Probably intending to write 'Good Morning" she left out one of the letters so it came through as "God Morning" and it immediately sent my mind racing to the past. In front of the inner city church in downtown Louisville was a sign that read:
The Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel
God is Love
Except someone had picked up a rock and thrown it so perfectly that the "O" was taken out of "God" leaving just the "G and the D" which made me laugh like crazy. Seriously? GD?
I showed up that morning to play guitar during the service because there was no one to play anything else. There was an organ and a piano but there was no one to play them. The congregation was comprised of five little old ladies who didn't know they needed a man to be a church in good standing with the Baptist. Some prisoners from the Transitional Center were also transported over by a guy with a gun. Completing the gathering of believers was a few Seminary students who believed that God loves the poor most of all (which is what the Bible says but God apparently has a poor way of showing it because the poor never go away. They just stay poor).
I sang "I Saw the Light", the old Hank Williams song. An old lady named Buna Wynn stood up when I finished, spit in the Maxwell House coffee can she held in one hand ... with a Scofield Reference Bible in the other ... and yelled "DO IT AGAIN!"
She also had a butcher knife stuck in the apron she was wearing.
When a woman spitting tobacco carrying a butcher knife requests an encore ... you damn well give her one.
So I did.
Eight years later I left that church and my career as a "Professional Christian" came to an end. The work with poor continued for decades longer. I did Christian things ... religious things ... I just wasn't paid for it anymore.
I always liked the story of Jesus spending forty days in the wilderness. First of all, in Hebrew forty days means ... a long time. It could be four minutes or forty years. Whatever it was it seemed like a long time to Jesus. Then he was tempted and decided wanted to be when he didn't want to be when he grew up. That led him to what he did want to be. Then everything else became ... Godly.
For the past year or so ... I've been in the wilderness. In Hebrew, one of the many things that the word can mean is ... "God's speaking place." So God and I have done a lot of talking. She's a really good listener.
It is a God morning.
I'm learning to trust and not have to be in charge. I'm learning to take my time and not rush ... for minutes or forty days or forty years ... it takes a long time.
I've done a lot in my life and I have more to do ... I just don't know what it is yet ... well ... some of it I do. Every day I seem to know a little more.
When this life of mine started ... I had no idea. Then I ended up in college with the right group of people at the right time. Afterwards it was Seminary and the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel with another group of right people at the right time. Then it was Union Mission for a longer run and for the most part the players remained the same. Then it was Wilderness time again until... there was this other group ... smaller ... but the right ones ... at the right time. And there is this one.
The wind blows outside and leaves dance. Goddess lay on the beloved back deck enjoying colder weather that I do not like. It is the time of Advent ... the coming of God. I can feel it though there is no tree in my house ... decorations or carols singing. Just on this morning ... God.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Listening to the Ocean
I dunno.
It's the letdown after knocking off all of the things that you're supposed to do. Yesterday was the culmination of a lot and there is no question it ended up successfully. Plus there is outstanding stuff but the timelines are not so short. I have time.
So I'm taking it.
Why rush?
I'm one to think things through anyway ... to feel my way.
In spite of a reputation for shooting from the hip, throwing caution to the wind, being spontaneous and defying other people's expectations ... I actually think most things through first. I am thoughtful of other people which made collaboration much easier to achieve. I could care less about who gets the credit so long as the task is completed.
I contemplate. I muse. I sit with my feet propped on the beloved back deck and stare at the stars for so long ... I hear what they are saying. The roar of the ocean brings me messages from the deepest parts. Songs written long ago bring me fresh messages. Things written by people long dead come back to life for me. Mentors who are long gone from my life speak to me daily.
So after the power meeting conference call with people scattered across the world ... I exhaled. I'd done things I hadn't done in a long time ... I raised a lot of money for some good things.
So I celebrated. I went off island to find my best friend and we ... had fun.
Then we collected with our other best friends and ... laughed and drank ... smoked and cussed ... and made plans.
Returning home, I found the beauty of the beloved back deck. The stars shined as they sang like a choir. The ocean roared. A warm December breeze kissed my skin. Love descended upon me.
Now I make my new list of things to do. Afterwards I must make a Christmas list. I have to get a tree because I bought lights for one that I don't have yet. I purchased my first present of the season yesterday and am quite proud of that accomplishment. There are likely Christmas cards in my Post Office Box though I haven't checked it in a week.
My phone buzzes ... Atlanta, Pittsburgh and New York all want something at the same time.
I sigh.
It reminds me of the past thirty years. There was always stuff to do. I let it intrude on things that were far more important. I don't ever want to do that again.
But the phone reminds me that there are things to do. Work to be continued. Water bills to be contested. Renovations to completed. Manuscripts to compile.
Ah ... to hell with it.
The ocean is telling me that my bare feet need sand.
I always listen to the ocean.
It's the letdown after knocking off all of the things that you're supposed to do. Yesterday was the culmination of a lot and there is no question it ended up successfully. Plus there is outstanding stuff but the timelines are not so short. I have time.
So I'm taking it.
Why rush?
I'm one to think things through anyway ... to feel my way.
In spite of a reputation for shooting from the hip, throwing caution to the wind, being spontaneous and defying other people's expectations ... I actually think most things through first. I am thoughtful of other people which made collaboration much easier to achieve. I could care less about who gets the credit so long as the task is completed.
I contemplate. I muse. I sit with my feet propped on the beloved back deck and stare at the stars for so long ... I hear what they are saying. The roar of the ocean brings me messages from the deepest parts. Songs written long ago bring me fresh messages. Things written by people long dead come back to life for me. Mentors who are long gone from my life speak to me daily.
So after the power meeting conference call with people scattered across the world ... I exhaled. I'd done things I hadn't done in a long time ... I raised a lot of money for some good things.
So I celebrated. I went off island to find my best friend and we ... had fun.
Then we collected with our other best friends and ... laughed and drank ... smoked and cussed ... and made plans.
Returning home, I found the beauty of the beloved back deck. The stars shined as they sang like a choir. The ocean roared. A warm December breeze kissed my skin. Love descended upon me.
Now I make my new list of things to do. Afterwards I must make a Christmas list. I have to get a tree because I bought lights for one that I don't have yet. I purchased my first present of the season yesterday and am quite proud of that accomplishment. There are likely Christmas cards in my Post Office Box though I haven't checked it in a week.
My phone buzzes ... Atlanta, Pittsburgh and New York all want something at the same time.
I sigh.
It reminds me of the past thirty years. There was always stuff to do. I let it intrude on things that were far more important. I don't ever want to do that again.
But the phone reminds me that there are things to do. Work to be continued. Water bills to be contested. Renovations to completed. Manuscripts to compile.
Ah ... to hell with it.
The ocean is telling me that my bare feet need sand.
I always listen to the ocean.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Baby's Got New Plans
Sitting this morning in the same place I sat last night, the sun burns through the fog that hangs over Fran's thousand shades of green making it too bright to look at. The roar of the ocean sings to me. The grill that burned brightly sits needing cleaning. The fire that threw us glows is now ashes that also need cleaning. My bare feet dangle and brush Goddess's now restored fur after her sickness lay under the table on the beloved back deck.
The deck was crowded last night. Live music was played as steaks were grilled. We toasted with wine and achieved communion. Wooden chairs were dragged outside from the kitchen as the carnival of friends grew. We so missed the ones who weren't there. An impromptu, thrown together excuse to cook steaks that had thawed had turned into ... magic.
At one point I sat back and appreciated it happening.
"What a gift!" I said to myself.
Then Simon, the dog that lives downstairs, escaped so a search party was formed. Then Samuel turned into "Meals on Wheels" and took plates to those not fortunate enough to have been with us. Those of us who didn't volunteer for the search party sat in the chairs beside the one that I'm sitting in now.
Sitting back, the fog descends to the ground as the sun assumes control of the day. Brightness reigns.
It reminds me of the conversation last night. "Baby's got new plans," goes the song. Everybody last night has new plans ... and if someone wasn't finished making them ... the rest of us were there to help. I gotta get a Christmas tree and paint the bedroom. I was pretty easy ... the others .... not so much.
But we all got each other.
Later ... I looked at picture of a half decorated Christmas tree. It reminded me of last year for a second ... when the tree was half empty.
Now it's half full and the sun is shining down on it.
I've done a lot of stuff, but Baby's got new plans.
After the bedroom is painted ... and I mean that allegorically ... the realism of it is so much better than the color ... then the rest of those new plans ... are coming.
The deck was crowded last night. Live music was played as steaks were grilled. We toasted with wine and achieved communion. Wooden chairs were dragged outside from the kitchen as the carnival of friends grew. We so missed the ones who weren't there. An impromptu, thrown together excuse to cook steaks that had thawed had turned into ... magic.
At one point I sat back and appreciated it happening.
"What a gift!" I said to myself.
Then Simon, the dog that lives downstairs, escaped so a search party was formed. Then Samuel turned into "Meals on Wheels" and took plates to those not fortunate enough to have been with us. Those of us who didn't volunteer for the search party sat in the chairs beside the one that I'm sitting in now.
Sitting back, the fog descends to the ground as the sun assumes control of the day. Brightness reigns.
It reminds me of the conversation last night. "Baby's got new plans," goes the song. Everybody last night has new plans ... and if someone wasn't finished making them ... the rest of us were there to help. I gotta get a Christmas tree and paint the bedroom. I was pretty easy ... the others .... not so much.
But we all got each other.
Later ... I looked at picture of a half decorated Christmas tree. It reminded me of last year for a second ... when the tree was half empty.
Now it's half full and the sun is shining down on it.
I've done a lot of stuff, but Baby's got new plans.
After the bedroom is painted ... and I mean that allegorically ... the realism of it is so much better than the color ... then the rest of those new plans ... are coming.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Reinventing Christmas
It is deja vu. Leaving the house in the predawn of the morning, white Christmas lights are draped over Butler Avenue making me look up. While they seem quite ugly in the daytime, they are serene in the dark. Twinkling stars line the entire length of the street. No one is out as I make my way. The window is cracked and I hear the ocean sing. All is calm. All is bright as another silent night comes to an end.
I remember looking at the same thing last year making my way to the Breakfast Club. It was my first Christmas alone and I slept walked a lot. The lights were always captivating and I remember this morning how I felt then. I'd put up a tree but it was decorated with broken hearts and the only thing underneath it was loneliness. I don't remember much else about it ... there's not much worth remembering. As soon as the family dinner was over I was on a plane to St. Martin.
Stopping the car in the middle of Butler Avenue, I feel last Christmas again ... but just for a moment.
It's all different now. There isn't a tree in the house yet but the place is full of life and happiness. I'm starting all over having thrown away everything that was a decoration before. That was then. This is now.
On Friday night, I played guitar in one of the worst Christmas concerts ever performed in the history of the world. But we had fun and I was surrounded by people who love me and who I love. Afterwards we laughed at ourselves and toasted one another' with Christmas Cheer.
Then on Sunday morning at Bar Church we did the exact same songs and nailed every single one of them ... to perfection. An angel sang. Fingers hit all of the right notes. The vibe was holiness and the community of believers celebrated what we have ... which is just each other. Most were praying like hell to find enough money to cover another month's rent and buy Christmas stuff on top of that!
Last night I sat with dear friends. We had eaten and were just sitting there ... trying to figure out Christmas. Everybody will be scattered to and fro upon the face of the earth though we'd much rather just hang out together. If the weather's nice enough on Christmas, we'll go skinny dipping and baptize ourselves in the pools of Babylon.
Then we talked late into the night. Hearts were purposely opened and we walked inside. Reflections were shared. Encouragement given. There were radiant beams from thy holy face. All was calm ... all was bright.
The car stopped in front of the Breakfast Club and I stumbled into the glories that stream from heaven afar ... and had coffee. It was warm and cozy with the dawn of redeeming grace.
I have a lot to do today so I went to leave earlier than I normally do.
"Don't leave," Nancee protested and it was the nicest way to have start a Monday. We hugged and everyone shouted greetings of good tidings and cheer.
Back at the love of our house, I gave Goddess a treat and discovered that there was no hot water. Hmmm. Mondays can trump Christmas?
Now I'm staring at this long list of things to do. Each has an incredibly short deadline
But it was the best of weekends. Shepherds would quake at how good it was.
So if this is reinventing Christmas ... then so far, so good!
I remember looking at the same thing last year making my way to the Breakfast Club. It was my first Christmas alone and I slept walked a lot. The lights were always captivating and I remember this morning how I felt then. I'd put up a tree but it was decorated with broken hearts and the only thing underneath it was loneliness. I don't remember much else about it ... there's not much worth remembering. As soon as the family dinner was over I was on a plane to St. Martin.
Stopping the car in the middle of Butler Avenue, I feel last Christmas again ... but just for a moment.
It's all different now. There isn't a tree in the house yet but the place is full of life and happiness. I'm starting all over having thrown away everything that was a decoration before. That was then. This is now.
On Friday night, I played guitar in one of the worst Christmas concerts ever performed in the history of the world. But we had fun and I was surrounded by people who love me and who I love. Afterwards we laughed at ourselves and toasted one another' with Christmas Cheer.
Then on Sunday morning at Bar Church we did the exact same songs and nailed every single one of them ... to perfection. An angel sang. Fingers hit all of the right notes. The vibe was holiness and the community of believers celebrated what we have ... which is just each other. Most were praying like hell to find enough money to cover another month's rent and buy Christmas stuff on top of that!
Last night I sat with dear friends. We had eaten and were just sitting there ... trying to figure out Christmas. Everybody will be scattered to and fro upon the face of the earth though we'd much rather just hang out together. If the weather's nice enough on Christmas, we'll go skinny dipping and baptize ourselves in the pools of Babylon.
Then we talked late into the night. Hearts were purposely opened and we walked inside. Reflections were shared. Encouragement given. There were radiant beams from thy holy face. All was calm ... all was bright.
The car stopped in front of the Breakfast Club and I stumbled into the glories that stream from heaven afar ... and had coffee. It was warm and cozy with the dawn of redeeming grace.
I have a lot to do today so I went to leave earlier than I normally do.
"Don't leave," Nancee protested and it was the nicest way to have start a Monday. We hugged and everyone shouted greetings of good tidings and cheer.
Back at the love of our house, I gave Goddess a treat and discovered that there was no hot water. Hmmm. Mondays can trump Christmas?
Now I'm staring at this long list of things to do. Each has an incredibly short deadline
But it was the best of weekends. Shepherds would quake at how good it was.
So if this is reinventing Christmas ... then so far, so good!
Sunday, December 4, 2011
What Religion Is
I was driving Dedra's van which is really a closet on wheels ... packed with clothes, music, electric pianos, posted notes stuck over everything and other things that I cannot identify. In addition to most everything she owns, Dedra's van was packed with girls of all ages. Making our way to the Tybee Island nursing home, we ran in because we were late.
As though nursing homes aren't confusing enough, the Tybee one makes it especially challenging because there are two different buildings that sit on opposite sides of the street. I think that this is a "census control" measure. When the place starts getting too full, they make residents shuffle back and forth across the street so tourists looking for the Lighthouse can ... bring the census back into a manageable number.
Inside my dear friend Chuck Courtnay was set up to play live music. His keyboard was at the front of the room that smelled like antiseptic and shit. Crowded with all sorts of people ... black and white, rich and poor, loved and unloved, visited or permanently alone ... able to walk or forever seated in a wheelchair. The staff all wore bright colors. Everybody else wore grey. The sprinkler system sprayed sadness upon everyone.
Cheryl met us inside obviously glad that we'd actually showed up. Dedra, Sarah and three little girls mixed into the crowd with her. Chuck started playing good old fashioned rock-and-roll ... and the most amazing things happened.
The crippled rose out of wheelchairs and moved with smiles.
The blind saw things as the way they used to be.
The mute made noises of glee as they swayed back and forth.
The dead came back to life.
I danced with a little old lady with white hair. "Don't let me fall. Don't let me fall," she repeated throughout the song.
"Don't let go," I told her.
She smiled as I twirled her around.
When the song finished she looked at me in all seriousness and asked, "Is there cake?"
I shrugged my shoulders.
I stopped and took it all in. Chuck had worked himself into a sweat but was giving these people everything inside of him. Sarah was beautifully doing the "Electric Slide." Maddie was hugging a person in a wheelchair and confused as to whether it was a man or a woman. Cheryl was dancing with someone. Dedra was dancing with herself inspiring everyone confined around her. Cass was smiling at people and making them melt. Laurel was watching me watch them.
This is what religion really is. Everything in Scripture ... pick your version of Scripture, it doesn't matter which ... the word was becoming flesh. People were dancing as David danced. The Red Sea of Sadness that permanently rained upon them was parted. Some cried. Others smiled. One kept asking for cake.
When it ended we were a pool of sweat in community with Chuck. The girls passed out Teddy Bears to everyone who wanted one.
"Thank you for the Teddy Bear," an old woman asked, "but can I have one of the little girls?"
And that's how it ended.
But before it did ... heaven had come on earth ... for just a little bit.
As though nursing homes aren't confusing enough, the Tybee one makes it especially challenging because there are two different buildings that sit on opposite sides of the street. I think that this is a "census control" measure. When the place starts getting too full, they make residents shuffle back and forth across the street so tourists looking for the Lighthouse can ... bring the census back into a manageable number.
Inside my dear friend Chuck Courtnay was set up to play live music. His keyboard was at the front of the room that smelled like antiseptic and shit. Crowded with all sorts of people ... black and white, rich and poor, loved and unloved, visited or permanently alone ... able to walk or forever seated in a wheelchair. The staff all wore bright colors. Everybody else wore grey. The sprinkler system sprayed sadness upon everyone.
Cheryl met us inside obviously glad that we'd actually showed up. Dedra, Sarah and three little girls mixed into the crowd with her. Chuck started playing good old fashioned rock-and-roll ... and the most amazing things happened.
The crippled rose out of wheelchairs and moved with smiles.
The blind saw things as the way they used to be.
The mute made noises of glee as they swayed back and forth.
The dead came back to life.
I danced with a little old lady with white hair. "Don't let me fall. Don't let me fall," she repeated throughout the song.
"Don't let go," I told her.
She smiled as I twirled her around.
When the song finished she looked at me in all seriousness and asked, "Is there cake?"
I shrugged my shoulders.
I stopped and took it all in. Chuck had worked himself into a sweat but was giving these people everything inside of him. Sarah was beautifully doing the "Electric Slide." Maddie was hugging a person in a wheelchair and confused as to whether it was a man or a woman. Cheryl was dancing with someone. Dedra was dancing with herself inspiring everyone confined around her. Cass was smiling at people and making them melt. Laurel was watching me watch them.
This is what religion really is. Everything in Scripture ... pick your version of Scripture, it doesn't matter which ... the word was becoming flesh. People were dancing as David danced. The Red Sea of Sadness that permanently rained upon them was parted. Some cried. Others smiled. One kept asking for cake.
When it ended we were a pool of sweat in community with Chuck. The girls passed out Teddy Bears to everyone who wanted one.
"Thank you for the Teddy Bear," an old woman asked, "but can I have one of the little girls?"
And that's how it ended.
But before it did ... heaven had come on earth ... for just a little bit.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
We were awlful
It's best to be honest about these things. We looked really good ... we sounded awful.
But we "looked marvelous." And in the words of Billy Crystal ... "it is more important to look good than it is to feel good."
We felt like shit.
The karma was bad from the git-go ... which is never a good thing at a Christmas show, though bad karma at Christmas is more the norm than not in most households.
Let's start with the positive. Johnny O looked marvelous ... Christmas sweater, scarf, Santa hat ... he was the epitome of Christmas.
Judy O was equally fabulous ... looking like a Christmas elf and sprinkling delight on the crowd.
Sarah was wonderful as she always is. Maddie looked killer and I'm sure got notes from the crowd asking for her phone number. Gordon was damper in his tie and harmonica The best part of the show was after the show when he and Dedra did a piano/harmonica duet while the rest of us walked away from it all.
The crowd had walked away a lot earlier.
OK, now the bad. While I looked great, it was too damn cold for my fingers to hit the right notes ... so I didn't. Dedra was permanently pissed and was regulated to the back row which just further complicated things. Davy seemed to have the right drum stick in the wrong hand and we were incredibly off beat. Samuel was irritated because we'd missed the sound check so he was trying to do it in the middle of the show. Lea was grunting frustration.
Other than that ... everything was perfect!
When world famous musician Chuck Courtenay looked at me with a smile and used his hand to do the slash my throat sign ... I knew.
But ... it's Christmas.
The three wise guys fled. Mary grabbed hold of the ass. Joseph shook his head wondering what in the hell he'd gotten himself into. The guiding star was covered with clouds.
But you know what?
We retreated to Bernie's and ordered food and drank. We laughed and celebrated. We'd tried. Though we may have failed we gave it our best on a bad night.
If we would have just had a bass player.
You know what else?
Watch us next time.
Wise guys will flock to us as groupies. Mary will kick ass. Joe will dance with delight. The stars will shine.
Just watch.
But we "looked marvelous." And in the words of Billy Crystal ... "it is more important to look good than it is to feel good."
We felt like shit.
The karma was bad from the git-go ... which is never a good thing at a Christmas show, though bad karma at Christmas is more the norm than not in most households.
Let's start with the positive. Johnny O looked marvelous ... Christmas sweater, scarf, Santa hat ... he was the epitome of Christmas.
Judy O was equally fabulous ... looking like a Christmas elf and sprinkling delight on the crowd.
Sarah was wonderful as she always is. Maddie looked killer and I'm sure got notes from the crowd asking for her phone number. Gordon was damper in his tie and harmonica The best part of the show was after the show when he and Dedra did a piano/harmonica duet while the rest of us walked away from it all.
The crowd had walked away a lot earlier.
OK, now the bad. While I looked great, it was too damn cold for my fingers to hit the right notes ... so I didn't. Dedra was permanently pissed and was regulated to the back row which just further complicated things. Davy seemed to have the right drum stick in the wrong hand and we were incredibly off beat. Samuel was irritated because we'd missed the sound check so he was trying to do it in the middle of the show. Lea was grunting frustration.
Other than that ... everything was perfect!
When world famous musician Chuck Courtenay looked at me with a smile and used his hand to do the slash my throat sign ... I knew.
But ... it's Christmas.
The three wise guys fled. Mary grabbed hold of the ass. Joseph shook his head wondering what in the hell he'd gotten himself into. The guiding star was covered with clouds.
But you know what?
We retreated to Bernie's and ordered food and drank. We laughed and celebrated. We'd tried. Though we may have failed we gave it our best on a bad night.
If we would have just had a bass player.
You know what else?
Watch us next time.
Wise guys will flock to us as groupies. Mary will kick ass. Joe will dance with delight. The stars will shine.
Just watch.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
The Unreachable Star
Today is world AIDS Day. It used to mean something in Savannah ... now its a tiny collection of people who still believe.
Most don't care and that shows.
When we started ... it was something. Hundreds marched the streets of the city with store owners yelling at us ..."Go Home! This is killing my business!" We ended at Club One Jefferson and the famous Lady Chablis performed for everyone to say thanks. We moved to Forsyth Park and hundreds lit candles for hundreds who had died. Bubba Hope showed up one night dragging a six foot high cross and singing "Jesus Loves Me". My friend Robert Bush joined in and soon 300 people were singing it. Bubba drug his cross away right after we finished.
The last one I went to was at the J. C. Lewis Health Center and it was a tiny little collection of patients, parents and people paid to be there ... a pale comparison of what it used to be. What was once significant has become ... insignificant.
When there is no vision the people perish. When there is no leadership, there is no vision. Show me the leadership.
Back then ... we believed.
We believed we can change the world. AIDS can end. Homelessness doesn't have to be. The sick can be made well. The dead come back to life.
And we showed the world that we believed.
But the world didn't ... and beliefs can be co-opted ... politicians, clergy, used car salesmen and drug dealers are all working in collusion to co-opt dreams.
And they've won.
Except ...
There are some ...
who still ... dare to "Dream the Impossible Dream ... to fight the unbeatable foe ... to bear the unbearable sorrow ... to run where the brave dare not go ..."
I know a lot of them.
My favorite version of the old musical Man of LaMacha" is actually an adaptation by Graham Greene (one of the greatest writers of all time) in his book, "Monsignor Quixote". An alcoholic Priest ... still believes ... wrongs can be made right ... broken hearts can mend ... the world will be better ... though your arms are so weary ... and your body is scorned and covered with scars ... he still believes that we can reach the unreachable star.
In a deep conversation at my kitchen table the other night, I was saying how much Savannah has lost in the last several years. A decade ago it was cutting edge, leading the nation in so many things, and today a lot of federal and state policy is built upon what Savannah did then ... and Savannah doesn't take advantage of it now. So money is lost that should be here ... AIDS goes on ... homelessness has more than doubled ... the sick wander the streets ... the dead sholve themselves in our faces.
It makes me wistful.
While the world baptizes itself in mediocrity ... with politicians, clergy, used car salesmen and drug dealers shoving the heads so many under its waters ... willing to be submerged in ... accepted by the many because who really gives a shit about the few?
Though the few grow larger every day.
We gaze stars.
That furthermost one ... yeah ... that's the one.
Hey! Mediocrity! Members of the Elect! Clergy! Used Care Salesmen! Drug dealings!
Watch us ... touch this.
Then watch my finger.
Most don't care and that shows.
When we started ... it was something. Hundreds marched the streets of the city with store owners yelling at us ..."Go Home! This is killing my business!" We ended at Club One Jefferson and the famous Lady Chablis performed for everyone to say thanks. We moved to Forsyth Park and hundreds lit candles for hundreds who had died. Bubba Hope showed up one night dragging a six foot high cross and singing "Jesus Loves Me". My friend Robert Bush joined in and soon 300 people were singing it. Bubba drug his cross away right after we finished.
The last one I went to was at the J. C. Lewis Health Center and it was a tiny little collection of patients, parents and people paid to be there ... a pale comparison of what it used to be. What was once significant has become ... insignificant.
When there is no vision the people perish. When there is no leadership, there is no vision. Show me the leadership.
Back then ... we believed.
We believed we can change the world. AIDS can end. Homelessness doesn't have to be. The sick can be made well. The dead come back to life.
And we showed the world that we believed.
But the world didn't ... and beliefs can be co-opted ... politicians, clergy, used car salesmen and drug dealers are all working in collusion to co-opt dreams.
And they've won.
Except ...
There are some ...
who still ... dare to "Dream the Impossible Dream ... to fight the unbeatable foe ... to bear the unbearable sorrow ... to run where the brave dare not go ..."
I know a lot of them.
My favorite version of the old musical Man of LaMacha" is actually an adaptation by Graham Greene (one of the greatest writers of all time) in his book, "Monsignor Quixote". An alcoholic Priest ... still believes ... wrongs can be made right ... broken hearts can mend ... the world will be better ... though your arms are so weary ... and your body is scorned and covered with scars ... he still believes that we can reach the unreachable star.
In a deep conversation at my kitchen table the other night, I was saying how much Savannah has lost in the last several years. A decade ago it was cutting edge, leading the nation in so many things, and today a lot of federal and state policy is built upon what Savannah did then ... and Savannah doesn't take advantage of it now. So money is lost that should be here ... AIDS goes on ... homelessness has more than doubled ... the sick wander the streets ... the dead sholve themselves in our faces.
It makes me wistful.
While the world baptizes itself in mediocrity ... with politicians, clergy, used car salesmen and drug dealers shoving the heads so many under its waters ... willing to be submerged in ... accepted by the many because who really gives a shit about the few?
Though the few grow larger every day.
We gaze stars.
That furthermost one ... yeah ... that's the one.
Hey! Mediocrity! Members of the Elect! Clergy! Used Care Salesmen! Drug dealings!
Watch us ... touch this.
Then watch my finger.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Praying in the Rain
Driving home in the rain across the causeway that connects Wilmington Island to Tybee Island I hit every button on the radio because no one's wanting to play anything I want to hear.
I'd had dinner with a bunny with angel wings which is not something most can claim to have done. My invitation to dinner had been received with a gleeful yell, "HE'S COMING!" as she slammed the phone down. Once there I had secret plans to make so we lingered in the car while the others rushed inside the restaurant.
Afterwards there were hugs, questions and prayers that scary dreams stay from from everyone. There's enough scary stuff in life.
Hitting Tybee I saw that the Christmas decorations draped across the road though have yet to be lit. That's another excuse for a party. Earlier I saw what Tybee proposes as a Christmas Tree. It is at the end of Tybrisa Street (which used to be 16th Street and sits between 15th and 17th Streets but the Politicians decided a new name was better). Slightly off-center in the circle that is confusing for drivers, sits ... a bush. It's not really a tree. It's a bush ... decorated with beach balls. The Politicians idea of celebrating Christmas on the island is ... a bush with balls slapping against it in the wind.
The rain falls as I remember.
Then at the intersection of Jones and Butler, the light turns red and I coast to a stop.
And I see him.
He is carrying a laundry basket in the rain. It is stuffed full of neatly folded clothes ... so he cannot rush. He walks with a purpose so that the pile doesn't tip over ... in the rain ... as he makes his way from the laundry mat where he used every quarter he has ... to clean himself up for another go at life.
The light turns green but I sit there ... watching him. He shakes his head as if he's saying to himself ... or to God ... "Thanks. This is just great."
The light turns red again as he disappears into the darkness and rain. My eyes are full of ocean and salt water stings as I wipe them.
I know that laundry mat. I've spent every quarter that I had there. Sitting listening to the hum of the spin cycle or endlessly watching the dryer tumble around and around and around. Alone and in desperate need of clean clothes ... so that I could clean myself up from the messes I'd made ... and give life another go.
The light turns green again.
Instead of turning towards home, I drive around the Big Curve and take a left ... and stop at the ocean. The rain falls. The temperature has fallen 17 degrees since I left the bunny with the angel wings. White capped waves slam onto the shore. He is still walking in the rain with a laundry basket piled high with hopes for tomorrow getting wetter and wetter. Maybe at the bottom of the pile there will be something.
Opening the door, I get outside and the rain stings my face. Christmas music is playing on the radio. "Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me."
"Hey God," I say out loud.
Angry waves slam the shore. Rain falls harder. The wind grows colder.
"That's just not right."
Nothing changes.
"Yeah, I got it," I say climbing back into the car and driving home.
Once there, I call everyone I know who's trying to clean things up in their lives ... so I can tell them that I love them.
I'd had dinner with a bunny with angel wings which is not something most can claim to have done. My invitation to dinner had been received with a gleeful yell, "HE'S COMING!" as she slammed the phone down. Once there I had secret plans to make so we lingered in the car while the others rushed inside the restaurant.
Afterwards there were hugs, questions and prayers that scary dreams stay from from everyone. There's enough scary stuff in life.
Hitting Tybee I saw that the Christmas decorations draped across the road though have yet to be lit. That's another excuse for a party. Earlier I saw what Tybee proposes as a Christmas Tree. It is at the end of Tybrisa Street (which used to be 16th Street and sits between 15th and 17th Streets but the Politicians decided a new name was better). Slightly off-center in the circle that is confusing for drivers, sits ... a bush. It's not really a tree. It's a bush ... decorated with beach balls. The Politicians idea of celebrating Christmas on the island is ... a bush with balls slapping against it in the wind.
The rain falls as I remember.
Then at the intersection of Jones and Butler, the light turns red and I coast to a stop.
And I see him.
He is carrying a laundry basket in the rain. It is stuffed full of neatly folded clothes ... so he cannot rush. He walks with a purpose so that the pile doesn't tip over ... in the rain ... as he makes his way from the laundry mat where he used every quarter he has ... to clean himself up for another go at life.
The light turns green but I sit there ... watching him. He shakes his head as if he's saying to himself ... or to God ... "Thanks. This is just great."
The light turns red again as he disappears into the darkness and rain. My eyes are full of ocean and salt water stings as I wipe them.
I know that laundry mat. I've spent every quarter that I had there. Sitting listening to the hum of the spin cycle or endlessly watching the dryer tumble around and around and around. Alone and in desperate need of clean clothes ... so that I could clean myself up from the messes I'd made ... and give life another go.
The light turns green again.
Instead of turning towards home, I drive around the Big Curve and take a left ... and stop at the ocean. The rain falls. The temperature has fallen 17 degrees since I left the bunny with the angel wings. White capped waves slam onto the shore. He is still walking in the rain with a laundry basket piled high with hopes for tomorrow getting wetter and wetter. Maybe at the bottom of the pile there will be something.
Opening the door, I get outside and the rain stings my face. Christmas music is playing on the radio. "Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me."
"Hey God," I say out loud.
Angry waves slam the shore. Rain falls harder. The wind grows colder.
"That's just not right."
Nothing changes.
"Yeah, I got it," I say climbing back into the car and driving home.
Once there, I call everyone I know who's trying to clean things up in their lives ... so I can tell them that I love them.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Christmas Blessings (Ditto)
My uncle Tommy McDermmott posted a picture on Face Book that made laugh out lout. It is two houses sitting side by side. The first is elaborately decorated for Christmas with icicle lights hanging from the roof, every tree in the yard decorated in color lights, plastic Santa Claus and reindeer are prominently displayed and the entire yard literally glows in the spirit of the season.
Next door is the other house. It has one string of white lights but is otherwise dark. The lights spell, "Ditto."
I wonder if the neighbors were once competitors over who loved Christmas the most and one gave up? Or perhaps, one grew appalled at the never ending chase to capture holiness in plastic manager scenes and lights that remind us the reason for the season. Maybe one put up "Ditto" challenging his neighbor to come up with something good to mimic.
Last Christmas I put up a tree because my Mother shamed me into it. When I plugged it in only half the lights worked. It was my first Christmas alone so it seemed wickedly funny. I decorated only half the tree. Then my Mother got onto me again so I decorated the other half ... then I left it here and went to St. Martin.
Before I returned, Mom and my daughter Kristen had taken it all down and thrown it away. They did this because I wanted to have a tree burning when I got back. Inviting my dearest of friends over, we would carry the tree into the back yard, toast the things that used to be and set it on fire.
I thought it was a great idea!
This Christmas "it's just like starting over" sings the major Prophet John Lennon. "Happy Xmas (War is over if you want it)" he famously sings every holiday season on the radio.
The truth of the matter is the war is indeed over. She took the offense. I retreated. She conquered the other side of the country. I held on to a small clump of sand.
When war is over, it is quiet. You wildly celebrate victory but then the parties over. Most just marvel at survival. Then there are all of those to do after the war ... pick up the pieces ... restore the scar stained land or the mutilated soul ... rebuild the bombed out home or putt the heart back together.
This is what happened last year. I marveled at my survival. I did all of these other things. All of the verbs in my life had re- in front of them. Re-building. Re-storing. Re-everything. It was ... "just like starting over."
At fifty-five years of age ... starting over is the last thing I ever planned for. Though, it does seem that everyone around me is doing so. We are bound together by starting over. Some are older, others younger, but we are all share the starting over. The war is over ... or almost over in a couple of cases ... and Christmas time is coming.
I count my blessings today. I have many. New ones are dropping into my life. What's funny about surviving is that you remember the horrors and it makes you ... timid. My Dad lied about his age to get into the Marines so that he could march into Korea. Korea kicked his ass. He was wounded. He was Prisoner of War. He escaped when everyone else in his platoon was killed. By the time he 18, he was back home recovering ... marrying my Mom and having me.
This year I am determined. I've yet to get a tree, but have talked for weeks about decorating it with underwear ... because last year when I returned home a pair was hanging on my door. Then Dani Sadowski burst my bubble. She's already had a Christmas tree decorated in underwear. While I am very proud to have a part in Dani's upbringing, it kills me when she beats me to something.
So ... now I'm re-thinking.
I'm not going to St. Martin (sorry guys, I don't know who will cook breakfast on Boxing Day). I've got to get a new tree ... and everything that goes on one. It is the first Christmas and there are new traditions to discover ... a different family to live it with ... one that's being re-built from the other things that used to be.
It will be decorated with blessings. In spite of all of the things that I've lost, I seem to have just enough blessings to really enjoy this Christmas.
"Ditto" for you I hope.
Next door is the other house. It has one string of white lights but is otherwise dark. The lights spell, "Ditto."
I wonder if the neighbors were once competitors over who loved Christmas the most and one gave up? Or perhaps, one grew appalled at the never ending chase to capture holiness in plastic manager scenes and lights that remind us the reason for the season. Maybe one put up "Ditto" challenging his neighbor to come up with something good to mimic.
Last Christmas I put up a tree because my Mother shamed me into it. When I plugged it in only half the lights worked. It was my first Christmas alone so it seemed wickedly funny. I decorated only half the tree. Then my Mother got onto me again so I decorated the other half ... then I left it here and went to St. Martin.
Before I returned, Mom and my daughter Kristen had taken it all down and thrown it away. They did this because I wanted to have a tree burning when I got back. Inviting my dearest of friends over, we would carry the tree into the back yard, toast the things that used to be and set it on fire.
I thought it was a great idea!
This Christmas "it's just like starting over" sings the major Prophet John Lennon. "Happy Xmas (War is over if you want it)" he famously sings every holiday season on the radio.
The truth of the matter is the war is indeed over. She took the offense. I retreated. She conquered the other side of the country. I held on to a small clump of sand.
When war is over, it is quiet. You wildly celebrate victory but then the parties over. Most just marvel at survival. Then there are all of those to do after the war ... pick up the pieces ... restore the scar stained land or the mutilated soul ... rebuild the bombed out home or putt the heart back together.
This is what happened last year. I marveled at my survival. I did all of these other things. All of the verbs in my life had re- in front of them. Re-building. Re-storing. Re-everything. It was ... "just like starting over."
At fifty-five years of age ... starting over is the last thing I ever planned for. Though, it does seem that everyone around me is doing so. We are bound together by starting over. Some are older, others younger, but we are all share the starting over. The war is over ... or almost over in a couple of cases ... and Christmas time is coming.
I count my blessings today. I have many. New ones are dropping into my life. What's funny about surviving is that you remember the horrors and it makes you ... timid. My Dad lied about his age to get into the Marines so that he could march into Korea. Korea kicked his ass. He was wounded. He was Prisoner of War. He escaped when everyone else in his platoon was killed. By the time he 18, he was back home recovering ... marrying my Mom and having me.
This year I am determined. I've yet to get a tree, but have talked for weeks about decorating it with underwear ... because last year when I returned home a pair was hanging on my door. Then Dani Sadowski burst my bubble. She's already had a Christmas tree decorated in underwear. While I am very proud to have a part in Dani's upbringing, it kills me when she beats me to something.
So ... now I'm re-thinking.
I'm not going to St. Martin (sorry guys, I don't know who will cook breakfast on Boxing Day). I've got to get a new tree ... and everything that goes on one. It is the first Christmas and there are new traditions to discover ... a different family to live it with ... one that's being re-built from the other things that used to be.
It will be decorated with blessings. In spite of all of the things that I've lost, I seem to have just enough blessings to really enjoy this Christmas.
"Ditto" for you I hope.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
I'm So Tired
"I'm so tired, I haven't slept a wink ..." sings the Major Prophet John Lennon and the song is ringing in my head.
I went to bed early but it ended up being restless when all was said and done. I'm one of those people who falls asleep hard and quick ... then a bit later my eyes pop open and I stare at the ceiling feeling what's beside ... even if there's nothing beside me.
Over the past couple of years I've spent more time alone than I ever have in my life. Hours upon hours of ... just me. My dog Goddess went through it too so I had her. This wall of trees in the back yard reminded me of a long dead friend and I talked to her more than I talked to anyone else.
Over time, I got used to it.
It was funny because I've lived this very public life. I was always in demand, in the news, selling books, giving speeches, traveling here and there, dealing with groupies, politicians and other devils incarnate ... being everything to everybody.
It caught up with me.
So the life I was living exploded and I was left with the dog and the house. It's better than a lot of people I've known. Then this tiny group appeared ... I can count them on my hands. They brought love back to me. And there is this one ... well, I love her so.
The last few weeks, and especially the last few days, have been this wonderful, glorious celebration of life now. It was peaceful, serene, comforting and filled with joy.
Without any warning ... it exploded. Suddenly everybody wanted everything again. I was to be here, do that, give of myself completely to one after another ... all seemingly at the same time. I laughed at myself because I wanted it to be Thanksgiving again. I don't remember the last time that I thought that.
The thing about losing so many things is you never ... ever ... forget what it feels like to lose. It makes you tired ... weary ... fatigue.You can lose houses, things, kids or love. You can lose yourself.
You can be surrounded with family, friends, everything you've every wanted to possess ... and then you're reminded of what it was like to lose it all ... and you shut down ... hard as you may try to fight it ... and you naturally lapse back into ... exhaustion.
I was tired when I woke up this morning ... I had things to do. People I was supposed to see. Places I was to be. It reminded me of who I used to be.
I didn't like it at all.
I did not want to get out of bed. Lying next to me was love. Love was tired too. But I made myself ... and I went to the place ... I saw the people ...and I did what I was supposed to do.
But I wasn't there.
I was back home in my sanctuary.
Longing for the one.
Pining ... I love that word. It is so southern. I pine for for you. Mother Maybelle Carter knocks John Lennon out of my head. Will the Circle be unbroken?
Hell no!
The pony tail holder is warped around my finger. I stare at it as I listen to the waves crash the shore. No longer tired, I am determined. In clarity, I know what I need ...
And I go back to bed.
I went to bed early but it ended up being restless when all was said and done. I'm one of those people who falls asleep hard and quick ... then a bit later my eyes pop open and I stare at the ceiling feeling what's beside ... even if there's nothing beside me.
Over the past couple of years I've spent more time alone than I ever have in my life. Hours upon hours of ... just me. My dog Goddess went through it too so I had her. This wall of trees in the back yard reminded me of a long dead friend and I talked to her more than I talked to anyone else.
Over time, I got used to it.
It was funny because I've lived this very public life. I was always in demand, in the news, selling books, giving speeches, traveling here and there, dealing with groupies, politicians and other devils incarnate ... being everything to everybody.
It caught up with me.
So the life I was living exploded and I was left with the dog and the house. It's better than a lot of people I've known. Then this tiny group appeared ... I can count them on my hands. They brought love back to me. And there is this one ... well, I love her so.
The last few weeks, and especially the last few days, have been this wonderful, glorious celebration of life now. It was peaceful, serene, comforting and filled with joy.
Without any warning ... it exploded. Suddenly everybody wanted everything again. I was to be here, do that, give of myself completely to one after another ... all seemingly at the same time. I laughed at myself because I wanted it to be Thanksgiving again. I don't remember the last time that I thought that.
The thing about losing so many things is you never ... ever ... forget what it feels like to lose. It makes you tired ... weary ... fatigue.You can lose houses, things, kids or love. You can lose yourself.
You can be surrounded with family, friends, everything you've every wanted to possess ... and then you're reminded of what it was like to lose it all ... and you shut down ... hard as you may try to fight it ... and you naturally lapse back into ... exhaustion.
I was tired when I woke up this morning ... I had things to do. People I was supposed to see. Places I was to be. It reminded me of who I used to be.
I didn't like it at all.
I did not want to get out of bed. Lying next to me was love. Love was tired too. But I made myself ... and I went to the place ... I saw the people ...and I did what I was supposed to do.
But I wasn't there.
I was back home in my sanctuary.
Longing for the one.
Pining ... I love that word. It is so southern. I pine for for you. Mother Maybelle Carter knocks John Lennon out of my head. Will the Circle be unbroken?
Hell no!
The pony tail holder is warped around my finger. I stare at it as I listen to the waves crash the shore. No longer tired, I am determined. In clarity, I know what I need ...
And I go back to bed.
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Hurricane Season
The waves are bringing the tide in this morning and Goddess and I listen to the sea sing its song. Fran's thousand shades of green have ceased her dance to listen too. The blooms of the Hibiscus plants explode around me on the Beloved Back deck. Brown leaves litter the wooden planks making it look like the fall but it's already seventy degrees and the sun has yet to craw out from under the blanket of clouds. The Palm Tree with the oyster shell smiling face, coconut bra and grass skirt looks happy and awake.
My bare feet dangle from the table underneath the colorful umbrella and Pandora throws "James Taylor" at me ... he's telling me about "Copperline" but the waves keep him from coming to close. Who wants to be in North Carolina when you can have this?
Now this is the way winter should be!
I know it won't last. Those bastards who work for the weather stations are already throwing their gloom and doom my way. Apparently next week it's going to get cold ... and they seem so damn happy about it.
Have you ever noticed that the Weather men and women of this world are the only ones who are gleefully happy when a Hurricane is coming? I mean they have Hurricane tracking maps printed to give to loyal viewers so they can plot the coordinates all the way from the Lesser Antilles to your house. I'm talking about you Pat Prokop.
Once I was running down the beach when an alleged Hurricane was coming our way. The Weather Channel had trucks set up. John Cantore was here so it must have been serious. He had a room at the Old Desoto beach club and was doing a live broadcast from the beach ... meaning he stood in the sand with a raincoat on while his cameraman filmed him with one hand and squirted him with a garden hose with the other.
I swear!
Though that is not my favorite Weather Channel story. The first time they arrived on Tybee Island to do a live broadcast they stood near the Pier. For those who don't know, the Pier is very close to Doc's Bar which has a television. The moment the live remote was seen by the patrons of Doc's, they knew what to do. Everybody left their Bar Stools, except Mrs. Sylvia, and went to the beach. When John Cantore did his next live remote, they all took their clothes off and went streaking behind him on live television.
I love this island!
The other thing about Doc's Bar is they have Hurricane Parties. While everybody else evacuates inland, "any excuse for a party!" is a lifestyle commitment. So a few dozen arrive at Doc's, nail themselves inside to keep the Hurricane and the Police Department out and ... a good time is had by all.
Still, I'll take Hurricanes over the other weather that people have to deal with. Tornadoes, snow storms, mudslides, Tsunamis, flash-floods and severe storm warnings show up so fast that the Weather People cannot predict them. So everybody's caught off guard and bad things happen.
Come to think of it, this is probably why the Weather People love Hurricanes so much. Hurricanes are slow moving and you have days to plan ... even if you live on an small island in the Caribbean.
A couple of years ago one hit my beloved St. Martin. My dear friend Verna went nuts. My dear friend Carlos told her to calm down. My other Chelsea ... the black one ... went to bed. The storm came and the winds were fierce. Verna was up all night crying and praying to God and stuff.
When Carlos woke, Verna was a pool of sweat and tears. Carlos shook his head and put his arm around her.
"Cum'here," he slurred in his French West Indies voice as he opened the front door.
"You see any fish in the yard?"
Verna shook her head.
"Exactly," Carlos said, slamming the door. "Let's go back to bed."
So they did.
These things make me smile this morning. The sun is now kicking behind the clouds. The waves are singing louder. Fran's thousand shades have draped themselves over my shoulder. Goddess is biting Hibiscus blooms. The Palm Tree with the oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt is doing a hula dance.
My bare feet hit the planks of the beloved back deck littered with brown leaves.
I look southeast and say out loud to my dear friend Carlos. "Thanks Buddy! See you soon I hope. Give my love to Verna and Chelsea."
Then ... like him ... I go back to bed.
It's Hurricane Season.
My bare feet dangle from the table underneath the colorful umbrella and Pandora throws "James Taylor" at me ... he's telling me about "Copperline" but the waves keep him from coming to close. Who wants to be in North Carolina when you can have this?
Now this is the way winter should be!
I know it won't last. Those bastards who work for the weather stations are already throwing their gloom and doom my way. Apparently next week it's going to get cold ... and they seem so damn happy about it.
Have you ever noticed that the Weather men and women of this world are the only ones who are gleefully happy when a Hurricane is coming? I mean they have Hurricane tracking maps printed to give to loyal viewers so they can plot the coordinates all the way from the Lesser Antilles to your house. I'm talking about you Pat Prokop.
Once I was running down the beach when an alleged Hurricane was coming our way. The Weather Channel had trucks set up. John Cantore was here so it must have been serious. He had a room at the Old Desoto beach club and was doing a live broadcast from the beach ... meaning he stood in the sand with a raincoat on while his cameraman filmed him with one hand and squirted him with a garden hose with the other.
I swear!
Though that is not my favorite Weather Channel story. The first time they arrived on Tybee Island to do a live broadcast they stood near the Pier. For those who don't know, the Pier is very close to Doc's Bar which has a television. The moment the live remote was seen by the patrons of Doc's, they knew what to do. Everybody left their Bar Stools, except Mrs. Sylvia, and went to the beach. When John Cantore did his next live remote, they all took their clothes off and went streaking behind him on live television.
I love this island!
The other thing about Doc's Bar is they have Hurricane Parties. While everybody else evacuates inland, "any excuse for a party!" is a lifestyle commitment. So a few dozen arrive at Doc's, nail themselves inside to keep the Hurricane and the Police Department out and ... a good time is had by all.
Still, I'll take Hurricanes over the other weather that people have to deal with. Tornadoes, snow storms, mudslides, Tsunamis, flash-floods and severe storm warnings show up so fast that the Weather People cannot predict them. So everybody's caught off guard and bad things happen.
Come to think of it, this is probably why the Weather People love Hurricanes so much. Hurricanes are slow moving and you have days to plan ... even if you live on an small island in the Caribbean.
A couple of years ago one hit my beloved St. Martin. My dear friend Verna went nuts. My dear friend Carlos told her to calm down. My other Chelsea ... the black one ... went to bed. The storm came and the winds were fierce. Verna was up all night crying and praying to God and stuff.
When Carlos woke, Verna was a pool of sweat and tears. Carlos shook his head and put his arm around her.
"Cum'here," he slurred in his French West Indies voice as he opened the front door.
"You see any fish in the yard?"
Verna shook her head.
"Exactly," Carlos said, slamming the door. "Let's go back to bed."
So they did.
These things make me smile this morning. The sun is now kicking behind the clouds. The waves are singing louder. Fran's thousand shades have draped themselves over my shoulder. Goddess is biting Hibiscus blooms. The Palm Tree with the oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt is doing a hula dance.
My bare feet hit the planks of the beloved back deck littered with brown leaves.
I look southeast and say out loud to my dear friend Carlos. "Thanks Buddy! See you soon I hope. Give my love to Verna and Chelsea."
Then ... like him ... I go back to bed.
It's Hurricane Season.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Black Macaroni and Cheese (The Wisdom of Mitch Wesley)
According to my dear friend Mitch Wesley, who to the best of my knowledge has never been wrong ... though he sometimes keeps things to himself ... the famous television idiot evangelist Pat Robertson asked if Mac and Cheese "is a black thing?"
Then he said he's never tasted it in his life!
WAIT!
The story gets weirder.
He made these comments after watching a clip of former Secretary State Condoleeza Rice, who worked for one of the Bush Boys ... I can't remember which one ... (which is kind of like Bush Beer), said she enjoyed the gooey delicacy ... but only during Thanksgiving."
What?
Pat Robinson has never had Mac and cheese in his life? Condoleeza Rice only eats it once a year?
WAIT! It gets weirder still.
"What is this mac and cheese?" the famous evangelist idiot asks. "Is it a black thing?"
To which Kristi Watts, Robertson's African-American co-host, says "Yes."
Idiocy abounds in religion and politics!
On Thanksgiving.
I have lots to be thankful for today. My kids are healthy and happy. I'm surrounded by this incredible collection of friends who love me and we've been through hell together and will gladly do it again for one another. I live on Tybee Island where the salt air takes your breath away throughout a day. Goddess is happy and healthy (well, after the $400 Vet bill). Blessings are sprinkled throughout my day with increasing frequency. Work is a work in progress ... but man is it fun! I'm in a band again (although aforementioned Mitch Wesley appears to have lost his bass at a time when the entire universe is in desperate need of a bass player!). And there is this one ...well ... there is this one.
But forget all of that!
I'm having Mac and Cheese today!
I'll embrace my blackness ... though I have to be honest ... Edith Carver my grandmother made some killer macaroni and cheese and she was white ... she was very white ... she was white like people from the North are white which is much whiter than people from the South.
It makes me think this whole black/white thing is blown out of proportion. Probably by aforementioned idiotic evangelist and politicians ... I don't think aforementioned Mitch Wesley, the bass player who can't seem to find his bass had anything to do with it ... ummm ... then again, he's a top down only kind of guy ...
Regardless ... grab yourself some mac and cheese today.
Celebrate your blackness.
Or if you're black ... be thankful Condoleeza Rice is no longer in a position of power.
Wash it down with Bush beer.
And don't watch Pat Robertson.
Happy Thanksgiving
Then he said he's never tasted it in his life!
WAIT!
The story gets weirder.
He made these comments after watching a clip of former Secretary State Condoleeza Rice, who worked for one of the Bush Boys ... I can't remember which one ... (which is kind of like Bush Beer), said she enjoyed the gooey delicacy ... but only during Thanksgiving."
What?
Pat Robinson has never had Mac and cheese in his life? Condoleeza Rice only eats it once a year?
WAIT! It gets weirder still.
"What is this mac and cheese?" the famous evangelist idiot asks. "Is it a black thing?"
To which Kristi Watts, Robertson's African-American co-host, says "Yes."
Idiocy abounds in religion and politics!
On Thanksgiving.
I have lots to be thankful for today. My kids are healthy and happy. I'm surrounded by this incredible collection of friends who love me and we've been through hell together and will gladly do it again for one another. I live on Tybee Island where the salt air takes your breath away throughout a day. Goddess is happy and healthy (well, after the $400 Vet bill). Blessings are sprinkled throughout my day with increasing frequency. Work is a work in progress ... but man is it fun! I'm in a band again (although aforementioned Mitch Wesley appears to have lost his bass at a time when the entire universe is in desperate need of a bass player!). And there is this one ...well ... there is this one.
But forget all of that!
I'm having Mac and Cheese today!
I'll embrace my blackness ... though I have to be honest ... Edith Carver my grandmother made some killer macaroni and cheese and she was white ... she was very white ... she was white like people from the North are white which is much whiter than people from the South.
It makes me think this whole black/white thing is blown out of proportion. Probably by aforementioned idiotic evangelist and politicians ... I don't think aforementioned Mitch Wesley, the bass player who can't seem to find his bass had anything to do with it ... ummm ... then again, he's a top down only kind of guy ...
Regardless ... grab yourself some mac and cheese today.
Celebrate your blackness.
Or if you're black ... be thankful Condoleeza Rice is no longer in a position of power.
Wash it down with Bush beer.
And don't watch Pat Robertson.
Happy Thanksgiving
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Reaching the Top
When Goddess and I got to our house after leaving the sad little holy dock where I'd baptized myself in pain from the past, it was dusk. Our house is changed and different from when it belonged to just Goddess and I. Cars and Golf Carts fill the side of the yard. At first I don't see anybody then a little girl calls my name as she climbs out of a car.
"They've gone looking for you," she explains and as soon as she did there they were. I'd come one way from the sad little holy dock and they'd gone in the other direction. When we see each other we embrace in the front yard ... and remain there for a long time ... locked in love.
Rocky who lives with me comes out with her dog Simon, brushes pass the group hug smiling and says, "Hey Kids!"
I think I waved without moving my arms.
I am content.
Willie Nelson once told this story. "A guy named Ben Dorsey used to work for Johnny Cash, and he had a bunch of suits that Johnny had given him. He was walking down the street in Nashville in front of the Grand Ole Opry, and this guy came up with a guitar in his hand and thought Ben was one of the stars because he had on Cash's suit. He said, "How do you get started in this business?" And Ben said, "Ain't but one way, hoss. You start at the bottom, you go right to the top. Don't mess with that in-between shit."
After years ... decades ... of actually living this advice ... the last couple of years I fell into the in-between shit. Actually I was pushed.
Suddenly the pushers have re-entered my life. They call. They text. They ask for things that I used to give them. And let's be honest ... shit is shit ... there's not much pleasant about it. There are shitty things and there shitty people (Board Chair who are too small so they beg to remain anonymous). I had too many of both.
When Jeremy and Kristen were little I was determined that they would love water. We'd walk into the swimming pool and they were six and four. As we entered, I'd grab my little girl by her hand and literally throw her over my head into the deep end. Mothers trying to teach their babies not be afraid of the water screamed. Kristen emerged, spitting water, laughing, begging me, "Do it again Daddy."
But I couldn't. I was busy climbing up the High Dive Board with Jeremy. At the end, horrified Mothers with their babies screamed "Don't do it!" as I held him over the deep end of the pool from the end of the board.
Then I would let him go.
It always evoked screams.
He loved it and when he wants to ... he can still make make girls scream (Marie ... it would be in your best interest to weigh in on this).
The point is, Jeremy and Kristen didn't go through the in-between shit when it came to living life when you're in over your head. They learned to laugh at it ... to be comfortable with it ... to enjoy it.
And I watched both of them do this.
Jeremy was determined that he and Marie could buy a house in Madison, Georgia though they really didn't have any money. So he got frustrated one night and did the math on the eraser board they kept in the kitchen. It stayed up for months ... reminding themselves that deep waters are ... sailed. Then they bought the house.
Kristen surfs. From relationship to relationship. To school. Through multiple jobs. But the girl works. My God her work ethic is the stuff of legend. She remains an incredible athlete and is thirty-something going on to teenage years. Last year I asked her if she could hit a boy in the face while serving a volley ball like she used to at Catholic girls school. The boy, a muscle bound thing, scoffed and laughed. She got pissed. Served the ball. Hit him in the face knocking him on the ground. I then fell on the ground laughing.
My favorite picture of Chelsea was taken when she was twenty feet under water. In the ocean. It was her first snorkeling experience. She'd never had the pool upbringing that her brother and sister had but after getting over the fact that jelly fish are in the ocean, she excelled. And she still does. But I love that picture when I'm ten feet above her and she's diving deep for the first time in her life. Now she's graduating from college with honors and marrying the love of her life.
Standing in the front yard in an embrace that I will not let go of ... all of these things rush through my mind.
I've been in over my head. I've been surrounded by shitty people and shitty things.
I've been to the bottom.
Now it's time for the top.
No more of that in-between shit.
"They've gone looking for you," she explains and as soon as she did there they were. I'd come one way from the sad little holy dock and they'd gone in the other direction. When we see each other we embrace in the front yard ... and remain there for a long time ... locked in love.
Rocky who lives with me comes out with her dog Simon, brushes pass the group hug smiling and says, "Hey Kids!"
I think I waved without moving my arms.
I am content.
Willie Nelson once told this story. "A guy named Ben Dorsey used to work for Johnny Cash, and he had a bunch of suits that Johnny had given him. He was walking down the street in Nashville in front of the Grand Ole Opry, and this guy came up with a guitar in his hand and thought Ben was one of the stars because he had on Cash's suit. He said, "How do you get started in this business?" And Ben said, "Ain't but one way, hoss. You start at the bottom, you go right to the top. Don't mess with that in-between shit."
After years ... decades ... of actually living this advice ... the last couple of years I fell into the in-between shit. Actually I was pushed.
Suddenly the pushers have re-entered my life. They call. They text. They ask for things that I used to give them. And let's be honest ... shit is shit ... there's not much pleasant about it. There are shitty things and there shitty people (Board Chair who are too small so they beg to remain anonymous). I had too many of both.
When Jeremy and Kristen were little I was determined that they would love water. We'd walk into the swimming pool and they were six and four. As we entered, I'd grab my little girl by her hand and literally throw her over my head into the deep end. Mothers trying to teach their babies not be afraid of the water screamed. Kristen emerged, spitting water, laughing, begging me, "Do it again Daddy."
But I couldn't. I was busy climbing up the High Dive Board with Jeremy. At the end, horrified Mothers with their babies screamed "Don't do it!" as I held him over the deep end of the pool from the end of the board.
Then I would let him go.
It always evoked screams.
He loved it and when he wants to ... he can still make make girls scream (Marie ... it would be in your best interest to weigh in on this).
The point is, Jeremy and Kristen didn't go through the in-between shit when it came to living life when you're in over your head. They learned to laugh at it ... to be comfortable with it ... to enjoy it.
And I watched both of them do this.
Jeremy was determined that he and Marie could buy a house in Madison, Georgia though they really didn't have any money. So he got frustrated one night and did the math on the eraser board they kept in the kitchen. It stayed up for months ... reminding themselves that deep waters are ... sailed. Then they bought the house.
Kristen surfs. From relationship to relationship. To school. Through multiple jobs. But the girl works. My God her work ethic is the stuff of legend. She remains an incredible athlete and is thirty-something going on to teenage years. Last year I asked her if she could hit a boy in the face while serving a volley ball like she used to at Catholic girls school. The boy, a muscle bound thing, scoffed and laughed. She got pissed. Served the ball. Hit him in the face knocking him on the ground. I then fell on the ground laughing.
My favorite picture of Chelsea was taken when she was twenty feet under water. In the ocean. It was her first snorkeling experience. She'd never had the pool upbringing that her brother and sister had but after getting over the fact that jelly fish are in the ocean, she excelled. And she still does. But I love that picture when I'm ten feet above her and she's diving deep for the first time in her life. Now she's graduating from college with honors and marrying the love of her life.
Standing in the front yard in an embrace that I will not let go of ... all of these things rush through my mind.
I've been in over my head. I've been surrounded by shitty people and shitty things.
I've been to the bottom.
Now it's time for the top.
No more of that in-between shit.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Old Lady Luck is Laughing Now
The day before yesterday I quoted Larry Munson.
Yesterday he died.
Today I learned about it. My entire family is in mourning. The legendary broadcaster of University of Georgia football has been as much a part of our lives as ... well ... we have.
My Dad made sure we knew. He was an unapologetic announcer of what was happening during the game from the moment he started, "Starting from left to right on your screen ..." to well ... the calls.
"Run Lindsey Run!" "Look at the Sugar Falling out of the Sky!" "I broke my chair. I came right through a chair. A metal chair with about a five inch cushion. I broke it!" "My God a freshman." "We just stepped on their face with a hobnail boot." "Old Lady Luck is laughing now." "Yeah, yeah, yeah!"
And my personal favorite ... "Jeff, you gotta see Anaconda!"
When we were actually at the game watching unfold for ourselves, we all had radios to our ears to listen to Larry ask Loren "Whatdoyagot?" Nothing happened unless Larry said it happened even though we'd just watched it happen.
The guy was something.
If we weren't at the game, we turn the television on, turn the sound down and turn up the radio to listen to Larry. He was always ahead of television ... by about two seconds ... so he would tell us before we actually saw it.
The guy was amazing.
If we weren't at the game and it was on television, you would have thought it was the 1930s and Roosevelt was having a fireside chat. We huddled around the radio and listened to Larry.
Now we have the tapes, DVD's and recordings of some of our life's favorite moments. They are as precious as Christmas Carols!
I met him a few times. The first walking into Grant field where the Beloved Dawgs of Georgia were playing Georgia Tech. I was with my brother David and there he was! It may as well have been Zeus coming down from Mt. Olympia. I had to touch him and did, which surprised him but he smiled at the little boy who was in awe.
Decades later, Jeremy, Kristen, Chelsea and I went to the UGA bookstore to get his book and to see him. He was frail but the voice was still there. I was immediately transformed into that little boy again but had done my job passing the adoration of him on to my kids.
Day before yesterday I was at the game with the radio to my ear. Larry was no talking to me. I was trying to explain to Maddie why college football is a religion and Pro-football is ... adult entertainment. She got it I think. Who couldn't? She was meeting 100,000 of her closest friends. Eating a Pretzel wearing the "red and black" for the first time.
I wish she could have heard Larry.
He would say something like ... "Oh m y God! Oh my God! The stadium is worse than bonkers! Eleven seconds. I can't believe what he did. This is ungodly."
If you know what I'm talking about ... thanks Larry.
It's still hard doing it without you.
If you have no clue what I'm talking about.
Well ... you missed something really special.
Yesterday he died.
Today I learned about it. My entire family is in mourning. The legendary broadcaster of University of Georgia football has been as much a part of our lives as ... well ... we have.
My Dad made sure we knew. He was an unapologetic announcer of what was happening during the game from the moment he started, "Starting from left to right on your screen ..." to well ... the calls.
"Run Lindsey Run!" "Look at the Sugar Falling out of the Sky!" "I broke my chair. I came right through a chair. A metal chair with about a five inch cushion. I broke it!" "My God a freshman." "We just stepped on their face with a hobnail boot." "Old Lady Luck is laughing now." "Yeah, yeah, yeah!"
And my personal favorite ... "Jeff, you gotta see Anaconda!"
When we were actually at the game watching unfold for ourselves, we all had radios to our ears to listen to Larry ask Loren "Whatdoyagot?" Nothing happened unless Larry said it happened even though we'd just watched it happen.
The guy was something.
If we weren't at the game, we turn the television on, turn the sound down and turn up the radio to listen to Larry. He was always ahead of television ... by about two seconds ... so he would tell us before we actually saw it.
The guy was amazing.
If we weren't at the game and it was on television, you would have thought it was the 1930s and Roosevelt was having a fireside chat. We huddled around the radio and listened to Larry.
Now we have the tapes, DVD's and recordings of some of our life's favorite moments. They are as precious as Christmas Carols!
I met him a few times. The first walking into Grant field where the Beloved Dawgs of Georgia were playing Georgia Tech. I was with my brother David and there he was! It may as well have been Zeus coming down from Mt. Olympia. I had to touch him and did, which surprised him but he smiled at the little boy who was in awe.
Decades later, Jeremy, Kristen, Chelsea and I went to the UGA bookstore to get his book and to see him. He was frail but the voice was still there. I was immediately transformed into that little boy again but had done my job passing the adoration of him on to my kids.
Day before yesterday I was at the game with the radio to my ear. Larry was no talking to me. I was trying to explain to Maddie why college football is a religion and Pro-football is ... adult entertainment. She got it I think. Who couldn't? She was meeting 100,000 of her closest friends. Eating a Pretzel wearing the "red and black" for the first time.
I wish she could have heard Larry.
He would say something like ... "Oh m y God! Oh my God! The stadium is worse than bonkers! Eleven seconds. I can't believe what he did. This is ungodly."
If you know what I'm talking about ... thanks Larry.
It's still hard doing it without you.
If you have no clue what I'm talking about.
Well ... you missed something really special.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
A Year's Difference
What a difference a year makes.
I'm talking about this college season football year. After starting with two prime time losses the Beloved Dawgs of Georgia have won eight straight ... albeit some were of the ugliest win variety I've ever witnessed. Then last week, everything about this football team came together and we beat Auburn 45-7. No one was more stunned than the 97,000 people at the game.
The crowd would cheer over a play and then lapsed back into stunned silence.
It was great!
Afterwards I celebrated with all of my kids in the restaurant at the Holiday Inn in Athens. We lingered enjoying a season that has turned completly around. Today should the Beloved Dawgs of Georgia win it's ninth in a row over the Philistines of Kentucy ... then we play for the SEC Championship which is akin to reaching the Promised Land.
If everything goes right, as the major Prophet Larry Munson once said, "They tore our hearts out and threw in on the foot. They ran all over it. We picked it up and put it back in. Touchtown! Georgia wins!"
I've always loved that call of the game against Georgia Tech. Jeremy and Chelsea and I were there. Tech had just scored to take the lead with a minute left to play. The Beloved Dawgs of Georgia were led by God all of the way down the field scoring on an incredible towndown catch. My daughter, son and I danced like heathens in the end zone.
Last year's football season saw the Beloved Dawgs of Georgia back wandering in the wilderness. Pagans from Alamaba and Lousiana had made an unholy alliance to create an evil empire in the Southeastern Conference. At the same time, I wasn't in the best of shape. I don't even remember last year's games though I was here for all of them.
Today I'm full of excitment and surrounded by love and happiness. Last night we went to the Holy Shrine of the Varsity to break bread together ... and eat chili cheeses dogs, several naked dogs and onion rings and fries together. Then we settled in the room to try to unwind and prepare for today. Anticipation and excitment abounded. Everyone knows ... something special is happening.
In just a little while, I'll be surrounded by one-hundred-thousand of my cloest friends. We will all be styling wearing red and black. We'll sing the familiar Hymns ... "Glory, Glory to Old Georgia" and "Hunker Down Hairy Dog." We'll offer prayers throughout the day, "Please God let him tackle that SOB" and "Thank you Lord for that incredible catch in the corner of the end zone."
After the game we will all make our way to the Chapel ... to ring the victory bell throughout the night.
Like the Beloved Dawgs of Georgia, I've had my fair share of wandering in the wilderness alone and foresaken. Today I am part of this community of believers and we love and support one another as we build new lives. We take to time to celebrate and to laugh. We are quick to share our love.
And God looked down and said ... "It is good."
I'm talking about this college season football year. After starting with two prime time losses the Beloved Dawgs of Georgia have won eight straight ... albeit some were of the ugliest win variety I've ever witnessed. Then last week, everything about this football team came together and we beat Auburn 45-7. No one was more stunned than the 97,000 people at the game.
The crowd would cheer over a play and then lapsed back into stunned silence.
It was great!
Afterwards I celebrated with all of my kids in the restaurant at the Holiday Inn in Athens. We lingered enjoying a season that has turned completly around. Today should the Beloved Dawgs of Georgia win it's ninth in a row over the Philistines of Kentucy ... then we play for the SEC Championship which is akin to reaching the Promised Land.
If everything goes right, as the major Prophet Larry Munson once said, "They tore our hearts out and threw in on the foot. They ran all over it. We picked it up and put it back in. Touchtown! Georgia wins!"
I've always loved that call of the game against Georgia Tech. Jeremy and Chelsea and I were there. Tech had just scored to take the lead with a minute left to play. The Beloved Dawgs of Georgia were led by God all of the way down the field scoring on an incredible towndown catch. My daughter, son and I danced like heathens in the end zone.
Last year's football season saw the Beloved Dawgs of Georgia back wandering in the wilderness. Pagans from Alamaba and Lousiana had made an unholy alliance to create an evil empire in the Southeastern Conference. At the same time, I wasn't in the best of shape. I don't even remember last year's games though I was here for all of them.
Today I'm full of excitment and surrounded by love and happiness. Last night we went to the Holy Shrine of the Varsity to break bread together ... and eat chili cheeses dogs, several naked dogs and onion rings and fries together. Then we settled in the room to try to unwind and prepare for today. Anticipation and excitment abounded. Everyone knows ... something special is happening.
In just a little while, I'll be surrounded by one-hundred-thousand of my cloest friends. We will all be styling wearing red and black. We'll sing the familiar Hymns ... "Glory, Glory to Old Georgia" and "Hunker Down Hairy Dog." We'll offer prayers throughout the day, "Please God let him tackle that SOB" and "Thank you Lord for that incredible catch in the corner of the end zone."
After the game we will all make our way to the Chapel ... to ring the victory bell throughout the night.
Like the Beloved Dawgs of Georgia, I've had my fair share of wandering in the wilderness alone and foresaken. Today I am part of this community of believers and we love and support one another as we build new lives. We take to time to celebrate and to laugh. We are quick to share our love.
And God looked down and said ... "It is good."
Friday, November 18, 2011
I'm Not Dead Yet
For the first time in a long, long time I donned a coat, put on underwear and socks, black shoes and stuff in my long hair to slick it back so it's acceptable in public ... then I drove to a Chamber of Commerce function.
It's a gala for the fiftieth anniversary of "Leadership Savannah", the nation's oldest such program. I was in it at the half way mark. Accepted just after moving back to Savannah, nominated by Beth Daniels, I got in because two of my books had been published and they had no other alternative for the "Author" category.
Nevertheless, I loved it and became very devoted. I always made certain a Union Mission person participate in every class. So for the better part of twenty years, I had people go through the program ... except for one time when Memorial Health wouldn't nominate our friend Peter so we did and he got in. My last year at Union Mission we actually had two staff participate. And somebody told me that Francis, the new CEO, got in so I'm glad that the tradition continues.
Besides, Bill Hubbard and Trip Tollison embraced our work like they would any other successful company. Through good times and bad, they remained staunch supporters of the things we were doing. I was often seated at head tables next to Governors or the elite of "The Elect" ... Senators or Congressmen ... because of Bill and Trip. They were integral in helping us burst through many "glass ceilings."
So I owe them and I never forget my debts. Besides, I needed to go on the "I'm not dead yet" tour in Savannah.
In Monty Python's hysterical "The Search for the Holy Grail", the Plague has hit Europe. A cart is pushed through city daily. "Bring out your Dead! Bring out your Dead!" cries the carrier. So a man brings out a body slung over his shoulder and says "I got one" to which the body objects "I'm Not Dead Yet." He's told he will be soon and protesst go back and forth until the body is slapped in the head with shovel and thrown on the cart.
The truth of the matter though ... is I'm not dead yet.
The thing about leaving decades of work in the same place and in the same town is how quickly you're forgotten.
Not that this isn't a two-way street ... there are so many forgettable people I've had to work with though they are mixed with these really remarkable ones. It's been this gumbo of good and bad, blessed and wicked, kindness and some of the meanest Sons-of-Bitches to ever grace the world (Board Chair who chooses to remain anonymous ... like the tiny Wizard of Oz who hides behind curtains). Then there are graceful people like Bill and Trip.
So there's good to found in everything. I forget those who aren't worth remembering and the ones who didn't care for me anyway ... forget me. It's a question of balance.
I arrive and it's typical high class stuff at the "Savannah Yacht Club". I immediately run into my dear friend Stacy who embraces me. Then Margaret Mary who really runs the Chamber of Commerce leaves her post checking people in to hug me too. Right off the bat ... I'm not dead yet!
David Paddison ... whose Dad and I worked together years ago establishing the Chatham-Savannah Authority for the Homeless (and Bob Paddison is a legend who I will pay proper homage to one day) ... and I run into one another. A very successful in his own right, David is also a Union Mission Board member (one of the last who came in under my reign) and we greet one another in warmly suspicious way.
I work the room. Bill Hubbard gives me a bear hug in front of a hundred people and tells me how glad he is that I'm there. Joe Buck and his wife Marilyn stop what they're doing to do the same ... and I love Joe who led Leadership Savannah for all of those years and is really the one who kicked me in the ass to get my career started.
Then I see people who love me ... and people who ignore me ... and others who are shocked that I'm there at all. It's always fascinating to see's who's who. But I do ... and I'm fascinated.
But fascination quickly gets boring.
This isn't my world anymore. There are people I will be forever connected to ... and others who thought I was dead.
I'm proud of the things I did in Savannah. The City still reaches out to me. People who benefited from the work call, text, Face Book or stop by unannounced with regularity.They're not homeless anymore.
Then there are all of those I worked along side ... politicians who only care about who can help them ... Non-Profit leaders who are mostly non ... sprinkled with a few who are ... newcomers to the City who work the room really hard to establish themselves ... and the Established who stand or sit at tables waiting for the rest of us to pay homage to them.
The new class is acknowledged. I'm in a side room talking to Peter for the first time in a year. We struggle to find the commonality we used to share.
Then I'm done.
"Beam me up Scotty," I say out loud.
As I make my way out, Trip grabs me. "Hey Rev," he says warmly and we talk Georgia football. He can't go to the game this weekend so he gives me his tickets.
Then Margaret Mary sees that I'm leaving so she leaves being in charge of everything to give me another hug.
Driving home through the marsh on the Tybee road in the darkness of the night ... I see Orion's bow ... my beautiful daughter Chelsea when she was a little girl once pointed at it and exclaimed ... "Look Daddy! It's our Christmas Tree!" because if you look at it as little girls do ... it's a Christmas Tree as Christmas is arriving.
At the time I lived alone with her sister Kristen. Chelsea was with us every other night. We lived with Cheryl and Jodee cause we had no other place to live.
Driving home, I stare at Chelsea's Christmas tree in the sky. I text to tell her. She's in class finishing up her degree at the University of Georgia. She immediately texts me back to say ... the most beautiful of words ... "It's our time of year. I can't wait to get out of class and look up in the sky to see."
I cry when I read this.
Then I look up again at the Christmas Tree in the sky.
What I see under it ... is me.
I'm not dead yet ... just kicking off the wrappings of those who believe I am.
It's a gala for the fiftieth anniversary of "Leadership Savannah", the nation's oldest such program. I was in it at the half way mark. Accepted just after moving back to Savannah, nominated by Beth Daniels, I got in because two of my books had been published and they had no other alternative for the "Author" category.
Nevertheless, I loved it and became very devoted. I always made certain a Union Mission person participate in every class. So for the better part of twenty years, I had people go through the program ... except for one time when Memorial Health wouldn't nominate our friend Peter so we did and he got in. My last year at Union Mission we actually had two staff participate. And somebody told me that Francis, the new CEO, got in so I'm glad that the tradition continues.
Besides, Bill Hubbard and Trip Tollison embraced our work like they would any other successful company. Through good times and bad, they remained staunch supporters of the things we were doing. I was often seated at head tables next to Governors or the elite of "The Elect" ... Senators or Congressmen ... because of Bill and Trip. They were integral in helping us burst through many "glass ceilings."
So I owe them and I never forget my debts. Besides, I needed to go on the "I'm not dead yet" tour in Savannah.
In Monty Python's hysterical "The Search for the Holy Grail", the Plague has hit Europe. A cart is pushed through city daily. "Bring out your Dead! Bring out your Dead!" cries the carrier. So a man brings out a body slung over his shoulder and says "I got one" to which the body objects "I'm Not Dead Yet." He's told he will be soon and protesst go back and forth until the body is slapped in the head with shovel and thrown on the cart.
The truth of the matter though ... is I'm not dead yet.
The thing about leaving decades of work in the same place and in the same town is how quickly you're forgotten.
Not that this isn't a two-way street ... there are so many forgettable people I've had to work with though they are mixed with these really remarkable ones. It's been this gumbo of good and bad, blessed and wicked, kindness and some of the meanest Sons-of-Bitches to ever grace the world (Board Chair who chooses to remain anonymous ... like the tiny Wizard of Oz who hides behind curtains). Then there are graceful people like Bill and Trip.
So there's good to found in everything. I forget those who aren't worth remembering and the ones who didn't care for me anyway ... forget me. It's a question of balance.
I arrive and it's typical high class stuff at the "Savannah Yacht Club". I immediately run into my dear friend Stacy who embraces me. Then Margaret Mary who really runs the Chamber of Commerce leaves her post checking people in to hug me too. Right off the bat ... I'm not dead yet!
David Paddison ... whose Dad and I worked together years ago establishing the Chatham-Savannah Authority for the Homeless (and Bob Paddison is a legend who I will pay proper homage to one day) ... and I run into one another. A very successful in his own right, David is also a Union Mission Board member (one of the last who came in under my reign) and we greet one another in warmly suspicious way.
I work the room. Bill Hubbard gives me a bear hug in front of a hundred people and tells me how glad he is that I'm there. Joe Buck and his wife Marilyn stop what they're doing to do the same ... and I love Joe who led Leadership Savannah for all of those years and is really the one who kicked me in the ass to get my career started.
Then I see people who love me ... and people who ignore me ... and others who are shocked that I'm there at all. It's always fascinating to see's who's who. But I do ... and I'm fascinated.
But fascination quickly gets boring.
This isn't my world anymore. There are people I will be forever connected to ... and others who thought I was dead.
I'm proud of the things I did in Savannah. The City still reaches out to me. People who benefited from the work call, text, Face Book or stop by unannounced with regularity.They're not homeless anymore.
Then there are all of those I worked along side ... politicians who only care about who can help them ... Non-Profit leaders who are mostly non ... sprinkled with a few who are ... newcomers to the City who work the room really hard to establish themselves ... and the Established who stand or sit at tables waiting for the rest of us to pay homage to them.
The new class is acknowledged. I'm in a side room talking to Peter for the first time in a year. We struggle to find the commonality we used to share.
Then I'm done.
"Beam me up Scotty," I say out loud.
As I make my way out, Trip grabs me. "Hey Rev," he says warmly and we talk Georgia football. He can't go to the game this weekend so he gives me his tickets.
Then Margaret Mary sees that I'm leaving so she leaves being in charge of everything to give me another hug.
Driving home through the marsh on the Tybee road in the darkness of the night ... I see Orion's bow ... my beautiful daughter Chelsea when she was a little girl once pointed at it and exclaimed ... "Look Daddy! It's our Christmas Tree!" because if you look at it as little girls do ... it's a Christmas Tree as Christmas is arriving.
At the time I lived alone with her sister Kristen. Chelsea was with us every other night. We lived with Cheryl and Jodee cause we had no other place to live.
Driving home, I stare at Chelsea's Christmas tree in the sky. I text to tell her. She's in class finishing up her degree at the University of Georgia. She immediately texts me back to say ... the most beautiful of words ... "It's our time of year. I can't wait to get out of class and look up in the sky to see."
I cry when I read this.
Then I look up again at the Christmas Tree in the sky.
What I see under it ... is me.
I'm not dead yet ... just kicking off the wrappings of those who believe I am.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Waiting on my Sails to Fill
"Why is it that whenever I can't reach you, I always imagine that you are doing something far more fun than talking to me?" asked the famous Dr. Jim Withers in the voice mail message.
I missed his call because I was having a long deep conversation. We weren't laughing but the talk was heartfelt about the future and how it can't arrive quickly enough. Isn't that the funny thing about the future? It never arrives on time. "The face on my watch just says NOW," sings Jimmy Buffett and man is he right, though you still have to plan for what's coming.
The thing about the future is you have to live it now ... and it arrives in increments. "Inch by inch, row by row, we're gonna make this garden grow," Arlo Guthrie teaches ... cause "we are made of dreams and bones."
Jim left me a message about the future too. He's got several futures looming in front of him. He's been commissioned to write his memoirs, we've launched a new company that'll eventually work at full time, his youngest child will soon leave for college, and he'd just finished doing an interview with "Books & Beyond" which will air on Thanksgiving Day. Oh yeah, and he's teaching at a Medical School and doing Street Medicine in the meantime.
I was struck by the thought that it is a wonderful thing to be living my life with a group of friends who are all managing away from their pasts, navigating out of the waters of the present as we collectively sail into the future. Jim and I talk throughout the week thanks to the miracles of technology though he's in Pittsburgh and I'm on Tybee Island.
Then I got a text message from Cheryl. Another from Dedra. I was with John and Judy earlier. We are all talking about the future. Sam and I had a talk about his and Cheslea's looming wedding. Kristen and Sterling are trying to plan dinner for Sarah and I. Jeremy and Marie want us to come down to Valdosta. Samuel Adams who plays damn good live music on Tybee is after me to preach at Bar Church again.
I want to go to the French West Indies ... and am planning for it whenever it happens but ... I am quite content and happy with this carnival of friends and the love that fills me.
Then my Mom calls and there are these trunk loads of books, awards, mementos and gifts that I have stored at her house from my Jeff Street and Union Mission days. They are the past. I would just as soon ignore them but she won't let me.
"Get them the hell out of here," was her sentiment.
The thing is I have no place to put them.
My present is full.
But the future ... I'm just waiting on the sails to fill ... then I'm there ... Now.
I missed his call because I was having a long deep conversation. We weren't laughing but the talk was heartfelt about the future and how it can't arrive quickly enough. Isn't that the funny thing about the future? It never arrives on time. "The face on my watch just says NOW," sings Jimmy Buffett and man is he right, though you still have to plan for what's coming.
The thing about the future is you have to live it now ... and it arrives in increments. "Inch by inch, row by row, we're gonna make this garden grow," Arlo Guthrie teaches ... cause "we are made of dreams and bones."
Jim left me a message about the future too. He's got several futures looming in front of him. He's been commissioned to write his memoirs, we've launched a new company that'll eventually work at full time, his youngest child will soon leave for college, and he'd just finished doing an interview with "Books & Beyond" which will air on Thanksgiving Day. Oh yeah, and he's teaching at a Medical School and doing Street Medicine in the meantime.
I was struck by the thought that it is a wonderful thing to be living my life with a group of friends who are all managing away from their pasts, navigating out of the waters of the present as we collectively sail into the future. Jim and I talk throughout the week thanks to the miracles of technology though he's in Pittsburgh and I'm on Tybee Island.
Then I got a text message from Cheryl. Another from Dedra. I was with John and Judy earlier. We are all talking about the future. Sam and I had a talk about his and Cheslea's looming wedding. Kristen and Sterling are trying to plan dinner for Sarah and I. Jeremy and Marie want us to come down to Valdosta. Samuel Adams who plays damn good live music on Tybee is after me to preach at Bar Church again.
I want to go to the French West Indies ... and am planning for it whenever it happens but ... I am quite content and happy with this carnival of friends and the love that fills me.
Then my Mom calls and there are these trunk loads of books, awards, mementos and gifts that I have stored at her house from my Jeff Street and Union Mission days. They are the past. I would just as soon ignore them but she won't let me.
"Get them the hell out of here," was her sentiment.
The thing is I have no place to put them.
My present is full.
But the future ... I'm just waiting on the sails to fill ... then I'm there ... Now.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Reclaiming the Day that Was
The Fog that rolled in and Kidnapped the sun has now laid seize to the entire island. Moisture drips from everything and leaves hang limp from the heaviness. It is a day for near sighted vision because if you try to look into the future there isn't a lot to see. So I may as well just focus on what I have around me right now ... it's all that I really have anyway.
Yesterday I had all of these plans to get things done but ... just as the Fog kidnapped the sun ... things kidnapped my day.
Thank God !
It was a wonderful celebration of a day and a night.
If the Fog wasn't enough, Georgia Power decided it was a great time to cut the power off for a while. While my flashlights have no batteries, the I-Pod with the external speakers do so music filled the house. The windows were open, it was pleasant enough and the house was filled with people I dearly love. I'd lit a fire on the beloved Back Deck and they were hungry for breakfast. God had blessed me because the coffee had finished peculating before Georgia Power did their deed.
So we improvised. I toasted English Muffins in a frying pan in the Chemania on the Beloved Back Deck. We sat outside enjoying one another and hot muffins dripping with butter. Kenny showed up at that point and joined us. The four of us laughed, talked and shared the morning away.
Then it was after Noon so we hopped in the car and drove to the "Crab Shack" to meet Cheryl and Boo. Lunch was oysters and beer ("for dinner every day of the year and I'll be fine"), Crab Au-gratin, Bar-B-que, and laughter with my dearest friends. "I wish Lunch could last forever" is one of my favorite songs and stories from Jimmy Buffett and yesterday ... it did.
The Fog continued to roll ... which is an excellent excuse for a nap. So I had one falling into the arms of love.
When I got up, Dedra was working away doing all of the things that I hadn't done. It's hard not to love Dedra.She covers many an ass.
So, I fired the grill next to the fire that was already lit and it was time to plan the next meal. Soon the smoke from Chicken and ribs waged war with the greyness of the Fog. I lit candles too just ... because. And we sat outside again for supper, laughing, listening to music and loving one another.
Afterwards we told stories of runaway brides, musicians who can't commit, and did our best to plan for the holidays ... which are way out there in the future somewhere so you can't see them because of the Fog anyway ... so we didn't get very far ... other than Dedra is perfectly convinced that she can do everything at once, as though Scotty is going to beam her from conversation to conversation ... "any old place in time or in space" ... but that's what I love about Dedra. She believes that you should never let reality get in the way of what you really want to do.
Then was bedtime.
A perfect time for a baptism! So at midnight in the "new and improved" outdoor shower there was one. Hot water mixed with the Fog and the universe became one ... and God smiled ... and all was good.
Now it is a new day.
I would very much like to repeat yesterday.
Perhaps in this Fog ... we may pull it off.
Yesterday I had all of these plans to get things done but ... just as the Fog kidnapped the sun ... things kidnapped my day.
Thank God !
It was a wonderful celebration of a day and a night.
If the Fog wasn't enough, Georgia Power decided it was a great time to cut the power off for a while. While my flashlights have no batteries, the I-Pod with the external speakers do so music filled the house. The windows were open, it was pleasant enough and the house was filled with people I dearly love. I'd lit a fire on the beloved Back Deck and they were hungry for breakfast. God had blessed me because the coffee had finished peculating before Georgia Power did their deed.
So we improvised. I toasted English Muffins in a frying pan in the Chemania on the Beloved Back Deck. We sat outside enjoying one another and hot muffins dripping with butter. Kenny showed up at that point and joined us. The four of us laughed, talked and shared the morning away.
Then it was after Noon so we hopped in the car and drove to the "Crab Shack" to meet Cheryl and Boo. Lunch was oysters and beer ("for dinner every day of the year and I'll be fine"), Crab Au-gratin, Bar-B-que, and laughter with my dearest friends. "I wish Lunch could last forever" is one of my favorite songs and stories from Jimmy Buffett and yesterday ... it did.
The Fog continued to roll ... which is an excellent excuse for a nap. So I had one falling into the arms of love.
When I got up, Dedra was working away doing all of the things that I hadn't done. It's hard not to love Dedra.She covers many an ass.
So, I fired the grill next to the fire that was already lit and it was time to plan the next meal. Soon the smoke from Chicken and ribs waged war with the greyness of the Fog. I lit candles too just ... because. And we sat outside again for supper, laughing, listening to music and loving one another.
Afterwards we told stories of runaway brides, musicians who can't commit, and did our best to plan for the holidays ... which are way out there in the future somewhere so you can't see them because of the Fog anyway ... so we didn't get very far ... other than Dedra is perfectly convinced that she can do everything at once, as though Scotty is going to beam her from conversation to conversation ... "any old place in time or in space" ... but that's what I love about Dedra. She believes that you should never let reality get in the way of what you really want to do.
Then was bedtime.
A perfect time for a baptism! So at midnight in the "new and improved" outdoor shower there was one. Hot water mixed with the Fog and the universe became one ... and God smiled ... and all was good.
Now it is a new day.
I would very much like to repeat yesterday.
Perhaps in this Fog ... we may pull it off.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Do it or die
A beautiful sunrise has been kidnapped by the Fog which was rolled in from the Back River. The morning is muted in a haze so ... I light a fire on the Beloved Back Deck where I am working and create ... cozy. Goddess loves a fire and sits under my feet with her face staring into the flame.
The famous Dr. Jim Withers calls me and says that it is cold and raining in Pittsburgh. I say that once the sun burns this fog off, it's going to be close to eighty degrees and a lovely day. He is driving his daughter to school and immediately asks her if she wants to come to Tybee Island.
I re-read a letter I received yesterday for the hundredth time. Pandora plays on the computer. I hold the morning in balance. Before me are the things that I wish for today but like the fog that has hidden the sun I know things will get in the way. Everything will not go right.
The fog drags a cold breeze off of the ocean and throws it at me. I throw wood on the fire.
"Bring it on," I say out loud.
The song changes and I listen intently warming my bare feet in crackle of the wood.
You should know that life is a gamble all along
winners and losers who keep rolling on
so go on and roll the dice
you only live twice
do it or die
My favorite song by the Atlanta Rhythm Section plays arriving perfectly. I've always loved that line ... "you only live twice" ... it's such a wonderful ... truth.
The song is about everything going wrong.
Resurrection is funny concept. Jesus comes back from the dead to remind us ... "Don't let your bad breaks go getting you down ... even when times are rough and you've had enough ... do it or die."
So when death came ... Jesus refused to die.
I've been there.
Everything went wrong ... EVERYTHING ... and I was left alone in a tomb of a house ... dead to my own life.
But you know what?
You only live twice.
There's the first time when it all goes mostly right. Then there is this bitch of a crucifixion and you either allow it to happen or ... you don't. Marriages end but life goes on. Jobs come and go but you're left standing. Dreams don't always come true and you wonder if this is all that there is on the other side of the rainbow. The Fog rolls in an kidnaps a sunny day. Darkness falls inside of you when nights should be full of love.
These these certainly happened to me.
They suck.
But ... do it or die.
I'm not ready to die. So I lit a fire ... on the back deck and inside of me.
So just like when Jesus came back because he refused to die ... watch me.
I'm just getting started.
The famous Dr. Jim Withers calls me and says that it is cold and raining in Pittsburgh. I say that once the sun burns this fog off, it's going to be close to eighty degrees and a lovely day. He is driving his daughter to school and immediately asks her if she wants to come to Tybee Island.
I re-read a letter I received yesterday for the hundredth time. Pandora plays on the computer. I hold the morning in balance. Before me are the things that I wish for today but like the fog that has hidden the sun I know things will get in the way. Everything will not go right.
The fog drags a cold breeze off of the ocean and throws it at me. I throw wood on the fire.
"Bring it on," I say out loud.
The song changes and I listen intently warming my bare feet in crackle of the wood.
You should know that life is a gamble all along
winners and losers who keep rolling on
so go on and roll the dice
you only live twice
do it or die
My favorite song by the Atlanta Rhythm Section plays arriving perfectly. I've always loved that line ... "you only live twice" ... it's such a wonderful ... truth.
The song is about everything going wrong.
Resurrection is funny concept. Jesus comes back from the dead to remind us ... "Don't let your bad breaks go getting you down ... even when times are rough and you've had enough ... do it or die."
So when death came ... Jesus refused to die.
I've been there.
Everything went wrong ... EVERYTHING ... and I was left alone in a tomb of a house ... dead to my own life.
But you know what?
You only live twice.
There's the first time when it all goes mostly right. Then there is this bitch of a crucifixion and you either allow it to happen or ... you don't. Marriages end but life goes on. Jobs come and go but you're left standing. Dreams don't always come true and you wonder if this is all that there is on the other side of the rainbow. The Fog rolls in an kidnaps a sunny day. Darkness falls inside of you when nights should be full of love.
These these certainly happened to me.
They suck.
But ... do it or die.
I'm not ready to die. So I lit a fire ... on the back deck and inside of me.
So just like when Jesus came back because he refused to die ... watch me.
I'm just getting started.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
The Brady Bunch
Once at a University of Georgia football game, the boys were standing on the porch overlooking the Courtyard at the Holiday Inn wheree kids were tossing the ball around, families had tailgates set up, and it was a glorious fall day. We were indulging in self-medication and talking as we do everygame.
"Boys," Bill Shearhouse said, "from this perch we have experienced everything. Marriages and divorces. Births and deaths. Wins and losses. We've solved every problem in the world from here."
"And never told anybody," Jeremy replied.
My son cracks me up.
Yesterday when the Penn State football game started on television he quipped, "This game is brought to you by Toys-R-US."
He's working on his Ph.D. at UGA and carries his wit to class with him. A professor asked his class last week "What are examples of negative reprecussions of the computer in American society?"
"It has eroded socity's ability to spell because 'auto-correct'," one of the students said.
"Really?" Jeremy blurted out. "I thought that was due to the loss of Nuns with rulers in the classroom."
We were having cocktails together Friday night talking about his marriage with Marie, Chelsea and Sam getting married, Kristen in a long term relationship and I am too. "I get it Dad," he summarized. "We're going to be 'The Brady Bunch' ... a dysfuctional Brady Bunch, but the Brady Bunch nevertheless."
He's also got a serious side and is quite the student. We often have long lingering conversations about life and the problems we may be having. He's fiercely devoted to his sister Chelsea and the two of them spend lots of time together. He reads like I do and has spent the better part of last year working on his writing skills. He sleeps later than I do but the two of us have closed down many a night together.
It's a wonderful thing when you become close friends with your children when they become adults.
I've been so blessed.
So on Sunday morning, I'll count my blessings.
Oh My God!
There are eight!
We really are becoming the Brady Bunch!
"Boys," Bill Shearhouse said, "from this perch we have experienced everything. Marriages and divorces. Births and deaths. Wins and losses. We've solved every problem in the world from here."
"And never told anybody," Jeremy replied.
My son cracks me up.
Yesterday when the Penn State football game started on television he quipped, "This game is brought to you by Toys-R-US."
He's working on his Ph.D. at UGA and carries his wit to class with him. A professor asked his class last week "What are examples of negative reprecussions of the computer in American society?"
"It has eroded socity's ability to spell because 'auto-correct'," one of the students said.
"Really?" Jeremy blurted out. "I thought that was due to the loss of Nuns with rulers in the classroom."
We were having cocktails together Friday night talking about his marriage with Marie, Chelsea and Sam getting married, Kristen in a long term relationship and I am too. "I get it Dad," he summarized. "We're going to be 'The Brady Bunch' ... a dysfuctional Brady Bunch, but the Brady Bunch nevertheless."
He's also got a serious side and is quite the student. We often have long lingering conversations about life and the problems we may be having. He's fiercely devoted to his sister Chelsea and the two of them spend lots of time together. He reads like I do and has spent the better part of last year working on his writing skills. He sleeps later than I do but the two of us have closed down many a night together.
It's a wonderful thing when you become close friends with your children when they become adults.
I've been so blessed.
So on Sunday morning, I'll count my blessings.
Oh My God!
There are eight!
We really are becoming the Brady Bunch!
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