Friends

They all come. Precious few stay throughout the duration. Most leave before you think they should. Some come back. Most don't as they fade into memories ... intense point-in-time encounters

I'm talking about friends.

Way back in Seminary, I had a new friend Claude Drouet who taught me lots of new music. Mistakenly born in the cotton fields of Louisiana he knew everything about Broadway. I visited his childhood home when his Dad died and completely understood why Clause preferred New York. But Ike, his Dad, loved me because I cussed and drank wine with him on the massive front porch of a plantation house. So I toasted Ike with his boy, thrown together by chance or brought together by God, to get each other through that particular time.

Claude taught me Stephen Sondheim, Broadways greatest writer as far as I'm concerned (followed by Stephen Schwartz who wrote Godspell, Pippin and Wicked). Sondheim's work ... from West Side Story through Assassins explore relationships.

"Most friends fade or they don't make the grade, new ones are quickly made and in a pinch they'll do. But us old friend? What's to discuss old friend? Here's to us! Who's like us? Damn few."

Sometimes I think I've lost way more than I have.

Then again, it's easier now. Every morning I sign onto Twitter, Facebook and LinkedIn and, lo and behold, there they all are ... Virtually every friend I ever had is virtually there!

Some write, some like, a few follow, but most seem to connect and move on ... collecting affirmation in numbers ... or memories.

It's always surprising to see who is who.

It's funny to see them all collected on the screen of my laptop. They're all busy with their own lives, trying to survive or drowning while life jackets are thrown their way. I can watch it all and choose whether or not I want to join in.

Then again, new communities are being born all of the time. New friends have reached across cyberspace and old friends have raised themselves from the dead by typing on their keyboards. In both instances, the word has become flesh.

As I'm writing this, my son Jeremy and I are sending text back and forth. I'm lucky enough to have children who grew up to be friends. He was my friend even before Bill Berry (not the former drummer for REM but the other one) but only by a little bit. I met Bill right after Jeremy was born.

Sarah waltzes into the kitchen to feed Winston, the little gay dog, and we embrace and have a quick conversation about the differences between friends and acquaintances. She tells me I confuse the two. I do err on that side. Perhaps its one of my faults. If it is, I've long accepted who I am and while I'm still capable of learning new tricks every day I'm also quiet comfortable in the way that I go about living.

Looking back, someone has always been there at just the right time and I choose to celebrate that and hold people holy. Sure there are a few I would send straight to hell but, knowing me, I would never be able to pull that trigger if it actually came down to it. I'd rather celebrate good times.

So ... here's to us!

Who's like us?

Damn few!

Re-starting my Political career

Want to hear something scary? I may become a Congressman.

It wasn't my idea but my son's Jeremy. He lives in Athens, attends the University of Georgia working on his Ph. D and decided to vote yesterday.

I was home looking after a sick child and trying to work when I receive a text from him.

"In the unlikely event you win the 10th Congressional seat from the State of Georgia, it's my fault for writing you in instead of voting for Paul Broun."

Paying no attention to the sick child I text him back to ask what was going on. Jeremy explained that it seemed everyone on the ballot was running unopposed and he just couldn't bring himself to vote when there really wasn't a choice so I am now a write-in candidate.

This is not an uncommon practice and is part of American democracy.

Johnny O has listed Roma as a write-in candidate in every election for the past two decades. "If I don't like em," he told me, "I vote for Roma."

I have personally witnessed Roma's political prowess. Appearing before Tybee City council on behalf of allowing handicap persons to drive golf carts on the island, she demonstrated what would happen if the motion failed. She turned around and mooned them. There was thunderous applause and Roma walked out of the meeting.

The motion passed.

So I can understand why Johnny O would consistently list her as a write-in candidate.

As you know, it's Halloween and election time. Talk about scary!

But I'm excited about Halloween! I have lots of experience getting dressed up pretending to be something I'm not while looking for handouts. It's like running for Congress!

I'm going to seriously think about campaigning as soon as trick-or-treat is over.

Will it matter in 100 years?

I am home playing Mr. Mom this morning. Laurel, Sarah's middle child, is sick and is in recovery mode ... happily watching the Disney Channel while running a low grade fever.

"Sit beside me Mike," she asks with tired eyes and puffy cheeks.

"Hell no," I reply. "I got stuff to do."

So I'm trying to work in the kitchen while she laughs at whatever Disney is passing for televised entertainment. I have earphones in to block out the noise listening to Rhapsody while I write. As a survivor of raising three kids already (I'm talking about you Kristen!), I know how to handle children's sick days.

Of course when Kristen was sick I'd fill her up with Tylenol just before I dropped her off at school. That bought me several hours of work.

I'm more mellow now. In a hundred years I wonder about how much the work will matter anyway?

So ... I've given her a Popsicle, taken her temperature five times because she keeps asking if she's better now, watched her walk outside to get Winston, the little gay dog, and told her "Hell no" a dozen times over something or another.

It makes me reminisce.

Chelsea learned art with homeless people because I often took her to work when she was sick. We were big into art as an expression of inward struggles. My youngest watched all of this and has a degree from the University of Georgia in art now. Last night I was reading her proposal for acceptance into New York University. It makes me wonder about the glory of sick days.

Kristen was a master at faking sick to get days off. By eleven each morning Jesus himself would have touched her and she was miraculously healed and ready to play her friends.

Jeremy was pretty cool about it all. He just played basketball.

Yesterday Laurel was frustrated because she wanted to talk to me alone. There just wasn't the opportunity. She could have faked all of this just to talk. Kristen often did stuff like this.

Anyway, it won't matter in a hundred years.

It only matters now.

Monday Morning Coming Down (Again)

On a dark, chilly, blustery Monday, I crawl from underneath the warm covers and lovely wife. Standing there for a moment, an immediate decision is made to opt out of the outdoor shower. The tail end of Hurricane Sandy is slapping Tybee Island with a cold wind.

"There ain't no way in hell I'm stumbling down there naked so the wind can blow the hot water in the wrong direction."

So standing under the steaming hot water of an indoor shower I think about all of the things needing to be accomplished but find these thoughts are interrupted by others.

Yesterday there was a piece in the Savannah Morning News I'd written, plus the daily blog, several tweets and a bunch of emails. Last night while Sarah and I were cuddled on the couch watching a movie the I-phone kept buzzing as people responded to these things. I kept looking at it which would normally get me in trouble but Sarah was texting or talking to the girls anyway. Plus I kept showing her what I was reading.

(I don't remember the name of the movie. It was good though. Something about an army guy who finds a picture of a girl then tracks her down at a dog kennel. I never tried to pick up girls at dog kennels but I did work at a Veterinary Clinic in college. I don't recall picking up any girls while cleaning out the kennel but it apparently works if you've been in the Military.)

This isn't what I'm thinking about in the indoor shower. I'm thinking about the messages I received last night from people who were dreading going to work today. They hate it. They feel stuck. They have bosses that chew their ass and as the song goes ... they're working for the weekend.

Plus, in spite of what the Government says, the economy still sucks and a lot of people are living week to week and day to day. They're waking up this morning hoping and praying that they can find something to do. They need money bad now.

It's a somber beginning to the day.

Then again most Monday's are somber.

I dress and brave the wind to drive to The Breakfast Club for coffee. Johnny O and Whitley are already there. There is a common disdain for for Monday being expressed. Lot's of adjectives are used. The vast majority are colorful and start with the letter "F".

The restaurant is half full before it even opens. The staff sighs and starts cooking though there are many other things remaining to be done to prepare for the week. Johnny O leaves for work. Whitley does too though he cusses as he stands.

I linger for a bit. The flags above the Ocean Plaza are whipping in the wind. Every time the door opens it blows a burst of cold inside. People mumble greetings. No one seems happy. The obnoxious ones try to talk to whoever will listen. Eventually it even dawns on them, today's Monday.

On top of that ... there's a Hurricane.

It sucks.

Monday morning coming down ... again.

I'm A Has-been

I'm in the newspaper today.

It's been a while.

I used to be in it all of the time. Television and radio too. A master of soundbites and a popular person to be interviewed, I was always being asked  what I thought. We created a lot of news too and I worked with people who knew how to make it.

Of course I also had a lot of help.

Avis Coleman used to interview me all of the time whenever it was a slow news day and she needed a story for WTOC where she worked as a reporter. If nothing was happening in Savannah that day, she'd call me and ask me what was going on. I'd make something up and if it sounded plausible it would be on the evening news.

There wasn't as much happening back then in "Slow-vanna" so I was on television a lot.

Rick Hunter was a DJ who did his own Sunday morning interview series and he often asked me to be on the show. We always had a blast. Rick cracks me up and we laughed a lot. A 30 minute show took a couple of hours to tape because we were having such a good time with one another.

We became good friends and still stay in touch though he's in Macon now.

Orlando Montoya worked for National Public Radio and also interviewed me a lot. It's hard to not like Orlando. Quiet, unassuming, meticulous, and steady he was the opposite of Rick. His interviews were always serious.

Over time we became friendly with each other and shared things from our personal lives. I don't know what Orlando is doing these days but I'm certain he's doing it great. I wish him the very best.

Then there's Skutch. Jan Skutch looks like an actor in a B movie playing a reporter but the fact is HE IS A REPORTER for the Savannah Morning News! He is the absolute best I've ever worked. The man cares about his craft and understands the power of the pen. He always called me to read my quotes back to me to make certain they were right.

Of course when he called he often began by asking, "Mike can you just tell me what in the hell is going on?"

This was often followed by, "Are you out of your mind?"

We also became very good friends and though we don't talk as often as we used to, we both understand either can pick up the phone at any time and the other will answer.

I'm no longer in the press though. Stacy Jennings called and asked me to write something and there's no chance in hell of saying no to her so I dropped everything I was doing and wrote.

It's funny to look at today. There's a picture that Sarah doesn't like because it doesn't look like me these days. It's buried at the end of a long special section meaning I'm a "has been." They even changed my by-line to describe what I used to do and didn't mention what I'm up to now (launching www.letustellit.).

Oh well.

That's the way it goes.

I've had way more than my fifteen minutes of fame so I shouldn't be bothered by any of this.

I'll tell you something though.

I've got another fifteen coming.

The Holiness of it all

It began with an incredible yellow sky. I told Sarah to come outside and see it ... be bathed in the crazy stillness that comes before Hurricanes pass. She is getting ready and rushes out to share the moment then heads back inside to finish as we're already late. Winston, the little gay dog, prances behind her. He follows her everywhere.

I linger.

A banana wind is blowing so leaves are knocked off trees and staring at the beloved back deck it suddenly seems extremely "fall-like" and could be mistaken for a porch on a cabin in the mountains. The Hibiscus plants add tropical flavors and yellow butterflies hide in their blooms.

Fran's thousand shades of green dance madly and the Palm Tree with the oyster eyes, coconut bra and grass skirt tries to cover herself. The plastic green strips of her skirt are blown across the yard.

The art hanging on the fence knocks against the wood and would surely fall had I not fastened it with wire to hold it in place.

Goddess stands beside me. She loves the wind and her golden coat is rustled as she stares in the direction from which it blows. Goddess is forever pondering life's deeper meanings and is my contemplative companion.

We're meeting friends for drinks, dinner and dancing at Huck-A-Poos. It's a funny thing as we all met virtually on Facebook before actually seeing each other. Sean and Wen warned us they were coming to Tybee and then one day there they were. Sitting in front of Fannies-On-the-beach at the daily gathering of The Bored they asked if we were us and we asked if they were them and a deep friendship became flesh.

We're doing the same with Glenn and Vicky as we've know each other virtually but are now making it real at The Poo.

Who knows who else will be there? It's one of the mysteries of this island. Epiphanies occur. People inexplicably appear.

Sarah was ready so we made the short trek to the nightly celebration of life. We toasted friendship, broke bread together and washed it down with holy water. Laughter and stories broke out with the music.  The fellowship of believers celebrated life as we have it. We danced.

Now I am whispering prayers of Thanksgiving as Hurricane winds blow leaves across the deck. Fran is still dancing wildly as art bangs rhythms against the fence.The umbrella is down and secure so this is being observed from the kitchen table through opened sliding glass doors.

Goddess remains outside, her beautiful coat blowing in the wind, and she continues to stare out over the ocean from where all things were born.

I am humbled by the holiness of it all.

What Winston, the little gay dog, reminds me of ... love.

I am the extremely proud parent of a gay son!

Winston, the little gay dog, was born himself.

God made him this way and who can turn their back on the good things God has made?

I know, I know ... a lot of people.

Religion gets in the way of acceptance, church abhors change and dogma tries to figure out ways to damn everything that it doesn't believe fits.

Blah, blah, blah.

This life is really about acceptance.

Fundamentalism of any kind ... be it Christian, Muslim, Jewish, Democrat, Republican ... is a terrible and evil thing. In any belief system it basically proclaims,  "There's only one way! And it's our way! And if you don't like it stick it up your ass sideways!"

On the other hand, God is love.

And to quote Rod Stewart, "Ain't love a bitch."

It's hard enough enough to find, much less hold onto love in life. There are so many things against love in the world ... with religion, politics and social morays topping the list.

I believe if you find love you do your damn best to hold on to it. Because if God really is love then that's what we're holding on to.

Which brings me back to Winston, the little gay dog.

He is most definitely gay. Sarah and I don't have any problems with it. He is who he is (which is also very Biblical as when Moses asked God who he was, God answered, "I am who I am."

Winston too.

The girls have problems with it. Raised in the church, they were taught that homosexuality is a sin.

What isn't a sin these days?

You sin. I sin. We all sin. That's one of the ties that bind us all together.

Let's accentuate the positive shall we? We're all doing the best we can. We screw something up most every day. If we're healthy then we're honest about it. If we're unhealthy then we deny it.

The other positive thing here is that we all have seen, touched, tasted, want or have ... love.

When you do, who cares if you're gay or straight, rich or poor, white or black, Republican or Democrat, Churched or unchurched, thin or fat or much anything else.

Loving people support love.

Unloving people don't.

Winston, the little gay dog, reminds me of these things.

One foot competition

Yesterday was a crazy work day with curve balls coming at me left and right!

I was sending emails to people I haven't seen in years telling them what I'm up to these days. These are all folks I care about, were important as my career developed or I flat out like. They are also survivors ... meaning I purged my contact list last week and none of them were deleted.

Well ... to be honest a few were deleted but when we launched the new business (www.letustellit.com) several of them wrote me nice words so they were un-deleted which is like being raised from the dead.

Just as I was hitting my groove, Sarah burst into my office on the back deck where I prefer to work. Her office is at the other end of the house in the red room.

Our offices have a couple of distinct differences.

She prefers quiet when she works, has a proper desk and everything she needs is spread on it before her. I sit outside at a table under an umbrella with music blasting from on Rhapsody from my laptop, loving the sunshine, dancing leaves in the ocean breeze and yellow butterflies sucking the pollen out of the red Hibiscus blooms.

We have a quick "coffee break" without actually drinking any coffee.

She goes back to her office and I get back to work. But people have actually started answering my emails. That can screw up a day's agenda! Now I have to answer their email! Christ! How am I supposed to get any work done!

Then Stacy Jennings calls me from the Savannah Morning News asking if I would stop everything I'm doing and write something for the paper.  Double Christ! I can't tell Stacy "No!"

Stacy is a lot like Joshua in the Old Testament. She can make the sun stop, the moon stop, avenge herself on her enemies and completely screw up someone's daily agenda. (See Joshua 10:13. That's really about Stacy.)

So I wrote it and send it only to be confronted by these evil people called editors. Evidently my words needed work. So I do what I always do when confronted by editors ... I ignored them. I'm a big believer that if you ignore a problem long enough it will go away.

On the other hand, Stacy had already stopped the sun and the moon from moving so ... I was edited which is like getting the paper you were proud of writing in college handed back to you marked up in red by some idiot professor who doesn't recognize great writing!

When I got back to work, MORE PEOPLE HAD REPLIED TO MY EMAILS!

Now there's even more to do!

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the sun had moved. Of course it had! Stacy had gotten what she wanted.

My computer kept beeping with new emails as the sun painted the deep blue sky in pinks and purples. Inexplicably "Scarborough Fair" streamed through my computer.

Seriously? "Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme?

I got mellow, walked inside and poured myself a glass of wine. Sarah was still working away in her quiet solitude. No one else else was working but then again no one else was here.

Returning to my office on the back deck I stuck my bare feet on the rail and toasted Stacy Jennings. She's freaking amazing. And apparently does all of this on one foot.

How do you compete with that?

I turned off the computer, drank wine and watched the sun set.

Avalon

Islands are magical places though I'm the first to admit that some are more special than others. Key West is better than Hilton Head, St. Martin eclipses Jamaica and Tybee Island surely bests the British Isles.

Avalon was the magical island where King Arthur got his start when the Lady of the River forged his sword, Excalibur. It was where he went to recover or die from his wounds after the Battle of Camlann and its where he eventually returned the sword when he was said and done with it all.

It's also a song by Roxy Music with the lines ... and the background is fading out of focus, yes the pictures are changing every moment and your destination? you don't know it ... Avalon.

We all believe in mystical places like Avalon, Heaven, Atlantis, the bright lights of a big city or the quiet majesty of the mountains, the plains of the Parries or the serenity of the sea.

So we work towards these places. We travel, pray, believe when there's no real evidence of what we want ever coming true. We become absorbed in the crowd or relish the solitude, touching them from time to time but they never last. Those moments are holy and special. We want them back.

Last night I was tossing and turning in bed, falling in and out of sleep, hugging Sarah or staring at the numbers on the ceiling letting me know what time it was. Thoughts came in rushes, flooding my brain with different images or dreams. I was restless.

As is my custom I climbed out of bed and walked outside in the middle of the night to the beloved back deck. Brilliant stars danced in a black sky. Goddess followed me and lay beside me as I just stood there in prayerful thought.

Several years ago I went through a lot at once, like Arthur's Battle of Camlann. I was left fatally wounded, hurt and betrayed. Avalon was Tybee. Saints came to my rescue and Sarah emerged from a watery past that was suddenly out of focus. Like Arthur leaving Avalon with Excalibur after he was healed because he had more to do ...

I feel that way.

It's why I'm restless.

There is more to do.

All of the things I've done are buried and in the past. What I'm doing now is far more interesting. But the things I will do in the coming years with Sarah are far more intriguing. There were times I felt I'd died and there is no question that lots of people were wishing I'd just go away.

But I didn't.

I've been healed.

And I'm restless ... not for what's next ... but for now.

Mitt Romney and Tybee Foreign Policy

When I wasn't watching Monday night football or the conclusion of the incredible comeback of the Giants against the Cardinals or stealing glances of Sarah in her nighties, I'd watch the final Presidential debate. Immediately I was stuck by a couple of things.

I think President Obama and Mitt Romney use the same mortician. They both looked dead. At the same time, the economy remains a mess so they probably went in together to split the cost of hiring somebody to make them look good. They both looked awful.

The focus of the debate was foreign policy. They talked about Libya, Israel, Egypt, the military, and how many jobs they would both create (which has nothing to do with the topic but they didn't seem to care).

The most interesting thing was when Mitt Romney said we get the American economy going again by opening up trade relationships with Central America. He claims its as big a market as China and jobs will get created if we open up those markets.

Now I know America has a lot of shit people in Central America want. Blue jeans, cars, I-pads, Bose speaker systems for the cars, X Boxes, videos of Glee and boxes of Animal Crackers. Who doesn't want that stuff?

But what does Central America have to trade in order to get these things?

Mitt Romney knows ... Opium!

It's their biggest crop and I heard Mitt saying last night that Poppy is apparently good for the American economy.

I didn't like him before and I've actually met him once but I started warming up to him during the debate.

Let's be honest we haven't had a great President since Bill Clinton. Bill knew how to have a good time in the White House! The man can multitask! Balance the budget, create a surplus, smoke a cigar and make oral sex popular ALL AT THE SAME TIME! We haven't had enough Presidents who know how to have a good time. I think we have a new possibility.

Mitt Romney may be on to something after all with this Central American thing. Let's keep being honest. We have terrible relationships with the Middle East. It's like going to supper with a family of people who hate each other.

The Euro continues to kick the dollar's butt, we really don't really care about Africa and China spends all of its time counting the interest of how much we owe them.

With the opium market opened in America, we wouldn't care. AND TO MAKE IT EVEN BETTER, Romney wouldn't tax like Obama would!

Does it get any better?

I'd sworn off politics but am suddenly interested again. Regardless of the elections outcome, I'm going to call Mayor Buelterman on Tybee Island where I live and ask him what our foreign policies are? We're surrounded by the ocean thereby exposed to possible attack by other countries. We must have a foreign policy. Most of the people who work in hotels here are from other countries!

But I'm especially interested in what is Tybee Island's relationship with Central American countries. It could be good for the island.

Really good!

It would be a great high for every American regardless of political persuasion.

My Story

"I still tell your stories," Ann Christiano told me as we chatted before she delivers a keynote address at a recent gathering in Memphis.

Ann is the Communications Professor at the University of Florida's College of Journalism and Communications.

I have no idea which stories she was referring to we haven't seen one another in years. Back in the day we would be in Washington D.C. working Capitol Hill with the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation.

Several days later on LinkedIn Phillippa Moss sent me a private message. It's been years since I've seen her too. Back then she was with the Georgia Department of Community Affairs and we did a lot of work together. It was a great relationship. She gave me money and I spent it! Does it get any better?

Anyway, she wrote that she speaks of me often in her work in Hall County government. She tells my stories.

Stories last when people don't.

More than anything else, people remember stories.

I recall the first time I tried to write a story. It was in college and I was doing a paper for history class and tried to describe a battle so I used a lot of adjectives. I got an "A".

In Seminary I learned to preach and good preaching is storytelling. (There's a lot of bad preaching out there because too many Preachers have forgotten how to tell stories!).

Then I started writing the stories down and they became books.

I hit the road and told stories in churches, Rotary Clubs, on radio and television shows, at Congress and Chambers of Commerce.

These days I write my stories and post them on Facebook, Blogspot, Twitter and LinkedIn. They go all over the world and people from around the globe write me privately or post publicly.

The world has changed. It's at your fingertips now. Communication happens whenever you want and with whoever you want. You don't have to travel or try to make appointments. We text rather than call, stream video instead of paint pictures and post photographs instead of using words.

Still ... it's the stories that people remember.

These days I work with a great group of friends to use all of the above to help tell their stories. Check it out at www.letustellit.com

It is fun and gratifying work to see others gain customers, increase sales or simply get their point across.

It's funny to me that Goddess has her own fan base and when we're out people will ask, "Is that Goddess? Oh My God, it's Goddess. Take a picture!"

Winston, the little gay dog, is extremely popular every time I write about him.

My next door neighbor ... The Cat Lady ... screeching "HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY!" in her bathrobe and blue towel on her head is somehow beloved and people wait on me to tell what she's doing now.

Sarah and I take the girls out for pizza and people walk up to say, "So this is the family!" They know all about them.

Jeremy and Marie, Kristen, Chelsea and Sam all have to live with the question, "That's your Dad?"

If I don't have the stories posted on Facebook or Blogspot by 9ish, my computer and phone start buzzing while people ask, "What in the hell are you doing this morning? Dammit I'm having coffee and want my story! What's happened now? Has Goddess bitten the Cat Lady? Did Winston, the little gay dog, pee on the bed again? How does Sarah put up with you?"

So it's all about the story.

The other thing is it's good for me to tell all of these stories. They are meant to be shared and confession really is good for the soul. What begins as me processing and reflecting over the things that happen somehow end up being enjoyed or helping others. As you give so shall you receive.

So ... that's my story ... and I'm sticking to it.

Hung Over on Sunday

It's best to be honest about it.

I'm hungover.

"It's not my fault", to quote Madison Lingenfelter.

I think it's Dani Sadowski's ... I mean Wesoloski.  I married them last night. Afterwards, alcohol was a factor but it wasn't the only one.

Sarah and I danced a lot and that's always intoxicating.

The Beloved Dawgs of Georgia won but barely (though looking at the score this morning ... we kicked their asses!).

The other dogs ... Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog, were busted again yesterday.

The police showed up and gave us a summons to go court ... again.

Apparently they have big parties whenever Sarah and I take a walk around the block or go off island. They don't bark while we're here but evidently raise holy hell when we're gone. So the Tybee Island Police Department launched a major investigation dedicating four different officers to the case. All I can say is that it's very difficult harboring criminals who are so sly they only bark when we're gone.

Goddess doesn't seem to give a shit. Winston, the little gay dog, is already planning what he's going to wear to court.

I saw the Tybee Coyote this morning. He was strolling down 13th Street as I was driving home from The Breakfast Club. It's confusing to me because I didn't think he existed but he evidently does. I suppose the Tybee Island Police Department has officers dedicated to the case.

On the upside, Jenny O approached Sarah and I about going to Key West for Christmas. It was funny because Sarah and I were talking about that earlier in the day. Such things make you believe in God.

I gotta go.

The towel on my head is cold and I need to put hot water on it.

The sun has come up and my sun glasses don't seem to be working as good as they did in the dark.

I'm afraid Sarah's dead in bed and need to go check on her.

I just have one question ... which leg do I move first ... and how?

Elmo Weeks ... a hero of mine.

"It's Micheal Elliott," she said not bothering to cover the receiver as she announced my call to her husband.

"Oh!," I heard Elmo exclaim. "Yes, I want to talk to him," and I heard the shoving of a chair across a floor as the 92 year old man made his way to the phone.

"Micheal," his vibrant voice exploded into my ear.

"Hey Elmo," I said smiling.

He is a special man, the second representative of a third generation family funeral business.

Back in the days when AIDS was exploding and I was working to house people everyone else was shunning, I learned to love Elmo. Fathers would shun their sons and leave them to die alone because they were ashamed of boys growing up to be themselves and then literally dying because of it! At the time, funeral homes wouldn't take their bodies because they were afraid they would catch AIDS.

I was sitting with the body of such a boy one day and didn't know what to do. His family didn't want him. So I called Elmo.

"Of course," he said. "I'll have someone right over."

And he did.

For the next several years ... when there was no one else to call, I'd call Elmo. He always had the same response ... "Of course."

"How are you Micheal?" he asked as I stood barefoot on the beloved back deck. "I told your Mother that I need to talk to you. I just want to see how you're doing."

It's been three years since I've seen him. My eyes grew moist as memories flooded through my heart.

I don't know how many people Elmo buried for me but it was a lot. He never charged anything. He only said, "Of course."

I told him I was good. I told him about Sarah. He asked about the kids. He told me about a his recent hospital stay. He told me he was good for someone so old.

His voice was that of a young man. Love and warmth poured into my ear as he spoke. We didn't speak of the funerals but there is a sense ... a shared bond that no one else will ever understand ... of the things that we did together.

Today is a special day of joy. Dani Sadowski is getting married and I'm performing the ceremony. Dani has been part of my life since she was a baby. I can't imagine what my life would have been like without her and her brother Ryan and my kids. We all grew up together.

Later today, she and Peter will be toasted and I really look forward to that.

But I'll take a moment to raise my glass to Elmo Weeks ... an unassuming hero who was always there when nobody else wanted to be ... when fathers abandoned their sons ... and death was a way of life.

I am sure I will cry.

Then I will grab Sarah's hand and we will dance.

Church Lust

It's finally Friday.  There's a lot to do today but this evening I have the possibility of a date with my wife. The kids are scattered to and fro on the face of the earth and the girls are gone for the weekend. It's hard to not get excited.

You work to date.

At least that's my philosophy.

Regardless of marital status, dating is a key component to life. I prefer to date my wife because we almost always have a wonderful time.

Before we were married I dated some other people and, while they were all nice, it just doesn't come close to going out with Sarah.

Yesterday we went to the funeral of a dear friend. It was a Catholic Mass and one of the things I noticed was the use of the words "Dear Friend" in the Liturgy. That's probably where I picked up my use of the words. I call a lot of people my "dear friend" and it likely got ingrained in my head when I did the Scripture readings at the St. Martin of Tours Catholic Church in Louisville, Kentucky.

My dear friend Vernon Robertson was the Priest. I was a Southern Baptist minister. He was old. I was young. We were an unlikely pair. I did the readings during noonday Mass and he would come preach during the Wednesday night service.

Consequently I learned the Liturgy and when I miss organized religion I really like a good Catholic Mass. While it happens, it takes talent for a Priest to screw up the Liturgy.

The celebration of dear friends is part of good worship. I try to live my worship.

After the funeral my car wouldn't start. I'm not good at that stuff so I just kept trying to crank it while hitting the gas peddle. Sarah said, "Let me do it and take your foot of the peddle."

It immediately cranked.

That's life right? We all stall from time to time while we're trying to do more significant things. The holy is always in tandem with the humerous.

During the funeral Sarah and I were holding hands on the back pew in the choir loft. She was wearing a short black dress and I was looking at her leg. Church lust is the best lust!

Yesterday and last night were full of stalls, disruptions, alien interference and Satanic movements. Thank God that's over!

It's Friday and work is almost done.

Then I plan on asking my wife to go out on a date.

And if everything goes right, Church lust will come true.

That's the dearest of the dear.

Qutting and Politics

For decades I knocked around Savannah City Hall, the County Courthouse, the Georgia State Capitol, Congress and every single Department of the U.S. Government (H.U.D. is by far the worst damn place to visit in America while the Library of Congress is pretty sweet!).

I love Savannah, tolerate Atlanta and really like hanging around the Mall in Washington D.C.

If you do politics you're always hurrying up to wait. So my ass has occupied chairs waiting on Mayors, Councilpersons, Legislators, Congressmen and Senators. I've been with three Presidents and Congressman Jack Kingston once chewed me out in front of Mitt Romney who may or may not be President.

It was in Atlanta and Jack was endorsing Mitt for something or another as I was making my to occupy another chair waiting on one of the chosen members of the Elect.

"Elliott," Kingston bellowed, "I need to talk to you."

"Shit," I muttered because I knew what it was about. Nevertheless I made my way to Jack and the man who may or may not be President.

"Elliott, it is proper protocol that if Congress is going to give you money you should at least ASK THE CONGRESSMAN!"."

"I knew you busy," I replied. "I didn't want to bother you."

"My office orchestrated giving you quarter-of-a-million dollars and I read about it in the bill that HAS ALREADY BEEN AUTHORIZED!"

"You have a great staff," I said. "They handled it so you could concentrate on more important things."

Romney watched this exchange.

"I gotta go Jack," I told him. "I'm late for somebody whose going to make me wait," and I took off losing myself in the crowd.

The $250,000 was money for mentally ill people in Savannah.

In politics you win or lose battles in a war that never ends.

I agree with Bob Dylan who was agreeing with Samuel Johnson ... "Politics is the last refuge to which a scoundrel clings."

I know that's cynical. I have lots of friends who are into politics and have been elected to something.

Shirley Sessions is one of my dearest friends!

The last time I saw Jack I was tailgating at a University of Georgia football game and he walked up.

"Hey Mike," he said obviously wanting to take a break from the crowd he was working.

"Hey Jack," I said shaking his hand. "You want a beer?"

He shook his head. "I'm working."

"Bummer," I answered putting the beer back in the cooler.

He went back to shaking hands and kissing ass as I took another swig of Michelob.

My son and friend Jeremy was sitting beside me. At the time I was pretty fragile having left the work, dealing with a marriage that had left me engulfed in a weariness that I didn't how to handle.

"You miss it Dad?" I remember him asking.

Holding the Michelob to my lips I watched Jack working the crowd at a football game because he believes he's making a difference. Sometimes he does. Most times he doesn't. He refuses to quit though.

I looked at my son and, "Sometimes."

Starting Work

The day begins in the dark as I crawl out of bed trying not to step on the dogs as I grab my towel and toothbrush making my way downstairs. Sneaking into Laurel's room, I wake her and then stumble to the outdoor shower and am baptized in the hot water as I stare at a black sky full of brilliant stars.

At this point I say the first prayer of the day. There are no words ... just feelings about protecting those I love and letting this day be a happy one for all of them ... that it be productive and useful ... I hope I do far more good than bad ... when the sun goes down and stars come out tonight I can look upon the day and along with God say, "It is good."

Climbing up the stars, Laurel is dressed and waiting in the dark. I throw on clothes, kiss the top of Sarah's sleeping head and we head to The Breakfast Club. Laurel likes cheeseburgers for breakfast and I've promised her one a week. We take our stools and she sort of sits on hers while also sitting on me at the same time.

Ryan walks over and pretends to pour coffee in her hot chocolate.

They stare at one another. Laurel smiles but doesn't say anything. Ryan laughingly calls her "Burger Head" and walks away.

Laurel's impatient about her burgers. She keeps asking when it will be done. I tell her when it's finished.

When it's done, she's handed a to-box and we leave money on the counter and leave. Everyone wishes me and "Burger Head" a good day.

The morning's second is a group prayer as words are spoken.

Back home Laurel asks me to cut her burger in half. As I do she takes the lettuce off while pouring more ketchup on.

"Why did you order lettuce if you're not going to eat it?"

Looking at me sheepishly she explains, "I didn't want them to think I was only getting onion and ketchup on it."

Understandingly I nod my head.

Now its time to drive Maddie to school. Maddie is a girly girl and is forever late as she's getting ready. I say out loud that she's going to be late and while this means nothing to her, once Sarah reinforces it Maddie is ready.

She hugs Sarah good-bye and they linger. Then Sarah hugs me and tells me to  be careful. Then she and Maddie hug again. These are the morning's third set of prayers and we've moved from feeling to words to hugs in their progression.

The drive to school consist of a blaring radio blasting Hymns by Lady Gaga (if its Maddie's station) or the Greg Kihn Band (if it's mine). Few words are spoken. When we get to school, she opens the door and looks at me and says "Thank you Mike."

The forth prayer of the morning is one of Thanksgiving.

"Thank you Maddie," I say as she shuts the door so she says it again.

The drive home is always delightful on the causeway through the marsh. I am mindful of the changing of the season as the marsh grass turns from green to golden. Things are changing. As I top the Lazaratto Bridge, shrimp boats are to my right and the ocean on my left. I stare at the ocean and it makes me feel small and insignificant in the universe. It's the fifth prayer. I am humbled before the majesty of God.

Back home Cassidy is up having breakfast. She's running behind as she always is. Stuffing strudel in her mouth she wants to play. Sarah sits across from her writing birthday invitations for her upcoming party.

The morning suddenly explodes as Sarah rushes Cass and Laurel to the car. They tell me goodbye and to have a good day at work. I hug Sarah and tell her to be careful and the morning routine has come full circle. The morning's third prayer is repeated by the one who received it.

Now the house is quiet. I take my place on the beloved back deck and fire up the computer. Goddess lays under my dangling feet and Winston, the little gay dog, settles down nearby as I pray the morning's final prayers.

"Hey God! Bring them all back safe. Make my kids feel my love today. I'm scared about the future but pretty certain about today. Let's kick some ass!"

The sun breaks above the house behind ours and brilliant yellow rays battle with clouds to shine down upon me. The war of the children of light and the children of darkness has begun.

Morning prayers are over.

Work has started.

The Deleted

Sitting in the bright sunshine on a beautiful Monday morning in the corporate headquarters of Micheal Elliott Enterprises, I was streaming WKYZ out of Key West and my bare feet were grooving on the deck. My tee shirt has a bunch of sharks on it with a lone diver descended between them. The caption reads "Test Your Faith".  The black running shorts complete the ensemble meeting the company dress code.

In juxtaposition, I'm pretty intense and focused alternating stares between two I-phones and two different laptops. On one is my contact list and the other is flashing LinkedIn. One I-phone is opened to contacts and the other has messages buzzing pretty consistently.

Our new venture Let Us Tell It ( www.letustellit.com ) has me completely absorbed and it's almost 8:00 in the morning. The rising sun tops the house behind ours and rests in the branches of the Palm Tree with the Oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt. The phone buzzes and someone has re-tweeted my tweet. I'll check it out later.

Wearing less than me, Sarah stumbles into the kitchen which also serves as our smaller conference room, for coffee. Yawning, she blows me a kiss and says "Morning."

After admiring the view, I mumble back and return to the task at hand ... purging and updating my contact list. I haven't done it since I was at Union Mission so there were hundreds of names to go through.

It is a thoughtful exercise.

Some were dead and each gave me pause. I celebrated the lives of most while others I couldn't hit the "delete" button fast enough sending them to wherever they end up.

There were many who used to be friends and colleagues but aren't anymore. The ties that had bound us tightly have long loosened. We no longer hold each other dear having moved on with our lives. They join the dead as I hit the "delete" button.

As I'm doing this, the little red flag on LinkedIn keeps popping up as people ask me "What's Up?", "Where you been?", and "Wanna get together for beers?"

Of course this makes me go back and "un-delete" some of "the deleted." They aren't so bad after all!

I go get my sunglasses and take the "Keep the Faith" tee shirt off. The sunshine is too bright for me to read past the glare of the computer screens. Hitting "Control P" I print out the list of "the deleted" and "the chosen ones."

The first is far larger than the second.

I linger over them both.

Then I throw the first one away.

Then I go back to work.

Do it again David Ring

Sometimes death comes slowly and you have time to watch it take someone as they slowly slip away. Other times it slaps you hard in the face and kicks you in the stomach. On Sunday, beautiful day that the Lord had made, the Grim Reaper unexpectedly grabbed the throat of an entire island when he took David Ring.

David was larger than life.

Incredibly funny, it seemed as though he'd done everything. "I've got a 21 year old brain in an old man's body," he told me not too long ago.

It's true! He never lost celebrating life even when his body refused to cooperate with his wishes.

"My wife told me to come out from under that bed and fight like a man ," he said one morning at The Breakfast Club.

David brought laughter wherever he went.

Lord the stories that are being remembered!

One year Jennie Orr sponsored a Best Buns on the Beach competition to raise money for diabetes, which David had. So Johnny O, David and I were all corraled to partcipate. Johnny stood there stupidly in his underwear. I ripped off my robe displaying a bikini bathing suit. David stripped down to a pair of lady's leopord thongs. Jumping on a pinic table on the pier he danced and gyrated while people threw money at him for the cause.

Then a testical popped out.

David continued to dance so his wife Diane ran up and poked it back in.

"Did you see that," Johnny O asked.

"Yep. What do you say?"

David shattered the record for raising money for diatetes.

There are countless stories.

"I'll tell you something Micheal," he said a couple of weeks ago. "I've done everything I've ever wanted to do. I loved doing every bit but I have one regret."

"What's that?" I asked.

Cocking his head to one side while raising an eyebrow and flashing a half smile he explained, "I just wish I could do it all again."

Me too David.

I wish you could too.

Part of the Future

"Hey Mike," John said as he and his wife stumbled into The Breakfast Club this morning. "I haven't seen you in while," he smiled shaking my hand.

He's a commerical realitor and we used to do a lot of business together. I bought a very entrepreneual spirit to homelessness and over the years collected and sold lots of buildings. It was great fun and I liked building or renovating them.

It's one of the things that I miss about what I used to do. I like doing deals. Things that aren't suppose to happen can and its a rush when they do!

Then there's the joy of watching someone who doesn't have a place to live or access to health care move in or get treated for the first time.

It's fun creating something out of nothing ... especially when nobody thinks you have a snowballs chance in hell!

Ted Turner recently said that if you're a betting person, ninety percent of all new ventures fail. So if you bet against them you're going to win ninety percent of the time. It's real easy to be a skeptic about someone else doing something."

Everything I've ever done in life people have lined up to bet against me.

So far they've lost.

So here I go again ... starting something new. I believe in it. I know the people I'm working with are the right people. I believe the wind is in our sails and there's smooth sailing ahead. I understand that God is with us.

Oftentimes, the past gets in your way. For a couple of years, it certainly got in mine.

But I'm a believer in the future. I'm a member of the ten percent who believe that dreams comes true in spite of the things other people say.  I don't know how I know but ... I know.

"If you're not part of the future then get out of the way," says John Mellencamp.

To which I add, "Now! Dammit!"

Cat Lady

It's best to be honest about it. If I had a gun I would shoot the cat that is screeching and her owner who is also screeching.

"HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY," she yells from her back deck dressed in a faded pink bath robe with cat hair flying around and a blue towel wrapped high on her head.

She looks and sounds like Marge Simpson on meth!

The cat is moaning in the bushes below and obviously not happy that her owner is up and calling for her.

It is a beautiful morning. A northeast ocean breeze blows cool air on a warm day. Leaves dance, choirs of birds sing and a brilliant sun rest in the branches of the Palm Tree with the oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt. Goddess lovingly snores underneath my feet which dangle from the high top chair on the beloved back deck. Winston, the little gay dog, is quiet and preoccupied licking himself. Sarah is asleep and I sit in thoughtfulness thinking deep things.

Then the cat starts moaning seconds before my neighbor the Cat Lady starts screeching as she is apparently unaware of noise ordinance laws on Tybee Island.

Because I do not own a gun and can't take her out now, I contemplate calling the police. That would be easy. You can get arrested for anything on the island now. It's not like the old days when you really had to try!

Now Tybee is a dichotomy of free spirited loving people and Nazis. The church people mostly get along while the politicians take sides spitting venom at one another. The marsh is changing seasons ... from the brilliant greens that I love to a golden brown that almost looks like a wheat field.

Beauty drips everywhere on a morning that God made just for me.

Until the Cat Lady wakes.

Then Hell comes on earth as it is in ... HELL!

Suddenly I believe in violence, the NRA, carrying concealed and not-so-concealed weapons, Satan and Rush Limbaugh.

Cat Lady sees me sitting here. Goddess growls. Winston, the little gay dog, stops licking himself and growls too assuming the position beside his older sister.

"Good morning," Cat Lady screeches.

I nod and shake my head trying to conjure a response but it just won't come.

She turns and walks back inside leaving a swirling cloud of cat hair.

The cat moans again.

Suddenly, Goddess, Winston the little gay dog and I all feel sorry for the cat.