My Life in Rehab

The whole world is glued to cable TV It looks so real on the big LCD Murder and violence are rated PG, too bad for children they are what they see The words from Joe Walsh's new album leap out at me. It's true! For more than thirty years I danced in the world of murder and violence. I saw children of homeless women grow up to be homeless themselves. I had a friend who was beaten to death over a bottle of wine. I was submerged in the reality that drugs really are far more prevalent than anyone wishes to recognize. It far outstrips the income generated by tourism in Savannah where I live. Once I showed up to work sick at Union Mission. Apparently I looked and sounded far worse than I thought. Homeless guys love me because I love them. They rushed up all concerned. "Hey Rev," Ken exclaimed through the long red hair that covered his eyes, "tell us your symptoms. We got a drug for whatever's ailing you." Of course, Union Mission had a Zero Tolerance policy. Then I'd go into the world of those who understand the world from what they see on television, at the movies, from the Pulpit or from the Wall Street Journal. Many lived in Gated Communities. Most had gates around their hearts and locks on their minds. They are nice people. They care. They want to help. So they send money to causes they see on television without ever leaving home. They try to understand why the world is the way it is at the Movies. Churches organize annual field trips to help the poor ... rich Churches go to exotic places in other countries while poorer churches travel to another state. Those reading the Wall Street Journal mostly ... read the Wall Street Journal. Of course there are exceptions to each of these but for the most part, it's all still true. Today I still dabble in both worlds. Mostly though, I am in recovery from them. A thirty year addiction to trying to bring both worlds together in the belief that "for the Bible told me so" ended up costing a lot. "Red and yellow, back and white, they are precious in his sight." Maybe in His. Not in ours. It's hard to be not be cynical. I still hold onto heavily beliefs but have been crucified by earthy realities. So I'm staying in rehab a while longer. I still have the drunken dream that the Kingdom can come on earth as it is in heaven. For now, I need gentle Palm Trees ... the sea and the sky ... I'll know where I stand. Sounds just the angels up in heaven when they sing Welcome Home, Welcome Home Instead of some sad Salvation Army Sister Singer 'Nearer my God to Thee' (James Taylor)

Island Transitions

I never thought of life as being breezy I never thought of time as time to play I never thought that I could take it easy But all those feelings changed for me today So says Norman Paperman in Jimmy Buffett's excellent musical adaptation of Herman Wouk's "Don't Stop the Carnival." It's the story of a New York newspaper critic of Broadway plays has a mild heart attack and decides life is too short. Packs it all in, he heads to the islands to run a hotel. It's an adventure of culture shock, Palm Trees, affairs, corruption, beauty and finally coming to terms with the fact that he is who he really is. In the end he goes back to who he was ... though it's the adventure that defined who he really is. That remains the question doesn't it? Is this who I really am? The core of my soul is being a banker? My life's purpose is to get company's to buy adds for the newspaper? I really do love spending each day trying to make a sell? It's all about the money and in a few years I'll almost have enough? If it wasn't for the children I'd travel the world but I can't because "good mothers" don't do things like that? The Preacher told me that God told him that life is supposed to be lived one way only? I can't afford to be me? If I don"t take care of her, she'll die? For thirty years I was a pretty relentless person. Life was a series of never ending accomplishments, each besting the last. Time was deadlines and pressures with occasional lapses into moments of peace or love. Easy would come later because there was too much to do. Everybody needed me to do define myself in these ways or ... the entire world would go to hell, clocks would stop, children would starve, and God would personally hand me a first class ticket to hell. It's all bullshit. We're made to be who we really are. Maybe for those thirty years that was who I was really made to be, but it's not now. There isn't much I'd change about the way its all working out. But I've already did that. I don't want to do it again. I'll do something else. For the past while we were in St. Martin which is an island I love. It's freedom, Trade Winds, Palm Trees, aqua-blue water, good friends and contentment. Yesterday we got home and it was unplanned meetings, deadlines, expectations, failed deliveries, people talking too loud and collapsing into bed too exhausted to sleep. I was noticing a change in myself through yesterday. I no longer have to be in charge. I don't have to fix it. I can sit back and let others do the things they need to do for themselves because ... God knows the world would end if they didn't get what they want. I can slide into the calmness of a Bay protected by a reef. God really can be in charge if She wants to because ... I'm not going to fight about that anymore. This morning there are remnants of a Tropical Storm off of Tybee Island, which is home. Clouds thickly roll over the sun trying to prevent it from sending light, but there is light ... enough to see anyway. I water the plants and flip the laundry. Strolling to the Beloved Back Deck, I brush Goddess' hair. There are things to do and places to be in a little bit. It's all good. In the past twenty-four hours, I've transitioned islands. In the past few years, I've transitioned life. I'm keenly aware of so many people ... a lot I love deeply ... who are navigating their own transitions. Or panning the beginning of one. Or cussing the fact that they're too trapped to change anything. It's all alright. Do the best you can. Tomorrow ... try to do a little bit better. That's pretty much what Jesus had to say about it all. But in the end ... try to be as close to the person that you were really meant to be. Otherwise, worlds go to hell ... clocks stop ... children starve ... and tickets to hell are abundant.

Thanks Joe

Joe Bridges has died. He was an important character in my life and my career would never have achieved the things it did without him. I owe him a lot. A chain smoking, coffee drinking alcoholic, he could build or fix anything. As loyal a friend as I have ever had, we would spend hours sitting lone talking about how to get things done.  A resident of Potter's Place, a twelve bed rooming house for people in recovery, he was one of the first people I met when I returned to Savannah. Potter's was the one program Union Mission had then. Along with Roger Pack, Robert Watkins, Joe rounded out the core support system that made the place so successful.  At a book signing, I looked up and found Joe standing with a copy for me to sign. "Lookie here," he said followed by a loud sniff of his nose, "I keep up." and even though it had been a couple of years since he had moved from Potters, he proceeded to recount everything I'd done of that time. From 1987 through 1990' we'd opened four new housing programs for the city's homeless. Grace House, the Magdalene Project, Phoenix Place And The Hacienda.   Joe showed up at my office when the last one opened. "Lookie here," he explained followed with the loud nose sniff, "You need a maintenance man." "I can't afford one," I told him. "You can with all of the money I'm going to save you," he shot back. And he did. For the next decade Joe took care of everything. His house also became an overflow shelter for alcoholics when the shelters were full. He was the banker for addicts who needed to quit shaking, the counselor for them when they did, and their sponsor in AA meetings. He allowed the children of active addicts to move into his house and served as their father until they could be reunited.  He oversaw the expansion of Phoenix Place, the building of the Daniel-Flag Villas, and the construction of the J.C. Lewis Health Center.  Then he got into high speed Go Kart racing. I was in Florida when I heard that Joe had crashed into a wall at 60 mile per hour. I rushed back to Savannah to check on him and it was not good. Eventually he lost his leg. For a while I didn't think it would matter. One morning I looked up from my stool at "The Breakfast Club" to see him climbing off his motorcycle and hobbling in to have coffee with me. But then he slowly started losing his health. I visited him and did my best to talk him into coming back to work. We'd find a way to make it work. But his mind moved on to other things. He moved into a tiny trailer outside of Midway and our conversations were reduced to occasional phone calls. He didn't like that we'd sold Potters Place or was building Dutchtown on the south side. He thought that I spent too much time in other cities expanding the work. The last time I saw him he came to me. Hobbling in my office, he viewed it with disdain. I was no longer located in Grace house but in a larger more expansive and plush setting. "Are you a freaking banker nowadays." We talked about the old days and caught each other up on our kids. He asked me if I ever saw Roger or Robert. He hobbled out to a van that he drove and said with a sniff, "It sure as hell ain't what it used to be." And it sure as hell ain't.  Life is a gift that each of us share but none of us asked for. If we're lucky we get to share it with others. I was fortunate to have had so much of Joe in mine. So were thousands of others. It is amazing to see the difference that someone can make when they want to. Joe Bridges did as much for hurting, hungry and lost people as anybody I've ever met. He did it from the "Been there and done that" perspective. He believed that smaller is more beautiful than big. He taught me a lot about how to  appreciate everything that I've got. He reminded me that if he could survive hell then I could too. So Joe, Lookie here ... Sniff ... I love you man.

Celebrating the Moments

The full moon was so bright that the Palm Trees couldn't sleep as they towered over us. Not that they would want to as we sat on a patio listening to Noah and Levi play the blues with our friend Marty wailing on the mouth harp. The music was really good and the beauty of the night was spectacular. Giant green Geckos darted on the ground in perfect rhythm with sand crabs. The waves breaking on the reef hummed quietly in the background. Flags on top of sails boats slapped in the Trade Winds keeping beat to the songs. Sarah leaned against me sitting on the bench of the picnic table. Denise sat across and Hugh was swaying to the tunes beside me. Perhaps thirty of us sat there listening enjoying the majestic beauty of such simplicity. Everybody was smiling.  I sat watching them for a while and the music became a background noise. It was one of those moments where everything muted, blending into one seamless experience. No one thing dominated another. Everything was one. Th e feel of Sarah's skin on mine, the music, the smiles, the dancing, the Palm Trees and Geckos under the full moon were all one joyous celebration of life. Detached objectivity is what I call it. It's a moment when you leave yourself ... like those stories of dying people who leave their bodies and float over themselves  taking it all in before flying away. Or when you find yourself sitting there staring off into some other universe and when you recognize it, twenty minutes have passed. It's when you are so connected to everything around you, and everything within you, that you become a spiritual person. Then the filters came back on. Several people had disappeared. A Song fizzled out just as it had started. A cloud covered the moon. Sarah shifted her body causing me to shift mine.  The moment was over. Most everything that had caused it was still present but suddenly it wasn't as simple or as joyous as it had just been a second ago. What happened to the gift of the moment? Spirituality is a funny thing. It is a fleeting moment of pure participation of the life that God gave us. It is worship. It is holy.  It's community with people and creation at the same time. It doesn't last long ... though I wished it did. Whispering in Sarah's ear I said, "Let's go." She seemed surprised. She knows how important music is to my life ... and the beach ... and these people ... and the full moon. Hugh was surprised as we stood. "You're leaving?" Nodding,  I smiled. He smiled back and returned to his moment. Sarah and I held hands and walked to the Chalet that home for one more day. And we celebrated our moments.

Dream Investments

Standing with my feet in the aqua blue waters of Orient Bay, I'm listening to Matthew Sweet and Suzanne Hoffs sing covers, when out of the corner of my eye I see him coming He is much taller than I am, deeply tanned and has a broad smile on his face. "Mike!" he exclaims and gives me a hug. It had been a year since I had seen him but you wouldn't know it by the way we immediately fell into conversation. His name is also Mike and I met he and Shannon several years ago here in St. Martin. "We did it," he told me with an even broader grin. "We sold the house, sold the kids, quit the jobs, cashed in everything we have and moved here in March. We love it!" Mike and I had shared the same dream of doing this and, while I came close but didn't follow through, he had. What I remember is that they were struggling anyway. Mike had gotten a job with a bank after spending several long months unemployed. He hated it. Shannon did free lance work and they were struggling. They had come down anyway because they needed to get away from it all even though they really couldn't afford it. At the time that is what I wanted too. I asked him if it was scary. "Naw," he replied. " The sucked and were just using me for a while. The kids were old enough. We weren't happy and there was enough equity in the house. We cashed in what retirement we had and ?... Here we are." He waved his long brown arms in the air. "What are you doing?" he asked. I introduced him to Sarah and explained that we are also in the process of reinventing everything about the way that we live our lives. We told Mike about leaving Union Mission, the investment of what we own into ourselves,  and the search for passionate things. "Ah, y'all should just come down here," he told me. Conner and Hania joined us for a few moments. Mike invited us to come check out his place, explained how cheaper the Dutch side of the island is than the French side, and went on and on about how much they love it. " We'll go back to see the kids or the kids can come and see us," he concluded. "The law is that we have to leave the island for 48 hours once every four months, even if it means just catching the Ferry to Anguilla," he laughed. Leaving, I watched him dance down the beach and I couldn't help but admire him. Life in the U.S. had become a slow erosion process in their lives and rather than just wait for something else bad to happen, Mike and Shannon took charge and made a dream come true.  I think that dreams are always risky and investments are never safe when you follow one. Mine for for and happiness took me down crazy paths and through some very dark places. Some things about the future still frighten me. I don't think about money the way I used to because it was more abundant then. We continue to clean out the closets of old priorities and downsize to happiness. The trade Winds pick up a bit as Mike disappears on the horizon. Turning I go and sit in the chair besides Sarah. We hold hands. We smile. Who knows?

The News from Home

I do wish "The Carnival of Friends" were here. They would enjoy it beyond belief. I have no doubt they are holding there own back on Tybee Island but they would fit right in with this crazy collection of a escape artists.  Plus the scenery is always good here. Yesterday we got all of this news from home. Normally that never happens when I am in St. Martin. The news here is extremely local ... what is the special at dinner, where's the party, or "what do you mean you can't find the car key?" But we are current on the news from the States now.  Kristen's car overheated and she has no idea how she is going to get to work. Cassidy completed a gymnastics competition without finishing a routine. Jeremy has one assignment left before finishing school for the summer. "Fifteen pages in five hours," he said. "I got this." Chelsea was going out to her favorite Greek restaurant with Sam to celebrate the fact that she found a swimming pool in Atlanta that she can lay beside. Madison reported that Winston is still not house broken and she saw the evidence. On the up side, Goddess doesn't seem to care. Laurel didn't want to report on anything. Dedra finally made it back to Tybee which is crowded beyond belief. Cheryl celebrated this fact by uncorking a bottle of wine.  Johnny O and Judy O hosted another successful "Whine and Cheese" party on the porch. Whitley's bicycle got drunk. My Mom's mad at me because she thought I was already home and I'm not. So ... to celebrate or to coresomate these things, we went naked dancing. If you've never done "The Electric Slide" under a Tropical Moon with a bunch of naked people, you need to revise your Bucket List. It is a new day and I hope that things work themselves out back home. We'll be back soon enough to help or to hinder the progress. In the meantime, tonight's a full moon. Crazy things happen when the moon is full. I can't wait to see what they will be. Celebrate your day!  Do the Electric Slide.

Days in Paradise

The umbrellas are up early today. TheTrade Winds have all but died so the yellow canvases stand at attention above the chairs that we will soon occupy. All is still and quiet. Most are still asleep. It's hard to blame them. Last night there was a party and we danced, laughed and reunited with friends. Sarah and I were actually the first to leave. Grabbing her hand we made our way into the darkness with our feet touching the white sand road. A canopy of tall long leaf Palm Trees hung above our heads. We talked as we made our way back to the Chalet that is home for now. It is a different universe here. A Caribbean island filled with the hopes and dreams of escape. There is a crazy collection of people who share the simple goals of relaxing, tanning, and having fun.  Whatever serious conversations take place on the beach are quick. That's not to say there isn't time for reflection.  I find myself with my feet in the aqua blue waters of Orient Bay, staring at the islands on the horizon completely lost in thought, wondering about things or people that I love. I make plans for Sarah and I, the kids, and all of the things that are going to happen next ... whatever next is. I've been here over twenty times now and it still hasn't lost any of it's luster. Fantasies of staying here continue to dance in the recesses of my mind. It is Sarah's first time and I am enjoying watching her enjoying it ... and we are enjoying each other at the same time too. Some of my best friends blew in yesterday and the joys of reconnecting exploded as we saw each other. Sarah's met so many new friends and is doing just fine enjoying them. Today will be a celebration of just getting through whatever we all had to get through to get here again. The Trade Winds pick up and the Palm Trees begin to dance. The Chalet quickly cools as I sip coffee remembering Sarah and my conversation before we slept. She writes me notes too and I ponder them. The sun is already blazing and it is going to be hot today. Thank God for the Trade Winds. They are the oceans air conditioner and it is always fascinating to me that I can bake in the sun and never get too hot. Yesterday I swam to the reef that protects this Bay. It is a long swim against the current to get there but it is worth it. Fish of every color dart around and their beauty often makes me stop breathing. I love the sound of their teeth scrapping against the coral that feeds them. The coral itself is alive with splendor and the waves breaking above it is like crown of God's creation. Turning to make my way back to Sarah on the beach, I am now with the current. It carries me swiftly and I feel like I am flying. A large spotted Sting Ray darts beneath me. I search for conch shells. Reaching the sandy bottom just off the beach, the fish lose their color and are as white as the sand. Standing in the surf, I take my mask and fins off. There are miles and miles of clear blue skies. There is rum on ice. It really is another day in Paradise. Sarah stands to greet me and Paradise just got better. I find  myself whispering prayers of Thanksgiving. "On this day you will be with me in Paradise," Jesus said to the man hanging beside him another cross. It's true I guess that you have to go through so much to get there, but me tell you something ... Jesus knew what he was talking about. Any day in Paradise is blessing. And today I have another one. 

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.