.  You can plug in any word for what is holding you back into the spaces that read alcohol or drugs. We are all paralyzed by fears and obstacles that prevent us from reaching for our dreams.

The party was surreal. There were many friends and strangers on hand to enjoy the dinner and show. It is hard to grasp that people would want my signature in a pile of paper. The last time anyone asked for my autograph was when I performed at Stateville Prison. The night was a bookmark in coming full circle on my journey. I was in a dream.

As the multi-gifted Charmane Ward started the festivities with her songs of passion and faith, I was comforted by her angelic voice.The dinner was great. People were laughing. That always makes me smile. Squeaky was graciously greeting guests.Comediennes, M.J. Brown and Josie Dykas rocked the house with hilarious sets. The three ladies entertaining created a night to remember by all. Each of them are making a positive impact in their orbits.

Beyond the faithful friends who attended, I was moved by a few strangers who came out that night. A woman, whose son is fighting addiction and recovery, called to see if she could get tickets at the door. She thought the book would inspire him to stay in recovery. That young man made me realize that my work was making an impact. It reminded me that my sobriety is a gift. It helped me see that the writing of Soul Parole was never intended to be a book. It is meant to be a message. It will never be a best seller. It is not a recovery handbook. That one has been written.

Reality and the wreckage of my past hit me full in the face as well. Not a single one of my family attended. It left me feeling wounded. I see how much damage I have done over my twenty eight year run. My In-Laws came. I looked out over the many who attended and realized family goes beyond flesh and blood. That reinforced how close we have grown together. The hits didn't stop there.

Just as I had sat down to greet the people lining up to have the book signed, our alarm went off at the house. I have read about burglars breaking into homes when people post their vacation or travel plans on Facebook, or in other public forums. Our dogs yelping had set off the alarm once before. I thought that they were the source of the emergency call from the police. In fact, it was someone I know that had made an attempt to break in. That was devastating. It was mind numbing knowing that someone I loved would try such a terrible thing.

I feel a deep sense of accomplishment from fulfilling a life long dream of writing a book. You can catch your dreams as well, if you overcome your FEAR that they are possible. That doesn't mean that there won't be hurddles. It does not mean that realities won't impede your journey.

The signing was a personal success. WE raised two hundred and fifty dollars for an area recovery club. The emotions created in me from the attempted break in, and the fact that none of my family attended leveled the playing field. God keeps my feet on the ground. I still have a long journey in trying to amend my past. Some relationships seem broken beyond repair. Time will tell. As long as I keep my side of the street clean, I can live free of guilt. I am responsible for one half of a hundred percent of the relationships I have in this world.

My favorite Van Morrison Album is The Philosopher Stone. I can listen to it endlessly. One song in particular, I Have Finally Come to Realize, rocks me to my core. In the lyrics Morrison sings," I have finally come to realize, a child don't do what I have done. Cut my nose to spite my face. I'm just one tiny, tiny grain of sand. Oh, sweet release, I love how you soothe me, and when I let go, I love how you use me...It's in the doing that we find, a certain way we can live our lives, and obtain some peace of mind."

The book release showed me where I stand in the world. It also pointed me on my continuing journey to spread some hope. Happiness is a choice. No one can make it for us. No one can steal it from us, unless we let them. Others share emotions that enhance our happiness. Sometimes they inflict some pain. We all do. It's the human condition. My attitude toward adversity and treasuring life, can not be touched by anyone. I choose life. I want to make people smile. It makes me smile. I have wonderful friends. I am blessed, and rich  beyond my wildest dreams.

God is always working in my life whether I'm tuned in or not. Every once in a while he throws me a curve. Sometimes I hit a home run. Sometimes I strike out. I will always step up to the plate. I'm grateful to have others on my team. I am glad to be a messenger. As Van would say, "It's in the doing that we find...."


SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself is on sale NOW at Amazon.com and Amazon Europe. Personalized copies can be purchased through PAYPAL at tommyconnolly.com by clicking the link at the top of the page. 

Proceeds benefit Chicago Area addiction, homeless and mental health programs.

"Is It Me...or a Moment?" - Roger Daltry

I remember when I was growing up, and my parents did something wrong, I thought it was high treason punishable by death! If I did something wrong, it was just a mistake and should be forgotten. For some strange reason, I thought parents weren't human. No. Humans went in one column, parents went in another. They were held to a strict double standard.

They were to dismiss my wrongs. I licked up theirs like an all day sucker. I kept a mental diary of all of their faults. Some were hurtful actions and failings, others were just resentments I held against them for not seeing things MY WAY. They had no feelings! I wasn't to be held accountable or judged based on my behavior! I knew everything! My screw ups were different!

As parents we don't keep lists. We have been where our kids are. They think we were hatched, or beamed down from a distant galaxy... just before THEY were born. When we share our experiences with them they look at us as old fashioned, preachy and hypocritical. They say, "times are different now," and that "they just don't understand." Advice burns like hot pokers in their ears. I remember that those hot pokers burnt mine closed for years.

Parents see things from both sides of the fence. Sometimes we are the good cop, on other days the bad one. We too, reflect on things we wish we had handled differently during our kids tender years. We also see where we were wrong in our youth. Some incidents trouble us greatly. We wish we could have a mulligan. Time makes memories clearer when we take an honest look back at what we have said and done. There are regrets for actions taken, and those that were not.

Each of us has a mental time freeze on an age our parents never out grow.  My parents were frozen at around thirty five. When they reached their sixties, I was shocked! I wondered what had happened to their calendars? Theirs didn't match mine! My God! They're old!

 Sometime around thirty, I started seeing my folks as humans. I realized that much of the advice they offered was right. I began to see that my perceptions of their wrongful actions were based on their fear for my safety and guidance. They had not been hatched. They moved into the human column with a parental asterisk. They really did know a lot about life. They weren't clueless.

I understood that they really had already experienced the pains and tribulations of growing up. I had been a bit hypocritical in my assessment of them. They had parents! Grandma and Grandpa had a couple as well!

I did make mistakes as a kid and parent. I still do. Check that! As a human being, sometimes I fail. I know we each share common ground in our victories and failures. I know there is no double standard... we all try our best....

SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself is on sale NOW at Amazon.com and Amazon Europe. Personalized copies can be purchased through PAYPAL at tommyconnolly.com by clicking the link at the top of the page. 


Proceeds benefit Chicago Area addiction, homeless and mental health programs.

So Busy You Forget Your Own Memories....

There is an old adage hung on young baseball players who are entering their second year in the bigs. It's called the Sophomore Slump. It is a reference to players having career setbacks in their second season. Some go through it, some do not. Most of them have some growth, and a few setbacks.

July 21, 2012 marked the second anniversary of my father's death. Ironically the official release of my book SOUL PAROLE is this weekend the 28th. I didn't plan for it to work out that way. The day was based on the publishing date and hall availability. The exact time of Dads' death was 7:27pm.

I decided to write about how I'm feeling a few days before the weekend. I was thinking that his passing was this weekend at 7:21 pm. Thinking of dad, and my mental mix-up is eye opening. My melancholy has been replaced with shock that I had dropped the ball.. I could cry on a dime. When I think about the friends who are coming out to support the book launch, I could cry on that same dime. The first is born from a loss. The second a mark of accomplishment. The reconciliation and personal success was a direct result of teamwork. For this whole week I've been thinking his death was on 7-27-10 at 7:21pm. I was scheduled to do an interview on the 27th. I made a mental note that it was ironic to be honoring his memory on that date. I thought Pop would think it was pretty cool.

I wrote about my Pop in Soul Parole: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself quite a bit. It was a natural. Although we only lived under the same roof for the first two years of my life we were together quite a bit as I grew up. I yearn to hear his unmistakable laugh. I have been so busy, I flipped the date with the time of his passing.

I often write about starting over. We can do it any day, or moment, we choose. Before the Big Bopper moved on to the Isle of Green in the heavens I was given the gift ofgrace before his passing. My despair would be doubly compounded if I had not squared the wreckage of my past with him before he moved on. I am glad he is at peace. I am grateful the book was closed free of regrets.

It is easy to conjure up smells that please us, and some we would love to forget. When you read the words buttered popcorn and burning leaves, the aroma immediately wafts into your mind and nose. They are permanently burned into our honkers. The same can be said for dead skunk. Our snouts have uncanny recall.

My Dad had a smell that was unique to him. I'm recalling it now. They say we are dirty Irish but that refers to mixed blood lines, not personal hygiene. It seems our clan got an extra chromosome of oily hair and skin. With it comes it's own. The smell our hyper oil output creates is not foul. It is just one of those smells I can recall like popcorn and leaves. I have the same condition sans the unique smell. If the day comes that I do, I will know I have lived a rich life, and be reminded of my Pop daily.


When I received the initial shipment of books from the publisher I ripped open the first one like a kid at Christmas. The smell of cardboard, and new book surrounded me. I bathed in it. I felt contentment as I gazed upon the piles of my creation. It was burned into the "never forget" smell file.


There was a time when I thought I had written a book. I now see that my Dad and friends wrote it with me. I just held the pen. There are at least 100 of my friends nestled in the pages. Each one of them should be listed as contributors. I do mention several of them in the  Special Thanks section. If I listed all the people who have touched and enriched my life, it would read like the family trees from the Old Testament.

Last weekend I was relaxing in my garage after work and was enjoying the sights and smells of a mid summer night evening. I could hear the calls of frogs and cicadas. The wind was whispering and a few of the neighborhood dogs were taking claim of the night. Their howls were like challenges between canine warriors. I was just taking it all in.

For a moment THAT smell wafted around me. I turned quickly to see if he was standing behind me. I called Squeaky into the garage. She said she didn't notice. I would like to think he was there. It lingered for about a minute or so. I called out and told him I missed him. I could imagine his pride in how far I have come in recovery and life. The smells I longed for disappeared as quickly as they had befallen me. It was the 21st.

We all have goals we want to achieve. There are people whom reside in the dark places in our hearts. This is called the human experience. How we approach them is unique to the individual. Fear can paralyze us from even attempting to catch our dreams. Difficult, and often deeply seeded pains can keep us from trying to reconcile with loved ones. We get busy, and say we'll get to it.

Nothing compares to the liberation you feel when you reach out for a goal or mend a relationships broken fences. I'd rather live at peace with the world than fight to be right. I would rather try and fail, than never try at all. Regrets are living through the retching of daily self poisoning, without death...ad infinitum.

I don't think anyone would say that facing the pink elephants trapped in our souls is easy. It is rewarding, or creates closure on the poison drinking. I know I have a better day when I'm free of the anxiety of fear and resentment. My moods are directly proportionate to how much good or bad energy I'm adding to the cosmos.

It's never to late to become a new you. The Beatles nailed it in Tomorrow Never Knows. This weekend will  be filled with mixed feelings and conflicting emotions. No matter how I feel I will be contented by the fact that I am reaching for the stars and mending life's fences. There will forward progress and some failures. In either case, I am cleaning up my side of the street. My Dad would laugh at the fact that I flipped the date and times. I say good night to him every time my head hits the pillow.

Learning to say "Never Say Never," is an attitude. I like keeping my mind open. I also know that "missing the bus" is a reality.  I hit the sophomore slump with my revised calendar. It's time to get back to the fundamentals, and start over. In the past I have said  that I would give anything to hear my Dad repeat the things I ignored as a kid. If he could talk to me again I know he would say, "Good job kid." I would look back and say, "Thanks Dad. I gave it my best. I couldn't have done it without you." I think about you every day...



SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself is on sale NOW at Amazon.com and Amazon Europe. Personalized copies can be purchased through PAYPAL at tommyconnolly.com by clicking the link at the top of the page. 


Proceeds benefit Chicago Area addiction, homeless and mental health programs.

Look At All This Cool Stuff....

I collect things. Between my albums and CD's, there are at least a thousand. Three walls of my office are covered with celebrity autographs and movie memorabilia. I often find myself gazing at the objects I have amassed with great pleasure. In reality I only listen to a quarter of the music. There is a lot of money invested in my Hollywood shrine.

Last week I was cleaning pictures out of my gallery to speed up my hard drive. There are just over a thousand photos chronicling my life with, and without, my family. From childhood birthdays, to family adventures, there are only a couple of thousand. In forty six years of living, I have a few more priceless images, than replaceable objects.

I spend more time staring at my "stuff," than I do on those precious memories. Somewhere along my journey I decided that things were a sign of success. Maybe you do too. I have attached part of my identity, and success, to things that don't have the capability of reciprocating feelings back to me.

If the collections burned in a fire, I would be hurt. If the photos were lost I would be devastated. Yet, I only open those albums a few times a year. I stare at my stuff daily. Most of the real memories are packed away in the basement. I do that so they don't get damaged.

It is peculiar that I don't hide my stuff of little value. I want the world to see that. My mind has been wired to think that what people see, is more important than what they don't. We do have twenty, or so, portraits hanging on walls around the house. The rest are tucked away until the semi-annual dust off. I will take more pictures. I will buy twice as much stuff.

Last night I was making deliveries for my job. I was in a rotten mood. The heat was unbearable. My allergies were attacking me. People were rude and inconsiderate. I went on automatic pilot. I was more than happy to share my foul mood with anyone that crossed my path.

Half way through my shift I was taking a delivery to the far side of town. For a moment I was plucked from  Grumpyville and saw how beautiful the sunset was. I promptly pulled over and snapped a shot of God's beautifully painted landscape. It was breath taking. I am glad to share it.

I jumped back in my car so I wouldn't be late with my delivery. I flipped on the radio and was bombarded by the latest news reports out of Aurora, Colorado. It turned my stomach. The carnage left by a twisted coward was sickening. I prayed for the families of the dead and wounded.


I thought of the innocent people who were out for a night on the town to enjoy the latest summer blockbuster. They were oblivious, and anticipating a night of fun. Some said when the massacre began that they assumed it was part of a staged stunt. They thought it had been part of the show.  Three years ago I was in Aurora, Colorado for corporate training. My hotel was just a few blocks from THAT movie theater. I remember the view of the Rocky Mountains. It was awe inspiring. Now memories of that visit have been forever altered.


The title of this blog is Every Day Is A Gift. A lot of readers glance over the title. Some say I write about corny themes with predictable outcomes. I NEED to be reminded of of the fragility each waking moment offers. Life isn't scripted. Death is certain. The timing of it is even less predictable than living itself. We can change our approach to living any day, hour or minute. We can not avoid the moment our ticket to eternity gets punched. I don't want to spend my last moments shuffling this mortal toil full of anger. It is easy to take each day for granted. I control my attitudes and emotions. 


On my way back to work I saw a hawk flying in the distance. They are fascinating and graceful. I can watch them for hours. The wonder of their magnificence never lessens. My mood instantly snapped from attitude to gratitude. I realized how blessed I was to be granted another day of life. I walked into my workplace and shared my gift of humor with my coworkers. Making them laugh gave me great joy.


When I got home from work I passed my mountain of music. I did not gaze upon all the notable faces staring down at me. I went up the stairs and into the kitchen where my wife and two of the kids were eating. I grabbed a plate and sat with them gobbling up the few minutes of laughter and story telling.  I love them more than any THING can offer. I took a mental snapshot of the moment and realized that this is what life is about. It's not about marveling in the things that can't share life with me....



SOUL PAROLE: Making Peace with My Mind, GOD and Myself is on sale NOW at Amazon.com and Amazon Europe. Personalized copies can be purchased through PAYPAL at tommyconnolly.com by clicking the link at the top of the page. 


Proceeds benefit Chicago Area addiction, homeless and mental health programs.