In the predawn day I peddle my bicycle when a car pulls along beside me and hands me the Savannah Morning News.
"Thanks Robin," I say as she speeds off.
Actually my subscription has lapsed because that is no longer my life. It was big psychological break to no longer have the Newspaper hit my drive way. There were countless mornings when I was waiting on it to see what had been written about me or the work. For decades I read it at the counter of the Breakfast Club and then pass it on to others. Now, they buy newspapers, rip out the crossword puzzle and hand the rest to me returning the favor.
At the Club I'd forgotten my money so was going to have to go home and get it and come back. Johnny O stands up and announces, "Got you covered this morning Rev."
"This is going to be an interesting day," I think to myself.
Leaving the Club an unnamed brown boy calls me over to inspect his latest work of art. Having obtained some reflective tape he decided that the stick figures in the crosswalk signs should be anatomically correct ... so he added penises ... big ones. It will be interesting to see how long it takes people to figure this out though it is a drastic improvement over the several thousand bland black stick person on yellow background signs that are everywhere on Tybee Island.
Peddling back home, my tires need air. Grabbing the quarters I used to use for the thousands of parking meters in downtown Savannah I make my way to the air pump.
"REV!!!!!!!" I hear a deep and husky voice.
Looking up, it is my friend Davy, the drummer in the Samuel Adams Band, smoking a cigarette and drinking coffee with our friend Rosco. They are waiting for their ride to work. I walk over and we all hug. I've been told this is a Southern thing. Maybe. Who cares? It is a good thing.
Peddling back home, Goddess starts pawing at me. She makes me smile so I put her lease on and off we go again. She is in no hurry today. It takes forever to walk a half block to the marsh. She meanders ... marking her territory as I stand there and just smell the marsh ... which is the smell of sex in the tropics ... standing under a Palm Tree I stare across the expanse of green grass dancing on a High Tide.
"How?" I say out loud to God.
It is the first prayer of the day.
Beauty is dripping like molasses all around me. The morning sun baths the world in gold. A choir of cicadas sing Hymns. A cool breeze from the northeast blows and my long hair hugs my cheek. Pelicans fly in V-formation offering protection from evil. God has painted splashes of green on a backdrop of deep blue. A lighthouse stands in the middle saying "Follow me, I won't lead you wrong."
"How?" I say again.
How did I get here. Several years of hell have miraculously been replaced by this.
How?
Why?
I ponder these questions.
Ever the logical thinker, I first tell myself that after everything that I've given away I'm finally getting some back. Karma, right? What goes around, comes around. Good trumps bad. Love beats hate.
Except I know that these things are not always true. I've seen people give and never receive, bad Karma, the things that go around never come back, bad sometimes rules and ... love can simply disappear. Bad things can happen to good people.
Goddess nudges her butt against my leg. I lovingly scratch her. The beauty drips everywhere.
"I don't know how," I say out loud again to God.
"But thank you."
Then Goddess and I walk back to our home.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
A Wonderful Wednesday
Hump day isn't so rough.
I stayed in bed this morning which is something that I rarely do but today just seemed so ... special.
So I decided to let it linger.
Now the sun is hot as I sip coffee under a Palm Tree.
Rebekah will come flying in any second with boxes full of office supplies and we will resume the agenda that we worked on yesterday. We were all over the place ... setting up a scholarship fund for medical students, building a budget for street medicine as a practice, arranging alternative accommodations for a Symposium in October, justifying meetings with potential funders in three different cities and then ... I ran out of paper.
There wasn't another damn sheet in the house.
Work came to a screeching halt!
At that precise moment Samuel Adams and Dedra Shuman burst through the front door. God had told them to have a Finance Committee meeting for Bar Church. God did not tell me however so I was surprised. Rebekah is afraid of God so she packed her stuff and left as quickly as possible. I sighed and sat on the couch to ... go over God's checkbook.
Of course it was balanced. Perfectly so.
When they finally left Goddess was scratching the side of the couch demanding that I take her for a walk. She can be such a bitch. But she is the Lady of the House so I grabbed her leash and off we went. She stopped to enjoy everything that other dogs had left behind. It suddenly occurred to me that Goddess may go into politics. She was certainly doing all of the things necessary to get herself elected ... begging, scratching away until she gets what she wants, understanding things from crap, aimlessly leading me somewhere.
This upset me so I drug her back home and brushed 27 pounds of hair off of her while explaining to her that our family isn't about to get involved in the political system. Of sure we'll support Shirley because it's Shirley but ... well I like Dick too ... and Kingston owes me a beer ... and Floyd is my friend and the best Mayor Savannah ever had and I hope he is again ... then I owe Joe Buck like everything ...
"Dammit Goddess!" I exclaim throwing down the brush, "if you run for office I'm not having anything to do with it! You're on your own."
Then Dedra blows back in because God felt bad about not telling me about the Finance Committee meeting and sent her to Chick-fill-A to get me ten sandwiches. This has been the way I got through most of last year ... go to the Drive-in, order twenty Chick-fill-A's, eat one on the way home, freeze the rest, and it takes three minutes to toast the bun, nuke the breast, replace the pickles and ... dinner is born.
It was night time by this point. So I got a glass of wine ... Cheryl left me 37 bottles of wine at my house she brought for a weekend party ... all of the kinds that she doesn't like and wanted out of her house. So I sipped wine in the moonlight listening to Van Morrison sing "Moon Dance" and then ... I did.
So it was hard to get started today.
Rebekah just got here. A Cinnamon Bun was stuffed down my throat against my will. Dedra is texting to tell me that the famous Dr. Withers is upset because his presentation at Bar Church last week just hit the world wide web. He's concerned because he cussed in church ... as though anybody gives a damn.
Hmmm...
I think today is off to a wonderful start.
I believe that it will be as good as yesterday.
Who knew work could be so fun?
I stayed in bed this morning which is something that I rarely do but today just seemed so ... special.
So I decided to let it linger.
Now the sun is hot as I sip coffee under a Palm Tree.
Rebekah will come flying in any second with boxes full of office supplies and we will resume the agenda that we worked on yesterday. We were all over the place ... setting up a scholarship fund for medical students, building a budget for street medicine as a practice, arranging alternative accommodations for a Symposium in October, justifying meetings with potential funders in three different cities and then ... I ran out of paper.
There wasn't another damn sheet in the house.
Work came to a screeching halt!
At that precise moment Samuel Adams and Dedra Shuman burst through the front door. God had told them to have a Finance Committee meeting for Bar Church. God did not tell me however so I was surprised. Rebekah is afraid of God so she packed her stuff and left as quickly as possible. I sighed and sat on the couch to ... go over God's checkbook.
Of course it was balanced. Perfectly so.
When they finally left Goddess was scratching the side of the couch demanding that I take her for a walk. She can be such a bitch. But she is the Lady of the House so I grabbed her leash and off we went. She stopped to enjoy everything that other dogs had left behind. It suddenly occurred to me that Goddess may go into politics. She was certainly doing all of the things necessary to get herself elected ... begging, scratching away until she gets what she wants, understanding things from crap, aimlessly leading me somewhere.
This upset me so I drug her back home and brushed 27 pounds of hair off of her while explaining to her that our family isn't about to get involved in the political system. Of sure we'll support Shirley because it's Shirley but ... well I like Dick too ... and Kingston owes me a beer ... and Floyd is my friend and the best Mayor Savannah ever had and I hope he is again ... then I owe Joe Buck like everything ...
"Dammit Goddess!" I exclaim throwing down the brush, "if you run for office I'm not having anything to do with it! You're on your own."
Then Dedra blows back in because God felt bad about not telling me about the Finance Committee meeting and sent her to Chick-fill-A to get me ten sandwiches. This has been the way I got through most of last year ... go to the Drive-in, order twenty Chick-fill-A's, eat one on the way home, freeze the rest, and it takes three minutes to toast the bun, nuke the breast, replace the pickles and ... dinner is born.
It was night time by this point. So I got a glass of wine ... Cheryl left me 37 bottles of wine at my house she brought for a weekend party ... all of the kinds that she doesn't like and wanted out of her house. So I sipped wine in the moonlight listening to Van Morrison sing "Moon Dance" and then ... I did.
So it was hard to get started today.
Rebekah just got here. A Cinnamon Bun was stuffed down my throat against my will. Dedra is texting to tell me that the famous Dr. Withers is upset because his presentation at Bar Church last week just hit the world wide web. He's concerned because he cussed in church ... as though anybody gives a damn.
Hmmm...
I think today is off to a wonderful start.
I believe that it will be as good as yesterday.
Who knew work could be so fun?
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Wandering the Wilderness
It is the strangest of feelings.
For decades I worked this relentless public life trying to save the world because I believe God wants it saved and I want to do my part. So I worked hard surrounded by others who believe the world should be saved too and we accomplished a lot. It was a whirlwind of a life that took me around the world, got me published, won me stuff, let me carry the Olympic Torch and have way more than my fifteen minutes of television time.
Of course it had its cost ... two marriages, burn out, estrangement from those who love me, a cynicism for everything about the political system ... and churches and synagogues and Mosques ... they're all the same.
For the past year or so all of these things happened and I left it all ... or it all left me ... I have felt like Moses and the Jews wandering around in the Wilderness. What that must have been like.
"Are we there yet?"
"No."
"Are we there yet?"
"No."
"Are we there yet?"
"Shut up and keep walking or I'll whack the shit out of you with this staff."
"Alright," they said before muttering under their breaths, "he's an ass."
So they wandered.
For forty years.
In Hebrew there is no sense of time.
Forty years means a long time. Same as when Jesus was tempted in the desert for forty days. It was a long time. A long time can be four minutes when you get the phone call in the middle of the night that something bad has happened to one of your children ... or it can be forty years of bad marriage. Too much much time working a job you hate ... suffering through illness ... or enduring what politicians do to us "for our own good".
So for the past couple of years I've been wandering around the wilderness. It's been a long time.
I left the comforts a career that had served me well as I served others. It was all so perfect ... until it wasn't. The bliss of marriage fled leaving me with a dog ... so Goddess has been my constant companion as we've marched through marsh grass, paced a back deck, took walks to a beach swing, made bar tours, or sat for hours on a sad little holy dock.
So the thing about the wandering around the wilderness ... or combing the beach ... walking through the woods ... sitting on a mountain ... pondering what we've left behind or what has left us ... imagining what it's going to be like when we get to wherever we're going ... hoping ... wishing ... praying
... is that in Hebrew one of the many things that "Wilderness" means is that it is the place where God speaks.
It has been difficult for me to give myself permission to wander around like I've been doing. I should be working like I've always done. I shouldn't be spending so much time alone doing just what I want to do. I should not grieve for so long. I should get off my ass and pull myself by own bootstraps and do ... the same old stuff that I was doing before.
But I didn't.
I kept wandering.
For a long time now.
And God is whispering secrets in me ear.
Now the wilderness feels like home.
For decades I worked this relentless public life trying to save the world because I believe God wants it saved and I want to do my part. So I worked hard surrounded by others who believe the world should be saved too and we accomplished a lot. It was a whirlwind of a life that took me around the world, got me published, won me stuff, let me carry the Olympic Torch and have way more than my fifteen minutes of television time.
Of course it had its cost ... two marriages, burn out, estrangement from those who love me, a cynicism for everything about the political system ... and churches and synagogues and Mosques ... they're all the same.
For the past year or so all of these things happened and I left it all ... or it all left me ... I have felt like Moses and the Jews wandering around in the Wilderness. What that must have been like.
"Are we there yet?"
"No."
"Are we there yet?"
"No."
"Are we there yet?"
"Shut up and keep walking or I'll whack the shit out of you with this staff."
"Alright," they said before muttering under their breaths, "he's an ass."
So they wandered.
For forty years.
In Hebrew there is no sense of time.
Forty years means a long time. Same as when Jesus was tempted in the desert for forty days. It was a long time. A long time can be four minutes when you get the phone call in the middle of the night that something bad has happened to one of your children ... or it can be forty years of bad marriage. Too much much time working a job you hate ... suffering through illness ... or enduring what politicians do to us "for our own good".
So for the past couple of years I've been wandering around the wilderness. It's been a long time.
I left the comforts a career that had served me well as I served others. It was all so perfect ... until it wasn't. The bliss of marriage fled leaving me with a dog ... so Goddess has been my constant companion as we've marched through marsh grass, paced a back deck, took walks to a beach swing, made bar tours, or sat for hours on a sad little holy dock.
So the thing about the wandering around the wilderness ... or combing the beach ... walking through the woods ... sitting on a mountain ... pondering what we've left behind or what has left us ... imagining what it's going to be like when we get to wherever we're going ... hoping ... wishing ... praying
... is that in Hebrew one of the many things that "Wilderness" means is that it is the place where God speaks.
It has been difficult for me to give myself permission to wander around like I've been doing. I should be working like I've always done. I shouldn't be spending so much time alone doing just what I want to do. I should not grieve for so long. I should get off my ass and pull myself by own bootstraps and do ... the same old stuff that I was doing before.
But I didn't.
I kept wandering.
For a long time now.
And God is whispering secrets in me ear.
Now the wilderness feels like home.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Tie that Bind
There we were on the stage. Johny O on drums. Mitch "Renegade" Wesley slapping the bass. DDDedra playing the keyboard. Gordon was wailing on the mouth harp. I was playing guitar and singing. Sure it was only a one song performance but this was actually our second show having played our first gig on Jodee and Cheryl's porch the night before.
As headliners for Bar Church we needed a name. The Acoustic Savages no longer worked because we were electric (in so many ways). The Electric Pirates was an option since Bar Church is where pirates worship. Then it was decreed from on high (the drums are elevated a bit) that the bands name would be ... "FRESH LIVE LOBSTER"!
It was perfect! Our first album will be titled "$3.99/pound".
As we did our sound check, a speaker was set up on Tybrisa Street (which used to be 16th Street and is between 15th and 17th but the Tybrisa family evidently contributed a lot to somebody's re-election campaign. I need to ask Shirley Sessions about this.). When the sounds of FRESH LIVE LOBSTER filled the street on a high tide Sunday morning ...
Surfers dropped their surf boards and ran to Bar Church.
Mothers left their children playing in the waves and followed them.
The place quickly filled and Bar Church hadn't even started yet. So we stopped as the regulars showed up in their bathrobes, bikinis, tee-shirts and flip-flops. They brought with the things necessary to enjoy a church service ... coffee, Bloody Marys, sausage biscuits, Screwdrivers and lots of coffee ... and Bailey's. Gordon has a pocket Bible so that was covered.
DDDedra wowed the crowd with her first solo performance giving the prelude. It was an incredibly soulful rendering of "Color My World" which is so appropriate because if anybody's world is colored it is those of us who attend Bar Church. Our worlds are colored red. Visceen is available with the bulletin.
Samuel Adams grabbed me and embraced me with a smile. He is the coolest dude on the island and is the founder of Bar Church.
"You have have just enough time to grab a drink and kiss a girl," he said. Then he beamed into a bigger smile. "We can use line as another incentive to for people to come to Bar Church."
So I did as he suggested.
Then I grabbed my guitar and joined the band. We did an original song given to us by God. And the packed house were collectively slain in the spirit ... or passed out ... or not really recovered from Saturday night.
But we rocked! And we had fun! Celebration can be contagious and that is what church is supposed to be anyway. So we celebrated.
It was supposed to have been Grass Skirt Sunday but the idea went up in smoke. Evidently Bar Church members confused the kind of grass needed for skirts.
Regardless, there is this collection of friends who came together from different worlds at just the right time. We celebrated one another and shared the celebration with anyone who wished to be a part. When all was said, sung and done, we made our way to the Pier and toasted the majesty of the Cathedral that God built as the blue green ocean kissed the sand. Then we toasted one another. Then we feasted in community together.
Then everybody had to go their way. Life was getting in the way.
But the gift of doing what we did is another tie that binds us all together.
And that really is what it's all about anyway.
As headliners for Bar Church we needed a name. The Acoustic Savages no longer worked because we were electric (in so many ways). The Electric Pirates was an option since Bar Church is where pirates worship. Then it was decreed from on high (the drums are elevated a bit) that the bands name would be ... "FRESH LIVE LOBSTER"!
It was perfect! Our first album will be titled "$3.99/pound".
As we did our sound check, a speaker was set up on Tybrisa Street (which used to be 16th Street and is between 15th and 17th but the Tybrisa family evidently contributed a lot to somebody's re-election campaign. I need to ask Shirley Sessions about this.). When the sounds of FRESH LIVE LOBSTER filled the street on a high tide Sunday morning ...
Surfers dropped their surf boards and ran to Bar Church.
Mothers left their children playing in the waves and followed them.
The place quickly filled and Bar Church hadn't even started yet. So we stopped as the regulars showed up in their bathrobes, bikinis, tee-shirts and flip-flops. They brought with the things necessary to enjoy a church service ... coffee, Bloody Marys, sausage biscuits, Screwdrivers and lots of coffee ... and Bailey's. Gordon has a pocket Bible so that was covered.
DDDedra wowed the crowd with her first solo performance giving the prelude. It was an incredibly soulful rendering of "Color My World" which is so appropriate because if anybody's world is colored it is those of us who attend Bar Church. Our worlds are colored red. Visceen is available with the bulletin.
Samuel Adams grabbed me and embraced me with a smile. He is the coolest dude on the island and is the founder of Bar Church.
"You have have just enough time to grab a drink and kiss a girl," he said. Then he beamed into a bigger smile. "We can use line as another incentive to for people to come to Bar Church."
So I did as he suggested.
Then I grabbed my guitar and joined the band. We did an original song given to us by God. And the packed house were collectively slain in the spirit ... or passed out ... or not really recovered from Saturday night.
But we rocked! And we had fun! Celebration can be contagious and that is what church is supposed to be anyway. So we celebrated.
It was supposed to have been Grass Skirt Sunday but the idea went up in smoke. Evidently Bar Church members confused the kind of grass needed for skirts.
Regardless, there is this collection of friends who came together from different worlds at just the right time. We celebrated one another and shared the celebration with anyone who wished to be a part. When all was said, sung and done, we made our way to the Pier and toasted the majesty of the Cathedral that God built as the blue green ocean kissed the sand. Then we toasted one another. Then we feasted in community together.
Then everybody had to go their way. Life was getting in the way.
But the gift of doing what we did is another tie that binds us all together.
And that really is what it's all about anyway.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
One Eye Open ... One Eye Closed
Why is it that we do things that we really don't want to do? Be with people we really don't care for? Go to things that we prefer to stay away from? Make stupid mistakes which of course come back to bite? Wash ourselves in guilt when we've hurt those we love? Lock away what we really feel rather than share it openly?
It's all human nature I suppose. The way God made us ... how our parents raised ... how we make ourselves.
Somber things to ponder on a beautiful Sunday morning with it's lite ocean breeze dancing in the leaves hanging over the beloved back deck. The sun is behind the Palm tree with the smiling oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt peeking into my eyes as I sip coffee. The Indigo Girls are singing softly in the background.
It is a weekend full of friends and love, bigheartedness, serious conversations, some confrontations, bad behavior and wonderful tenderness. All that life has to offer crammed into forty-eight hours.
Then it's Monday and life starts over again.
Many years ago, Chelsea my daughter crawled into my lap crying and said, "Daddy why can't it be like it used to be?"
I was living in a Cottage because her mother and I were on our way to living separate lives. It was a traumatic time for us. I didn't have an answer to her question. All of these many years later I still don't.
Because you can't.
Every day we are shaped and molded by our past, current environment and future possibilities. We make choices, most of which are good and then some not so good. But on every single day ... things are never like they used to be. Nor will they ever again.
If we're lucky we have people in our lives who support us through these transitions. I learned that it is always incredibly shocking to learn who these people are ... you think you do but you don't. It is like going through life with one eyee open and one eye closed.
The trick is to open both of our eyes at once and force ourselves to keep them open and see life as it really is. Embrace who we love with everything in us ... or that it is time to embark on a new journey in relationships. You can't do either halfheartedly ... it's all or nothing.
So this morning I am praying I guess. To keep both of my eyes open, love the ones I love with everything in me, do much more good than the bad that I stumble into, to celebrate the joys that present themselves to be and live this life to the best of my ability.
It's all human nature I suppose. The way God made us ... how our parents raised ... how we make ourselves.
Somber things to ponder on a beautiful Sunday morning with it's lite ocean breeze dancing in the leaves hanging over the beloved back deck. The sun is behind the Palm tree with the smiling oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt peeking into my eyes as I sip coffee. The Indigo Girls are singing softly in the background.
It is a weekend full of friends and love, bigheartedness, serious conversations, some confrontations, bad behavior and wonderful tenderness. All that life has to offer crammed into forty-eight hours.
Then it's Monday and life starts over again.
Many years ago, Chelsea my daughter crawled into my lap crying and said, "Daddy why can't it be like it used to be?"
I was living in a Cottage because her mother and I were on our way to living separate lives. It was a traumatic time for us. I didn't have an answer to her question. All of these many years later I still don't.
Because you can't.
Every day we are shaped and molded by our past, current environment and future possibilities. We make choices, most of which are good and then some not so good. But on every single day ... things are never like they used to be. Nor will they ever again.
If we're lucky we have people in our lives who support us through these transitions. I learned that it is always incredibly shocking to learn who these people are ... you think you do but you don't. It is like going through life with one eyee open and one eye closed.
The trick is to open both of our eyes at once and force ourselves to keep them open and see life as it really is. Embrace who we love with everything in us ... or that it is time to embark on a new journey in relationships. You can't do either halfheartedly ... it's all or nothing.
So this morning I am praying I guess. To keep both of my eyes open, love the ones I love with everything in me, do much more good than the bad that I stumble into, to celebrate the joys that present themselves to be and live this life to the best of my ability.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
My New Life
The very famous Dr. Jim Withers is sitting across from me on the Beloved Back Deck. His laptop is open. My laptop is open. It looks like we are playing a vicious game of ... Battleship. He looks worried. I appear confident. Goddess is on my side.
The reality however is he is answering emails from medical students who believe that everyone in the world speaks Chinese ... just like the U.S.A. believes that the entire world speaks English.
I have introduced him to I-Google and so the famous Dr. Withers is now explaining to the Chinese medical student why she needs to lend money to him because the complex China/USA relationship is predicated upon them giving us money which will eventually pay back ... one day ... maybe.
On the other hand I am typing with one hand because I played guitar last night until late in the night ... the fingers on my left hand are sore as hell ... "I GOT BLISTERS ON MY FINGERS!" Ringo screamed during the "Let It Be" sessions.
There was a party at my house last night because other people decided that there should be a party at my house. It was as though I came home from work, grilled Boston Butts during a hurricane because that's the kind of guy I am, walked inside and a recording studio had been set up.
My guitar which I haven't played in years was restrung, plugged in and ready to go. My dear friend Mitch had brought his bass (and the entire island of Tybee is excited about a bass player coming back here cause we haven't had one for months). Dedra was on piano along with Judy O composing Hymns for Bar Church on Sunday. Samuel Adams was there having been the one to transform our living room to this. Johnny O was talking about drums. As were Rocky, Cheryl and Jodee. Esther was floating around.
We sounded better than terrible ... the bass player was great.
It was like the Beatles rooftop concert. In years from now thousands will claim to have been there ... largely because we had Mitch playing bass on Tybee Island ... who were not there but will hear the secretly recorded tapes ... it was something.
And we are playing at Bar Church tomorrow. The famous Dr. Withers is the speaker. The rest of us are the band. And it is "Grass Skirt" Sunday at Bar Church.
So I am learning a lot about the way that my life is headed and what it feels life.
It feels like this!
Diverse ... worldwide ... crazy ... old meets new ... new is fashioned by old ... evidently wounded fingers are involved ... music is definitely ... and then there are plans.
I have to go to class today. Well ... as much as I've ever been to class ... which wasn't much ... so ...
I have to go ...
the famous Dr. Withers just screamed "YOU SANK MY BATTLESHIP!"
I scream out ... "DAMN RIGHT!"
Life is good today.
The reality however is he is answering emails from medical students who believe that everyone in the world speaks Chinese ... just like the U.S.A. believes that the entire world speaks English.
I have introduced him to I-Google and so the famous Dr. Withers is now explaining to the Chinese medical student why she needs to lend money to him because the complex China/USA relationship is predicated upon them giving us money which will eventually pay back ... one day ... maybe.
On the other hand I am typing with one hand because I played guitar last night until late in the night ... the fingers on my left hand are sore as hell ... "I GOT BLISTERS ON MY FINGERS!" Ringo screamed during the "Let It Be" sessions.
There was a party at my house last night because other people decided that there should be a party at my house. It was as though I came home from work, grilled Boston Butts during a hurricane because that's the kind of guy I am, walked inside and a recording studio had been set up.
My guitar which I haven't played in years was restrung, plugged in and ready to go. My dear friend Mitch had brought his bass (and the entire island of Tybee is excited about a bass player coming back here cause we haven't had one for months). Dedra was on piano along with Judy O composing Hymns for Bar Church on Sunday. Samuel Adams was there having been the one to transform our living room to this. Johnny O was talking about drums. As were Rocky, Cheryl and Jodee. Esther was floating around.
We sounded better than terrible ... the bass player was great.
It was like the Beatles rooftop concert. In years from now thousands will claim to have been there ... largely because we had Mitch playing bass on Tybee Island ... who were not there but will hear the secretly recorded tapes ... it was something.
And we are playing at Bar Church tomorrow. The famous Dr. Withers is the speaker. The rest of us are the band. And it is "Grass Skirt" Sunday at Bar Church.
So I am learning a lot about the way that my life is headed and what it feels life.
It feels like this!
Diverse ... worldwide ... crazy ... old meets new ... new is fashioned by old ... evidently wounded fingers are involved ... music is definitely ... and then there are plans.
I have to go to class today. Well ... as much as I've ever been to class ... which wasn't much ... so ...
I have to go ...
the famous Dr. Withers just screamed "YOU SANK MY BATTLESHIP!"
I scream out ... "DAMN RIGHT!"
Life is good today.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Bathroom Reading
So ... I wandered down the hall of the house that I was in ... the living room was full of activity ... Dee caressed a keyboard looking life a star-crossed lover trying to decide between ebony and ivory ... Sam was spreading oil on one of the loves of my life ... and Davy was watching car porn on the computer.
It was a typical Tybee night.
Anyway, I had to pee and found the bathroom. So I'd never been to this particular bathroom before so I did what everybody does when they go inside someone else's bathroom ... I checked it out.
It was pretty nice by bathroom standards. It was clean enough. The cap was on the toothpaste. The TP rolled over instead of under. The ring around the bathtub wasn't too bad. The mirror needed cleaning but I could still SEE myself standing there ... then in the mirror that needed cleaning ... behind me ... was ... ONE OF MY BOOKS!!!!
It was open but face down on this little table that also had an ash tray, Uncle John rolling papers and lubricant from Wall-Mart. As quickly as I could ... several long long agonizing seconds (Have you ever tried to pee as fast as you could?) ... I completed my mission and turned around.
Picking my my third book ... lovingly and tenderly titled "Partners In Grace" ... it is was open to pages 52 and 53 ... the middle of a story!!!! ... not the beginning or the end ... it was put on table ... face down ... in the middle of a wonderful story ... BECAUSE SOMETHING ELSE WAS SUDDENLY MORE IMPORTANT!
My shoulders sagged.
My knees buckled.
I hung my head.
I have been reduced to bathroom reading.
It made me feel cheap and unwanted.
Immediately I wondered about my other books. How many were lying around in bathrooms? Beside toilets? In the homes of people who roll the TP under rather than over?
When you write and publish books you imagine all kinds of things. Your books are proudly displayed on the bookshelf in the middle, eye level position, so that it is the first book seen. If reviews are written ... they are clipped and placed inside of the book so that the owner can show them off to every single quest entering the house. The spectacular cover is framed and placed over the Living Room sofa.
AAAAARRRRRGGGGG!!!!!!!
"Partners In Grace" was my first book by a Publisher in New York City! Now ... bathroom reading.
Then I really got worried ...
and flipped through all of pages of book.
Then I thanked God.
They were all there.
It was a typical Tybee night.
Anyway, I had to pee and found the bathroom. So I'd never been to this particular bathroom before so I did what everybody does when they go inside someone else's bathroom ... I checked it out.
It was pretty nice by bathroom standards. It was clean enough. The cap was on the toothpaste. The TP rolled over instead of under. The ring around the bathtub wasn't too bad. The mirror needed cleaning but I could still SEE myself standing there ... then in the mirror that needed cleaning ... behind me ... was ... ONE OF MY BOOKS!!!!
It was open but face down on this little table that also had an ash tray, Uncle John rolling papers and lubricant from Wall-Mart. As quickly as I could ... several long long agonizing seconds (Have you ever tried to pee as fast as you could?) ... I completed my mission and turned around.
Picking my my third book ... lovingly and tenderly titled "Partners In Grace" ... it is was open to pages 52 and 53 ... the middle of a story!!!! ... not the beginning or the end ... it was put on table ... face down ... in the middle of a wonderful story ... BECAUSE SOMETHING ELSE WAS SUDDENLY MORE IMPORTANT!
My shoulders sagged.
My knees buckled.
I hung my head.
I have been reduced to bathroom reading.
It made me feel cheap and unwanted.
Immediately I wondered about my other books. How many were lying around in bathrooms? Beside toilets? In the homes of people who roll the TP under rather than over?
When you write and publish books you imagine all kinds of things. Your books are proudly displayed on the bookshelf in the middle, eye level position, so that it is the first book seen. If reviews are written ... they are clipped and placed inside of the book so that the owner can show them off to every single quest entering the house. The spectacular cover is framed and placed over the Living Room sofa.
AAAAARRRRRGGGGG!!!!!!!
"Partners In Grace" was my first book by a Publisher in New York City! Now ... bathroom reading.
Then I really got worried ...
and flipped through all of pages of book.
Then I thanked God.
They were all there.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
A Beach Swing
" The tourist traps are empty ... vacancy abounds ... almost like it used to be before the circus came to town."
The island is quiet riding my bicycle in the predawn of the day. The ocean is glass, the flags above Ocean Plaza are limp, a lone couple holds hands as they make their way to the beach to watch the sun rise and I coast to a stop ... to just appreciate it all.
It seems as I have the place to myself for the moment. All of the walkers and runners that populated the island for the summer have disappeared, time drips slowly, there is no hurry ... no need to rush. Bright beams of red, yellow and purple burst out of the ocean and all of nature sings ... Here Comes the Sun.
So ... "I come down and talk to me ... when the coast is clear."
The coast is clear.
About damn time.
It's been a crazy ride getting me to this point taking me all around the world, dancing with angels and assholes, finding love and losing it, falling into loneliness only to discover people who really love me refusing to let me be alone, and letting things come to me rather than me chasing after things.
I climb off of my bicycle and go to kick the stand down but miss so it falls to the ground. I leave it there and walk to the swing on the beach at the end of my street. The sky turns blue and a red bubble dances on the water.
"This is where it began," I say out loud ... to God ... and the coming sun ... in prayer.
I sit there, swinging back and forth, dragging my bare feet in the sand and the red bubble turns into a yellow blaze of glory throwing diamonds on the sea and chasing stars away at the same time. Seagulls sing hymns of adoration. Dolphins dance. I am baptized in sunshine.
On this swing is where I found me again. I'd given me completely away ... to a career ... to others who took it without giving anything back ... to politicians who are the worst takers ... to people who I believed loved me.
But on this swing one summer night ... the rest of me was re-conceived. So now the rest of me is here ... finally.
Standing ... the coolness of the morning sand kisses my feet. I kick my right leg up throwing sand into the sky. Then I dance back to the fallen down bicycle representing my fallen life ...
"Let's go," I say in prayerful delight.
And we ride.
Into my future.
The island is quiet riding my bicycle in the predawn of the day. The ocean is glass, the flags above Ocean Plaza are limp, a lone couple holds hands as they make their way to the beach to watch the sun rise and I coast to a stop ... to just appreciate it all.
It seems as I have the place to myself for the moment. All of the walkers and runners that populated the island for the summer have disappeared, time drips slowly, there is no hurry ... no need to rush. Bright beams of red, yellow and purple burst out of the ocean and all of nature sings ... Here Comes the Sun.
So ... "I come down and talk to me ... when the coast is clear."
The coast is clear.
About damn time.
It's been a crazy ride getting me to this point taking me all around the world, dancing with angels and assholes, finding love and losing it, falling into loneliness only to discover people who really love me refusing to let me be alone, and letting things come to me rather than me chasing after things.
I climb off of my bicycle and go to kick the stand down but miss so it falls to the ground. I leave it there and walk to the swing on the beach at the end of my street. The sky turns blue and a red bubble dances on the water.
"This is where it began," I say out loud ... to God ... and the coming sun ... in prayer.
I sit there, swinging back and forth, dragging my bare feet in the sand and the red bubble turns into a yellow blaze of glory throwing diamonds on the sea and chasing stars away at the same time. Seagulls sing hymns of adoration. Dolphins dance. I am baptized in sunshine.
On this swing is where I found me again. I'd given me completely away ... to a career ... to others who took it without giving anything back ... to politicians who are the worst takers ... to people who I believed loved me.
But on this swing one summer night ... the rest of me was re-conceived. So now the rest of me is here ... finally.
Standing ... the coolness of the morning sand kisses my feet. I kick my right leg up throwing sand into the sky. Then I dance back to the fallen down bicycle representing my fallen life ...
"Let's go," I say in prayerful delight.
And we ride.
Into my future.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Planning a Hurricane Party
I gotta buy candles ... and batteries ... charge my I-Pod ... and water ... food that I can grill or cook with propane ... bags of ice ... extra stuff for Goddess ... maybe a copy of "Playboy" or find my red Scofield Reference Bible.
A storm blew through last night and the entire island of Tybee spent the better part of it in the dark. Luckily my I-phone hooked up with Pandora, Dedra has a gas stove, and Jodee and Cheryl have a pool ... and wine. So we did alright. Then I came home to talk on the phone.
Evidently I lost the candles in the divorce. Evidently I also gained custody of all of the matches.
Apparently I also lost the batteries in the divorce, but kept the flashlight.
I will never understand the judicial system.
Justice can be as blind as my house was?
Who cares about these things ... until you need them!
Last night I needed them.
So I have like 2000 books of matches and I kept lighting them one at a time until I finally light books at a time to see. I have two-and-a-half candles that were inexplicably left behind. Lighting them, I could see Goddess was staring at me as though I'm an idiot. She makes me laugh, so I laughed then I gave her treats.
Then I called my brother David who is occasionally useful in my life, as I am in his, but this was one of those occasions. David is the person at Georgia Power who decides whose lights come back on first. This is why so many people are kept in the dark. Anyway David said, "Hey long time since we've talked! I love you too. Find candles. You're screwed."
I was reminded why I used to short sheet David's bed, lock him out of the house, and put cellophane on the toilet before he went to the bath room.
I told him that I love him and wrote "cellophane" on my shopping list.
Then I went on the beloved back deck and the Milky Way was putting on a show for free. The Palm Tree with the oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt smiled at me. Looking back into the house candlelight danced a warm glow. Goddess lay in front of a fan that wasn't blowing. Love was in the air.
It was beautiful and I was suddenly engulfed in the beauty which is what baptism really is.
Now a hurricane is apparently arriving on Friday. Along with my dear friends Mitch and Linda, the famous Dr. Jim Withers and I have so much to SEE about between now and then.
I think a party is in order. David is not going to be invited. I need straws for the party ... those colorful ones that bend ... and more grass skirts because this is grass skirt Sunday at Bar Church ... and ... well ... I gotta go!
It's going to be a hell of a weekend!
Just like the last one!
A storm blew through last night and the entire island of Tybee spent the better part of it in the dark. Luckily my I-phone hooked up with Pandora, Dedra has a gas stove, and Jodee and Cheryl have a pool ... and wine. So we did alright. Then I came home to talk on the phone.
Evidently I lost the candles in the divorce. Evidently I also gained custody of all of the matches.
Apparently I also lost the batteries in the divorce, but kept the flashlight.
I will never understand the judicial system.
Justice can be as blind as my house was?
Who cares about these things ... until you need them!
Last night I needed them.
So I have like 2000 books of matches and I kept lighting them one at a time until I finally light books at a time to see. I have two-and-a-half candles that were inexplicably left behind. Lighting them, I could see Goddess was staring at me as though I'm an idiot. She makes me laugh, so I laughed then I gave her treats.
Then I called my brother David who is occasionally useful in my life, as I am in his, but this was one of those occasions. David is the person at Georgia Power who decides whose lights come back on first. This is why so many people are kept in the dark. Anyway David said, "Hey long time since we've talked! I love you too. Find candles. You're screwed."
I was reminded why I used to short sheet David's bed, lock him out of the house, and put cellophane on the toilet before he went to the bath room.
I told him that I love him and wrote "cellophane" on my shopping list.
Then I went on the beloved back deck and the Milky Way was putting on a show for free. The Palm Tree with the oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt smiled at me. Looking back into the house candlelight danced a warm glow. Goddess lay in front of a fan that wasn't blowing. Love was in the air.
It was beautiful and I was suddenly engulfed in the beauty which is what baptism really is.
Now a hurricane is apparently arriving on Friday. Along with my dear friends Mitch and Linda, the famous Dr. Jim Withers and I have so much to SEE about between now and then.
I think a party is in order. David is not going to be invited. I need straws for the party ... those colorful ones that bend ... and more grass skirts because this is grass skirt Sunday at Bar Church ... and ... well ... I gotta go!
It's going to be a hell of a weekend!
Just like the last one!
Monday, August 22, 2011
Naked Dancing in Church
I should first confess that I have a long and rich history of sacrilegious worship so it should come as no surprise that I am the one who first suggested that we have a "Dance" service at Bar Church.
All dancing ... No Preaching.
It's Biblical.
King David lost the laundry and danced naked when God came back in a box and ... well ... David lost his mind, lost the laundry and danced in front of everybody!
All of his subjects!
In front of the bureaucrats who actually ran the Kingdom.
All of his soldiers were standing there holding their spears ... comparing their size to his size ... the things that boys do ... raising flags when they can't raise anything else.
But King David didn't care ... he danced.
So an all Dance worship service makes perfect sense to me.
Naked would be better but people can be so ... conservative ... Puritan ... Republican ... Democrat ... whatev?
I suggested this yet again at Bar Church. And yesterday I led the pack and danced in Bar Church. People clapped. Some said, "Praise Jesus!" Others were slain in the Spirit and passed out. A few fixed another cocktail.
But I danced with clothes on.
Dedra was my dance partner. She kept saying, "Please don't, please don't, please don't" with water in her eyes until ... we danced ... in front of a congregation ... with damn good live music ...
then Davy the drummer did a mosh pit kind of dance with us ...
oh yeah, and the press was there ... filming it all
Probably like King David got filmed by the Jerusalem CBS affiliate ... cause a King loved God and himself at the same time ...
and became ...
just himself ...
in joyful abandonment.
So that is my plan for today.
You?
All dancing ... No Preaching.
It's Biblical.
King David lost the laundry and danced naked when God came back in a box and ... well ... David lost his mind, lost the laundry and danced in front of everybody!
All of his subjects!
In front of the bureaucrats who actually ran the Kingdom.
All of his soldiers were standing there holding their spears ... comparing their size to his size ... the things that boys do ... raising flags when they can't raise anything else.
But King David didn't care ... he danced.
So an all Dance worship service makes perfect sense to me.
Naked would be better but people can be so ... conservative ... Puritan ... Republican ... Democrat ... whatev?
I suggested this yet again at Bar Church. And yesterday I led the pack and danced in Bar Church. People clapped. Some said, "Praise Jesus!" Others were slain in the Spirit and passed out. A few fixed another cocktail.
But I danced with clothes on.
Dedra was my dance partner. She kept saying, "Please don't, please don't, please don't" with water in her eyes until ... we danced ... in front of a congregation ... with damn good live music ...
then Davy the drummer did a mosh pit kind of dance with us ...
oh yeah, and the press was there ... filming it all
Probably like King David got filmed by the Jerusalem CBS affiliate ... cause a King loved God and himself at the same time ...
and became ...
just himself ...
in joyful abandonment.
So that is my plan for today.
You?
Friday, August 19, 2011
Happy Friday
It is Friday.
Thank God!
I'm taking the day off.
The world can get along without me for a few days.
Though I do have some minutes to approve, emails to answer, and I have to make some plane reservations.
Hmmm ... I'm taking most of the day off. But definitely the entire weekend.
There are two problems.
First the Samuel Adams Band has decided to take Friday off too and that messes up my Friday night routine, when a collection of my carnival of friends usually gathers at Bernie's to listen to them. Essie orders tater tots and a musical feast is born.
But that is not is not going to happen tonight.
This morning at the Breakfast Club I asked everybody what we're doing tonight. Johnny O said we need the night off to get ready for tomorrow night. Car Queer felt Johnny O up with a smile. Dedra was oblivious to everything going on around her. Ryan sat next to me and asked, "Did he just feel Johnny O up?" Philip grew another foot and kept bumping his head. Denise was explaining how a car full of four people can get lost driving to the Doctor's office. Justin and I gave each other a "High Four!"
Dave and Sandi arrived so that he play with his bosom buddies.
Whitley jumped on his drunken bicycle and went to ... Doc's.
It was a typical morning at the Breakfast Club to start this Friday but none of us have a clue as to how it will end.
Then problem number two is my dear friend Chuck Courtenay.
He is playing at the Tybee nursing home at 2:00. It's an amazing thing to witness. Chuck is a famous musician who plays rock-n-roll and ... ministers to people in nursing homes. Several months ago, Roma, Johnny O, Whitley, Esther and I went to watch him bring the dead back to life. People jumped out of wheelchairs and deathbeds to ... dance.
I danced with them ... and felt like Lazarus.
Roma danced too ... and looked stupid. But we had a good time.
So how can I miss that?
Then the tides are going to be low about the time Goddess demands a walk ... and Lady of the House gets whatever she wants ... so the choirs of mussels will be singing so we'll stop and listen to that ... then Shirley is sick and an entire tri-county area has grounded to stop because of it so I took her a can of SPAM to feel better ... so I need to check on her cause she spent all of that time checking on me ... and Cheryl's knee looks bad cause she hasn't mastered stairs yet and that's always fun to watch ...plus the coconut bra on my Palm Tree needs tightening.
I can't take today off.
There is too much to do.
Tomorrow I am definitely taking off.
I just have to get some rest before next weekend.
The famous Dr. Jim Withers is coming to be our house guest. The man is insane. I have to get ready.
OK.
Everybody have a good weekend.
Whew ... I'm already tired.
Thank God!
I'm taking the day off.
The world can get along without me for a few days.
Though I do have some minutes to approve, emails to answer, and I have to make some plane reservations.
Hmmm ... I'm taking most of the day off. But definitely the entire weekend.
There are two problems.
First the Samuel Adams Band has decided to take Friday off too and that messes up my Friday night routine, when a collection of my carnival of friends usually gathers at Bernie's to listen to them. Essie orders tater tots and a musical feast is born.
But that is not is not going to happen tonight.
This morning at the Breakfast Club I asked everybody what we're doing tonight. Johnny O said we need the night off to get ready for tomorrow night. Car Queer felt Johnny O up with a smile. Dedra was oblivious to everything going on around her. Ryan sat next to me and asked, "Did he just feel Johnny O up?" Philip grew another foot and kept bumping his head. Denise was explaining how a car full of four people can get lost driving to the Doctor's office. Justin and I gave each other a "High Four!"
Dave and Sandi arrived so that he play with his bosom buddies.
Whitley jumped on his drunken bicycle and went to ... Doc's.
It was a typical morning at the Breakfast Club to start this Friday but none of us have a clue as to how it will end.
Then problem number two is my dear friend Chuck Courtenay.
He is playing at the Tybee nursing home at 2:00. It's an amazing thing to witness. Chuck is a famous musician who plays rock-n-roll and ... ministers to people in nursing homes. Several months ago, Roma, Johnny O, Whitley, Esther and I went to watch him bring the dead back to life. People jumped out of wheelchairs and deathbeds to ... dance.
I danced with them ... and felt like Lazarus.
Roma danced too ... and looked stupid. But we had a good time.
So how can I miss that?
Then the tides are going to be low about the time Goddess demands a walk ... and Lady of the House gets whatever she wants ... so the choirs of mussels will be singing so we'll stop and listen to that ... then Shirley is sick and an entire tri-county area has grounded to stop because of it so I took her a can of SPAM to feel better ... so I need to check on her cause she spent all of that time checking on me ... and Cheryl's knee looks bad cause she hasn't mastered stairs yet and that's always fun to watch ...plus the coconut bra on my Palm Tree needs tightening.
I can't take today off.
There is too much to do.
Tomorrow I am definitely taking off.
I just have to get some rest before next weekend.
The famous Dr. Jim Withers is coming to be our house guest. The man is insane. I have to get ready.
OK.
Everybody have a good weekend.
Whew ... I'm already tired.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Ear Fights (Shitty Days)
It ended up being the craziest of days, full of incredible highs that led to emotional crashes that were as unexpected as they were unwanted.
"How did happen?" I kept asking myself.
But it did though I still can't find any rational reasons. Sometimes life is like that ... there are no rational reasons, Dr. Spock is back on Vulcan and he took logic with him.
"Beam me up Scotty! It's nuttier than hell down here! Get me out now cause I'm really sure how I got here in the first place."
It started with my neighbors I guess. One collects feral cats a living and walks outside throughout the day screeching, "Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!" ... again and again and again ... it helps me to appreciate and understand ... violence.
Then my neighbors on the other side decided that now is a good time to replace the singles on their roof. In and of itself that's fine, but the problem was Rebekah and I were on the beloved back deck (a.k.a. Corporate Headquarters) having a conference call with people scattered throughout the world on my cell phone because ... I live on an island and the only place I have reception is on the back deck.
So Rebekah and I are having ear fights to see who can hear. I'm running the meeting. She's taking minutes. We're both doing our best to hear what is being said.
Of course this is complicated because of the "BAM, BAM, BAM" of the nail guns and the "Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!" of a grown woman in cat fur laden bathroom with toilet paper in her hair. Then the generator from the nail gun kicks in and then Rebekah would get her ear laying the tiny little speaker of my cell phone and rapidly take minutes. Then my ear would throw her ear off and I would bark "Next agenda item".
Rebekah is from the mountains of North Georgia and I'm sure wrestled pigs or something growing up so she's got her "pig ears" throwing mine off again. This lasted for three hours.
Did I mention it was hot?
I don't have a dress code in corporate headquarters so Rebekah is wearing a bikini and I have on black running shorts and nothing else. Our ears are sweaty making it more difficult to maneuver for hearing ... and the bitch is strong.
Anyway ... we eventually make it through the meeting and everything that I wanted ... I got ... so I'm jumping up high fiving myself ... cause I kicked Rebekah's sweaty pig eared self out of the office (a.k.a. the beloved back deck) as soon as the meeting was over.
Then there were the after calls. Every single Board member had to have a private conversation with me after we had all just had sweaty public conversation with each other. (I have a vague recollection that Scotty beamed Dedra in for second while this was happening but then he beamed her right out.)
Then it got dark. And days can go to shit in the dark. And it did.
I am a big believer in angels and second chances. "The movement you need is on your shoulder," Paul McCartney told Julian Lennon.
I'm back on the back deck this morning. Over my left shoulder, in a deep blue sky is a three-quarter moon. To my right, blazing through a Palm Tree with an oyster face, coconut bra, and grass skirt is the sun.
"It's all OK," I tell myself. "I know what I love."
Then this frigging generator kicks in ... and a "BAM, BAM, BAM" of a nail gun starts blasting ... then this bitch in a dirty robe walks on her deck screeching "Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!" Then a lawn mower cracks from my other neighbor.
And I have embraced violence.
(I'll be really happy when eight more days is over and I have time off for the things that I love most.)
In the meantime ... REBEKAH! Bring it on!
"How did happen?" I kept asking myself.
But it did though I still can't find any rational reasons. Sometimes life is like that ... there are no rational reasons, Dr. Spock is back on Vulcan and he took logic with him.
"Beam me up Scotty! It's nuttier than hell down here! Get me out now cause I'm really sure how I got here in the first place."
It started with my neighbors I guess. One collects feral cats a living and walks outside throughout the day screeching, "Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!" ... again and again and again ... it helps me to appreciate and understand ... violence.
Then my neighbors on the other side decided that now is a good time to replace the singles on their roof. In and of itself that's fine, but the problem was Rebekah and I were on the beloved back deck (a.k.a. Corporate Headquarters) having a conference call with people scattered throughout the world on my cell phone because ... I live on an island and the only place I have reception is on the back deck.
So Rebekah and I are having ear fights to see who can hear. I'm running the meeting. She's taking minutes. We're both doing our best to hear what is being said.
Of course this is complicated because of the "BAM, BAM, BAM" of the nail guns and the "Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!" of a grown woman in cat fur laden bathroom with toilet paper in her hair. Then the generator from the nail gun kicks in and then Rebekah would get her ear laying the tiny little speaker of my cell phone and rapidly take minutes. Then my ear would throw her ear off and I would bark "Next agenda item".
Rebekah is from the mountains of North Georgia and I'm sure wrestled pigs or something growing up so she's got her "pig ears" throwing mine off again. This lasted for three hours.
Did I mention it was hot?
I don't have a dress code in corporate headquarters so Rebekah is wearing a bikini and I have on black running shorts and nothing else. Our ears are sweaty making it more difficult to maneuver for hearing ... and the bitch is strong.
Anyway ... we eventually make it through the meeting and everything that I wanted ... I got ... so I'm jumping up high fiving myself ... cause I kicked Rebekah's sweaty pig eared self out of the office (a.k.a. the beloved back deck) as soon as the meeting was over.
Then there were the after calls. Every single Board member had to have a private conversation with me after we had all just had sweaty public conversation with each other. (I have a vague recollection that Scotty beamed Dedra in for second while this was happening but then he beamed her right out.)
Then it got dark. And days can go to shit in the dark. And it did.
I am a big believer in angels and second chances. "The movement you need is on your shoulder," Paul McCartney told Julian Lennon.
I'm back on the back deck this morning. Over my left shoulder, in a deep blue sky is a three-quarter moon. To my right, blazing through a Palm Tree with an oyster face, coconut bra, and grass skirt is the sun.
"It's all OK," I tell myself. "I know what I love."
Then this frigging generator kicks in ... and a "BAM, BAM, BAM" of a nail gun starts blasting ... then this bitch in a dirty robe walks on her deck screeching "Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!" Then a lawn mower cracks from my other neighbor.
And I have embraced violence.
(I'll be really happy when eight more days is over and I have time off for the things that I love most.)
In the meantime ... REBEKAH! Bring it on!
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Disaster Relief
I have a Board meeting today.
The last one was in Chicago and I sat at a conference room table, with Rebekah sitting beside me as she has for more than a decade taking notes, surrounded by Board members, conducting business.
Today I'll be sitting in Corporate Headquarters on the beloved back deck under the red, yellow, green, brown umbrella, overlooked by Fran's thousand shades of green, picking the dead Hibiscus blooms off the trees so new ones will sprout and giggling at the Palm Tree in our Backyard that has a smiling face on it made of oyster shells, a coconut bra and grass skirt. I'll likely stare at the rock one of my friends placed in the garden with the word "Imagine" inscribed on it.
This is my first totally virtual Board meeting. The members are scattered everywhere ... Copenhagen, Chicago, Houston, Pittsburgh ... so we'll conference call it ... Skype if necessary ... all of us sitting in front of a computer screen communicating in real time ... emailing and instant messaging back and forth as we meet.
On Monday I emailed a 39 page attachment for everyone to review in advance providing financial statements, cash flow projects, fund development strategies, marketing plans, a web page and Face Book design, and the draft agenda for an International Symposium that will be in Philadelphia in October.
Today I will add to that ... there is conflict with one of the partners ... I've been invited to be one of twelve who will meet in Denver in September to offer policy initiatives to Congress on how government can better respond to natural disasters because I have overseen the evacuation of hundreds of homeless people from Savannah during a hurricane ... TWICE!
Then I bitched myself into a meeting with Philip Manango, who was President Bush's "Homeless Czar" in Washington D.C. (Thank you Jack Kingston for your help in arranging this!)
It was OK. Philip wears nice suits.
A couple of years later when another Hurricane obliterated the 9th ward of New Orleans he called me. "Hey Mike," he said in the nice sweet drippy voice of a politician who wants something, "so I guess you've seen the news. Katrina was bad."
"Yep," I say as I make my way through the Boston airport working on funding for Union Mission back home.
"So you've overseen homeless evacuations," he said, "I'm calling around talking to people who have been through it like you have. Any advice?"
I thought for a minute, standing still in front of a Legal's Seafood as people rushed by me.
"Well," I said, "wherever you send them, make sure they have drugs. They'll be there for a long time and a 3 day supply won't cut it. Then they'll go nuts and it'll get ugly."
"Oh wow," he said excitedly, "I hadn't thought of that. Thanks Mike!" and he hung up on me.
So I get to go tell that story now. Plus my answer to how to make the government response to natural disasters better ... drop the President, Speaker of the House, and Mitch McConnell's asses in the middle of whatever is going on ... then mobilize the military, FEMA and the Post Office to go get them and bring back whoever you find along the way!
I wish this wasn't a virtual Board meeting.
I really want to see their faces when they this.
The last one was in Chicago and I sat at a conference room table, with Rebekah sitting beside me as she has for more than a decade taking notes, surrounded by Board members, conducting business.
Today I'll be sitting in Corporate Headquarters on the beloved back deck under the red, yellow, green, brown umbrella, overlooked by Fran's thousand shades of green, picking the dead Hibiscus blooms off the trees so new ones will sprout and giggling at the Palm Tree in our Backyard that has a smiling face on it made of oyster shells, a coconut bra and grass skirt. I'll likely stare at the rock one of my friends placed in the garden with the word "Imagine" inscribed on it.
This is my first totally virtual Board meeting. The members are scattered everywhere ... Copenhagen, Chicago, Houston, Pittsburgh ... so we'll conference call it ... Skype if necessary ... all of us sitting in front of a computer screen communicating in real time ... emailing and instant messaging back and forth as we meet.
On Monday I emailed a 39 page attachment for everyone to review in advance providing financial statements, cash flow projects, fund development strategies, marketing plans, a web page and Face Book design, and the draft agenda for an International Symposium that will be in Philadelphia in October.
Today I will add to that ... there is conflict with one of the partners ... I've been invited to be one of twelve who will meet in Denver in September to offer policy initiatives to Congress on how government can better respond to natural disasters because I have overseen the evacuation of hundreds of homeless people from Savannah during a hurricane ... TWICE!
Then I bitched myself into a meeting with Philip Manango, who was President Bush's "Homeless Czar" in Washington D.C. (Thank you Jack Kingston for your help in arranging this!)
It was OK. Philip wears nice suits.
A couple of years later when another Hurricane obliterated the 9th ward of New Orleans he called me. "Hey Mike," he said in the nice sweet drippy voice of a politician who wants something, "so I guess you've seen the news. Katrina was bad."
"Yep," I say as I make my way through the Boston airport working on funding for Union Mission back home.
"So you've overseen homeless evacuations," he said, "I'm calling around talking to people who have been through it like you have. Any advice?"
I thought for a minute, standing still in front of a Legal's Seafood as people rushed by me.
"Well," I said, "wherever you send them, make sure they have drugs. They'll be there for a long time and a 3 day supply won't cut it. Then they'll go nuts and it'll get ugly."
"Oh wow," he said excitedly, "I hadn't thought of that. Thanks Mike!" and he hung up on me.
So I get to go tell that story now. Plus my answer to how to make the government response to natural disasters better ... drop the President, Speaker of the House, and Mitch McConnell's asses in the middle of whatever is going on ... then mobilize the military, FEMA and the Post Office to go get them and bring back whoever you find along the way!
I wish this wasn't a virtual Board meeting.
I really want to see their faces when they this.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
College Again
Jeremy my son started work on his Ph.D. at the University of Georgia yesterday returning to his Alma Marta, this time living in his own apartment four hours away from his wife Marie. She is a Professor at Valdosta Stat. Back from Italy, my daughter Chelsea just began her last semester before graduating from Georgia. Her fiance Sam is an hour away at Georgia Tech. Even my daughter Kristen who not been to school in a decade started nursing classes at Savannah Tech.
I have the sudden urge to matriculate.
I loved college. I loved Seminary.
On the other hand, they did not love me so much ... institutionally speaking. I mean I got to know the Deans really well at both institutions ... that's because I was forever sitting in their offices for some infraction of academic standards. Most of it was silly. Once I threw a Greek textbook out of second story window when Professor Olmanson told me that I could find the answer in the book because he didn't have time to answer it. The book sailed under Guy Sayles nose and he called on the name of Lord which got him an "A" in the freaking class ... again!
But ... that was a long time ago. And I'm not going back to school ... aside from this life school stuff ... and the good friends that I had in college and in Seminary have all come back into my life ... and I didn't have to pay anything for it.
So Father Guido Sarducci come to mind.
He argues for the "5 Minute University" because five years after you graduate these are the things the average college graduate remembers from school. It only cost $20 for 5 minutes.
Economics is supply and demand
Spanish is boiled down to hola and adios
Business is ... you buy something and you sell it for more.
In Theology class you have to learn the answer to the question "Where is God?" The answer is "Everywhere." If you ask "Why?" The answer is "Because he likes you."
Then he takes a Polaroid snapshot, gives you your diploma and asks if you another minute to attend Law School.
There is a lot of truth in what he says. Again in Seminary I paid thousands of dollars to learn the word "Anthropomorphic" which basically means attributing human characteristics to God. So God is an old white man in the sky with a beard ... or a woman who loves her children ... or Che Guevara.
I work the word into every possible conversation that I can because ... well ... dammit I paid a lot of money to learn that word and it's the only thing that I remember from that class!
Anyway ... in a few short weeks I'll be joining my college children with my friends and my best friend on the campus ... for football games ... which is really what college is about.
Which reminds me of one of my favorite college stories ... and it is not mine ... but belongs to a friend ... years ago the annual Georgia/Florida game was called the "World's Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party" because you could carry your liquor into the stadium ... then some Professors and administrators thought this to be a bad idea and banned alcohol from the game. They employed security to enforce the rule and even pat you down which is still the case.
So my friend Gay, a college graduate from the University of Georgia, was outraged at this flagrant breaking of college tradition. So she bought a wheelchair. Sitting in it ... she put bottles of booze between her legs ... then she got a plaid blanket and covered herself ... and rolled right by security.
I love college.
Hey Kids! Do me proud!
I have the sudden urge to matriculate.
I loved college. I loved Seminary.
On the other hand, they did not love me so much ... institutionally speaking. I mean I got to know the Deans really well at both institutions ... that's because I was forever sitting in their offices for some infraction of academic standards. Most of it was silly. Once I threw a Greek textbook out of second story window when Professor Olmanson told me that I could find the answer in the book because he didn't have time to answer it. The book sailed under Guy Sayles nose and he called on the name of Lord which got him an "A" in the freaking class ... again!
But ... that was a long time ago. And I'm not going back to school ... aside from this life school stuff ... and the good friends that I had in college and in Seminary have all come back into my life ... and I didn't have to pay anything for it.
So Father Guido Sarducci come to mind.
He argues for the "5 Minute University" because five years after you graduate these are the things the average college graduate remembers from school. It only cost $20 for 5 minutes.
Economics is supply and demand
Spanish is boiled down to hola and adios
Business is ... you buy something and you sell it for more.
In Theology class you have to learn the answer to the question "Where is God?" The answer is "Everywhere." If you ask "Why?" The answer is "Because he likes you."
Then he takes a Polaroid snapshot, gives you your diploma and asks if you another minute to attend Law School.
There is a lot of truth in what he says. Again in Seminary I paid thousands of dollars to learn the word "Anthropomorphic" which basically means attributing human characteristics to God. So God is an old white man in the sky with a beard ... or a woman who loves her children ... or Che Guevara.
I work the word into every possible conversation that I can because ... well ... dammit I paid a lot of money to learn that word and it's the only thing that I remember from that class!
Anyway ... in a few short weeks I'll be joining my college children with my friends and my best friend on the campus ... for football games ... which is really what college is about.
Which reminds me of one of my favorite college stories ... and it is not mine ... but belongs to a friend ... years ago the annual Georgia/Florida game was called the "World's Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party" because you could carry your liquor into the stadium ... then some Professors and administrators thought this to be a bad idea and banned alcohol from the game. They employed security to enforce the rule and even pat you down which is still the case.
So my friend Gay, a college graduate from the University of Georgia, was outraged at this flagrant breaking of college tradition. So she bought a wheelchair. Sitting in it ... she put bottles of booze between her legs ... then she got a plaid blanket and covered herself ... and rolled right by security.
I love college.
Hey Kids! Do me proud!
Monday, August 15, 2011
Imagine that!
The sun blazes over a water glass ocean ... yellow and commanding ... birthing this day ... and the chance to start over.
The full moon refuses to concede the night ... hanging against a deep sky ... suspended over the dark green marsh grass ... the greenish brown water of the tide is high.
Pelicans fly in V formation overhead ... choirs of birds sing ... a cool sea breeze blows from the south in contrast to this 82 degree morning ... flowers bloom everywhere ... a marsh rabbit waits for us to pass.
Goddess and I make our way to the end of the sad little holy dock. Turning around in slow motion several times I can't help but know to my core ... that I am surrounded by beauty.
This is the first Monday in a month that I'm not traveling or getting ready to travel. I've been across the country twice ... from California to Cleveland and from Alaska to San Juan ... doing the work of taking health care to where it normally doesn't go ... understanding that problems are the same everywhere ... and so are the solutions ... just treat others as you want to be treated ... that's really religion has to say about how to live when you boil it down ... it doesn't matter the religion.
This is a busy Monday though. I have lots to do. So early this morning I start ... in corporate headquarters ... which is on the beloved back deck ... there is a Palm Tree in the middle of back yard ... it makes me laugh ... It has oyster shells making eyes, nose and a Mona Lisa smiling face ... the Palm fawns are the hair ... Saterday I added a coconut bra and a grass skirt ... she looks good!
This continues the re-birthing of my life. The backyard had already been transformed into a garden and someone ... I don't know who ... added a rock while I was gone with the word "Imagine" engraved on it ... it sits between the elephant ears ... underneath the sun and stars on the fence.
A notebook full of my scribbled writing in blue ink is spread before me ... the sea breeze blow them around the beloved back deck giving me my morning exercise as I hop up to retrieve them ... then sit back down to work ... taking a month's worth of notes and turning them into a consice report that hopefully makes a compelling argument ... then the sea breeze picks up again ... and I do it all again. My heart rate is up.
On Friday Chatham County government awarded Union Mission a couple of million dollars to cover the last of things that I did there. As they should have. It was silly cost overruns on building buildings that Union Mission has since given away ... which I do not understand ... but I don't work there anymore ... but we were in partnership with the County to improve health care for the people who live here ... and Union Mission had raised it's share ... and the County needed to raise its share ... Government takes so long ... so a two years after I first approached them ... they approved the check (Thank you Herb McKenzie!).
Whew!
I'm glad that's over.
The Monkees ... of all people ... do one of my favorite songs ... (I know ... and it's not Daydream Believer) ... when they got back twenty years after breaking up ... "That was then, this is now".
And that is my life on this sun and moon dance in the sky at the same time morning. One is setting while the other rises. All things must pass, says the major prophet George Harrison.
So that is the conclusion of my contributions to Union Mission ... for now anyway ... who knows? ... I'm busy saving the world ... from corporate headquarters ... on a beloved back deck ... imagine that.
The full moon refuses to concede the night ... hanging against a deep sky ... suspended over the dark green marsh grass ... the greenish brown water of the tide is high.
Pelicans fly in V formation overhead ... choirs of birds sing ... a cool sea breeze blows from the south in contrast to this 82 degree morning ... flowers bloom everywhere ... a marsh rabbit waits for us to pass.
Goddess and I make our way to the end of the sad little holy dock. Turning around in slow motion several times I can't help but know to my core ... that I am surrounded by beauty.
This is the first Monday in a month that I'm not traveling or getting ready to travel. I've been across the country twice ... from California to Cleveland and from Alaska to San Juan ... doing the work of taking health care to where it normally doesn't go ... understanding that problems are the same everywhere ... and so are the solutions ... just treat others as you want to be treated ... that's really religion has to say about how to live when you boil it down ... it doesn't matter the religion.
This is a busy Monday though. I have lots to do. So early this morning I start ... in corporate headquarters ... which is on the beloved back deck ... there is a Palm Tree in the middle of back yard ... it makes me laugh ... It has oyster shells making eyes, nose and a Mona Lisa smiling face ... the Palm fawns are the hair ... Saterday I added a coconut bra and a grass skirt ... she looks good!
This continues the re-birthing of my life. The backyard had already been transformed into a garden and someone ... I don't know who ... added a rock while I was gone with the word "Imagine" engraved on it ... it sits between the elephant ears ... underneath the sun and stars on the fence.
A notebook full of my scribbled writing in blue ink is spread before me ... the sea breeze blow them around the beloved back deck giving me my morning exercise as I hop up to retrieve them ... then sit back down to work ... taking a month's worth of notes and turning them into a consice report that hopefully makes a compelling argument ... then the sea breeze picks up again ... and I do it all again. My heart rate is up.
On Friday Chatham County government awarded Union Mission a couple of million dollars to cover the last of things that I did there. As they should have. It was silly cost overruns on building buildings that Union Mission has since given away ... which I do not understand ... but I don't work there anymore ... but we were in partnership with the County to improve health care for the people who live here ... and Union Mission had raised it's share ... and the County needed to raise its share ... Government takes so long ... so a two years after I first approached them ... they approved the check (Thank you Herb McKenzie!).
Whew!
I'm glad that's over.
The Monkees ... of all people ... do one of my favorite songs ... (I know ... and it's not Daydream Believer) ... when they got back twenty years after breaking up ... "That was then, this is now".
And that is my life on this sun and moon dance in the sky at the same time morning. One is setting while the other rises. All things must pass, says the major prophet George Harrison.
So that is the conclusion of my contributions to Union Mission ... for now anyway ... who knows? ... I'm busy saving the world ... from corporate headquarters ... on a beloved back deck ... imagine that.
Imagine that!
The sun blazes over a water glass ocean ... yellow and commanding ... birthing this day ... and the chance to start over.
The full moon refuses to concede the night ... hanging against a deep sky ... suspended over the dark green marsh grass ... the greenish brown water of the tide is high.
Pelicans fly in V formation overhead ... choirs of birds sing ... a cool sea breeze blows from the south in contrast to this 82 degree morning ... flowers bloom everywhere ... a marsh rabbit waits for us to pass.
Goddess and I make our way to the end of the sad little holy dock. Turning around in slow motion several times I can't help but know to my core ... that I am surrounded by beauty.
This is the first Monday in a month that I'm not traveling or getting ready to travel. I've been across the country twice ... from California to Cleveland and from Alaska to San Juan ... doing the work of taking health care to where it normally doesn't go ... understanding that problems are the same everywhere ... and so are the solutions ... just treat others as you want to be treated ... that's really religion has to say about how to live when you boil it down ... it doesn't matter the religion.
This is a busy Monday though. I have lots to do. So early this morning I start ... in corporate headquarters ... which is on the beloved back deck ... there is a Palm Tree in the middle of back yard ... it makes me laugh ... It has oyster shells making eyes, nose and a Mona Lisa smiling face ... the Palm fawns are the hair ... Saterday I added a coconut bra and a grass skirt ... she looks good!
This continues the re-birthing of my life. The backyard had already been transformed into a garden and someone ... I don't know who ... added a rock while I was gone with the word "Imagine" engraved on it ... it sits between the elephant ears ... underneath the sun and stars on the fence.
A notebook full of my scribbled writing in blue ink is spread before me ... the sea breeze blow them around the beloved back deck giving me my morning exercise as I hop up to retrieve them ... then sit back down to work ... taking a month's worth of notes and turning them into a consice report that hopefully makes a compelling argument ... then the sea breeze picks up again ... and I do it all again. My heart rate is up.
On Friday Chatham County government awarded Union Mission a couple of million dollars to cover the last of things that I did there. As they should have. It was silly cost overruns on building buildings that Union Mission has since given away ... which I do not understand ... but I don't work there anymore ... but we were in partnership with the County to improve health care for the people who live here ... and Union Mission had raised it's share ... and the County needed to raise its share ... Government takes so long ... so a two years after I first approached them ... they approved the check (Thank you Herb McKenzie!).
Whew!
I'm glad that's over.
The Monkees ... of all people ... do one of my favorite songs ... (I know ... and it's not Daydream Believer) ... when they got back twenty years after breaking up ... "That was then, this is now".
And that is my life on this sun and moon dance in the sky at the same time morning. One is setting while the other rises. All things must pass, says the major prophet George Harrison.
So that is the conclusion of my contributions to Union Mission ... for now anyway ... who knows? ... I'm busy saving the world ... from corporate headquarters ... on a beloved back deck ... imagine that.
The full moon refuses to concede the night ... hanging against a deep sky ... suspended over the dark green marsh grass ... the greenish brown water of the tide is high.
Pelicans fly in V formation overhead ... choirs of birds sing ... a cool sea breeze blows from the south in contrast to this 82 degree morning ... flowers bloom everywhere ... a marsh rabbit waits for us to pass.
Goddess and I make our way to the end of the sad little holy dock. Turning around in slow motion several times I can't help but know to my core ... that I am surrounded by beauty.
This is the first Monday in a month that I'm not traveling or getting ready to travel. I've been across the country twice ... from California to Cleveland and from Alaska to San Juan ... doing the work of taking health care to where it normally doesn't go ... understanding that problems are the same everywhere ... and so are the solutions ... just treat others as you want to be treated ... that's really religion has to say about how to live when you boil it down ... it doesn't matter the religion.
This is a busy Monday though. I have lots to do. So early this morning I start ... in corporate headquarters ... which is on the beloved back deck ... there is a Palm Tree in the middle of back yard ... it makes me laugh ... It has oyster shells making eyes, nose and a Mona Lisa smiling face ... the Palm fawns are the hair ... Saterday I added a coconut bra and a grass skirt ... she looks good!
This continues the re-birthing of my life. The backyard had already been transformed into a garden and someone ... I don't know who ... added a rock while I was gone with the word "Imagine" engraved on it ... it sits between the elephant ears ... underneath the sun and stars on the fence.
A notebook full of my scribbled writing in blue ink is spread before me ... the sea breeze blow them around the beloved back deck giving me my morning exercise as I hop up to retrieve them ... then sit back down to work ... taking a month's worth of notes and turning them into a consice report that hopefully makes a compelling argument ... then the sea breeze picks up again ... and I do it all again. My heart rate is up.
On Friday Chatham County government awarded Union Mission a couple of million dollars to cover the last of things that I did there. As they should have. It was silly cost overruns on building buildings that Union Mission has since given away ... which I do not understand ... but I don't work there anymore ... but we were in partnership with the County to improve health care for the people who live here ... and Union Mission had raised it's share ... and the County needed to raise its share ... Government takes so long ... so a two years after I first approached them ... they approved the check (Thank you Herb McKenzie!).
Whew!
I'm glad that's over.
The Monkees ... of all people ... do one of my favorite songs ... (I know ... and it's not Daydream Believer) ... when they got back twenty years after breaking up ... "That was then, this is now".
And that is my life on this sun and moon dance in the sky at the same time morning. One is setting while the other rises. All things must pass, says the major prophet George Harrison.
So that is the conclusion of my contributions to Union Mission ... for now anyway ... who knows? ... I'm busy saving the world ... from corporate headquarters ... on a beloved back deck ... imagine that.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Drunken Jesus Freaks Under the Pier on Tybee Island
"Why is Dedra spending so much time away from home?"
It is a legitimate question. She hasn't been home much at all.
"Because she's spending all of her time with Drunken Jesus freaks under the Pier on Tybee Island," was the answer.
And that's true I suppose.
Every Wednesday at 10:00 under the Pier the Samuel Adams Band sets up and conducts a worship service for anybody who wants to show up. A lot of tourists, including girls wearing bikinis, leave the beach to worship God. Many are regulars at Bar Church, the Sunday morning gathering again hosted by the long haired, surfer looking, most cool dude on the island ... Sam Adams along with Gordon who plays the best harmonica ever and Davy the prankster drummer.
Then the city of Tybee usually sends someone to say that such services are illegal but it is hard to give God a ticket so ... until Shirley who runs Tybee Island and most of a tri-county area decides if God can be ticketed or not ... girls in bikinis and drunken Jesus freaks meet under the Pier and do ... church.
It is a blessed alternative to Steeple Churches ... many of which have gone corporate using multimedia, Happy Jack music (I'm knocked up, hooks on drugs and have a husband who emotionally and physically rapes me every day but Jesus loves so its all OK!) and membership levels on their forever expanding campuses.
Bar Church ... a.k.a. ... drunken Jesus freaks under the Pier ... is as far from that as you can possible get.
"When Jesus went to start the church where did he go? Did he recruit the top scholars of the University of Jerusalem? Did he insist on scholarly expositors who thought they knew how to be relevant? Or did he pick up some fishermen who smelled bad, a couple of ex-prostitutes and a midget named Zacchaeus? Face it --- Jesus had a zoo on his hands. If Jesus wanted people with credentials he would have chosen the Pharisees. Instead, he took the people society said were nothing" (Tony Compolo, Metro-Ministry, p.31.
It's a pretty good description of Bar Church.
And it's pretty damn holy.
Yesterday ... on the Pier ... not under it ... we gathered for the celebration of the life of Trolly Joe.
There were maybe sixty of us. Dedra was there. Sam Adams too. The entire Bored. Of course the family came from four different states.
Wearing my black robe over running shorts and Jimmy Buffett concert tee shirt I officiated. Micky who runs Trolly tours in Savannah spoke. Johnny O spoke. People laughed ... and they cried.
Then the military did the flag presentation to Barbara ... Trolly Joe's wife. They looked good in their olive green uniforms, sharply creased, precision salutes and dripping in dignity. One solemnly lifted his trumpet and and prayerfully played "Taps".
The entire beach stopped. Old black men stood and saluted. Old women grabbed handkerchiefs and wiped tears away. Younger men stood at attention. Girls in bikinis stood still with their hands over their chests. Children stopped boogie boarding and looked in wonderment.
And the Kingdom came on earth as it is in heaven.
Then we took Trolly Joe's ashes into the surf. And we gave him to the ocean which he loved so dearly ... and which so dearly loved him.
As we made our way back to the beach ... a dolphin danced on the water ... welcoming Trolly Joe home.
Many of us drunken Jesus freaks who meet under the Pier laughed ... and cried ... and clapped and hugged one another.
Then we went to Fannies-On-the-Beach and toasted the heavens ... and the gift of Trolly Joe in our lives.
And when church was over ... we went home ... or stayed in the bars ... or back to work ... to the beach ... boat ... or made the run to Wall Mart.
But holiness clung to us like dew on the grass in the mornings.
It is a legitimate question. She hasn't been home much at all.
"Because she's spending all of her time with Drunken Jesus freaks under the Pier on Tybee Island," was the answer.
And that's true I suppose.
Every Wednesday at 10:00 under the Pier the Samuel Adams Band sets up and conducts a worship service for anybody who wants to show up. A lot of tourists, including girls wearing bikinis, leave the beach to worship God. Many are regulars at Bar Church, the Sunday morning gathering again hosted by the long haired, surfer looking, most cool dude on the island ... Sam Adams along with Gordon who plays the best harmonica ever and Davy the prankster drummer.
Then the city of Tybee usually sends someone to say that such services are illegal but it is hard to give God a ticket so ... until Shirley who runs Tybee Island and most of a tri-county area decides if God can be ticketed or not ... girls in bikinis and drunken Jesus freaks meet under the Pier and do ... church.
It is a blessed alternative to Steeple Churches ... many of which have gone corporate using multimedia, Happy Jack music (I'm knocked up, hooks on drugs and have a husband who emotionally and physically rapes me every day but Jesus loves so its all OK!) and membership levels on their forever expanding campuses.
Bar Church ... a.k.a. ... drunken Jesus freaks under the Pier ... is as far from that as you can possible get.
"When Jesus went to start the church where did he go? Did he recruit the top scholars of the University of Jerusalem? Did he insist on scholarly expositors who thought they knew how to be relevant? Or did he pick up some fishermen who smelled bad, a couple of ex-prostitutes and a midget named Zacchaeus? Face it --- Jesus had a zoo on his hands. If Jesus wanted people with credentials he would have chosen the Pharisees. Instead, he took the people society said were nothing" (Tony Compolo, Metro-Ministry, p.31.
It's a pretty good description of Bar Church.
And it's pretty damn holy.
Yesterday ... on the Pier ... not under it ... we gathered for the celebration of the life of Trolly Joe.
There were maybe sixty of us. Dedra was there. Sam Adams too. The entire Bored. Of course the family came from four different states.
Wearing my black robe over running shorts and Jimmy Buffett concert tee shirt I officiated. Micky who runs Trolly tours in Savannah spoke. Johnny O spoke. People laughed ... and they cried.
Then the military did the flag presentation to Barbara ... Trolly Joe's wife. They looked good in their olive green uniforms, sharply creased, precision salutes and dripping in dignity. One solemnly lifted his trumpet and and prayerfully played "Taps".
The entire beach stopped. Old black men stood and saluted. Old women grabbed handkerchiefs and wiped tears away. Younger men stood at attention. Girls in bikinis stood still with their hands over their chests. Children stopped boogie boarding and looked in wonderment.
And the Kingdom came on earth as it is in heaven.
Then we took Trolly Joe's ashes into the surf. And we gave him to the ocean which he loved so dearly ... and which so dearly loved him.
As we made our way back to the beach ... a dolphin danced on the water ... welcoming Trolly Joe home.
Many of us drunken Jesus freaks who meet under the Pier laughed ... and cried ... and clapped and hugged one another.
Then we went to Fannies-On-the-Beach and toasted the heavens ... and the gift of Trolly Joe in our lives.
And when church was over ... we went home ... or stayed in the bars ... or back to work ... to the beach ... boat ... or made the run to Wall Mart.
But holiness clung to us like dew on the grass in the mornings.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
My Mother the Wanna Be Gang Member
While I was in Puerto Rico my Mother broke into my house viciously attacking it with a mob, Windex, a washing machine and a hose. She also stole money from my secret stash treating herself to fabulous dinners with wine. She also kidnapped Goddess and gave her a bath.
THEN!!!! She has the audacity to tell me when I called her inquiring about the above mentioned offenses that Goddess is now to have a bath once a week, I shouldn't leave money just laying around, I should introduce myself to the washing machine, mob and Windex.
Can you believe this woman?
Yeah, yeah, yeah ... I know ... she's your Mother! You should listen to her.
Well my Mother will be the first to tell you that I have a long outstanding history of not listening to her. I have spent one entire decade of my life being grounded because this but then I finally escaped my household prison (with outside assistance from Gene Prevatt) and fled to another part of the state hiding out as a college student.
After five successful years as a college student some administrator discovered who I was and immediately kicked me out. (Though I did manage to steal a degree!)
Vowing that I would never be grounded again I needed a better hideout ... so I went to Seminary. The people there were always reading the Bible or preaching to one another so I lasted six years before they found me out. I'll never forget it.
I was blending in with the Chapel crowd (with a cold beer in a Communion Chalice) when the preacher (none other than the famous Bill Berry, winner of the Clyde T. Franciso Preaching Award, though he is not the former drummer for R.E.M.) pounded the pulpit with fiery condemnation.
"You got to reshape your lives! God is confronting you!! Some of you in this room," he bellowed with sweat pouring from his face, "know that you not not saved and spend your lives in dens of iniquity, prostituting yourself for Satan's delight and paving your expressway to hell!"
I thought to myself, "Damn! He's good. How does he know me?"
It was soon afterwards that some administrator discovered who I was and threw me out (this time I copped two degrees and fled the state).
With nowhere else to go, I returned and successfully stole Union Mission keeping it under wraps for 23 years. We hid under the cover of doing lots of good things for lots of people. I thought I was home free until I got a call from a Board Chair who was a pain the ass called me when I was hiding out in St. Martin from all of the good things that we were doing (I needed a vacation) so I no longer hide out with my dear friends the homeless, HIV infected, sick, wounded uninsured, prostituting, drug dealing friends.
Cast adrift with nowhere to hide ... I stayed home. Until people started breaking into my house cause they thought we should hang out together. So suddenly I find myself being part of a gang.
I wish I had discovered gangs earlier! They are lots of fun! Now I get in trouble with them and group activities are always the best.
NOW ... I figure my Mother is trying into the gang ... hence all of the violent assaults on my house, dog and general lifestyle.
But Mother dear ... I was reviewing all of the things you did to my house and ... you missed a spot.
You're not in yet.
THEN!!!! She has the audacity to tell me when I called her inquiring about the above mentioned offenses that Goddess is now to have a bath once a week, I shouldn't leave money just laying around, I should introduce myself to the washing machine, mob and Windex.
Can you believe this woman?
Yeah, yeah, yeah ... I know ... she's your Mother! You should listen to her.
Well my Mother will be the first to tell you that I have a long outstanding history of not listening to her. I have spent one entire decade of my life being grounded because this but then I finally escaped my household prison (with outside assistance from Gene Prevatt) and fled to another part of the state hiding out as a college student.
After five successful years as a college student some administrator discovered who I was and immediately kicked me out. (Though I did manage to steal a degree!)
Vowing that I would never be grounded again I needed a better hideout ... so I went to Seminary. The people there were always reading the Bible or preaching to one another so I lasted six years before they found me out. I'll never forget it.
I was blending in with the Chapel crowd (with a cold beer in a Communion Chalice) when the preacher (none other than the famous Bill Berry, winner of the Clyde T. Franciso Preaching Award, though he is not the former drummer for R.E.M.) pounded the pulpit with fiery condemnation.
"You got to reshape your lives! God is confronting you!! Some of you in this room," he bellowed with sweat pouring from his face, "know that you not not saved and spend your lives in dens of iniquity, prostituting yourself for Satan's delight and paving your expressway to hell!"
I thought to myself, "Damn! He's good. How does he know me?"
It was soon afterwards that some administrator discovered who I was and threw me out (this time I copped two degrees and fled the state).
With nowhere else to go, I returned and successfully stole Union Mission keeping it under wraps for 23 years. We hid under the cover of doing lots of good things for lots of people. I thought I was home free until I got a call from a Board Chair who was a pain the ass called me when I was hiding out in St. Martin from all of the good things that we were doing (I needed a vacation) so I no longer hide out with my dear friends the homeless, HIV infected, sick, wounded uninsured, prostituting, drug dealing friends.
Cast adrift with nowhere to hide ... I stayed home. Until people started breaking into my house cause they thought we should hang out together. So suddenly I find myself being part of a gang.
I wish I had discovered gangs earlier! They are lots of fun! Now I get in trouble with them and group activities are always the best.
NOW ... I figure my Mother is trying into the gang ... hence all of the violent assaults on my house, dog and general lifestyle.
But Mother dear ... I was reviewing all of the things you did to my house and ... you missed a spot.
You're not in yet.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Humbled
Sitting in the Courtyard of El Convento, the golden sunlight shimmers through the Palm Streets and bushes that line the marble tiled floors. The busyness of Old San Juan is on the other side of the four walls that rise four stories. Each floor is distinguished by open arches that allow sunshine and ocean breezes through the hallway, and before air conditioning, into the open doors of the rooms where the Nuns stayed before it became a hotel. The rooms are large enough and have floor to ceiling windows opposite the doors to allow the breeze to cool the rooms.
It is late afternoon and I am sitting in a large soft chair with my bare feet propped on a glass coffee table. I am keenly aware of where I am at … and am taken aback by it. This is beautiful! I’m back in the Caribbean which is a place that I love and I am working.
For years I wondered what it would be like to work here. Though I’m only here doing this for a few days, it’s another dream come true I suppose. Just a taste but … well you never know. There is still time in my life to expatriate, chase Hemingway or mimic Buffett. Maybe live in a thatched hut under the coconut trees, beside a white sandy beach and the aqua blue water of a reef protected Bay. Of course I’d need a generator to power the blender and the sound system.
It could happen.
My life has seen a lot happen though I can’t figure out how … or why.
Most were fantastic: work accomplishments that had never been achieved … the satisfaction of helping so many people achieve things they never thought they could achieve … invitations to speak carried me around the world … books I’ve written sit on a shelve and give me pride … inside of them are letters and notes thanking me for things I said … and I live on a beautiful island surrounded by an incredible carnival of friends who spark laughter and joy.
Sure there were other things not so great. I was run over as a kid and my left leg was shattered … my son and I were in a head on collision and somehow survived though the experience stays with me to this day … marriages ended … so did a career … I learned that giving my life trying to do good means there are some who hate me for it and hurt me …burnout and depression arrived.
Sitting in this courtyard I am watching the golden sun shine through the long lead green Palm trees on me. I am bathed in it. So is the space and things around me. It is as though the Kingdom has come on earth as it is in heaven. I am suddenly one with both.
Earlier I was with my friend Chaco, Dr. Jose Vargas Vidot who takes health care to people in Puerto Rico, Haiti and most of Central America. He’d been attacked in the newspapers because while he graduated from medical school he is not a licensed physician. He does manage them though to provide wonderful care to people desperate for it. So another group of physicians attacked him for it ... Health care is a screwed up system.
I was at his press conference where he answered the charges. There were many reporters and a huge crowd for the event ... Doctors, medical students, and the people who benefit from the work. He spoke eloquently and answered every question. At the end of it … he cried.
Then I saw something that I’ve never seen before.
A lady screamed out the name “Chaco” and the hundred or so people there burst into applause, clapping and crying and screaming. Then they all rushed and with him standing crying in the center a hundred people hugged him at once, continuing to scream his name in unison. “Chaco … Chaco … Chaco!” and they cried with him ... in joyful celebration of him.
The press went nuts of course. They jerked their cameras off their stands and angled for shots of this amazing thing. It lasted a long time and I stood there humbled by such an expression of love.
I do believe that love conquers hate … good triumphs evil … in second chances and angels … there is always a way regardless of the obstacles … forgiveness is better than resentment … life is a gift and that the gifts of life come and go … happiness is there to grab hold of but it often means letting go of something else … we can live right up until we die.
Sitting in El Convento bathed in heaven and earth I experience prayer. There are no words. I have survived hate, abandonment, depression, burnout and death … so far. I also love, feel good, have yet another chance, feel angels kiss me and am happy.
I feel all of these things at once. Powerfully! Fully! Completely!
How is it that I am here?
Everything went wrong. Now everything is going right.
Then I know … cause the angels tell me so … because you are where God needs you to be.
I stand and get wine. Communion occurs. I touch my finger to the wine and then the wine to my forehead and heart … still bathed in heaven and earth …
And I humbly cry in joy.
It is late afternoon and I am sitting in a large soft chair with my bare feet propped on a glass coffee table. I am keenly aware of where I am at … and am taken aback by it. This is beautiful! I’m back in the Caribbean which is a place that I love and I am working.
For years I wondered what it would be like to work here. Though I’m only here doing this for a few days, it’s another dream come true I suppose. Just a taste but … well you never know. There is still time in my life to expatriate, chase Hemingway or mimic Buffett. Maybe live in a thatched hut under the coconut trees, beside a white sandy beach and the aqua blue water of a reef protected Bay. Of course I’d need a generator to power the blender and the sound system.
It could happen.
My life has seen a lot happen though I can’t figure out how … or why.
Most were fantastic: work accomplishments that had never been achieved … the satisfaction of helping so many people achieve things they never thought they could achieve … invitations to speak carried me around the world … books I’ve written sit on a shelve and give me pride … inside of them are letters and notes thanking me for things I said … and I live on a beautiful island surrounded by an incredible carnival of friends who spark laughter and joy.
Sure there were other things not so great. I was run over as a kid and my left leg was shattered … my son and I were in a head on collision and somehow survived though the experience stays with me to this day … marriages ended … so did a career … I learned that giving my life trying to do good means there are some who hate me for it and hurt me …burnout and depression arrived.
Sitting in this courtyard I am watching the golden sun shine through the long lead green Palm trees on me. I am bathed in it. So is the space and things around me. It is as though the Kingdom has come on earth as it is in heaven. I am suddenly one with both.
Earlier I was with my friend Chaco, Dr. Jose Vargas Vidot who takes health care to people in Puerto Rico, Haiti and most of Central America. He’d been attacked in the newspapers because while he graduated from medical school he is not a licensed physician. He does manage them though to provide wonderful care to people desperate for it. So another group of physicians attacked him for it ... Health care is a screwed up system.
I was at his press conference where he answered the charges. There were many reporters and a huge crowd for the event ... Doctors, medical students, and the people who benefit from the work. He spoke eloquently and answered every question. At the end of it … he cried.
Then I saw something that I’ve never seen before.
A lady screamed out the name “Chaco” and the hundred or so people there burst into applause, clapping and crying and screaming. Then they all rushed and with him standing crying in the center a hundred people hugged him at once, continuing to scream his name in unison. “Chaco … Chaco … Chaco!” and they cried with him ... in joyful celebration of him.
The press went nuts of course. They jerked their cameras off their stands and angled for shots of this amazing thing. It lasted a long time and I stood there humbled by such an expression of love.
I do believe that love conquers hate … good triumphs evil … in second chances and angels … there is always a way regardless of the obstacles … forgiveness is better than resentment … life is a gift and that the gifts of life come and go … happiness is there to grab hold of but it often means letting go of something else … we can live right up until we die.
Sitting in El Convento bathed in heaven and earth I experience prayer. There are no words. I have survived hate, abandonment, depression, burnout and death … so far. I also love, feel good, have yet another chance, feel angels kiss me and am happy.
I feel all of these things at once. Powerfully! Fully! Completely!
How is it that I am here?
Everything went wrong. Now everything is going right.
Then I know … cause the angels tell me so … because you are where God needs you to be.
I stand and get wine. Communion occurs. I touch my finger to the wine and then the wine to my forehead and heart … still bathed in heaven and earth …
And I humbly cry in joy.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Gifts to share
Sitting in the back seat of the rental car we bounced down the sun baked roads of the Los Monjos neighborhood of San Juan on our way to "Inicative Communitara". My I-phone buzzed and it was Johnny O. I asked him what was up as I bounced because Jim Withers was determined to hit every single pothole he passed and San Juan has many.
"It's bad news," he said in a voice that I rarely hear ... serious and with emotion ... "Trolley Joe died."
"Shit!" I exclaimed staring out of the window at the white concrete Carribean buildings that go on for miles and miles.
"When you coming back?" John continued.
"Friday."
"OK ...," he sighed. "Fuck this! and he hung up"
"Yeah ..." I softely said into the phone holding it against my chin.
Jim was staring at me in the rearview mirror and the man is already a dangerous driver. I told him what had happened and he returned to staring in the direction of where we were headed.
Joe was a member of the Bored ... the daily collection of friends to celebrate life on Tybee Island. For years we have gathered on the Pier, in front of Fannies-On-the-Beach, and increasingly at Marlin Monroes on Sunday afternoons. We pretty much raise drinks to the ocean and make fun of most everything. But ... we're also really good friends who have helped one another get through dark and difficult times.
When I found myself suddenly single a couple of years ago, Joe would put his arm around me and make me take down the sidewalk with him. He'd tell me his story of survival and new love. Then he'd tell me it going to be ok and that he loves me.
This is the same man who actually drove trolly tours in downtown Savannah and when he would see me walking down the sidewalk rushing to a meeting would stop the tour full of people, reach out and shake my hand, then announce over the speaker who I am. He did this repeatedly ... whenever he saw me.
Once he stopped a tour in front of Union Mission to take a picture of the sign in front of my old parking place. The sign was a gift from people who used to work with me and it marked my spot and had my name on it. The leadership put duct tape over name and Joe decided the rest of the world needed to know this ... so he took the picture, posted it on Face Book with the caption ... 'What happens to Has-Beens."
He also read everything I write and would me know what he thought ... often by taking playful issue with things. "You know that it was your Mother who redid your Backyard and you claimed the credit! I can't beleive you!" Then he turn his back to me.
Then he delighted over the last several months as I came back to life and love graced me. On Saturday he strolled up and hugged me and prounounced blessing on the way things are going in my life.
It was all good.
Life is a gift each of us share but none of us asked for. We share with one another if we're lucky. That's the thing though ... you never know how long gifts last. Our own gift of life or how long others are going to share theirs with us. There is just now. So we only have now to celebrate what we have.
So yesterday at the Bored and in Kansas City and in San Juan we all raised glasses to our dear friend Trolly Joe. What a gift. We'll still be celebrating it for a long time to come.
As long as we have gifts to celebrate.
"It's bad news," he said in a voice that I rarely hear ... serious and with emotion ... "Trolley Joe died."
"Shit!" I exclaimed staring out of the window at the white concrete Carribean buildings that go on for miles and miles.
"When you coming back?" John continued.
"Friday."
"OK ...," he sighed. "Fuck this! and he hung up"
"Yeah ..." I softely said into the phone holding it against my chin.
Jim was staring at me in the rearview mirror and the man is already a dangerous driver. I told him what had happened and he returned to staring in the direction of where we were headed.
Joe was a member of the Bored ... the daily collection of friends to celebrate life on Tybee Island. For years we have gathered on the Pier, in front of Fannies-On-the-Beach, and increasingly at Marlin Monroes on Sunday afternoons. We pretty much raise drinks to the ocean and make fun of most everything. But ... we're also really good friends who have helped one another get through dark and difficult times.
When I found myself suddenly single a couple of years ago, Joe would put his arm around me and make me take down the sidewalk with him. He'd tell me his story of survival and new love. Then he'd tell me it going to be ok and that he loves me.
This is the same man who actually drove trolly tours in downtown Savannah and when he would see me walking down the sidewalk rushing to a meeting would stop the tour full of people, reach out and shake my hand, then announce over the speaker who I am. He did this repeatedly ... whenever he saw me.
Once he stopped a tour in front of Union Mission to take a picture of the sign in front of my old parking place. The sign was a gift from people who used to work with me and it marked my spot and had my name on it. The leadership put duct tape over name and Joe decided the rest of the world needed to know this ... so he took the picture, posted it on Face Book with the caption ... 'What happens to Has-Beens."
He also read everything I write and would me know what he thought ... often by taking playful issue with things. "You know that it was your Mother who redid your Backyard and you claimed the credit! I can't beleive you!" Then he turn his back to me.
Then he delighted over the last several months as I came back to life and love graced me. On Saturday he strolled up and hugged me and prounounced blessing on the way things are going in my life.
It was all good.
Life is a gift each of us share but none of us asked for. We share with one another if we're lucky. That's the thing though ... you never know how long gifts last. Our own gift of life or how long others are going to share theirs with us. There is just now. So we only have now to celebrate what we have.
So yesterday at the Bored and in Kansas City and in San Juan we all raised glasses to our dear friend Trolly Joe. What a gift. We'll still be celebrating it for a long time to come.
As long as we have gifts to celebrate.
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