Winston, the little gay dog, lineage

At the height of Orange Crush, Goddess seemed dazed and confused like she always does, reeking of medical marijuana but with all of the sirens blaring in the distance she appeared especially bothered. Sarah and I were watching her intently so we were totally unprepared when Winston, the little gay dog, said he had something to say.

We turned and faced the little brown and white dog wearing a red sweater a rainbow on it with the words "Too cute to be straight."

We were totally unprepared to learn that our little gay dog is also the product of an interracial relationship. A drunken Jack Russell Terrier picked up a lose Chiwawa behind a bar and conceived Winston, the little gay dog.

I tightened my arm around Sarah who was overwhelmed with the news, her eyes moist with concern for her little boy.

Goddess put her paws over her head.

It explained so much!

Every time we board them, Winston, the little gay dog, gets in trouble for making aggressive sexual advances at black male German Shepherds and black Doberman Pinschers.

I'd never get much thought to the other dogs that he preferred but suddenly it made sense.

Winston, the little gay dog, has had black and he's not going back.

What do good Christian parents do when confronted with such news about their children? Right then and there, we picked up our little Winston, the little gay dog, and let the son-of-a-bitch (I mean that literally) know how much we love and support him.

Goddess was blowing smoke rings letting us know that she really didn't give a shit.

Today, we are celebrating our family!

Sarah and I are extremely proud parents of two very distinct and diverse dogs that we love with everything we have, just like all good parents.

Matters of the heart

"How many husbands have you had?" she asked over a glass of wine with her friend.

"Six," was the casual reply.

After a moment of disbelieving silence the words exploded. "SIX! You've been married six times?"

Laughing, the woman shook her head. "Oh heaven's no. I've only been married twice."

Some would argue that it's looking for love in all the wrong places but after the laughter it makes me wonder. I've had lunch with lots of people, men and women, who have confessed relationships outside of the one they were in. Often they were married and sometimes they'd been committed to one another.

They had the need to share and for whatever reason they told me.

Perhaps they were looking for safety-in-numbers consolation.

I don't  know.

I've read that the average person falls in love seven times during their lives which really makes it hard for those only married to one person. You have to give those folks credit. Six times when their hearts yearned for someone else they remained faithful to the one.

While 50% of us remained married to the one, a healthy percentage of those explored relationships with someone else.

The rest of us just went all out, following our hearts or losing our minds and ending up with someone else.

Both ways are hard.

Making it harder is the condemnation that rains down. We love affairs! To talk about them secretly as we judge and condemn others who are merely trying to find the perfect love they believe in.

Love is enough thing to find. It's even harder to hold on to.

If you have it, good for you!

If you're still searching, good for you too!

To both I encourage you to not settle.

Follow your heart.

Crush

The drive to the Savannah/Hilton Head International Airport (an oxymoron) was the same as always except I was dropping off a child for school, had to rush by the ATM and then caught every single red light between Tybee Island and Port Wentworth, Georgia. There are 16 red lights.

Consequently, I was the last person to board the plane which was of course delayed because of Air Traffic Control in Atlanta whose primary job is to delay flights. It used to be that Delta was ready when you are but now it’s the other way around.

I’m giving a speech at Morehouse Medical School today.

Then I’m flying back this afternoon so I can get back to Tybee in time for Orange Crush.

Orange Crush is an unplanned, unorganized event with no sponsors that annually draws thousands of kids, mostly from colleges to party on the beach. There will be an equal number of police officers setting up a command center in one of the parking lots so that fewer kids will have a place to park.

The kids will drive around looking for parking which isn’t there while the police direct them to leave the island. Those who do find parking will go to the beach and, just like on Memorial Day, the 4^th of July and Labor Day, trash it.

Of these holidays, Orange Crush is by far my favorite.

The kids dress scantily, deck out their cars for cruising and engage in public displays of affection. What’s not to love?

Well … most residents are restricted to their homes because there’s no possible way to back out of their drive ways. Even if they could, there’s nowhere to go because the police directing people off the island bring traffic to a complete standstill. The entire island becomes as gridlocked as Congress.

I don’t mind. I’ll stock up on provisions and sit on the beloved back deck and listen to it all. Sarah and I will likely take a stroll to witness some of the mayhem.

We won’t have a lot of time because Orange Crush is the perfect time to have a wedding on the beach which is what Caroline from the Breakfast Club has planned. Johnny O and I have been wondering for days how we are going to get from one end of the island to the other.

If Frank Schuman were still alive, he and his lovely wife Jamie could take us on jet skis around the mayhem and just drop us off. Alas, that is not possible this year.

It’s also the Tybee Wine Festival this weekend. Lots of folks have purchased tickets to get smashed on the island. 

They won’t be able to drive home afterwards further contributing to the islands traffic problems and eating up precious parking for the Orange Crush crowd.

It makes me wonder.

Is Air Traffic Control in Atlanta the same group that Tybee City leadership (another oxymoron) has contracted with to plan traffic access on and off the island?

It’s food for thought.

Have a great weekend everyone!

I know that I will.

Assuming I get out of Atlanta.

Creation (The True Version)

Genesis Chapter 1.

Micheal Elliott Revised Not-So-Standard Version

1. In the beginning the earth was void and without form. It was dark and wet and thus saith the Lord, "It sucks!"

2. And God said, "It needs sun!" and a big yellow ball bubbled out of the ocean and the water was blue. And God put on sunglasses and said, "Looks good. Nice day!" And where the sun did not shine God called it "Night" so that people would have a place to park and make out.

3. And God said, "It needs sky and since blue is God's favorite color the sky was blue. And it was dry and water was wet. And this was the first day and night.

4. And God said, "Needs a beach." So the water was gathered into the sea and behold, there was sand. And God saw that it was good.

5. And God said, "Needs Palm Trees! Mangos and fruits with seeds!" And it was so. The Palm Trees produced coconuts and the other trees bore oranges, lemons, bananas and other fruits to make Tropical Drinks with little umbrellas. And God saw that it was good. And there was a cool evening and warm sunny morning and that was the third day.

6. And God said, "Needs stars." And behold, little twinkling lights appeared at night to make it more romantic. And God said "Needs a moon so couples can see what they did with their clothes." And it was so. And on the forth day, God said, "Looking good."

7. And God said, "Needs fish." And there were fish, dolphins, sharks and for a laugh, jellyfish. And on the beach there were lizards, sand crabs for kids to chase and boiled peanuts. And in the sky there were pelicans and seagulls. And God saw that it was starting to look really cool.

8. And God said, "Needs people." So God created a dude and a babe placing them on the beach. And they strolled hand in hand in the surf, enjoying the water, the dolphins, the seagulls, the fruit drinks and  the geckos. And when they started making out God said, "It is good."

9. And God gave a thumbs up and commanded unto them, "Have fun kids! Enjoy! And try not to screw it up."

10. And God saw all that was made and it was very good! So he opened a beer and sat in a beach chair and God said, "I need a day off."

It's OK to Quit

"If at first you don’t succeed, try try again. Then quit. There’s no point in being a damn fool about it."

So said W.C. Fields and I believe he's right.

 

That's not to say I'm a quitter.

 

I'm not.

 

I've kept working on a marriage long after it was over.

 

I stayed at Union Mission long after I knew it was time to go.

 

I actually had a football coach tell me once, "Elliott your problem is you try too hard. Stop trying so hard!"

 

"You don't want me to give it everything I've got coach?"

 

"Ummm, well yeah. That's not what I'm saying."

 

"That's what I heard coach."

 

"SHUT UP AND GIVE ME 100 PUSH UP YOU MORON!"

 

He was fired after the season but I'd moved on to trying other things.

 

As I reflect back, I now understand that I should have quit.

 

There was nothing else for me to do at Union Mission and I told people so but they were comfortable with me there so they did everything to talk me into staying. I listened to them but I shouldn't have. I should have listened to myself. I was a moron!

 

Same with the marriage. She left long before I recognized that she was gone. I don't know why I was shocked when she told me. I was a moron again!

 

In both cases, I just refused to give up.

 

I was a damn fool about it.

 

Oh well, live and learn right?

 

I'm in love and happy with Sarah.

 

I enjoy work without a safety net again! That's the way it was when I started at Union Mission.

 

Being a fool, much less a damn one, is no fun whatsoever!

 

I don't recommend it to anybody.

 

The sad fact is each and every one of us is a damn fool at some time or another.

 

And if you're being one now ... at work, in a relationship, politics or religion ... quit!

 

QUIT NOW DAMMIT!

 

It's alright.

 

It really is.

An Epiphany of Sam Adams

Rounding the corner, the setting sun blazes white on the high tide swallowing the marsh. A silhouette stands at the end of the sad, little holy dock ... long hair blowing in the ocean breeze behind his back, shirtless wearing  baggy shorts and flops, he appears to be Jesus just after surfing.

Beside him is the silhouette of a dog about the same size as Goddess who is pulling me closer to them in excitement, tail wagging and happy.


"Samuel" I yell, letting Goddess' leash go so she won't drag me along.

"Micheal," the dark figure calls with a subdued and laid back voice sprinkled with laughter.

He and Pup Pup make their way to us and we hugged.

"Did you get my texts?" he asks.

"Of course not," I reply. "Cause you never sent me any."

He laughs in agreement.

"What's going on?" I ask and he tells me.

"That's the same stuff that was going on last time I asked you."

"I know," he smils, "but it's different this time."

"Long as you feel good about it," I laugh.

 "I'm turning over lots of Bar Church to Stephen and Joe," he said.

"Uh-huh," I say not believing him for a minute.

"Seriously," he smiles.

"Whatev's!"

"You look good," he says changing the subject and rubbing my belly.

"Now you're just full of shit," I say grabbing Goddess' leash.

"When you going to come play?" he asks.

I shrug. "Whenever God tells you to tell me."

God talks to Sam more than most people.

He and Pup Pup climb in their golf cart while Goddess and I head in the other direction.

"I'll come by soon," he laughs as he drives into the sunset.

"Goddess," I say out loud. "I wonder when Sam's next epiphany will be?"

She stops and pees in the grass.

"Amen," I say in response.

A song for you

When Chelsea graduated from High School and took off for college I made her a compact disk of songs, as I'd done for her brother Jeremy when it was his time to leave.

I cried both times.

The times they were a'changing.

In Chelsea's case I started with Paul Simon's "Father and Daughter" from the cartoon "The Thornbury's" because she loved it as a child and I would sit there and watch it with her. I didn't give a damn about the cartoon but it made her laugh and I couldn't come up with a better way to say how much I adore her.

After that I went to James Taylor's "This is a song for you, far away from me."

I missed her.

I missed Jeremy.

Kristen stayed near so it wasn't as bad with her but I missed her too.

It would never be the same again.

My children had moved on.

I had too.

Years later, I was sitting sad and lonely in St. Martin of all places. Miles and miles of clear blue skies, aqua blue water, good friends who cared for me when I couldn't care for myself ... those were those days.

Love had left me.

My life's work had too.

There wasn't much of anything left other than paradise.

I'd wake up in the morning and stumble into the waters of Orient Bay and fall forward to find life. Then I'd stumble back, pour myself a cup of coffee, sit under the Banyan Tree and turn on the computer. I'd write what was in my heart which was mostly broken then see whatever anyone had to say.

One morning there was Chelsea sending the song back to me.

"This is a song for you," ... Daddy ... "far away from me."

I cried as much as I've ever cried and sitting there doing so, my friends Conner and Hania strolled by on their way to trade towels and they stopped and sat with me.

Nothing much was said.

Nothing much needed to be.

After a bit we walked together for coffee and to change towels.

But it was Chelsea who carried me.

And her song ... far away from me.

The Sound of Happy Rain

"We'll start with radiation and chemotherapy," the doctor explained after telling my aunt she has breast cancer.

"I'm much too pretty for that," Regis firmly informed him.

Then she went home.

Regis was accustomed to doing things her way.

Growing up in Port Wentworth, my Dad's family were all nearby. My uncle Ruben lived on the other side of the viaduct. Uncle Bobby lived in South Carolina. We lived in Kentwood, closest to the Savannah River and the railroad tracks.

Aunt Regis lived in exotic Daytona Beach, Florida.

She was a hoot smoking, drinking and she had this way of laughing that sounded like happy drops of rain pelting you from the sky. If she didn't like her husband, she'd get a new one. Regis was not a woman to settle! She also worked at the United Way of all places, helping others needing help.

Of her three children, Debra, Johnny and Sheri, Johnny was my hero. When Grand Dad died, Johnny and I decided it was a good idea to take the little house out behind the one he'd lived in and turn it into a shrine. While my Grandmother and the rest of the family remained inside doing the things you do planning a funeral, Johnny and I took paint and wrote our names and his on the tiny white wooden structure.

We got in trouble of course but I still think Grand Dad Elliott liked it.

And I remember Regis laughed when she saw it.

Recently she fell and hurt herself. The doctor again explained all that he would do to make her better.

"I don't want to do that," she said.

And she stayed true to herself doing everything her own way.

At 84 years old, she survived her other brother Ruben and her younger one, my Dad. Uncle Bobby is laying low these days and I don't blame him.

This morning I find myself celebrating Regis and given the way I've lived my life, wondering how she ended up apparently having far more influence than I ever thought she had.

Thank you Regis. Rain down a little laughter on all of us today.

The Coppertone Girl and me

It all started with the Coppertone Girl.

To this day when I use Coppertone, the smell of the suntan lotion excites me like crazy. The beach, the sun, the sea, surfing, cold beers and girls in bikinis ... today's Sarah's is orange. 

It's a good day.

As I was lathering up I remembered when I met the girl with the dog pulling down her bathing suit. (I must say I love that dog and have been trying to teach Goddess to pull down bathing suits since for her seven years of life but she is terrible at it.)

We were on a church choir tour of Florida in a vain attempt to save all of the heathens living in Florida who built all of these fake churches to fool the Christians of Georgia that they're really saved people but the First Baptist Church of Port Wentworth knew better!

We made it all the way to Miami and were staying in the home of secret Florida Christians when she walked in. She was around 24 at the time, wearing a blue bikini and had long blond hair. I was 14 and immediately in love.

She didn't stay but a moment but her memory still lingers.

I immediately started converting to paganism, rock-and-roll music and being a beach bum which became most difficult when I went to a Christian Seminary, was in a church choir and lived in Kentucky.

But I overcame each of these obstacles.

Today I want to thank her for the major influence she's had on my life.

Now I have to go see what I can do about the bottom of Sarah's bikini.

Disney World People

There are four types of people who go to Disney World.

There are the perpetually happy. They smile, talk, and are already planning how they plan on returning to the park tomorrow. They wear Mickey Mouse ears and Donald Duck hats, know the lay out of the place by heart and love the food. They have priority parking, pockets full of fast passes and look forward to helping people who are lost by sharing their incredible knowledge.

There are the lost ones. They wander around with an unfolded map wondering which way to go. They wear the aforementioned ears and hats as they circle Fantasyland having no clue they're doing so.

When they actually get in line they have no idea what they're waiting for.

"Is this the line for Splash Mountain?" a couple asks after waiting half-an-hour.

"No," yells someone with a Fast pass sprinking by, "but you'll love Dumbo."

There are the permanently pissed. They storm around the park, yelling and dragging their crying children to the next ride. Standing in line, wives fight with husbands and kids beg for money for more ice cream, cotton candy, or a leg of a beast that they rip the meat off of with their mouths.

Finally, there is a new breed of Disney goers. The techologically advanced. They have no idea they're standing in line as they stare at their phones. They're texting, watching Youtube videos, taking pictures and uploading them to Facebook. Disney is saving a fortune on the light bill because it turns off the lights at Space Mountain though the place remains eerily lit by the glow of a thousand tiny screens.

I watch them standing in long lines for things I really have no interest in doing. I never thought I'd be in this place again having sworn it off years ago. I'd done my time. Yet here I am with Sarah and the girls.

The joy is watching them do it all for the first time. They "ooh" and "ahh", scream on the rides, and are oblivious to the crowds. For moments the kid in me rises up and laughs as they scream "Weee" flying in a boat high above London chasing Peter Pan and Wendy.

And there are these moments when it seems that no one else is there at all.

Coastal Confessions

I’ll start with the first confession.

We are not on the coast.

We’re in Orlando.

That’s a lie and therefore another confession.

There will be many.

We’re actually in Kissimmee, not by the beach but at a pool.

We’re having a good time when a security guard in a blue suit with a badge storms passed followed by some squinty looking “I-work-behind-the-desk-authority-figure”. They appear pissed!

Beside us are these four sixty something women in bathing suits, drinking beers and talking. I can’t understand a damn thing they’re saying but luckily Sarah speaks extreme “Northern” dialects and translates for me.

“So I stopped cooking for him. That got his sorry ass out,” one said sipping on a beer.

“And that got him out?” said another silver haired lady. “I thought that would have made him stay.”

“Bitch,” the first lady said.

While this was happening, Sarah’s youngest child Cassidy is drowning in the pool so she jumps in to save her.

I’d miss it because I’m riveted by the conversation and the security guard confrontation at the insistence of the man wearing dark glasses, black socks and a pocket protector full of pens and notes. It made me think of Jerry Rainy.

“Is that a beer?” the security guard demands.

“What in the hell else would it be?” she shoots back taking a slug.

“You can’t have it here,” he tells her. “Home owner rules.”

Now I never saw the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, the dropping of the first nuclear bomb, a tsunami or Rush Limbaugh in person but I imagine it was like this.

Four sixty something year old women from New York, now in Orlando, Florida, wearing bathing suits and drinking beer while talking about getting rid of their Ex’s … EXPLODED!!

Now I learned cussing while taking Hebrew in Seminary like everybody else but let me tell you something. These ladies were spectacular! Sarah had to translate many of the unknown Northern cuss words but let me tell you something … damn these ladies were good!

The security guard has no gun so he runs. Jerry Rainy had shot all of his ink so he flees too.

The women grab their cooler and chase them.

Laughing, I see that Cassidy is wet but otherwise alright. Sarah seems a bit upset though I have no idea why.

I take another sip of wine from the Styrofoam and felt bad.

It gets me thinking about Confession. I’ve done a lot of bad things … broken tons of rules … apparently almost let Cassidy drown.

I should confess my sins.

THANK GOD I’m Southern Baptist!!!

You don’t have to confess shit as a Southern Baptist Christian!

I try to explain it to Sarah but she doesn’t seem to care.

So I keep my mouth shut and sip my wine.

I love religion.   

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.