Less than ten hours after being asked to deliver the Opening Bar at the Easter Sunrise Service on the Pier on Tybee Island ... when all of the churches come together to celebrate, including the Baptists ... I've been booted from the program.
Samuel Adams himself, who plays damn good live music on the island, drove to my house to tell me ... and to ask if he could have the Frankincense back.
Apparently, the Baptist Minister and the Methodist Minister want me nowhere the ocean when the sun comes up.
Ones been here since Jesus' first term of duty and the other looks like he just turned twelve.
I don't mind.
I was doing it for Sam and Bar Church anyway.
Besides, I can sit on the Beloved Back Deck at the house and listen to them Praise God from afar. That is if I'm not streaming Acoustic Sunrise on DAVE FM out of Atlanta.
I've been booted from better!
Actually there is something Biblical and holy about all of this. Jesus was booted from being Savior but refused to take it laying down. After fuming for three days he kicked the stone out of the doorway ... kicking ass and taking names.
Besides, I'm into the flowers on the Beloved Back Deck anyway. All but one has survived the winter. They're in bloom and I arrange them this way and that ... until I find whatever the right mix is for this year.
This year's already better than the last ... much better!
This morning after dropping little girls off at school, Goddess and I were sailing through the marsh on the Tybee Road. The marsh has been reborn and brown grass has given away to green. The sky is a brilliant white/blue and the sun is throwing diamonds on the ocean. The tops down on the car and Goddess is blowing in the wind.
I'm singing to the top of my lungs.
"They've given me a number and taken away my name. Secret Agent Man."
I know that feeling.
Religions, political parties, banks (like the one Jerry Rainy couldn't run only to be outdone by the Bank of America which gave its CEO a $7.5 Million bonus for becoming the first fully federally subsidized bank) ... they reduce people to numbers ... taking away their names.
I know the Baptists sure as hell do it too.
"Jesus called us to count his sheep ... not to name them," is one of the ways I've heard it put best, back in the days when I was a "Professional Christian" (getting paid to do what I asked others to pay to do).
All of that to say ... I'm cool.
The sun's coming up just like the Son did.
Me too.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Seminary and me
I was not a conventional Seminary student. Consequently, I hung around other Seminary students who were not conventional ... meaning we were often in trouble with the Ayatollahs and Dictators that ran the Seminary.
When all was said and done, I actually graduated ... with the assistance of Stan Wexell, my attorney. God does work in mysterious ways.
By no means was I the most unconventional of Seminary students though they were my friends.
Michael was great! He made an "A-" in his "Marriage Enrichment" class as his divorce was finalized. Now that's an accomplishment!
He was also the one on the last day in the "Exit to Ministry" class, raised his hand and said, "I think we've all made a mistake. If Jesus were here right now, he'd rent a bulldozer and level this place." He skipped graduation a couple of days later and never got his degree. He did go to Law School is a very successful attorney in Georgia.
There was Tim, my favorite because of his wild red hair, white tee-shirt and blue overalls. He was closer to heaven than everybody else in Seminary ... because he was high the whole time he was there. His room in Mullins Hall had an easy chair made entirely out of six-packs of beer. Sitting in it, he'd reach down and jerk a can out of the chair he was sitting in and slug it down! I've never seen that at Rooms-to-Go.
In "Debate" class, Tim stood there listening to a proper Seminary student dominate the argument he was losing. The whole grade came down to this debate and Tim hadn't said anything choosing instead to suck on a toothpick.
"Don't you have anything to say," the Professor finally asked as the proper Seminary student had presented an excellent ... albeit totally one-sided case.
"Yep," Tim replied taking the toothpick out of his and pointing it at his opponent. "I know what a Philistine feels like now."
Then he stuck the toothpick back in his mouth and looked out the window.
"What," the Professor asked?
Taking the toothpick out again and pointing it at his opponent with narrow focused eyes, Tim explained, "I've been beaten by the Jawbone of an Ass."
I fell on the floor laughing as did the rest of the class.
Tim never graduated but is a very successful politician now.
Then John who never studied. When finals rolled around he hadn't cracked a book. It was common for Seminary professors to call upon students to offer a prayer at beginning of each class. Before the test John was tasked with the job. Standing by his desk, he closed and eyes and proceeded to pray ... for an hour ... then the bell rang ... he said Amen and strolled out of the classroom without ever taking the exam.
I love these people!
All right, I got to go to work.
Samuel Adams, who plays damn good live music on Tybee Island, has asked that I deliver the opening prayer for the Easter Sunrise Service on the pier. Sam is Palmist at Bar Church where I am Senor Pastor. All of the island's churches come together for the Easter Service where Bar Church is by far the most unconventional. However, the Methodists, Episcopalians and Catholics work with Bar Church to put on the service.
Last year the Baptists even came back after having boycotted the sunrise service for a while.
So I've got to get myself ready. I must get in a prayerful and holy state of mind. It's a nice day for it ... sunshine and with highs in the 80's.
Yep.
Time to worship the sun.
When all was said and done, I actually graduated ... with the assistance of Stan Wexell, my attorney. God does work in mysterious ways.
By no means was I the most unconventional of Seminary students though they were my friends.
Michael was great! He made an "A-" in his "Marriage Enrichment" class as his divorce was finalized. Now that's an accomplishment!
He was also the one on the last day in the "Exit to Ministry" class, raised his hand and said, "I think we've all made a mistake. If Jesus were here right now, he'd rent a bulldozer and level this place." He skipped graduation a couple of days later and never got his degree. He did go to Law School is a very successful attorney in Georgia.
There was Tim, my favorite because of his wild red hair, white tee-shirt and blue overalls. He was closer to heaven than everybody else in Seminary ... because he was high the whole time he was there. His room in Mullins Hall had an easy chair made entirely out of six-packs of beer. Sitting in it, he'd reach down and jerk a can out of the chair he was sitting in and slug it down! I've never seen that at Rooms-to-Go.
In "Debate" class, Tim stood there listening to a proper Seminary student dominate the argument he was losing. The whole grade came down to this debate and Tim hadn't said anything choosing instead to suck on a toothpick.
"Don't you have anything to say," the Professor finally asked as the proper Seminary student had presented an excellent ... albeit totally one-sided case.
"Yep," Tim replied taking the toothpick out of his and pointing it at his opponent. "I know what a Philistine feels like now."
Then he stuck the toothpick back in his mouth and looked out the window.
"What," the Professor asked?
Taking the toothpick out again and pointing it at his opponent with narrow focused eyes, Tim explained, "I've been beaten by the Jawbone of an Ass."
I fell on the floor laughing as did the rest of the class.
Tim never graduated but is a very successful politician now.
Then John who never studied. When finals rolled around he hadn't cracked a book. It was common for Seminary professors to call upon students to offer a prayer at beginning of each class. Before the test John was tasked with the job. Standing by his desk, he closed and eyes and proceeded to pray ... for an hour ... then the bell rang ... he said Amen and strolled out of the classroom without ever taking the exam.
I love these people!
All right, I got to go to work.
Samuel Adams, who plays damn good live music on Tybee Island, has asked that I deliver the opening prayer for the Easter Sunrise Service on the pier. Sam is Palmist at Bar Church where I am Senor Pastor. All of the island's churches come together for the Easter Service where Bar Church is by far the most unconventional. However, the Methodists, Episcopalians and Catholics work with Bar Church to put on the service.
Last year the Baptists even came back after having boycotted the sunrise service for a while.
So I've got to get myself ready. I must get in a prayerful and holy state of mind. It's a nice day for it ... sunshine and with highs in the 80's.
Yep.
Time to worship the sun.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Dancing with Palm Trees
The wind is blowing hard off the ocean kicking up the sand and sending it down the paved streets. Sand snakes is what Chelsea used to call them when she was a little girl and that's what they look like ... white snakes slithering down the road and biting your legs if you happen to stand in their way.
I point it out to the girls and they sleepily ignore me until a huge burst of sand blows against the windshield sprinkled with salt water.
"Whoa!" they exclaim.
I'm not certain where this wind came from. The past several days have been perfect Beach Weather ... clothing's been optional if necessary at all. It's all good until ... cold winds blow driving me under the covers and in search of long sleeve shirts.
"Where did this come from," I ask out loud?
I don't like it at all.
I can relate though.
For decades I was rocking-and-rolling along, doing everything mostly right, having a good time, surfing in perfection ... until the winds changed and knocked me off my board leaving me heals over head under the water.
It's life though. Most of the time it's all good until those days come ... when the wind is hard and cold leaving you breathless and tired.
Staring at the stack of papers on my kitchen table, I see all of the things I need to do today. They're the same things I didn't do yesterday. There's a list of names and phone numbers that I must call at some point though it's nobody I really want to talk to. I shutter to open the emails that I know have grown since the last time I ignored them.
Looking at my hands, I see how tan I am. Green Palm trees dance outside of the window. Yellow sunshine falls and I can't help but see the contrast. The Sounds of Silence plays on the computer. Sarah sleeps. I wonder about the wind.
The sun promises better days again.
The cold wind challenges that.
Walking outside, I believe in the sun and let the sand snakes hit me.
"Give me your best shot," I say out loud. "I've had worst."
Then the Palm Tree and I dance.
Silence replaced with birds singing in defiance of the wind.
I point it out to the girls and they sleepily ignore me until a huge burst of sand blows against the windshield sprinkled with salt water.
"Whoa!" they exclaim.
I'm not certain where this wind came from. The past several days have been perfect Beach Weather ... clothing's been optional if necessary at all. It's all good until ... cold winds blow driving me under the covers and in search of long sleeve shirts.
"Where did this come from," I ask out loud?
I don't like it at all.
I can relate though.
For decades I was rocking-and-rolling along, doing everything mostly right, having a good time, surfing in perfection ... until the winds changed and knocked me off my board leaving me heals over head under the water.
It's life though. Most of the time it's all good until those days come ... when the wind is hard and cold leaving you breathless and tired.
Staring at the stack of papers on my kitchen table, I see all of the things I need to do today. They're the same things I didn't do yesterday. There's a list of names and phone numbers that I must call at some point though it's nobody I really want to talk to. I shutter to open the emails that I know have grown since the last time I ignored them.
Looking at my hands, I see how tan I am. Green Palm trees dance outside of the window. Yellow sunshine falls and I can't help but see the contrast. The Sounds of Silence plays on the computer. Sarah sleeps. I wonder about the wind.
The sun promises better days again.
The cold wind challenges that.
Walking outside, I believe in the sun and let the sand snakes hit me.
"Give me your best shot," I say out loud. "I've had worst."
Then the Palm Tree and I dance.
Silence replaced with birds singing in defiance of the wind.
Monday, March 26, 2012
The Girls and Me
It is funny seeing the world through the eyes of kids again. It's been many years since I've spent so much time with children that I find myself in a constant sense of amazement. Making it more challenging is that there are three of them! And they're all girls! Add their Mom to it and I'm surrounded!
Nevertheless, I am learning or ... re-learning many things.
Like Maddie's diet consists entirely of chicken fingers and cheese sandwhiches from Subway. And a lot of crap! To try to be a good parental influence, I've made a goal to take her to places where none of that stuff is offered. Last night Sarah and I surprised the girls by saying we were going to McDonalds so they would get in the car but took them to Cabash, a Morrocoan restaurant.
"Do they have chicken fingers," Maddie asked.
I laughed.
We ordered lamb, beef and chicken. Laurel devored all of the chicken. Cassidy ate evereything in site. Maddie eventually ate a morsel of chicken.
When the belly dancer came, they were all mesmerized. Laurel and Cassidy made their way to the dance floor and gave it a try.
I joined them, raising my shirt to show off my belly button which embarrassed the girls and sent them fleeing to their mother.
We got home and I was exhausted from staring at the belly dancer and promply fell asleep.
The girls are pretty good about retreating to their rooms and going to bed. Each finds twenty-seven reasons to get up and come ask for something before falling asleep. Therefore I have re-learned how to grunt a non-verbal response that is meaningless. Of course they take it to mean whatever they want so the next morning I repeatedly say, "I never said that!"
Most of the time Sarah takes my side because she feels sorry for me.
When we actually go to bed, Laurel crawls in with us at some point during the night. At first I thought Sarah had turned into a four armed and four legged monster with a blankey. I have re-learned how to sleep on a six-foot by two-inch sliver of bed without falling off.
In the morning I am stunned watching them have breakfast. Each girl has an affinity for ketchep and liberally pour it on ... EVERYTHING. Who knew that toasted stawberry strudel is better with ketchep? Or that hot dogs are breakfast food?
When I take them to school they turn the radio to the shitty station that plays the same 97.3 song over and over again. I actually know who Ava Lavigne is! So we invented this game where I change the station and they change it back. We see how many times the station can be changed in a two mile ride to school and have broken the two-hundred mark consistently.
Then it's to work. I'm normally exhausted from sensory overload this point and need a drink.
It's all been good for me. I'm a better and more understanding person because of the girls.
And, I have re-learned the secret of dealing with daughters ... Vodka.
Nevertheless, I am learning or ... re-learning many things.
Like Maddie's diet consists entirely of chicken fingers and cheese sandwhiches from Subway. And a lot of crap! To try to be a good parental influence, I've made a goal to take her to places where none of that stuff is offered. Last night Sarah and I surprised the girls by saying we were going to McDonalds so they would get in the car but took them to Cabash, a Morrocoan restaurant.
"Do they have chicken fingers," Maddie asked.
I laughed.
We ordered lamb, beef and chicken. Laurel devored all of the chicken. Cassidy ate evereything in site. Maddie eventually ate a morsel of chicken.
When the belly dancer came, they were all mesmerized. Laurel and Cassidy made their way to the dance floor and gave it a try.
I joined them, raising my shirt to show off my belly button which embarrassed the girls and sent them fleeing to their mother.
We got home and I was exhausted from staring at the belly dancer and promply fell asleep.
The girls are pretty good about retreating to their rooms and going to bed. Each finds twenty-seven reasons to get up and come ask for something before falling asleep. Therefore I have re-learned how to grunt a non-verbal response that is meaningless. Of course they take it to mean whatever they want so the next morning I repeatedly say, "I never said that!"
Most of the time Sarah takes my side because she feels sorry for me.
When we actually go to bed, Laurel crawls in with us at some point during the night. At first I thought Sarah had turned into a four armed and four legged monster with a blankey. I have re-learned how to sleep on a six-foot by two-inch sliver of bed without falling off.
In the morning I am stunned watching them have breakfast. Each girl has an affinity for ketchep and liberally pour it on ... EVERYTHING. Who knew that toasted stawberry strudel is better with ketchep? Or that hot dogs are breakfast food?
When I take them to school they turn the radio to the shitty station that plays the same 97.3 song over and over again. I actually know who Ava Lavigne is! So we invented this game where I change the station and they change it back. We see how many times the station can be changed in a two mile ride to school and have broken the two-hundred mark consistently.
Then it's to work. I'm normally exhausted from sensory overload this point and need a drink.
It's all been good for me. I'm a better and more understanding person because of the girls.
And, I have re-learned the secret of dealing with daughters ... Vodka.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Living on Tybee
"What it like to live on Tybee" I was asked.
How does one begin?
To use Hemingway's line, it's a moveable feast.
And man did we move last night ... and the night before.
Friday night began at Julia-Just-Julia's house on the marsh with Wendell Matthews singing Beneath the Reefer Moon washing it down with wine and bar-b-que. Sarah and I were the only ones who danced but everyone had a good time! The smell of the marsh on a warm spring night is the pungent aroma of sex in the tropics. Coupled with good music, friends and wine, the birth of the weekend exploded our senses.
At dark we left and went to Marlin Monroe's to meet our friends Paul and Lammy who are staying on the island for the weekend. We haven't seen them in forever and quickly made up for lost time. Jenny O came over to our table and we thanked for for our "Full Moon Wedding" because it's your friends who make special things holy and pure. We made plans for the next day and made our way home.
Yesterday, I got my drunken bicycle out of re-hab and Sarah and I rode to Vickie's, the island's newest eatery. Dark clouds were suspended over the marsh and the back river. It was raining in Savannah and we could hear the thunder. Inside Vickie's I ate Whiting and Sarah ate cake as we planned our future. We then rode to the Library and ran into our friend Jack who was there to use the computer.
Our phones were buzzing with commands from our friends to attend the Bored Meeting in front of Fannie's-On-the-Beach so off we went. We learned that there is a company in New York named "Tibi" who is suing us for calling ourselves Tybidiots and putting it on T-shirts and hats. Apparently it's very easy to get into trouble on Tybee.
The dark clouds were peeing on the island so we ran to our bikes and made our home. The rain fell outside of the open windows. Sarah sat at the table fulfilling the plans we had made while I listened to rain until I slept.
Then it was off to Marlin Monroe's again to hook up with our dear friends the Sadowski's where we planned Dano's wedding. She and Paul are visiting from Montana and were in desperate need of seafood. Dano bought her wedding dress this week ("The good news Dad is that I didn't get the most expensive one" ... which is always a bad way to start). After deciding that dogs should be a part of the ceremony, our work was done so we left.
Then it was to Bernie's where I played with the Samuel Adams Band, playing damn good live music on the island. Wwe did a killer version of "Knocking on Sarah's Door" until the entire gig was overrun by groupies. So we left and went to Doc's Bar and danced our brains out to Roy Swindell's excellent sounds. Shots appeared out of nowhere.
I have no idea what time we got home.
Now I sit here sniffing the salt air, wearing sunglasses because of the bright sunshine on the Beloved back deck, listening to the Wendell Matthews "Under the Reefer Moon". I think I'm supposed to be at Bar Church but Sarah talked me into skipping.
Oh well ... this is the Sabbath.
A day of rest.
I need it.
Until noon.
Then the moveable feast starts again.
How does one begin?
To use Hemingway's line, it's a moveable feast.
And man did we move last night ... and the night before.
Friday night began at Julia-Just-Julia's house on the marsh with Wendell Matthews singing Beneath the Reefer Moon washing it down with wine and bar-b-que. Sarah and I were the only ones who danced but everyone had a good time! The smell of the marsh on a warm spring night is the pungent aroma of sex in the tropics. Coupled with good music, friends and wine, the birth of the weekend exploded our senses.
At dark we left and went to Marlin Monroe's to meet our friends Paul and Lammy who are staying on the island for the weekend. We haven't seen them in forever and quickly made up for lost time. Jenny O came over to our table and we thanked for for our "Full Moon Wedding" because it's your friends who make special things holy and pure. We made plans for the next day and made our way home.
Yesterday, I got my drunken bicycle out of re-hab and Sarah and I rode to Vickie's, the island's newest eatery. Dark clouds were suspended over the marsh and the back river. It was raining in Savannah and we could hear the thunder. Inside Vickie's I ate Whiting and Sarah ate cake as we planned our future. We then rode to the Library and ran into our friend Jack who was there to use the computer.
Our phones were buzzing with commands from our friends to attend the Bored Meeting in front of Fannie's-On-the-Beach so off we went. We learned that there is a company in New York named "Tibi" who is suing us for calling ourselves Tybidiots and putting it on T-shirts and hats. Apparently it's very easy to get into trouble on Tybee.
The dark clouds were peeing on the island so we ran to our bikes and made our home. The rain fell outside of the open windows. Sarah sat at the table fulfilling the plans we had made while I listened to rain until I slept.
Then it was off to Marlin Monroe's again to hook up with our dear friends the Sadowski's where we planned Dano's wedding. She and Paul are visiting from Montana and were in desperate need of seafood. Dano bought her wedding dress this week ("The good news Dad is that I didn't get the most expensive one" ... which is always a bad way to start). After deciding that dogs should be a part of the ceremony, our work was done so we left.
Then it was to Bernie's where I played with the Samuel Adams Band, playing damn good live music on the island. Wwe did a killer version of "Knocking on Sarah's Door" until the entire gig was overrun by groupies. So we left and went to Doc's Bar and danced our brains out to Roy Swindell's excellent sounds. Shots appeared out of nowhere.
I have no idea what time we got home.
Now I sit here sniffing the salt air, wearing sunglasses because of the bright sunshine on the Beloved back deck, listening to the Wendell Matthews "Under the Reefer Moon". I think I'm supposed to be at Bar Church but Sarah talked me into skipping.
Oh well ... this is the Sabbath.
A day of rest.
I need it.
Until noon.
Then the moveable feast starts again.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Rolling Change
Sitting on the stool at the Breakfast Club, I sipped coffee watching my friends finish the last of their preparations for another busy day. I'm moving slow because it'd been a busy night on Tybee Island. Sarah and I went to Julie-just-Julia's Five O'Clock party listening to good live music on her dock (Whitley's bicycle got so drunk that he actually had to walk it home), then we were off to Marlin Monroe's where we met with old friends from Union Mission days. I have no idea what time we got home.
She walks in the door and sits at the counter. I know her. She's recently become a regular having moved here from the Washington D.C. area after her job ended. As long as I've known her she's been looking for something else to do for a living. Every day she seems a little sadder than she was the day before.
"G' morning Micheal," she says sitting down and I sleepily reply.
Reaching into an oversize bag, she pulls out rolls of quarters, dimes, nickles and pennies lying them on the counter.
"Can you use these," she asks Val.
I watch this intently as it seems as all of the air is sucked out of the room.
After the most pregnant of pauses, Val grins and says, "God Bless you! Absolutely!"
The slightest of smiles creeps over the face of someone who is now ... relieved.
"Rolling Change," I ask?
She nods saying "Got nothing else to do."
I nod back.
My Dad used to come home from work every day and throw whatever change was in pocket into a large jar. Over the course of a year it filled and at Christmas he tell one of his grandchildren that, if they could pick up the jar then they could have everything inside. It became the biggest of traditions and each of the kids couldn't wait until it was their year to get the change.
I picked up the habit and in my closet there is a giant jar full of quarters, dimes, nickles and pennies. There's probably close to $200 in it. It's my emergency fund. As long as it sits there, I have some money.
Over the years I've known thousands of homeless people. One of the things that I learned from them is ... whenever they got a job, found a place to live and regained control of their life ... they would get a $100 bill that they'd fold into a tight tiny sliver and hide it in their billfold or purse.
"If it all goes to hell," they would explained, "at least I have something to get me through ... or at least to buy me another drink so I don't care anymore.
I was always amazed at this homeless tradition. It continued from year to year and decade to decade.
"What you doing today," she asked as took $21 from Val and gleefully put it inside the oversize bag..
Thoughtfully, I sipped the last of my coffee.
"Rolling change," I said standing up.
She nodded with a sad understanding.
I meant it too.
It's just a different kind of change that I'm rolling.
She walks in the door and sits at the counter. I know her. She's recently become a regular having moved here from the Washington D.C. area after her job ended. As long as I've known her she's been looking for something else to do for a living. Every day she seems a little sadder than she was the day before.
"G' morning Micheal," she says sitting down and I sleepily reply.
Reaching into an oversize bag, she pulls out rolls of quarters, dimes, nickles and pennies lying them on the counter.
"Can you use these," she asks Val.
I watch this intently as it seems as all of the air is sucked out of the room.
After the most pregnant of pauses, Val grins and says, "God Bless you! Absolutely!"
The slightest of smiles creeps over the face of someone who is now ... relieved.
"Rolling Change," I ask?
She nods saying "Got nothing else to do."
I nod back.
My Dad used to come home from work every day and throw whatever change was in pocket into a large jar. Over the course of a year it filled and at Christmas he tell one of his grandchildren that, if they could pick up the jar then they could have everything inside. It became the biggest of traditions and each of the kids couldn't wait until it was their year to get the change.
I picked up the habit and in my closet there is a giant jar full of quarters, dimes, nickles and pennies. There's probably close to $200 in it. It's my emergency fund. As long as it sits there, I have some money.
Over the years I've known thousands of homeless people. One of the things that I learned from them is ... whenever they got a job, found a place to live and regained control of their life ... they would get a $100 bill that they'd fold into a tight tiny sliver and hide it in their billfold or purse.
"If it all goes to hell," they would explained, "at least I have something to get me through ... or at least to buy me another drink so I don't care anymore.
I was always amazed at this homeless tradition. It continued from year to year and decade to decade.
"What you doing today," she asked as took $21 from Val and gleefully put it inside the oversize bag..
Thoughtfully, I sipped the last of my coffee.
"Rolling change," I said standing up.
She nodded with a sad understanding.
I meant it too.
It's just a different kind of change that I'm rolling.
Friday, March 23, 2012
Bar Church Sins
Bar Church is getting too big.
It's driving me nuts. We're starting to have meetings and stuff. Pretty soon we'll have committees and then the whole thing goes to hell. We've already got titles for Christ's sake!
Samuel Adams, who plays damn good live music on Tybee Island, is the Psalmist, though I have never known of Sam writting a Psalm in his life. He does write music which counts towards something but I haven't seen a single Psalm.
Sean McNally is Associate Pastor primarily because he associates with us. He refuses to acknowledge this title and I, for one, support him in this. I wouldn't associate with us either.
I am Senor Pastor ... meaning I like Margaretta's, Mexican climates and regularly breaking the majority of the Ten Commandments.
Dedra is ... secretary. You can't have a church without a secretary. Jesus said that in the Sermon on the Mount or something. Like every secretary, she is much more than that. She is front person for the DeLuv Band, author of the church newsletter which nobody reads, and holds the archives of every piece of music we've ever needed but don't have because ... it's at her freakin' house!
Sarah is the lead singer ... because she's hot! The rest of us love standing behind her as she sways for God in tight jeans. Hallelujah!
Stephen is the stoic. Davy is the drummer. Hennie is ... we have no idea what Hennie is ... Jeanmarie dances like David danced and Gladius is some epiphany ... no one is sure he came from or why he's there.
As you can tell, we're pretty organized.
Anyway, we're getting too big. There is talk about splitting the band up and having more than one service on Sundays. Hell, most of us can barely make it to the one!
We see the growth potential of it all. The state of Georgia now has Sunday liquor sales which has attendance climbing every time we show up. We may have to hire a consultant like Guy Salyes or Mitch Wesley to tell us what to do ... over beers.
Bigger is not always better. Just ask the Bank of America, anybody who keeps up with the bullshit in Congress or either political party or Christ Church in downtown Savannah, Georgia.
For the moment anyway, Bar Church remains this crazy, simple, and holy little thing. It does things no other church comes close to doing ... making those so wounded by church, the non-churched and the church-haters into a congregation.
"All Things Must Pass," instructed the major prophet George Harrison, and I know that is true.
But this morning I'm praying, "Dear God, don't let it pass just yet."
It's driving me nuts. We're starting to have meetings and stuff. Pretty soon we'll have committees and then the whole thing goes to hell. We've already got titles for Christ's sake!
Samuel Adams, who plays damn good live music on Tybee Island, is the Psalmist, though I have never known of Sam writting a Psalm in his life. He does write music which counts towards something but I haven't seen a single Psalm.
Sean McNally is Associate Pastor primarily because he associates with us. He refuses to acknowledge this title and I, for one, support him in this. I wouldn't associate with us either.
I am Senor Pastor ... meaning I like Margaretta's, Mexican climates and regularly breaking the majority of the Ten Commandments.
Dedra is ... secretary. You can't have a church without a secretary. Jesus said that in the Sermon on the Mount or something. Like every secretary, she is much more than that. She is front person for the DeLuv Band, author of the church newsletter which nobody reads, and holds the archives of every piece of music we've ever needed but don't have because ... it's at her freakin' house!
Sarah is the lead singer ... because she's hot! The rest of us love standing behind her as she sways for God in tight jeans. Hallelujah!
Stephen is the stoic. Davy is the drummer. Hennie is ... we have no idea what Hennie is ... Jeanmarie dances like David danced and Gladius is some epiphany ... no one is sure he came from or why he's there.
As you can tell, we're pretty organized.
Anyway, we're getting too big. There is talk about splitting the band up and having more than one service on Sundays. Hell, most of us can barely make it to the one!
We see the growth potential of it all. The state of Georgia now has Sunday liquor sales which has attendance climbing every time we show up. We may have to hire a consultant like Guy Salyes or Mitch Wesley to tell us what to do ... over beers.
Bigger is not always better. Just ask the Bank of America, anybody who keeps up with the bullshit in Congress or either political party or Christ Church in downtown Savannah, Georgia.
For the moment anyway, Bar Church remains this crazy, simple, and holy little thing. It does things no other church comes close to doing ... making those so wounded by church, the non-churched and the church-haters into a congregation.
"All Things Must Pass," instructed the major prophet George Harrison, and I know that is true.
But this morning I'm praying, "Dear God, don't let it pass just yet."
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Living Again
The Bahamas ... Belize ... Tybee Island ... Pittsburgh?!
What's wrong with this picture?
I must have done something wrong. Perhaps I've committed the unpardonable sin. This is a crazy turn of events. At least the weather is good. Last night I stood on the banks of the Allegany River wishing that it was carrying me out to Sea. I was with the very famous Dr. Jim Withers and his friend Bita, a soon-to-be professional Psychiatrist. She was analyzing me.
"When you meet her," the very famous Dr. Withers had cautioned me, "act like you're a Christian. She's very Christian so don't offend her."
I have no idea how the very famous Dr. Withers got to be so very famous.
Nevertheless, I acted very Christian, didn't say any cuss words, made the sign of the cross when I met her and hugged her when we said goodbye. She even invited me back.
"Nice job," the very famous Dr. Withers said as we ran back to his car, already twenty minutes late for the meeting that I'm in Pittsburgh to attend.
He drives like a bat out of hell while reading the GPS on his I-Phone.
I pray like I've never prayed before.
We arrive at a seafood restaurant which stikes me as the epitome of irony.
As we enter, the people we are joining stand and applaud. They are from across the country, including two from Texas and you never know what to expect with Texans.
"Congratulations," exclaims the not so famous Dr. Dave Buck. He's from Texas.
I look at the very famous Dr. Withers who is looking at me. Neither of us have a clue what is going on.
"You're married," he said. "Show us the ring."
I did, explaining, "It's titanium knock-off," and can see my wife Sarah rolling her eyes as I do so. It makes me feel closer to home.
They ooh and ah, which I am not expecting.
As we sit, there are handshakes, pats on the back, hugs, and congradulatory comments. The meeting they had been having is interrupted to celebrate me being married. They ask me how Sarah is though the very famous Dr. Withers is the only one to have actually met her. My heart smiles.
The other day at Bar Church I talked about what it's like to have been dead and then be alive again. That is the truth of my life. We live ... we die ... and if we're lucky and blessed, we live again. It's a very Christian belief.
This afternoon, I'm heading south again ... back to the islands ... where my heart and home is. Where I live ... again.
What's wrong with this picture?
I must have done something wrong. Perhaps I've committed the unpardonable sin. This is a crazy turn of events. At least the weather is good. Last night I stood on the banks of the Allegany River wishing that it was carrying me out to Sea. I was with the very famous Dr. Jim Withers and his friend Bita, a soon-to-be professional Psychiatrist. She was analyzing me.
"When you meet her," the very famous Dr. Withers had cautioned me, "act like you're a Christian. She's very Christian so don't offend her."
I have no idea how the very famous Dr. Withers got to be so very famous.
Nevertheless, I acted very Christian, didn't say any cuss words, made the sign of the cross when I met her and hugged her when we said goodbye. She even invited me back.
"Nice job," the very famous Dr. Withers said as we ran back to his car, already twenty minutes late for the meeting that I'm in Pittsburgh to attend.
He drives like a bat out of hell while reading the GPS on his I-Phone.
I pray like I've never prayed before.
We arrive at a seafood restaurant which stikes me as the epitome of irony.
As we enter, the people we are joining stand and applaud. They are from across the country, including two from Texas and you never know what to expect with Texans.
"Congratulations," exclaims the not so famous Dr. Dave Buck. He's from Texas.
I look at the very famous Dr. Withers who is looking at me. Neither of us have a clue what is going on.
"You're married," he said. "Show us the ring."
I did, explaining, "It's titanium knock-off," and can see my wife Sarah rolling her eyes as I do so. It makes me feel closer to home.
They ooh and ah, which I am not expecting.
As we sit, there are handshakes, pats on the back, hugs, and congradulatory comments. The meeting they had been having is interrupted to celebrate me being married. They ask me how Sarah is though the very famous Dr. Withers is the only one to have actually met her. My heart smiles.
The other day at Bar Church I talked about what it's like to have been dead and then be alive again. That is the truth of my life. We live ... we die ... and if we're lucky and blessed, we live again. It's a very Christian belief.
This afternoon, I'm heading south again ... back to the islands ... where my heart and home is. Where I live ... again.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Fish Naked
I have to go to Pittsburgh today.
I don't want to go.
Don 't get me wrong, I love Pittsburgh! It's one of my favorite cities of all time and I've been there a lot over the past several years. I love the ride from the airport through the tunnel and then ... BOOM ... you're in the city. I have great friends there and the very famous Dr. Jim Withers is picking me up when I arrive. I'd love to return to my friend Suzanne's house for another hot tub experience. The bartenders at the airport call me by name when they see me.
I have a dinner meeting tonight ... which I demanded, so I guess I have to go. Then in the morning there is a retreat that I have to attend. It is a work, planning thing to improve access to the American Health care system. We have the best health care in the world but the worst access. So it's interesting stuff to work on.
Though I'd just assume stay here.
There are important things to do here too!
Sarah's still sleeping and Goddess may bother her and I don't want that to happen. The back tire on my bicycle is flat and I need to get it fixed. I'm really into my back yard right now trying to determine if weeds overtake the grass ... it's a fierce battle at this point with the weeds slightly ahead but it's all green so it must be alright.
Besides, yesterday we bought to new pieces of yard art that need hanging.
FISH NAKED.
One is of a woman casting her rod and the other of a man casting his.
They are great!
At this particular moment, they seem far more important than Pittsburgh or anything to do with the American Health Care system.
Hmmm ... it dawns on me that for slight change fee, I could be flying south instead of north. For the same fee I can change the date and have enough time to get Sarah a ticket too. Then I could hang my signs, we can fly to St. Somewhere and ... fish naked!
I love it when a plan is born.
I don't want to go.
Don 't get me wrong, I love Pittsburgh! It's one of my favorite cities of all time and I've been there a lot over the past several years. I love the ride from the airport through the tunnel and then ... BOOM ... you're in the city. I have great friends there and the very famous Dr. Jim Withers is picking me up when I arrive. I'd love to return to my friend Suzanne's house for another hot tub experience. The bartenders at the airport call me by name when they see me.
I have a dinner meeting tonight ... which I demanded, so I guess I have to go. Then in the morning there is a retreat that I have to attend. It is a work, planning thing to improve access to the American Health care system. We have the best health care in the world but the worst access. So it's interesting stuff to work on.
Though I'd just assume stay here.
There are important things to do here too!
Sarah's still sleeping and Goddess may bother her and I don't want that to happen. The back tire on my bicycle is flat and I need to get it fixed. I'm really into my back yard right now trying to determine if weeds overtake the grass ... it's a fierce battle at this point with the weeds slightly ahead but it's all green so it must be alright.
Besides, yesterday we bought to new pieces of yard art that need hanging.
FISH NAKED.
One is of a woman casting her rod and the other of a man casting his.
They are great!
At this particular moment, they seem far more important than Pittsburgh or anything to do with the American Health Care system.
Hmmm ... it dawns on me that for slight change fee, I could be flying south instead of north. For the same fee I can change the date and have enough time to get Sarah a ticket too. Then I could hang my signs, we can fly to St. Somewhere and ... fish naked!
I love it when a plan is born.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
A Mother's Worry
Fran has adorned her beautiful self with purple wisteria and the sun throws yellow on her thousand shades of green. All of the plants on the Beloved Back deck survived the winter and are in bloom with green, red, yellow and white all clamoring for attention. The Palm Tree with the oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt oversees all of this with a smile. Goddess's head rests under my bare feet as I sit here marveling at all of the newness.
It's the first day of spring and God has never created better weather for it. I'm loving the moment.
"I'm worried about you," my Mom said as I drove on the Tybee Road last night.
"Well," I replied in the cell phone, "that's what Mother's do right? Worry about their children."
She wasn't expecting this.
"Yes," she finally said firmly. "That is what Mother's do."
"Good," I told her. "I wouldn't know what to do if you weren't worried."
It'd been a crazy day and I'd just finished telling her about it. Half the morning was spent on the phone with AT&T negotiating payment on my cell phone bill from our honeymoon in Belize. I have the International Plan but learned that certain countries are not included in AT&T's International coverage.
"So let me ask you a question," I asked in my best Conner impersonation. "Doesn't 'International' imply every nation?"
"It does," Robert is based in India replied. "Except for countries like Belize and Russia. They aren't included. You should have called us first so that you would know. Next time you travel, call us first."
"Hey Robert," I said. "Do you know what customer service is?"
Anyway, Robert was pretty cool about it and ... at this point ... I remain an AT&T customer.
Then it was on to dealing with the insurance company, a customer who had the audacity to think that I wasn't giving her the best customer service, sending things to the accountant for taxes, and trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up.
When I told all of this to my Mom driving on the Tybee Road to have dinner with Sarah and the girls, she told me that she remains worried ... as she always has been ... about most everything I've ever done.
As soon as I hung up, Samuel Adams ... who plays damn good live music on Tybee Island ... called. Sam is also a Jesus Impersonator ... they're kind of like Elvis Impersonators except Sam has "the look" down ... Jesus in bifocals.
"God told me to call you," he says, "to let you know how blessed you are."
God often speaks to Sam first and then Sam decides whether or not to tell the rest of us whatever it was God said.
I thanked him and hung up.
Sitting here now, I feel like a Beach Bum which is exactly what I always wanted to be when I grow up. I make the assumption that Mothers of Pirates worried about their sons and daughters as they pillared, raped and stole. I've been in a sea of battles but am now moored in the calm of the first day of spring. Sarah is bouncing in giving me kisses and looking like a voluptuous wench. I'm hosting a meeting later that I may or may not attend.
There's only one thing left to say ...
AAARRRRGGGG.
It's the first day of spring and God has never created better weather for it. I'm loving the moment.
"I'm worried about you," my Mom said as I drove on the Tybee Road last night.
"Well," I replied in the cell phone, "that's what Mother's do right? Worry about their children."
She wasn't expecting this.
"Yes," she finally said firmly. "That is what Mother's do."
"Good," I told her. "I wouldn't know what to do if you weren't worried."
It'd been a crazy day and I'd just finished telling her about it. Half the morning was spent on the phone with AT&T negotiating payment on my cell phone bill from our honeymoon in Belize. I have the International Plan but learned that certain countries are not included in AT&T's International coverage.
"So let me ask you a question," I asked in my best Conner impersonation. "Doesn't 'International' imply every nation?"
"It does," Robert is based in India replied. "Except for countries like Belize and Russia. They aren't included. You should have called us first so that you would know. Next time you travel, call us first."
"Hey Robert," I said. "Do you know what customer service is?"
Anyway, Robert was pretty cool about it and ... at this point ... I remain an AT&T customer.
Then it was on to dealing with the insurance company, a customer who had the audacity to think that I wasn't giving her the best customer service, sending things to the accountant for taxes, and trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up.
When I told all of this to my Mom driving on the Tybee Road to have dinner with Sarah and the girls, she told me that she remains worried ... as she always has been ... about most everything I've ever done.
As soon as I hung up, Samuel Adams ... who plays damn good live music on Tybee Island ... called. Sam is also a Jesus Impersonator ... they're kind of like Elvis Impersonators except Sam has "the look" down ... Jesus in bifocals.
"God told me to call you," he says, "to let you know how blessed you are."
God often speaks to Sam first and then Sam decides whether or not to tell the rest of us whatever it was God said.
I thanked him and hung up.
Sitting here now, I feel like a Beach Bum which is exactly what I always wanted to be when I grow up. I make the assumption that Mothers of Pirates worried about their sons and daughters as they pillared, raped and stole. I've been in a sea of battles but am now moored in the calm of the first day of spring. Sarah is bouncing in giving me kisses and looking like a voluptuous wench. I'm hosting a meeting later that I may or may not attend.
There's only one thing left to say ...
AAARRRRGGGG.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Advances in Bar Church
We got a brand new sound system at Bar Church yesterday. Unfortunately, it didn't work.
Some say it was Satan. Others claim it was precedence as Bar Church's sound system is always blowing up in the middle of the service. Still others insist it's because it is entirely too early for any one to accurately plug the red cord into the socket marked red on the Board ... for Christ's sake most only went to bed a couple of hours earlier. For whatever reason, the brand new sound system blew in the middle of the service.
Just as I was starting to preach (and I use the term loosely)!
While Sam and Davy cussed and pulled cables out and plugged them back in again behind me ... I brought forth the Gospel message.
Whoever may have been interested in anything I had to say were mesmerized watching Sam and Davy ... perform ... behind me. They were the Keystone Cops doing it for God.
My microphone was dead so, anyone who was trying to listen to me couldn't hear anything I was saying.
So I need to say something.
I was good.
I wanted to take notes on myself in the margins of my Bible.
It was fabulous.
I'm the only one who heard it.
Sam and Dave finally got things working in time for the music. Grabbing our guitars we brought praise in song.
What if God was one of us? we sang ... well ... that's an exaggeration. Sam was so frustrated he left the stage. Davy was madder than hell so he beat the shit out of the drums.
On the other hand, Sean, Dedra and I were ... fabulous. I made up words to the first verse. Sean got the second verse right. Dedra got three out of four notes right with brilliant consistency. And when the three of us sang the chorus, angles wept.
As did everybody else at Bar Church.
What do you do?
Shit happens.
Even in church.
But it was a good day that the Lord had made. We had some lunch. We went to the beach. We toasted the author of creation, threw meat on the grill and told stories into the night.
"Who invented Sunday on the day after St. Patrick's Day," Stephen asked while playing an incredible lead guitar solo on the wrong song.
It was a good question.
While we're at it ... who invented Monday?
I know ... I know. Shit happens. Even in heaven
Some say it was Satan. Others claim it was precedence as Bar Church's sound system is always blowing up in the middle of the service. Still others insist it's because it is entirely too early for any one to accurately plug the red cord into the socket marked red on the Board ... for Christ's sake most only went to bed a couple of hours earlier. For whatever reason, the brand new sound system blew in the middle of the service.
Just as I was starting to preach (and I use the term loosely)!
While Sam and Davy cussed and pulled cables out and plugged them back in again behind me ... I brought forth the Gospel message.
Whoever may have been interested in anything I had to say were mesmerized watching Sam and Davy ... perform ... behind me. They were the Keystone Cops doing it for God.
My microphone was dead so, anyone who was trying to listen to me couldn't hear anything I was saying.
So I need to say something.
I was good.
I wanted to take notes on myself in the margins of my Bible.
It was fabulous.
I'm the only one who heard it.
Sam and Dave finally got things working in time for the music. Grabbing our guitars we brought praise in song.
What if God was one of us? we sang ... well ... that's an exaggeration. Sam was so frustrated he left the stage. Davy was madder than hell so he beat the shit out of the drums.
On the other hand, Sean, Dedra and I were ... fabulous. I made up words to the first verse. Sean got the second verse right. Dedra got three out of four notes right with brilliant consistency. And when the three of us sang the chorus, angles wept.
As did everybody else at Bar Church.
What do you do?
Shit happens.
Even in church.
But it was a good day that the Lord had made. We had some lunch. We went to the beach. We toasted the author of creation, threw meat on the grill and told stories into the night.
"Who invented Sunday on the day after St. Patrick's Day," Stephen asked while playing an incredible lead guitar solo on the wrong song.
It was a good question.
While we're at it ... who invented Monday?
I know ... I know. Shit happens. Even in heaven
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Simple Gifts
At 2:36 my eyes popped open with a song in my head. This actually happens with some regularity and I often say that I think in lyrics anyway. Sometimes I wake up with worries, vivid reminder of a dream or ... a song. This morning it was a song.
'tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free
'tis the gift to come down where you ought to be
And when we find ourselves in the place just right
Twill be in the valley of love and delight
It is an old Shaker Hymn that I learned when I was the professional Christian inexplicably in charge of the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel in Louisville, Kentucky. We grew to do all kinds of music at the Chapel, most were outside of the Broadman Hymnal sanctioned and required by Baptist Corporate Headquarters in Nashville, Tennessee. I remember that Associate Pastor, Cindy Weber, brought that song and I haven't thought of it in years until the middle of last night.
Rolling over I lay my head beside Sarah's.
When true simplicity is gained,
to bow and bend we shan't be ashamed
I know all about that. My ass has been bowed and bent like crazy over the past several years. What had once been a steady and relentless uphill ascension where I could do no wrong turned into a roller coaster quickly descending into hell. Everything about everything changed and suddenly I found myself ... free.
I was free from the tremendous obligations of a very public and demanding career ... from the unending needs of others that never goes away ... from the marriage I was in ... from having to be anywhere at any particular time ... free of having to do anything.
I've read when Slaves were first freed in emancipation as the Civil War concluded many had no idea what to do. Freedom overwhelmed them so they stayed put in the slave quarters and at the beckon of their former owners. They had no idea what to do ... no way of imaging how life could be different.
I know that feeling. It took me a year or so to work through this tremendous need to go backwards. It was all I'd known and all that I still wanted. I couldn't imagine a different life that was better or more fulfilling than what I'd already had.
Then just as the freed slaves finally figured it out and made new and better lives, I've come a long way into the Promised Land too.
To turn, turn will be our delight
Till by turning, turning we come out right.
Sarah reaches and grabs my arm, still sleeping. The girls are quiet in their rooms. Goddess snores beside the bed. Chelsea is with her Mom and getting over being sick. Jeremy and Marie are in Milledgeville for some reason. Kristen is still working as St. Patrick's Day draws to an end.
Listening to Sarah breath, I think how odd it this song comes to me. A sliver of moon casts its trail on the floor beside us. I recall the Shaker's danced and many think the song a dancing song for when they gathered for church. At the end, where it says turn, turn ... these were instructions in the dance.
Turn and dance into your new life.
Come down where you ought to be.
Find yourself in a place just right.
In the valley of love and delight.
Sarah rolls and throws and arm over me. I fall back asleep. 'tis a gift!
'tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free
'tis the gift to come down where you ought to be
And when we find ourselves in the place just right
Twill be in the valley of love and delight
It is an old Shaker Hymn that I learned when I was the professional Christian inexplicably in charge of the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel in Louisville, Kentucky. We grew to do all kinds of music at the Chapel, most were outside of the Broadman Hymnal sanctioned and required by Baptist Corporate Headquarters in Nashville, Tennessee. I remember that Associate Pastor, Cindy Weber, brought that song and I haven't thought of it in years until the middle of last night.
Rolling over I lay my head beside Sarah's.
When true simplicity is gained,
to bow and bend we shan't be ashamed
I know all about that. My ass has been bowed and bent like crazy over the past several years. What had once been a steady and relentless uphill ascension where I could do no wrong turned into a roller coaster quickly descending into hell. Everything about everything changed and suddenly I found myself ... free.
I was free from the tremendous obligations of a very public and demanding career ... from the unending needs of others that never goes away ... from the marriage I was in ... from having to be anywhere at any particular time ... free of having to do anything.
I've read when Slaves were first freed in emancipation as the Civil War concluded many had no idea what to do. Freedom overwhelmed them so they stayed put in the slave quarters and at the beckon of their former owners. They had no idea what to do ... no way of imaging how life could be different.
I know that feeling. It took me a year or so to work through this tremendous need to go backwards. It was all I'd known and all that I still wanted. I couldn't imagine a different life that was better or more fulfilling than what I'd already had.
Then just as the freed slaves finally figured it out and made new and better lives, I've come a long way into the Promised Land too.
To turn, turn will be our delight
Till by turning, turning we come out right.
Sarah reaches and grabs my arm, still sleeping. The girls are quiet in their rooms. Goddess snores beside the bed. Chelsea is with her Mom and getting over being sick. Jeremy and Marie are in Milledgeville for some reason. Kristen is still working as St. Patrick's Day draws to an end.
Listening to Sarah breath, I think how odd it this song comes to me. A sliver of moon casts its trail on the floor beside us. I recall the Shaker's danced and many think the song a dancing song for when they gathered for church. At the end, where it says turn, turn ... these were instructions in the dance.
Turn and dance into your new life.
Come down where you ought to be.
Find yourself in a place just right.
In the valley of love and delight.
Sarah rolls and throws and arm over me. I fall back asleep. 'tis a gift!
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Payback (with love, of course)
You know what it's like when you finally get home from a trip and are just so ready to be back in the comforts of your own place?
After a full day of air travel with connections in three cities in two different countries, I was ready for the familiarity of my sanctuary. Imagine my surprise as I entered and that found someone had rearranged all of the furniture inside, put cellophane inside the toilets, decorated it with blown up medical gloves and those little umbrellas that go inside of mixed drinks in a bar.
Someone also left gifts of cheese and crackers, Pretzels, candy and a bottle of wine ...so they weren't all bad.
Someone had also brought all of the cards and gifts that Sarah and I got at the Full Moon wedding last week.
It was quite the homecoming after such an exhausting day!
Someone ... would be Cheryl Sadowski!
There is a vague memory, watered down by time and alcohol, of Cheryl explaining that theirs is a tradition of rearranging all of the furniture in the house of a newly wed couple when they were on their honeymoon.
I recollect that I said something incredibly witty yet profound like, "Bring it on Bitch."
She did.
The Living Room furniture was in the kitchen. Sofas were turned around. Coffee tables were where tables are supposed to be.
And Goddess hair was everywhere!
I figure that Goddess ... in an attempt to thwart Cheryl's evil plan ... attacked her viciously and the two fought on the floor. Trying to not be bitten, Cheryl grabbed clumps of hair from Goddess' back while my brave dog tried to prevent our home being wrecked. Knocking Goddess unconscious, a bloody and bruised Cheryl just left the dog hair strewed where sofas used to be as she went about her control of damage.
And so ... after an incredible send off at the Full Moon Wedding by the Carnival of Friends ... this is the homecoming!
It is time for me to put the joys of the past weeks behind me and get serious. I need to start running and doing more pushups. I plan on watching every single Rambo and Charles Bronson movie today as I mentally prepare myself for the things that I must now do.
Oh Cheryl ???? My dear, dear friend.
Payback is going to be a bitch!
After a full day of air travel with connections in three cities in two different countries, I was ready for the familiarity of my sanctuary. Imagine my surprise as I entered and that found someone had rearranged all of the furniture inside, put cellophane inside the toilets, decorated it with blown up medical gloves and those little umbrellas that go inside of mixed drinks in a bar.
Someone also left gifts of cheese and crackers, Pretzels, candy and a bottle of wine ...so they weren't all bad.
Someone had also brought all of the cards and gifts that Sarah and I got at the Full Moon wedding last week.
It was quite the homecoming after such an exhausting day!
Someone ... would be Cheryl Sadowski!
There is a vague memory, watered down by time and alcohol, of Cheryl explaining that theirs is a tradition of rearranging all of the furniture in the house of a newly wed couple when they were on their honeymoon.
I recollect that I said something incredibly witty yet profound like, "Bring it on Bitch."
She did.
The Living Room furniture was in the kitchen. Sofas were turned around. Coffee tables were where tables are supposed to be.
And Goddess hair was everywhere!
I figure that Goddess ... in an attempt to thwart Cheryl's evil plan ... attacked her viciously and the two fought on the floor. Trying to not be bitten, Cheryl grabbed clumps of hair from Goddess' back while my brave dog tried to prevent our home being wrecked. Knocking Goddess unconscious, a bloody and bruised Cheryl just left the dog hair strewed where sofas used to be as she went about her control of damage.
And so ... after an incredible send off at the Full Moon Wedding by the Carnival of Friends ... this is the homecoming!
It is time for me to put the joys of the past weeks behind me and get serious. I need to start running and doing more pushups. I plan on watching every single Rambo and Charles Bronson movie today as I mentally prepare myself for the things that I must now do.
Oh Cheryl ???? My dear, dear friend.
Payback is going to be a bitch!
Friday, March 16, 2012
Battles of Lifel
A T & T called me yesterday to explain the International Coverrage Plan I've had forever does not include Belize. I've been in Belieze all week making numerous phone calls back home and texting away. I not certain what Belize did to A T & T but the agent made it very clear that I would be obigated to pay for all of this usage and the roaming changes at the regular rate. The current tab for six days of use is $3,000. He then asked if I would like to upgrade my plan.
Battle # 1 when we get home.
Of course we have to get home first. Flying out of Placencia airstrip to Belize City we have to clear customs. Then we fly to Atlanta and have to clear customs again. Then we have to recheck everything go through security again under the watchful eyes of TSA's then hope we make the connection back to Savannah. On the upside, Delta sent me a bunch of free drink tickets so I should be more than ready for these security checks.
Battle # 2.
And it's St. Patrick's Day in Savannah this weekend. According to news reports the parade and crowd may pass the ones in New York and a million people will form a blockaid in the city. You cannot get from the airport to Tybee Island where I live without going through Savannah. It is always a nightmare! Still, we want to get home today so we have to somehow find passage through the green drunken glob.
Battle # 3.
There's also this leftover battle with my insurance company. A leak had sprung in the upstairs shower which was fixed and covered minues the deductible. No problem, I said to myself, that's the way it works. The day after I got the check, two more leaks sprung. Then there were two more after that. I reported all of this to my insurance company who politly told me that this constitutes five different claims, therefore I would have to pay five differeent deductibles. The deductible is $1,000. I took a break from this one but will have to resume it when we get home.
Battle #4 awaits.
I used to wage multiple battles on a daily basis at Union Mission, fighting homelessness, AIDS, the American Health Care system, inadequate housing and such. Now I help out others who muti-task their wars. The only battles I'm normally engaged in these days are the ones with myself.
Why is life this way?
We either make things hard on ourselves or others are doing a pretty good job of making it difficult for us. It doesn't seem fair.
I know ... there are bigger problems. My friend Angela's son is having surgery today and it is serious. Carolyn is having to endure a St. Patrick's day without her beloved Daniel. Jimmie's trying to stay sober when it's raining booze in the city. Charles will watch the city through eyes that are processed by a mentally ill brain and he will talk to himself without ceasing. Someone will lose their battle with age or cancer or themselves today
The wind has died in Belize. It'd been blowing pretty good all week. The sea is silent now. The long leaf Palm Trees stand at attention. The sky is a brilliant blue and all of the clouds have gone elsewhere. It is quiet and peaceful in the Tropics. Later today it will be sweltering. I suppose it's a good day to come home.
I don't know of anyone who isn't fighting something ... be it a bad hair day or international conglomerates like A T & T. It's just part of living.
Ah well, I've got another hour to enjoy it here so that's what I'm going to do. Then the battles will begin.
Oh yeah, the Carnival of Friends will find all of this to be a perfectly good excuse for a party.
Battle # 1 when we get home.
Of course we have to get home first. Flying out of Placencia airstrip to Belize City we have to clear customs. Then we fly to Atlanta and have to clear customs again. Then we have to recheck everything go through security again under the watchful eyes of TSA's then hope we make the connection back to Savannah. On the upside, Delta sent me a bunch of free drink tickets so I should be more than ready for these security checks.
Battle # 2.
And it's St. Patrick's Day in Savannah this weekend. According to news reports the parade and crowd may pass the ones in New York and a million people will form a blockaid in the city. You cannot get from the airport to Tybee Island where I live without going through Savannah. It is always a nightmare! Still, we want to get home today so we have to somehow find passage through the green drunken glob.
Battle # 3.
There's also this leftover battle with my insurance company. A leak had sprung in the upstairs shower which was fixed and covered minues the deductible. No problem, I said to myself, that's the way it works. The day after I got the check, two more leaks sprung. Then there were two more after that. I reported all of this to my insurance company who politly told me that this constitutes five different claims, therefore I would have to pay five differeent deductibles. The deductible is $1,000. I took a break from this one but will have to resume it when we get home.
Battle #4 awaits.
I used to wage multiple battles on a daily basis at Union Mission, fighting homelessness, AIDS, the American Health Care system, inadequate housing and such. Now I help out others who muti-task their wars. The only battles I'm normally engaged in these days are the ones with myself.
Why is life this way?
We either make things hard on ourselves or others are doing a pretty good job of making it difficult for us. It doesn't seem fair.
I know ... there are bigger problems. My friend Angela's son is having surgery today and it is serious. Carolyn is having to endure a St. Patrick's day without her beloved Daniel. Jimmie's trying to stay sober when it's raining booze in the city. Charles will watch the city through eyes that are processed by a mentally ill brain and he will talk to himself without ceasing. Someone will lose their battle with age or cancer or themselves today
The wind has died in Belize. It'd been blowing pretty good all week. The sea is silent now. The long leaf Palm Trees stand at attention. The sky is a brilliant blue and all of the clouds have gone elsewhere. It is quiet and peaceful in the Tropics. Later today it will be sweltering. I suppose it's a good day to come home.
I don't know of anyone who isn't fighting something ... be it a bad hair day or international conglomerates like A T & T. It's just part of living.
Ah well, I've got another hour to enjoy it here so that's what I'm going to do. Then the battles will begin.
Oh yeah, the Carnival of Friends will find all of this to be a perfectly good excuse for a party.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
A Show for Free
There is a giant Iguana outside of our bathroom window watching us shower. About the size of Goddess, my beautiful 70 pound dog, the Iguana is gold with brown claws and stipes around its thick long tail. It's a punk Iguana because it's got spiked hair. It is not a sissy Green Iguana but a Lesser Antilliean one. And it hasn't moved in the last twenty-four hours, just lying there on the branch of a Palm Tree waiting for us to take showers. Apparently, Peeping Tom laws are pretty loose in Belize.
"Can it get inside," Sarah asked?
"Sure," I replied, showing her that the Palm Trees lean onto the third floor Varanda that we're staying in, "it'd be easy if it wanted to."
It's a big Veranda with a table, four chairs and a hammock. Two large French doors lead into a large bedroom and living room area. A good size bathroom is at the other end. The Iguana obviously prefers trees with a view.
Besides there are plenty of coconuts in these trees. The one beside me right now has about fifty green balls ripening in the sun. This reminds me that I need to have a Rum and Coconut Water today.
We were getting ready for the ten minute taxi ride back into Placentia, the small fishing village with the world's tinest road. A reggae band was playing at a bar called Barefoot which I love because that is my shoe of choice. So I didn't wear any. The Iguana seemed unconcerned about any of this.
When we arrived at Barefoot, Richie, our seven foot tall mammoth of a taxi driver, got out with us. He would hang with his friends until we were ready to leave. Besides, there is absolutely nothing else going on in this tiny seaside village.
Barefoot is an open air with no walls serving food with the bar in the middle. Tables are strewed everywhere in no particular order. Grabbing a table for two beside where a wall would have been had there been walls, locals congregate beside us just outside of the restaurant. The white ones look weatherworn and leathery and the black ones are smooth, wearing sunglasses at night or picking their massive Afro's.
Stars are ablaze in the sky and there are no lights to deminish the spectacular show that they're putting on for free. Mostly residential, the people of Placencia wander up and down the street as we order drinks. The shipment for Chardonney didn't come in so I am forced to drink a Beach Bum ... two different rooms with orange and pineapple juices. Sarah has Rootbeer.
The band took the stage and ... watched soccer while they played Reggae. A large screen television was behind them showing soccer from somewhere and the band was revited. Nevertheless, they sounded pretty good so American tourists and locals danced. We join them, twiring and swinging around the make shift dance floor.
Grilled pineapple, blackened shrimp and sausage comprise our meal as we discuss the future and the things that await us when we return home tomorrow. It's one of those intensly serious conversations that is continuously broken up by ... where we are.
We stroll down the sleepy street of the village which are dark with families sitting inside of their tiny shacks with lights on as they do whatever they do at night. Returning to Barefoot we retrieve Richie who brings his friend along for our ride back to Robert's Grove.
It is only 9:45 but everything is quiet. We return to our room. The Iguana remains in the tree. Feeling that we owe him something, we give it to him.
This morning ... he's waiting for more.
"Can it get inside," Sarah asked?
"Sure," I replied, showing her that the Palm Trees lean onto the third floor Varanda that we're staying in, "it'd be easy if it wanted to."
It's a big Veranda with a table, four chairs and a hammock. Two large French doors lead into a large bedroom and living room area. A good size bathroom is at the other end. The Iguana obviously prefers trees with a view.
Besides there are plenty of coconuts in these trees. The one beside me right now has about fifty green balls ripening in the sun. This reminds me that I need to have a Rum and Coconut Water today.
We were getting ready for the ten minute taxi ride back into Placentia, the small fishing village with the world's tinest road. A reggae band was playing at a bar called Barefoot which I love because that is my shoe of choice. So I didn't wear any. The Iguana seemed unconcerned about any of this.
When we arrived at Barefoot, Richie, our seven foot tall mammoth of a taxi driver, got out with us. He would hang with his friends until we were ready to leave. Besides, there is absolutely nothing else going on in this tiny seaside village.
Barefoot is an open air with no walls serving food with the bar in the middle. Tables are strewed everywhere in no particular order. Grabbing a table for two beside where a wall would have been had there been walls, locals congregate beside us just outside of the restaurant. The white ones look weatherworn and leathery and the black ones are smooth, wearing sunglasses at night or picking their massive Afro's.
Stars are ablaze in the sky and there are no lights to deminish the spectacular show that they're putting on for free. Mostly residential, the people of Placencia wander up and down the street as we order drinks. The shipment for Chardonney didn't come in so I am forced to drink a Beach Bum ... two different rooms with orange and pineapple juices. Sarah has Rootbeer.
The band took the stage and ... watched soccer while they played Reggae. A large screen television was behind them showing soccer from somewhere and the band was revited. Nevertheless, they sounded pretty good so American tourists and locals danced. We join them, twiring and swinging around the make shift dance floor.
Grilled pineapple, blackened shrimp and sausage comprise our meal as we discuss the future and the things that await us when we return home tomorrow. It's one of those intensly serious conversations that is continuously broken up by ... where we are.
We stroll down the sleepy street of the village which are dark with families sitting inside of their tiny shacks with lights on as they do whatever they do at night. Returning to Barefoot we retrieve Richie who brings his friend along for our ride back to Robert's Grove.
It is only 9:45 but everything is quiet. We return to our room. The Iguana remains in the tree. Feeling that we owe him something, we give it to him.
This morning ... he's waiting for more.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Joy
My Face Book locator informs me that my status update was written near Woodbridge, VA which is funny because I'm actually in a tiny village in Belize. The miracles of technology! I have no idea where Woodbridge is but am fairly certain that it's not beside the ocean. (OK, I goggled it and it is near a bay so perhaps it was the currents that carried my status update from the Caribbean Sea to near Woodbrige.
God works in mysterious ways.
The sun and the clouds are playing tag this morning. Bright sunshine floods the sea only to be tagged by shades of clouds. Then the sun slaps back and its sunshine again, like two little kids laughing and playing. Rain falls off in the distance but not on me. It is out there and I see it as the storm that I've lived through but am no longer inside. I made it through.
The past week has been full of celebration and full of well wishers. Photographs and films clearly capture the happiness and joy that a full moon cast down upon us. Well wishers from around the world chimmed in with thumbs up images or messages of affirmation. Joy is more so when it is shared and it is obvious in the images. That is the sun shine of my now.
The storm is sweeping over the Atolls in the distance, a long line of purple with darker lines shoot water below on the trees swimming in the sea. I have no idea how long I've been staring at it when my mind comes back to the computer screen. That storm is a symbolic visualization of the past several years.
It's also interesting to take notice of those who used to be part of my life but aren't anymore. If they took notice of the changes that I've undergone or give a Tinker's Damn that I'm alright now, they no longer care enough to say so. Perhaps they're all in the middle of their own storms and their lives have been blown to far away places like Woodville or Hell. They're just doing their best to get by just like I did. I'll say a prayer for them and get on with this new joy that fills me now.
It is funny though how once you've survived bad times, a cautiousness grows inside making you supicious of the good happening in your life. We tell ourselves, this is too good to be true ... so it's not.
I believe that all we have is this moment.
The past are memories and stories, dreams and bones, scars and wonderment.
The future is our box of hopes doused in the realities of circumstance, determinations and faith.
What is have is now ... and apparently I am not where I'm supposed to be according to the beliefs of a lot of people, or according to technology indicators, but I am where my joy is.
God works in mysterious ways.
The sun and the clouds are playing tag this morning. Bright sunshine floods the sea only to be tagged by shades of clouds. Then the sun slaps back and its sunshine again, like two little kids laughing and playing. Rain falls off in the distance but not on me. It is out there and I see it as the storm that I've lived through but am no longer inside. I made it through.
The past week has been full of celebration and full of well wishers. Photographs and films clearly capture the happiness and joy that a full moon cast down upon us. Well wishers from around the world chimmed in with thumbs up images or messages of affirmation. Joy is more so when it is shared and it is obvious in the images. That is the sun shine of my now.
The storm is sweeping over the Atolls in the distance, a long line of purple with darker lines shoot water below on the trees swimming in the sea. I have no idea how long I've been staring at it when my mind comes back to the computer screen. That storm is a symbolic visualization of the past several years.
It's also interesting to take notice of those who used to be part of my life but aren't anymore. If they took notice of the changes that I've undergone or give a Tinker's Damn that I'm alright now, they no longer care enough to say so. Perhaps they're all in the middle of their own storms and their lives have been blown to far away places like Woodville or Hell. They're just doing their best to get by just like I did. I'll say a prayer for them and get on with this new joy that fills me now.
It is funny though how once you've survived bad times, a cautiousness grows inside making you supicious of the good happening in your life. We tell ourselves, this is too good to be true ... so it's not.
I believe that all we have is this moment.
The past are memories and stories, dreams and bones, scars and wonderment.
The future is our box of hopes doused in the realities of circumstance, determinations and faith.
What is have is now ... and apparently I am not where I'm supposed to be according to the beliefs of a lot of people, or according to technology indicators, but I am where my joy is.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Escape
Placencia, Belize is an old fishing village that boast of having the world's tinest road. It is the width of a small sidewalk and, sure enough, it runs from one end of the mostly residential village. Built to accomodate fishermen bringing in their hawls in baskets on wheels, the road is now a reminder of the past. A proper two lane road is near by lined with restaurants, Dive-shops and grocery stores. They are more Americanized than the quaint alternatives on the tiny street.
Sarah and I made our way down one and up the other. After an excellent lunch at Barefoot's we met a woman who'd arrived eighteen years ago for a two-week vacation.
"I fell in love and never left," she explained.
The art studio she runs is the front room of her house. The house was once on stilts but a hurrican knocked it off of them. So they propped it back up and have lived happiily ever after.
As we made our way, it was hard not to notice the number of people who have expatriated to this tiny place. They are easy to spot, giving us chipper "Hello's" and "Good Morning's."
I've always liked the idea of expatriating ... escaping fom the sometimes harst realities of my life to ... someplace else ... something else ... to become someone else!
I never did though. There were all of those responsibilities of family and work. So as time went on and I reached a place where I could, I took longer and more exotic vacations ... temporatily escaping from my life.
It recently dawned us though that for years we figured out emergency escapes from the relaities of our lives. Staying at work late because we didn't want to go home or calling in sick to stay at home because we cannot bear our work ... nightly runs to Wall-Mart or the grocery store means that we can get away from the spouse we're scared of leaving ... constant church meetings accomplish the same goal.
I'm struck that I have now accomplished the goals of expatriating without having never really done it. I am someplace else, doing something else, and have become someone else.
Today I am celebrating these things with Sarah in Belize.
Next week we will be doing it at home.
Sarah and I made our way down one and up the other. After an excellent lunch at Barefoot's we met a woman who'd arrived eighteen years ago for a two-week vacation.
"I fell in love and never left," she explained.
The art studio she runs is the front room of her house. The house was once on stilts but a hurrican knocked it off of them. So they propped it back up and have lived happiily ever after.
As we made our way, it was hard not to notice the number of people who have expatriated to this tiny place. They are easy to spot, giving us chipper "Hello's" and "Good Morning's."
I've always liked the idea of expatriating ... escaping fom the sometimes harst realities of my life to ... someplace else ... something else ... to become someone else!
I never did though. There were all of those responsibilities of family and work. So as time went on and I reached a place where I could, I took longer and more exotic vacations ... temporatily escaping from my life.
It recently dawned us though that for years we figured out emergency escapes from the relaities of our lives. Staying at work late because we didn't want to go home or calling in sick to stay at home because we cannot bear our work ... nightly runs to Wall-Mart or the grocery store means that we can get away from the spouse we're scared of leaving ... constant church meetings accomplish the same goal.
I'm struck that I have now accomplished the goals of expatriating without having never really done it. I am someplace else, doing something else, and have become someone else.
Today I am celebrating these things with Sarah in Belize.
Next week we will be doing it at home.
Monday, March 12, 2012
I Am Risen
A thin blanket of clouds, sheet like, is spread across the ocean which is restless and kicking. The breeze is blowing so the long leaf Palm Trees dance on the shore. Lying in bed, I watch the sky turn from dark gray to a litghter shade of pale. Jumping up, I close the curtains so Sarah can sleep. A quick shower later I grab a cup of coffee and sit on the veranda to watch the sun rise.
It wasn't a pure ball of fire bubbling out of the sea because of the thin blanket of clouds. Yellow rays burst heavenly and then the sun peaks out from the sheets. It rises as quickly as I did. Then the strangest thing happens ... the sheet of clouds disappear, evaporating into nothingness. A brilliant yellow ball stands alone in the sky.
The sea calms down. Palm Tress stop dancing and wave instead welcoming the new day.
Surveying the beach, I am the lone witness to this birth.
Recognizing this, the sun throws a handful of diamonds on the ocean creating a trail that leads directly to me. I am bathed in holiness.
Over the past few years, I lived through a great deal of hurt. There were days when I didn't think I could take anymore. People would try to encourage me. "The Lord will never give you more than you can bear," some said in a gross misquoting of Scripture. The truth is though I've seen many people crumble and die over what the Lord gave them to bear.
I'm lucky though. I got through it with the kindness of an incredible, tiny community of believers ... they believed in me when I wasn't believing in myself. It was a much different me that ended up getting through.
The relentless competitor was tempered. Desires of fame and fortune no longer burned ..they'd been satisfied and I learned the cost. Money still matters but so much less than ... watching the sun rise, praying on a sad little holy dock, discovering worship again in a Bar or learning to gracefully accept the love and kindness of others.
"I was once dead but now I live," John says Jesus said in Revelation. I know the feeling!
Life is brand new. Happy and in love, I celebrate everything around me, though I remember the dark times and those who created them. I do not dwell on these things but they remain a part of who I am. I believe one day they will be resolved.
When Jesus came back from the dead, I can't help but believe he was miffed at some. Sure, it was love he came to demonstrate but look at what happened over the long hawl. Judas, the friend who betrayed him did himself in as all betrayers ultimately do. Rome crumbled. The Empire that ruled the world and provided political authorization of his crucifixion is now ancient ruins. The Jewish faith that requested his death is more fractured than ever still wandering in the wilderness searching for a home.
In the end it seems, justice was served. The love of God was demonstrated at the same time. I think they are intertwined. I wonder about these things at the individual level ... in my life.
Clouds now bow below the risen sun. Peering in I see that Sarah is still sleeping. A parrot squaks. The coffee is cold. A new day has begun. I am risen.
It wasn't a pure ball of fire bubbling out of the sea because of the thin blanket of clouds. Yellow rays burst heavenly and then the sun peaks out from the sheets. It rises as quickly as I did. Then the strangest thing happens ... the sheet of clouds disappear, evaporating into nothingness. A brilliant yellow ball stands alone in the sky.
The sea calms down. Palm Tress stop dancing and wave instead welcoming the new day.
Surveying the beach, I am the lone witness to this birth.
Recognizing this, the sun throws a handful of diamonds on the ocean creating a trail that leads directly to me. I am bathed in holiness.
Over the past few years, I lived through a great deal of hurt. There were days when I didn't think I could take anymore. People would try to encourage me. "The Lord will never give you more than you can bear," some said in a gross misquoting of Scripture. The truth is though I've seen many people crumble and die over what the Lord gave them to bear.
I'm lucky though. I got through it with the kindness of an incredible, tiny community of believers ... they believed in me when I wasn't believing in myself. It was a much different me that ended up getting through.
The relentless competitor was tempered. Desires of fame and fortune no longer burned ..they'd been satisfied and I learned the cost. Money still matters but so much less than ... watching the sun rise, praying on a sad little holy dock, discovering worship again in a Bar or learning to gracefully accept the love and kindness of others.
"I was once dead but now I live," John says Jesus said in Revelation. I know the feeling!
Life is brand new. Happy and in love, I celebrate everything around me, though I remember the dark times and those who created them. I do not dwell on these things but they remain a part of who I am. I believe one day they will be resolved.
When Jesus came back from the dead, I can't help but believe he was miffed at some. Sure, it was love he came to demonstrate but look at what happened over the long hawl. Judas, the friend who betrayed him did himself in as all betrayers ultimately do. Rome crumbled. The Empire that ruled the world and provided political authorization of his crucifixion is now ancient ruins. The Jewish faith that requested his death is more fractured than ever still wandering in the wilderness searching for a home.
In the end it seems, justice was served. The love of God was demonstrated at the same time. I think they are intertwined. I wonder about these things at the individual level ... in my life.
Clouds now bow below the risen sun. Peering in I see that Sarah is still sleeping. A parrot squaks. The coffee is cold. A new day has begun. I am risen.
Friday, March 9, 2012
A Fantabulous Night for a Moon Dance
I've been to a lot of weddings.
I mean a really lot of them ... performing them, attending them, being in them ... a lot of weddings!
Most are in a church, are pretty standard, play roughly the same music and are very serious affairs.
Then three was last night ... under a full moon that popped over the ocean right on cue.
It was a clear warm night, bare feet in the sand, a carnival of friends, laughter and dancing, drinking and live music, and kissing and dancing.
It was a fantabulous night for a Moon Dance ... and boy did we!
The New Brady Bunch came together.
Sins were made and forgiven at the same time!
Bubbles were blown ... rings were given and taken ... children took over the pool ...
The VooDo Band played Lttle Wing!
Johnny O gave me away and got wasted ... Samuel Adams looked like Jesus ... Dedra looked like Satan ... others looked this way or that ... Bonnie Gaster finally got to be the flower girl.
Yeah, I been to a lot of weddings, but none as fantabulous as last night.
To Jenny Orr and the gang at Marlin Monroes, thank you.
To the entire carnival of friends too.
To the kids and the electronic hugs and the prayers given our way, thank you too.
I have to go now and move on to the next lines in that song ... a wonderful night for romance under the stars up above.
I mean a really lot of them ... performing them, attending them, being in them ... a lot of weddings!
Most are in a church, are pretty standard, play roughly the same music and are very serious affairs.
Then three was last night ... under a full moon that popped over the ocean right on cue.
It was a clear warm night, bare feet in the sand, a carnival of friends, laughter and dancing, drinking and live music, and kissing and dancing.
It was a fantabulous night for a Moon Dance ... and boy did we!
The New Brady Bunch came together.
Sins were made and forgiven at the same time!
Bubbles were blown ... rings were given and taken ... children took over the pool ...
The VooDo Band played Lttle Wing!
Johnny O gave me away and got wasted ... Samuel Adams looked like Jesus ... Dedra looked like Satan ... others looked this way or that ... Bonnie Gaster finally got to be the flower girl.
Yeah, I been to a lot of weddings, but none as fantabulous as last night.
To Jenny Orr and the gang at Marlin Monroes, thank you.
To the entire carnival of friends too.
To the kids and the electronic hugs and the prayers given our way, thank you too.
I have to go now and move on to the next lines in that song ... a wonderful night for romance under the stars up above.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
A Special Full Moon Party
The plan was to not have much of a plan. We were just going to grab the kids and head to the Full Moon Party at Marlin Monroe's, have a few drinks, listen to the VooDo Band, and stumble out on the beach under the moon. Samuel Adams, who plays damn good live music on Tybee Island, would say a few words, promises would be made and sealed with a kiss. Then we'd go back to the party.
That was the plan anway.
Then the Carnival of Friends got involved.
A party was thrown for Sarah last night and by the time she got home she was equipped with everything necessary to have a successful career as a prostitute.
The pictures have now made their way to Face Book and provides ample evidence that a good time was had by all. One of the traits that has emerged whenever the Carnival of Friends gather together is that everyone brings a camera. This is because everyone is trying to incriminate everyone else. We all have a proponderance of proof documenting the guilty.
The other thing that's happened is no matter what you do ... or what you don't do ... it makes someone mad. In retrospect I should have taken out billboards inviting the entire universe to the Full Moon Party tonight. Our plan was just to keep it simple and quiet.
Then Conner found out.
Conner is my dear friend that I hang out with in St. Martin. We've had many excellent adventures including the complete kidnapping of the Manager's Wine and Cheese party. This did not go over well with the Manager's who stripped us of our wine glasses. Anyway, Conner and Hania are coming and they're like pouring gasoline on a fire. Tybee Island is already crazy and the Carnival of friends are nuts ... adding Conner to this is ... I shutter to think of the things that may happen.
Then Chuck Courtenay and Vickie are coming too. Suddenly there arte three bands and numerous clergy to handle anything that is necessary. Holiness will blanket everything and forgiveness will be readily available to all.
Oh well, what does one do?
Personally I plan to stick as close as possible to the orginal plan ... which was not to have much of a plan ... though I do have my doubts given the configeration of this particular congregation.
So let this celebration of life begin. We're starting with Scripture readings from the Song of Solomon and going downhill from there.
And before it's all said and done I can't help but think that on this full moon night, there will be blue ones too ... probably an entire constellations of them.
That was the plan anway.
Then the Carnival of Friends got involved.
A party was thrown for Sarah last night and by the time she got home she was equipped with everything necessary to have a successful career as a prostitute.
The pictures have now made their way to Face Book and provides ample evidence that a good time was had by all. One of the traits that has emerged whenever the Carnival of Friends gather together is that everyone brings a camera. This is because everyone is trying to incriminate everyone else. We all have a proponderance of proof documenting the guilty.
The other thing that's happened is no matter what you do ... or what you don't do ... it makes someone mad. In retrospect I should have taken out billboards inviting the entire universe to the Full Moon Party tonight. Our plan was just to keep it simple and quiet.
Then Conner found out.
Conner is my dear friend that I hang out with in St. Martin. We've had many excellent adventures including the complete kidnapping of the Manager's Wine and Cheese party. This did not go over well with the Manager's who stripped us of our wine glasses. Anyway, Conner and Hania are coming and they're like pouring gasoline on a fire. Tybee Island is already crazy and the Carnival of friends are nuts ... adding Conner to this is ... I shutter to think of the things that may happen.
Then Chuck Courtenay and Vickie are coming too. Suddenly there arte three bands and numerous clergy to handle anything that is necessary. Holiness will blanket everything and forgiveness will be readily available to all.
Oh well, what does one do?
Personally I plan to stick as close as possible to the orginal plan ... which was not to have much of a plan ... though I do have my doubts given the configeration of this particular congregation.
So let this celebration of life begin. We're starting with Scripture readings from the Song of Solomon and going downhill from there.
And before it's all said and done I can't help but think that on this full moon night, there will be blue ones too ... probably an entire constellations of them.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)