At 6:40 this morning I was in a dead sleep when she stuck her face in my face asking “Aren’t you taking me to the Breakfast Club”?
My eyes cracked open … barely.
The first conscious thought of the day formed in my brain … “Shit”!
She was dressed and ready to go.
I was under the covers continuing to celebrate the wonderfulness of a great night. I’d fallen asleep after 3:00 am with my I-phone on my chest.
Goddess was in her customary position with her head in the bed room and her body and her butt in the living room to protect me from whatever comes to harms me in the middle of the night.
She failed miserably.
The company staying with me are excited to be at the beach and are ready to go. Last night I’d taken them to Tybee’s combat zone breezing through Bernie’s, Doc’s and the Rock House. This was after dinner at Stingrays.
I have been a good host.
I do not deserve this.
She leaves and I drag myself out of bed looking at Goddess.
“Bitch,” I say to her.
Her golden eyes stare at me full of sadness. Then she flips over on her back so that I’ll rub her belly.
“Hell no,” I say falling into the shower.
Afterwards I dress and the company is excited and ready to do. I suddenly understand the death penalty.
We stumble into the Breakfast Club.
“Big Night” Johnny O asks.
“Oh yeah,” I answer. He gets it and shuts up. Johnny O and I understand one another.
I nurse the coffee, making passionate love to it, lingering over the memory, tantalized over the smell and the warmth of the moment.
She won’t shut up.
The entire Breakfast Club staff takes a step backwards.
Johnny O leaves.
Everyone standing in line waiting to get into the Breakfast Club decide to have breakfast at the Sunrise instead.
I stand and walk to the back and stand next to Franklin, who is brown.
He looks at me as though he is a serial killer and asks without using a single word, “What’s wrong”?
I nod my head towards my company.
He turns, looks and turns his head back before nodding his head with sympathetic eyes.
With no words being spoken, he completely understands everything.
He picks up a knife and looks at me with hope in his eyes.
I shake my head from side to side.
He sadly looks down.
I return to my seat with a heavy sigh.
A new day is beginning. On three hours sleep I am expected to be a “Cabana Boy” setting up a tent on the beach, running to get them drinks, and chasing the clouds away if they remain over the sun. But if it’s too hot I’m expected to conjure up a breeze at just the right time.
I process all of this information.
Then I wish it was still last night.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
The Next Chapter
I was talking to Frank Stanton, former Union Mission Board member, partner in the development of the Magdalene Project, Savannah’s first shelter for homeless women and children, and the person who coined the title of my book “Partners In Grace”. I hadn’t seen or talked to him in a year. I remember him walking into my office right after I’d hired Frances Carter. She walked out and he walked in.
“Hey Parson,” he said shaking my hand. Frank’s called me Parson since we met over two decades ago when he’d ask me to speak at his Rotary Club. I had a long pony tail at the time and showed up wearing jeans with a coat and tie (I was a pioneer in the Kroger Bag Boy look!).
“Are you Frank?” I asked the gentleman obviously looking for somebody he didn’t know.
He nodded and I introduced myself. “Seriously?” he asked. “You’re a minister?”
I shrugged my shoulders.
He introduced me and I gave the speech. Afterwards Franks purchased a copy of my first book “The Society of Salty Saints.” We said goodbye and I thought that was that.
The next afternoon Frank burst into my office. “Who wrote this book?” he asked holding the book.
“Um Frank … look at the cover. That’s my name on it. And everybody thinks my name is spelt wrong so it must be mine.”
“There is no way in hell that you wrote these prayers,” Frank insisted.
“OK, you got me!” I confessed. “I broke into a vault in the Vatican and stole them.”
From that day on, Frank and I have been friends. I’d called him asking his advice on things including what my presence in Savannah should be moving forward. Aside from serving on the Step Up Board of Directors the only other thing I’ve done is talk to my friend Floyd Adams who called wanting to know what I thought about him running for Mayor again. (“Floyd, not yes but HELL YES!” is what I said.)
Now living in Augusta but deeply rooted in Savannah Frank and I talked for an hour. We talked about people, things we’d done and plans for the future.
In mid-career, Frank walked away from a comfortable job at an oil company. He cashed in his retirement, life insurance, and took loans out on everything he had to start his own company. In no time, former co-workers were asking him for a job.
“I don’t have a company yet,” he explained to them.
“We don’t care,” each responded.
He told them that they would make less money, have no fringe benefits yet and would work long hours initially. He also promised that they would have fun.
Every one of them quit their jobs to work for Frank.
Within a year they had the fringe benefits. Within two years they had surprised their previous salaries. Several years later he sold the company to a British Petroleum Conglomerate in a multi-million deal. He also signed a contract to continue running the company has he had been with the same staff. That lasted for another 8 years then Frank walked away. Each of his employees did too. Everyone could afford to.
“It’s humbling when people believe in you like that,” he told me on the phone. “It makes you work harder because you don’t want to let them down.”
Frank always blows me away and he was doing it again telling me this story.
“Let me tell you something Parson,” he concluded. “A lot of people believe in you. Everybody understood that you were finished with Union Mission. You hung around a little too long is all. You got some bad advice from people you believed in. But it all worked out. You needed a break.”
I didn’t say anything as I nodded my head in agreement standing on my beloved back deck.
“Parson?”
“Yeah Frank.”
“We’ve all just been waiting … glad you’re back,” he concluded before telling me bye and hanging up.
A John Lennon song is gifted to me as I think about Franks words.
“There are places I remember, all my life, though some have changed … some forever, not for better … In my life, I loved them all …”
And I do. But I get Frank’s point. The things that I’ve loved in the past are gone. They’re mostly really good memories.
But I’m gonna love this next chapter more!
“Hey Parson,” he said shaking my hand. Frank’s called me Parson since we met over two decades ago when he’d ask me to speak at his Rotary Club. I had a long pony tail at the time and showed up wearing jeans with a coat and tie (I was a pioneer in the Kroger Bag Boy look!).
“Are you Frank?” I asked the gentleman obviously looking for somebody he didn’t know.
He nodded and I introduced myself. “Seriously?” he asked. “You’re a minister?”
I shrugged my shoulders.
He introduced me and I gave the speech. Afterwards Franks purchased a copy of my first book “The Society of Salty Saints.” We said goodbye and I thought that was that.
The next afternoon Frank burst into my office. “Who wrote this book?” he asked holding the book.
“Um Frank … look at the cover. That’s my name on it. And everybody thinks my name is spelt wrong so it must be mine.”
“There is no way in hell that you wrote these prayers,” Frank insisted.
“OK, you got me!” I confessed. “I broke into a vault in the Vatican and stole them.”
From that day on, Frank and I have been friends. I’d called him asking his advice on things including what my presence in Savannah should be moving forward. Aside from serving on the Step Up Board of Directors the only other thing I’ve done is talk to my friend Floyd Adams who called wanting to know what I thought about him running for Mayor again. (“Floyd, not yes but HELL YES!” is what I said.)
Now living in Augusta but deeply rooted in Savannah Frank and I talked for an hour. We talked about people, things we’d done and plans for the future.
In mid-career, Frank walked away from a comfortable job at an oil company. He cashed in his retirement, life insurance, and took loans out on everything he had to start his own company. In no time, former co-workers were asking him for a job.
“I don’t have a company yet,” he explained to them.
“We don’t care,” each responded.
He told them that they would make less money, have no fringe benefits yet and would work long hours initially. He also promised that they would have fun.
Every one of them quit their jobs to work for Frank.
Within a year they had the fringe benefits. Within two years they had surprised their previous salaries. Several years later he sold the company to a British Petroleum Conglomerate in a multi-million deal. He also signed a contract to continue running the company has he had been with the same staff. That lasted for another 8 years then Frank walked away. Each of his employees did too. Everyone could afford to.
“It’s humbling when people believe in you like that,” he told me on the phone. “It makes you work harder because you don’t want to let them down.”
Frank always blows me away and he was doing it again telling me this story.
“Let me tell you something Parson,” he concluded. “A lot of people believe in you. Everybody understood that you were finished with Union Mission. You hung around a little too long is all. You got some bad advice from people you believed in. But it all worked out. You needed a break.”
I didn’t say anything as I nodded my head in agreement standing on my beloved back deck.
“Parson?”
“Yeah Frank.”
“We’ve all just been waiting … glad you’re back,” he concluded before telling me bye and hanging up.
A John Lennon song is gifted to me as I think about Franks words.
“There are places I remember, all my life, though some have changed … some forever, not for better … In my life, I loved them all …”
And I do. But I get Frank’s point. The things that I’ve loved in the past are gone. They’re mostly really good memories.
But I’m gonna love this next chapter more!
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