Shoe Shopping

I blew out my flip flop.

Literally!

Strolling across a parking lot, I step with my right foot and drag asphalt and the damn thing simply blows up.

So ... today we're going shoe shopping.

I happen to be married to the world's greatest expert on shoes and bargains ... well, at least she tells me they're great deals and she should be "Professional Shopper" ... but I'm not really listening to her staring at the pile of shoes she bought for her 7 year old for school ... specifically I'm wondering how in the Hell Cassidy can possibly fit another pair of shoes in her closet which already looks like Calcutta!

Not that it really matters because ... I'm not a big fan of shoes.

Certainly I have some ... four pair Sarah got me which I occasionally wear in the winter when my feet are cold ... a pair of black ones that match the Tuxedo I no longer wear ... and my flip-flops ... because if one must wear shoes they should be flip flops.

But now mine are blown which obviously call for ... Margaritas!

Besides, Sarah's already told me the plan.

We'll ride our bicycles up to "Funky Fish" which has an excellent selection of Flip Flops and I'll purchase a pair.

Then we're done.

Sarah will want to stay looking for bargains or telling me how good I'll look in this or that but I won't pay her any attention.

We have other things to do today.

As soon as I get her shoes off.

Key Wasted

Had I found Key West earlier in life, I'd still be there.

Living next door to Joey Finch.

But then I never would have met Sarah.

It makes one stop and ponder ...

Regardless, today Sarah and I are heading to Key West today to see Joey Finch and Bill and it just doesn't get any frigging better.

It all works out in the end.

I should be writing but I'm rubbing Sarah's firm tan leg, having just spent the free drink tickets John Branigin gave us, watching the water get lighter and lighter out of the plane's window.

Burning the last of our miles, this flight costs us $10 each.

Savannah to Atlanta to Key West.

No wonder the airline industry is messed up!

Fly north to fly south?

I have to ask Angela Barras Brackett about this.

She runs the Savannah/Hilton Head International Airport (an oxymoron if there ever was one!).

It doesn't matter, Angie's doing the best she can.

Actually I had little to do with the purpose or planning of this trip.

Well, except I told Joey we'd be back soon.

This is Sarah's trip

She signed up to run races ... knows I love Key West, Ernest Hemingway and Joey Finch so she signed up and we're on our way.

There's no real point to this story, other than what I've already said.

So ... in conclusion ... have a really good weekend!

And if Angela gets the international part of the Savannah/Hilton Head Airport actually meaningful ... come join us!

My wife and the cop

What do you do when the police are called on your wife?

There I stand, wondering about the whole "serve and obey" concept in wedding vows as I help clean up crap left behind by HER tenant in HER house.

Actually I'm trying to remember what exactly Samuel Adams, who plays damn good music on Tybee Island with some regularity, said when he performed our ceremony.

I wasn't listening.

Sarah wore a white dress, luminous in the moonlight on the beach, and she may as well have been doing water aerobics with the way things stood out.

Sam may have had me promise to make chocolate chip pancakes every Saturday morning or to return all her library books for her (which really is full time employment).

I don't know ... my thoughts were bouncing like my eyes as she stood before me.

Unlike now as she stands before a cop.

She looks good ... wearing shorts and a tank top ... sweat glistening on her tan firm body ... beautiful blue eyes flashing laser brilliance ... buttocks tightly clinched ... intensely focused on getting her points across ... which she obviously is from my vantage point.

Sweat pouring from my body as I'm witness, I have to stop working and get a grip on myself.

The other person talking to the cop is the lady whose furniture we're moving out.

She showed up wanting her stuff but sat on the staircase rather than help which, of course, drew the attention of my wife.

I've never seen a volcano explode but ... certainly it's very similar to what Sarah did.

"Get off your lazy ass and help us get your stuff out of my house," is how she politely began.

The poor woman couldn't take it, wanders outside and calls the cops.

"Hey," my beautiful daughter Kristen, who is helping us, exclaims, "I know that cop. He used to live with us. I wish Sarah would shut up! I can handle this."

Nodding my head in understanding, I hug Kristen and say, "Aw baby there's no shutting Sarah up once she's making points. Let's just watch? You ever seen a nuclear explosion?"

From the upstairs window, we watch the woman slither away.

The cop remains intensely focused on Sarah's points.

My wife turns around with a wicked grin ... as though she just scored the winning goal of the World Cup.

"Oh Shit," I yell, shoving my daughter to the stairs and picking up a broom.

Sarah storms the stairs like Sherman taking Atlanta.

"Oh hey honey," I sing. "How did it go?"

She has a beatific smile ... that says it all.

The rest of the day was pretty damn good.

 

A Birthday Begins

It never occurred to me to travel to Ireland.

Had I been driving past and saw a sign indicating it was a few miles away I would taken the left to see what's there.

I've ended up in lots of funny places noticing I was nearby and telling myself, "Well, you should go."

Standing in Prague, one of the world's most beautiful cities, I told Bill Berry (not the former drummer for REM but the other one) that we were only a nights train ride away from Poland.

I told him we had to go.

He told me to ... INSERT VERB HERE ... you!

But we ended up going and it was a life altering experience.

Now today I'm intentionally going to Ireland.

It's on Sarah's bucket list and I love Sarah ... plus it's her birthday and I didn't have anything picked out.

There are things I already like about Ireland ... John Lennon's song "The Luck of the Irish" ... Van Morrison ... Celtic Christian writer John O'Donohue ... Celtic Christianity in general ... Druids ... the fact that St. Patrick's Day is a holiday in Savannah ... and I'm part of a group of friends who are all Irish Catholic except me.

Mitch Wesley loves Ireland and Celtic Christianity and I love Mitch so ... I don't know what that has to do with anything but I'm certain it fits in somehow.

I do love pubs and good live music though and there are lots of both in Ireland.

Finally Ireland is an island and of course Islands are the only place I really want to go ... I just never imaged visiting one this far north.

Our bed looks like two Dry Cleaning trucks had a collision as Sarah packs and I've been ordered to stay the Hell away until she's done.

Then I can pack.

But what do you do when it's the woman you love ... and who saved your ass ... and it's her birthday ... and I'm a terrible shopper ... and it's Mother's Day and her girls had no idea ... and she's consistently gone with me to Caribbean Islands, Central America and on nude cruises ... and willingly became a member of the Carnival of Friends ... and my Irish Catholic friends would kill me if we didn't go ... and it would kill Sarah not to knock something off her bucket list ... and it would kill me for her not to when we can make it happen.

But most of all ... because I love her.

Oh Honey ... your birthday begins now!

How will you enjoy today?

Sometimes you simply sit and stare.

Inside but somehow outside of yourself.


Staring through the open sliding glass doors at a glorious sun illuminating the water dripping from the trees, I'm just thinking.

There are no words ... just thoughts and emotions.

I'm focused on people I love.

Sarah tells me I love everybody, meaning it critically and as a warning. You're not supposed to love everybody because they screw you in the end and that's true of lots of people.

And I've certainly been screwed ... and it hurt ... and they left not giving a damn ... blaming me somehow ... and those I thought cared didn't ... and I was shocked at who did!

But the truth of the matter is I'm a Daydream believer.

I imagine and don't think I'm the only one.

I'm a fool, for Christ's sake, but there's wisdom in there somewhere if we really are Daydream believers, meaning we're honored and dishonored in life.

I've certainly been both.

But that's life! It's what you do with it that matters most.

God made life, gave it to us and now it's ours to do with what we want.

Or to not do anything with it.

Sarah's away visiting her parents in New York so everything is a bit out of sorts. The dogs understand somehow because they follow me closely whenever I move. The house is too quiet. It's just a house when she's not here. I'll be glad when she gets home though I'm glad she and the girls are having a good time.

Johnny O interrupts these thoughts with a barrage of text messages. He's asking about my son Jeremy though it quickly dissolves into really bad humor that has me roaring in laughter.

Ah, it's a good day to do good things, as my friend Dicky Trotter says.

I'm going to enjoy it.

I hope you enjoy yours too.
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The Boy Is On Fire

"Can we walk outside for a moment," he says interrupting me, "you're filling up this room and I need to breath."

I don't know what to say and keep quiet as we walk out on the Beloved Back Deck.

Kyle places his hands on the railing, closes his eyes and takes deep breaths.

I plop in a chair to give him space.

It's a beautiful day with a bright sun, slight ocean breeze and everything is blooming brilliant blues, pinks, reds and whites. 

Taking my shirt off to work on my tan, I toss it on the table and watch him open his eyes and smile at the Palm Tree with the oyster eyes.

"Is that Fran?" he asks pointing at the wall of trees that canopy the privacy fence.

Nodding my head I watch his smile broaden and he turns towards me. He is very tall with long wavy brown hair cascading his shoulders. The flowing white shirt he wears gives the impression he's the ghost of a Shaman because his skin is very pale.

"Whew," he smiles sitting down, "you have so much energy it was overwhelming me and I need more space.

"I'd rather be out here," I shrug.

His smile is beatific and there is a sweetness about the man. Sarah and I had agreed to help him if we could and he was asking for it now.

"So as I was saying, I've done music my whole life. I've never worked a 9-5 job but I got a nice house, food in the Fridge and cable television!"

The way he says it is filled with wonderment and pride so it makes me smile.

"But I want more. I'm tired of the bars. And I have this chance," he explains. "I've been asked to combine my music with speaking in Churches and workshops across several states."

That's why he's here. I'm coaching him on getting his story together, doing it right and building an arsenal of antidotes he can whip out whenever he needs it.

That was a couple of months ago but yesterday I received a message from him on Facebook with a link to his most recent speech.

"The boy is on fire," he wrote.

Clicking the link, I listened to his marvelous story perfectly delivered to a group in Greensville, South Carolina as I sat in the same chair on the same deck without a shirt on perfectly beautiful day.
His speech made me smile. (Check him out at https://soundcloud.com/thespiritcenter/kyle-shiver-sel-realization !)

"The boy has indeed come a very long way in a very short period of time," I wrote him. "I'm proud of you."

And I sat there and kept right on smiling.
_________________________________________

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Hanging Out

Back when I was a "Professional Christian" at the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel, I mostly tried to figure out how to keep drunken homeless people from falling asleep during my Sunday morning sermon.

We did lots of crazy stuff and we must have been blessed because it worked more often than not.

Once on Easter morning we covered the stained glass windows with thick brown rolling paper so the Sanctuary was pitch black. Everyone had to reach out in darkness to find a pew to sit on and of course everyone fought to sit on the back row so there were lots of giggles and curses as people plopped down on one another.

A guitar was plucked as a lone voice sang, "Anybody here seen my good friend Martin?"

A lone candle was lit in the front of the Chapel and the entire earth was silent for a second.

"HE LIVES!" Cindy Weber screamed at the top of her lungs as the paper was ripped from the windows. Light exploded in the room as though Jesus himself were sashaying down the aisle.

"Hallelujah!"

"Shit!"

"Glory!"

"Stop hitting me!"

Those are the reactions I remember being said all at the same time.

We were a crazy Church doing crazy stuff.

But the most popular service of the year was my son's Jeremy's birthday.

Everyone loved Jeremy. He was the six year old who turned the Baptismal Pool into a bathtub! Homeless guys would lounge in it with him, candles lit, a Boom Box playing Jimmy Buffett as they all achieved a peace that passeth all understanding.

On the Sunday closest to his birthday, instead of preaching a sermon ... cause enough for a major celebration ... I read a letter I'd written to Jeremy.

Homeless men would cry in joy because (a) I wasn't preaching and (b) they all loved Jeremy and his sister Kristen. She blatantly took advantage of this by getting them to panhandle enough change so they would buy her a Happy Meal from McDonalds. Once, I found her with 5 at the same time surrounded by happy men.

Jeremy was never that way. He liked to just hang out with the guys.

Now, decades later, he still likes to simply hang out. We do it pretty naturally together. He's here now, grading papers for his students at the University of Georgia as we listen to Bob Dylan wonder "what's a sweetheart like you doing in a dump like this?"

Sarah wanders in and out. Her girls wanted to skip school today so they could hang out with him too. They're excited he's here and stayed up late to talk with him. He rode with me to take them to school and now we're just hanging out.

He flipped through my new book Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts and said, "It's nice to read a book I've already read."

We have no real plans. There's a birthday party to attend tomorrow, some football to watch over the weekend, see his Mom and a few friends and drink some beers. We're just hanging out and I can't think of a better way to spend a weekend.
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Wonder Woman

Apparently Sarah is the only mother who isn't a member of the PTA. She received an email explaining she's the lone hold out and the entire school year is in great jeopardy. Her girls are embarrassed and at risk of being shunned by the children of the mothers who are members of the PTA.

"It's at the same time," she tells me, "that I'm coaching 'Girls on the Run', an afterschool program at the school."

I nod without speaking because I'm now smart enough to keep my mouth shut when she's letting off steam.

"After that," she continues, "I've got to rush to Cheerleading practice, horse riding lessons and the modeling class."

I quietly nod lovingly.

"When I'm not driving or coaching, I'm working. Two books and two more classes before the end of the year and I'm squeezing it in while I wait on the girls."

Suddenly she stops and stares straight at me.

"Are you finished with your edits?"

Shaking my head from side to side, I quickly engage in a brilliant diversionary maneuver.

"So you're going to join the PTA?" I sympathetically ask.

"I suppose," she sighs while I exhale.

"Plus they want us to buy a hundred dollars worth of candy bars to sell. That's in addition to the discount cards we're already selling for the school band ..."

"I sold two more at the Breakfast Club today," I proudly announce.

Sarah looks at me as though I am blabbering, drooling and setting my hair on fire.

"Shit!" I think to myself. "I broke the rule! Keep the damn mouth shut!"

She picks up a book bag that must weigh 300 pounds and easily flips it over her shoulder and I know that she can break me anytime she wants as she yells, "ARE YOU READY FOR SCHOOL?"

One girl is spraying several gallons of hair spray on her head while the other is desperately searching for shoes that match. Both freeze for a second and then explode into a frenzied last minute dash to get ready.

Meanwhile Wonder Woman easily lifts another 300 pound book bag and leans forward to kiss me goodbye while simultaneously shepherding both girls to the car.

She shoots out of the drive way as though someone fired the shot to start the Daytona 500.

I blow her a kiss and marvel at her motherhood.

I have no idea how she's going to both coach "Girls on the Run" and attend PTA meetings at the same time but I have no doubt that Sarah will pull it off.

She's simply amazing that way.

Now, I wonder what I did with the book I'm supposed to be editing.

_____________________________________

An eccentric life dotted with eclectic characters pop from the pages of award winning author Micheal Elliott’s newest book Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts. His musings immerse you in a world of headshaking wonder, gut wrenching laughter, heart touched tenderness and empathetic tears.
Never letting the truth stand in the way of a good story, Elliott’s ninth book takes you on a wild journey of “Wow! Really! I can’t believe that!” every day moments. Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts exemplifies his gift of capturing common thoughts and painting them perfectly into words.

Order yours at http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/newbook/

Our Anniversary

"Happy Anniversary!" we were told as we lead the girls into the "Full Moon" Party at Marlin Monroe's.

Every month, Jenny Orr throws a "Full Moon Party" when there's a full moon.

Jenny's very smart that way.

It's outside so everyone can see the moon and there's excellent live music, good drinks and food. The girls immediately order Strawberry Daiquiris and are ready to dance.

Sarah and I got married during the "Full Moon" Party at Marlin's and we now celebrate our anniversary monthly rather than annually.

It just makes more sense.

Marriage is crazy enough anyway!

Two people trying to become one.

It's a nutty concept that somehow took hold.

Like the Slinky, the Hula Hoop and eating fried Twinkies, marriage takes a lot of practice.

Sarah and I figure the more reasons to celebrate ours the better.

We've been married before and knew it could be better.

There's something magical about us though.

It's not to say we don't knock heads every once in a while. I'm a southern boy who loves college football, extremely hot weather and grits. She's a northern girl who likes ice skating, sweaters and can make frost with the best of them. But we mostly sail along in calm waters laughing and loving and longing.

We got to dance together once before the girls took center stage and I spent my time dancing with them.

Then the moon rose and the party stopped for a bit. According to the Weather God's it was a "Blue Moon" though in actuality it's quite red ... the color of our hearts.

The great thing about celebrating our anniversary every month is that we get to also celebrate the days leading up to our marriage.

Today is first lustful look day and we'll celebrate it.

Tomorrow is first "accidental" touch of skin day so we'll do that again.

There's "slip of the tongue" day. "I've never seen that part of your body before" day. "Nice bra" day. "Better panties" day. "Get sand in our mouths day while making out on the beach day!"

It builds in intensity until next month's "Full Moon" party.

Anyway, we're celebrating our anniversary most every day.

Hope you are too.

By the way ... does anybody know where the girls are?

Corporate Secrets

Though the name says Micheal Elliott Enterprises, the truth of the matter is Sarah Elliott's the one running the show. She thought it up, packaged and designed most everything we're doing these days.

I know this.

A couple of other folks know it.

But she's the one in charge.

For the most part, and she will argue with this, I pretty much do what she tells me to do.

It's not to say that we don't have a good time because we certainly do ... our coffee breaks are to die for!

And it's not to say that we don't have the same problems, headaches, cash-flow issues and constant demands and distractions as any other business.

We do.

Sarah handles them all with a graceful determination keeping us moving in the right direction with our noses above water.

She does these things while raising three little very opinionated versions of herself, melting our families, writing her own material, helping others completely independent of my thoughts and she still has to put up with me!

When we married we also brought the other meaningful relationships that we have. She inherited a Carnival of Friends, The Bored, Bill Berry (not the former drummer for REM but the other one), Conner and Hania, my college mates who were raised from the dead, the very famous Dr. Jim Withers and Goddess. She also got my Mom!

I got Amanda, Aaron, David LaPairie and others from somewhere else whom I haven't actually met yet but feel close to each. I got her Mom and Dad, Mother Mary, Cornelia and Chef Paul. Sarah was prisoner of war in some Houghton College in western New York for many years. And I marvel at survival capabilities.  She brought Winston, the little gay dog, Gypsy the damn pussy cat, and dozens of fish (unfortunately none of which have survived).

But all of that aside, I've had the incredible good fortune of working with her twice now.

Many years ago, I was the boss and we did all kinds of good things together

Fast forward to now, she's the boss and we're doing all kinds of good things today.

Honestly, I'm not sure how much of me there would be without her.
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An eccentric life dotted with eclectic characters pop from the pages of award winning author Micheal Elliott’s newest book Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts. Over 200 pages of his musings immerse you in a world of headshaking wonder, gut wrenching laughter, heart touched tenderness and empathetic tears.

That was written by Sarah. She also designed the cover of the book.

You can see more of my writing inside of the book and Sarah has arranged that you can preorder it at http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/newbook/