Parking on my anniversary

"How long are you going to celebrate your anniversary?" Johnny O asked as I stumbled in the door marked "Exit Only" at The Breakfast Club where the City of Tybee has taken away my normal parking space.

"Ummm, all year," I replied sitting across from him. "Why did the city take away another parking place?"

"It's part of the Master Plan," Franklin, who is brown, answers.

"The City has a Master Plan?"

"There's a plan?"

"This is a city?"

"Are they making Coyote crossings?"

"What's Sarah doing?"

The questions are too numerous to process so I sip my coffee and watch David Peters park beside the freshly painted yellow curb that used to be my parking place.

It's not like the old days.

Tybee used to have a great parking plan! If your car didn't tip over, you could park there.

Now the City's plan centers around accommodating more cars by eliminating parking spaces. This is in keeping with the current philosophy of doing more with less demonstrated repeatedly in every election.

I'm not going to worry about it though. Today's my anniversary and we plan on celebrating, culminating in fireworks which are illegal in Georgia so we plan on doing it another way!

Assuming we can find a place to park.

Joyeux Anniversaire

Topping the Lazaretto Bridge, the brilliant sunshine is radiant on miles of brown marsh grass against a background of deep blue sky. There are no clouds. It is so bright the Bull River condos shimmer, as if they're Hula dancing in the distance. The giant flag over Fort Pulaski hangs limp. It's impossible to not feel good. No one on the Tybee Road is in a hurry stretching the drive by slowing down.

It is low tide so I find myself staring at the deep green of the marsh blanketed by the dead grass which is slowly giving way. Soon a high tide will roll in and carry away the brown, washing the marsh clean and leaving the brilliant greens of a new season.

What was once old has been made new.

Tomorrow is Joyeux Anniversaire for Sarah and me.

A joyous year has passed since we promised ourselves to one another under a full moon on the beach. Surrounded by the happiest of friends, it seems that everyone present, both our friends and strangers who had come for other reasons, all danced in delight. Children jumped in the pool and blessings rained down upon us.

I hold these things in my heart, staring at the life of the green grass pushing the dead of the past from its roots. The old in my life has given way to the new. I've certainly been reborn. Sarah has too. Together we're making a future. It's got a fairy tale feel to it.

That's not to say they're not scary moments when unexpected and frightening things happen ... when Goblins from the past try to grab old and drag us backwards ... where people who are good turn out to be evil and witches turn into Queens ... but its mostly been a year of joy.

In the world of fairy tales, everything turns out happily ever after and that's the main difference between make-believe and the real world that in which in live. Reality means nothing's perfect, bad things really do happen and nobody's ever as happy as they pretend.

In spite of such realities, I remain a firm believer in happily-ever-after. Good triumphs evil even when it doesn't seem like it ever will, unscrupulous people are undone by their scruples, toads turn into Princes, Saviors rise from the dead and the old is made new again.

It is a time to celebrate these things! Many of them have come true already ... I live with a Queen ... and so much more is just around the corner as we watch the green grass of the marsh grow into the light of today. Happily-ever-after is upon us.

Puppy Prozac

When all the dust had settled, Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog, received $50 fines plus court cost. After months of inquiry, investigation and intrigue it was over in less than ten minutes.

Goddess was cool about it all throughout the ordeal. She took her medicinal medication and disappeared in a cloud of smoke. I'd often find her just laying there, staring into space, surrounded by empty bags of Doritos and brownie baking pans.

On the other hand, Winston, the little gay, Diva, Bi-Polar, Son-of-a-bitch remains traumatized. He is now throwing up for no apparent reason. He shivers all of the time though he constantly wears his sweater, this one with the words "Fundamentalist have different views of gay sex --- mostly on the Internet or on Video."

He hides under the bed if anyone knocks on the door.


He tries to pick fights with Goddess.

Yesterday we gave him Puppy Prozac and have high hopes.

We'll see.

Last night ended up being a beautiful evening. I threw steaks on the grill and baked potatoes. Sarah made the most colorful of salads. I built a fire and listened to the waves breaking in the distance. Brilliant stars shown in a black sky. There was a calm after the storm.

It's been quite the year.

Sarah and I are on the eve of our first wedding anniversary. Since then we've traveled a lot, started a new business with Sean and Wen, took a road trip with the Carnival of Friends, serve as hosts for a book club at our house, and had Winston's balls cut off.

(The Judge did not asked to actually see the wacked balls as evidence though I had them in a baggie just in case. He did ask to see the receipt however which I provided.)

But the case is closed and we can look forward to celebrating happier things.

I gotta go ...

Winston, the little gay dog, has just overdosed on the Puppy Prozac and has barricaded himself under the bed by building a wall of tennis balls, though it is nicely decorated with throw pillows, candles and he's listening to Barry Manilow sing "I write the songs."

I'm going to kill that little Diva son-of-a-bitch.

This is my world

"You can kiss your family and friends good-bye and put miles between you, but at the same time you carry them with you in your heart, your mind, your stomach, because you do not just live in a world but a world lives in you. You are a world."

So says my favorite author Frederick Buechner and I think he means the same thing Jesus did when he said, "Take up your cross" which means take up your own life, and everything and everyone in it, and carry on.

Of course no one, not even Jesus himself, can carry it all without help. Jesus stumbled and someone named Simon was told to help him and did.

It's not who you thought would have helped. His friends were all in hiding, denial or scared shitless for their own selves. I think Jesus wondered about this too and by the time he was hanging on the cross that he'd carried he screamed out, "Where the hell is everybody and that includes you God!"

Then he died.

And he took it all with him to that cross, his mother, the most trusted friends, all the fair faced Hosanna singers hung there with him in his heart, his mind and stomach. In the end it was just him alone and his last words said as much. "Where in the hell is everybody?"

In the same way it is our lives that we carry, and sometimes it makes us stumble and on occasion, if we're lucky someone appears to carry it a bit for us because it's too damn much for us to endure sometimes.

The betrayals, the divorces, deaths, unrealized potential and lost opportunities all gash at the beauty of the thing ... this life that we're gifted with. And just like Jesus, every single one of us cry out in pain and hurt, "Where in the hell is everybody?" because everybody ... the ones we loved and believed in with everything inside loved us, those we thought to be better, a few who promised that they would always be there ... were gone.

And we are alone.

When Jesus makes his next appearance, he's mistaken for the gardener. Dirty straw hat and coveralls, dirt under his fingernails make him so unrecognizable to those who loved him still, he has to tell them ... "It's me"  though they all had a hard time believing it. Some eventually came around but a lot never did.

It's that way with us too. At least for me it is. I have a small group who still believe in me though I'm nothing like I was.

He's not the same of course. No one who lives through such things are. He wasn't and we aren't either. The ones who love me do so for who I am and not for what I can do because I can't do much anything like I used to be able to pull off. But there is a peace that I've never had before, a smile that erupts from my heart and not from the affirmation of others. I'm not certain of what's next but I'm not frightened or worried ... it'll work out ... I been through worse.

Flowers are blooming on the back deck, in defiance of a cold spell, promising of this new life. Sarah has ordered a new table and chairs to accommodate us all for dinners, talks and conversations on it. The winter passes away and the days grow longer. This is my world. I've lived through too damn much to get to it.

My Unexpected Journey

Sitting around the dining room table, we snacked and sipped our drinks while the conversation had turned to religion. Our book club had read Gregg Allman's "My Cross to Bear" and I have no idea how matters of dogma, faith and purpose rose from it but they had.

"I do think we'll all together in each other's lives for a reason," I said. "I mean the odds of us all ending up together here on Tybee, as friends at a time when we can all really use each other is pretty far fetched otherwise."

"So you believe in predestination," Glenn smiled.

"Oh yeah," I replied. "Whenever I fall down the stairs I get up and say, 'Thank God that's over.'"

Everybody laughed.

I'm not so certain that God picked this particular day for a collection of people who'd recently rearranged everything about their lives to get together. I do think we've each put ourselves in a  position to help the other and that's what we were doing. Whenever people help each other, there's something holy about it.

Thinking back over my life, I've been blessed with people who intensely became a part of me. They were in the right place at the right time for help me move a bit further along in life. Many are now dead, most have moved on somewhere else and a precious few remain constant.

It is funny though. Just a few short years ago, my life centered around work, a particular collection of people and completely a different way of living. But that part of the journey concluded and I suddenly found myself with new friends (some brought back from the dead), a completely different purpose and little about the way I live now resembles what it did then.

I'm stuck by the radical changes I've lived. Sometimes there are things I miss about the old life but I'm pretty focused on living now one day at a time.

"Not all those who wander are lost," Tolkien wrote as two Hobbits set out on a quest to save the world they knew and loved. Before they were done, Frodo and Sam were not the same people and their beloved Shire wasn't the same either.

That's how I think about it these days. I'm on a new and totally unexpected journey though I'm lucky enough, perhaps even blessed, to have these companions, many of who I didn't even know just a short while ago.

Maybe it was all predestined though I don't think so. Even the most scripted of journeys rarely go according to plan. But I do think that God is involved somehow. There is faith in the journey's end and the holiness of this collection of travelers has to be more than mere chance. There are fears that come in the night, goblins and evil people who have left deep scars.

More than these things though, a wonderment fills me as I walk beside these friends on an unexpected journey where it is ourselves we are finding.

Real Kitty Love

"You should have written more about Winston, the little gay puppy," Johnny O told me sitting at the  Counter of the Breakfast Club."

"Ummm," I mumbled paying him no attention.

"I got all excited when you started off with Winston but then your blog fizzled out after that," Johnny O continued paying no attention to the fact that I wasn't paying him any attention.

I had more important things on my mind.

The Cat Lady has a new lover.

Apparently my fuzzy pink bathrobe with blue bunny skippers next door neighbor with the blue towel wrapped high on her head and cat fur circling around her like a halo is a phenomenon in bed.

Looking like Marge Simpson on Meth as she screams "HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY!" throughout the day apparently draws a certain kind of male. A few weeks ago it was a sandy hair, crisp white shirt wearing dude driving a white Bronco. With glistening white teeth I saw him open the fuzzy pink bathrobe, raising a cloud of cat hair around them, and he shook in anticipation.

I threw up in my mouth a little.

Now the white Bronco is gone ... replaced by a brown one. He has black hair and uses product in it. His tanned chest is shaved, immaculate white teeth glisten, and his biceps bulge. She no sooner yells, "HERE KI ..." before he's on her, ripping the towel off her head, opening the fuzzy pink bathrobe and disappearing inside.

A frenzied moan emerges. A duet of MEOWs is punctuated with kitten grunts and they're lost in a volatile cloud of cat hair with an occasional arm or leg sticking out.

Goddess covers her head. Winston, the little gay dog, wearing a red sweater with the words "Closets are for clothes!" runs inside and hides under the bed.

A hundred hot and bothered feral cats seem to appear from everywhere at once seemingly encouraging each guttural MEOW screamed from her deck.

The earth moves and then ... all is quiet in sweaty exhaustion.

He stands on wobbly knees, picking cat fur from his mouth. My neighbor closes her robe with a smile and he helps her stand. They disappear inside and the hundred feral cats follow them.

I stand on the beloved back deck as witness to it all.

I'm left with only one question.

Where's a coyote when you really need one?

This Day

Bright sunshine floods the kitchen and Winston, the little gay, dog can't seem to get enough of it, laying there content and wrapped around himself.

Sarah remains snuggled under blankets, enjoying the leisure of a morning in a quiet house. Her children are gone so there are no demands being made, no breakfast to cook or schedules to manage.

Goddess lays on the floor at the foot of the bed watching over her, ever protectant, all loving, intently watching me each time I walk past the door to check on my wife.

In spite of the cold, a bird sings a solo from a tree in the backyard in protest of winter's refusal to leave early.

A lone flower, red and defiant against the winter day, blooms on the beloved back deck. Two pinkish orange Hibiscus blooms stand tall above it. Green leaves are abundant in the flower pots strategically placed for our enjoyment.

I sit at the table watching the ocean breeze blow the branches from the Palm Trees and they appear to beckon Saviors to arrive, though the street remains empty Yet they continue to wave hopefully.

Trance like, I see all of this but I may as well be looking a million miles away as the things around me come into focus only to grow watery again as I see things off in the distance. It feels very much like prayer though I am not thinking of God or Jesus, Saints or prophets or anything holy.

"This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it," said whoever wrote it all those years ago.

I don't much feel like rejoicing through I'm pretty glad this day has arrived. I wish it were a warmer day but at least its sunny and bright. I'll take it. It's all I've got anyway.

Perhaps I'll rejoice later.

For the moment, I'm as content as everyone else in the house seems to be, with a bird singing outside and flowers blooming in spite of the cold, staring off in the watery distance of a future being made.

It's always Christmas here!

It always feels like Christmas on Tybee Island!

That's because the city forgot to take down all of the decorations from Christmas.

Between 14th and 15th Streets on Butler Avenue, also the Korean War Memorial Highway, nearing the end of Highway 80, you'll find one Christmas boat still hanging.

It still lights up at night and everything!

I'm not sure if this was planned by the City or not to leave a wee bit of the Holiday Spirit year round on this clump of sand but I like it.

Yesterday I was driving past City Hall and read the flashing message on the electronic sign welcoming visitors to the island.

"PAY TO PARK!" is the warm fuzzy that greets everyone.

There's plenty of time to look for a parking place because so few people come to the island this time of year.

Well, unless you're on 12th Street where all of the parking spaces have been done away with and replaced by yellow curbs. There's no parking there even for the people who live there.

Not to worry! There are three large parking lots on the island and in the winter everyone has plenty of "Pay to Park" options.

Should the lots be full though, visitors still have plenty of time to search for parking though because of all the Stop Signs on the island.

Apparently another town went out of business and Tybee got a bargain on its signs. You can hardly go anywhere on the island without stopping. Of course we want people to stay and now it takes a really long time to leave once you're here.

It's all good though.

I'd still rather be here except for those times I'm not.

Everything beautiful that life has to offer

Sean, Wen and I were at the table just talking after a morning meeting. Sarah had rushed away to a lunch in town giving the three of us time to simply be together. We communicate most every day but hadn't had the chance to just sit for a while so nobody was in a hurry.

The topics varied but the major theme was acceptance. Life's rarely what we thought. Plans went array, wolves nip at heels and God prefers strange silence when we desperately need to know things. If you don't accept it then you're immediately overwhelmed what you can't control.

"Security is an illusion," is how Sean summed it up.

Later I was at Bernie's collecting my thoughts and preparing for the afternoon but found myself preoccupied. Amber is the daughter of Bill Berry (not the former drummer for REM but the other one; the one I love and have shared many an adventure with!). She's an amazing girl, beautiful and talented, a graduate of Savannah College of Art & Design, now back home in Richmond, Virginia.

She writes a blog ... "Live. Laugh. Lymphoma" ... that chronicles her diagnoses and treatment with Hodgkins Lymphoma. It's just "your every day, twenty-something girl, enjoying everything beautiful that life has to offer." (http://livelaughlymphoma.blogspot.com/2013/02/chemo-3-inspiration.html )

Just a few months ago she was happy and healthy, making her way through life when the cards she was dealt suddenly changed everything. Security is indeed an illusion. Yet Amber's first response was to say, "Well maybe I can be a mentor to the kids going through treatment."

Did I mention that Amber's amazing?

In the mornings, I check to see if she's posted anything and when she does I have a glimpse of what she's going through. It's pretty humbling ... especially if I'm worried about the cost of repairing the air conditioner at the rental house or why the contract at work is taking so damn long to close.

What we have is here and now. The people we have in our lives are the ones who are here. God's response to our demands to know why or how or when is a quiet affirmation of it is what it is. You're where you're at ... with who you're with ... with both opportunities and obstacles. Do with it what you will. It's all you've got.

The question is what are you going to do today?

Enjoy everything beautiful that life has to offer you?

Or settle for something less?

The joy of the few

After dropping off Sarah's oldest daughter at school this morning I was stuck in traffic as mostly Mothers were bringing their children. I was heading out as they were arriving and I found myself staring inside the compact universes of other lives behind windshields.

Most were talking on their cellphones as their sons and daughters were writing texts or playing games on their phones. Others were yelling or animatedly talking to children who either were yelling back or staring straight ahead not listening. The rest were staring off in the distance as they drove, already invested in the things that needed to be done while their kids occupied themselves with getting things ready for school.

I didn't see any of them playing.

No one was laughing.

It stuck me as sad, though I don't know why. Most had drug themselves out of bed, quickly dressed, gobbled down breakfast, were admonished for not moving fast enough lest they be late. The kids would enter another universe at school were the foundations are friends, social interaction peppered with some education. The mothers drove off into their worlds, sullen, pre-occupied and serious.

Turning up the radio and rolling down the window I sang loudly. After days of rain, the sun is shinning, and the marsh grass is a dark brown with hints of green at its roots. Soon it will be an explosion of lush bright greens and the ocean will carry away the dead sprouts from last year.

That which is old will be made new again.

This is my second go-around driving kids to school. A generation ago, I took my kids. I remember singing loudly and laughing often. Perhaps those are just the memories I retain and most mornings I was as sullen and preoccupied as the Moms I watched today. I don't think so.

This time around, things seem more serious. There is more at stake. Uniformed guards are at doors. Teachers double as security and traffic officers. Everything is locked. Dogs patrol hallways.

Times have changed.

Returning to the island, grey clouds cover the sunshine. Police cars lay in waiting behind Oleander bushes. Sullen drivers stare straight ahead into an unfocused distance. The wind picks up.

Turning up the radio, I sing songs from the past and resolve to not allow the unhappiness of the many interfere with the joy of the few.

Scared to dance?

"It's OK to be scared."

The eyes hearing this were doubtful.

"Everybody gets scared," I continued. "The thing is to embrace it. Dance with it."

"That will help?"

I took my time in answering, wanting to be completely understood. This is one of life's most important lessons. What do we do with our fears?

"I have no idea," I conclude, "but it sounds good."

It left me thinking though.

My Dad was always frightened of death. He had good reason, lying to join the Marines when he was sixteen, shipped to Korea, assigned to bring out the dead, captured by the enemy, shot in the mouth when he escaped and shipped home just after turning seventeen. He never wanted to go back.

Through the years, he didn't do well when sickness or death interfering with his life. I was run over by a car and could have been killed. My Mom was in a horrible wreck and almost died. My Grandfather's death. Dad would burst into tears and exclaim, "I just can't handle this!"

Sometimes we would drink beers together and talk about spiritual matters. He believed in God but wasn't too sure about heaven and hell. He was in and out of church throughout his life. He made certain that we were raised Christian but he struggled if things ever got too emotional.

It was funny then as he wrestled with his own death. He wasn't sure what he should do, sitting there in the hospital, but fear was gone. He wasn't scared any longer.

"What do you think I should do Mike?" he blurted out of the blue.

Surprised, I looked at David, then at Mom, before answering.

"I don't know Dad," I said as I sat in front of him, placing my hand on his knee. "About what?"

His hands were clasped and he was wringing them. His eyes never left them though he was looking at something much further away.

"I think I'm ready," he softly said.

None of us were prepared for that! The air was sucked out of the room. Mom let out a small gasp. He looked straight at me with the faraway green eyes, still wringing his hands.

"Hey Dad," I said rubbing his knee. "If you're ready, I'm OK with that."

David took my place and told Dad that if he was ready to be with Jesus then it was OK with him too.

And that was that! Dad dispensed with his greatest fear and orchestrated the most incredible death. Everyone who loved him had the chance to tell him and he responded in kind. The last words he every spoke were, "It was beautiful."

He could have been talking about a lot of things but I think he was referring to his life. The good and bad, the wonderful parts and the scary times, the profane and the holy.

I suppose death is the scariest thing we'll face, either our own or someone else's. And of course, death can come in lots of different ways ... careers, marriages, comfort and security ... and they can will all pass away.

So whenever I'm scared I think about my Dad. He wasn't the most graceful man but his death was the most graceful I've ever witnessed. The thing he was most frightened of was the very thing he danced with at the end.

And my Dad could always dance.

So when I get scared, I do my best to dance with it.

A Dreary Holiness

A melancholy Monday has rain falling on the table outside adding a punctuation mark to a most dreary day. The plan was to skirt this as much as possible and flee to warm weather, sunny skies and calm seas. For half the time it worked but the travel ran out before the month did. Dreariness is forecast for today and tomorrow so I'm settling in.

The list of things to do is long and each item has a short time line. Crunch time has arrived for many of the things we've been working towards. I'm restless to see them come to fruition. It's been a long time since I've been so focused on one thing.

Over the weekend we were in St. Augustine where the Carnival of Friends were celebrating the birth of one of our own. We talked of how subdued we've all become. Over the past few years we were all managing major and sometimes terrible transitions ... some were wanted while a few of us were just trying to survive.

Through it all though, we've had one another.

Others have come and gone and we toasted them and missed their presence. More than that we celebrated the fact that we're still here as the closest of friends.

We didn't speak of the future and we didn't dwell much on the past. We simply appreciated that we were together again.

We laughed between bouts of quiet reflection. There was an unspoken acceptance of everything we've been though and we freely admitted that we love each other.

This warms my heart on a dreary Monday with so much to do.

Sometimes there's nothing more to say because you grasp the holiness of such times.

Really Cool Christians

We're having Birthday cake for breakfast.

That's because things seemed to get out of hand last night at Jodee's birthday dinner. The dinner itself was superb ... Prime Rib, loaded baked potatoes, garlic green beans. Balloons floating above the table and the conversation was riveting.

Everyone was describing their first French Kiss. This makes for excellent and entertaining conversation over dinner.

To recap ... Sarah's was behind a stadium, Jodee's was on a bus and he tasted Doritos for the first time, Johnny O's was the most romantic under the moon, Cheryl's was with a farm boy in a garage, Marie's was in an elevator, Jeremy claims to have no recollection of his whatsoever, and mine was with Joyce Seckenger on her carport with streamers hanging down ...

I am not in a position to divulge who among us kissed their cousin fifteen times removed.

Then Cheryl disappeared and walked out this morning with a black eye. Jodee lost his pencil thin mustache and is wearing Cheryl's robe. Everyone is happy but moving in three-quarter time. Balloons litter the dining room floor. Johnny O is wearing a robe over the same clothes he wore last night.

Of course yesterday was also Purim, the Jewish holiday of deliverance which is celebrated with gifts of food and drink. No problem there! We all converted for a few hours last night. It was great!

This morning we're all Christians again. The sun is breaking through the clouds so we're cool looking Christians wearing sunglasses and listening to the "Hump de Bump" by the Red Hot Chili Peppers over coffee and  cake.

It's a good day after a really good night with really good friends.

Hallelujah!

I gotta go. Judy O just walked out to join us. She's been inside doing something. I don't know what. Talking to her cousin or something.

The List of Life

Italy. The coast of Africa. Ireland. Bora Bora. And then last night I learn Poland is on the list.

I'm alright with Poland ... so long as we go in the summer!

I've actually been once with Bill Berry (not the former drummer for REM but the other one) and it was quite the adventure. We got busted on a train when we were the only passengers. We woke up a fairly of Gypsies sleeping in front of an ATM then had to flee down the road. We jumped off a bus to spend the day in a concentration camp and were the only people there! We walked on railroad tracts until we could jump on a train to make our way back to another train.

But I digress.

We're in St. Augustine with the Carnival of Friends having a grand ol' time. For some unexplained reason, the conversation turned serious and Sarah and Jodee Sadowsky were talking of juggling Gypsies and suddenly the list grew longer. Who doesn't want to see juggling Gypsies ... especially when they're of your lineage?

Sarah and I have a list of places to visit. It always seems to be growing. I had no idea she wanted to go to her homeland until last night but now we have to go.

Complicating things is I want to keep returning to places I've already been like St. Martin, Key West and here in St. Augustine.

Further complicating things is Sarah is tired of traveling and would like to stay home for a while. She's forever indicating that I'm of the opinion that home is a nice place to visit but I wouldn't want to live there.

I don't think this is true but I do know a few things. Life is short and I'm determined to not miss out on what I have left of it. I don't know how or why but I've already gotten to see a lot of the world but there is more I want to experience.

A lot of people are surprised that we always seem to be going somewhere. "What you just got back?" they say. Implied under their words are certain convictions. Vacations are alright but should only occur occasionally. You should do that when you retire. If it's work-related then you are to be pitied but just going somewhere because you've never been is ludicrous. I think they want me to confine the way I live.

My friend Guy Sayles writes an excellent meditation and his latest revolves around what a panther sees confined to his cage ( http://www.facebook.com/notes/guy-sayles/free-from-the-cage/586866744674395). Guy suggest that God desires us to be free from the cages we inprision ourselves in as we live life.

So the list keeps growing. There's just so much to see waiting in front of me ... so we got to go.

Who needs February?

I don't care much for February.

Sure, there's Valentine's Day if you're so lucky to have one.

It's also black history month and that makes a lot of people happy.

Did you know that more heavy weather coats are produced in February than any other month?

Other than that it's a dud of a month. Football is over. March Madness hasn't come yet (as if I gave a rat's ass about basketball), baseball is still around the corner. It's cold, windy and dark way to early. Then there's ... wait, that's about it for February.

This year we took a different approach to enduring the month and making it celebratory! We booked a cruise to Central America in the beginning of the month and spent a week in hot weather, ocean breezes, Palm Trees and blue water. We saw dolphins, flying fish, explored Spanish ruins, collected new friends and had a really good time.

We got home last Sunday and it's been a busy week.

Staring outside, it's a shitty day. The wind is blowing and its raining. Sarah is perfectly content to crawl back in bed and sleep the day away. She'd take her book and if she woke, read a bit until falling back asleep.

Instead we're hopping in the car and heading to St. Augustine to celebrate the birth of Joseph Sadowsky with the Carnival of Friends. Last year we all took a cruise together so now its a tradition. Besides, it's sunny and 80 degrees there today!

When we return, there'll only be a couple of days left in February and we can start sliding on into Spring. The time changes in a couple of weeks and we're making plans for new plants in the front yard and redoing the Beloved Back Deck which has been a haven of solitude for too long. Now its going to be a celebratory center!

Now in honor of the shortest month of the year, I'm going to be brief, primarily because I'm ready for flip flops and friends and for February to be over.

And When I Die

I am not a reader of the Obituary column. I find it hard to get excited about death! It has its place but I'd much rather focus on other things.

My brother David is an avid reader of it though. He pours over it searching for people he knew and keeps current with everything. If I want to know if someone has died, I just call him.

Every morning I sip coffee as I flip through the Savannah Morning News at The Breakfast Club. When I get to the Obituaries, Johnny O asks, "Anybody we know?" I glance at the photographs to see if I recognize anyone, which I never do, and he'll stand and take a quick look because he knows to not trust my review. As soon as he finishes, I flip it to the Sports page.

Recently I've begun to notice the Obituary pages when I turn past them. It's like driving past a car wreck on the side of the road and I have to glance even though I know I won't like anything about what I see.

What I quickly see in the death notices is the growing number of people dying who are younger than me. Sometimes it was cancer or "after a lengthy battle" that has led to the terminal breath. Most often however it merely says that he's passed away at 53 years of age.

I don't know about you but at 56, I think of myself as a 26 year old. Sarah will be the first to tell you that I act much younger.

The truth of the matter though is I still believe that most of my life is yet to come. Sure I've done a lot already, seen the world, loved and lost and somehow keep on ticking ... like a bomb! That was all fun and I enjoy talking about things I've done sometimes but I'm much more concerned about what's next.

Plus I refuse to grow up. "I believe if I refuse to grow old, I can stay young till I die," is how it's put in the marvelous Broadway musical Pippin. That's how I feel ... and act!

When I was a kid, we'd ride the roller coaster at Six Flags and I'd immediately scream, "Let's do it again!"

Now we're driving home from a trip to Central America and before we hit the drive way I say to Sarah, "Let's go to St. Martin!" She rolls her eyes and tells me she just wants to be home for a while. I like home. It's where I prefer to be when I'm not somewhere else.

Once, Bill Berry (not the former drummer for REM but the other one) and I were standing in the Old Jewish cemetery in Prague, Czech Republic. It's a haunted and beautiful place because so many people are buried in such a small area, the tombstones literally shove against one another giving the impression the dead are pushing them out off the way.

I like that image.

Hell if I'm going to let death keep me down! I'm certainly not to give it any of me time while I'm still alive! There's just so much to see waiting in front of me ... and to do ... places to go ... love to make ... laughs to have ... and beauty to enjoy.

Whoever writes my Obituary will likely be forced to admit, "He did a lot but didn't seem to dwell on it. Just like always, just when we thought we knew what he was doing we learned ... he's outta here ... again."

Then they'll likely ask, "Anybody seen Sarah?"

Renegade Believers.

Dr. Russell Bennett, Director of the Long Run Baptist Association in Louisville, KY, was driving down Shelby Street when he saw the sign. "ROMAN CATHOLIC/SOUTHERN BAPTIST COALITION Wednesday 12:45" and he immediately concluded that I had something to do with it.

It was in front of the St. Martin de Tours Catholic Church beside it was another, "The German/Afro Tea room." Father Vernon Robertson was the Priest and we were friends. Every Wednesday after the noon Mass, during which I did the readings from the High Alter, we would have lunch in the tea room. He dubbed it the "Roman Catholic/Southern Baptist Coalition." He was Catholic and I'm Southern Baptist so it was ecumenical.

Russell Bennett was my boss and he liked to approve public ecumenical activities before they actually occurred. The formation of our Coalition was news to him ... especially learning of it on an extremely large and Gothic sign on one of the city's busy roads.

A bit later my phone rang at the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel, where I was employed as the "Professional Christian" (getting paid to do what everyone else had to do for free). It was Russell's secretary.

"He wants you now," she said.

"What did I do?" I asked.

"What haven't you done," she replied.

She had a point. Recently Russell had accused me of breaking into his office one night and placing pages of pornography in the files of his elaborate filing system. It was going to take him years to find all of the porn carefully placed in the thousands of files.

I told him that I had no idea what he was talking about and had actually been at home studying my Sunday School lesson when the crime took place. Russell's a real doubting Thomas and didn't believe me.

I went to his office dressed for work in blue jeans, a nice shirt and sock tie. Like most Southern Baptists, he wore a three piece suit.

"What have you done?" he demanded.

"I haven't done anything," I told him.

"What's a Roman Catholic/Southern Baptist Coalition?" he fired.

"Oh that," I said understanding. "Vernon and I have lunch together on Wednesdays."

"Well you can't announce it on a sign like that!" he angrily said.

"I didn't announce anything. Vernon did that."

"Well tell him to take it down!"

"I'm not Catholic," I protested. "I can't tell a Priest what to do. He wouldn't listen to me any way."

Russell would have none of it, reminding me that I was in enough trouble with the Southern Baptists. Later I recounted everything with Vernon over a lunch of crab cakes with white wine.

"You want me to take it down?" he asked. "I don't want you to get in trouble."

"Naw," I said. "Just invite Russell to lunch and let him talk a lot. Those are the key components to solving Southern Baptist problems."

On my refrigerator, a most holy of places in our home, there is a picture of Vernon and me. It was taken here on Tybee towards the end of his life. His body could no longer tolerate the cold so he rented a house down the street from mine for the winter. He's flashing the peace sign with one hand and holding on to his glasses in the other. I'm laughing so hard I'm wiping the water from my eyes.

Vernon died not too long afterwards though he lives still inside of many of us he touched. He was a  renegade believer and taught me be one too. Today I miss him and at noon will remember the Mass as I express thanks for the Saints and Guardian Angels that have graced  my life.

My Fourth Life

The sliding glass doors are open, birds sing and the sun glares off the table on the on the beloved back deck. While we were away, high winds blew the umbrella away because I forgot to lower it. It's alright. I seem to lose an umbrella about every other year.

I've survived worse.

It's a beautiful morning. Birds are singing. Fran's thousand shades of green glimmer in the sunshine. The skies are blue and the grass is green. The weeds have died after I treated the yard a couple of weeks ago. Spring is beginning to push winter away.

I am restless, ready for the new things that come with warmer weather. Winter is the season of death, a reminder of dark tombs and empty places. Things are always worse in the cold night.

Standing on the back deck I can see the cold front making its way towards the coast. The breeze picks up from the west. Purple clouds roll towards the sea. The first drops of rain fall.

I close the doors and resume my seat in front of the computers. There is much to be done before domestic obligations overtake me this afternoon. Like a winter's day, time is shortened and I desire long afternoons that slowly fade into the night. I want open windows, the singing of the waves and endless miles of blue skies.

I'm at the beginning of my fourth life and have an emerging sense that time is no longer on my side. I still have it but no real certainty of how much so I'm cramming as much into it as possible.

My first life was growing up with my parents, learning to live with a brother and a sister before taking those initial steps towards independence. The second life was discovering who I am, starting my own family and making my way in the world. The third was having my children turn into my friends, starting over in work and love while finding my place beside the sea.

It's all led me here to this time, place and to Sarah.

My kids are all in their second lives. Jeremy and Marie have birthed their family and are now making their contributions to the world. Kristen continues to work but is back in school so she can do more than she has. Chelsea and Sam are planning their marriage, working on Master's degrees and raising a rabbit. They've yet to determine where home will be.

It's fun for me sharing the same agendas that my kids have. I've vowed to spend more time with them this year than I did last. Like them, work is again brand new endeavor for me.

Yesterday I read an article on LinkedIn that if you're over 55 and looking for work, you're really screwed these days. It told me I should retire, volunteer, or start my own business (because nobody in their right mind would consider hiring me!).

I don't have problems with that other than I look, feel and certainly act a lot younger than the photograph of the old man in the LinkedIn article. So I laughed and got to work on my forth life. It's much different from the others, more introspective, contemplative and prayerful; less contentious, frightful or mysterious.

I like the number four. There's something Biblical about it. On the third day, Jesus rose from the dead and I'm pretty certain by the next morning everyone knew it.

That's how I feel.

Everyone else should get out of the way.

The Agony of the "To-Do" list

If I still had a conventional job like I did at Union Mission and at the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel,  I'd call in sick today.

It's one of those days.

I'm not in the mood.

Not that I know what kind of mood I'm in because I don't. I'm just not in the mood to do all of the things on my "to do" list today.

Apparently I AM in the mood to lock Winston, the little gay dog, outside in 39 degree weather. It's funny watching him jump up and down trying to turn the latch on the sliding glass doors to let himself inside. With all of that jumping he's got to be warm and its hilarious watching him head butt the glass to no avail.

I get back to work instant messaging Sean and now have the things necessary to cross the first thing off the "to-do" list but ... it's   time  for a break so I pour myself a large glass of Sparkling water heavily spiked with lime juice.

I need more motivation to plow through the things I have to accomplish. This leads to a great deal of introspection on my part. Finally I determine that Neil Young and the Shocking Pinks will enable me be inspired and sit back down at the computer.

Winston, the little gay dog, is now laying by the door giving me the sad, "what did I do to deserve this?" look.

I review my "to-do" list again. It's really not that long. Last week I worked everyday we were traveling,  crawling out of bed before the sun came up and stumbling to the Lido Deck for coffee. After writing the blog, I'd flip through the social media channels, manage email and work on media plans. So I stayed pretty current while sailing the Caribbean. It's the beauty of the world today. If you're disciplined you can work from mostly anywhere.

Besides, it's President's day.

All of the Presidents are off. I actually think its better when President's are off. The more they're off, the safer we are. You know what I'm saying?

Winston, the little gay dog, has gotten Goddess to stand beside him scratching the door for me to let them in.

Sighing, I walk over, open the door and she gleefully rushes past me. Winston, the little gay dog, slowly prances in giving me the evil eye wearing his black sweater with pink ruffles with the words "Gay Republicans came out of their log cabins."

Sitting back down I type a few things, hit send and cross the first thing off the "to-do list. It's tough being the President of a company.

Wait a minute!

It is President's day.

It wouldn't work though. I need to collect more of the bastards! You know what I'm saying? So sadly, it's back to the "to-do" list.

At least until Winston, the little gay dog, wants to go back outside.

Warming my heart (and my hands)!

After a week of 85 and 90degree weather, I must agree with James Brown ... I Feel Good!

And tan!

I only have one question upon returning to the good ol' US of A. 

When did Alaska move to Florida?  It was freaking 46 degrees in South Florida when we got off of the boat.  I called upon The Lord repeatedly!!

"Hey God!! It's friggen cold!! Throw us a little hell for warmth will ya?"

So far God hasn't replied.  

Other than homecoming temperatures, it was a hell of a trip.  Sarah and I had fun, met new friends who would fit right in with the old ones, went to places we'd never been before and enjoyed new things!  

Now it's back to work.  There is so much to do after being away. Plus I'm back to also doubling as Mr. Mom throughout the week.  

To help with this, the old friends have planned a new trip this weekend.  Now I understand my son Jeremy, or J-Luv as he is known on Tybee, and my brilliant daughter-in-law Marie will also be there!  This is great news indeed.  

It warms my heart. 

Now it's time to warm my tanned brown hands.  

Sarah has both hands on the wheel and will be defenseless as I do so. 

Ah, it's a good day that The Lord has made.