Exploding Celebrations

Jerked chicken wings, pasta, green beens and a baguette fill the table. Verna had made it all because she knows how much I love her cooking. Carlos was sitting at the head of the table and we were laughing and telling stories as good friends do. "Are you crazy?" he said loudly to Sarah after she said how she is looking forward to Conner arriving. "Have you seen them together? They're insane! Team Mike!" "Wha?"I innocently ask, Knowing full well that Conner and I have a long rich history of ... doing stuff. We once duct taped a masseuse and her customer inside of her parlor. That was fun. We also threw an alternative Wine and Cheese party because the Managers here thought that he and I were acting too big for our britches. The fact is that we didn't have any britches. Our friend Jacob from Norway helped and we had over 50people show up. We had a bigger draw than the actual Wine and Cheese party. Conner also got the very beautiful first mate on the Tiko Tiko to put sun tan lotion on his butt in front of a crowd. That was a sight to see.  Carlos tells all of these stories to Sarah in his exaggerated French Caribbean voice. "Beach Patrol'" he finally concludes. "Hugh, Mike and Conner .... Ai- yii-yii" "Denise too," I add. "she broke the sex barrier." Then I am struck by something. Over the past few years, these are the people who have loved me the most. Every time that I've been in St. Martin, Carlos and Verna fretted over me ... worrying if I was going to make it. Conner and Hania would show and we are inseparable. Hugh calls just to make sure. Martina the maid would take two hour breaks just to sit in my room and talk to me when I was alone. Angela would too. In that moment, sitting in the tiny home of dear friends, I am suddenly humbled. These realizations overwhelm me. I think of my "Carnival of Friends"too and how they broke into my life when I no longer gave a damn about it. "You love everybody," Sarah said at some point. I don't know if that's true. When I love, I love deeply and passionately. I know that I can get very zoned over the things I care about. At this moment though, I am more aware of the people whom have loved me through the bad and are now enjoying the good. There is a Caribbean festival tonight that Carlos is hosting. Hugh and Patty will be here in time to join Sarah and I. Conner and Hania will blow in later. I can already feel the celebration that is about explode.  After several years of struggle that I wouldn't wish upon anybody, it feels good  for so many to say how good I look. Cornelia, another maid here saw me yesterday. She placed her black hand on my belly and exclaimed, " Oh Mike, you are so happy? Where is Sarah? I want to meet her." And the celebration continues to explode.

Naked Gardening

I am watching naked gardening. I don't think I ever have before but I am right now. Sipping coffee, it is a fascinating start of the day. She is blond with a piercing in her belly button. He has a shaved head and is wearing sunglasses. Other than that, they're tanned. They are also bent over in their garden digging up weeds.  It's a nice garden full of red, yellow and purple flowers. There are Palm Trees and Elephant Ears all surrounded by rocks of Coral. It's pretty impressive. She is standing now adjusting her piercing.  He stands to watch her.  Neither of them see me watching them. She bends back over so he does too. I pour a second cup of coffee.  They are working hard. I am tired. We went to Bikini Beach Bar with Marty and Denise, Joe and Pam and this really drunk girl. After that we went dancing. I'm not certain who drove me home. I did wake up in Sarah's arms so she got home safely too. She is still sleeping and is missing the naked gardening. I am tempted to wake her up because watching naked gardening is ... Fascinating! She stands again and says something to the man. He scratches himself. She walks away and returns with a shovel. At first I think that she is going to hit him, but she digs up a plant. I spill coffee on myself and curse. Both of the naked gardeners stand and look at me. "Morning," I cheerfully say. "Morning," they cheerfully reply before bending back over. I do love it here.

The Hands of Change

Mike, you be pimping man," Carlos said after bursting through the door of our Chalet and bear hugging me. His black hand flipped my hair which now touches my shoulders. He laughed. "You look like Jesus," Baruke told me at the restaurant. Baruke is Muslim so I'm not too certain if he really knows what Jesus looks like. But he is my friend and I made the sign of the cross with my fingers over his olive skin balding head. "Mike!" Martina exclaimed when we woke her up from her nap, taking a break from cleaning studios. Then she placed her black hand on my stomach. "You have a belly! You are happy!" I introduced her to Sarah. "Comos Deaaz," Angela laughed when she saw it was me. She'e tries to teach me Spanish when she's not cleaning and fails miserably. "You have belly," placing her black hand on my stomach like Martina had. "You are happy!". Then she hugged me and I introduced her to Sarah. At lunch yesterday, my friend Jan remarked, "It's so good to see you happy." At dinner last night, Denise flew down from heaven and gave me a hug and introduced herself to Sarah. It has been a full year since I've seen the people, though most of us keep up with one another. Obviously I've changed. Everyone seems to agree on this. And that makes me happier. Then at the Managers Wine and Cheese Party last night, Carlos pours Sarah and I cups of wine in a plastic cups After hugging Linda, the manager, and introducing her to Sarah, I pour the wine into a wine glass. I get Carlos' attention in the crowd and toast him. Busting out in laughter, he tells me, "You are the same Mike." and he hugs me. Then he gets all serious and asks, "When does Conner and Hugh arrive?" Grabbing my hair and putting it into a pony tail, I laugh. "Soon. Very soon." "Ai-yii-yii," he says slapping his forehead and walking away. The. Sarah and I dance under the stars. I am much different yet the same. At least everybody seems to think so. But I'll tell you something. This is as much fun as I've ever had.

A Caribbean Christening

The sun rises at 5:35 here and a pitch black night explodes with brilliant beams shinning through the window. Climbing out of bed, I stumble across a lush Tropical landscape of Palm Trees with coconuts, Papaya and flowers of every color. They dance in the ocean breeze. My feet hit the powder white sand of the beach and I wade into the Bay up to my knees. I fall straight forward into the acqua blue water and just float face down. This is how I wake up every morning when I'm here. It's a glorious start to the day! After making my way back, I pour a cup of coffee and sit outside marveling at the beauty of a Caribbean morning. Pouring my second cup, I flip on the radio that I brought down here years ago to OASIS 96.3. It's a campy station that plays a little bit of everything. Each morning there is an editional, "Good Morning Mr. Governor" that tries to persade the elected here to do something or another. Most often it is a plea to bring in more cruise ships. The fact is there are far fewer arriving this year than there were last year or the year before. One is in today and they're always exciting. Signs will be placed on Orient Beach proclaiming "Beads for clothes" or "Free Beer for Clothes" in attempts to persuade tourists to strip. A lot do. Yesterday Sarah and I were recruited to participate in a Beach Ball competition. After blowing up our Beach Ball we had to name it. Then we'd line up and throw them into the ocean. Last one in was the winner. The winner got beads. Being here is kind of like Adult Day Camp. I stumble back to the beach with our towels and lay them in our chairs. We will be surrounded by people we now know on a first name basis. I couldn't tell you their last names if my life depended on it but by the time this trip ends we will all have exchanged names and emails to stay in touch. That's the way it is here. Over the years, I've collected dear friends who live scattered around the world. The best of them are arriving in a few days. There's also friends here who I haven't seen in a while. Later today we're having lunch with Jan and Dick in a beach front French restaurant. We keep up with each other's life's on Face Book which is one of God's greatest gifts. It sure beats email in terms of keeping up with those you love. Tonight there is a Manager's Wine and Cheese party and most everyone staying here will attend. My friend Carlos, the manager of Papagayo, the restaurant, will pour wine will the Managers pretend to host. Everyone else will drink as much free wine as they can in a hour. Most will hang around for dinner and dancing. It also gets darker here earlier than on the eastern shore of the United States. Nights are brilliant displays where the Milky Way puts on a show for free. I love walking the beach back to the Chalet we're staying in. There are mountains that surround Orient Bay, thick and green, and the lights from the houses sprinkled on them look like a blanket of stars at night. There are no television here and the phone only connects you to the other rooms. While a lot of people don't like that, I do. The campy songs of the radio are enough. There is Internet connection so those dying to keep up with the news, or the baseball scores, can do so. Not me. I've spent a career doing that. This is the christening of a new life. Sarah and I were baptized in the Caribbean Sea yesterday. Today the sun will shine on us and the Trade Winds will blow us cool kisses. Tonight we'll toast it all and celebrate with old friends and new ones. Then we'll dance under the stars. Afterwards, we'll stumble home and ... tomorrow, we'll do it all again.

Stuck in the airport with you

Growing up and working in Georgia for most of my life it’s always been Delta. It’s hard to fly anywhere in Georgia without using Delta and I am a Platinum flyer, Crown Room member, often bumped to first class snob. It was never my intention to turn out this way, but I did. I am extremely loyal to Delta and have earned a gazillion Frequent Flyer miles. That’s the good news. The bad news is Delta has reduced its flights to St. Martin. They only do it on Saturdays now. What is up with that? That’s like couples who only choose to have sex on Saturdays, eating dessert sporadically or saving the stuff in your nose for a monthly picking. Regardless, we wanted to travel to St. Martin and leaving on a Saturday was fine but the return options where incredibly limited. So we flew American Airlines. I also have a lot of AA miles because of a credit card I use, trips I’ve taken and plans to join the “Mile High Club” with Sarah. So we flew American Airlines ... from Jacksonville to Miami. It’s always a bad sign when the guy is putting gas in the plane, pumping it in on top of the wing and … you sit there watching it pour out of the bottom of the wing. What does one say? American Airlines doesn’t say anything. They do keep you sitting on the plane while the guy on top of the wing continues pumping gas into the tank until eventually a maintenance guy wanders under the wing and notices that something is not right. Two hours later, because of FFA regulations, we are told to get off the plane but to not leave the gate … even if you do have to pee. So we get off the plane. Sarah sits at the gate. I go get a beer in the bar. After another hour, we’re told to move to another gate where another American Airlines plane will take us to St. Martin. The only problem is that there is no plane at the gate we are told to rush to. Then we learn that it will be another four hours before the plane does arrive, lets its passengers off, gets clean, lets us board and …. We take off. But American Airlines does reward us with Food Vouchers totaling $12 per passenger. You cannot use your American Airlines issued Food Voucher on alcohol. We learn this sitting in the bar where each American Airline passenger on the plane for St. Martin is trying to pay for our drinks with American Airlines issued Food Vouchers. By this time, we are, of course, all on a first name basis. We know intimate details about each other’s lives. Several openly pick their noses in front of their new best friends. One couple has sex. My I-phone vibrates. It is Carlos in St. Martin. “Where R U?” Carlos is way hip on the language of texting. Sarah buys twenty-seven cookies from a bakery with our American Airlines issued Food Voucher. She will snack on them the entire time that we are in St. Martin. We will pass them out as gifts. I will give one to Carlos. Now we are sitting outside of the bar at our gate getting ready to board. I think that it may be problematic. Half of the American Airlines passengers are passed out from drinking all day. The other half are on a sugar high from spending their American Airlines issued Food Voucher buying cookies at the Bakery. My I-phone buzzes and it is my fellow Beach Patrol partner Hugh. “What in the hell is going on?” he demands. Beach Patrol members always have one another’s back. I tell him. “Oh no,” he sighs. “You flying American Airlines?” I ask. “Yep,” he says. “Well relax and enjoy the food,” I tell him and hang up.

A New Journey

The last time that I was in St. Martin, I swore that when I returned it would not be alone. I'd spent two years going there by myself in a tiny little studio just off Orient Bay. Lots of friends who live on the island, and many from around the world visiting, kept me company. Conner and Hania were my most constant companions. It became a place of healing and I came very close to just throwing everything in America away and moving there. But I didn't. A Carnival of Friends came together and fun at home took on a new intensity. And Sarah had returned to Savannah. Our relationship grew, love blossomed and today she is driving with me to Jacksonville where the vacation begins. Tomorrow we'll be in St. Martin. It has been a year since I was there, which strikes me as crazy. I traveled more during the past year than I ever have, crisscrossing the country several times, but I never made it back to the beloved island. I feel like a child on Christmas Eve. Conner's already called. Hugh has too. Verna wants to know if I want her to make me chicken wings. Carlos wants to go to Boo Boo Jams. And we're hooking up with our friends Dick and Jane for lunch on Monday. Denise and Marty are supposed to be there too. I wish the Carnival of Friends could go. It would be like ... adult day camp. What I'm looking forward to the most though is sharing a place and some people I love with everything in me with Sarah. The aqua blue of the Caribbean Sea, the cool of the Trade winds, the brightness of the stars at night and holding her hand as we stroll the beach to touch the rocks ... these are the things I anticipate. The place of healing is now a place of celebration. I've been through a lot in my life. Yesterday I was looking through boxes of things representing the things I've done. Plaques, awards, newspaper clippings, books, and gifts fill ten boxes in my Mother's garage. It's a past that holds little interest for me. I've gladly traded it all for now. Today's going to be great! And tomorrow! Well, it's gonna be even better.

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."