Cache Creek

It is interesting how this name, when applied to a dry, crusted creek bed in Yolo County, can bring tears to my eyes. The old, white two story farmhouse, surrounded by huge oak trees and acres of corn, proved to be my salvation in July of 1984. I celebrated my 33rd birthday there, at the addiction recovery house operated by the county.

The whys and manifestations of my alcoholism are too numerous to list here. Suffice it to say that my choosing alcohol to mask the disappointments in my life was a POOR choice on my part. I see now that my general unpreparedness for the monumental changes in my life from 1978 to 1984, was what drove me to drink. Having had several ineffective attempts to stop drinking, only to be followed by my secreting bottles about and continuing to do so, Kate gave me an ultimatum. Something final had to be done or I would no longer be part of this family.

I shudder even now reading those words. It is impossible to describe the feeling of helpless loneliness and despair I felt. My family was my life but alcohol had become my driving force. Thankfully, Kate had heard of Cache Creek and called to see if there was an opening. There was, and I was amenable to going. Something final and permanent had to be done, though now I understand that the desire to stop drinking has to come from inside the individual and is not imparted by the facility. The place only affords the opportunity to stop and take stock of one’s life and habits, giving one a chance to change destructive behaviors.

Anyhow, the first of July saw us arrive at Cache Creek where I met Stu Driver, the crusty director. Volumes could be filled (and will be related upon request) with my conversations with him, his comments to Kate and my subsequent stay there of 30 days. It was the best and most profitable 30 day “vacation” I have had in my life!!!! Watching our Chevy van drive away, three little kids, faces peering out the windows and waving at me, broke my heart. Right then, I am convinced, my resolve hardened and I began to truly recover. I was not going to lose my family…not to Jack Daniels, actually by that time…cheap vodka!!!!!!

My weeks were filled with meetings, chores around the house and time for self-reflection and journaling. Those notes are still in existence in a box in the rafters of the garage. At the end, I was awarded a SORT Tee shirt, a big reward and acknowledgement of working towards being a “Self-Organized and Rational Thinker.” Very few were ever given out according to Stu.

On July 22nd, my birthday, everyone arrived for a visit. I was in ecstasy. No more disembodied little voices on the phone. The touch of my wife’s lips accompanied with a smile. Little bear hugs and squeals of joy! I felt that I could live forever. Even crusty Stu seemed to mellow having the little ones around and he drug out some dusty toys from the basement for them to play with. The two house dogs, Risk and Pat, seemed to enjoy, or at least tolerate, petting and being played with.

That was near to the end of my stay, as on July 31st, I went home and we immediately began packing for our move to Davis, to a house that Kate had found. She had decided on Davis as a “kid-friendly” place to raise children, cheaper than the Bay Area and she remembered much of it from having finished her college years there. “Big Biker Billy”, a recovery friend from CC, helped us move and the Parrish Punkos were re-railed and back on track. Davis became home for the next seven years and my professional redemption occurred in securing a teaching job, first in Sacramento at a Catholic School-Holy Spirit, for a year, and then for the next six with the Vacaville Unified School District. Stu’s words were prophetic and so correct, “The worst day sober is better than the best day drunk.” How true that has proven to be!

JP 12-21-2011