Will the Circle

"I am glad that Buck Owens is still alive." It was my Dad talking and we were watching Hee Haw. I stared at him through my very long hair that drove him nuts. Looking at me he explained, "Because as long as Buck Owens is living we're not the ugliest people alive." Then he resumed watching Hee Haw. That was my Dad. Later, watching the Ed Sullivan Show and The Beatles, I was flipping out. The entire universe was changing with them shaking their mop tops, smiling through "All My Loving". "Elvis is better," Dad said. "All he's got to do is shake his little finger to get girls to do that." I looked at him absolutely convinced that he'd lost his mind. "But I see how you like them," he continued. "You all need a hair cut." But he loved music and passed it on to his children. He was a Country Music person and introduced me at an early age. I can still see him singing along with Hank Locklin ... "Please help me I'm faaaalllliiinnngg ... in love with you." He loved that song. He loved anything Patsy Cline did, adored the Staler Brothers and played me Louis Wainwright III's classic "Dead Skunk in the Middle of the Road," which remains one of the best protest songs ever written! He thought Johnny Cash was the coolest person ever born and when Folsom Prison Blues came out, Dad suddenly cared that so many people were in jail. Something about it just wasn't right. He also forced me to listen to "The Ballet of the Green Beret" which was a protest to the protests of the American Anti-War movement. Dad had been a Marine through, a former Prisoner-of-war, and had been shot. He had the right to make me listen to it. What was funny though is that he hated the war with everything in him. He also liked Barry McGuire's "Can't you see we're on the eve of Destruction". But when Willie Nelson's "Red Headed Stranger" came out, Dad had his own Beatle experience. I can still see him and my Uncle Bobby sitting on the carport, listening to it over and over. Their eyes crying in the rain. "Hey Dad," I said. "He needs a haircut." | Dad laughed. Uncle Bobby eyed me suspiciously. At the end, when he was in a hospital room, I wandered in as my brother David was trying to feed him. Dad wanted nothing to do with it. "You've got to eat," David said said repeatedly. "I can't do what ten people tell me to do," Dad angrily fired back with his eyes closed and a hand on his forehead. "Dad," I asked, "did you just quote Otis Redding?" And he had. Music was with him as he was dying. At the very end, David stayed up with him throughout the night singing Amazing Grace in his ear over and over. So there are all of these songs now that are ... forever tied to my Dad. Sometimes they make me cry when I hear them. Most of the time though, they bring me great joy. Rick Hudson and I were in a band back then and we always sang ,Will the Circle be Unbroken? the Mother Maybell Carter Classic rocked into a new universe by The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band. Dad loved it and had us sing it at most every family function, standing there holding hands, coming as close to praying as I ever saw him. All these years later, I can answer the question. No. It won't.

The Cave Inside my Heart

Walking through the aisles of The Tybee Market, I see recognition flash in the old man's blue eyes and a smile break across his face. He's pushing a grocery cart, wearing white Bermuda shorts and a matching shirt. White hair, white socks and tennis shoes completed the ensemble. He stopped dead in his tracks. "Hello Tom," I said stopping in front of him, holding Orange Juice and Garlic Salt. It had been two years since I've seen him. It had been a different world. I was President of Union Mission then and everything about it was intense. Tom and I had spent a lot of time together raising millions of dollars and managing politics at every level. Countless hours were spent sitting in my office along with Herb McKenzie planning, plotting and evaluating how we had done. We took elected officials out for breakfast asking for their votes. We took them to lunch and went to their political fundraisers, making contributions to their re-election efforts, and letting them use our names as endorsements. We did this because that's how the game is played. Tom knew these things because he had been one. A County Commission Chairman, a State Senator, and the Director of a State Agency. Once in front of the County Commission, he lost his cool and lectured them before storming off back to his seat. It was amazing to watch. He had already accomplished everything that they aspired to, so they sat there like school children being scolded by the Principal. Of course, we won the battle that day ... though it would be another year before we won the war. Then I left Union Mission somewhere between the battle and the end of the war. I was burned out, tired and sad. I could still come up with the ideas but was increasingly viewed as a liability. Honestly, I should have left earlier but I'm not a quitter. So they quit me. This was almost two years ago and, though I've seen his picture in the paper a few times as I sipped coffee at The Breakfast Club, we hadn't seen each other since. His eyes grew moist ... which surprised me. And we embraced in the middle of a crowded Tybee Market. "It is good to see you Micheal," he said with his cheek against my cheek. My eyes grew moist. And that was it. It took me a good half hour to suppress all of the unresolved feelings I have about those times back into the cave deep inside of my heart. Then I walked outside into the bright sunshine of a new life marveling at the scars I still carry from the old one.

Helen's Cup

Sitting at the counter of the Breakfast Club I see the sun rising above the Ocean Plaza throwing yellow white beams into my eyes. Just a I take a sip of coffee, Chris sneaks up behind me and pokes a finger in my ribs making me spew the elixir of life onto the counter. He keeps walking while I describe his family lineage out loud. Settling back down, I peer through the large plate windows and see the people hovering waiting for the Club to open. Women smoke as they flip through the various Real Estate Magazines. Men sit in pick up trucks watching the signs that say "Closed", anxiously waiting for them to flip to "Open". Couples hold hands whispering to one another as they form the first line of the day. The wait staff put in their orders. The chefs, who have spent the last three hours prepping, sigh ... and then begin to cook for them. Scrambled eggs and mushrooms ... three over easy ... French Toast ... A lady clasps her hands over her eyes and presses them to the window trying to get a look inside but she has a hard time seeing inside. It is a warm summer morning but the inside of the Club is cold until the grills heat the entire restaurant from over use. They will be used non-stop from opening until closing. "She's Gonna Blow Captain," my son Jeremy once told Bruce as he buttered toast and Bruce picked up plates for customers. Bruce busted out laughing and hugged Jeremy then dashed off. That was a long time ago but ... the routine of the Club remains the same. The lady with the clasped hands sees Whitley and I sitting at the counter drinking coffee. We appear to be regular customers and we can see her wondering, "How in the hell do they get to be inside while we're waiting out here?" The fact of the matter is that we are not regular customers. I am the Chaplain of the Breakfast Club and Whitley is ... I don't know what Whitley is. He has a bicycle that gets drunk. His bicycle has been known to influence my bicycle to get drunk. Our bicycles have influenced the entire staff of the Breakfast Club to get drunk. There is nothing regular about any of us. We are one ... great big happy totally dysfunctional family who love each other dearly because ... we're not related. Nancee throws her arms around me and gives me a hug. Whitley throws a dollar into the cup that finances Helen's vacation. Helen is the founder of the Breakfast Club and Jodee Sadowski's mother. Jodee is the one who made it world famous. Every morning Whitley and I make a contribution to her travel fund rather than actually paying for our coffee. There is nothing regular about us. "You look like shit," Phil says to me. Phil is eight feet tall with red hair and we love each other. His wife Katie is pregnant with their first child. Apparently, though there is no evidence, I assisted Phil in getting totally wasted during the Beach Bum Parade, which of course, I deny. "Thanks," I reply. "You do too." "Oh I know," he smiles. Then Caroline crawls into a booth and flips the signs. The Breakfast Club is now open. A mad dash occurs for seats and eats. "Time to cross the bridge," Whitley says as he stands, throwing his dollar into Helen's cup. The entire restaurant explodes in activity. Everyone is busy and it won't stop until the signs are flipped again. Standing, I throw my money into Helen's cup. "Bye Kiddies," I say as I walk away.Helen's Cup "Bye Mike," they all yell from the midst of their busyness. Outside, the sun is higher above the ocean. The sky is blue. Seagulls squawk and birds singing. Another day in paradise has begun.

Life's Moving Parts

"I feel like I've been buried under sand and been trying to dig myself out," she wrote. "Now I've got my head out and my arms up but still the weight of everything is holding me down." "What's everything," I fired back? She told me and it wasn't pretty. A single mother working in a bad economy that doesn't seem to be getting better in spite of what the Government says. Children who refuse to get well in a health care system that treats symptoms and not causes. The support system that exists for her is on Life Support so loneliness is overwhelming. She goes to church and prays a lot because her options are so limited. She mostly worries because that's the one thing she has most control over. Whatever smiles come are gleaned from the Internet, Face Book, and those moments when you just laugh because there are no more tears. In response, I did my best my best impersonation of Tom Kohler ... "Uh, huh." I tried to channel Bob Marley. "Every little thing is gonna be alright" but it gets me thinking that, in the end, it wasn't alright for Bob. He died a stupid death over something easily treatable. His religious beliefs prevented him from having a toe amputated. So every little thing wasn't alright after all. He died. But he still believed. She said "Thanks for listening. And thanks for writing every day." And that was it. I try to channel Conner and the Carnival of Friends where the belief system is, when it's all going to shit ... have a party and enjoy it. On Tybee there is a group I love. Whenever a Hurricane is getting ready to slam the island, they defy Government orders to leave and nail themselves shut in Doc's Bar. They have a good time while they wait. So far, it's all worked out. Somebody either broke in or somebody broke out and ... the sun was shinning ... skies were blue ... the ocean was calm ... and people were smiling. Every little thing was alright after all. That's life huh? Sometimes it is and sometimes it's not. I'm in the middle of this crazy time too. Life has a lot of moving parts. We're consolidating households which is an oxymoron ... we're building new lives. Of course we come with baggage but "we're looking for baggage that goes with our own" (Jonathan Larson) so we try to blend the things we love from our pasts. We love it, believe in what we're doing and believe in each other. Every chance we get we have a party for two. All of our closest friends seem to be in transition too ... well, not Conner ... he's having a party ... but everybody else is trying to figure things out. Sitting her on the Beloved Back Deck, I'm mindful that I have things to do. LOTS of things! But I think it's all gonna be alright. Every little thing ... is gonna be alright. Then again, I'm an eternal optimist and a hopeless romantic. How can it not be alright? OK, I have to call Conner. We need a party. There is simply too much to celebrate and too many bad things to make fun of which is what good friends do. There is no magic answer or Holy Benediction that fixes things. There is just this ... now ... only here and now and what we have and what we don't have. This is our life. Thank God.

Moldy Tropical Depressions

It smells like wet mold. There is a Tropical Depression outside of our house trying to get in. It was not invited. I want a Beach Day. It's been a long week and we've worked hard. Worn out and tired, I want to "stick my toes in the water and my ass in the sand", sip a Screwdriver and say my morning prayers. I want to lust after Sarah wearing her bikini, take walks holding hands and talk about all of the dancing we're going to do next week. I want to wear my sunglasses, my favorite UGA cap, and stroll to the Bored meeting. I want to grill out on the Beloved Back Deck, listen to Dennis Wilson songs, and mess around with the plants. Tonight I want to gaze at stars, sip wine, and prop my feet on the railing. Then I want to walk inside, crawl into bed with Sarah and ... well the windows would be open so we'd have to be quiet. "But Noooooooo," to quote John Belushi. It's the beginning of Hurricane Season and this damn Tropical Depression is reminding the east coast of it. The people of North Carolina are already evacuating ... it could be because of their oppression of gay people that God sends so many hurricanes their way ... I have to think about this but, it makes sense. Anyway, Pat Prokop and the other Weather Gods are warning us to not go swimming because of the rip currents. As though anybody in their right mind would go swimming on such a shitty day. Really? So I'm rethinking my day. I just have to take out a couple of parts but accomplish the same end results. Fix a screwdriver. Take off my sunglasses. Forget the sun tan lotion but take off my clothes. Sarah's still in bed. Cut to the chase. OK, I gotta go. Damn Moldy Tropical Depressions. Ummmm ... thanks.

A Cynic's Faith

To be an eternal Optimist and a hopeless romantic, I've also become quite the cynic. On the one hand I have faith, believing in things I hope for in spite of a general lack of evidence and certainly not yet seen." Yet there is a great deal of distrust of Government, organized religion and the media. When it comes to these things, "I'll believe it when I see it." After spending thirty years working in all manner of Government and learning how things actually get done, it's hard not to be cynical . My friend Congressman Jack Kingston explained it best one day in his office at the Capitol when he looked at me and said, "When is she going to learn that this place is like Baskin Robibns? You take your number, get what you want and then go to the back of the line and start over." And truth be told, that's a pretty accurate summary of how Government works. I've sat through hundreds of political fundraisers and learned that there is a constituent for every possible cause trying to influence things to turn out the way they want. War or no war? Bomb makers want it because its good for business. Coca-Cola doesn't because it's bad for business ... unless it will open up new markets. I was sitting an an Invitation Only breakfast meeting in D.C. for Senator Johnny Isakson when I learned this. Only twenty-five people payed a $1,000 for bacon and powered eggs served on white linen to have "personal time" with the Senator. My ticket was comped though I was wanting something just like everybody there was wanting something. One side of the table wanted something and the other side didn't. The Senator concluded that both had valid points that he would take into consideration. Cynicism is born out of such experiences. I've also worked for organized religion and discovered that the religion is not so organized but the business aspects are. Mainline churches exist based on how much is raised to buy the Godly amenities desired by the Congregation. Good preaching costs more than bad preaching. Wonderful choirs do too. You pay to get caught up in the Spirit. My long dearly departed homeless friend Chester Fawbush went with me to Mississippi once to give a speech to the Southern Baptist. It was a state convention thing. I spoke and then he spoke. We slayed them in Spirit! Chester was homeless and he got multiple standing ovations and several dinner invitations. On the ride back to the airport, I complimented him on the power of his sermon. Looking at me with a twinkle in his eye and a smile with half-a-mouth of teeth he said, "Ah Mike ... preaching ... panhandling ... it's all the same." It really is. I also dealt with the Media for decades and have mastered the art of the sound-bite. Did you know that most News is designed so a 7th Grader can understand it? Seriously, this was explained to me by long time Newscaster Doug Weathers. At first I didn't believe him but now ... I think they've dummied down. And having knocked around Media outlets from The National Press Club in Washington D.C. to local news giant WTOC, its all really about the ratings. What are you doing to get more people watching? Because the more people that watch ... the more money we're making. News is not understanding about what is going on. It's more about creating News Personalities. How's that for cynicism? And I named names! You know what? I still believe. It's stupid to, I know that, but I do. I believe in God. I believe in love. I believe in good. I believe in good stories even if they're about bad times. People can come together and do very holy things. In the end, we only have each other. In spite of my cynicism, I remain a person of faith. Though I'd really like to see it more than I do ... cause I could use it more than I have it.

Tybee's High Water Mark

My favorite Beach Bum Parade moment occurred when County Commission Chairman Robert McCorkle showed up thinking it was a real parade. Sitting atop a convertible, wearing a suit, he was prepared to wave and smile at the constituents who put him in office. He had no idea that the Parade is a giant water fight. Those in the parade shoot water at those watching the parade who in turn fire back Of course this is Tybee. While a great deal of water is used, it the second most popular liquid utilized on Parade day. Back in the early days there were no restrictions on how water could be delivered from marches to spectators or vise versa. So the look on Chairman McCorkles face when he realized that the three soaking wet guys who jumped in front of the convertible with the red water balloons were actually going to throw them at him was ... just friggen priceless. The three took aim. The Chairman's mouth dropped open. He hugged his chest as through it would save the dark three piece suit with grey pinstripes. Then it was a slow motion seen out of a movie. The crowd noise disappeared. The Chairman screamed "NO!" ... like a girl. The three wet dudes in cut off bluejeans threw in rapid succession. Then the noise reappears. PLOP! PLOP! PLOP! Followed by the approving roar of the crowd. That was the last time County Commission Chairman Bob McCorkle attended a Beach Bum Parade. Afterwards he did attempt ... unsuccessfully I might add ... to have Tybee Island kicked out of Chatham County. The popularity of giving it sticking it to our elected offices ... just like they'd been sticking it to us ... proved too popular. It was a water-shed moment. There are other great moments. Batman and Robin roller skating down Butler Avenue. Johnny O on a float wearing swim goggles and a lime green thong ... and nothing else. The year the final entry in the Beach Bum Parade was the Tybee Island Volunteer Fire Department in full gear on the truck ... hosing down the crowd. I am proud to have been a Beach Bum. Jack Boylston was my next door and lost his mind, inviting me to join the soft ball team (a term which I use loosely). Jiggs Watson kicked me off the team several weeks later because I actually tried to play softball during a game. Still ... I remain proud to have been a part and still use the jersey to wash my car as a way of saying thanks. So today's the Beach Bum Parade on Tybee. The elected officials are doing everything in their power to kill it but they're all wet anyway. As a populist movement, it continues to grow becoming a real high water mark on the islands appeal. So Happy Beach Bum Parade everybody! Oh ... and if you to pee during the parade ... go ahead. No one will notice.

Other Things

"Destiny is when you know something about yourself that nobody else does." So Bob Dylan told Ed Bradley on Sixty Minutes one time. It's a crazy quirky interview during which Bradley comes across as a huge fan and Dylan comes across as ... enigmatic, which of course, he is. The main theme of the conversation is how Dylan always knew he would be a singer/songwriter and famous at it! Even when his room mate in New York City was ... Tiny Tim! Dylan never wanted to be a prophet or have Disciples and he loathed the press. So he lied to them, made bad records on purpose, converted from the Jewish faith to Christianity ... made a Grammy award winning album about it and then ... converted back. Then he went to the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem to pray wearing a Death Mask! He wrote "Blowing in the Wind " in ten minutes. In fact most of his songs were born in just minutes. "Can you still do that?" Bradley asked. "I did that once. I can't do it again. I can do other things," Dylan replies. I was very touched by this, resonating with the experience of someone who changed so much for so many. Yet at the same time, someone who just wants to create, be happy and honest. "The only people there are to lie to are yourself and God. Either of those screw you." I've done a lot of things ... helped a bunch of people ...won an award for books I've written ... ran with the Olympic Torch ... preached in front of thousands ... have more plaques than I know what to do with ... gone where I've wanted to go ... seen what I've wanted to see ... met who I've wanted to meet. I did that once. I can't do it again. I am doing other things. I said to Tom Kohler recently, "Well I'm reinventing my whole life. It's not what it was. I can't do the things that I used to do." Stoic silence came from the other end of the phone and in the silence I could hear Tom processing this information as only he can. Finally, he said, "Uh Huh." It's hard not to love Tom. At lunch the other day, we were talking about business and work things when I said, "Well it's always what's next right? New ideas are old the next day. What worked before doesn't work now. They're immediately copied and spread across the universe. It's always about what's next." Sometimes it's nice to think about the things I've done. They are good memories and make great stories but ... I can't do them again. I am doing other things though. They are things that frighten me sometimes ... and in that way they're similar to things I've done before ... but they are the things that make me happy. So I'm going to keep doing them.

Fish Naked

In college I worked at the Bulloch Veterinary Clinic. There were three Vet's there ... Dr. Duggar, Dr. Nesmith and ... the young hip newly graduated Dr. Bridges. Dr. Duggar was the business man. Dr. Nesmith's family was rooted throughout the region and brought in customers and ... Dr. Bridges was just freaking cool. One morning I arrived at work and he was sitting in his truck. Everybody in Statesboro drives trucks. I'm not sure why but they do. Well ... they drive tractors too. Once the farmers had a protest demanding tax incentives for working in the fields like Slaves. They wanted additional compensation. So they lined up these huge air conditioned, custom made with excellent sound system tractors up and drove them past City Hall to show their displeasure. Those of us watching thought it pretty ironic. Anyway, Dr. Bridges motioned me to get in his truck so I climbed in the passenger side. "Listen to this," he said and he cracked up the custom made sound system in the cool of the air conditioned cab and ... for the first time in my life I heard ... Meat Loaf sing "Paradise by the Dash Board Lights" "Pretty cool huh," Dr. Bridges said when it was over. I was blown away by his coolness. Later he invited Bob Coursen and I over to his farm where his tractor was parked beside his truck. He was sitting outside in a blue fuzzy bathrobe in boxer shorts, unstrapped boots and a cowboy hat. His feet were propped on the side of a kiddie inflatable swimming pool ... which was stocked with fish. Holding an expensive rod-and-reel, he would cast by hitting release and letting the hook drop straight down where a fish would immediately bite. "Hey boys," he said and we saw the giant cigar hanging from the side of his mouth. "Y'all like to fish? There are rods over there." The man just reeked of cool. He also was the first person I ever knew to have a C B radio. His handle was ... Dr. Danger. I tell you all of that to tell you this. After Dr. Bridges set a very high standard, I have spent the rest of my life trying to surround myself with cool people. I had really cool children. I did some really cool things like run with Olympic Torch, conduct a hostile takeover of a hospital Emergency Room, and had Jehovah kick me out of a band. I moved to a really cool place and was a Beach Bum until they kicked me off the team. I've been to a lot of very places. Roma and Johnny O are my friends. And ... I am the coolest dresser around. After years of struggle to embrace the coolness, today I feel pretty cool. Sarah and I are celebrating by going to Wall Mart and buying a kiddie inflatable swimming pool. Then we're off to Bass Pro Shop for rods-and reels and fish. I'm substituting the cowboy hat for my worn UGA hat and losing the fuzzy robe for Naked Fishing. St. Martin is just around the corner. It's all cool.

Unknown Languages

I used to be able to speak the language of a ten year old. Alas, I seem to have forgotten this strange brand of speech that can make the jump from pure love to belligerent demands in a nano-second. Fortunately I can still speak eight-year-old and five-year old. At least I don't have any problems communicating at these levels right now. Perhaps later I will. I think I can still speak teenager. We'll see. In the car, I now listen to Techno-Pop which is worse than Disco. I never thought anything could be worse than Disco but the kids have proven me wrong. Making it crazier is that most of today's big hits are based on riffs from songs that I grew up on. "Hey!" I'll yell, "That's the piano from Alone Again Naturally!" or "That's the guitar riff from Venturea Highway by America!." This promptly gets me ignored. They also listen to country music. I haven't listened that stuff since Johnny Cash and Waylon Jennings died. It makes me remember when my kids and I listened to and sang to the same songs on the way to school. To this day, we continue to share music introducing ourselves to new things. Ah well, the times they are-a-changing, as the Major Prophet Bob Dylan once said. Afterwards he said "Times HAVE changed" and I know that its true. We now live in an age of Super Mom's and absent Dads. Musicians no longer play their own instruments because they're showing off their latest dance moves while delivering a lyric about ... nothing. Politics is now the most despicable of occupations, television News is all biased crap and Leadership has gone underground. The most prominent forms of entertainment revolve around other people's realities or escape to comic book heroes. Murder is the number one subject of literature, movies and television. As I think these things a song comes on the radio. "All the other kids with the Pumped up kicks better outrun my gun ... better outrun my bullet." It's catchy. I look at them as they sing along. They are the future and things are pretty screwed up right now. I still think of myself as a kid in a fifty-five year old body and believe that I continue to have a great deal to give. I believe that All you need is love and that love is all you need. Sighing, I resolve to regain my ability to speak like a ten-year-old

Good Morning

From our bed, I can see out of six different windows. Laying there in the predawn darkness I look at the silhouettes of Palm Trees and the Moon hanging over them. The windows are open and I listen to a lone bird sings a solo, quietly and softly. A few minutes later a choir of birds join in as the black turns to grey. I've grown to love this time and linger there. Feeling the beginning of the day, I let it come to me and try not to rush. I focus on the songs of the birds. It is prayerful and holy. Kissing Sarah on the forehead, I climb out of bed and stumble down the stairs to the outdoor shower. Warm water baptizes me and I stand there under Fran's thousand shades of green ... watching her wake too. A soft ocean breeze gently blows and it feels tropical. Stumbling back up the stairs, Goddess is watching me carefully. Winston prances around my feet. I walk to the Hibiscus plants on the Beloved Back Deck and pluck the faded blooms and count the number of new ones born on this day. Sometimes its as many as ten ... today there are three. At the end of the deck are two things that are precious to me. One is a rusted fish standing proudly , firmly rooted in on the plants. It was a gift from my sister Angi many years ago and it symbolizes many things. I've been in over my head many times ... like a fish under water ... but got through it and proudly stand now. Like it, I'm rusted but ... with a smile. At the bottom of the plant where the fish lives is stone that my friend Cheryl left. It is upright, polished and an orange brown color. The word Imagine is engraved upon it. "It's easy if you try" I always think, mentally singing the words of the major prophet John Lennon. "I hope some day you'll join us, and the world will be as one." There are no better prayers to start a day. Stumbling back inside, I find the running shorts and tee shirt and put them on. I grab Goddess a handful of treats, kick Winston out from my feet, kiss a sleeping Sarah and make my way outside again. The Bob Marley's slide on my feet and I get on the bicycle for the coast to the Breakfast Club, where the community of believers are and the elixir of life has been freshly brewed. Afterwards I roll down Tybrissa Street to wish the ocean "Good Morning". The sun hangs just above it throwing diamonds on the water. The sins of yesterday litter the beach, scavenged by Seagulls and haphazardly left behind. Eventually the Department of Public Works sleepily pick them up and throw them away ... only to be replaced by today's sins. Coasting back home, a universe of birds are singing Hallelujah choruses. The sky is a powder blue. The Moon is falling asleep as the Sun starts to play. The Trees are a lush, sub-tropical green. Runners are running ... walkers are walking ... smokers are smoking ... and people going to work sip coffee as they drive. Climbing the stairs in the muted lit house, I kiss Sarah for the third time and she mummers "Good Morning". And it is ... a very Good Morning.

Happy Mother's Day ... Joseph

On this Mother's Day ... I find myself thinking about Joseph ... the Father of Christ. History and St. Augustine screwed him good with the whole Virgin Birth conspiracy. It's all right in the end. Mary went on to become a Mother. Joseph ... never ranked Dad status. Though he's the one who taught Jesus to pee outside. He showed his son ... excuse me ... I mean "Son" ... to use a hammer and a nail. Joe's the one who gave Jesus advice on Camel racing, kissing girls and preventing pregnancy ... a lesson which Joe himself failed measurably. I'm pretty sure that he and Son talked this through completely because when Jesus hung around hookers like Mary Magdalene ... he never got her pregnant. On the other hand, Mother Mary was always showing up trying to tell her Son what to do. Jesus got drunk one time when she did this, walking outside and basically asking "Who's my Mother?" It pissed her off and she left. She was there at the end though, when he was being crucified, because Mother's always worry. And her worry was worthwhile because the nails were real and he was dying. There's no mention of Joseph at the end of the story. That pisses me off. Joe did as much as Mother Mary did. Maybe more.

Casualties at Dawn

My bicycle rolls under the street light that flickers off as I make my way. In the distance a man is throwing a Frisbee to his dog in the middle of the street. There is no traffic aside from several other people on bicycles making their way one way or the other across the island. Early morning walkers and runners dart this way and that. Occasionally I hear the sounds of a radio or television but for the most part it is quiet. I can hear the sound of myself breathing. The hotels are full and women wearing their nightgowns sip coffee on balconies staring at the ocean. Shirtless men with unbuttoned shorts sit beside them. A few have sleepy eyed children in their laps. Below in the offices, shift changes are taking place. The Breakfast Club is already full of activity as everyone continues making ready for the day. I stroll through the door marked Exit Only, around the counter to the coffee pot, pour myself a cup and then spread the newspaper in front of me. "Read my Horoscope," Chris demands. We are both Cancers and he's under the illusion that I care what our astrological forecast has in store. But I flip to the section and read it to him. Apparently we're in for a pretty good day. Ryan, who is almost my red headed step child, is suddenly standing in front of me. "Hey Chaplain of the Breakfast Club," he asks, "do you still love me?" "Hell no," I quickly say. "You're lying," he counters. "I am not. What do you want?" "Will you go to the store for me," he asks, knowing that I will. The place opens with a sigh and I leave. At Chu's there is a line of men in unbuttoned shorts with unbuttoned shirts and no shoes getting coffee to take back to their hotel rooms. My friend who works there asks who I'm buying for so I tell her and the cigarettes are hurled at me. Back on my bicycle I coast down Tybrissa Street and see the other casualties of dawn, sitting on benches smoking while staring into other universes. Some have just gotten up while others are contemplating sleep. The beach is busy with tents being set up for a Volley Ball Tournament. There is also something called White Crush taking place on the Pier so it's being blow dried and a stage is being set up. People have cameras set up on tripods taking pictures of the rising sun. Back at the Breakfast Club, it is crowded and everyone is busy. I wait for Ryan to finish serving a table and give him the cigarettes. He hugs me. I meander back home and am shocked to see that Sarah is up. She doesn't do dawn. On the other hand, I have introduced Cassidy, the five year old, to the cartoons I grew up on as a child. Bugs Bunny, Deputy Dawg and Woody Woodpecker. She became an instant fan and woke Sarah up to enjoy them with her. More casualties of dawn. Sarah makes a face as I give her a kiss. Cassidy is oblivious to it as she stares at the television. I make a pot of coffee and fix Sarah a cup. We've got a big day planned. The Carnival of Friends are involved ... there's a Volley Ball tournament and White Crush to enjoy. I am certain there will be more casualties. Hopefully, I'll see tomorrow's dawn. Whatever ... apparently I', in for a pretty good day.

Savannah Fare Thee Well

I spent the better part of yesterday and last evening in Savannah. It really is a beautiful city ... well not the south side. That part of town is just a giant strip mall. Parts of Mid-town are pretty ugly too because Savannah knows how to do slums with the best of them! BUT ... the rest of the city and the surrounding islands are gorgeous. Downtown is a crazy collection of southern moss, European style and ornate architecture. Everybody moves slow because there's just so much to look at. "You people sure know how to do trees," my friend Cathy Dunham once quipped as I drove her through the city. She lives in Boston where trees are naked most of the time. Here, trees wear robes.They are regal. The day began with a trip to the Post Office for corporate mail and then a quick stop at Hunter, McClean,Exley & Dunn ... the city's largest law firm where I've spent WAY too much time having them manage nasty things. "You're still living the life!" the Receptionist exclaimed when I walked in wishing her "Good Morning". Wearing faded jeans, a blue tee shirt and my Bob Marley flip-flops ... complementing my now shoulder length hair, I look like an aging surfer Dude. Her comment makes me laugh ... yet it is my life and it is true ... I'm still living it. Afterwards I leave the convertible parked in their garage because parking is a bitch in Savannah! When General Oglethorpe invented the city and its Squares he failed to factor in cars. Strolling over to the Soho Cafe, I say hello to my Mom who is having lunch there and then head to my own meal around the corner at Sixpence. Making my way down Liberty Street, I pass a man in a suit and he comes to a dead stop. Flipping his head I can see him staring at me though I keep walking. He recognizes me but can't place me. Eventually he turns and crosses the street for the DeSoto Hotel. I laugh because he's wearing a suit on a hot Southern Day. "You know Mike," Mills B. Lane IV said as we sat in his courtyard sipping Champagne for lunch one hot afternoon, "you and I know how to dress. It's hot here. Clothes need air. We get that. It's amazing the number of people who don't." Last night, I was back for the Chamber of Commerce's Taste of Savannah party in Johnson Square. Food and drink flowed freely as we wandered the thick crowd. I was hugged a lot by people surprised that I'm still alive. "I'm not dead yet," I explained stealing the Monty Python line and saying it with a British accent. Of course you just work the crowd at those things, drink and never really get around to eating. I did get to see my friends Jenny Gentry, Jason Crosby, Joe Driggers and ... thank Carlton Hodges for saving my ass with the Internal Revenue Service. That part was good. As darkness fell we made our way to Outback for salad, Tuna and steak ... and processing of the night. It had been an interesting Tip-towing through the past. I've done Savannah ... and Savannah's done me. Like old lovers who meet at party it's ... familiarly awkward. Thinking these things, my bicycle rolls down Tybrissa Street towards the ocean. A blazing sun sprinkles diamonds on the water. Salt hangs in the air.A new day is being born. I roll to a stop atop a cross walk so I can say the morning prayer. "I'm not dead yet. But Thank God, I'm no longer what I was."

The Other Side of the World

Winston is dancing in front of Goddess barking. Goddess lays there with her head on her paws sleeping watching the little Chiwawa mixed with something else. Winston weighs three pounds. Goddess weighs sixty. Winston barks. Goddess growls and Winston backs away frightened. Then he does it all again and everything repeats itself. I watch them. Goddess gets up and strolls outside to the Beloved Back Deck. Winston immediately prances after her. Goddess could care less. On a normal day, Winston would be laying on Sarah. Or if the girls were here, they'd be fighting over who gets to hold him. But it is not a normal day. It is Sarah's birthday though she is on the other side of the world. Her grandfather died and she is in New York for teh funeral. No matter how you slice it ... that sucks. On the up side, she gets to wish her parents Happy Anniversary in person ... on their anniversary ... right after the funeral. That sucks too. Nevertheless, Winston and Goddess are celebrating Sarah's birthday. They're rubbing noses together in the kitchen floor, both tails wagging. They're full of life and love and happiness. They're also dogs. They don't have a clue where their next meal is coming from. But they know things that people don't know ... to love unconditionally ... to always greet with happiness and joy ... to protect us through the night. Laughing at them, I say "Happy Birthday Lover" out loud and say a prayer of Thanksgiving ... for unconditional love ... happiness and joy ... protection through the nights ... even when you're on the other side of the world. Happy Birthday. I love you.

Unorganized Religion

Our refrigerator is a work of art ... literally. It is covered in photographs, drawings the kids made, clippings from The Tybee Breeze all held in place by a plethora of Jesus Magnets. There are all kinds. "Jesus is coming ... look busy!" or Jesus is coming, hide your bong!" Then there's "Jesus loves you. Everybody else thinks you're an ass!" There's one of a man pleading with the Savior, Please Jesus! Protect me from your followers!" A favorite is a conservative looking family singing together from the Hymnbook, "Satan loves me this I know, for the right wing Bible nuts told me so." I could go on and on. There are a lot of Jesus magnets! I have others too. Lenny Bruce says, "Every day people are straying from Church and going back to God". It's a picture of a woman clutching a cross at sea amidst crashing waves. There's a photograph of Mark Twain with the quote, "Go to heaven for the climate, hell for the company." Che Guevara says, "Cruel leaders are replaced only to have new leaders turn cruel." The Pope in full papal regalia asks, "Does this make me look gay?" Throw in Magnets of The Beatles, the Lord of the Rings, Marilyn Monroe, the Georgia Bulldogs, and George Bush asking, "Is our children learning?" and you get a visual of the Fridge. It's my visual Grotto to unorganized religion. There's not a lot of dogma, tradition, literal interpretations or judgement in this house. There is the creativity of children's art, books laying everywhere, really good art, and God's own creations in the flower pots which are scattered everywhere. There is a drive way but ... no white rock paved parking lot. A lot of community building takes place here and we pour the sacramental wine much more freely than at a Catholic Mass. There's the sun, the moon and the stars. Choirs of birds sing Hymns throughout the day. The ocean sprinkles holy water to each who requesting deliverance. The Word becomes flesh in the sand dunes every night. Whenever people visit, eventually I find them standing in front of the Fridge staring at the Magnets ... laughing. And I think that laughter is one of God's greatest gifts that too few take advantage of ... especially in church.

The Wet Period

Sitting in a circle there are twenty of us going through M. Scott Peck's Community Building exercise. According to Peck there are stages: Pseudo-community which is pretending we all get along but it's just pretending and being nice. It's what most people do at Church, Government, work or when we run into one another in restaurants. Once you understand its Pseudo or false ... things quickly deteriorate into chaos. We blame one another for being fake and get angry about it. Taking it out on one another we call people names. We condemn them to hell, become self-righteous and dehumanize others. FOX News has perfected the art of chaos. After this you're simply spent and got no more to give. Too tired to be angry anymore, we lapse into not giving a shit. Peck calls this stage Emptiness. You let it all out ... and then you're just sitting there as you. And you're sitting beside others who are spent too from calling each other Sons-of-Bitches ... that you begin to see others as they really are. This occurs at the same time they are finally seeing you as you really are. Then ... Community is achieved. We were in south Georgia at a retreat center near Valdosta and very clearly in the Chaos stage. A Rabbi was screaming at a woman calling her a Son-of-a-Bitch. Looking at my friend Terry on the other side of the room, we both acknowledged the Gender-Bending that would need to occur to make that possible. The woman, not to be outdone by Rabbi in front of an audience, called him a Prick. It all got worse from there. I was called a Prick for writing books before other people got around to writing theirs. Terry was called all manner of evil for working for the Government. Spouses not in love with their Spouses watched one another storm out of the room ... then one would chase the other to reclaim ... Pseudo-Community. I seem to recall a Baptist minister peed his pants. Needing a different kind of release, Terry and I found the Gym and beat the hell out of one another in the most physical and abusive basketball game ever played. We were pretty empty after that ... so we drank ... the alcohol we'd sneaked into retreat center. The next day, the Rabbi got up and apologized to the woman who said she was sorry too. They embraced and cried. She sat down and the Rabbi stood in the center of the circle ... crying. Unlike the day before, he was humble and frail. "I have entered the wet period of my life ... it's the time of tears. They come easily. I used to think that I could change the world but now I know," ... and his voice cracks as he cries ... "the world has changed me." Community is accepting change. Community is the acceptance of one another as we really are. It is fundamental to religion. It is where God lives. Some call it Heaven on earth. Fast forward 25 years ... I changed the world. Then the world changed me. Terry too. And the poor Rabbi struggles for meaning as he nears the end of it all. I don't know happened to the woman though the man who called me a Prick never got around to writing his book. The Spouses who chased one another divorced in bitterness. Terry and I were together last week, in community with Sarah and girls ... and my kids too though none of them were actually here. He and I ended up on the Beloved Back Deck talking into the night. "We've become the Rabbi" he later said. "We've entered the wet period ... tears come easy." It is true. Though ... it is in community that I share my tears. There is this Carnival of Friends and we've all cried together. Sarah and I kiss tears from each other. The kids and I have all hugged one another through the wetness. Fran was raised from the dead to cry with me. And God visits the Beloved Back Deck often. Thank you Terry. For reminding me. For friendship. For community.

Ugly Churches

There is a lot of beauty on Tybee Island. The place drips gorgeous. Palm Trees, lush tropical vegetation, the ocean, sea breezes ... miles and miles of clear blue skies ... sand dunes with sea oats ... a beautiful beach ... delightful cottages ... the Lighthouse ... Officer's Row ... the view from the Pier ... the South End. God invented beauty here. Not to say that it's perfect. It's not. The island has its share of ugly. The Baptist Church and the Catholic Church vie for the ugliest parking lot. I swear both congregations are addicted to rock ... white rock ... as in cocaine. Both churches paved Paradise and put up a parking lot. They're uglier than an old bowling shoe ... wonderful testimonies to the glory of God. The Methodist Church doesn't have a parking lot. It has parking meters. You have to pay for God's love there. The Episcopal Church is nicely nestled off the road behind a clump of Pine Trees. It is unassuming and ecologically sound. Though I never attend, I think it's the nicest of them all. In reality I have no idea. It just looks nice. Bar Church is of course, in a Bar. Bennie's. It smells of stale beer and urine. There is no parking lot although lots of people who attend receive parking tickets. The City of Tybee is run by Capitalistic Nazis who used to be Prostitutes. They'll do anything to turn a trick and make a dime ... I mean a quarter ... for fifteen minutes. I actually do attend Bar Church and we are considering a class action suit against the city for religious discrimination though by the time church is over ... we're wasted and just want to go to the beach. The Catholics did abandon a school and just leave it laying there so I suppose they take the cake on the ugly prize. I don't know ... the Baptists have the ugliest minister. Personally, I like the grand Cathedral that God built. It's on the south end with an incredible view of Little Tybee, where the ocean meets the Back River and Sand Dunes are prayer chapels. The Sun is always risen there ... and love comes on many a night as the word becomes flesh. I wonder what Sarah's doing? We need to go to Church.

Cinco De Mayo

At least nobody threw up. Let me rephrase that. At least I don't remember anybody throwing up. De-Luv may have. She sounds terrible this morning as her voice has dropped nine octaves. She's alive, which is a good sign, but she has a terrible case of "Black Cord Fever" that strange disease that hits intoxicated people and they decide it makes sense to call people on the phone and leave a message or ten. It's never pretty the next day. It was quite the celebration though. How can it not have been? It started with a panty raid. I haven't done a panty raid since I was college. Wait ... that's not true ... I did one in Seminary ... but not since ... until last night. It was colorful. Then we jumped in a Limo that was built for Disco and went to a Den of Iniquity called The Pink House. I'm pretty sure that Larry Flint owns The Pink House. I mean it is pink, the food is excellent and there are Tourons everywhere (Tourist + Idiot = Touron). That ended up being really good. It was Cheryl Sadowsky's (Y? Because we love her!) birthday. Larry Flint's people at The Prnk House wrote Happy Birthday on her plate in chocolate which is about as sinful as it gets. Then we took the Disco Limo to The Piano Bar on River Street in downtown Savannah where we had a really good time. I remember parts of it. Apparently, the Devil went down to Georgia and we were there. Unfortunately, there are photographs which are now making their way across the World Wide Web. Oh Well ... the Devil and us had a really good time. Evidently we all made it home OK. When I woke up, Sarah was sleeping beside me underneath our ceiling fan. It only took me twenty minutes to confirm this but it's true. Therefore it's alright. De-Luv's alive because she's leaving evil messages after taking the Devil back to her place. Judy O is out on probation and Johnny O has confirmed this on his cell phone. I haven't heard from anybody else. The last time I saw Jodee, he had a bra on his head. Johnny O was ordering everybody to get out of the Disco Limo. Cheryl was flashing her personality. Gregory, the Disco Limo driver, was talking on the phone. I have to go now. Sarah and I are having morning coffee in our birthday suits as we continue to celebrate our dear friend Cheryl's birthday. We are studying our Sunday School lesson for Bar Church tomorrow which we have every intention of skipping. The reason is ... it's Cinco De Mayo and we have a Pool Christening to attend tonight ... with the same people we were with last night. I love the weekends.

Happy Birthday Cheryl

My dear friend Cheryl Sadowski, Cruise Director for the Carnival of Friends, is having her birthday today. There will be celebrations, well-wishes, love thrown her way, presents given, and gatherings of those who love her. She is a talented, beautiful, gracious, hard-working, devote and generous individual. She also has an evil side. She broke into our house while we was away on our Honeymoon and rearranged all the furniture, sprinkled sugar and rose petals on the bed, took all of the labels off of every can good we have, switched the salt and sugar and ... left a bottle of crappy wine. Her bitch friends Rocky and Dedra helped. She also gave the girls a Karaoke Machine for Christmas ... one with really big speakers! They love it! Play with it all of the damn time! Hitting really high, screeching notes that break window panes. Dance in front of the television as I try to tune them out and watch the Braves game. They love Cheryl. I have mixed feelings. We're having a party for her later today which we are all looking forward to. "Hey Ryno," I said to her son as I left the Breakfast Club this morning. "See you tonight." "Why?" he sleepily asked, wearing a red bandana, eye makeup, an Atlanta Hawks Jersey, no socks or shoes, tight fitting blue jeans from Victoria's Secret and a thong. He's also pained his fingernails and toenails black. "Your Mother's birthday," I cheerfully respond. "Nobody tells me anything," he says, sulking away to wait on a customer. Walking outside ... it is a beautiful day at the beach. The sun is shinning, the ocean is flat, there is not a cloud in the sky, choirs of birds are singing and the entire Tybee Island Police Department are having breakfast in the Breakfast Club so the criminals are all happily breaking into whatever they want. It's a perfect day for Cheryl's birthday. Now, it gives me great pleasure, to go home and wrap her presents. She's done so much for Sarah and me. I just can't wait to do some back. Happy Birthday Cheryl! (He-he-he-he)