The sun winks at me from the Palm tree with the oyster eyes, Mona Lisa smile, coconut bra and grass skirt. Goddess is lying under my feet. Fran's thousand shades are radiant with splendor. A bird belts a solo backed by a choir of cicadas. The sky is a brilliant blue, the marsh grass stands tall above the high tide and the ocean is peaceful and calm. The house is festive and filled with joy and love.
All is right with the world.
From the moment my plane landed and the sweet humidity of coastal Georgia kissed my skin. Walking down the hall out of the airport my heart was filled with delight. The cold and damp of Minneapolis/St. Paul is just another story to tell. As soon as we hit the island we were summoned by the carnival of friends who gather daily in front of Fannie's On-The-Beach for the daily celebration of life on this clump of sand.
I crawled into Roma's baby chair with her ... the woman once dated George Washington knocking his teeth out ... she's old!
"Get off my arm," she screeches.
I adjust and ask "So you okay?"
"I am now," she firmly explains. "I can see except peripherally. Straight ahead is fine but I'm good cause I can't see you at all."
"Oh," I say, "you're a peripheral visionary. You can see the future but just way off to the side?"
"Get out of my chair," she commands.
So I sit with Johnny O and Judy, O Johnny and the other Judy, an extremely hot thing in a black dress and Al. Everybody's having fun, laughing and toasting and loving the hell out of the fact that we are all together again.
"When's Cheryl getting back?" Judy asks.
The rest of us shrug our shoulders. Cheryl lost her mind and went to Chicago for like three months.
"Well," Judy says ,"whenever she does get back ... it's a party with chocolate martinis."
We all agree.
Then this little girl wearing a bathing suit and riding her bicycle comes to a halt beside me. She has freckles and long brown hair. Staring intently at me she smiles and says hello.
I recognize her from Bar Church ... the celebration of God, life and survival of Saturday nights ... the place that smokers and flip flops are welcome ... where pirates worship and wenches sing hymns.
"Can you show me a trick?" I ask her.
She grins and takes off on her bike. Half a block away she hits the brakes and skids around facing me. She did it perfectly!
Then it was time for home and the Goddess and the pure and holy love that fills me with dreams ... where I imagine the future ... and forget the losses and the settling ...
I sit here now in the dawn of the day and the little girl has filled my head with little girls ... and the sun rises above the Palm Tree with the oyster eyes, Mona Lisa smile, coconut bra and grass skirt. It warms my bare skin. The celebration of home has begun. Today there will be songs, food on the grill the pure joys of what Sunday's should be.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Believing in Excess
I'm in the air again.
Some would say that I've always been in the air ... tossed about ... thrown aside ... kicking my heels ... not staying grounded ... floating away ... soaring ... crashing... diving … rising again …
In the Minneapolis/St. Paul Crowne Plaza lobby sitting on a couch with my friend Steve, a psychiatrist from New Mexico, he looks at me as with a concerned face … full of compassion that only a psychiatrist has perfected to display in his 50 minute hours …
“How are you?” he asked.
“Good,” I answer as I slap his knee.
Psychiatrist are not used to being touched so he stiffens but keeps his deeply perfected compassionate stare on me … eyes locked … full of empathy …
He makes me laugh so I do.
“Can I tell you something?” he says leaning forward.
“Sure.”
“We’ve been worried about you.”
“It’s good to have people who worry about you,” I say. “I’ve learned that.”
He sits back and rubs his chin, never taking his eyes off of mine, and looks even more compassionate than he did a few seconds ago. Steve is damn good.
He leans forward, remaining silent, intense compassionate gaze coming my way. I stop and stare back. Then I lean forward so that our foreheads are almost touching.
“Hey Steve,” I say in my deep voice, “I’m good. It’s been a crazy rough time. But I’m having fun. Work is good. Love is great.”
Sitting back, he contemplates what I’ve told him.
I wish I could do this. I can’t. My mind works quickly and for a Southern boy my words come fast. My dear friend Terry Ball has this gift and I’ve always admired the hell out of it. Someone asks him a question and he leans back considering it … tasting it … mulling it over … so that you want to reach your arm down his throat and rip the answer out. By the time he speaks you feel that you’ve just had an orgasm.
As a social worker I know what to do. Steve leaned back so I lean back. I mirror his actions. We stare at one another.
He starts laughing.
I start laughing.
We both stop in the same instant and lean forward again, foreheads almost touching, staring intensely at each other.
“Good,” he finally says.
I touch his knee again. He stays focused. I lean back and put my feet on the coffee table.
“Yeah,” I say. It’s been a while since good.”
He waits for what seems like three hours before responding.
“You seemed to really be enjoying yourself last night ... to the point of excess … we were worried.”
“Oh!” I say out … laughing, “Well I believe in excess. I don’t believe in restraint. It is good to be here. I have enjoyed it. You will not make me feel guilty.”
Steve sits back again and contemplates this. So I sit back again contemplating Steve contemplating me.
He leans forward and laughs.
“Good,” he says.
And it is.
Some would say that I've always been in the air ... tossed about ... thrown aside ... kicking my heels ... not staying grounded ... floating away ... soaring ... crashing... diving … rising again …
In the Minneapolis/St. Paul Crowne Plaza lobby sitting on a couch with my friend Steve, a psychiatrist from New Mexico, he looks at me as with a concerned face … full of compassion that only a psychiatrist has perfected to display in his 50 minute hours …
“How are you?” he asked.
“Good,” I answer as I slap his knee.
Psychiatrist are not used to being touched so he stiffens but keeps his deeply perfected compassionate stare on me … eyes locked … full of empathy …
He makes me laugh so I do.
“Can I tell you something?” he says leaning forward.
“Sure.”
“We’ve been worried about you.”
“It’s good to have people who worry about you,” I say. “I’ve learned that.”
He sits back and rubs his chin, never taking his eyes off of mine, and looks even more compassionate than he did a few seconds ago. Steve is damn good.
He leans forward, remaining silent, intense compassionate gaze coming my way. I stop and stare back. Then I lean forward so that our foreheads are almost touching.
“Hey Steve,” I say in my deep voice, “I’m good. It’s been a crazy rough time. But I’m having fun. Work is good. Love is great.”
Sitting back, he contemplates what I’ve told him.
I wish I could do this. I can’t. My mind works quickly and for a Southern boy my words come fast. My dear friend Terry Ball has this gift and I’ve always admired the hell out of it. Someone asks him a question and he leans back considering it … tasting it … mulling it over … so that you want to reach your arm down his throat and rip the answer out. By the time he speaks you feel that you’ve just had an orgasm.
As a social worker I know what to do. Steve leaned back so I lean back. I mirror his actions. We stare at one another.
He starts laughing.
I start laughing.
We both stop in the same instant and lean forward again, foreheads almost touching, staring intensely at each other.
“Good,” he finally says.
I touch his knee again. He stays focused. I lean back and put my feet on the coffee table.
“Yeah,” I say. It’s been a while since good.”
He waits for what seems like three hours before responding.
“You seemed to really be enjoying yourself last night ... to the point of excess … we were worried.”
“Oh!” I say out … laughing, “Well I believe in excess. I don’t believe in restraint. It is good to be here. I have enjoyed it. You will not make me feel guilty.”
Steve sits back again and contemplates this. So I sit back again contemplating Steve contemplating me.
He leans forward and laughs.
“Good,” he says.
And it is.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Seriously
Staring out of this 18th floor window, the sky is an upside down blanket of dark grey that has left the end of the horizon uncovered. Below me is a river that is little more than a canal and headlights fly over the bridges reminding me that life goes on.
"Ob-la-de Ob-la-da" I say out loud as the morning prayer.
The sun will peak between the tree tops and the blanket of clouds then it will go back to sleep. I sip coffee and watch the day being born.
"You look like Einstein," Caroline said after hugging me last night, then she played with the back of my hair which is in that in-between length of half way to the top of my shoulders.
"I'll take Einstein," I say laughing and then embracing Dave her husband. He and I sneak off for beers during these things.
Caroline is the person who is really in charge of the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation's Local Funding Partnership program. On the org chart there are many people above her, but she's really the one. I learned a long time ago that it is far more important to have a good relationship with the Administrative Assistant than it is the CEO. Caroline can make anything happen or bring everything to a screeching halt should she decide.
The first time I went to Congress I wandered into then Representative Lindsey Thomas's office. The intern/secretary was sitting there and asked what I wanted.
"I have an appointment to see the Congressman," I explained. "Sorry that I'm late."
She asked who the hell I was so I told her.
"Hmmm," she explained looking at her computer and her notes, "I don't see your name."
The empty desk in the Cannon Office building office across from hers belonged to someone named Trish who wasn't there.
"Trish made the appointment," I explained.
"Oh," she said.
Ten minutes later I was sitting across from Lindsey.
We had nice chat and our relationship grew to the point where we would sit on the beach drinking cold beers together until the point of mutual sunburns.
That's how the world works.
"I got you out of stuff," Caroline explains.
"Oh yeah?"
"You work all day tomorrow but Friday's yours," she says.
It is hard not to love Caroline.
Stumbling into the ball room I'm hugged by Matthew from Houston and take my seat between Fernando from Philly and Namratha from Chicago. We are the rainbow ... black, brown, yellow and white. We crack each other up. So after the "How's it going?" question is answered ... we play during the program ... giggling like grade-schoolers duing the Principal's speech.
Part of living a successful life is thumbing your nose at conventionality. This is the tie that binds us. We do just enough to be accepted and needed for things ... but balance it with the never ending question ... "Seriously?"
Most people are far too serious.
OK, it's time to get ready. It's a big day Caroline has told me. I stare at my suitcase looking at the work clothes that I brought. I haven't worn them since I left Union Mission.
Then I look at the jeans I wore yesterday.
I put on the jeans.
OK, I have a speech to give.
I wonder what it will be about.
Seriously.
"Ob-la-de Ob-la-da" I say out loud as the morning prayer.
The sun will peak between the tree tops and the blanket of clouds then it will go back to sleep. I sip coffee and watch the day being born.
"You look like Einstein," Caroline said after hugging me last night, then she played with the back of my hair which is in that in-between length of half way to the top of my shoulders.
"I'll take Einstein," I say laughing and then embracing Dave her husband. He and I sneak off for beers during these things.
Caroline is the person who is really in charge of the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation's Local Funding Partnership program. On the org chart there are many people above her, but she's really the one. I learned a long time ago that it is far more important to have a good relationship with the Administrative Assistant than it is the CEO. Caroline can make anything happen or bring everything to a screeching halt should she decide.
The first time I went to Congress I wandered into then Representative Lindsey Thomas's office. The intern/secretary was sitting there and asked what I wanted.
"I have an appointment to see the Congressman," I explained. "Sorry that I'm late."
She asked who the hell I was so I told her.
"Hmmm," she explained looking at her computer and her notes, "I don't see your name."
The empty desk in the Cannon Office building office across from hers belonged to someone named Trish who wasn't there.
"Trish made the appointment," I explained.
"Oh," she said.
Ten minutes later I was sitting across from Lindsey.
We had nice chat and our relationship grew to the point where we would sit on the beach drinking cold beers together until the point of mutual sunburns.
That's how the world works.
"I got you out of stuff," Caroline explains.
"Oh yeah?"
"You work all day tomorrow but Friday's yours," she says.
It is hard not to love Caroline.
Stumbling into the ball room I'm hugged by Matthew from Houston and take my seat between Fernando from Philly and Namratha from Chicago. We are the rainbow ... black, brown, yellow and white. We crack each other up. So after the "How's it going?" question is answered ... we play during the program ... giggling like grade-schoolers duing the Principal's speech.
Part of living a successful life is thumbing your nose at conventionality. This is the tie that binds us. We do just enough to be accepted and needed for things ... but balance it with the never ending question ... "Seriously?"
Most people are far too serious.
OK, it's time to get ready. It's a big day Caroline has told me. I stare at my suitcase looking at the work clothes that I brought. I haven't worn them since I left Union Mission.
Then I look at the jeans I wore yesterday.
I put on the jeans.
OK, I have a speech to give.
I wonder what it will be about.
Seriously.
Seriously
Staring out of this 18th floor window, the sky is an upside down blanket of dark grey that has left the end of the horizon uncovered. Below me is a river that is little more than a canal and headlights fly over the bridges reminding me that life goes on.
"Ob-la-de Ob-la-da" I say out loud as the morning prayer.
The sun will peak between the tree tops and the blanket of clouds then it will go back to sleep. I sip coffee and watch the day being born.
"You look like Einstein," Caroline said after hugging me last night, then she played with the back of my hair which is in that in-between length of half way to the top of my shoulders.
"I'll take Einstein," I say laughing and then embracing Dave her husband. He and I sneak off for beers during these things.
Caroline is the person who is really in charge of the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation's Local Funding Partnership program. On the org chart there are many people above her, but she's really the one. I learned a long time ago that it is far more important to have a good relationship with the Administrative Assistant than it is the CEO. Caroline can make anything happen or bring everything to a screeching halt should she decide.
The first time I went to Congress I wandered into then Representative Lindsey Thomas's office. The intern/secretary was sitting there and asked what I wanted.
"I have an appointment to see the Congressman," I explained. "Sorry that I'm late."
She asked who the hell I was so I told her.
"Hmmm," she explained looking at her computer and her notes, "I don't see your name."
The empty desk in the Cannon Office building office across from hers belonged to someone named Trish who wasn't there.
"Trish made the appointment," I explained.
"Oh," she said.
Ten minutes later I was sitting across from Lindsey.
We had nice chat and our relationship grew to the point where we would sit on the beach drinking cold beers together until the point of mutual sunburns.
That's how the world works.
"I got you out of stuff," Caroline explains.
"Oh yeah?"
"You work all day tomorrow but Friday's yours," she says.
It is hard not to love Caroline.
Stumbling into the ball room I'm hugged by Matthew from Houston and take my seat between Fernando from Philly and Namratha from Chicago. We are the rainbow ... black, brown, yellow and white. We crack each other up. So after the "How's it going?" question is answered ... we play during the program ... giggling like grade-schoolers duing the Principal's speech.
Part of living a successful life is thumbing your nose at conventionality. This is the tie that binds us. We do just enough to be accepted and needed for things ... but balance it with the never ending question ... "Seriously?"
Most people are far too serious.
OK, it's time to get ready. It's a big day Caroline has told me. I stare at my suitcase looking at the work clothes that I brought. I haven't worn them since I left Union Mission.
Then I look at the jeans I wore yesterday.
I put on the jeans.
OK, I have a speech to give.
I wonder what it will be about.
Seriously.
"Ob-la-de Ob-la-da" I say out loud as the morning prayer.
The sun will peak between the tree tops and the blanket of clouds then it will go back to sleep. I sip coffee and watch the day being born.
"You look like Einstein," Caroline said after hugging me last night, then she played with the back of my hair which is in that in-between length of half way to the top of my shoulders.
"I'll take Einstein," I say laughing and then embracing Dave her husband. He and I sneak off for beers during these things.
Caroline is the person who is really in charge of the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation's Local Funding Partnership program. On the org chart there are many people above her, but she's really the one. I learned a long time ago that it is far more important to have a good relationship with the Administrative Assistant than it is the CEO. Caroline can make anything happen or bring everything to a screeching halt should she decide.
The first time I went to Congress I wandered into then Representative Lindsey Thomas's office. The intern/secretary was sitting there and asked what I wanted.
"I have an appointment to see the Congressman," I explained. "Sorry that I'm late."
She asked who the hell I was so I told her.
"Hmmm," she explained looking at her computer and her notes, "I don't see your name."
The empty desk in the Cannon Office building office across from hers belonged to someone named Trish who wasn't there.
"Trish made the appointment," I explained.
"Oh," she said.
Ten minutes later I was sitting across from Lindsey.
We had nice chat and our relationship grew to the point where we would sit on the beach drinking cold beers together until the point of mutual sunburns.
That's how the world works.
"I got you out of stuff," Caroline explains.
"Oh yeah?"
"You work all day tomorrow but Friday's yours," she says.
It is hard not to love Caroline.
Stumbling into the ball room I'm hugged by Matthew from Houston and take my seat between Fernando from Philly and Namratha from Chicago. We are the rainbow ... black, brown, yellow and white. We crack each other up. So after the "How's it going?" question is answered ... we play during the program ... giggling like grade-schoolers duing the Principal's speech.
Part of living a successful life is thumbing your nose at conventionality. This is the tie that binds us. We do just enough to be accepted and needed for things ... but balance it with the never ending question ... "Seriously?"
Most people are far too serious.
OK, it's time to get ready. It's a big day Caroline has told me. I stare at my suitcase looking at the work clothes that I brought. I haven't worn them since I left Union Mission.
Then I look at the jeans I wore yesterday.
I put on the jeans.
OK, I have a speech to give.
I wonder what it will be about.
Seriously.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Things Ain't What they used to be (Thank God)
Oh, mercy mercy me.
Goddess was taking me for a walk, her leash dragging behind her as she meandered around half a block behind me. We were in compliance with the twenty seven thousand laws that have been enacted in the last few months ... as we stopped at every stop sign which the city of Tybee Island has purchased from every other city that has gone out of business ... anyway ... we were doing what we normally do ... I'd walk in front of the Goddess and she will wait until I'm half a block away and then she runs past me then turns to look to see if I'm coming.
So I walk, then stop and turn around to check on her ... and there is Shirley holding the other end of Goddess's leash walking towards me with the consternating look of a woman running for Mayor.
"Oh shit," I mutter. "I'm in trouble ... again."
"She's going to get hit by a car," Shirley scolds handing me the leash
"What?" I say. "She has a lease on and is following the Tybee Island leash law ... Book 27, section 128, line 486 of the Tybee code"
Shirley looks at me as though I'm an idiot ... which is one of the characteristics of running for Mayor.
"You have to hold the other end," she explains from on high.
(Shirley is actually shorter than I am but when she gets on to me ... which is happening with increasing frequency ... she seems to tower above me ... which is another characteristic of running for Mayor ... I can't explain it ... I skipped Physics in High School.)
She puts the other end of the leash on my hand. Goddess licks her butt. We all make our way to the end of the sad little holy dock. Shirley sits down in the most regal of ways so after kneeling and bowing I do the same.
Puffs of white smoke appear out of nowhere.
Choirs of angels sing.
Goddess continues licking her butt.
"How you doing?" she asks.
I shrug my shoulders.
"You still in love?"
I contemplate this. What is she asking? With the past? No. Definitely not. She left. I've learned to live with being left. It's OK. Shit happens.
"The fact of the matter Shirley," I say, " is that I'm in love. I'm not quite sure of this map that I'm following ... I take a left up here somewhere (I rarely go to the right) ... after that I have no clue ... but I'm good ... I know what I'm leaving ... and what has left me ... and where I'm going, er ... I'm just not quite sure how I'm getting there yet."
Shirley looks at her watch.
"I have to go," she apologizes. "There is a fundraiser that I have to be at."
Goddess continues licking her butt.
I love Shirley. I support her being Mayor of Tybee Island on the premise of reducing the number of Stop Signs on the island. And I understand politics. It's all about money. People believe they can make it all better and learn ... it takes money.
So I grab the end of the leash and Goddess drags me home.
"Mercy Mercy me," I tell her. "Things ain't what they used to be ... Thank God!"
Then Shirley blows one last puff of smoke.
And holiness descends on the words.
Goddess was taking me for a walk, her leash dragging behind her as she meandered around half a block behind me. We were in compliance with the twenty seven thousand laws that have been enacted in the last few months ... as we stopped at every stop sign which the city of Tybee Island has purchased from every other city that has gone out of business ... anyway ... we were doing what we normally do ... I'd walk in front of the Goddess and she will wait until I'm half a block away and then she runs past me then turns to look to see if I'm coming.
So I walk, then stop and turn around to check on her ... and there is Shirley holding the other end of Goddess's leash walking towards me with the consternating look of a woman running for Mayor.
"Oh shit," I mutter. "I'm in trouble ... again."
"She's going to get hit by a car," Shirley scolds handing me the leash
"What?" I say. "She has a lease on and is following the Tybee Island leash law ... Book 27, section 128, line 486 of the Tybee code"
Shirley looks at me as though I'm an idiot ... which is one of the characteristics of running for Mayor.
"You have to hold the other end," she explains from on high.
(Shirley is actually shorter than I am but when she gets on to me ... which is happening with increasing frequency ... she seems to tower above me ... which is another characteristic of running for Mayor ... I can't explain it ... I skipped Physics in High School.)
She puts the other end of the leash on my hand. Goddess licks her butt. We all make our way to the end of the sad little holy dock. Shirley sits down in the most regal of ways so after kneeling and bowing I do the same.
Puffs of white smoke appear out of nowhere.
Choirs of angels sing.
Goddess continues licking her butt.
"How you doing?" she asks.
I shrug my shoulders.
"You still in love?"
I contemplate this. What is she asking? With the past? No. Definitely not. She left. I've learned to live with being left. It's OK. Shit happens.
"The fact of the matter Shirley," I say, " is that I'm in love. I'm not quite sure of this map that I'm following ... I take a left up here somewhere (I rarely go to the right) ... after that I have no clue ... but I'm good ... I know what I'm leaving ... and what has left me ... and where I'm going, er ... I'm just not quite sure how I'm getting there yet."
Shirley looks at her watch.
"I have to go," she apologizes. "There is a fundraiser that I have to be at."
Goddess continues licking her butt.
I love Shirley. I support her being Mayor of Tybee Island on the premise of reducing the number of Stop Signs on the island. And I understand politics. It's all about money. People believe they can make it all better and learn ... it takes money.
So I grab the end of the leash and Goddess drags me home.
"Mercy Mercy me," I tell her. "Things ain't what they used to be ... Thank God!"
Then Shirley blows one last puff of smoke.
And holiness descends on the words.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Are you ready for some football?
It began last year I suppose when I slept walked through a football season (as did my team at the University of Georgia). This season is shaping up to be a continuation. I opted out of attending the game in Athens this past weekend because ... I was tired and other things were more important.
My Father is currently rolling over in his grave ... well if he had a grave ... he's at my sister's Angi's house and she pulls him out for every UGA game, sits him in his chair and pops a beer next to him. He's already followed more football than I have this season though he died two seasons ago.
On Saturday I purchased the UGA game and ended up watching like two minutes of it. Other things were more important (it is true in my defense that Georgia was playing Coastal Carolina which is a middle school team. On the other hand I can hear by dear friend Bill Shearouse quote my friend Pat O'Connell when his wife asked him why he was traveling to a meaningless game when she wanted him to stay at home. He stared at her incredulously and scolded her "What if everybody felt that way?" Then he left her standing in the kitchen and drove the five hours to a meaningless college football game).
Then yesterday I stayed in bed though the Pro games were on. Last night I sat on the couch to watch the Atlanta Falcons play host to Michael Vick and the Eagles and promptly fell asleep. At the Breakfast Club this morning I was informed that I missed one of the most exciting games ever.
Who knew?
Well probably everybody, except me because I was asleep.
It is true that I am road weary. I've been all over the place over the past few months. My time at home has been counted in days and not weeks. Goddess remains permanently pissed at me. I haven't been this tired in a long time. I find myself missing the luxury of no-agenda. Suddenly I've got way to much agenda! I didn't want to go to work this morning ... I had to drag my ass out of bed ... but I had to go ... all the way from the bedroom to the beloved back deck.
Well, I went to the Breakfast Club in between because I ... always go to the Breakfast Club first.
I'm in the office today and tomorrow on the beloved back deck where God has turned the air conditioner down and I'm not happy about it at all. Then Wednesday morning I get on another plane ... this one for Minneapolis/St. Paul where I'm speaking and introducing speakers for the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation. I come back home on Saturday.
(I just checked the weather for Minneapolis/St. Paul and ... it's freaking cold!!! ... though it'll probably be like Denver last week ... from the 30th floor conference room that I was in I could see the mountains way over there... somewhere.)
I should not complain. At the Breakfast Club this morning, Jodee was listening to the crap talk radio crap that he always listens to before real customers arrive and the music is then changed into ... MUSIC!!! Anyway it was some conservative Republican stuff and the guy droned on and on about how poverty is at the highest level in a thousand years, Job Fairs are more attended than church, social security is being spent faster than tickets at Chuckie Cheese's and the entire nation has gone to hell ... since Bill Clinton was President and we had a surplus, everybody was working and oral sex was front page news.
So I'm am not going to complain.
Actually the sun just popped out. I have a lunch date. I just threw my shoes over the railing of the back deck. Goddess is eating my socks. James Taylor is singing to me over Pandora. Come on God ... give me ten more degrees and I'm losing the laundry.
So we all gotta do what we gotta do. For the moment I'm working and it is good work. Rewarding stuff! I have meetings scheduled, conference calls to be a part of, reports to write, money to raise and worlds to save.
Sigh ...
I'm ready for some football.
My Father is currently rolling over in his grave ... well if he had a grave ... he's at my sister's Angi's house and she pulls him out for every UGA game, sits him in his chair and pops a beer next to him. He's already followed more football than I have this season though he died two seasons ago.
On Saturday I purchased the UGA game and ended up watching like two minutes of it. Other things were more important (it is true in my defense that Georgia was playing Coastal Carolina which is a middle school team. On the other hand I can hear by dear friend Bill Shearouse quote my friend Pat O'Connell when his wife asked him why he was traveling to a meaningless game when she wanted him to stay at home. He stared at her incredulously and scolded her "What if everybody felt that way?" Then he left her standing in the kitchen and drove the five hours to a meaningless college football game).
Then yesterday I stayed in bed though the Pro games were on. Last night I sat on the couch to watch the Atlanta Falcons play host to Michael Vick and the Eagles and promptly fell asleep. At the Breakfast Club this morning I was informed that I missed one of the most exciting games ever.
Who knew?
Well probably everybody, except me because I was asleep.
It is true that I am road weary. I've been all over the place over the past few months. My time at home has been counted in days and not weeks. Goddess remains permanently pissed at me. I haven't been this tired in a long time. I find myself missing the luxury of no-agenda. Suddenly I've got way to much agenda! I didn't want to go to work this morning ... I had to drag my ass out of bed ... but I had to go ... all the way from the bedroom to the beloved back deck.
Well, I went to the Breakfast Club in between because I ... always go to the Breakfast Club first.
I'm in the office today and tomorrow on the beloved back deck where God has turned the air conditioner down and I'm not happy about it at all. Then Wednesday morning I get on another plane ... this one for Minneapolis/St. Paul where I'm speaking and introducing speakers for the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation. I come back home on Saturday.
(I just checked the weather for Minneapolis/St. Paul and ... it's freaking cold!!! ... though it'll probably be like Denver last week ... from the 30th floor conference room that I was in I could see the mountains way over there... somewhere.)
I should not complain. At the Breakfast Club this morning, Jodee was listening to the crap talk radio crap that he always listens to before real customers arrive and the music is then changed into ... MUSIC!!! Anyway it was some conservative Republican stuff and the guy droned on and on about how poverty is at the highest level in a thousand years, Job Fairs are more attended than church, social security is being spent faster than tickets at Chuckie Cheese's and the entire nation has gone to hell ... since Bill Clinton was President and we had a surplus, everybody was working and oral sex was front page news.
So I'm am not going to complain.
Actually the sun just popped out. I have a lunch date. I just threw my shoes over the railing of the back deck. Goddess is eating my socks. James Taylor is singing to me over Pandora. Come on God ... give me ten more degrees and I'm losing the laundry.
So we all gotta do what we gotta do. For the moment I'm working and it is good work. Rewarding stuff! I have meetings scheduled, conference calls to be a part of, reports to write, money to raise and worlds to save.
Sigh ...
I'm ready for some football.
Friday, September 16, 2011
Thoughts that Linger
Thoughts that Linger
Right after 9/11, when the entire world was still in shock, I was sitting in my office at Union Mission when Laura Webb walked in to ask me something. Laura was the Director of Community Education at the time. Elegant and smart, I never quite understood everything that Laura did because she seemed to do everything. Originally hired to coordinate volunteers, she had much bigger things on her mind so she kept creating new programs that she oversaw.
Laura was extremely popular with homeless men and women and they were forever in her office or helping her do whatever it was she was doing.
On occasions we would give presentations together and she always blew me away at her sweet, melodic, slow delivery of words. Audiences ate her up and she never seemed to lack for resources even though she really didn’t have a budget to manage.
She asked whatever it was she asked me that day then turned to leave.
“Why are you carrying a Kentucky Fried Chicken bucket?” I asked.
Turning in slow motion as she always did, she smiled first giving her a look of bemusement then there was this pause as her blue eyes regarded the bucket.
“Oh,” she said as her blond hair came to a stop, draping around her shoulders after she had turned to face me. “The guys took up a collection for 9/11. I’m taking it to the bank to get a check and then going to give it to the Red Cross.”
I stood and peered into the bucket which was full of change.
“They panhandled?” I asked.
She smiled and shrugged her shoulders.
“Hold on,” I exclaimed diving to the phone and calling Skutch, the reporter at the Savannah Morning News that covered Union Mission.
“Skutch,” he said as he answered the phone. Skutch is a terrific reporter but he looks and comes across as an actor in a B movie who is playing a reporter.
“It’s Mike,” I excitedly said. “Listen to this …”
And he did.
A little later he showed up with a photographer. He interviewed Laura, Ronnie, and Robert. They explained that they may be homeless but they are Americans and want to help.
It was front page news the next day with two large color photographs.
A couple of days later it was picked up by Georgia Public Radio. The next day National Public Radio featured the story. The following week it was on Oprah.
So Ronnie and Robert and the guys kept at it. They held a car wash and a garage sale and gave the money to the Red Cross.
It was something to witness.
In a meeting yesterday in Denver the group was asked to share a positive story that occurred in the midst of a disaster. Sitting next to me was Jennifer Hu from New York City who had worked diligently in the aftermath of the attacks on the World Trade Centers. Also in the room were people who had worked in New Orleans and Memphis after Hurricane Katrina … from Maine and the floods … from San Francisco and earthquakes. We are working on recommendations to Congress to improve American responses to natural disasters.
So I told this story.
Ten years later it remains powerful.
The room burst into applause.
It was cited throughout the rest of the day as we worked.
Flying home this morning I am pensive. The story won’t leave my head. I am ready for home … needing to hold it and be held by it. I was frustrated yesterday afternoon because I realized that I probably could have made it home at a decent hour but it was bad planning on my part. The longer the evening went the wearier I got.
“Take care now, beware of thoughts that linger, they’ll take you where you should not go,” sings the major prophet George Harrison.
Thoughts lingered last night and I ended up in places where I should not have gone … in the past, managing regrets and frustrations that are long dead and gone.
This morning I woke longing for my home … and a lingering story that remains very much alive.
Right after 9/11, when the entire world was still in shock, I was sitting in my office at Union Mission when Laura Webb walked in to ask me something. Laura was the Director of Community Education at the time. Elegant and smart, I never quite understood everything that Laura did because she seemed to do everything. Originally hired to coordinate volunteers, she had much bigger things on her mind so she kept creating new programs that she oversaw.
Laura was extremely popular with homeless men and women and they were forever in her office or helping her do whatever it was she was doing.
On occasions we would give presentations together and she always blew me away at her sweet, melodic, slow delivery of words. Audiences ate her up and she never seemed to lack for resources even though she really didn’t have a budget to manage.
She asked whatever it was she asked me that day then turned to leave.
“Why are you carrying a Kentucky Fried Chicken bucket?” I asked.
Turning in slow motion as she always did, she smiled first giving her a look of bemusement then there was this pause as her blue eyes regarded the bucket.
“Oh,” she said as her blond hair came to a stop, draping around her shoulders after she had turned to face me. “The guys took up a collection for 9/11. I’m taking it to the bank to get a check and then going to give it to the Red Cross.”
I stood and peered into the bucket which was full of change.
“They panhandled?” I asked.
She smiled and shrugged her shoulders.
“Hold on,” I exclaimed diving to the phone and calling Skutch, the reporter at the Savannah Morning News that covered Union Mission.
“Skutch,” he said as he answered the phone. Skutch is a terrific reporter but he looks and comes across as an actor in a B movie who is playing a reporter.
“It’s Mike,” I excitedly said. “Listen to this …”
And he did.
A little later he showed up with a photographer. He interviewed Laura, Ronnie, and Robert. They explained that they may be homeless but they are Americans and want to help.
It was front page news the next day with two large color photographs.
A couple of days later it was picked up by Georgia Public Radio. The next day National Public Radio featured the story. The following week it was on Oprah.
So Ronnie and Robert and the guys kept at it. They held a car wash and a garage sale and gave the money to the Red Cross.
It was something to witness.
In a meeting yesterday in Denver the group was asked to share a positive story that occurred in the midst of a disaster. Sitting next to me was Jennifer Hu from New York City who had worked diligently in the aftermath of the attacks on the World Trade Centers. Also in the room were people who had worked in New Orleans and Memphis after Hurricane Katrina … from Maine and the floods … from San Francisco and earthquakes. We are working on recommendations to Congress to improve American responses to natural disasters.
So I told this story.
Ten years later it remains powerful.
The room burst into applause.
It was cited throughout the rest of the day as we worked.
Flying home this morning I am pensive. The story won’t leave my head. I am ready for home … needing to hold it and be held by it. I was frustrated yesterday afternoon because I realized that I probably could have made it home at a decent hour but it was bad planning on my part. The longer the evening went the wearier I got.
“Take care now, beware of thoughts that linger, they’ll take you where you should not go,” sings the major prophet George Harrison.
Thoughts lingered last night and I ended up in places where I should not have gone … in the past, managing regrets and frustrations that are long dead and gone.
This morning I woke longing for my home … and a lingering story that remains very much alive.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
A Community of Believers
Waking up at my normal time of six a.m. I stare at the darkness of the room and the clock on the bedside table tells me that it's only 4:00 in Denver. I sigh and try to fool myself into thinking that its still time to sleep. Alas ... I am wide awake.
Leaping out of bed I begin the desperate search for coffee. The Dever Centre City Marriott has cleverly hidden it in a credenza. Ripping the doors of the hinges I plug the pot in on the counter and hit the shower. Finishing up, I tear open the condiment package for the cream. This always drives me nuts because I don't use sugar, sweetener, or the other little stirrer that comes inside so they all get thrown away. If I didn't need the coffee so badly I would care more.
Staring out of the large glass window I peer into the darkness of an inner city night. Lights are everywhere and I watch a homeless man push a grocery cart down a sidewalk. He is heavily dressed wearing myltiple coats though it is not cold. He disappears into the darkness.
I look though the windows of the office compex across the street from me. All of the floors are dark except one and I can see the cleaning crew vaccuming and emptying waste baskets. They are talking and laughing with one another. One decides to take a break after she empties the trash and sits behind a desk and props her feet on it. I laugh and she stares out of the window in my direction.
I'm standing there naked sipping coffee and I wonder if she can see me. Her head jerks in the other direction as she laughs at something the other worker is saying. I toast them with my cup and get dressed.
Making my way downstairs to the Starbucks in the lobby I see that everybody else on east coast time is already there. Most are staring at computer screens, silently listening to their I-Pods, or eating muffins while staring out of the large plate glass window with a view of 18th and California Streets. I order a "tall with room for cream" and sit down.
Home calls and I learn that someone wants to talk to me. Rocky writes to let me know that Goddess is hot and bothered that I'm not there. I turn my computer on and scan the headlines back home. Traffic picks up outside so I people watch and contemplate things.
After completely unraveling, my life is coming back together. I can feel it ... taste it ... know it with a certainty. There are things that I don't know ... work is good right now but it's all about the next sell, contract, book, speech and the things that generate income. Nothing is planned at this point beyond next year. Nevertheless, I feel really good about where I',m at and the direction that things seem to be going.
It's been a crazy journey back to me and to this point. Time was taken to heal, reflect, and engage in a new community of believers ... a group of people who believed in me when I really wasn't believing in myself.
At first when they would visit asthough going to Hospice to sit with someone who was dying. But sit they did, silently watching over me, holding my hand, giving me hugs and kisses. Then this thawing began. It was a long, slow thawing but with every passing day things got just a little bit lighter.
Then summer arrived and a party broke out that just refuses to stop. Linked together the parties grew into this celebration of everything that we had been through. We're still here. We have each other. We don't know how long its going to last but lets sure as hell enjoy it while we can.
"It's like we all went back to college," Judy O put it, "without the bother of attending any classes."
And that is exactly what it has been like.
On the way here yesterday a dear friend of mine wrote to say that his job is being eliminated. He wanted us to pray for him. Immediately I wrote welcoming him to the family of transition. It seems that everyone I know and love is transitioning from something to the other ... marriages, relationships, jobs, residences. "The support group is already in place," I tell him, "besides we now have an excuse for another party."
I haven't heard back from him yet.
A bright sun finally rises between two buildings. It blazes into the large windows bathing me in sunlight at my table in Starbucks.
"It's alright," I say out loud, praying for him and for everybody else. "Here comes the Sun. It's alright."
Leaping out of bed I begin the desperate search for coffee. The Dever Centre City Marriott has cleverly hidden it in a credenza. Ripping the doors of the hinges I plug the pot in on the counter and hit the shower. Finishing up, I tear open the condiment package for the cream. This always drives me nuts because I don't use sugar, sweetener, or the other little stirrer that comes inside so they all get thrown away. If I didn't need the coffee so badly I would care more.
Staring out of the large glass window I peer into the darkness of an inner city night. Lights are everywhere and I watch a homeless man push a grocery cart down a sidewalk. He is heavily dressed wearing myltiple coats though it is not cold. He disappears into the darkness.
I look though the windows of the office compex across the street from me. All of the floors are dark except one and I can see the cleaning crew vaccuming and emptying waste baskets. They are talking and laughing with one another. One decides to take a break after she empties the trash and sits behind a desk and props her feet on it. I laugh and she stares out of the window in my direction.
I'm standing there naked sipping coffee and I wonder if she can see me. Her head jerks in the other direction as she laughs at something the other worker is saying. I toast them with my cup and get dressed.
Making my way downstairs to the Starbucks in the lobby I see that everybody else on east coast time is already there. Most are staring at computer screens, silently listening to their I-Pods, or eating muffins while staring out of the large plate glass window with a view of 18th and California Streets. I order a "tall with room for cream" and sit down.
Home calls and I learn that someone wants to talk to me. Rocky writes to let me know that Goddess is hot and bothered that I'm not there. I turn my computer on and scan the headlines back home. Traffic picks up outside so I people watch and contemplate things.
After completely unraveling, my life is coming back together. I can feel it ... taste it ... know it with a certainty. There are things that I don't know ... work is good right now but it's all about the next sell, contract, book, speech and the things that generate income. Nothing is planned at this point beyond next year. Nevertheless, I feel really good about where I',m at and the direction that things seem to be going.
It's been a crazy journey back to me and to this point. Time was taken to heal, reflect, and engage in a new community of believers ... a group of people who believed in me when I really wasn't believing in myself.
At first when they would visit asthough going to Hospice to sit with someone who was dying. But sit they did, silently watching over me, holding my hand, giving me hugs and kisses. Then this thawing began. It was a long, slow thawing but with every passing day things got just a little bit lighter.
Then summer arrived and a party broke out that just refuses to stop. Linked together the parties grew into this celebration of everything that we had been through. We're still here. We have each other. We don't know how long its going to last but lets sure as hell enjoy it while we can.
"It's like we all went back to college," Judy O put it, "without the bother of attending any classes."
And that is exactly what it has been like.
On the way here yesterday a dear friend of mine wrote to say that his job is being eliminated. He wanted us to pray for him. Immediately I wrote welcoming him to the family of transition. It seems that everyone I know and love is transitioning from something to the other ... marriages, relationships, jobs, residences. "The support group is already in place," I tell him, "besides we now have an excuse for another party."
I haven't heard back from him yet.
A bright sun finally rises between two buildings. It blazes into the large windows bathing me in sunlight at my table in Starbucks.
"It's alright," I say out loud, praying for him and for everybody else. "Here comes the Sun. It's alright."
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Avoiding Natural Disasters
Back at the Savannah/Hilton Head International Airport (an oxymoron), I sit and look out of the window at the end of the bar ... waiting. Today is not one of the early morning flights that I normally have to take so I had time to slip into the Breakfast Club for some counter intelligence before swinging back by our house to pet Goddess and throw kisses at the things I love most.
Dedra is always up anyway so I texted her bumming a ride so she gave me one. As soon as I get here I have messages from the head bartender of my carnival of friends . She was letting me know that all of this travel might be getting in the way of life's more important things ... friendships and celebrations. We made promises to correct that soon! In the meantime I have permission to go out and save the world because ... everybody has a job to do.
Her message made me laugh and cry at the same time which is no small feat. Taping into multiple emotions at the same time instanteanously. Somehow I have mastered this ability.
So I stare out the window and ponder.
Today's trip is not about Street Medicine which has been the majority of what I've been doing lately. Tonight and tomorrow I am part of a group of twelve who are coming up with policy suggestions for Congress on how to improve government's responses to natural disasters like Hurricanes in New Orleans or Floods in those states where floods occur.
I'm really exited by this and have already come up with my solution. Put the President, Vice-President, Speaker of the House and President of the Senate on Air Force One. Drop their asses into the middle of the disaster. Then mobilize the military, FEMA, the Post Office, and the Humane Society to go save them ... saving everyone else they meet along the way!
I think it is a brilliant motivation to quicken the U.S. response to such things.
Of course whatever we decide has to be approved by the Congress which is by far the worst disaster this country has ever faced!
Anyway, I'm growing accustomed to what this new life is shaping up to be. Weekly I seem to be sitting here waiting to go somewhere. Then I have days at home which have become more precious. More significant still is the amount of time that I have to be with those I love and who love me back. Binding these things together are quiet times, laughter with my friends, strolls with Goddess, and sucking in the breath of ... love. The smell of the marsh. The salt in the air.
I've reached a place in my life where I don't take much for granted. Certainly I do not take ANYBODY for granted. It is all a gift that I have in this moment in time. I celebrate it and love it.
At night I pray that it will all last for another day.
I'm off now to get Rocky Mountain High in a conference room at the downtown Denver Marriott. I will give them my best and try to make the world a better place for those who are getting screwed by Congress or natural disasters.
But ... my heart remains home.
And I look forward to leaving the highs of Rocky Mountains for the toes in the sand of a beach where the elevation is two feet.
Dedra is always up anyway so I texted her bumming a ride so she gave me one. As soon as I get here I have messages from the head bartender of my carnival of friends . She was letting me know that all of this travel might be getting in the way of life's more important things ... friendships and celebrations. We made promises to correct that soon! In the meantime I have permission to go out and save the world because ... everybody has a job to do.
Her message made me laugh and cry at the same time which is no small feat. Taping into multiple emotions at the same time instanteanously. Somehow I have mastered this ability.
So I stare out the window and ponder.
Today's trip is not about Street Medicine which has been the majority of what I've been doing lately. Tonight and tomorrow I am part of a group of twelve who are coming up with policy suggestions for Congress on how to improve government's responses to natural disasters like Hurricanes in New Orleans or Floods in those states where floods occur.
I'm really exited by this and have already come up with my solution. Put the President, Vice-President, Speaker of the House and President of the Senate on Air Force One. Drop their asses into the middle of the disaster. Then mobilize the military, FEMA, the Post Office, and the Humane Society to go save them ... saving everyone else they meet along the way!
I think it is a brilliant motivation to quicken the U.S. response to such things.
Of course whatever we decide has to be approved by the Congress which is by far the worst disaster this country has ever faced!
Anyway, I'm growing accustomed to what this new life is shaping up to be. Weekly I seem to be sitting here waiting to go somewhere. Then I have days at home which have become more precious. More significant still is the amount of time that I have to be with those I love and who love me back. Binding these things together are quiet times, laughter with my friends, strolls with Goddess, and sucking in the breath of ... love. The smell of the marsh. The salt in the air.
I've reached a place in my life where I don't take much for granted. Certainly I do not take ANYBODY for granted. It is all a gift that I have in this moment in time. I celebrate it and love it.
At night I pray that it will all last for another day.
I'm off now to get Rocky Mountain High in a conference room at the downtown Denver Marriott. I will give them my best and try to make the world a better place for those who are getting screwed by Congress or natural disasters.
But ... my heart remains home.
And I look forward to leaving the highs of Rocky Mountains for the toes in the sand of a beach where the elevation is two feet.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
The Next Wave
Denver tomorrow.
Minneapolis/St. Paul next week.
Then I am home for a full week before spending almost a full week in Philadelphia.
By then I will be keeping my fingers crossed because because there are three weeks in a row with no trips scheduled for the rest of the month. Then it is off to Baltimore.
In the past two months I've been to Santa Barbara, Cleveland, Anchorage, San Juan, Pittsburgh and ... St. Martin.
Crazy huh?
Someone whose career has been working with the poor, homeless, sick and infected ... could be construed as a jet setter. I certainly spend my fair share of times sitting on jets.
Never in a million years did I think that I would see the world ... but I have. Especially doing this kind of work! Now I am working for an International Company providing health care to people on the streets and have daily interactions with people doing incredible work in ... China, Africa, Iceland ... and the list just keeps growing. If things continue the way they are ... according to plan (and we all know about plans ... they rarely work out) I'll be visiting all of these places.
Let me put that in perspective. I am part of a group of crazy people (well ... several groups of crazy people actually but I digress) who believe that people on the streets of the world deserve quality health care. Mother Teresa stuff. Actually ... Mother Teresa's people are involved. That's pretty cool too.
Zed Zha is in Peking and has as a tag on her emails ... a quote by Henry David Thoreau. "When were the good and the brave ever in a majority."
Hmmm...
Isn't that funny? A medical student in China who runs a student led medical clinic in a communist country is providing medicine to those on the streets (there's homelessness in Communist countries? ... I was in Cuba not too long ago and there is). She quotes Thoreau.
It's a small world after all.
And she has me mulling Thoreau this morning in Corporate Headquarters on the beloved back deck of my house. Especially when the Republicans debated last night and the President has ongoing discussions with himself.
"When were the good and the brave ever in a majority?"
The answer is rarely.
And when they were it didn't last.
I sit here pondering this. I am committed to a cause which is far more than a job. The job is guaranteed though the end of the year then there are ... possibilities. Which is all that any of us have really ... even if the job seems solid. Or the marriage. Or the house. Or the kids. Or the things that we have always believed in.
The other day I described life as riding a wave. The thing to do is catch it when it comes by and ride it ... enjoy it ... because we have no idea where it is taking us ... or how long it will last ... so the thing is to not let it pass you by ... and to stay on top of it and not under it.
Mine is starting to crest. A new crescendo is coming. I've ridden waves before and they were cool. Jeff Street. Union Mission. Janice. Julie. Life as an author. Life as a speaker. Waves that took me around the world only to land on Tybee Island.
But all of that is small potatoes.
This wave that I'm catching now.
Dude!
This is a wave.
Either catch it too.
Or get out of the way.
Minneapolis/St. Paul next week.
Then I am home for a full week before spending almost a full week in Philadelphia.
By then I will be keeping my fingers crossed because because there are three weeks in a row with no trips scheduled for the rest of the month. Then it is off to Baltimore.
In the past two months I've been to Santa Barbara, Cleveland, Anchorage, San Juan, Pittsburgh and ... St. Martin.
Crazy huh?
Someone whose career has been working with the poor, homeless, sick and infected ... could be construed as a jet setter. I certainly spend my fair share of times sitting on jets.
Never in a million years did I think that I would see the world ... but I have. Especially doing this kind of work! Now I am working for an International Company providing health care to people on the streets and have daily interactions with people doing incredible work in ... China, Africa, Iceland ... and the list just keeps growing. If things continue the way they are ... according to plan (and we all know about plans ... they rarely work out) I'll be visiting all of these places.
Let me put that in perspective. I am part of a group of crazy people (well ... several groups of crazy people actually but I digress) who believe that people on the streets of the world deserve quality health care. Mother Teresa stuff. Actually ... Mother Teresa's people are involved. That's pretty cool too.
Zed Zha is in Peking and has as a tag on her emails ... a quote by Henry David Thoreau. "When were the good and the brave ever in a majority."
Hmmm...
Isn't that funny? A medical student in China who runs a student led medical clinic in a communist country is providing medicine to those on the streets (there's homelessness in Communist countries? ... I was in Cuba not too long ago and there is). She quotes Thoreau.
It's a small world after all.
And she has me mulling Thoreau this morning in Corporate Headquarters on the beloved back deck of my house. Especially when the Republicans debated last night and the President has ongoing discussions with himself.
"When were the good and the brave ever in a majority?"
The answer is rarely.
And when they were it didn't last.
I sit here pondering this. I am committed to a cause which is far more than a job. The job is guaranteed though the end of the year then there are ... possibilities. Which is all that any of us have really ... even if the job seems solid. Or the marriage. Or the house. Or the kids. Or the things that we have always believed in.
The other day I described life as riding a wave. The thing to do is catch it when it comes by and ride it ... enjoy it ... because we have no idea where it is taking us ... or how long it will last ... so the thing is to not let it pass you by ... and to stay on top of it and not under it.
Mine is starting to crest. A new crescendo is coming. I've ridden waves before and they were cool. Jeff Street. Union Mission. Janice. Julie. Life as an author. Life as a speaker. Waves that took me around the world only to land on Tybee Island.
But all of that is small potatoes.
This wave that I'm catching now.
Dude!
This is a wave.
Either catch it too.
Or get out of the way.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Fishing in the Dark
James and John, the sons of Zebedee, were fishing in the dark. I'm uncertain as to why Zebedee taught his sons that night is a good time to fish on the Dead Sea but he did. Maybe that's why it's called the Dead Sea ... too many fathers taught their sons to fish at night in old time Galilee and a lot of them drowned.
Who knows?
Regardless James and John sit in their little dingy throughout the night casting their on the right side ... because ... they were right-handed. I don't know. But they did it all night long and as the sun came up a stranger was standing on the shore staring at them.
He looked at them.
They looked at him.
"Hey," the stranger yelled. "Cast your nets on the other side of the boat and you'll catch fish."
They looked at one another and muttered under their breaths. "Who is this ass telling us how to fish?"
So to humor him, or to humor themselves or because they sure as hell hadn't caught any fish on the right side of the boat ... they threw their nets on left side and immediately caught fish. And that is how James and John, the sons of Zebedee, became Apostles.
There are a lot of plausible explanations to what actually happened. My favorite comes from my friend Johnny O. It was dark. They didn't know where their nets were landing when they cast them. As the sun came up the stranger stated the obvious. "Hey you idiots. When you cast to the right you're throwing in the sand on the beach! The waters on the other side!"
That's probably closer to the truth than all of the "historical" interpretations.
The point is that things are not always what they seem.
I'm in the middle of the happiest and most content times in my life. I've had my fair share of right sided experiences in life ... especially lately. It's good to be back on the left side of life when I'm in the sun and no longer fishing in the dark.
Work is fascinating and good. Tybee Island is corporate headquarters. I find myself all over the country on an almost weekly basis. Our house is delightful and becomes more so with every passing week. The carnival of friends grows tighter and the celebrations of summer are extending into the fall.
"I'm finding my way back to sanity again though I don't really know what I'm gonna do when I get there," goes a song that I love. "Take a breath and hold on tight, spin around one more time and gracefully fall back into the arms of grace."
Yesterday driving back from Athens, after a most excellent weekend, where we danced, ate, played ... and watched our team lose ... everything was good. I was with the people I love most. The car was quiet. The only sound was that of breathing ... and that was enough. It was plenty to let me know that I am confident in my future and happy with where I am going. I was surrounded by joy and contentment.
A few weeks ago I was having a conversation with friends. "I am much more interested in the truths behind the words," I argued. They were much more interested in the words that were used and whether or not they came true.
And there is a a lot of truth in that. But I believe the bigger truths are behind the words. "It's what you do and not what you say," is how Jesus put it once.
So yesterday on a four hour drive with random music in the background and country scenery, the truth is that we were together in a car. Words were not especially necessary. The truth was the behind the words. Just the togetherness of love. And the confidence in the future.
Who knows?
Regardless James and John sit in their little dingy throughout the night casting their on the right side ... because ... they were right-handed. I don't know. But they did it all night long and as the sun came up a stranger was standing on the shore staring at them.
He looked at them.
They looked at him.
"Hey," the stranger yelled. "Cast your nets on the other side of the boat and you'll catch fish."
They looked at one another and muttered under their breaths. "Who is this ass telling us how to fish?"
So to humor him, or to humor themselves or because they sure as hell hadn't caught any fish on the right side of the boat ... they threw their nets on left side and immediately caught fish. And that is how James and John, the sons of Zebedee, became Apostles.
There are a lot of plausible explanations to what actually happened. My favorite comes from my friend Johnny O. It was dark. They didn't know where their nets were landing when they cast them. As the sun came up the stranger stated the obvious. "Hey you idiots. When you cast to the right you're throwing in the sand on the beach! The waters on the other side!"
That's probably closer to the truth than all of the "historical" interpretations.
The point is that things are not always what they seem.
I'm in the middle of the happiest and most content times in my life. I've had my fair share of right sided experiences in life ... especially lately. It's good to be back on the left side of life when I'm in the sun and no longer fishing in the dark.
Work is fascinating and good. Tybee Island is corporate headquarters. I find myself all over the country on an almost weekly basis. Our house is delightful and becomes more so with every passing week. The carnival of friends grows tighter and the celebrations of summer are extending into the fall.
"I'm finding my way back to sanity again though I don't really know what I'm gonna do when I get there," goes a song that I love. "Take a breath and hold on tight, spin around one more time and gracefully fall back into the arms of grace."
Yesterday driving back from Athens, after a most excellent weekend, where we danced, ate, played ... and watched our team lose ... everything was good. I was with the people I love most. The car was quiet. The only sound was that of breathing ... and that was enough. It was plenty to let me know that I am confident in my future and happy with where I am going. I was surrounded by joy and contentment.
A few weeks ago I was having a conversation with friends. "I am much more interested in the truths behind the words," I argued. They were much more interested in the words that were used and whether or not they came true.
And there is a a lot of truth in that. But I believe the bigger truths are behind the words. "It's what you do and not what you say," is how Jesus put it once.
So yesterday on a four hour drive with random music in the background and country scenery, the truth is that we were together in a car. Words were not especially necessary. The truth was the behind the words. Just the togetherness of love. And the confidence in the future.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Surf's Up
Last year at this time I sat pretty much alone in an Athens hotel room going through the motions of a football season. It was the first after I'd found myself suddenly single and I was sad. I'd also just left a long career and wasn't certain of what would be next. What had previously been a time of family and celebration was suddenly sullen and a reminder of all that I'd lost.
Last night however I was dancing in a heap of sweat as part of a mosh pit in a club called "The 80's". All of the music was from that period so I danced like a virgin for the very first time with an angel who is a centerfold. Surrounded by my children, old and new friends. Standing on a stage we may as well been college students again though each of us have long passed that part of life. The joys of youth were again exploding in my heart.
This morning my hotel room looks like a bomb exploded in a laundry basket. Clothes are everywhere. The pullout couch is fully occupied. Body parts seem to be sticking out of everywhere. Coolers are leaking on the floor and evidently a liquor store was robbed and the entire inventory stuck underneath the window. After finally extracting myself from a lovely nights sleep washed in dried sweat and pleasantness, it too me fifteen minutes to find my travel bag.
Desperately needing coffee, I quickly showed and made my way down from the fifth floor of the Holiday Inn and stumbled into the restaurant. Everybody else at the Holiday Inn had the same idea at the same time so there was a long line. I recognized many of the people around me as the parents of the people that we had been dancing with last night.
"What a difference a year makes," my friend Ted Hardgrove once told me as we visited a program in Orlando that had worked hard for a year to make themselves eligible for support from a giant foundation.
Sipping coffee in a crowded and very unlonely room ... I marvel.
My extended family back on Tybee is waiting for the return to the endless celebrations that just will not end. The work that I'm doing is full of demands and needs which are increasingly becoming fun and challenging again. Bar Church wants me to do stuff. Our band, Fresh Live Lobster, needs to practice. Goddess wants to walk. Shirley wants to have dinner. Stacy and I have planned drinks. The Bored meeting needs to ... move to Marlin's in spite of Roma getting a new chair!
There is a game today too.
But I marvel at the explosion of happiness, joy and love that surround me. I've learned to ride it like a wave. The wave controls the speed and the direction. I enjoy the ride. Waves don't last forever ... nothing does ... but for now ... "Tubular Dude"!
Last night however I was dancing in a heap of sweat as part of a mosh pit in a club called "The 80's". All of the music was from that period so I danced like a virgin for the very first time with an angel who is a centerfold. Surrounded by my children, old and new friends. Standing on a stage we may as well been college students again though each of us have long passed that part of life. The joys of youth were again exploding in my heart.
This morning my hotel room looks like a bomb exploded in a laundry basket. Clothes are everywhere. The pullout couch is fully occupied. Body parts seem to be sticking out of everywhere. Coolers are leaking on the floor and evidently a liquor store was robbed and the entire inventory stuck underneath the window. After finally extracting myself from a lovely nights sleep washed in dried sweat and pleasantness, it too me fifteen minutes to find my travel bag.
Desperately needing coffee, I quickly showed and made my way down from the fifth floor of the Holiday Inn and stumbled into the restaurant. Everybody else at the Holiday Inn had the same idea at the same time so there was a long line. I recognized many of the people around me as the parents of the people that we had been dancing with last night.
"What a difference a year makes," my friend Ted Hardgrove once told me as we visited a program in Orlando that had worked hard for a year to make themselves eligible for support from a giant foundation.
Sipping coffee in a crowded and very unlonely room ... I marvel.
My extended family back on Tybee is waiting for the return to the endless celebrations that just will not end. The work that I'm doing is full of demands and needs which are increasingly becoming fun and challenging again. Bar Church wants me to do stuff. Our band, Fresh Live Lobster, needs to practice. Goddess wants to walk. Shirley wants to have dinner. Stacy and I have planned drinks. The Bored meeting needs to ... move to Marlin's in spite of Roma getting a new chair!
There is a game today too.
But I marvel at the explosion of happiness, joy and love that surround me. I've learned to ride it like a wave. The wave controls the speed and the direction. I enjoy the ride. Waves don't last forever ... nothing does ... but for now ... "Tubular Dude"!
Friday, September 9, 2011
In my Life
I was breezing through the airport and stopped to see whatever the headlines were in the "Savannah Daily Blues" having heard my old work was in it with things that I'd started and were finally finished. It front page stuff but as I reached to get it I saw something else. "Rolling Stone" magazine had a special edition on "The Beatles" the greatest thing rock-and-roll ever gave the world! It was the "The Ultimate Album-By-Album guide". I quickly forgot about the newspaper and purchased this.
I should clarify that I already own the massive book that details everything the Beatles ever did in the recording studio, song-by-song (trivia ... Who was the last Beatle to ever be in the Abby Road studios as a Beatle working on a Beatle song? ... Ringo). I've read pretty much everything written about them ... the biographies, I devoured the Anthology and watch it regularly, and if everything on the radio or Pandora sucks ... then just click to the Beatles and all is right with the world.
Flying to Pittsburgh I read and gleefully celebrated everything that I already knew.
What is cool about this review though is that it goes into some detail as to what John Lennon wrote and what Paul McCartney wrote on certain songs. My favorite of course if when McCartney sang "It's getting better all the time" to which Lennon sang back "It couldn't get much worse."
I just love that!
Then the whole ending medley to Abby Road are all of the songs that they had started but never finished. It was their last album so they took everything and made gumbo. My God! What a stew! What an ending!
"And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make."
When I was a kid and the Beatles were first happening I remember sitting on the floor in the den of our Port Wentworth City home watching the Ed Sullivan Show with my Dad (we must have skipped Sunday night Church). The Beatles came on. I was eight. And the world changed.
"They look stupid. Look at their hair!" my Dad said, "Elvis is the King."
I ignored him and started growing my hair. My Mom would take me to get it cut by Aunt Bootsie and I would put up the biggest fights, screaming and kicking and mad. Eventually Mom gave up and by then the Beatles were no longer Mop-tops but blazing the longer stuff so I went right to the shoulder length stuff.
Somewhere around this time, we were at Pastor Johnson's house of the First Baptist Church for a youth night ice cream social after Sunday night church. Ed Sullivan was on and he was debuting the Beatles doing "Let it be." The entire room stopped talked and listened to Paul sing "When I find myself in times of trouble Mother Mary comes to me ..." (His mother's name was Mary.)
"He looks like Jesus," I blurted out. And he did! Long hair, beard and holiness dripping as he sang.
"What did you say!!!" Pastor Johnson bellowed. Then he grabbed me by the shoulders and put his nose to my nose and I got this long sermon about Jesus and how the Beatles couldn't touch the hem of his garment.
I almost missed George Harrison's guitar solo.
Kerwood Durby later took me outside and congratulated me on saying out loud what everybody else was thinking.
It's funny the things you remember in life.
And the things that stay with you throughout your life.
When I found myself suddenly single I thought "We can work it out."
When I was alone and by myself with a dog I believed "All you need is love."
When I was crying about the losses of my life it was "While my guitar gently weeps."
When I found myself at the end of "The Long and Winding Road" I took inventory.
And now I think ... "She loves you yeah, yeah,yeah."
So ... "In my life" ... I've loved them all.
I should clarify that I already own the massive book that details everything the Beatles ever did in the recording studio, song-by-song (trivia ... Who was the last Beatle to ever be in the Abby Road studios as a Beatle working on a Beatle song? ... Ringo). I've read pretty much everything written about them ... the biographies, I devoured the Anthology and watch it regularly, and if everything on the radio or Pandora sucks ... then just click to the Beatles and all is right with the world.
Flying to Pittsburgh I read and gleefully celebrated everything that I already knew.
What is cool about this review though is that it goes into some detail as to what John Lennon wrote and what Paul McCartney wrote on certain songs. My favorite of course if when McCartney sang "It's getting better all the time" to which Lennon sang back "It couldn't get much worse."
I just love that!
Then the whole ending medley to Abby Road are all of the songs that they had started but never finished. It was their last album so they took everything and made gumbo. My God! What a stew! What an ending!
"And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make."
When I was a kid and the Beatles were first happening I remember sitting on the floor in the den of our Port Wentworth City home watching the Ed Sullivan Show with my Dad (we must have skipped Sunday night Church). The Beatles came on. I was eight. And the world changed.
"They look stupid. Look at their hair!" my Dad said, "Elvis is the King."
I ignored him and started growing my hair. My Mom would take me to get it cut by Aunt Bootsie and I would put up the biggest fights, screaming and kicking and mad. Eventually Mom gave up and by then the Beatles were no longer Mop-tops but blazing the longer stuff so I went right to the shoulder length stuff.
Somewhere around this time, we were at Pastor Johnson's house of the First Baptist Church for a youth night ice cream social after Sunday night church. Ed Sullivan was on and he was debuting the Beatles doing "Let it be." The entire room stopped talked and listened to Paul sing "When I find myself in times of trouble Mother Mary comes to me ..." (His mother's name was Mary.)
"He looks like Jesus," I blurted out. And he did! Long hair, beard and holiness dripping as he sang.
"What did you say!!!" Pastor Johnson bellowed. Then he grabbed me by the shoulders and put his nose to my nose and I got this long sermon about Jesus and how the Beatles couldn't touch the hem of his garment.
I almost missed George Harrison's guitar solo.
Kerwood Durby later took me outside and congratulated me on saying out loud what everybody else was thinking.
It's funny the things you remember in life.
And the things that stay with you throughout your life.
When I found myself suddenly single I thought "We can work it out."
When I was alone and by myself with a dog I believed "All you need is love."
When I was crying about the losses of my life it was "While my guitar gently weeps."
When I found myself at the end of "The Long and Winding Road" I took inventory.
And now I think ... "She loves you yeah, yeah,yeah."
So ... "In my life" ... I've loved them all.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Building New Worlds
It is cool here.
The tropical depression that dumped rain on Tybee Island over the weekend has made its way to Pittsburgh so the sky is cloudy and the air is damp. We are in Shadyside, an area that is full of medical schools and students. All of the students are wearing scrubs as they surround us at an outside table at “Harris Grill”. We’re making plans for meetings with potential supporters of the Street Medicine Institute which is tomorrow’s agenda. During the evening, we sip drinks, talk and watch students rush everywhere.
I like Pittsburgh a lot. The airport is a good one, the drive to the city is a pleasant almost country experience and then you enter the Fort Pitt tunnel and BAM you’re in the city! The town is great, I like the Steelers, and the place is full of friends.
Reflecting over the past years, several personal milestones passed here. The first time I came it was an invitation only gathering of seventeen people working to change the way health care is accessed in the nation. I met lifelong friends and out of that grew the Street Medicine Institute which is the work that I’m now doing.
It was here that the Board Chair who chooses to remain anonymous (Jerry Rainey) called me early one February morning while a blizzard blew outside of the airport windows and I stood watching planes get de-iced. He read me the latest coverage in the Savannah Morning News of our work and then described what I looked like as the political cartoon. There is no worse way to receive the news. When I finally got home and read it all for myself he had blown it all out of proportion.
I got stuck here for four days the following February and had my first hot tub experience in the snow. Bottles of wine were stuck in the snow and we sat in the bubbling water under a tree with frozen ice hanging from it. The rest of the time I was trapped in a hotel room and bars at the airport writing and contemplating the fact that there was no one waiting for me anymore when I got home. It was a most depressing time. I remember that Johnny O kept checking on me.
Last April I sat in a Pittsburgh Hospital Conference room and heard my name brought up to do the work that a relatively small group of people believed in … changing access to health care for those with the least access … the street homeless. If they can have access then it can work for anybody. This stops them from constant emergency room visits and ambulance rides which cause the cost to go up for the rest of us.
At the time I was on a Sabbatical healing from wounds both self-inflicted and purposely orchestrated by others. The end of that self-reflective period began that day.
In August I sat in another Pittsburgh Hospital cafeteria working writing a business plan for the Street Medicine Institute. Another two days were held up in an airport hotel interviewing potential staff. We then retreated to the “LaMont” a lovely restaurant on the hill overlooking the city at night.
There have been a lot of milestones.
I watch the students in their scrubs rush by, sit at the tables sipping beers, laughing and talking loudly about their futures. Vigor and energy abounds and it is hard not to feel it. It has the feel of growth, hope, dreams … everything looking towards the future ... full of conviction of the things that are going to be.
“Hey Jim,” I say to the very famous Dr. Jim Withers, “it’s almost like we’re going back to college at this time in our lives. You know we’re part of this group, each of transitioning from the past to what is going to be next for us.”
He sips his drink and nods. “You do have a collection of friends who are fun to be part of.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I hurriedly respond as I do, “but the point is we all understand that we’ve graduated from whatever our lives were. Now we’re enrolling for the next part. We’re building our own lives the way that we want them to be.”
“The only thing holding us back is us,” he says.
“Exactly,” I say and we toast. “To hell with holding ourselves back!”
“To hell with it” he says.
“We’ve got futures to build!”
So in this place of so many milestones for me … another has been passed.
The tropical depression that dumped rain on Tybee Island over the weekend has made its way to Pittsburgh so the sky is cloudy and the air is damp. We are in Shadyside, an area that is full of medical schools and students. All of the students are wearing scrubs as they surround us at an outside table at “Harris Grill”. We’re making plans for meetings with potential supporters of the Street Medicine Institute which is tomorrow’s agenda. During the evening, we sip drinks, talk and watch students rush everywhere.
I like Pittsburgh a lot. The airport is a good one, the drive to the city is a pleasant almost country experience and then you enter the Fort Pitt tunnel and BAM you’re in the city! The town is great, I like the Steelers, and the place is full of friends.
Reflecting over the past years, several personal milestones passed here. The first time I came it was an invitation only gathering of seventeen people working to change the way health care is accessed in the nation. I met lifelong friends and out of that grew the Street Medicine Institute which is the work that I’m now doing.
It was here that the Board Chair who chooses to remain anonymous (Jerry Rainey) called me early one February morning while a blizzard blew outside of the airport windows and I stood watching planes get de-iced. He read me the latest coverage in the Savannah Morning News of our work and then described what I looked like as the political cartoon. There is no worse way to receive the news. When I finally got home and read it all for myself he had blown it all out of proportion.
I got stuck here for four days the following February and had my first hot tub experience in the snow. Bottles of wine were stuck in the snow and we sat in the bubbling water under a tree with frozen ice hanging from it. The rest of the time I was trapped in a hotel room and bars at the airport writing and contemplating the fact that there was no one waiting for me anymore when I got home. It was a most depressing time. I remember that Johnny O kept checking on me.
Last April I sat in a Pittsburgh Hospital Conference room and heard my name brought up to do the work that a relatively small group of people believed in … changing access to health care for those with the least access … the street homeless. If they can have access then it can work for anybody. This stops them from constant emergency room visits and ambulance rides which cause the cost to go up for the rest of us.
At the time I was on a Sabbatical healing from wounds both self-inflicted and purposely orchestrated by others. The end of that self-reflective period began that day.
In August I sat in another Pittsburgh Hospital cafeteria working writing a business plan for the Street Medicine Institute. Another two days were held up in an airport hotel interviewing potential staff. We then retreated to the “LaMont” a lovely restaurant on the hill overlooking the city at night.
There have been a lot of milestones.
I watch the students in their scrubs rush by, sit at the tables sipping beers, laughing and talking loudly about their futures. Vigor and energy abounds and it is hard not to feel it. It has the feel of growth, hope, dreams … everything looking towards the future ... full of conviction of the things that are going to be.
“Hey Jim,” I say to the very famous Dr. Jim Withers, “it’s almost like we’re going back to college at this time in our lives. You know we’re part of this group, each of transitioning from the past to what is going to be next for us.”
He sips his drink and nods. “You do have a collection of friends who are fun to be part of.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I hurriedly respond as I do, “but the point is we all understand that we’ve graduated from whatever our lives were. Now we’re enrolling for the next part. We’re building our own lives the way that we want them to be.”
“The only thing holding us back is us,” he says.
“Exactly,” I say and we toast. “To hell with holding ourselves back!”
“To hell with it” he says.
“We’ve got futures to build!”
So in this place of so many milestones for me … another has been passed.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Changes (Wishes)
I am flying to Pittsburgh ... again.
It is work and it is good and we are trying to save health care from itself as it has become a health giant industrial complex and Doctors do it for the money ... or to be Godlike ... or because it's a job that pays well.
There are some Nurses and doctors though who still practice for the reasons that they entered the field ... to practice medicine where people need it ... on the streets making housecalls or house-less calls to demonstrate that the current system is pretty screwed up. The best health care in the world with the worst way to access it.
Yesterday was one of those crazy days when change comes along that I wasn't looking for. That's how it normally happens though ... change just comes. We're never prepared. It's like someone dying who'se been sick for a long time and everybody know that it's going to happen and then it does ... and everyone is shocked. So change came yesterday and I spent the better part of it with friends who love me and whom I love and we planned what to do now.
This morning I lingered and stayed in bed knowing that I would be on another plane. Goddess wasn't happy about it at all lying in front of her fan looking at me with sad eyes. So in the middle of breakfast I decided to take her for a walk.
We made it to the marsh and then to the back river before finally coming to Art's house. Art is an Auburn fan and he was talking to Paul who is a Nortre Dame fan.
"Saw the story on Union Mission in the paper," they both yelled.
"I don't work there anymore," I replied as Goddess and I passed.
"Well, they got bailed out," Paul said.
I stopped and turned around.
"From?" I said staring.
"Their debt," came the response.
It is true that when I left there was debt. A lot of it. For good reasons though. We'd built the nations first comprehensive health care campus for the poor and uninsured ... every discipline of health was co-located. And it cost more than we thought it would. It's just that way sometime. I can go to the grocery store and it costs me more than I thought it would. Then Judy, the CFO decided to match this debt with her own and suddenly we're talking big money. Then we had a small minded small man of a banker as Board chair and it was a massive train wreck getting ready to happen.
I remember sitting in my office, head in my hands saying to myself, "Shit! How does this happen? You spend you life trying to make the world a better place and this is what you get?"
I know how to raise money. At the time the budget was around $10 Million a year. but ... half that in debt? I didn't know what to do.
So I did what I did yesterday when change came. I picked up the phone and started calling all of my friends, and the friends of Union Mission, who gave it money. I explained what had happened and asked for their advice.
"Mike," my dear friend Terry Ball finally said on the 20th-something call, "only government deals in money that big. Go ask government."
Terry would know. He was Union Mission second largest funder for years and works for government.
So I went to see Pete Lakikis and Urss Abolt of Chatham County goverment. I told them the same story I'd told Terry and the others. "We need your help but it is for the people you are here to serve?"
"How much?" Russ asked.
I grimmaced. "A lot," I said.
Then this dance began. It's lasted almost four years now. I was on the sidelines for most of it, orchastrating arguments, and wasn't involved in this last go-round at all, but it ended recently. The County did what it should and invested the money in protecting the work. The debt will soon all be gone. The focus can resume on helping the poor, broken and shattered people of the world.
The sad thing though are all of the changes that have taken place. Union Mission is a shell of what it was. Changes happened. It split itself in half, gave itself away and now is back where it was fifteen years ago. People will take issue with me saying this, which is fine, but I've far more than earned my right to say whatever I want to say ... and obviously I am.
Some change moves forward. Some change backwards. It is always fascinating to see who allows which.
"Hey," I yell at Art and Paul, "good for Union Mission. They took most of what I have. I'm pleased for them today. I wish them well. The people they are trying to help ... they deserve well."
"Your team sucks," Art yells like a typical Auburn fan. For Christ sake he could be a small minded little bank President.
"Artie," I yell turning with Goddess for home. "Two words for you! One is a verb and the other is a pronoun."
Art is obviously confused.
"The pronoun is you."
Then he burst out laughing, getting it.
Unlike so many others that I know.
It is work and it is good and we are trying to save health care from itself as it has become a health giant industrial complex and Doctors do it for the money ... or to be Godlike ... or because it's a job that pays well.
There are some Nurses and doctors though who still practice for the reasons that they entered the field ... to practice medicine where people need it ... on the streets making housecalls or house-less calls to demonstrate that the current system is pretty screwed up. The best health care in the world with the worst way to access it.
Yesterday was one of those crazy days when change comes along that I wasn't looking for. That's how it normally happens though ... change just comes. We're never prepared. It's like someone dying who'se been sick for a long time and everybody know that it's going to happen and then it does ... and everyone is shocked. So change came yesterday and I spent the better part of it with friends who love me and whom I love and we planned what to do now.
This morning I lingered and stayed in bed knowing that I would be on another plane. Goddess wasn't happy about it at all lying in front of her fan looking at me with sad eyes. So in the middle of breakfast I decided to take her for a walk.
We made it to the marsh and then to the back river before finally coming to Art's house. Art is an Auburn fan and he was talking to Paul who is a Nortre Dame fan.
"Saw the story on Union Mission in the paper," they both yelled.
"I don't work there anymore," I replied as Goddess and I passed.
"Well, they got bailed out," Paul said.
I stopped and turned around.
"From?" I said staring.
"Their debt," came the response.
It is true that when I left there was debt. A lot of it. For good reasons though. We'd built the nations first comprehensive health care campus for the poor and uninsured ... every discipline of health was co-located. And it cost more than we thought it would. It's just that way sometime. I can go to the grocery store and it costs me more than I thought it would. Then Judy, the CFO decided to match this debt with her own and suddenly we're talking big money. Then we had a small minded small man of a banker as Board chair and it was a massive train wreck getting ready to happen.
I remember sitting in my office, head in my hands saying to myself, "Shit! How does this happen? You spend you life trying to make the world a better place and this is what you get?"
I know how to raise money. At the time the budget was around $10 Million a year. but ... half that in debt? I didn't know what to do.
So I did what I did yesterday when change came. I picked up the phone and started calling all of my friends, and the friends of Union Mission, who gave it money. I explained what had happened and asked for their advice.
"Mike," my dear friend Terry Ball finally said on the 20th-something call, "only government deals in money that big. Go ask government."
Terry would know. He was Union Mission second largest funder for years and works for government.
So I went to see Pete Lakikis and Urss Abolt of Chatham County goverment. I told them the same story I'd told Terry and the others. "We need your help but it is for the people you are here to serve?"
"How much?" Russ asked.
I grimmaced. "A lot," I said.
Then this dance began. It's lasted almost four years now. I was on the sidelines for most of it, orchastrating arguments, and wasn't involved in this last go-round at all, but it ended recently. The County did what it should and invested the money in protecting the work. The debt will soon all be gone. The focus can resume on helping the poor, broken and shattered people of the world.
The sad thing though are all of the changes that have taken place. Union Mission is a shell of what it was. Changes happened. It split itself in half, gave itself away and now is back where it was fifteen years ago. People will take issue with me saying this, which is fine, but I've far more than earned my right to say whatever I want to say ... and obviously I am.
Some change moves forward. Some change backwards. It is always fascinating to see who allows which.
"Hey," I yell at Art and Paul, "good for Union Mission. They took most of what I have. I'm pleased for them today. I wish them well. The people they are trying to help ... they deserve well."
"Your team sucks," Art yells like a typical Auburn fan. For Christ sake he could be a small minded little bank President.
"Artie," I yell turning with Goddess for home. "Two words for you! One is a verb and the other is a pronoun."
Art is obviously confused.
"The pronoun is you."
Then he burst out laughing, getting it.
Unlike so many others that I know.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Life Goes On
I was one of the speakers at a retreat for college students in the north Georgia mountains. They were great kids and I was the long haired, blue jean wearing, hip dude with the "Rev" in front of his name. We played football together and it reminded me of my own college career when I kidnapped the entire Baptist Student Union intramural football team and introduced them to ... paganism.
During the games, they learned how many other words can be matched up with Jesus or God. While initially shocked at this learning experience throughout the course of the season they all came around. We made the playoffs and out cussed the "Fraternity" team.
Most of what we really learn in college occurs outside of the classroom anyway.
So, it came time for the program and the hundred or so students cleaned themselves up and we headed into this massive lodge with a fireplace that you could stand in. It was early fall so there was no fire and a stage had been set up in front of the slate fireplace. A podium and loudspeakers were there and music was playing. The kids were settling in and ready for the "inspirational" message.
They sang, danced a bit, and prayed a lot. Then the hostess introduced the first speaker.
He was much older than the rest of us. He wore a three piece suit. His hair was slicked back straight and cropped short. As he was introduced, he sat in his chair looking sternly at his audience. The hostess reviewed everything that he had ever done so it sounded a lot like his obituary column ... he just hadn't died yet. He smile and nodded at the milestones she ticked off, looked humbled when she described awards he had won, and beamed when it was over. The students applauded because ... I don't know why they applauded but they did.
Adjusting his tie he stood with his big black Scofield Reference Bible, smiled this large smile for perhaps twenty seconds before saying anything. This is an old preacher's trick. Be silent for a few seconds before you say anything so the crowd will be waiting ... longing ... thirsting ... for what you have to say.
"My dear young people," he began.
Rolling my eyes, I reached into the back pocket of my jeans, pulled out the tin of snuff and threw some between my cheek and gum. Then I reached down and grabbed the Styrofoam coffee cup that I'd taken to the stage with me. When he repeated himself, I spit.
"My dear young people," he told them, "this world is not your home, you are passing through. Pay no attention to this world. It is full of evil and temptation. It is to be endured. Your rewards are not here. Pleasure is not here. Treasures are not here. These things are all in heaven. This life is all about preparation for what is next!," he was yelling at this point and hitting the podium.
I was spitting a lot and watching the kids. A few were listening to him, but most were holding hands, passing notes, giggling, rubbing one another's legs, staring out the window or were asleep.
"THIS LIFE," he screamed as he climaxed, "will be better when it stops. THEN ... WE ... GET ... TO ... BE ... WITH ... GOD."
And he sat down. The kids applauded because they didn't know what else to do.
Then the hostess read my obituary which was much shorter than his.
Spitting out the tobacco, I took the microphone.
"Well," I cleverly began, "after that ... all I can say is that there is another view of all of this. OB-LA-DI OB-LA-DA ... Life goes on ... Brah! ... Enjoy it!"
And I sat down.
He looked at me with confusion obviously never having listened to the Beatles. The hostess had just sat down so she jumped up again. At first a couple of the kids laughed and laughter can sometimes be contagious. This time it was and in just a few second the entire room was filled with the joys of celebration and laughter. Some clapped.
The hostess came back to the podium and looked at me.
"That's it?" she asked.
I shrugged my shoulders.
"Seriously?" she said.
So I stood back up and took the microphone again.
"Hey I don't know if y'all heard what she asked. Quite down! She asked 'Is that it?'. So I need to answer."
So the room got quiet again. Everyone was staring at me including the old guy. I waited twenty seconds before saying anything.
"Yep," I concluded. "That's it. We get this one life. Got gave it to us. Don't fuck it up."
And I sat down again.
It was my first standing ovation.
All of these many years later ... I still believe this. God gave us here. God gave us now. It is to be explored and celebrated. Stay away from bad people. Stay away from bad stuff. That's how you fuck it up. If you're in bad relationships or doing bad stuff ... stop fucking yourself.
Now, today is this wonderful gift. I have wonderful people in my life. I am doing rewarding work. I've been through my fair share of hell and don't really want to go back ... so today is this joyful celebration. Because it's one or the other ... either endure or celebrate.
"Choose life or death," the Bible says ... 'for me and mine, I choose life."
Me too.
During the games, they learned how many other words can be matched up with Jesus or God. While initially shocked at this learning experience throughout the course of the season they all came around. We made the playoffs and out cussed the "Fraternity" team.
Most of what we really learn in college occurs outside of the classroom anyway.
So, it came time for the program and the hundred or so students cleaned themselves up and we headed into this massive lodge with a fireplace that you could stand in. It was early fall so there was no fire and a stage had been set up in front of the slate fireplace. A podium and loudspeakers were there and music was playing. The kids were settling in and ready for the "inspirational" message.
They sang, danced a bit, and prayed a lot. Then the hostess introduced the first speaker.
He was much older than the rest of us. He wore a three piece suit. His hair was slicked back straight and cropped short. As he was introduced, he sat in his chair looking sternly at his audience. The hostess reviewed everything that he had ever done so it sounded a lot like his obituary column ... he just hadn't died yet. He smile and nodded at the milestones she ticked off, looked humbled when she described awards he had won, and beamed when it was over. The students applauded because ... I don't know why they applauded but they did.
Adjusting his tie he stood with his big black Scofield Reference Bible, smiled this large smile for perhaps twenty seconds before saying anything. This is an old preacher's trick. Be silent for a few seconds before you say anything so the crowd will be waiting ... longing ... thirsting ... for what you have to say.
"My dear young people," he began.
Rolling my eyes, I reached into the back pocket of my jeans, pulled out the tin of snuff and threw some between my cheek and gum. Then I reached down and grabbed the Styrofoam coffee cup that I'd taken to the stage with me. When he repeated himself, I spit.
"My dear young people," he told them, "this world is not your home, you are passing through. Pay no attention to this world. It is full of evil and temptation. It is to be endured. Your rewards are not here. Pleasure is not here. Treasures are not here. These things are all in heaven. This life is all about preparation for what is next!," he was yelling at this point and hitting the podium.
I was spitting a lot and watching the kids. A few were listening to him, but most were holding hands, passing notes, giggling, rubbing one another's legs, staring out the window or were asleep.
"THIS LIFE," he screamed as he climaxed, "will be better when it stops. THEN ... WE ... GET ... TO ... BE ... WITH ... GOD."
And he sat down. The kids applauded because they didn't know what else to do.
Then the hostess read my obituary which was much shorter than his.
Spitting out the tobacco, I took the microphone.
"Well," I cleverly began, "after that ... all I can say is that there is another view of all of this. OB-LA-DI OB-LA-DA ... Life goes on ... Brah! ... Enjoy it!"
And I sat down.
He looked at me with confusion obviously never having listened to the Beatles. The hostess had just sat down so she jumped up again. At first a couple of the kids laughed and laughter can sometimes be contagious. This time it was and in just a few second the entire room was filled with the joys of celebration and laughter. Some clapped.
The hostess came back to the podium and looked at me.
"That's it?" she asked.
I shrugged my shoulders.
"Seriously?" she said.
So I stood back up and took the microphone again.
"Hey I don't know if y'all heard what she asked. Quite down! She asked 'Is that it?'. So I need to answer."
So the room got quiet again. Everyone was staring at me including the old guy. I waited twenty seconds before saying anything.
"Yep," I concluded. "That's it. We get this one life. Got gave it to us. Don't fuck it up."
And I sat down again.
It was my first standing ovation.
All of these many years later ... I still believe this. God gave us here. God gave us now. It is to be explored and celebrated. Stay away from bad people. Stay away from bad stuff. That's how you fuck it up. If you're in bad relationships or doing bad stuff ... stop fucking yourself.
Now, today is this wonderful gift. I have wonderful people in my life. I am doing rewarding work. I've been through my fair share of hell and don't really want to go back ... so today is this joyful celebration. Because it's one or the other ... either endure or celebrate.
"Choose life or death," the Bible says ... 'for me and mine, I choose life."
Me too.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Real Love
The Swinging Medallions were wailing in the background and the crowd collected at the Pier obviously were enjoying themselves. The sky was clear and the night was warm. We sat alone on the beloved back talk ... talking. Everything in the world was happening ... over there.
We were alone in the stillness of the night, in our own world, while everybody else was in theirs.
Music ceased and the first BOOM of the fireworks exploded!. You can't help but stop and look so we did and ...
Fran came back from the dead in the biggest of ways.
We were close friends in college. She was beautiful, olive skin, long black hair that grew naturally into curls, large brown cow eyes, a pirate smile and ... M.S.
She was tiny and would topple over for no apparent reason but she was determined to live until she died. She taught me green one day. We got wasted together one night because she wanted to do that before she died. She would ride around campus alone on a bicycle built for two because ... she believed like nobody I've ever met.
I'd be walking to class and she would peddle up, her skinny brown legs weary because her muscles just weren't there for her anymore.
"You wanna ride," she'd ask, dripping in beauty and sweat.
So I'd jump on the back and peddle cause she couldn't anymore. She smiled though it all. When we got to the bike rack, I'd have to help her off ... she was so lite ... so much beauty and wonder packed into such a small body.
One day in a busy crowded hallway someone bumped against her and she toppled over onto the floor. She sat there with her legs spread, sitting up, palms on the floor to steady herself, books spread all over the place in front of her, and people just rushing by to get to wherever they were going.
"Hey Fran," I asked when I walked up, "what are you doing?"
She looked up at me with more beauty than I'd ever seen ... the fragile beauty of holiness ... and she smiled.
"I could use a hand," she said.
So I reached down and pulled her up and she had to throw an arm over my shoulder to steady herself. Then we laughed as I picked up her books this way. We looked stupid as people rushed passed but we laughed as both of us would bend over to retrieve a book and then make our way to the next.
Then Fran died.
Many years later I died too ... but in a different way.
One afternoon depressed, slightly drunk and sitting alone on back deck, Fran came back to me. There is this wall of trees with a thousand shades of green. The sun sparkled through the leaves as they danced in the wind. She reached down and touched my sadness and ... my resurrection from the dead began.
So when the fireworks blasted off Fran stood before them and we looked at her ... dressed as Christmas trees with wonderful lights glittering as she danced before us.
It is so Fran.
She was celebrating where I am now.
And letting me know it.
"Hey Fran," I say out loud today. "Thanks for last night. You are as beautiful as ever. I miss you. Thanks for coming back and saving me for myself. And ... umm ... remember that night we got drunk ... and we talked about finding love ... the real love that we all want so desperately ... thank you for blessing mine."
We were alone in the stillness of the night, in our own world, while everybody else was in theirs.
Music ceased and the first BOOM of the fireworks exploded!. You can't help but stop and look so we did and ...
Fran came back from the dead in the biggest of ways.
We were close friends in college. She was beautiful, olive skin, long black hair that grew naturally into curls, large brown cow eyes, a pirate smile and ... M.S.
She was tiny and would topple over for no apparent reason but she was determined to live until she died. She taught me green one day. We got wasted together one night because she wanted to do that before she died. She would ride around campus alone on a bicycle built for two because ... she believed like nobody I've ever met.
I'd be walking to class and she would peddle up, her skinny brown legs weary because her muscles just weren't there for her anymore.
"You wanna ride," she'd ask, dripping in beauty and sweat.
So I'd jump on the back and peddle cause she couldn't anymore. She smiled though it all. When we got to the bike rack, I'd have to help her off ... she was so lite ... so much beauty and wonder packed into such a small body.
One day in a busy crowded hallway someone bumped against her and she toppled over onto the floor. She sat there with her legs spread, sitting up, palms on the floor to steady herself, books spread all over the place in front of her, and people just rushing by to get to wherever they were going.
"Hey Fran," I asked when I walked up, "what are you doing?"
She looked up at me with more beauty than I'd ever seen ... the fragile beauty of holiness ... and she smiled.
"I could use a hand," she said.
So I reached down and pulled her up and she had to throw an arm over my shoulder to steady herself. Then we laughed as I picked up her books this way. We looked stupid as people rushed passed but we laughed as both of us would bend over to retrieve a book and then make our way to the next.
Then Fran died.
Many years later I died too ... but in a different way.
One afternoon depressed, slightly drunk and sitting alone on back deck, Fran came back to me. There is this wall of trees with a thousand shades of green. The sun sparkled through the leaves as they danced in the wind. She reached down and touched my sadness and ... my resurrection from the dead began.
So when the fireworks blasted off Fran stood before them and we looked at her ... dressed as Christmas trees with wonderful lights glittering as she danced before us.
It is so Fran.
She was celebrating where I am now.
And letting me know it.
"Hey Fran," I say out loud today. "Thanks for last night. You are as beautiful as ever. I miss you. Thanks for coming back and saving me for myself. And ... umm ... remember that night we got drunk ... and we talked about finding love ... the real love that we all want so desperately ... thank you for blessing mine."
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Eyes Unto Me
"No one knows what it's like ... behind blue eyes," Pete Townshend says.
Perhaps in his case.
I'm pretty wide open about it all.
Feelings are be lived and not suppressed. It's a shame so many people don't get that. They walk through life keeping everything they know locked inside. "All my life I've tired to make everybody happy while I just hurt and hide ... waiting for someone to tell me it's my turn ... to decide," sings Sarah Bareilles and that is how so many do it.
There is this explanation that Jimmy Buffett once gave of himself and his songs. "People ask me, Jimmy sometimes you write songs that are sensitive and moving and other times you write tacky ones."
His response was "That's because sometimes I feel sensitive and other times I feel tacky."
Yep.
I think he got it right.
The embracing of who we are ... as we are.
For me, I can lay with my lover and quiet contentment reigns. Heart smiles break out for the simplest of reasons. Story telling and brooding conversations occur. Love peacefully settles like a blanket covering from the harshness of the world. Breathing becomes synchronized. Smells magnified.
Then I can also jump in a swimming pool full of my friends and the craziest things happen. They make me laugh. We do concerts on the porch and form a band to perform at Bar Church. Skinny Dipping breaks out. We break into one anothers homes cause ... just cause.
I take long walks with Goddess to a sad little holy dock to thank the sun as it sets for another day and pray for tomorrow. We sit by ourselves with my arm draped over her and pants and stares at the marsh.
Work can make me very intense and I focus ... throwing out explicatives when it goes wrong (my favorite is a pro-noun and a verb ... the Pro-noun is 'Mother' ... the definition of the verb is 'all the way'" ... and dancing across the room giving everyone a high five when it all goes right.
I sit on the beloved back in the afternoons, sans the laundry, drinking wine and listening to music ... contemplating the mysteries of the universe and the beauty of the stars.
There are also times when the loneliness of what I am missing almost crushes me and I fall on the sofa because the bed makes me miss it more and my blue eyes hold the tears back ... but barley ... until I fall asleep.
All of these things make me ... me. I try to embrace them all ... to celebrate them all ... because this is who I am.
Other people want me to be somebody else and make no bones telling me that I should more of this or less of that. I don't listen to them.
I use my eyes to SEE things as they are. To be myself as I am. The sensitive and the tacky. Holy and Profane.
Just as God made me.
So if God celebrates that ... and I believe she does ... I should too ... regardless of what anybody else thinks.
Perhaps in his case.
I'm pretty wide open about it all.
Feelings are be lived and not suppressed. It's a shame so many people don't get that. They walk through life keeping everything they know locked inside. "All my life I've tired to make everybody happy while I just hurt and hide ... waiting for someone to tell me it's my turn ... to decide," sings Sarah Bareilles and that is how so many do it.
There is this explanation that Jimmy Buffett once gave of himself and his songs. "People ask me, Jimmy sometimes you write songs that are sensitive and moving and other times you write tacky ones."
His response was "That's because sometimes I feel sensitive and other times I feel tacky."
Yep.
I think he got it right.
The embracing of who we are ... as we are.
For me, I can lay with my lover and quiet contentment reigns. Heart smiles break out for the simplest of reasons. Story telling and brooding conversations occur. Love peacefully settles like a blanket covering from the harshness of the world. Breathing becomes synchronized. Smells magnified.
Then I can also jump in a swimming pool full of my friends and the craziest things happen. They make me laugh. We do concerts on the porch and form a band to perform at Bar Church. Skinny Dipping breaks out. We break into one anothers homes cause ... just cause.
I take long walks with Goddess to a sad little holy dock to thank the sun as it sets for another day and pray for tomorrow. We sit by ourselves with my arm draped over her and pants and stares at the marsh.
Work can make me very intense and I focus ... throwing out explicatives when it goes wrong (my favorite is a pro-noun and a verb ... the Pro-noun is 'Mother' ... the definition of the verb is 'all the way'" ... and dancing across the room giving everyone a high five when it all goes right.
I sit on the beloved back in the afternoons, sans the laundry, drinking wine and listening to music ... contemplating the mysteries of the universe and the beauty of the stars.
There are also times when the loneliness of what I am missing almost crushes me and I fall on the sofa because the bed makes me miss it more and my blue eyes hold the tears back ... but barley ... until I fall asleep.
All of these things make me ... me. I try to embrace them all ... to celebrate them all ... because this is who I am.
Other people want me to be somebody else and make no bones telling me that I should more of this or less of that. I don't listen to them.
I use my eyes to SEE things as they are. To be myself as I am. The sensitive and the tacky. Holy and Profane.
Just as God made me.
So if God celebrates that ... and I believe she does ... I should too ... regardless of what anybody else thinks.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Hope Coming True
If you're lucky there are times in life when you find yourself as a part of a tight, loving group of friends who border on family. Some are predictable while others leave you scratching your head wondering where they came from.
Still others you would have bet your life on to always be there for you are nowhere near. But the group is bound together for the common good, normally facing similar issues, and there is this natural familiarity and sharing.
When it happens, it is a good time in life.
This is such a time for me
After years of public living when everyone wanted to be my friend ... followed by their mass exodus ... leaving a handful of unpredictable characters ... then others showed up out of the blue ... and by the time summer got here ... we were having a moveable feast.
After "a long cold lonely winter", the summer has been a constant celebration of friends who love and rely on one another with more passion that I could have ever imagined.
Hemingway wrote, "But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person had died for no reason."
Like most that he wrote, I like these words that capture both the despair and hope that life can be. I've had both the last several years and I am the first to confess that hopes coming true is far better.
Back when I was at Union Mission I wanted to set clear values for the sad, broken people who came there. I framed a large poster of a wealthy man dressed to the nines, with his foot propped on the front bumper of a Rolls Royce holding a glass of wine. Underneath in bold white letters were the words "POVERTY SUCKS!"
It was the first thing that everybody saw when they checked in.
The Board of Directors and some others gave me grief about it but I thought it the best way to convey that Union Mission wasn't a final destination but a place to take inventory.
"She's living a shitty life, but she still has hope," my dearest friend said of another friend recently.
It's a simpler way of saying what Hemingway said.
"Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid" (Frederick Buerchner ... my favorite author ever).
So after a couple of years of walking through the valley of the shadow of death ... I find myself in life again.
I've been constantly comforted by my friends. I've been to table after table of feasts. My cups have runneth over (thank you Cheryl Sadowski). Rods, staffs and oils have been ... party themes. We haven't pulled out the sheep yet but you never know with these wonderful, exhilarating, crazy carnival of friends. It could happen.
And last night I laid down in bed ... which may as well have been green pastures ... the still waters of the ocean only blocks away ... I was comforted ... my soul is restored.
Surely goodness and mercy will follow.
And I want to dwell here ... forever.
Still others you would have bet your life on to always be there for you are nowhere near. But the group is bound together for the common good, normally facing similar issues, and there is this natural familiarity and sharing.
When it happens, it is a good time in life.
This is such a time for me
After years of public living when everyone wanted to be my friend ... followed by their mass exodus ... leaving a handful of unpredictable characters ... then others showed up out of the blue ... and by the time summer got here ... we were having a moveable feast.
After "a long cold lonely winter", the summer has been a constant celebration of friends who love and rely on one another with more passion that I could have ever imagined.
Hemingway wrote, "But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person had died for no reason."
Like most that he wrote, I like these words that capture both the despair and hope that life can be. I've had both the last several years and I am the first to confess that hopes coming true is far better.
Back when I was at Union Mission I wanted to set clear values for the sad, broken people who came there. I framed a large poster of a wealthy man dressed to the nines, with his foot propped on the front bumper of a Rolls Royce holding a glass of wine. Underneath in bold white letters were the words "POVERTY SUCKS!"
It was the first thing that everybody saw when they checked in.
The Board of Directors and some others gave me grief about it but I thought it the best way to convey that Union Mission wasn't a final destination but a place to take inventory.
"She's living a shitty life, but she still has hope," my dearest friend said of another friend recently.
It's a simpler way of saying what Hemingway said.
"Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid" (Frederick Buerchner ... my favorite author ever).
So after a couple of years of walking through the valley of the shadow of death ... I find myself in life again.
I've been constantly comforted by my friends. I've been to table after table of feasts. My cups have runneth over (thank you Cheryl Sadowski). Rods, staffs and oils have been ... party themes. We haven't pulled out the sheep yet but you never know with these wonderful, exhilarating, crazy carnival of friends. It could happen.
And last night I laid down in bed ... which may as well have been green pastures ... the still waters of the ocean only blocks away ... I was comforted ... my soul is restored.
Surely goodness and mercy will follow.
And I want to dwell here ... forever.
Friday, September 2, 2011
Pedicures
Trolly Joe looked at me with disdain.
"Homo," he said.
"Could be," I shrugged, "but I love 'em."
"Homo," he repeated with an incredulous stare as only he could do over his Styrofoam cup full of rum and coke.
"You're the one wearing an ear ring," I said sipping my beer.
"Homo," he said yet again.
"Joseph," I said, "what is not to love about it? I do it my way. I pack a cooler, make them change the flat screen television from the Lifetime Network to ESPN, open a beer and have an Asian woman do my feet. What's not to love?"
"Homo," he said again.
Then a few months later ... he overcame this prejudice and had his first Pedicure.
"Thank you," he told me the next time we were together. "It was great!"
"Homo," I called him.
Pedicures.
I love 'em!
And I'm having one today to kick off this holiday weekend!
I have to leave the island anyway so I may as well. Besides, it's been a rough week. All of the stuff that I was working on took a crazy turn yesterday afternoon. So I took Goddess for a walk and we ended up on the sad little holy dock and Shirley ... who is now running for God ... actually made an Epiphany. I haven't actually seen Shirley since her last Epiphany so we sat on the dock in the midst of the Marsh and talked as dear friends do.
Then she had to disappear as Epiphanies do to make an appearance at a political function.
Anyway ... who cares?
During today's Pedicure, I will raise a toast to Trolly Joe and tell him that he is welcome. Then I will watch the highlights from last night's kick off of college football season, feel the love around me, and this celebratory weekend will begin.
Feet first!
Head to follow.
"Homo," he said.
"Could be," I shrugged, "but I love 'em."
"Homo," he repeated with an incredulous stare as only he could do over his Styrofoam cup full of rum and coke.
"You're the one wearing an ear ring," I said sipping my beer.
"Homo," he said yet again.
"Joseph," I said, "what is not to love about it? I do it my way. I pack a cooler, make them change the flat screen television from the Lifetime Network to ESPN, open a beer and have an Asian woman do my feet. What's not to love?"
"Homo," he said again.
Then a few months later ... he overcame this prejudice and had his first Pedicure.
"Thank you," he told me the next time we were together. "It was great!"
"Homo," I called him.
Pedicures.
I love 'em!
And I'm having one today to kick off this holiday weekend!
I have to leave the island anyway so I may as well. Besides, it's been a rough week. All of the stuff that I was working on took a crazy turn yesterday afternoon. So I took Goddess for a walk and we ended up on the sad little holy dock and Shirley ... who is now running for God ... actually made an Epiphany. I haven't actually seen Shirley since her last Epiphany so we sat on the dock in the midst of the Marsh and talked as dear friends do.
Then she had to disappear as Epiphanies do to make an appearance at a political function.
Anyway ... who cares?
During today's Pedicure, I will raise a toast to Trolly Joe and tell him that he is welcome. Then I will watch the highlights from last night's kick off of college football season, feel the love around me, and this celebratory weekend will begin.
Feet first!
Head to follow.
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