How Did I End Up Here?

How in the hell did I end up here?

Let me be clear about where "Here" is.

I'm sitting under an umbrella, on the beloved back deck of a house I love on an island I cherish filled with people I love and who love me.

Living with me is a beautiful, smart and sexy woman who would knock my socks off if I ever wore socks which I don't.

It is a beautiful morning, not a cloud in the sky, and the sun is playing a game of hide-and-seek between the lush subtropical wall of foliage that I call Fran's Thousand Shades of Green. A lovely breeze is blowing off the ocean and the leaves are dancing in celebration.

It's the day after a holiday and I don't have to physically go anywhere other than take Goddess for a walk beside the Back River where the pungent aroma of the Marsh is as intoxicating as sex on a hot summer's day.

I've got lots to do but this is the "Here" that I have to do it.

Back to the question at hand ... just how in the hell did I end up here?

My life's been a broken jigsaw puzzle full of holes where pieces used to be. Yet it somehow paints a beautiful, poignant portrait of a happy and content man whose heart is full of love and lust for the future. Behind his head is a rich tapestry of a wonderful life with some crazy made-for-the-movies action scenes!

If I were to plot it out on a graph, it would be one confusing chart. In Port Wentworth, Georgia Mom and Dad launched my life and I've been around the world only to land half an hour away from where I was born.

That's just the geography! If it were a relationship graph ... Holy Shit! ... it would like the angry drawing of a child with a red pen scratching back and forth across the lines, mostly outside of them. Through the end result has been three wonderful children, a wife I adore and her three little "blessings" who daily bring home confusion and laughter at the same time which is no small feat.

Yet here I am.

Which naturally makes me think of something Steve Jobs once said.

"Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma -- which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And, most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary."

To which I add ... yep.

Is it scary sometimes? Hells Yeah!

Do I want more security than I've got? Hells Yeah!

Do things still go wrong? Hells Yeah!

Would I trade?

No way in hell!

_________________________________________________

October 2013 ♦ Embracing peace in your life! “You are one of the most tormented people I know,” she said. I was at the height of success, living at the beach, working in a beautiful city, having everything I thought I wanted…but she was right. I was miserable and didn’t know why. Then I decided to take a journey inside of myself. Life is too short and I deserved to happily celebrate my life. As much as I wanted to lay the blame at the feet of others, it was my own fault and I needed to know why I prevented myself from enjoying my life. I needed to find peace. And I did. You can find yours.

Interested? There's still time to enroll at http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/indepthclasses/

No Better Place to Run

Hoping on our bicycles, we coast to Butler Avenue gliding pass the stand still bumper-to-bumper traffic. The sidewalks are equally crowded as I wave at Randy "Hatman" Smith playing at Stingrays but he's completely engrossed by the huge audience to notice.

At the street inexpiably named Tybressa, between 15th and 17th Streets, we turn left and stop at Bernie's where there's a line to get inside. Bypassing it, we stroll down the alley into the courtyard where Samuel Adams, Gordo and Davy are playing damn good live music on Tybee Island.

They break into grins as they see us and Sarah kisses each while they're performing. I love them too so I follow suite and also kiss them.

We commandeer a table, tackle a waiter and order.

Gordo leaves the stage to sit with us. We chat as good friends do between his harmonica solos. Sam chides and tells him to take the next verse so Gordo returns to his stool and adlibs "A Pirate Looks at 40" somehow morphing it into a Johnny Cash song.

Sarah and I laugh, feeling very much part of a family surrounded by the crowd of tourists.

Taking our leave, we stroll to where the Swinging Medallions are playing. The Pier is packed but we twist through the throng until we are close to the stage. They launch in "Double Shot of  my Baby's Love" and I grab her hand and we dance.

I love dancing with Sarah, especially with our eyes lock and she flashes her Mona Lisa smile. For a minute we're the only people dancing on the Pier.

The band takes a break so we climb down the stairs to the soft cool sand of the beach. People are everywhere as picnics are spread as families listen to the band while waiting for the fireworks.

"Let's go watch them from the deck," I say so we leave the beach, twist through the crowd again and bump in Barri Marshall whose taking picture for Savannah Spotted. We embrace, she snaps our photograph and we retrieve our bikes.

At the end of Tybressa we hang a right and run right into Esther Guy and the gang at Fannies On the Beach. Sarah jumps off her bike and hugs Essie. There's no place in the bike rack so I lean them against the light post and the party immediately kidnaps us.

Amy Gaster, Joey Spalding, Al, Tee, Ann, Swanny and all manner of party people arrive and we settle in with them and watch the fireworks explode over the ocean.

Hugging everyone goodbye, we climb back on our bikes and navigate through the traffic jam to the quietness of the back side of the island. Goddess, Winston the little gay dog, and Gypsy the cat greet us with an incredible outpouring of affection. We smile as we exhale and relax.

Living on an island where thousands of other people vacation is a funny thing. There's always a circus somewhere. Sometimes its impossible to drive your car anywhere.  Tackling waitresses is an acceptable form of social interaction. When emergencies occur, it's impossible to get on or off the island with it's one way in and one way out traffic jam.

But ... the pungent aroma of the marsh on a hot summer's day is the smell of sex in the Tropics.  Miles and miles of clear blue skies above a sandy beach and vast ocean make me stop dead in my tracts every time. A sea breeze refreshes in ways that inland winds never do. Living in the middle of natures swimming pool is corrupting and my heart is filled with salt water.

We are a crazy people who live here. We're all running to or running from something or someone.

But dammit, there's just no better place to run.

_______________________________

An eccentric life dotted with eclectic characters pop from the pages of award winning author Micheal Elliott’s newest book Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts. Over 200 pages of his musings immerse you in a world of headshaking wonder, gut wrenching laughter, heart touched tenderness and empathetic tears.
Never letting the truth stand in the way of a good story, Elliott’s ninth book takes you on a wild journey of “Wow! Really! I can’t believe that!” every day moments. Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts exemplifies his gift of capturing common thoughts and painting them perfectly into words. Release date (pre-order books ship) is September 23, 2013.
Just lick on http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/newbook/

We Did Good

A smile burst across his leathered face as he sees me enter The Breakfast Club. We were to have met at 8:15 but he'd arrived 20 minutes early.

"Why do make an old man wait?" Val says from behind the cash register as I rush pass ignoring her.

Frank stands and we embrace in the crowded back dining room.

He's frail and his body has shrunk since I last saw him four years ago. Instantly I fill with emotions ... my eyes grow moist, the throat is dry as my arms completely engulf him.

"You look great!" he says, stepping back with his arms still on my shoulders.

His face absolutely beams. Glistening eyes and the crooked smile lets me know he how much he loves me.

A moment is suddenly a thousand years.

Once he was a force in Savannah. Owner of a chemical distribution company that he started from scratch, Frank rose to be President of the Downtown Rotary Club, served on numerous Boards and was a behind-the-scenes Kingmaker. He'd helped orchestrate the Savannah Music Festival, the Paul Anderson Youth Home and was the first big time member of my Board at Union Mission.

We'd met when he'd asked me to speak at the Rotary Club. He stood immaculately dressed in a dark suit, black hair greying at the temples, and bounced nervously as he waited on me to show.

"Mr. Stanton?" I asked.

Confused, he stared at me wearing blue jeans with a blue blazer and a tie. My hair was tied in a pony tail and I was carrying copies of my first book.

"Rev. Elliott?" he asked completely perplexed. "You don't look like a minister."

"Thanks," I said as we shook hands and he led me into the Ballroom.

The speech went well, there was applause and in appreciation Frank bought a book.

Late the next afternoon he burst into my office demanding to know, "Who wrote this?" as he held the book in front of my face.

"Ummmm," I smartly replied at his unexpected intrusion into an already too long day, "that is my name on the cover."

"That doesn't mean anything," he shot back which made me burst into laughter and in turn, he burst into laughter too.

We went on to accomplish great things together: The city's first shelter for women and children, first response to people with HIV/AIDS,  first drug treatment center for women, and health care clinics sprinkled throughout the County for people without heath care which was half the population.

Throughout the decade, Frank smiled and brought countless investors to meet me, gave wise advise and lavished me with the gift of time away from it all. He forever surprised me with trips somewhere so I could relax then be at full strength when he introduced me to the city's decision makers.

I may have been successful without Frank but he certainly made everything happen faster.

He's retired now, living in another town and misses the things that used to be. Life is spent alone with his wife who is ill, he reads old books and every time he watches television he's reminded that life has passed him by.

We spent an hour reminiscing as everyone who works at The Breakfast Club recognized this was a special reunion. They thrust sweetness on us. There was lots of noise but we didn't hear it. The staff patted his shoulder as they refilled his coffee then they rubbed my back to share in the holiness of the moment.

Frank seemed to grow as we  talked then he placed his hand on top of mine ... in front of a very crowded restaurant that suddenly seemed to grow quiet ... in front of the long line waiting on the other side of the window to come inside ... in front of God herself.

"We did good didn't we Parson?" he said softly.

Nodded my head up and down, my voice cracked as I agreed. "We did."

I walked him to his car and we embrace again.

"I love you Frank," I said in his ear.

"I love you Parson," he whispered before lifting one leg with his hand to climb inside his car.

And I watched him wipe tears from his eyes as he drove away.

_____________________________________

An eccentric life dotted with eclectic characters pop from the pages of award winning author Micheal Elliott’s newest book Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts. Over 200 pages of his musings immerse you in a world of headshaking wonder, gut wrenching laughter, heart touched tenderness and empathetic tears.
Never letting the truth stand in the way of a good story, Elliott’s ninth book takes you on a wild journey of “Wow! Really! I can’t believe that!” every day moments. Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts exemplifies his gift of capturing common thoughts and painting them perfectly into words. Release date (pre-order books ship) is September 23, 2013.
Just click http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/newbook/

Music, Jeremy and me

Every morning I fire the computer up and the first thing I do is go to Sirius radio where I'm presented with an array of musical options. Beginning with current hits, I choose genres or decades to listen.

There are DJ's but no commercials.

There are countdowns from this week in whatever decade I pick or guest DJ's like Bob Dylan or Bernie Taupin spinning their favorite wax.

I listen to the Sixties and flip to the Eighties then back to the Sixties.

My son Jeremy loves music as much as I do and the only time we ever had an argument was over the music of the Sixties as opposed to that of the Eighties.

The Eighties had Michael Jackson, Madonna, Prince and Run D.M.C.

The Sixties had the Doors, Marvin Gaye, the Who, the Grateful Dead, and the Rolling Stones.

"Jeremy," I said. "They may still write their songs, but they don't play on their recordings, use drum machines and the concerts are Madonna rolling the floor in a wedding dress with no really good guitar solo."

"That's crap Dad," he fires back.

"The Sixties had real music son," I reply. "It was about real stuff. It charged the course of history. That decade of music beats the 70s, 80's and the 90s combined."

"Come on Old Man, 'Love grows where my Rosemary goes? ... seriously?"

He had me for a moment.

"Lady in Red," I counter feeling my confidence restored.

"Yummy Yummy Yummy I got love in my tummy," he shoots. "For Christ's sake!"

"Oh Mickey I love you," I laugh. M-I-C-K-E-Y!"

"TINY TIM," he yells, again painting me in a corner.

So I have to throw the Ace card that I'd been holding back. I savor the moment because I know I have him.

"Beatles," I calmly reply.

He knows that I know that he's got nothing to counter with.

We're more mellow about it these days. We share music with each other often and enjoy going to shows together. Whenever we're together we bring a play list. Music hovers in most everything we do. Both of us think in lyrics.

But I'm missing him today.

I want him to Don't Worry, be happy.

I want him to say Rock Me Amadeus.

I want him to stand with men without hats.

That's enough.

It's time to light my fire.

What Am I Supposed to be?

There's something I'm just supposed to be.

"Before I formed you in the womb," God says, "I knew you."

"I gotta be me. What else am I suppose to be?"

"I yam what I yam and that's all that I yam."

Standing in a lecture Hall at the Morehouse School of Medicine my friend Lucy Hall, a giant of a woman, towers over me flashing her benevolent smile and asks, "So what are you doing now?"

"I'm giving a speech with you," I grinned.

She hits me. A playful love tap from Lucy is like jab from Muhammad Ali and I lose my balance for a second.

"I meant for a living," she grins wrapping her giant black arms around me.

So I tell her.

"I write every day, try to help people, have these classes that help other's help themselves," I shrug. "I dunno Luce. I just try to make everything better."

She has this way of nodding like she already knows what I'm going to say and is pleased at the confirmation as her suspicions are confirmed. Her head bops up and down, the infectious smile grows and her brown eyes dance in delight.

"You're back to being a minister again," she pronounces.

"How in the hell did you come up with that idea?" I shoot.

Muhammad Ali knocks the shit out of me again and I lose balance.

"Shut up," she says in front the Leadership Class arriving to hear our talks.

"Don't worry," the Amazon black woman tells them, "he's my brother from a different mother. You know how we people are."

It's hard to not love Lucy.

Pinning me against the wall she continues, "You're a minister again. That's what you're saying. You an unchurched minister but you're a minister. You were a great CEO. You did things the rest of us haven't done yet. But you've gone back to your roots."

Pausing for few seconds to look wise and holy again, she concludes, "That's good. It's about time."

"What in the hell are you talking about?" I say as she instantly raises her arm while I flinch.

"My brother," she says putting the giant arm around me. "You've stripped all of that other stuff away. You're back to basics. Sarah is perfect for you. You're doing the things you love ..."

She's suddenly lost in thought for a moment giving me the impression she's having a quick sidebar with God. Then her head bops up and down again before the smile returns.

"You scare the hell out of the rest of us because nobody's ever sure what you're doing. Then you leave us amazed by it."

"I don't know about all ..." I begin to say.

"Shut up!" she commands raising her arm making me flinch again.

"You're finally back to being you," she pronounces from on high.

"It makes me glad," she says as her eyes grow moist before smothering me in hug I still haven't recovered from.

_____________________

An eccentric life dotted with eclectic characters pop from the pages of award winning author Micheal Elliott’s newest book Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts. Over 200 pages of his musings immerse you in a world of headshaking wonder, gut wrenching laughter, heart touched tenderness and empathetic tears.
Never letting the truth stand in the way of a good story, Elliott’s ninth book takes you on a wild journey of “Wow! Really! I can’t believe that!” every day moments. Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts exemplifies his gift of capturing common thoughts and painting them perfectly into words. Release date (pre-order books ship) is September 23, 2013.

Check it out at http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/newbook/

Why I Try

I try.

And I try.

And I try ...

But I can't get no satisfaction!

It is true.

Nobody's satisfied for very long.

I'm sailing through a day and everything feels good, pieces are falling into place and all of that good Karma I've sent out is coming back. I can almost taste how good everything's becoming. One foot is about to hit pay dirt in the Promised Land.

Then something stupid happens.

Something is said that hits me as just plain wrong. The bad dream that kept me awake at night is suddenly real in the daylight. Worries take center stage. My worst fears slam into the good feelings, knocking pieces out of place and it's suddenly raining bad Karma.

"What in the hell just happened?" I say out loud.

There's no one to hear it, except for me.

Or maybe its one of the basic of prayers and I'm asking God to explain why everything just went to shit?

God doesn't reply though while I stand there holding a suddenly empty bag.

Emotion wells out of nowhere and I'm suddenly wiping salt water in my eyes, a dry lump grows in my throat and I can literally feel my heart breaking. An indignant sense of injustice erupts and overwhelms me.

Let's be honest, this happens with far more regularity than those wonderful moments when we're satisfied, happy, content and know without the slightest conviction how much love we have.

So we try ... and we try ... and we try ... but just can't get no damn satisfaction.

This is where faith comes into the picture.

I just have to keep believing.

She still loves me when I'm completely unlovely or unloving back. This idea we've been working so hard on, for so very long, is going to be successful.  These hard times will eventually be replaced and everything's gonna be alright. Demons will give way to Angels and bright sunshine casts out all darkness. Good again trumps the bad.

"Now faith is the substance of things hoped for; the evidence of things not seen."

Yep.

So I keep trying ... and I try ... and I try.
_________________________________
October 2013 ♦ Embracing peace in your life! “You are one of the most tormented people I know,” she said. I was at the height of success, living at the beach, working in a beautiful city, having everything I thought I wanted…but she was right. I was miserable and didn’t know why. Then I decided to take a journey inside of myself. Life is too short and I deserved to happily celebrate my life. As much as I wanted to lay the blame at the feet of others, it was my own fault and I needed to know why I prevented myself from enjoying my life. I needed to find peace. And I did. You can find yours ... Check it out at http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/indepthclasses/

Peace

"The opposite of war isn't peace, it's creation."

It's a great line from the musical RENT written by Jonathan Larson.

I think its true too. War is about violence and death, social disruption, economic destruction. It's authors are mostly politicians and ministers. "It means destruction of innocent lives," as the song goes, "War means tears to thousands of mothers eyes; when their sons go to fight and lose their lives."

No matter how you slice it, war sucks.

It is true that peace is characterized by a lack of violence, conflict and freedom from fear but the $100,000 question is how do we get there?

Let's be honest, much of the time we're at war with the members of our families. Sometimes in literal ways but more often through suppressed feelings, hidden anger and looks that can kill.

Our children can drive us absolutely crazy and we conjure punishments and prisons, stripping them of the things they enjoy so we can teach them a lesson.

Friends abandon us in our worse times of need, tell us things we want to hear rather than the truth and are suspiciously absent when someone should be standing up on our behalf.

My friend Jimmy Cochran wrote a marvelous thing about his mother recently. He was taking her out for lunch and she's old and is having trouble getting out of the car.

"What's happening to me?" she asks in frustration.

And the peace that passeth all understanding hit Jimmy like a ton of bricks.

He remembers a lifetime in a second. Everything she's ever done out of love for him flashes before him, all of the times she created love out of bad situations, unfortunate accidents, or when she pushed him to be more than he was becoming.

Peace is an easily vanishing experience, especially the kind that surpasses all understanding, and they were quickly back to their mortal selves with her asking him what in the hell he's staring at, helping her elderly body out of the car and admonishing him to not put any of this on Facebook, which he did.

You grab hold of peace and it's gone.

In the end, it really is about creating, because when all is said and done, we're either creating the wars or we're making peace with things.

I don't know about you but I "ain't going to study war no more."

I got better things to do.

I'm heading down to the riverside ...

lay my burdens down ...

talk with the Prince of Peace ...

touch the people I love.
________________________________

October 2013 ♦ Embracing peace in your life! “You are one of the most tormented people I know,” she said. I was at the height of success, living at the beach, working in a beautiful city, having everything I thought I wanted…but she was right. I was miserable and didn’t know why. Then I decided to take a journey inside of myself. Life is too short and I deserved to happily celebrate my life. As much as I wanted to lay the blame at the feet of others, it was my own fault and I needed to know why I prevented myself from enjoying my life. I needed to find peace. And I did. You can find yours.

check it out at http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/indepthclasses/

Parking Problems

Aside from the constant buzz of the unrelenting chain saw two houses away, it's a stunningly beautiful day.

The ocean is flat, the breeze slight, the sky blue as the sun plays hide and seek with puffy cotton clouds. The island is lush and green. Flowers bloom the colors of the rainbow and a choir of seagulls sing.

At least it was that way before the chain saw was cranked.

Now it's hell on earth!

I'm trying to work but can't concentrate with all the damn noise.

When the chain saw is turned off, two men yell at one another as through it's still on.

They are renovating apartments that Poor Pat used to own. She was a pioneer in squalor living developments and they're now being restored to their original squalor by some dude from California.

Our neighbors are all up in arms because the City of Tybee has given approval for the weekly tenants to park on public right of ways ... meaning our front yards.

This is because there are 8 apartments but only 4 parking spaces in front of the development.

To protect homeowners the City of Tybee has given permission for us to build fences on the aforementioned public right-of-way in our front yards.

This is because we cut the grass on the public right-of-ways.

The City of Tybee is busy eliminating public parking spaces because the island has more day visitors than ever before.

In the meantime, our street is a virtual cornucopia of fence displays. There are white pickets, natural posts with ropes, metal fences, wooden fences and the Cat Lady next door has grown her own Rain Forest infiltrated by feral cats to prevent parking in her yard.

Taking an anti-fence position, Sarah placed large red flower pots in our yard which have drawn the praise of our neighbors who hate their fences.

Great!

They've apparently finished because I don't hear the chain saw and they're not yelling either.

Now I've got to get things done.

If I can just block out the sound of the traffic jam on Butler Avenue.

Milley Cyrus and Winston, the little gay dog

Wearing a sweater vest that reads, "Guess why Jack and Phil went up the hill?," Winston, the little gay dog is working on his tan.

"You little son-of-a-bitch," I say, "why are you getting a farmer's tan? Take the damn sweater off."

He ignores me, laying in the sun on his little doggie bed monogramed with the guys from One Direction watching his Kendal.

"What in the hell are you watching?" I scream because he's got it going full blast.

He doesn't hear me.

He's riveted by Miley Cyrus' performance at the MTV Video Music Awards. He keeps playing it over and over. He loves her and is sticking his tongue out every time she sticks hers out.

I throw up a little in my mouth and choke it back down before yelling, "I'm going to tell Uncle Johnny you piece of ..." but stop when Goddess meanders out to survey the situation.

She looks at Winston, the little gay dog, and then at me and then back at him again.

I shrug my shoulders.

She shakes her head and shakes her long golden hair before taking a quick puff from her medicine pipe. She strolls over to Winston, the little gay dog, hikes her hind leg and pees on his Kendal. Goddess shakes her long golden hair again, winks at me and picks up her pipe.

Winston, the little gay dog, is furious and starts jumping up and down while barking furiously. He looks and sounds remarkably like Miley Cyrus.

Goddess giggles and strolls back inside.

Shaking my head I turn up the music on my computer. Gary Lewis and the Playboys drowns out his Miley Cyrus.

God!

It's a Monday!
______________________________

An eccentric life dotted with eclectic characters pop from the pages of award winning author Micheal Elliott’s newest book Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts. Over 200 pages of his musings immerse you in a world of headshaking wonder, gut wrenching laughter, heart touched tenderness and empathetic tears.

Never letting the truth stand in the way of a good story, Elliott’s ninth book takes you on a wild journey of “Wow! Really! I can’t believe that!” every day moments. Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts exemplifies his gift of capturing common thoughts and painting them perfectly into words. Release date (pre-order books ship) is September 23, 2013.

Pre-order your copy for $10.95, plus $4 S&H now! Offer ends August 31st.

(Regular price $14.95, plus $4 S&H takes effect 9/1)

C'est La Vie

It has been brought to my attention that I am remarkably consistent in my inconsistency.

I don't deny it.

Most people believe in absolutes. Things are black or white. You're liberal or conservative. There are believers and non-believers, lovers and haters, the good and the bad.

I believe life's more grey.

Like piano keys, black and white mixed together can make beautiful sounds. If just one set of keys are played it's pretty one dimensional.

Politics is for extremists though the truth is most often in the middle.

Believers are filled with doubt while non-believers long for something to fill empty places.

Lovers absentmindedly fall into apathy and haters sometimes overcome above their indifference.

Good people occasionally do bad things and bad people surprise everyone when they rise to the occasion.

You can never quite be sure.

There's always more than one side to a story.

It's not to say I don't have convictions because I certainly do!

I hate cold weather with everything in me. I love my kids, the girls, Goddess, Winston, the little gay dog, summer, the beach, St. Martin and the University of Georgia football team with everything inside of me.

I simply adore my beloved Sarah and emotionally fall apart when we're not on the same page. I just shut down.

The older I get, the more I think it's all C'est la vie.

That's life!

Clarity often slips into ambiguity and then slides back to crystal clear visions but with nagging wonderment if it's the right way or not?

We're all working our way through the best we can.

Some of us do better than others though each of us struggle.

I have both the blessing and the curse of being an extremely empathetic person. I feel what others share deeply and in real time.  A friend is hurting, feels taken advantage of, hates life or wants something different shares with me and I share it back. I live the moment with them even though I often think they've made their own bed and are now laying in it.

I don't tell them that though.

I encourage instead.

Life's hard enough to get through.

We can all use more encouragement.

I overdo it and I know I do.

Sometimes at my own expense.

Certainly at the expense of others.

Sitting here pondering these things, I say the same prayer that I say every single day.  It's one of my absolutes.

"Hey God! Help me to be the best me I can be today. I'm sure I'll fuck some things up but I really am doing my best. If I can help anyone else along the way then that's good too. Bless the things I love and let me love them like you do. And if you can find a use for the things I hate ... well that's great. You being God and all made it for a reason. Oh ... and thanks for this life. Thank you for Sarah, the kids the girls, Goddess, Winston, the little gay dog, warm weather, the here and the now."

It's my life.

C'est la vie!
_____________________

An eccentric life dotted with eclectic characters pop from the pages of award winning author Micheal Elliott’s newest book Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts. Over 200 pages of his musings immerse you in a world of headshaking wonder, gut wrenching laughter, heart touched tenderness and empathetic tears.

Never letting the truth stand in the way of a good story, Elliott’s ninth book takes you on a wild journey of “Wow! Really! I can’t believe that!” every day moments. Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts exemplifies his gift of capturing common thoughts and painting them perfectly into words. Release date (pre-order books ship) is September 23, 2013.

Pre-order your copy for $10.95, plus $4 S&H now! Offer ends August 31st.

(Regular price $14.95, plus $4 S&H takes effect 9/1)

Jumping into God's arms

Once upon a time.

It was actually four years ago.

I knew it was time.

Nobody else knew but I did.

The life that I was living had run out.

The smell of my work place exhausted me. I'd show up feeling happy and chipper only to smell that smell and the heavy weight of the world suddenly fell on my shoulders. A weary depression took root and I grew to hate it.

But I was scared to make a move. On the surface everything was great! I was constantly told how I needed I am; that things would be worse if I left; Hell, they begged me to stay.

But I'd come home and the house just reeked of sadness. It had become a mausoleum of the past. There was little about the past that made me happy. Those times had come and they were gone yet I held on to them because I didn't know what else to grasp.

I needed the money. I wanted people to want me. Everything inside of me was changing which fostered this incredible, inexplicable, need to keep everything the same. I was scared to move.

Looking back on it now, I orchestrated things so they happened without me having to do much. I got others to pull the triggers  then I was the one who rode the bullets.

I don't have many regrets in life but I should have been the one pulling every damn trigger.

Fast forward to now.

I'm living with my love, doing what I love and loving where I live!

It doesn't pay as well but that's alright. We'll figure the money out later. Life isn't about money. It's about love ... who loves you and who you love ... and where you love.

I'm blessed with lots of friends. Most of them seem to be in places that I've been.

Some have pulled triggers and are changing everything about their lives before their lives run out.

Others are too damn scared and are holding on to whatever it is they have because they'll settle for safety rather than love.

Leaps of faith are funny things.

You know but you doubt at the same time.

It's a shame when the doubt wins out.

Because jumping without a net lands you straight in the arms of love.

And, it you believe like I believe, and like St. John believed way before me, God is love.

Going back to college

Mitch Wesley and I went to college many years ago.

Decades really.

Yesterday we went back.

Not literally.

Neither of us are literalists.

We also went to a liberal Seminary together, well, at least at the time it was liberal but when we left it had experienced a hostile takeover by a raging group of Baptist As Terrorists ... or B.A.T. ... which Homeland Security probably has on its top ten list.

Neither Mitch nor I were members of B.A.T.

Mark Wood was probably a member.

He's the quiet type. And he always has a smirk on his face. Quiet smirking Baptists merit suspicion. Plus he infiltrated Baptist Headquarters on the college campus and kidnapped Gyni who is the daughter of "The Bird," the mastermind of all things Baptist at the college we all went attended.

It's not that any of this is relevant.

But Mitch and I carried on a virtual conversation yesterday for an hour or so only using the titles of songs by Elvis.

It's the kind of the conversation you have in college and in our non literal way we may as well have been on campus.

Had Mark virtually skipped class like Mitch and I were I'm certain he would have participated.

I was on the back deck writing the curriculum for a class I'm teaching in October. The class is "Finding Peace in your Life" and I was really into it until Mitch posted his status on Facebook.

The status had nothing to do with Elvis but, as everybody knows, "the spirit of The King" is everywhere. Before we knew it, we'd wasted an hour speaking in Elvis tongues.

Both of us were all shook up.

I have no idea what Mitch was supposed to be doing. He works for HOSPICE. He could have killing time. But he proved once again that there's always time for Elvis.

Anyway, I've got to finish the curriculum before Sarah finds out about this. I'm behind schedule and I've got to get it to her immediately.

It's now or never!

Because she's one of those people with suspicious minds.

I want to stay her Teddy Bear and if I can get this finished I think she will love me tender.

If it's not then it's Jailhouse Rock for me.

So ... thank ya. Thank ya very much!
______________________________________

Interested in more. Check out "Finding Peace in your Life" at http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/indepthclasses/

Our Anniversary

"Happy Anniversary!" we were told as we lead the girls into the "Full Moon" Party at Marlin Monroe's.

Every month, Jenny Orr throws a "Full Moon Party" when there's a full moon.

Jenny's very smart that way.

It's outside so everyone can see the moon and there's excellent live music, good drinks and food. The girls immediately order Strawberry Daiquiris and are ready to dance.

Sarah and I got married during the "Full Moon" Party at Marlin's and we now celebrate our anniversary monthly rather than annually.

It just makes more sense.

Marriage is crazy enough anyway!

Two people trying to become one.

It's a nutty concept that somehow took hold.

Like the Slinky, the Hula Hoop and eating fried Twinkies, marriage takes a lot of practice.

Sarah and I figure the more reasons to celebrate ours the better.

We've been married before and knew it could be better.

There's something magical about us though.

It's not to say we don't knock heads every once in a while. I'm a southern boy who loves college football, extremely hot weather and grits. She's a northern girl who likes ice skating, sweaters and can make frost with the best of them. But we mostly sail along in calm waters laughing and loving and longing.

We got to dance together once before the girls took center stage and I spent my time dancing with them.

Then the moon rose and the party stopped for a bit. According to the Weather God's it was a "Blue Moon" though in actuality it's quite red ... the color of our hearts.

The great thing about celebrating our anniversary every month is that we get to also celebrate the days leading up to our marriage.

Today is first lustful look day and we'll celebrate it.

Tomorrow is first "accidental" touch of skin day so we'll do that again.

There's "slip of the tongue" day. "I've never seen that part of your body before" day. "Nice bra" day. "Better panties" day. "Get sand in our mouths day while making out on the beach day!"

It builds in intensity until next month's "Full Moon" party.

Anyway, we're celebrating our anniversary most every day.

Hope you are too.

By the way ... does anybody know where the girls are?

Her name is Sandy Bottoms.

She's sitting in the sand on the beach flashing a smile that duels with the blazing sun in a blue postcard Caribbean sky. More than sitting, she is one with the sand. Her brown wrinkled legs are white as she's rolling around in it.

"It's important to exfoliate," she explains with an academic seriousness.

Then she burst out laughing in a little girl voice.

Extending a brown wrinkled hand towards me, the seventy-one old beach queen radiates a sincere warmth.

"She's quite something," says the old man wearing nothing except a straw hat standing next to me. "She's really something."

Greg is Sandy Bottoms husband. He's almost eighty and is sipping a Pinna Colada through a straw from the coconut he's holding with both hands.

"Why don't you meet us for dinner and dancing tonight?" Sandy Bottoms says from the sand.

"Ah, that'd be great!" Greg says before sucking on the straw again.

"Dancing?" I ask.

"Oh," he says in a long drawn out way with a smile breaking over his face, "Sandy loves to dance."

Giggles erupts from the beach below.

"You dance?" I ask looking at the old woman with young smile.

"You betcha," she exclaims and I immediately know with everything inside of me that the woman can dance.

"Ever since I had my hip replaced," Greg explains, "I can't keep up with her. It would be much better if she dances with you."

"Me?" I say in wonderment more than surprise.

"Yes sir," Greg continues as he sits the coconut down, "we've seen you dance and Sandy likes the way you move."

"You're pretty reckless," Sandy Bottoms adds.

I am at a complete loss for words.

But that night I wander into the beach restaurant and there they sit, sipping Grand Marnier to top off a Lobster dinner. Sandy Bottoms flashes the blazing smile and Greg shakes my hand and pours me a glass of wine.

The music starts.

"Well," Greg says. "Go cut that rug."

Sandy Bottoms gingerly stands and I escort her to the dance floor covered in sand. My hand's on her curved back as she walks with the hunch that comes with age.

Let me tell you something!

Sandy Bottoms can dance!

We spin and twirl, shag and bop, twist and shout. She giggles the little girl sounds as her eyes flash energy.

Twenty minutes later we both soaked in sweat.

The music ends and I bow to her on the dance floor. People clap as I escort her to a beaming Greg. My friend Carlos is laughing as he brings me a towel. I collapse in a chair, drowning an entire glass of wine.

The next day on the beach, Greg is wearing the straw hat and sipping another Pinna Colada from the coconut. Sandy Bottoms is rolling in the sand.

"Good morning Micheal!" they joyfully exclaim as I stumble to the ocean so I can fall in and wake up.

Knee deep in the aqua Teel water of the Bay, I fall forward and float until I need air. My legs are sore from moving in directions they haven't moved before. I need to stretch. Maybe I need to go back to bed. Standing, I stumble back towards the studio for coffee.

"Micheal," Greg says as I stumble by, "Sandy wants to know if you want to meet us again tonight."

"Oh My God," I mumble.

But don't let appearances or old women fool you.

Sandy Bottoms can dance!

________________________________________________

An eccentric life dotted with eclectic characters pop from the pages of award winning author Micheal Elliott’s newest book Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts. Over 200 pages of his musings immerse you in a world of headshaking wonder, gut wrenching laughter, heart touched tenderness and empathetic tears.

Never letting the truth stand in the way of a good story, Elliott’s ninth book takes you on a wild journey of “Wow! Really! I can’t believe that!” every day moments. Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts exemplifies his gift of capturing common thoughts and painting them perfectly into words. Release date (pre-order books ship) is September 23, 2013.

Our puppy is sick!

Something's wrong with Winston, the little gay dog.

First off, he's not dressing like he normally does. Every day he is very particular about his looks and makes a fashion statement. He prefers letting the world know he's opening gay having kicked the closet door open the moment he was born. He likes to wear shirts with sayings like, "I love football! Especially tight ends!" or "Jesus loves me! Isn't that gay!"

Yesterday and today he's just mopes around naked.

He's very particular about his diet but right now he's not anything. Oh, he's starved himself before because he very much agrees with Fernando Lamas, "It is better to look good than to feel good." This time though, he's not trying to fit into whatever new doggie sweaters he's bought online.

Sarah puts food in his little crystal doggie bowl with the gold leaf trim with Van Gogh's "Starry Night" on the bottom but he sighs and walks away.  

He loves Sarah more than anything and is forever following her around but not right now. He's not jumping on the bed to cuddle with her either. Instead, in the night he just stays under the bed in his little doggie pad with the lava lamps, Chaise Lounge,  shag carpet and votive candles while watching the Liberace: Behind the Chandelier movie over and over.

Goddess seems unconcerned about her baby brother, eating all of the treats we give him to satisfy her never ceasing case of the munchies. When she's not doing that she tends her lavish herb garden.

The girls are growing mildly concerned because he's not helping them get ready for school in the mornings and they value his sense of style. He's forever rolling his eyes and shaking his head as they parade out decked in what they think looks cool. Most day's he even barks at Laurel's fashion statements. Now he's not even helping them with their hair!

When Sarah and I have the morning coffee break he normally likes to watch but he's not even coming inside these days.

Personally, I could care less except that his little naked self is right beside me as my naked self is trying to work. Sitting outside on the Beloved Back Deck, he stares at me, sleeps at my feet or licks where his balls used to be. It's hard for me to concentrate.

He's eleven in dog years so it could be puberty.

I don't know.

But I do care. I don't like it when anyone in my family is sick or things aren't right for them. I don't even like when they have bad moods. Life's short and its sometimes too hard. I like it best when we're celebrating the day, doing good things because every day is a good day for that, and really enjoying the life we have and who we have ... and who we had ... in it.

I know you're busy but I'd appreciate it if you'd take moment to do something for Winston, the little gay dog. Say a prayer, blow him a kiss, send some good Karma, plaint a Rainbow Flag in your yard or hit the like button on Face Book.

I do love my little gay son and I don't like him being sick.
___________________________

Want to know more about Winston, the little gay dog?
An eccentric life dotted with eclectic characters pop from the pages of award winning author Micheal Elliott’s newest book Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts. Over 200 pages of his musings immerse you in a world of headshaking wonder, gut wrenching laughter, heart touched tenderness and empathetic tears.
You can at http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/newbook/

The View from the top of the Ferris Wheel

As a kid my family, like the majority in Chatham County, Georgia, vacationed on Tybee Island.

We'd stay for a week at Cobbs or at Barbi's Beach House, spending most every moment of sunshine on the beach, breaking only for a lunch of baloney sandwiches and potato chips which we prepared ourselves back at the rental. For supper we'd grill hot dogs or hamburgers on the bar-b-q provided for free.

Occasional treks were made to Bill's Grill for corndogs and to Christy's with it's cool juke box in the corner for the best French fries anywhere!

In the evenings we'd make our way to the Pier and watch the teenagers dance, to the tiny shooting gallery between Christy's and Chu's Department Store which had most everything ever invented or to the arcade on the end of the street.

Eventually we entered the Tybee Amusement Park with its colorful Carousal, boats that went in a circle, a roller coaster and the world's fastest Ferris Wheel. Dad would sit between David and me and once the Wheel began to spin, he rocked the car scaring the living daylights out of us! Round and round we'd go with air exhaling from our lungs as we began the rapid descent from the top.

It slows when riders are released and eventually everyone spends a few minutes sitting on top of the world. The vastness of the ocean lay directly in front. The moon casts a soft white glow on the waves. The lights and action of the Pier are below. Directly underneath kids scurry from ride to ride, eat cotton candy and families meander around holding hands.

Sitting there, both hands tightly clutching the safety bar, I'm completely overwhelmed by everything. I'd never seen so much of the world at once and quickly glance in every direction ... the roof tops to the right, a water slide and hotels to the left and the stars on the water in front.

It's incredibly quiet and Dad whispers, "It's beautiful."

And it was.

If you're lucky in life, you find yourself separated from everything sometimes, enabling you to see and feel everything at once. A detached objectivity is achieved. Senses are full, your heart is completely open to everything and you can see both the future and past in crystal clear perception.

Such experiences are counted in moments. They are brilliant incarnations of everything we are. "Stabs of Joy," is what C.S. Lewis called them.

The Kingdom comes on earth as it is in heaven," is how the Bible puts it.

The Ferris Wheel lunches forward into a slower descent and the view from the top is quickly lost.

I see the lines of people waiting to take my place. I wonder which ride is next. I hope we can stay and Dad doesn't make us head back to the cottage. I wish I still on top of the world. A sad sense of loss grows inside. All too soon, it's over.

That's life isn't it?

The thing is, I can still get to the top of the world anytime I want. The memory, the feelings, the overflowing senses ... even the smell of my Father are easily conjured up if I put myself in the right place. I can only sustain it for a moment or two, but I can every once in a while.

That's faith isn't it?

And one day soon, we can all be on top of the world again.

That's belief.
______________________________
An eccentric life dotted with eclectic characters pop from the pages of award winning author Micheal Elliott’s newest book Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts. Over 200 pages of his musings immerse you in a world of headshaking wonder, gut wrenching laughter, heart touched tenderness and empathetic tears.

You can pre-order your copy at http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/newbook/

After the Deluge

The sun shines through the branches of the Palm Tree with the oyster face, the coconut bra and the grass skirt.

Wetness drips from the red, pink, purple, orange blooms of the plants on the beloved back deck.

God has painted a watercolor sky of a brilliant blue background with splashes of white.

The breeze off the ocean is slight and the branches of the Palm Trees sway in a silent rhythm only they can hear.

Puddles are scattered throughout the yard and the streets of the island.

It is warm again after days on end of rain and cool winds uncommon for this time of year.

The house felt like an Ark we were trapped inside bringing a gloominess to the days.

But no more.

The choirs of cicada and birds are singing Hosannas, squirrels dance in trees and dragonflies bring good tidings of great joy. A hummingbird darts to the hanging blossoms becoming one with it before magically disappearing. In the distance there is the movement of life as people are outside again.

The world has been baptized again and it has been gifted this glorious beginning.

I sit alone in God's majestic Cathedral, quiet and appreciative, holy and humble, full of hope for the day. The dreariness has been washed away and joy is ours for the taking if take our time to find it.

The choir of cicada build to a powerful crescendo and I concentrate on the beauty of their voices. A lone bird sings solo.

So this is the day that the Lord has made.

Let's rejoice and be glad in it even if just for a little while.

_________________________

An eccentric life dotted with eclectic characters pop from the pages of award winning author Micheal Elliott’s newest book Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts. Over 200 pages of his musings immerse you in a world of headshaking wonder, gut wrenching laughter, heart touched tenderness and empathetic tears.

You can order by visiting http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/newbook/

Corporate Secrets

Though the name says Micheal Elliott Enterprises, the truth of the matter is Sarah Elliott's the one running the show. She thought it up, packaged and designed most everything we're doing these days.

I know this.

A couple of other folks know it.

But she's the one in charge.

For the most part, and she will argue with this, I pretty much do what she tells me to do.

It's not to say that we don't have a good time because we certainly do ... our coffee breaks are to die for!

And it's not to say that we don't have the same problems, headaches, cash-flow issues and constant demands and distractions as any other business.

We do.

Sarah handles them all with a graceful determination keeping us moving in the right direction with our noses above water.

She does these things while raising three little very opinionated versions of herself, melting our families, writing her own material, helping others completely independent of my thoughts and she still has to put up with me!

When we married we also brought the other meaningful relationships that we have. She inherited a Carnival of Friends, The Bored, Bill Berry (not the former drummer for REM but the other one), Conner and Hania, my college mates who were raised from the dead, the very famous Dr. Jim Withers and Goddess. She also got my Mom!

I got Amanda, Aaron, David LaPairie and others from somewhere else whom I haven't actually met yet but feel close to each. I got her Mom and Dad, Mother Mary, Cornelia and Chef Paul. Sarah was prisoner of war in some Houghton College in western New York for many years. And I marvel at survival capabilities.  She brought Winston, the little gay dog, Gypsy the damn pussy cat, and dozens of fish (unfortunately none of which have survived).

But all of that aside, I've had the incredible good fortune of working with her twice now.

Many years ago, I was the boss and we did all kinds of good things together

Fast forward to now, she's the boss and we're doing all kinds of good things today.

Honestly, I'm not sure how much of me there would be without her.
___________________________________

An eccentric life dotted with eclectic characters pop from the pages of award winning author Micheal Elliott’s newest book Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts. Over 200 pages of his musings immerse you in a world of headshaking wonder, gut wrenching laughter, heart touched tenderness and empathetic tears.

That was written by Sarah. She also designed the cover of the book.

You can see more of my writing inside of the book and Sarah has arranged that you can preorder it at http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/newbook/

Changing Leaders

The letter said all good things come to an end.

It's from the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation which is continuing it's current trend of throwing out the old to do something else.

Now they are killing the Community Health Leadership Program.

"Community Health Leaders are an extraordinary group of creative, health care service providers, health advocates and authentic leaders whose work often serves as the catalyst for changes in communities across the U.S."

This comes a few months after that the Foundation also decided to kill the Local Funding Partners Program.

"It was named as one of RWJF's Top 40 Programs, Local Funding Partnerships used community-based interventions to improve the health and health care of underserved and vulnerable populations from 1988 to 2011."

Things that have been extraordinary for decades are now apparently rather ordinary.

"All things must pass," George Harrison taught and the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation is continuing to move on to new things under the leadership of a new General.

This is important to me for several reasons. I'm a Community Health Leader, a Local Funding Partner recipient and a member of it's National Advisory Committee.

It's fascinating to see old leaders, answers and solutions done away with by those professing to have better solutions.

That's part of leadership though isn't it?

Knowing when to boldly move in new directions or when to gracefully step aside.  The hardest trait of them all is to allow the new leaders to do new things ... even though they may not be the right things.

It's alright.

Having no choice in these matters, I've moved on to.

"You've come full circle," my fellow Community Health Leader Lucy Hall told me recently as we spoke at Morehouse School of Medicine. "You've reclaimed your roots, helping people who are desperate for help, damn what the leaders tell you."

It's true, now at Micheal Elliott Enterprises I'm all about helping people find hope when they're use to fear. Like my fellow leaders at the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation, it's all about moving forward, even if you're left behind.

Don't get me wrong. I am forever indebted to the Foundation. It enriched my life and introduced me to scores of incredible people and wonderful friends. Together, we changed a corner or two of the world.

The Foundation likes to do big things which merit lots of attention so it can continue to be a national leader in the health care world.

I wish them the best.

As for me, it's about one-one-one connections. Finding people where they're at, extending a helping hand to help get them to where they can be is more important.

In the end, as the Talmud says, the world will be changed ... one neighbor at a time.

I believe that's true.

My Angel's Tattoo

"Psssst," she slurs while giggling.

Opening my eyes from a dead sleep with my arms around Sarah, I repeatedly blink.

"Pssssssssst," she giggles again. "Get up. I gotta talk to you."

"Holy Christ!" I mutter, withdrawing my arms from around my wife and crawling out of bed.

"You're naked," she says giggling more.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, she comes into focus. Shaking my head, I brush my long hair back, lift my index finger indicating she's to follow me. I don't want Sarah to wake up. She stumbles following me out to the Beloved Back Deck and I have to catch her when she slips in the kitchen.

Opening the sliding glass doors, I shove her through and silently close them behind me. Goddess immediately scratches the glass so cussing I slide them open again so my dog can come outside. As soon as I shut them, Winston, the little gay dog, does the same thing and I cuss even louder opening and closing the door one more time.

"He is so gay," she laughs.

"You're drunk," I snap turning to my Guardian Angel.

Her loosely clad blue and white robes are wrinkled with a big yellow mustard stain. They've falling off her right shoulder and I see that she's a tattoo of Pirate Wench sitting on a treasure chest. Her long black hair is askew, her eyes are puffy and her feet are dirty.

"Got a cigarette?" she asks.

"I don't smoke," I snap.

"Oh yeah, I knew that," she sighs, snapping a finger and a lit unfiltered Camel appears out of nowhere. After taking a long drag, she plops down in one of the chairs, nods her head and a tall boy Pabst Blue Ribbon appears.

"Why in the hell are you waking me up?" I ask irritated.

She blows a halo.

"I need to talk to you," she says suddenly thoughtful.

"About what?"

Rolling her eyes she commands, "For God's sake sit down and get your thingy out of my face."

I sit.

"Listen," she slurs, I need your help. "It's evaluation time in Heaven and I need you to put in a good word about me. I don't want to go back to being a regular angel singing damn Hosannas all day long. I really need to keep Guardian status."

'Heaven evaluates?" I ask.

"Every couple of thousand years the damn Apostles have to strut their stuff," she explains while spitting a logy over the railing into the black night.

"Swear to God," she says, "when Jesus picked them out of the gene pool there wasn't a lifeguard around."

I don't know what to say.

"So," she continues wiping her mouth with her arm after missing her mouth with the beer, "I know you talk to God a lot out here."

"Yep," I nod. "Almost every night."

"And you never say a damn thing about me do you?"

I think it's best to keep quiet. Goddess heads to the other side of the deck. Winston, the little gay dog, starts licking himself. There is no breeze and it's hot as hell. I start to sweat.

"So just thank the good Lord for your Guardian Angel every once in a while," she snaps.

"Sure," I shrug. "I mean you have helped me out a lot."

"Damn right I have," she says straightening up.

I shrug my shoulder again.

"Alright, there's a keg party I gotta get back to," she says standing and her rope falls completely over her shoulder exposing her breasts.

"Angels have keg parties," I ask as she covers herself.

"Those of us in Special Ops do," she says as she disappears.

Winston, the little gay dog, stops licking himself. Goddess sighs loudly. It's as quiet as a Church.

"I wonder if Sarah's awake," I say out loud as I head back inside.

Then I go wake her up so we can call on the name of the Lord together in the middle of the night.

And we do.

Though I don't believe either one of us said anything my Guardian Angel.
__________________

Want to know more about My Guardian Angel? Check out http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/newbook/