The short version:  We love to paint. We paint all the time now. We met in rehab. 
Or the long version......................................................

..........As far back as I can remember drawing and painting felt familiar and gave me a very strong sense of satisfaction. Many times during recess in elementary school I could be found drawing trees. My parents and teachers inspired and encouraged me. I had commissions in high school for paintings and won awards. Also as far back as I can remember I wanted to experience the effects of alcohol and later drugs. I can remember watching westerns as a kid and wanting some of that
whiskey that they were drinking in the saloon.

 I was at the starting line of the drug revolution. You could say I was an early proponent of "no drug left behind". I knew how to work and I had drive and ambition and as it came time to chose a vocation, the well meaning counselors steered my skills into commercial art: using one's creative talents to sell products. Practically of course it made sense. Painters starve and commercial artists make a living. I thought I could do both. I'll keep painting. So in 64 it's off to L.A.Trade Tech. In 1966 I had an A.A. Degree in commercial art. Then that fall it's off to Art Center. The idea was 3 more years and a B.A. in ad design. Competing with all that at that time was the explosion of psychedelic drug experimentation. So not to be left behind I went with members of the League of Spiritual Discovery to the mountains above Palm Springs for an "experience" a couple of months into my first semester. We hiked before dawn to a place ( forever imprinted in my psyche) above Taquitz Falls and down a rope into a box canyon. We sat in a circle sort of and LSD was dispensed. We all layed back and as the sky got light things had changed. It was a profound experience. I didn't know that I was to experience ego death. It was a sudden and powerful rearrangement. There was an agenda. And as you struggled to release the ego the guides focused energy on you and helped you overcome yourself and your games.  I was insane and more sane and aware than ever at the same time.  A guided LSD experience is not an escape from reality.

I went to school the following week. Things had changed. I had changed. I finished that semester but did not return to school. That summer I went surfing in Mexico. A thousand miles below the border and unbelievably some of that original LSD group arrived at the hotel I was staying at the afternoon of the day I got there. They immediately got into their thing in the jungle. I didn't participate this time. I thought I would melt into the jungle and never come back. I did smoke some of their DMT though. 1966 was a strange year. The material world would never be the same again. It scared the hell out of me.

 The basic time line for the last 50 years is: school, painting, surfing, the 60's, "mind expanding" drugs, ( I think mine shrank!) college, art school, stronger drugs, the draft, the army, harder drugs, softer drugs, stupid drugs and smart drugs, and amazingly I worked.. The 70's, more work, surfing, relationship, marriage, a great son was born!, a great daughter was born! Very stupid drugs, a business, did some good stuff, did some not so good stuff, and more dumbass drugs. I always worked and was able to control my drug use for many years. Then the 80's: Thing got worse. An accelerated pursuit of alcohol and drugs  (the bad ones), blackouts, wake up in jail, wake up in car 50 miles from home, lost my car once, (back when I still had a car), fractured bones, had turkey loaf in Orange County Jail on Thanksgiving 1987 or was it 86?. There was a lot of jail. Alienation from family and friends. Sweet relationships destroyed. I learned early in my homeless career that you can't sleep in parks. The sprinklers come on in the middle of the night. Cops are brutal. There were some cool cops. And divorce: A counselor at the detox I was in at the time took me to court for my divorce hearing. There were a lot of detoxes and rehabs in the 80's. Then more alienation, boundary problems, destroyed friendships and relationships, became unemployable, more jail, destitution, institutions. I thought I must be crazy to be living like this so I tried to get in the U.C.I. psych unit but they wouldn't let me in. They said I had acute depression but "did not need to be medicated" HA! I was medicated. I learned later that I was an addict. To continue: more jail, sporatic homelessness, Then complete homelessness. I did a lot of walking. Committed crimes. For a time I even had a cardboard condo I'm proud to say. ( refrigerator boxes are the best of course if you can find them ), abandoned buildings, had some "pet" rats, but I didn't have to shave every day and I would tell myself that I was researching a book and laugh, then cry. I did keep my sense of humor somewhat intact. The time I almost herniated myself dragging a large piece of metal to the recycling yard and finding out it was iron. Had it been aluminum it would have not been so heavy. They looked at me like I was nuts. And of course I was. I got like two dollars for it. The streets are violent places with the police being the most violent of all. The difference between an alcoholic and an addict: An alcoholic will steal your lawnmower. An addict will steal your lawnmower and then help you look for it. So called homeless "shelters" are sometimes the most dangerous places you can be. I only stayed in them if the weather was bad. And I met some very interesting people (sounds like a postcard from Rio) and I'm sure I was very interesting to them. The streets were full of  mentally ill people that have nowhere to go and no way to get there. Reagan's happy campers. He started the decline of the social contract of our country. He should have been made to stay in the streets for a while. But of course he wasn't crazy. He's just psychopathic as are most politicians. He would have fit right in. I saw people new to the streets lose their mind after a short period. I kept thinking it was going to happen to me too.  They say that alcoholics or addicts of our type seek out "lower companionship". Well they found me! I was the guy that walked down the street and people would lock their car doors. I was the biggest failure that I knew. I lived in the streets from somewhere in 1986-87 to May of 1990. The last place I lived was in Riverside Calif. I was there because my kids and ex wife were there. My ex was good to me and would let me come by once in a while. That helped a lot. The guy that ran the building of the roof where I stayed told me I could stay there as long as I didn't have any fires. There was a young man that used to stand behind the tall evergreen trees in a big cement planter that lined the base of the building. It came out from the wall about 5 or 6 feet. He would stand there behind the trees and against the wall so he couldn't be seen. He would be there most of the day. For many, many days. One day he was gone. I always wondered what happened to him. I like to think his people found him and took him home. I like to think that anyway.

  In May of 1990 I was too weak to pursue my very important business dealings that were essential to avoiding withdrawal. I would have to fix by 10 or 11 in the morning or down I went. I was getting resigned to my fate and I really didn't care at that point. The fear of kicking beats the hell out of you. It wears you down. Then out of the blue I was rescued by some guys from Narcotics.Anonymous as I was keeping warm at the bus station. I would see them around and do my best to avoid them with their higher power crap. 12 steps. That's right. 6 steps in and 6 steps the hell out of those stupid meetings. I used to go to their meeting up the street at the Catholic church, eat their donuts and leave. They were saving souls. I was finished with recovery attempts. I just couldn't do it. It's a cult. All the chanting and God stuff. Here they were in front of me and one guy asked me; "Are you done yet?"  I was cornered and too weak to escape. The thought came to me that if they were taking me out of that place at that time, I was saying what they wanted to hear. They took me to a pay phone there in the bus station and dialed a nearby rehab. I had to do the talking and the asking and getting humble. After many bullshit attempts I knew what to say and how to say it. They had a bed.. dammit. On the way they stopped at a liquor store and got me some cigarettes and a last half pint of whiskey and took me to that recovery place. They let me finish the half pint and not trusting that I would walk from the car to the door they walked me in. I did think about escaping but I was surrounded. One more detox.
Another self inflicted withdrawal and many sleepless nights. The only good thing about a no medication, cold turkey detox is that you remember the pain. They called it the utility of pain. If there had been anyone in the world that I could have called to come and get me out of that detox I would have called them. I could not for the life of me come up with a plan. There had always been a plan. After three weeks in detox I was accepted into the program which involved sitting in the group of about thirty people and responding to pointed questions (actually they were yelling) about my seriousness at this attempt at recovery because if I was not convincing then I would be asked to grab my shit and leave. They told me I was "at death's door" when I got there and maybe they thought that I would not survive another go on the outside and voted me in. There were some no votes. I was given a counselor and we started the steps. I worked the steps. It was work. We did Step 1 through Step7 during the program. I got a sponsor and became active and stayed put. Didn't leave like all the other times. I had to put fear aside. I followed direction. I didn't have to use anymore.
  They gave me a job. It payed $20.00 a week and a carton of cigarettes, room and board. I learned to work and help others. I got better.
  Years later I was able to use my street experiences while working as a counselor and health educator for the State of California in a mobile unit helping addicts and alcoholics; sober ones in rehabs and those still out there in the streets like I was.
   A huge part of my recovery has been the love and support of my wonderful, amazing and talented wife Patti.
Patti knew I once painted and did art and I would drag out an old wood cut that I did in school (for the 10th time) and say "Have I shown you this before?"  She was nice and say how much she liked it and that I should really start doing art again. So after a while I started acquiring some art supplies. A tube here a tube there. A book, a brush, an easel as she kept encouraging me. I can still hear her gentle refrain: That sweet voice.... shouting: " why don't you start painting again dammit!!" It was wonderful and inspiring. You can imagine. We had an occasion to go to an exhibit of the artist Remington.  Soon after that I started painting. Alert the media! And have found that all my fears were realized and whatever talent I once had was gone!  So with lowered expectations I have embarked on this pursuit. Just paint for the sake of painting. "Just look at the pretty colors" they said during "art time" at the detox and to find some peace in the exercise and practice of painting. Peace is when I find the brush I threw across the room. And it has been a wonderful ,sometimes not, learning, or leaning journey. That's it ..it's been a leaning journey. 
All the time that Patti was encouraging me to start painting she was slowly beginning her art. Patti was born an artist. She just didn't know it until, after many years of illness and disability, she began to paint to have something to do on her good days. And slowly, over time she took off. It was something to see. What natural passion and abilities.What technical skills. What legs! Oops. She progressed rapidly and taught herself and studied color and design. She began to express a creativity and talent she never knew she had. She has amazed and inspired me.
 I met Patti in that rehab in May of 1990. She answered the phone that night the N.A. guys put the phone in my hand at the bus station and she did my intake into that social modal rehab so I could kick my 2 year heroin habit and have another chance at life.  Patti had nowhere to go after she completed the program so they gave her a job and that's why she was there. She took her recovery very seriously. There are a lot of gamers in rehab and she didn't play and did not take any crap. After a year I got kicked out for getting in a relationship with her. We left together.   It was time to go even though I was scared shitless of leaving. I had been there a year and she had been there 18 months. We left rehab as new people. We began our sober life together with nothing but her 1972 Toyota that her Dad gave her. Well I did have a K-Mart bag with my clothes in it. And they said it wouldn't last. With good reason. I was a mess. She was a mess too but not nearly as big a mess as I was. We're better now. We survived our insanity. 

 My ex wife remarried years ago and is our friend these days. She's great as are my grown kids. Of course they are the greatest kids in the world. My daughter is brilliant and the funniest person I have ever met. She is beautiful and perfect and a great mother. My son is also great. He is an amazing artist and musician and a wonderful uncle to his nephew Charlie who is my grandson and one of a kind in his own right. UPDATE: Patti is celebrating 25 years of sobriety on 12-28-14. She continues to inspire and amaze me. And she still doesn't take any crap!  And for me? I haven't had to hang out in bus stations to keep warm in a quite a while now... thank God.  And I was wrong about the 12 Steps. They do work... after all.