You're Never Too Old

"Sir, your Dad is missing from the Nursing Home," the caller explains.

"Oh?' Neil asks with a sigh.

"Yes Sir, it appears he left in his Golf Cart."

"Yeah," Neil explains, "he can't drive anymore so we got rid of his car. It almost killed him so I got him the Golf Cart."

"It seems he may be on a date in it."

"He's 89 years old," Neil exclaims.

"Another resident missed curfew. Mrs. Bodie is 67 resident in the main building."

"He's out with a younger woman?" Neil is smiling.

"Sir, this is serious. You need to find your father and Mrs. Bodie if she's with him. She has a medical condition that merits continued supervision."

"Okay," Neil sighs fishing for his truck keys and rushing outside on a chilly Wilmington Island night.

Two miles later he finds the Golf Cart abandoned in the parking lot of "Gilligan's Party Beverage Center" with no sign of his father or Mrs. Bodie.

"They can't be far," Neil says out loud and heads across the street towards the nearest bars.

They're not in Basils or Cancun's so Neil parks, heaves himself out of the pickup and meanders into "Molly McGuire's" where he discovers his father and Mrs. Bodie having drinks along with a good time.

It's almost midnight.

"Ummm Dad, we have to go."

"What's wrong with us kids having a good time every once in a while," the 89 year old snaps taking a puff from his cigar.

"Yeah," Mrs. Bodie slurs sipping her Cosmopolitan.

"Look," Neil explains with his hands in his pockets trying to not laugh, "they can get you for kidnapping. Mrs. Bodie's confined to campus."

"Bastards," he old man puffs.

"Here's what we're going to do," Neil presses. "You and your date finish your drinks, then I'm going to drive you to your Golf Cart and I'm going to tie it to the truck and pull you back to the Nursing Home. It's cold so Mrs. Bodie will sit in the cab with me. You'll have to sit in the Golf Cart to hit the breaks when I stop."

The old man blows smoke in his son's face.

But that's what happens.

When Neil told me this story, I laughed my ass off.

His Dad claims to have no recollection whatsoever of that night.

And Mrs. Bodie can't corroborate because she died peacefully two months later.

The point of the story is ... you're never too old to do what you're supposed to do ... no matter what they say.

The Ingridents for Happiness

Love is rare
Life is strange
Nothing lasts
People change

These lines from a wonderful song, "Old Friend" performed by Michael Feinstein, is beautifully melodious and sang as though one friend talks to another.

They're in a bar after one's relationship falls apart and the other is listening to the sad tale.

Everything sung in the chorus is an absolute truth!

Love comes and goes, bursts into brilliance or burns out slowly, sometimes lingering forever or may abruptly leave. You have to "Make Love", meaning it takes two which is tricky because often it's only one working on it while the other takes advantage. One day you wake up and realize you really are in love or ... you've merely been taken advantage of. Love really is rare.

Life is certainly strange. Just when you think you've figured it out you're jerked in another direction. It's chock full of surprises, unexpected opportunities and tragic things. Sometimes it's funny, boring, hurtful, lonely, or shocking though it has a definite ending that catches us all by surprise. None of us know how much life we have so no one's prepared when it stops.

Nothing last! "All things must pass," sang the Major Prophet George Harrison. Sunrises, sunsets, days, weeks, and years all slip away. Friends don't last, marriages end one way or another, churches go out of business, Governments crumble, the binding in books crack and stars and planets eventually die.

For sure, people change. I'm not who I once was though there's a funny quirk that I  think everyone else should stay the same. We don't! The best of us grow and keep at it right up until we die. Others get stuck even as they long for something different. Change takes courage, the ability to throw caution to the wind and a hearty dose of foolishness. The funny thing is even if we work out hardest to keep everything as it is, people still change.

But ... love ... life ... appreciating what we've got ... the friends we have ... those are the ingredients for happiness.

The trick is mixing them in the right proportions.

The other trick is to keep baking new cakes. You've got to always be mixing and remixing your love, life, accepting what and where you're at, and knowing who your friends are ... or unhappiness grows.

Take a moment now and do an inventory. Who do you love? What's strange about your life? What are the things important to you these days? Who are your friends?

Then throw in pinches of yourself and mix your happiness for today.

And do it again tomorrow!
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There still time to register for "Doing the Right Things for you" my online class that begins in December. Just click to www.meellc.com/onlineclass

What Good Are You?

I remember watching President Kennedy's funeral and Jack Ruby shoot Lee Harvey Oswald.

When Martin Luther King, Jr. was killed my Dad brought home a pamphlet titled "The Three greatest men in History". On the cover was Jesus Christ, Abraham Lincoln and Dr. King.

I can still picture Robert Kennedy lying on the floor in a puddle of blood when he was shot several months later.

Howard Cosell told me John Lennon was murdered as I watched Monday Night Football.

On September 11, I was in the dining room where a television showed the planes crashing into the twin towers trying to calm down mentally ill people who were scared to death they were next.

More than I care to remember, I've witnessed people do cruel things to others with no care at all.

I've seen tsunamis, Hurricanes, Tornados, Flash Floods and all manners of weather kill people.

I've been inside crack houses trying to woo people out, held the hands of men dying from AIDS, was vilified for trying to help the mentally ill and have received enough "Hate Mail" to last the rest of my life.

I've seen all manner of evil ... not just spoken words ... but hideous actions.  

"We didn't start the fire," Billy Joel reminds us.

It's been burning since Adam and Eve were expelled from the Garden of Eden.

Yet I still believe good always trumps evil, light drives away darkness, kindness is more powerful than cruelty and love reigns supreme.

I believe in Karma and eventually terrible things happen to bad people. Those struggling to do good things are eventually blessed with goodness.

I believe in second chances, Angels and most everyone I meet.

I seen Heaven and I've seen Hell in this life.

I don't believe we wait until death comes to experience either.

Life has an incredible ability to keep making itself over. I'm a much different person than I was a decade ago.  I'm calmer, happier, very much in love, content and at peace with most everything I've done so far.  I've been born again, reincarnated and evolved from what I was before.

I don't care what people say about my beliefs. I've heard it all before anyway. These things are the core of who I am now and I'm sure as hell not going backwards.

No, we didn't start the fire but I can use it for good things or for bad.

I choose good.
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There still time to register for "Doing the Right Things for you" my online class that begins in December. Just click to www.meellc.com/onlineclass

Surviving hammers and nails

This is a random progression of thought.

Crosby, Stills & Nash singing "4 + 20" which make me wonder what I was doing 24 years ago.

Not especially good at math, I hit the calculator App on the I-phone and subtract 24 from 57 and it's 33.

That's Jesus age was when he was crucified.


OUCH!

Since that first one, his ass has been nailed to a cross virtually every day somewhere but especially in church and Congress.

On the other hand, I've only been crucified a few times. None were pleasant and I wouldn't recommend it to anybody though it is great when you survive.

The scars don't matter.

The life does.

Sitting here at 57, wishing like hell I could be 33 again because my beautiful wife Sarah would be three years older than me and I would like that.

It would buy us more time.

But it is what it is.

It took her one crucifixion and me two to get us to where we are.

I wouldn't trade it.

I'm pretty sure she wouldn't either though crucifixions make you not take much anything for granted when you survive.

It's been a tough week full of good days and bad days and going half mad days. Lots of people with hammers and nails have been walking around ... mostly corporate leaders, politicians, FOX News and clergy ...  but so far we've skirted them.

We're still alive and kicking!

Hell! We're flat out enjoying!

You are too if you're on the right side of the dirt!

So take the moment and enjoy the hell out of yourself!

You've survived your share of crucifixions just like I have.

It's best to focus on what's next because what was ... hurt like hell.

It's a time of celebration!

I'm starting by proving to Sarah that resurrection has many meanings ... many times ... many ways ... and is repetitive.

Life is good!

Go do good things!

Especially for yourself!
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Hope

"I'm sorry sir," she says as we enter the Club House at "The Landings", "but I can't let you in."

The elderly man and I stop in front of the maître d, smartly dressed in black slacks, vest, starched white shirt with a beatific smile.

"You're wearing a tee shirt," she explains.

Of course I'm wearing a tee shirt. When shirts are necessary, tee shirts are my first option. Today's choice is a formal black cotton with gold embroidery proclaiming to the world that Sarah and I along with Jan and Dick had dined at "Palm Coast" in St. Martin.

My 94 year old companion leans on his cane and waits. We're close friends. He's a mentor and in his twilight years, when most of his friends have died or no longer bother with him, I make the hour long drive every month or so to spend time with him. I owe the man a lot.

"Well then," I say in exaggerated fashion, "what can we do about this travesty?"

Smiling, the maître d tells me she has a collared shirt that I can wear above my kaki shorts with tons of pockets and flip flops. The Club House at "The Landings" is serious about dress codes!

She hands me a God-awful orange, gold-fish colored collared shirt which I slip on in front of everyone already seated in their collared shirts. All stare at me, forks suspended in air, tea glass in hands and the more refined taking quick gulps of white wine.

"Hey!" I say to the maître d, "I look damn good in this God-awful shirt! Will you take our picture?"

Thrusting my I-phone into her hand, she giggles as she snaps our photo. Then we're allowed in the Club.

Earlier in life Ben would have been embarrassed but he no longer cares. Every Club member watches as we're led to a window side table. After we're seated, he laughs.

"You've always love to make an entrance," he says tucking his cloth napkin into his collared shirt.

"I think it's a great tee shirt," I explain. "It matches my shorts and flip flops."

As he giggles, we can't help but notice that every single employee of the place, loves us! We're given the best service by multiple waitresses. They share laughter with us. As soon as we take a sip, our glasses are refilled while the collared people wait for more wine.

We talk as people stare, two old friends who have done a lot together, spend a while looking back. Ben repeats himself several times and I'm not used to it. I don't like thinking about when he's gone.

"What are you doing now?" he suddenly asks and I explain that we sell hope in desperate times.

Greying eyes suddenly burst into the crystal clear baby blues I've always known him to have. Half-an-hour rushes by as we have an intellectual conversation about hope. Lots of people are selling it. Everybody desperately needs it. Most of what's sold isn't meeting people's needs. He questions, challenges, debates and ... is inexplicably young and full of venom and vigor.

At 1:45 I hold up my hand and say "Betty told me to have you back before 1:30. You have a doctors appointment at 2. I think we're in trouble again."

"Screw her!" he yells ... obviously ready for more debate and the entire room is as silent as a church as I burst into laughter.

The next moment takes a thousand years.

Greyness returns to his eyes. He asks if he's paid the bill. His back hunches forward. He searches for his cane. He struggles to stand. He doesn't want to leave.

I drive him home and when we arrive Betty is obviously not pleased.

"You're late," she says with her hands on her hips.

"We were picking up girls," I explain.

Without missing a beat she counters, "I'm the only girl for him. Ben, get in the car."

He does as he's told but as I turn, he winks at me with blazing blue eyes.

And I cry all the way home.
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The time that's left

"Joanne!' exclaims Johnny O after I flip the page to the Obituaries.

The black and white photo is of a young, blond pretty woman. She loved animals, was divorced, had no children and was adorned by many. Remembrances should go to the Humane Society. A funeral mass will be followed by a private graveside service.

Johnny stairs off in space.

I turn the page.

Half an hour later, Sarah and I stand on the Beloved Back Deck as the sun rises. The sliding glass doors to the kitchen are open and Laurel and Cassidy accuse the other of touching their cinnamon toast. The cicadae are loud, birds sing solos and Sarah is ravenously beautiful with long hair draping her shoulders, tight cut off blue jeans and a tank top.

I fight to concentrate on hearing what she's saying.

"I don't know how much time we have left," she says with hands stuffed in her pockets. "I hope it's forty years. I just know I want to make the most of whatever it is."

The other day she posted something Steve Jobs said. “No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don’t want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life’s change agent ..."

While I know that death certainly has a way of sneaking up on you, it's not something I think about.

Suddenly though, it confronts me.

It's taken two lifetimes for she and I to get together and there's a time limit!

She's lots younger than me and in Vegas the odds are I'm going out first.

You never know because anything and everything in life is unpredictable but the betting people are laying money down on me dying first with her coming in a distant second.

It's sobering start to an absolutely beautiful day standing in front of a stunningly beautiful woman who loves me and wants to make the most out of whatever time we have left.

The older one grows, the more time is measured in immediate increments ... months instead of years ... days rather than hours ... now and not next!

I confess that I'm an utter failure in growing up!

"I believe if I refuse to grow old, I can stay young till I die," sings Granny in the marvelous musical advice she gives to her grandson Pippin."

I'm with Granny on this.

But, I'm smart enough to hedge my bets.

When Sarah takes the girls to school I jump on the phone and rearrange the weekend plans so that we can most make the most out of our time.

Then I do something I was supposed to have done yesterday but didn't, something Sarah started telling me I should do a week ago but life kept getting in the way.

I call a friend in his mid 90s who is winding down. Spending his days sleeping more, it takes several times before we actually talk. Thrilled to hear me, we make plans for lunch. No longer able to drive, I will pick him up 45 minutes away which is a pain-in-the-ass but I owe him a lot so I make the time.

Now I'm waiting on Sarah to get back home. She's at a meeting because the girls want to be in the "Squarepants Spongebob" movie being filmed here. Only on Tybee Island can a cartoon be filmed with real scenery. Go figure.

Sitting here, I count the seconds like an old man until the time that I have left is filled again.

Whatever time is left, I want it to be full!
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October 2013 ♦ Embracing peace in your life! “You are one of the most tormented people I know,” she said. I was at the height of success, living at the beach, working in a beautiful city, having everything I thought I wanted…but she was right. I was miserable and didn’t know why. Then I decided to take a journey inside of myself. Life is too short and I deserved to happily celebrate my life. As much as I wanted to lay the blame at the feet of others, it was my own fault and I needed to know why I prevented myself from enjoying my life. I needed to find peace. And I did. You can find yours.
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My Mortality

"God has put within our lives meanings and possibilities that quite outrun the limits of mortality," said Harry Emerson Fosdick ... a great man and one hell of a preacher!

I believe that.

Life runs out before we do.

Then everything gets really interesting!

Lots of people think once we die ... that's it.

I'm not one of them.

"We disappoint, we disappear, we die but we don't" is the way the great American songwriter Stephen Sonheim sums it up.

The fact is, we linger.

For the second time in my life, I'm blessed to live with three little ones. This time they're all girls. Before I could only handle two out of three being girls. That almost killed me. I think I'm better prepared this time.

Every morning, they get up, sleep walk into the kitchen, explode into sudden states of consciousness over breakfast, then take off like a rocket into the day.

They dart, speak without ceasing, plan, scheme, primp, text, talk on the phone and eat in one blur of motion that leaves me feeling I've been struck by lightening. And they don't stop until they collapse at the end of the day ... or ... when Sarah finally pins them down long enough and they fall asleep.

In the most literal sense, they are full of life!

They're rarely sad. When they get in trouble, it's only for a second and before Sarah finishes explaining why they did something wrong they've already moved on to enjoying the next moment.

I think that's what the afterlife is like.

We finally get to really live it up!

Without a body to hold us back, we go everywhere at once.

Four years ago, we watched as my Dad left his body. He used it to say bye to everyone then he took off and never looked back.

The funny thing is, I'm as close to him now as I ever was when he was literally here.

My sister Angi sits with him to watch UGA games and gives him a beer. He looks over me as I cook reminding me of each of his recipes which I'm determined to perfect and pass on to my son Jeremy. My brother David wears his watch to keep him on time. Unlike before, Dad seems to be everywhere at once.

"My hair is brown and yours is grey," Cass, the six year old, tells me.

"It is not," I shoot back, offended that I'm older than I care to be.

But, it is what it is.

I don't know how much life I've got left but the plan is to use it like the girls do.

Then when that parts over ... to do it like Dad's doing it and be everywhere at once.

That's my mortality ... and my immortality.

I feel pretty good about it!

You?

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Embracing peace in your life! “You are one of the most tormented people I know,” she said. I was at the height of success, living at the beach, working in a beautiful city, having everything I thought I wanted…but she was right. I was miserable and didn’t know why. Then I decided to take a journey inside of myself. Life is too short and I deserved to happily celebrate my life. As much as I wanted to lay the blame at the feet of others, it was my own fault and I needed to know why I prevented myself from enjoying my life. I needed to find peace. And I did. You can find yours.

Sign up now at  http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/indepthclasses/

The Tore Up People

Why is it so damn hard to focus on the important things in life?

The rising of the sun, the sound of cicada singing, a nice breeze and the sound of my loved one's voice across the room are cause for serious celebrations.

But there's money to make, expectations to meet, crisis to navigate and a never ending line of plates twirling on sticks that may break if I don't give it everything I got.

I end up blinding myself to the beauty of the world, sticking logs in my eyes to prop me up at work, with family, friends and everything they demand.

The happiness seen are specks, fleeting moments when life really is good, I'm really happy, and all is right with the world.

Erin is my friend and recently learned she has cancer. She lives in Chicago and invited a bunch of us to join her support team on Facebook so I'm a very proud member!

She's having surgery soon and was shopping for a recliner to recuperate in because laying in bed is apparently not an option. She finds one on Craigslist being sold by an elderly couple relocating to Tucson. She explains why the chair's needed and they invite her to sit and talk.

So she does.

They talk about cancer, moving, what a great chair it is.

Erin feels completely alive!

"Is it because I'm thinking about death that I'm so alive?" she shares.

I don't know.

It could be what she's really saying is, "To hell with it! I'm going to live like I've always supposed to be living."

Like everyone else, there are lots of things I wish were better. There can always be more of this and less of that. There's enough struggle and negative in life that we really try to keep those kinds of people blocked out.

This life given to each of us is a gift. Gifts are to be enjoyed and celebrated.  You never know how long they last.

I think we need to slow down and enjoy the things we have in our lives because in the end it's the little things that are really the big things ... the gift of another day, the sound of cicada singing, the kiss of a breeze and the sounds of those we love most.

Jesus once said, "Take the log out of your own eye, then you will see clearly to help your brother and sister. Don't give away what is Holy to dogs ... don't throw your pearls to pigs ... because doing these things will tear you to pieces."

I've known lots of torn up people in my life.

Hell, I got tore up myself and somehow survived.

We're all going to have lots thrown at us today. Honestly, most of it is trivial, hateful, and not especially productive for much anything. If we're not careful, logs are going to blind us to the wonderful gifts we have. It's a shame when we don't celebrate the gifts given to us.

Today, Sarah and I have blocked some bad people from our lives. We've kissed several times already. I've talked to the kids. The girls and I have laughed. We're working to help others celebrate too. I'm sending good Karma, deep prayers and lots of love to Erin ... and to you too.

As the sun keeps rising.

The cicada sing their Hymns of Praise.

God blows a kiss from across the Sea.

And the sounds of love surround me.


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October 2013 ♦ Embracing peace in your life! “You are one of the most tormented people I know,” she said. I was at the height of success, living at the beach, working in a beautiful city, having everything I thought I wanted…but she was right. I was miserable and didn’t know why. Then I decided to take a journey inside of myself. Life is too short and I deserved to happily celebrate my life. As much as I wanted to lay the blame at the feet of others, it was my own fault and I needed to know why I prevented myself from enjoying my life. I needed to find peace. And I did. You can find yours.

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My Resurrection

I wonder what Jesus was thinking hanging there on the cross.

Certainly his first thoughts were, "CHRIST THIS HURTS! WHO DESERVES THIS? HOLY CRAP THIS HURTS! GOD! WHERE ARE YOU? DAMMIT!"

Then he catches his breath, looks at his Mom crying there below. Mary Magdalene is holding his Mom with the punk John who loved him so much hovers over both.

Roman soldiers laugh as they sell off his clothes leaving him hanging there naked, alone and forsaken. It's hotter than hell. It is hell.

Then I wonder if his mind meanders to "butterflies and zebras ... and moonbeams and fairy tails ..."

I wonder.

I mean it's Jesus.

He knew about Jimi Hendrix way before Jimi Hendrix knew about Jimi Hendrix.

And when I'm crucified, I' d much prefer to think about nicer things ... happy things ... things that aren't painful and make me smile.

Is Mary Magdalene walking through the clouds? Cause when he's sad she comes to him.

"Please God! Let her come to me. This hurts and I'm dying."

"It's alright," she says. "It's alright."

It could have happened that way.

God only knows.

Crucifixions come in everybody's lives. Don't believe for a second Jesus being nailed to a cross was a one time thing. That's why there were others on either side of him.

They've certainly come in my life.

Senseless deaths, mindless betrayals, abandonment and excruciating loss left me hanging. My children needing money I didn't have, friends made promises they didn't keep and a God who loves silence left me naked and exposed. Laughed at by many. Forgotten by most.

And I was left to wonder.

"What did I do?" I justified. "I gave my everything! They took it all! God! Dammit! Where are you?"

I was left hanging, hurting and close to dying several times.

Until one day ... lost and lonely ... out of my mind ... suddenly there were butterflies and zebras ... moonbeams and fairy tails ...

Then she came down, walking through the clouds, with a thousand smiles that she gave me for free.

"Take anything you want from me," she said. "Anything at all."

Love comes when it's least expected though most wanted.

Mary Magdalene was the first one at the tomb after Jesus was buried, so distraught, sobbing and lost, going through her own crucifixion that she didn't even recognized Jesus when he spoke.

She thought he was the gardener.

It was the same for me except in reverse.

Out of the clouds, from nowhere really, Sarah came with her circus smile and where it was dark, dying was suddenly butterflies and zebras ... moonbeams and fairy tails.

It's what the resurrection is really like.
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Interested in more? My newest book "Sandy Bottoms and Duct Taped Hearts" is available for pre-order now at http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/newbook/.

Praying for the world

Tornados blow through schools. Children disappear. The number of murders continue to climb. Politicians make promises they have no intention of keeping. Clergy profess to speak for God when God speaks daily without assistance. The masses are frightened. There are wars and rumors of wars.

For decades this was my world.

I was immersed in the cesspools of society, doing my best to clean it up and make things better. The homeless, hookers, addicts, abusers and the abused were my people. I saw the bad side of the world up close and personal. I touched it, finding good that most had no idea was there and shared holy moments with them. I also was witness to self-destruction, self-deception and death.

I walked the halls of Congress, state Capitols and City Hall seeking favors and indulgence from the powerfully pompous who demand more than they give themselves. Sitting in church conference rooms I asked professional Christians to remember the poor so that you may be kind to them only to be told that God helps those help themselves. I sat with the rich asking for help and was challenged, "What's in it for me?"

These things have left me changed.

I understand the frailty of the world. Our lives are like spider webs, integrally woven and wonderfully complex yet can be knocked away in the time it takes to blink. If you're lucky, like the itsy-bitsy-spider, you start over again because there's nothing else you can do except give up and die.

I understand the evil that exists in the world too. In a sea of good there are people who do bad things. Caring only about themselves, they lie, purposely hurt and never give it a thought. They take without thinking, pass without looking and are so easily hard ... so easily cold. Their favorite word is, "No."

Today I sit in the oasis of the beloved back deck, serenaded by choirs of birds, watching Fran's thousand shades of green dance in the pleasant ocean breeze. I am far away from the madness, a monk in a seaside monastery, perpetually tanned and constantly content.

I wonder if this is a gift in time, a reward for three decades of giving myself to others or an incredible streak of good fortune?

Back when I visited real monasteries with Bill Berry, not the former drummer for REM but the other one, we'd drink beers with monks and have long talks. In our youthful zealous exuberance for Christ, we'd ask, "But how can you just sit here when we are to be of the world, making it better! Making heaven on earth!"

With his shaved white head, wearing a white robe and blue stole, the old monk sipped his beer and smiled. "Oh,  but my job is to pray for the world. That's what I do. That's all I do."

I think I finally understand what he was saying.

The Gifts inside of the Gift

There are only two dead persons on our refrigerator. There's a photograph of my dearly department Father Vernon Robertson flashing me the "peace sign" with one hand while holding his glasses in the other. I'm sitting beside him on the sofa in the beach house he was renting and I'm laughing so hard I'm wiping the tears from my eyes. The picture is easily twenty years old.

The other is of my Dad, my son and me. I'm standing between Jeremy and Dad standing on his dock just of Billy's Beach. Jeremy's dressed up for some reason wearing a collared shirt and has a really fine haircut. We're all smiling though Dad was already beginning to fade. It was the last time we were out there together marveling at the green marsh.

Everyone else on our refrigerator is alive and doing fine.

There used to be a lot more deceased people on it. Chicago Bob singing as I kiss him as Johnny O showed off his newly shaved head and Kenny Wade held a beer. We were at the Breezy Awards where Johnny had won "Best Island Character" and I was "Best Author." The only reason I was there at all is because Johnny had called me ten minutes earlier telling me to get my ass up there. I'd won.

There was one of Trolley Joe and me standing on the Pier. He'd recently been diagnosed with cancer and this was his first trip out since chemotherapy. Johnny O had called me that day too. "Get your ass up here. Trolley Joe." So I rode my bicycle as quickly as I could. The next time we were all on the Pier together it was at his funeral where Johnny and I both spoke before pouring his ashes into the ocean.

They've been replaced with the alive and kicking crowd. Jeremy and Marie, Kristen and Chelsea are smiling with my Mom. Sarah's girls adorn it; Laurel stand on her head ...Cassidy flees the ocean terrified because I'd just yelled shark and Maddie is playing my guitar.

The Carnival of Friends, Conner and Hania, Carlos and Verna, the very famous Dr. Withers, D-Luv, Shirely Sessions, Jodee Sadowsky laughing at something Cassidy as asked him and a picture I took of a painting of Che Guevara when I was in Cuba with Bill Berry. Sam Adams himself is there hugging Sarah. There's one of Roma with her mouth duct taped shut!

There are lots of Sarah and I, laughing and dancing and getting married.

Everyone is held in place by Jesus.

Not the person Jesus but the magnet Jesus.

It all started when Bill sent me a magnet depicting Jesus presenting the very first pizza to the Apostles. He had put it in a Bible where he'd cut pages out of the center to conceal the gift. I opened the box and thought he'd sent me a Bible. Then I opened it and there was the magnet.

I was an instant convert to Jesus magnets!

There must be forty of them keeping us all safe and happy.

I'm struck that life goes on. Dad and Vernon remind me that, though they're gone, they remain very much a part of who I am. Chicago Bob and Trolley Joe do too.

Staring at them all, I say a prayer of Thanksgiving for my life and the people who are in it. I can't imagine what I would be without them.

Rodger

Rodger Pack has died of a brain aneurysm.

That's funny. I didn't know he had a brain.

And Rodger would be the first to laugh at the joke because it's precisely what he would have said. The wonderful warped humor and cynicism of a homeless alcoholic.

When I was at Union Mission, Rodger was a client, an employee and my friend.

"You ever going to get married again?" I asked him once as we ate chili dogs from Tanners for breakfast. Once a week I'd buy breakfast for the staff and when it was Rodger's turn to choose the food it was always chili dogs.

Incredulous, the tiny man covered in tattoos wearing thick glasses that magnified his eyes just started at me.

"Rev," he finally said, "there is a lady I know downtown. I go see her from time to time. It's fun. Afterwards I give her some cash ... Hell! She even takes credit cards! ... then she says, 'Thank you Sir. Please come again.' Now you have a wife that says 'Thank you' after you have sex? Or lets you come back for more any time you want to?'"

I marveled at his argument.

"I didn't think so," he said tearing a piece of chili dog into his mouth. "Marriage has gone to shit in this country."

Yesterday I got an instant Facebook message from a friend from those days. Joe asked me if I knew about Rodger, told me what had happened and gave me his opinion on the state of homelessness in Savannah these days.

Afterwards I cried.

I can still vividly see Rodger staggering through Yamacraw Village wearing white painters paints one night when I was leaving Grace House, the shelter for men. A few days later he returned and the painters paints were filthy and he'd been beaten up. He asked for my help.

Years later he would say that I slowed down to 35 miles per hour and threw him out of the car at Potter's Place, our group home for alcoholics. "You're in charge," he claimed I yelled driving away. "You can't drink because you're in charge of alcoholics trying to quit. They will kill you."

And he never had another drink.

He remained at Potter's Place for seven year before leaving to ... get married, though it didn't last.

The last time I saw Rodger was at the funeral of his sponsor Jerry Robinson who happened to be the President of the Union Mission Board of Directors. After the service, Rodger and I hugged. He kept his emotions in check, like most homeless people, forever guarded and never completely trusting anyone.

Keeping his arms on my shoulders, he stepped back, looking me in the eyes.

"Thanks Rev," he said and sharply turned and marched away ... wearing clean white painters paints.