Saints I know

I've got a friend who spends virtually all of her time taking care of the dying husband that she is estranged from. She understands why nursing homes sell like they do and says she'll never complain again when visiting one. Like with most deaths, there is no firm timeline so she repeats the same routine every day of washing him, changing the sheets, feeding him, cleaning up again and then finally gets around to taking a shower for herself.

The afternoon is a repeat of the morning.

She waits for the day when she is finally free to chase her dreams.

Another friends Mother just died. She's been infirmed for years and when he wasn't at work teaching, he was taking care of her. There was no one else to do it. He gave his life for the woman who gave him his. He kept her company, prepared her meals and even wiped her ass just as she had once wiped his.

There were no tears when she died.

Just a sense of peace for both of them.

Another who is one year older than me, married to his wife of 31 years, is constantly on the phone with her caregiver. Confined to a bed or strapped into a wheelchair, his High School Sweetheart is a strong willed woman who demands to do things she isn't capable of doing. His life is a constant battle of willpower. Good times are hard to come by and he longs for the day when he can simply go out to dinner at night.

That would be joy.

While he considers life without her, it's just something to think about sometimes.

I marvel at these people.

Day in and day out, as the years roll by, they remain the constant to someone needy, ever demanding and often ungrateful. I've never been in their position so I don't know what I would do. No one's ever accused me of being a Saint though these friends of mine border on Sainthood.

Today I send them all a prayer of Good Karma for liberation and fulfillment.

They've done their time, or will be done with it soon, then God, let their good times begin.

Making reality out of fantasy

"Daniel Boone was a man, yes a big man! With an eye like an Eagle and as tall as a mountain was he!"

So goes the Disney version of the great American Frontiersman. I grew up on it and loved singing the television theme song, wearing a Coonskin cap (though Daniel never did) and fighting Indians in the woods of Port Wentworth, Georgia.

I also watched Walt Disney's "Wonderful World of Color" which showed his cartoons and the first images I ever saw of Disneyland.

I've always liked Walt Disney. He created a lot of stuff and made reality out of fantasy. Not a lot of people can do that. Most do it the other way around which is why the world is so screwed up.

Not Walt. He never let politics, religion, bankers or other skeptics get in his way. "If you can dream it, you can do it!"

He's hard not to like.

Plus he left behind the practical embodiment of his dreams. Disneyland and the larger Disney World are the world playgrounds and I'm going there today.

I took my kids. Years later I took Carlos and Verna from St. Martin and witnessed adults as children. Today it is Sarah and the girls first exposure to reality made out of fantasy. They will be able to touch it, taste it, and associate with Princesses or Pirates. They can scream in glee or in horror, ride with ghosts and boat through a wild jungle, listen to Presidents or coast through outer space.

It will be fun.

For the next couple of days then I'll do my best to be a kid again and enjoy it with them. I'll also celebrate the memories of my kids trips to Fantasyland and I'll never forget the look on Verna's face when she tumbled over the falls at Splash Mountain.

It will be hard to not enjoy all of the joys of fantasy where everything is always true and then it will be back to reality again.

Or not!

Making myself grateful

Even when you do unto others as you would have them do to you ... it pisses somebody off.

For the most part I really try to live this way. If someone asks me for something I'm usually predisposed to give it to them unless I can't.

I'm pretty quick to respond to people who want to talk to me.

I try not to leave things undone.

I don't mind initiating communication with others even though I haven't heard from them in forever and I know they can't just as easily pick up the phone and text me.

I don't know why I'm this way but I am. It's in my DNA. It's a core set of beliefs in my faith. Jesus is the one who said to treat others as you want to be treated and I was raised on Jesus so its pretty ingrained. Sometimes I've given far more of myself than I should but I really don't know any other way to live.

That's not to say I haven't met my fair share of assholes because I know a few that are in that Hall of Fame. I don't enjoy encountering these people though I try to keep my distance. When I do see them I try to be mature and take the high road.

I wasn't always like this. I've told some folks off and on a couple of occasions got so angry I demanded them to do something to themselves that is anatomically impossible. It didn't make me feel any better and certainly didn't help the situation.

Plus I've seen a lot of people get treated pretty shitty by the Church, the government, their bosses, co-workers, families and, often times, themselves. I tried to be pretty nice to them because I wanted them to be pretty nice to me too. Most times they were.

I like myself the way I am these days. Oh I need to drop a few pounds and eat better and such but I'm pretty comfortable with me.

It's funny too. I spent decades doing things for others on a pretty grand scale. For the last three years though I've been pretty focused just on me. Sarah is my partner and I am so grateful for the gift of her on my life. She wants what is best for me and is pretty veracious about it. And she's beautiful to watch when she's doing it.

There's a tiny collection of friends too who have been wonderfully consistent and celebratory about most everything. They have their own struggles and issues but there is a wonderful chemistry when we're together that embodies love, concern and laughter.

I've got my own worries too. Baby always needs a new pair of shoes and money must always be made or things get rough.

But for now anyway, I have this gift of time when its just Sarah and me, the kids and our little Carnival of friends. There are lots of hours to think, pray, write and hope. There is a sense that something else is coming and it's going to be big! This is a time of  getting ready though I'm not real certain about everything we're getting ready for.

So I make myself be grateful for this time. For the wonderful place we live. For birds singing, friends laughing, the smell of the marsh and the sound of the sea are the foundations of my life. So I thank and will do my best to do well by them again today.

Easter

It's been a long cold lonely winter ... and then it's not.

Fran's thousand shades of green are suddenly deeper, more abundant and fresher as the sun dances on the leaves in a dazzling display of ... LIFE!

The wind dies and warmth bathes the body and I literally glow in the baptism of sunshine.

Goddess lays in it, content, seemingly asleep but her eyes are open as she watches everything.

Winston, the little gay dog, sits in it too, eyes closed though and his head is upright as though in prayer, quiet and holy wearing a sweater that reads "When God said She loves everybody SHE MEANT EVERBODY ...... Dumbass."

Three little girls run around the house eating colored eggs and candy signifying the joys of bunnies and risen Saviors. They are full of life too squealing in joy to be home with no real agenda.

Choirs of birds are singing the Hallelujah chorus without ceasing.

My son pecks a finger on his I-pad, wearing sunglasses with hair growing on his chin.

His wife Marie is creating on her computer.

Sarah sits reading a book she doesn't like but with regal toes painted purple, looking everything like the Queen of Sheba as her skin turns brown in the baptism of sunshine. She drips loveliness.

Green marsh grass shoves the dead brown weeds from last off and into the ocean as the savannah is reborn.

Staring at a pink blossom amidst dead ones from last year, I am a witness to resurrection.

Surrounded by the beauty of things I love, I am mesmerized by the life circled by death.

It doesn't matter as much what happened then as what happens now.

Then, faced with death, Jesus chose life.

Now, faced with life, I'm choosing it too.

That's what Easter is really all about.

Amen.

The Day After

I suppose Mary Magdalene stumbled into a bar and got drunk.  John was likely with her. Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea probably were too. After burying Jesus what else would they have done to drown their grief and sorrow?

I know we're not supposed to think such things. The church has whitewashed the story and made them all saints who never sinned. It just makes things up. Pope Gregory the Great said that Mary Magdalene was a whore when she actually wasn't. Like most clergy, he really wasn't that great after all. Almost two thousand years later the Church had to confess he had lied.

Mary was evidently the ring leader of the bunch and the four of them hung around to the bitter end, took the broken body down from the cross and did the best they could with an unplanned funeral.

It had all happened so fast!

Thursday night dinner had been jovial enough though Jesus certainly seemed preoccupied and distracted. Afterwards everybody went their own way and Jesus gets himself arrested. He's questioned, beaten and killed by mid-afternoon in less than twenty-four hours.

Now there was nothing else to do except try to console one another but as anybody knows who's just lost a loved one there is no consolation. So I imagine they got wasted.

The Gospel really don't say what any of them did so we're left to our own imaginations to guess. It was the Sabbath but I have a difficult time thinking they went to worship with the same clergy who'd brought the charges against Jesus.

The Apostles were all in hiding somewhere. John was the youngest of the bunch which is why he stuck with Mary at the crucifixion. None of the others wanted to take care of him so she did. Women always clean up the messes men make.

Nicodemus was a Pharisee and they sure as hell didn't want him around because he'd been a friend of Jesus. He didn't have anywhere else to go either.

Joseph was likely flat broke after donating his grave so Jesus would have a place to be buried. Besides, Nicodemus was his friend, a fellow Black Sheep in the Pharisee family.

So they found a bar where it was dark and no one would think of looking for them. They didn't say much through the sniffling, tears and sighs.

They just drank and tried to forget how much it hurts.

Resting on my laurels

Maybe it's because today is Good Friday and the book I'm reading right now has Jesus being crucified all over again when once really was enough.

Perhaps it's the song by The Cure that keeps running through my head. "I don't care if Monday's blue, Tuesday's grey and Wednesday too; Thursday I don't care about, It's Friday I'm in love."

It could be Jeremy's fault because he and Marie arrived last night and we ended up at Doc's Bar listening to music and planning Easter.

And the damn winter refuses to completely give way to Spring so its too chilly to celebrate the risen son properly ... outside and sans of clothing.

The thing I'm working on for work is proving to be quite challenging and difficult to accomplish, now reaching that point where I hate looking at it because its coming along at a snail's pace and I like to do things fast.

The time/space continuum may be off kilter again.

Sarah is also a lovely distraction wearing tight jeans and her hair on top of her head. It would be fun to lust ... I mean hang out with her.

I am a beach bum at heart and I don't feel like doing anything.

Today I am easily distracted

I've worked pretty much every day for the past few weeks and have actually gotten a lot done. I should rest on my laurels today.

I think I will.

Sometimes in life, you just have to give yourself permission to say, "Screw it!"

And there's really nothing wrong with that.

Winston, the little gay dog, on Marriage

Winston, the little gay dog, is watching CNN very intently. Sitting on top the sofa in the sunshine wearing a sweater vest with the words "Homophobic is soooo last Millennium" he yips at Goddess to keep quiet. Goddess could care less and continues licking herself.

On CNN, Supreme Court Judges are debating whether to legalize gay marriage or punt it to the states. They're acting just like Republicans and Democrats not getting anything done at all. Clarence Thomas appears to be wearing headphones and could be listening to the "Theme from Shaft" while the others debate.

"You do it. I'm not  going to do it."

"Well, you'd better do it because I'm not going to do it."

"What about Proposition 8?"

Clearly fed up Chef Justice Roberts exclaims, "Proposition this!" and does his best imitation of Michael Jackson.

On the floor is a sign that Winston, the little gay dog, has been working on. I read it.

"Once gay marriage and marijuana are legal, I'm not inviting any of you against it to the wonderful parties I'll be throwing."

Placing it back on the floor, I stare at Winston, the little gay dog, who is obviously irritated and he ignores me and continues watching the debate in disgust.

In support, I sit down beside him.

Goddess stops licking herself and joins us. Winston, the little gay dog, steps on the remote control and changes the channel.

Joel Osteen is talking now. "Homosexuality is a sin. I didn't choose to be straight."

We all look at one another pondering what in the hell that means?

Winston, the little gay dog, steps on the remote again.

Warren Buffet is talking. "The average wedding cost $25,000. Allowing gay marriage would stimulate the economy in a way the Government never could."

We all nod.

The television set is turned off and Winston, the little gay dog, starts licking where his balls used to be. Goddess stretches and meanders outside.

After contemplating both of them for a moment, I opt to follow Goddess outside.

The Road to Equality

Sitting in the sunshine of the immaculately landscaped private courtyard, Mills B. Lane IV and I munched M&M's from a Crystal Bowl that sat in his lap. We'd finished a lunch of left-overs inside of his lavish home on Pulaski Square --- half filled bottles of Champaign, cold duck, salad and pieces of French Baguettes --- as we talked business.

I was working to expand Phoenix Place, Savannah's residential facility for people with AIDS, and Mills had been a long term investor in the work.

Now that work was complete, we sat in the sunshine. I'd kicked off my shoes and he giggled.

"You know what I like about you Mike? You know how to dress for Savannah heat."

I was wearing my summer work clothes of Cargo pants, a black tee shirt and loafers with no socks. Mills had on seersucker pants, a white cotton shirt and brogans.

Shrugging my shoulders I didn't know what to say and remained quiet. He smiled, closed his eyes and tilted his head into the sun. I stared at him.

He'd been a good friend to the work and to me. In addition to funneling money to expand the AIDS program, Mill's included me at the many parties he threw, introducing other potential supporters and at events he privately sponsored throughout the city.

Savannah was still in the closet in those days and I was helping knock the door open. We provided office space to "First City Network", the emerging gay and lesbian organization. When Phoenix Place opened it was a coming out party for the city's gay community and ended up being quiet the celebration.

As the Supreme Court works through the process of recognizing marriage for anyone who happens to be in love, regardless of their sex, I find myself remembering Mills and those days.

I always thought the AIDS work would be highly controversial in sleepy old "Slow-vannah" as it had been when we opened Glade House in Louisville, Kentucky a few years earlier. But it never was.

It took me forever to understand why. The city's gay population was huge and so many families had already been touched by AIDS. So Phoenix Place was accepted from the start and Mills wrote a check for $30,000 to help finish it.

Today "First City Network" is an established and thriving organization. Savannah's gay and lesbian community is no longer hidden and openly celebrates the diversity of this community. Phoenix Place is the regions dominate provider of services for people now living with AIDS.

Like many other things in Savannah, these things wouldn't have happen without Mills.

A few weeks before he died at the age of 59, I received a note from him instructing me to take his name off the mailing list and thanking me for everything we'd done together. Typical Mills, he didn't want me to waste a newsletter.

On this eve of historical movement towards equality, I'm going to find a half empty bottle of Champaign and toast Mills B. Lane IV, proud of how far we've come.

The Naked Truth

"There are no prostitutes on Tybee Island," the City Councilman said authoritatively.

"There have been reports of them," the Mayor replied.

"Well, there ain't none here," the Councilman said matter of factly.

The rest of the members of the Council shifted in their swivel wooden chairs or pretended to be reading the report in front of them.

"How do you know," the Mayor finally asked.

The Councilman leaned forward before he answered. "They'd starve," he said and sat back.

The audience murmured while the other members of the Council shook their heads at the old man with the white beard wearing painters pains and a plaid shirt. He took a long draw from the Styrofoam cup he held.

"Why would they starve?"


Shaking his head from side to side as in disbelief of the stupidity of the question, he put the large Styrofoam cup down and spit out the obvious answer.

"Cause you can it free on this island! Ain't nobody have to pay for it! Prostitutes would go broke and starve to death. There ain't none here."

Amidst laughter and shock, most everyone agreed with the assessment and the Mayor moved to the next item on the agenda.

This actually happened on Tybee in the not so distant past. I may not have gotten the words exactly right but it's a pretty accurate description of what took place.

Of course things like that don't happen anymore. The island takes itself far too serious these days. Besides the current City Council spends all of its time trying to fire the City Manager, buying more Stop signs and developing strategies to eliminate parking spaces.

I keep meaning to write a sequel to Running with the Dolphins but am laying low these days. Everyone on the island lays low now lest we find ourselves in the same position as the City Manager.

Besides I'm busy helping Johnny O get the "The Naked Politician Bill" passed. Any meeting of politicians would have to occur in the nude and begin with a group hug. Starting at the Tybee City Council and all the way to Saxby Chamblis' office in the U.S. Senate, any meeting would start with the naked truth.

Whatever they do in Executive Session is up to them but they sure as hell better not violate the sunshine laws which lets the rest of us watch!

And as far as I know, there still are no Prostitutes on the island.

"Waiting is the hardest part," explains Tom Petty and that's certainly one of life's great truths.

I'm in one of those waiting modes.

It sucks.

I'm waiting to hear back from people for work and there's not much I can do until they get back to me. So in the meantime I find myself waiting on inspiration to do creative things until the more mundane task of making money takes precedence when aforementioned people get back to me. The kids are coming this weekend and I'm excited about that but that's not until this weekend.

Yesterday I was sitting here as rain fell and clouds blocked the rising sun. It was dreary and damp and I was lonely for warm sunshine and celebration. When I let Goddess out, I heard a lone bird sitting on a wet branch singing to the top of its tiny lungs. Her song, full of vigor and happiness, was in stark contrast to the gloomy day.

So I stood with my head in the doorway listening to the bird's song. The fact that it was Palm Sunday popped into my head as I watched the rain drip from the Palm Tree with the oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt.  Somehow the bird began to sing, "I really want to see you Lord but it takes so long ..."

Waiting is, indeed, the hardest part.

Then the funniest thing happened. The rain stopped. The winds died. The clouds blew to sea. The sun shone. The temperature rose like a dead man from the tomb. Suddenly and inexplicably it was on earth as it is in heaven.

And I celebrated!

Today, the sun remains though cold winds are back in anger. The temperature returned to the tomb. It seems heaven is no longer here but just over there somewhere. I wait its return. My heart is heavy with waiting. It takes so long my Lord ...

I look up with hope into the sunshine, the song of a bird remains in my heart though it has flown away, and see that Goddess is waiting too.

Suddenly I'm comforted with the fact that I'm not waiting alone.

It takes so long my Lord

"I really want to see you Lord but it takes so long my Lord ..."

So lamented the major prophet George Harrison and I think he hit it squarely on the head for most of us.

Regardless of if you're Christian or not, a church goer or not, even if you're a believer or not ... when it comes down to it, the thing we want the most seems furthest out of reach. What we want of course is God.

What we get is religion.

No matter how fervent our faith, regardless of the depths of our devotion, the passion of our prayers or the consistency of our commitment ... each and every one of reaches a point where it takes so long my Lord.

Some of us just keep plowing right through, too damn stubborn to do it any other way. Worship, theology and dogma have been passed down all of these generations so it must be right. It was good enough for Mama so it's good enough for me. So we sit in the pew, waiting still while the preacher promises God's just around the corner.

Others say to hell with it! I did my part but God never came around. It's not like I didn't try either! After exploring the shallowness of the Christian church I moved on to Political Radicalism, Buddhism and finally Spirituality. You know what? It still takes so long my Lord.

In the end we either sit and wait or move on. When push comes to shove though ... life falls apart, loved ones die, divorce happens, betrayals hit our faces, there are wars and rumors of wars ... in spite of these things and regardless of our beliefs or non-beliefs ... I really want to see you Lord.

It is a wet Sunday morning. Severe storms warning drown out the prophets and the preachers. The sun is risen but darkness clouds the day. Plans for a happy celebration are dampened before they can begin.

Yet ... a lone bird is singing to the top of her tiny lungs this morning and I find myself listening. Her song is committed and consistent yet it knows no religion. She simply sings.

And I believe, sitting her alone and far from the places of worship, that it doesn't take so long after all.

Her Bucket List

"Hey Man," I said preparing to enter the ring. "Throw me off fast so my wife can get on. It's on her bucket list."

He looked at me questioning.

"It's not on my bucket list. I'm doing it for her."

He smiled as I climbed into the blow up farm with the mechanical bull. It took me several moments to climb on top of the thing but I did with the encouragement of my friends.

Franklin, who is brown, was screaming at me but I never understood anything he was saying.

His brother T.J., who is also brown, was calling me an old man and it is true that I was the oldest person who'd tried to stay on the white and black thing so far.

Grayson, who is white, shook his head and told me that I should be wearing my black running shorts like I always do.

Frank Shuman screamed, "Hold on! I need my camera! Don't start yet!"

It started and two seconds later I was bouncing on the inflatable cow field.

When I exited, Sarah entered and while she was climbing on bull, the man running the thing grabbed me by the shoulder.

"Hey man! You do your wife."

So I did.

"Sarah," I screamed as I began turning the knob that turned the bull.

"That's not fair," she screamed.

If she said anything else, I never heard her. I was laughing too hard as I controlled the bull up and down, twirled it to the left and then the right, forced it forward and backward. Then I got happy fingers and went a little crazy spinning it in circles.

A minute after she'd began, Sarah went flying in the direction of Franklin, who is brown. Jumping forward he gave no indication whatsoever of trying to catch her or help her up. He just stared at her expectantly.

"I was hoping her boobs would fall out of her shirt," he later explained.

They didn't so he drank another beer.

Now Sarah can cross another one off her bucket list.

As she does so, I notice that sky diving is next understanding for the first time that she's kept the bucket list from me until after we were married.

The Personal Pressure of Facebook

A few years ago, my son Jeremy, Bill Shearouse, Mark Berry and I solved all of the problems of the world on the landing at the Holiday Inn in Athens, Georgia but never told anyone. I was going to share that information in today's blog.

Last night, Johnny O and I figured out how to fix the broken political system in this country. All meetings of elected officials should be held in the nude. Each session should begin with a group hug ... at the local level all the way up to Congress. Given the country's problems I was going to write about that too.

Bill Berry (not the former drummer for REM but the other one) and I once figured out world peace while being chased by Turkish Whores late one night in Prague and it's about time we told the world. I was going to go it today.

BUT ... my wife decided to use Facebook as a manipulative ploy to pressure me into taking her out on a date tonight!

She wrote, "Thinking that maybe with Facebook peer pressure I can convince Micheal Elliott that since I am going off island for the girls soccer practice tonight, we should both go and have an off island date. Support, please ;)"

There are several things I need to say before answering.

For those of you who don't know, "Off Island" is huge! Who the hell wants to go off island when you've spent your entire life trying to get ON Island! There's a certain lack of logic to the entire concept.

Second, it is "Mechanical Bull" bull night at Huck-A-Poo's!

Need I say anything else?

Now I'm distracted by all of these people posting that I'm a terrible husband, will go directly go to hell (though most imply I'm going anyway so it's no big deal) and I'm a selfish, self-centered pig.

I am not a pig.

What everyone doesn't know, because I never had the opportunity to share it, is I was already planning to surprise Sarah with a date. I was going to put on shoes and everything.

Sarah dresses really sexy on dates in tight short skirts and things from Victoria's Secrets so it's hard not to get excited. I've never noticed if she has shoes on or not because I'm preoccupied with other parts of her anatomy. So I was looking forward to surprising her with a date.

BUT NOOOOOOOO ........

Now it will look like I just caved into peer pressure.

Damn Facebook! 

Are you really where you want to be?

Finishing up lunch, the two of them launched into conversation about the health of their friends. The rest of us politely sat and listened draining the last of the sweet tea, dregs of wine and gulp of beer.

They will turn 70 soon and both still work full time. One is firmly entrenched as the patriarch of a family business where there is no retirement plan so he keeps working like he always has.

The other declared bankruptcy last year and has found new work as an independent assessor. Life is spent behind the wheel of his gas economic tiny car, driving across three different counties to get as many assessments done as possible in the course of a day. He is paid per assessment.

"Did you hear about Johnny?" one asked.

"No. What?"

"The cancer came back. They give three or four years."

"That's what they told Harry and he only lasted two months."

"Well, at least he's got a chance to get more things done. Better than Ray who keeps sliding in and out of Hospice."

It grew quiet for a moment and then one slapped the other saying with a laugh, "I told you we should have bought the damn yacht and sailed away. Now we're too damn old."

And that's how lunch ended as we followed one another outside to find our cars and drive in the different directions of our lives. My mind kept replaying their conversation as I made my way.

They kept meaning to buy that yacht and sail away but things kept getting in the way. There's always money to be made of course and family obligations are ever demanding. Baby always needs a new pair of shoes even though she moved to another city years ago. Times are always tough but one day soon the chance to sail away is going to come ... its just not today.

Then you wake up and you're old. Friends are dying. Managing your own health means the blood pressure is never at the right level. Aches and pains mount, everything takes longer than before and nothing's as fun as it used to be. Opportunities came but it never seemed the time was right to take them. The money's never quite right. Then things happen and all of the chances are gone.

"I told you we should have bought the damn yacht and sailed away!"

Life ... "is for each of us a series of crucial, precious and unrepeatable moments that are seeking to lead us somewhere," explains Frederick Buechner.

The question is where?

You're where you're at.

Is it where you really want to be?

As I drove I crossed the Thunderbolt Bridge and glanced down at the marina where boats to be sailed waited empty in their slips. The river meandered through the marsh towards the sea. The sun was bright, the winds lite and the waters calm.

It's a perfect day for sailing.

I found myself whispering a prayer.

"Hey God! Please touch everybody that feels like they've missed the boat. Tell them that it's never too late. Give the courage to change and the serenity to understand they'll disappoint somebody regardless of what they do. Grant the wisdom to know there's just this one life and if they don't sail away now, they never will."

Another not-so-great idea?

I've had a lot of brilliant ideas that turned out to be not-so-great.

Driving to Union Mission one morning I heard the Red Cross begging people to donate blood. There was a critical shortage.

I'm a helper at heart and this got me to thinking. At Union Mission I was in charge of housing several hundred mostly homeless people. What if they all donated blood at the same time? Certainly that would get the Red Cross through the crisis! Homeless people would contribute to society. Everybody would feel good.

I called some friends and a couple of days later a bus was in the parking lot with nurses, chairs designed for blood donors, orange juice and fruit. A few hundred were excited to roll up their sleeves and give (which is no small feat for homeless people who often sell their blood to make ends meet when they have no ends).

Then I was told by the Chief Nurse that it was against their policy to accept blood donated by homeless people. It could be compromised.


I had a fit but it didn't matter. After a few hours the bus pulled out of the parking lot and the opportunity was lost.

Another great idea gone bad.

In a similar vein I thought it would be a good idea if homeless people voted. Everyone else seems to have a political block so why not them? I didn't care if they were Republicans or Democrats.

It is far easier to get homeless people registered to vote than it is to donate blood. A few hundred were registered and the local press covered it liberally.

Several days later I was with then Mayoral candidate Otis Johnson who was in a close race. At a political forum hosted by the Chamber-of-Commerce, there were lots of business folks present. Otis asked for our support so I told him I could deliver the homeless vote.

He received this information with a mixture of gratitude and bewilderment.

A few weeks later he won the race by a few hundred votes. Every time he saw me afterwards, the Mayor thanked me for the homeless vote. For those who understand how politics actually works, this came in quite handy several times.

Another great idea gone not-so-bad!

The point is I keep trying.

So should you because you never know if its really a good idea until you try.

What do you do with where you're at?

I believe ...

It'll all work out even when it sure as hell doesn't seem to be.

There's a story David Bromberg tells about singer Jerry Jeff Walker, writer of Mr. Bojangles, which was written in a jail cell.

"It seems that Jerry Jeff had propositioned the right woman in the right time in the wrong place. So when her husband, the bartender, called the cops and they took him to the Parish jail in New Orleans."

There he met Bojangles though and the two sat and talked for three days. The song was born in dire circumstances. Beauty rises out of despair. Light drives away the darkness. Good overcomes evil. Angels keep demons at bay.

In this case Jerry Jeff Walker's song became a classic hit known the world over. It gives him income he never would have received. His career was elevated to a higher level.

And his cell mate, Mr. Bojangles is immortal, missing his dog after twenty years, drinking a bit and surrounded by people asking, "Won't you dance?"

All of this came from a jail cell.

It makes me believe.

Just when it seems like there is no way possible that things will work out, they do ... just never in the way you expect. Surprising and unforeseen things happen. They end up being either gifts or curses. There have been millions in jail cells when little came of it.

Then there's Desmond Tutu. Or Martin Luther King, Jr. The Apostle Paul. Mr. Bojangles.

What do you do with where you're at?

Won't you dance?

The Journey Continues

Grabbing my I-phone, I send a text to Bill Berry (not the former drummer for REM but the other one. The one I've been around the world with).

"I have a question. When we were on the train to Poland, how did we keep those big bottles of beer cold?"

It started when we were in the Czech Republic train station and I was staring at a map on the wall. Bill was on the telephone. He had an appointment and I was waiting on him when I noticed Poland and made a spontaneous decision to buy a ticket to Krakow. I pointed and waved my arms at him until finally he put his hands over the receiver to see what I wanted.

"I'm going to Poland. I have to go to Auschwitz."

Bill looked an me, shook his head and resumed talking on the phone. When he finally hung up he said, "OK, lets go."

So we purchased two tickets on a 1930s train, a bunch of Pilsner Urquell beer and started on my spiritual journey.

"How can I not go?" Bill explained.

My I-phone buzzes and it's him. "I think we tied ropes around the bottles and hung them out the window to stay cold :-) Just kidding. I really don't remember but I suspect we drank the beer warm like some Europeans tend to do. When in Rome ... What conversation are you having that sparked that question?"

Actually I'm not having a conversation but am reading a book while working on my tan on the Beloved back deck.

I send him another text.

"No conversation. Reading "The Book of Love" about Mary Magdalene's daughter with Jesus and naturally it made me remember the beers we had on that train."

Though I liked his explanation of hanging the bottles out of the window, it was February after all, he's probably right and we drank them warm. We had a tiny sleeper car with three bunk beds on top of each other. We'd unscrewed the top two from the wall and threw them in the hall leaving us a comfortable sofa where we sat and drank the beer while we made our way.

My phone buzzed and he responded, "Naturally."

"Jesus always makes me thirsty," I write, "and Mary Magdalene is hot."

The next morning we were in Krakow, sidestepping Gypsies and hitching a ride on a British tour bus for the concentration camp.  The bus left and we remained alone in the middle of hell.

At the end, we walked the railroad tracks out of the camp for several miles until we stumbled into a village with a train station and, in silence, made our way back to Prague. In my pocket was a pair of broken children's scissors I'd found on the ground outside of one of the Crematoria.

I'm at a place on my life's pilgrimage when I have a large collection of adventures, spiritual quests, battles with others and myself too. They're more than stories to tell. They're major moments in me becoming me and I'm lucky or blessed enough to have a tiny collection of fellow travelers on the roads less traveled.

Sarah and I are on one now.

Defying conventional wisdom, we're making our way in our way. While we're pretty clear about where we're going to end up we have no idea whatsoever how we're getting there. She's a planner so it can drive her crazy while I know that unplanned excursions and unconventional choices often lead you to places where God resides.

Also at this place in my life, I've reunited with friends also on their journey. They've lived long enough to get to now, and while it's been full of pleasure and plain, good times and bad, frightening and  invigorating  ... each confesses there is more.

And the journeys continue.

The Opening of the Windows

It is an annual ceremony so moving, ritual, gnostic, Druid, good Karma, holy and just damn-feel-good as sex ... well not quite that good but almost! ... the opening of the windows. When the weather is warm enough to open the twenty-six windows in this house, I just love it!

The outside now comes in. The house is designed that way. We can lay in bed and stare outside. Through open windows we listen to the choir of birds, smell the pungent aroma of the marsh and listen to the waves kiss the shore.

Now that the windows are open allowing the ocean breeze to flow through each room, I've moved outside to the Beloved Back deck. The sliding glass doors to the kitchen are open so outside easily slides into indoors and back again.

The Palm Tree with the oyster face, coconut bra and grass shirt is smiling and happy. Green Hibiscus blooms adorn the deck and Fran's thousand shades of green will soon explode and dazzle me.

Winston, the little gay dog, is keeping watch over the Cat Lady next door with her parade of new lovers and hundreds of feral cats. Goddess is laying under my feet lazily observing two squirrels dart through the smiling Palm Tree.

The acoustic storm is streaming from Key West on my computer and the book I'm reading waits on me to resume her story though I'm in no hurry. I'm still delighting in last night.

After a nice dinner out we were summoned by our friends Glenn and Vicki to come to their house and make music. As the island is known for impromptu celebrations, we dove in along with Sean and Wen. A new friend was also there and we played and sang.

Sarah meanders out, looking sexy in tight short dress, and tells me where the music is happening on the island today. Apparently a plan is beginning to take form. Sunday will be a day of celebration which is as it should be.

Across the world, people are making their way to and from church where they will enter sanctuaries with stained glass windows. They will sing songs in vain attempts to raise the rafters allowing God in but they'll fail just as they did last week. It's a good thing for them to do though and I applaud them.

As for me, I'm going to sit here and see what unfolds. There is no need for me to go searching for the Lord when She's already here ... raising new leaves to replace the fallen ones, spreading warmth to all who seek it, casting diamonds to dance on the ocean, and listening to the choirs of birds who have no rafters to raise because we're in the Cathedral that God built already.

That Kind Of Day

This spring is ever so slow in actually arriving. The sun is bright, there isn't a cloud in a crystal blue sky and plants are blooming but ... there's a nip in the air, the ocean breeze has a chill and I get cold stepping outside. It could be because I'm wearing black running shorts and little else but ... IWANT it to be summer now!

I don't want March to rush away but I'm ready for it to be perpetually in the 80s!

It may come close today.

I hope so.

Crowds have arrived for Spring Break and St. Patrick's Day. Everyone is wearing green and they're ready to party! Busses are traveling back and forth on the Tybee Road carrying them to and from the parade in the city. This afternoon they'll all rush back, filling the beach and every restaurant and bar on the island. The season has begun and the search for fun, romance, tans and beer is on!

Let them.

I'm enjoying a laid back Saturday morning far away from the maddening crowds. Goddess is sitting under my feet and Winston, the little gay dog, is underneath's Sarah's. They're remarkably quiet. The house is remarkably quiet. No words are being spoken and if silence is indeed golden then we're freaking rich!

Other than promise, I don't know what today holds.

Goddess needs a bath.

Ribs are in the fridge waiting to be grilled.

Other than that there are no plans.

Perhaps we'll venture out into the party later. We might turn the television on and watch a bit of the parade. We may stroll to the beach. It's a good day to read a book on the Beloved Back deck and steal glances of Sarah's beauty as she does things. Light a fire tonight and hold hands.

It's that kind of day.

I'm glad there's nothing else going on today.

Diving Again

It's Friday and I want to go scuba diving! It's been a while and I'm not sure where the desire came from but its back and I'd like to be floating under water, listening to myself breath and taking my time discovering whatever it is I find.

The last time I dove was with my daughter Chelsea. We were in Key Largo staying at the Holiday Inn on a Daddy/Daughter trip. We were excited and Chelsea was the first off the boat that day.

She sat on the rail and back flipped off ... landing on top of a five feet black tip shark.

I'd always taking walking on water in faith until that moment.

Chelsea was back on top of the water in a Nano-second running across the sea back to the boat. Underneath we could plainly see the shark getting the hell out of there.

I've never laughed so hard.

Chelsea had to be coaxed back into the water but we had lovely dives that day. That night we sat around the swimming pool at the Holiday Inn near the Tiki Bar, talking about the future and just having fun.

She's had just graduated from St. Vincent's High School and was college bound. We were in the Keys celebrating her transition in life.

Today she's flying to New York City for interviews for Graduate School. It's supposed to snow there so the city isn't as high on her list as it was yesterday. She's got other options too, in Washington D.C. and Tampa, Florida, so it will be interesting to see where she ends up.

Perhaps that's what's got me nostalgic for diving. Life continues to change for my baby girl.

Before Grad school, she's getting married and our relationship has morphed from Daddy taking care of his baby girl to a father and his daughter who likes to go to UGA football games together along with her brother Jeremy. We have fun and I'm missing those times.

Now I'm staring out the window because I've just received a text from her letting me know she's arrived. Her future is now.

So I say a prayer for the blessing she is to me and for the wonderful times we've had. I make a promise to orchestrate more. Until then, I'll dive into other things, enjoying them to their fullest, and enjoying cheering her on as she makes her life hers.