Satisfaction

I got a big Gig today.

I'm playing the Nursing Home.

Last time I was at the Nursing Home, my dear friend Chuck Courtenay was headlining.

Sarah and I took the girls.

Chuck's an amazing musician, charismatic performer and somebody you just like being with.

Chuck's playing 60's rock-n-roll and people held captive by wheelchairs throw away their chains and dance.

Sarah, the girls and I all grab somebody and twirl around the room.

"Where's the cake?" the woman I'm dancing with asks. "They told me there'd be cake."

"I don't know," I reply twisting her around.

"I hope it's Red Velvet," she signs.

"Me too," I agree ... though I really don't like Red Velvet Cake.

Chuck's not going to be there today.

Neither are Sarah and the girls.

It's just me ... headlining.

Unlike Chuck who has an incredible ministry performing in Nursing Homes ... bringing the dead back to life ... I've inherited a job abandoned by others.

I wish Chuck was here to guide me ... be a friend I'd lean on ... but it's just me ... or nobody.

I'm nervous and apprehensive ... and have spent more than my fair share of time visiting people in Nursing Homes ... and they suck!

But I'm stealing a page from Chuck Courtenay today.

The first song is "I Can't Get no Satisfaction."

Because there is no better truth spoken in a Nursing Home.

BUT ... if I can just have a moment emulating my friend Chuck ... 0somebody gets out of a wheelchair ... or asks for cake ... well then ... all Hell's breaking loose.

And there's nothing better than all Hell breaking loose.

A 3 Mile Stare

I've got a 3 Mile Stare.

My chin rests firmly in the palm of my hand as I look out the windows though I'm not seeing much anything out there.

When my mind slows down enough to register Scott's American Flag is as limp as Congress, his Banana Trees look good and the woman chasing her dog down the street has no chance of catching it whatsoever ... I don't care.

Going back to the 3 mile stare, I'm completely lost in thought.

The things I'm looking at are far away.

It's what I think prayer is supposed to be ... "In the latter days ... your sons and daughters will prophesy, your young men will see visions, your old men will dream dreams." 

I still can't tell if I'm a young man having a vision or an old man dreaming a dream.

It's all runs together in my head.

I require Divine Intervention to make sense of it all.

The other day I wrote about life at our house ... how Sarah's girls share with us when they get home ... their loves and hates ... adolescent love ... the joys and pains of growing up.

I love these times!

They remind me of my kids growing up and love those days to this day ... because I love my kids!

And I'm so incredibly blessed to get to do it again ... and it makes me happy ... so I share it with the world ... because who wants to deny love and happiness?

Because I love Sarah and the girls!

BUT ... there's always an asshole wanting to mess things up.

I don't want to name names or anything but ... her name is Char ... and I'm sure she's reading this ... and will report it to Virgin Mary's and other authorities on high.

Well ... to Hell with them and to Hell with that.

What's important is ... this is one happy home!

It's open and free ... we talk about everything and examine anything ... get on to each other ... cheat at cards ... and laugh a Hell of a lot!

We mostly give love.

It's what happens when your visions, dreams and prophesies all run together.

That's how you know you're blessed by God.

You can't even look out the window without seeing Heaven.

The Middle of the Heart

From the time I arrive at Bar Church, things are a blur.

Davy and I set up his drums on the stage, get the sound system going, plug in computers to broadcast the Scripture and song lyrics, plug in my guitar, welcome our visiting musicians, do sound checks and a run through of the songs.

John Iacovini shuffles in with his drums as do members of "The Church" ready to talk, eat or just listen to us make things ready.

Everyone shows at the same time ... on island time ... so we're already behind schedule ... but nobody cares ... as they fill a plate at Potluck on the Pool Table ... pour coffee from the Urn Cupcake made ... remind me of all the things I've forgotten to do ... or stop for a hug.

Ten minutes or so after we're supposed to start ... we start ... though Church began half-an-hour ago.

Davy, John and I take the stage and sing, "We going up, up, up, cause the view's a little nicer" as the rag-tag Congregation sit on Bar Stools, plates in laps, lifting their hands to Heaven every time we sing "UP, UP, UP."

Rick strolls in ... grinning a shit-eating grin ... eyes dancing in delight.

I haven't seen him in 30 years.

Back in the day, we were the answer to Elvis's death and the break up of The Beatles.

We made it as far as Juanita's Mexican Restaurant  where we were hired as the Band!

It was a big night as we killed the crowd ... until the guy dropped money in the Jukebox in the middle of one of our songs ... and played "Misty."

We were crushed.

On the other hand Juanita was pissed, jerked the plug out of the wall and threw him out.

The glories of being a Rock Star!

Anyway, Rick walks in after several decades and I can hardly finish the song for grinning.

As the service unfolds, I ask him to sing.

He does.

"You have the same guitar," he says in astonishment picking it up.

And ... as only Rick can do ... he proceeded to slay the crowd in the Holy Spirit with one of his songs.

I watched as 30 years melted away when we argued ... Do you want to be The Beatles or the Rolling Stones?

Here's the Church part.

Sometimes in life, people who were so instrumental into you becoming you, come back ... even if just for a second ... and if you're lucky ... you recognize it.

That was my gift at Bar Church yesterday.

You just never know what you're going to get at Bar Church!

"Sarah," I explain, "you're not gonna believe what happened, and I rush to tell her."

Jesus ... I'm glad I go to Bar Church ... I just never know what Holiness is going to happen ... but it always does ... hitting me right in the middle of my heart.

Tears of Joy

In spite of itself, Savannah remains a beautiful city.

There's no real political leadership, it's a branch community with virtually every company's corporate headquarters located elsewhere, racism is rampant, the Police Department is corrupt and in disarray, the religious community is anything but and our "murder rate" puts bigger cities to shame.

Savannah copes with these things by pretending none of them are true.

The philosophy is "you don't really have a problem if you ignore it."

Yet ... Moss drapes the Oaks, the pungent aroma of the Marsh is everywhere, its Squares are delightful, the architecture stunning, live music is expected, there are very intriguing people, everyone seems to know everyone and it's a very giving place (though not an especially forgiving one).

After decades as part of Savannah's infrastructure, I took great pride trying to make it a better place and I believe we did.

These days, I hardly ever go ... a 20 minute ride may as well be 2000 miles ... it's a place where "if you give them everything, they'll take it."

Yesterday though, Laurel, Sarah's 10 year old, sang with the  Savannah Children's Choir accompanied by the Savannah Philharmonic Symphony in The Cathedral of St. John.

My Mom met Sarah, Maddie, Cassidy and I and we enter the packed Church.

Old friends and acquaintances are everywhere so there are hugs and hand waves ... Mom chats away with someone she hasn't seen in years.

It's a stunningly beautiful experience!

The best Savannah has to give itself is there.

I am with my family, see old friends, feel wonderful music in a magical environment that occasionally boarders on Holiness.

And I cry.

Maddie, the 12 year old laughs at me ... Sarah shakes her head with a smile ... Mom's too busy talking to notice ... and Cassidy's fallen asleep.

But every now and then in this world ... the Kingdom really does come on earth like it is in Heaven ... and if that doesn't give you tears of joy ... then nothing will.
   

Girl Drama

The girls got home last night bringing LOTS of drama with them!

I was a little shell-shocked because every time I think I've figured out living with 3 little girls ... they raise the bar.

Blowing in from school desperate for food, just like always, they rummage through every cabinet in the kitchen without shutting any of the doors ... including the refrigerator!

Stuffing their mouths with gobs of artificially induced sweetness, they share their tales of woe.

Of course both are talking at the same time so I can't make sense of anything.

"HUSH," Maddie the 13 year old screams. "I GO FIRST!"

She is so loud the cabinet doors shut themselves.

Laurel, Sarah's 10 year old, is suddenly overwhelmed with emotion, lays her head on the kitchen table and tears up.

Taking no notice of her sister whatsoever, Maddie tells her story.

She has a stalker who is threatening her saying, "I have all this stuff on you and am going to get you suspended from school."

Maddie believes him, sends a text to her Mom to get her out of the hostile environment immediately ... which, of course, is exactly what happens though Sarah first conducts her own hostile takeover of the Principal's office ... reducing the poor educator to a stunned, silent, administrator.

This all started when Maddie used to like the boy but then didn't anymore and he has rejection issues.

"Is it my turn yet?" Laurel whimpers from with her head still on the table.

"Wait," I say holding up my hand as traffic cop preventing protestors in Ferguson from advancing any further.

"You ripped her a new one?" I ask Sarah.

My sweet wife smiles as she answers, "Let's just say we understand each other."

Maddie stuffs more of whatever she's stuffing into her mouth celebrating her liberation from the Chatham County Educational System.

"Go," I say to Laurel.

Lifting her head, she explains, "The love of my life has a new girlfriend."

"Wasn't he at your house yesterday, showing off his Christmas present to you and describing how he can't think about you without touching himself?" I inquire.

"He walked somebody else home from school today," she sighs.

"He's an idiot," I say.

"I know," she weeps, "but I miss him."

"We can't play cards tonight," Maddie mumbles with a mouth full of ... I have no idea what it's full of but it's full, "We're too upset."

So we watched a movie together ... "Tammy" ... which is remarkably similar to the girls day.

Afterwards they immediately go to bed.

So Sarah and I go bed too.

"Hello big boy," my wife says after we're under the covers.

I love it when the girls are home.

There's nothing boring about them!

Hate Winter ... or No?

Conner was in town so, naturally, I got nothing done yesterday and am having a tough time getting going this morning.

Conner, his wife Hania and I met on a sail boat in St. Martin many years ago and it was love at first sight.

I don't know what it is about us but we spontaneously combust into laughter when we're put together.

They're from the North and he ends every question with a negative ... "You want to go with me or no?" ...  which utterly confuses a Southerner like me.

Nevertheless we shared many excellent adventures!

One of life's ironies is Sarah is from the same neck of the woods as Conner and also ends every question with a negative ... "Do you love me or no?"

"I've never loved anything more than you ... why are you asking?" I answer.

The last time we were together was two years ago in the San Juan Islands on a boat looking for whales which was high on my "Bucket List."

The four of us shared the experience and now it's another great one in the catalogue of stories.

We didn't have much time as they spent one night with us ... making their way from Florida to upstate New York for Christmas ... which strikes me as completely backwards ... and Sarah couldn't join us until after supper ... but good friends immediately fall into the spontaneity of love as soon as they're together.

My life's been a crazy roller coaster ride of exhilarating "highs" and crashing "lows" with hardly any straight lines.

I feel so incredibly blessed to have friends who've shared parts of the ride, either laughing or cussing right along with me.

We have no secrets and love each other anyway.

We can spend lots of time together or hardly any and enjoy each precious second.

The only problem is ... they want Sarah and I to visit them in New York ... IN THE WINTER!

I love Conner and Hania.

But I hate winter more!

Then again, I want to see where Sarah once lived which is down the road from where Conner and Hania live now.

It's a tough position in which I find myself.

Hate Winter? ... or no?

Dog Profiling

"You can't write about Tybee if you live on Tybee," my Mother scolds. "They'll come after you."

"Like when they did the dogs," I ask?

"Exactly!" she says with irritation.

It's true whenever I'd write about the Island Police Department our dogs are ticketed for barking, we have to go to court, hire Bobby Phillips as our attorney and spend lots of money in fines.

Tybee Island is a leader in dog profiling.

Dog's haven't been shot on the island yet but last year someone practiced on Coyotes.

I figure it's just a matter of time before unaccompanied dogs are shot ... which will lead to dogs on leashes taken out by the Tybee S.W.A.T.

I know it's crazy but the mentally ill are already tased on island for eating a hamburger on the curb of a street.

"Stop writing about those things," my Mother insists. "It's just going to get you in trouble."

"I just wrote about a pool referendum," I say.

"Well your wife didn't help," Mom sighs.

"ALRIGHT!" I'm thinking to myself, "It's not just me this time. Sarah's at fault too."

"She just wants the girls to have a pool," I explain, "without driving 20 minutes to the YMCA on Wilmington when we already pay dues to YMCA on Tybee."

"Hmm," Mom replies.

"Right?" I think, "There's nothing Christian about it!"

"Well you're just going to get in trouble," she concludes. "I gotta go."

Hanging up, I am beside myself in glee that Sarah is finally in trouble with my Mom ... like I've been all these years!

"Alright Pups," I excitedly say, "let's go outside and wait on the Police."

The Tybee Pool

I'm getting lots of unwanted mail from "Tybee Pool."

I've never met the guy but damn he sends out a lot of mail.

I don't think he works ... he's what Rush Limbaugh calls a "community agitator."

Nevertheless Mr. Pool keeps inviting me to "make a splash at the City Council meeting" ... which is the most benign statement ever.

Nobody makes splashes at Tybee Island City Council meetings anymore!

They're very controlled, scripted and civil ... as benign as Congress.

A decade or so ago, Tybee Island City Council meetings were surfing the never ending big waves!

My favorites were ... Counilman Walter Crawford getting so upset during a meeting that he threw his drink in the Styrofoam cup he'd brought from Spankey's across the street on a fellow council member before throwing a mountain of papers in the air and walking out ... NOW THAT's GOVERNMENT IN ACTION!

Councilman Jack Youmans, who served longer than FDR, addressing the issue of "alleged Prostitution" on Tybee Island, explaining, "There's no Prostitutes on Tybee. You can get it for free!"

Mayor Pat Locklear apologizing for forgetting to tell anybody he'd given permission to the U.S. Army to conduct training maneuvers on the island ... so while people are tanning on the beach ... paratroopers are jumping out of helicopters hovering above the ocean and solders with flame throwers attacked Mallory Pearce's house ... "Yeah, I forgot," the Mayor explained.

NOW THOSE WERE CITY COUNIL MEETINGS!

Mr. Pool wants to make a splash when he couldn't raise a ripple.

Besides the City Council dealt with the Pool issue 15 or so years ago when it had it's first opportunity to not raise taxes by stuffing a "Special Option Sales Tax (SPLOST) down our throats, dealt with the issue.

Should Tybee Island have a Pool for the kids (lets be honest ... Tybee doesn't do anything for kids ... the goal was to have aquatic exercise for the elderly) ... or a Gymnasium so it could be named after aforementioned Councilman Youmans who wanted a place to get it all for free.

Fast forward to now and we have a Gym ... The Youmans-Solomon Gymnasium ... built backwards so that as you drive down the main drag you'd never know it's a Gym ... I've come to believe it's Jack's Yomans legacy in monument to forever "moon the island."

I've been.

It's a nice Gym if you can find the front door.

Now the elderly who are still alive and wanted a pool back then instead of Gym so they can do aquatic exercises ... WANT THEIR DAMN POOL!

City Council has put it out as a referendum to the voters ... because they don't have the balls to make a decision by themselves about tax dollars.

What they're saying through such a political maneuver is ... "We're not paying for it! If you want it ... you pay for it! ... we're using all of our money to hire more policemen, buy Stop Signs and have some dude from the Water Department check out your meter then spending an hour in his truck writing a report on his laptop."

I have no doubt Mr. Pool and his cohorts will co-opt City Council to not make a decision by justifying it's the people's choice.

I just hope that when the Tybee pool is built ... it's facing upwards and can hold water ... isn't built backwards like the Gymnasium ... and isn't political asses mooning us again. 

A Goddess' Birthday

Goddess is a little crazy today.

She's growling ... slamming her butt into my leg demanding rubs ... demanding to go outside only to immediately paw the sliding glass doors to be let back in ... wanting treat after  treat ... then take a nap under the Christmas Tree.

She is such a girl.

PLUS ... it's her Birthday ... and like all girls ... SHE KNOWS IT.

Sarah gave her bacon and pancakes this morning to celebrate.

Winston, The Little Gay Dog, seems to understand this and is deferring to our Golden Retriever today when the little Son-of-a-bitch (and I mean that literally) never defers to anything.

Gypsy, the formally Gender-confused-cat, also seems to be wishing Goddess a "Happy Birthday" by laying low and not acting like a cat at all.

Today is Goddess' day!

"What are you going to do when Goddess dies," Laurel, Sarah's 10 year old, who spends lots of time with our dog, asked.

"Cry," I reply.

I can't imagine life without Goddess ... though I know it's coming.

She and I have had quite the adventure together.

She was deserted on a roadside and I was deserted at home but we had each other.

We had friends too ... my Mom, the kids, the Carnival of Friends, Rocky, Dedra, Shirley ... but mostly Sarah ... who sat and had talks with Goddess about the future ... when everyone else was talking about the past.

Goddess loves our present!

She loves when the kids or the girls are at home and celebrates in utter joy ... wagging her tail, slamming love into their leg, letting them know how much they're missed.

Goddess has taking to sleeping at the foot of our bed ... watching over us by night ... as though an Angel.

She knows our timing and will lick my hand at 6 when it's time to get up.

When Sarah wakes later ... ALL HELL BREAKS LOSE ... and Goddess slams herself into the bed waiting for the hand that wishes her "Good Morning."

In the mornings, as Sarah and I sit in the kitchen, Goddess, Winston TLGD and Gypsy literally swarm under our feet making sure we know ... as if we couldn't ... how much a part of the family they are.

When Sarah leaves for work, Goddess lays on the landing trying to block her way ... wanting us to all stay together ... for as long as we can.

Happy Birthday Goddess!

We wouldn't be here without you!

A Smaller but Happier World

"My world keeps getting smaller ... it's down to the chosen few," sings the Minor Prophet Paul Thorn.

{Yes John Branigin ... damn good Minor Prophet ... working on Major ... and I believe he's making it there ... and I know you do too!}

Paul must be stalking me because this pretty much hits it on the head.

My world keeps getting smaller.

I used to be the "Center of Universe" to use Tom Wolfe's line from "The Bonfire of Vanities" ... a really great book if you've never read it ... though the movie was so-so.

Nevertheless I lived for decades in an egotistical world that I believed revolved around me and what I do.

What a load of crap!

But I was seduced by it all ... spent forever time in Washington D.C., Atlanta Georgia, and half-the-world really ... and like anybody ever elected to public office ... or gets rich ... it screws you up!

You think you're the center of the Universe.

Not like these days when a trip to Savannah for Laurel's, Sarah's 10 year old, choir concert is MAJOR!

Old habits die hard though and there I sat beside my lovely wife on one side, Maddie her 13 year old on the other with Cassidy, her 8 year old beside her ... two wonderful gay friends in front of us ... and another casualty from Union Mission days behind ... when I spy Howard Morrison and Jim Klutz having a very serious conversation standing in the front row.

"I have to go say Hey," I explain to Sarah standing up to rush off ... except I really didn't say that ... what I actually say to is "I have to go "VERB + PRONOUN" with them."

So I did.

It was great!

Boys being boys and such.

Apparently I'm still occasionally discussed.

The Savannah Children's Choir put on a great concert hitting most notes perfectly!

Sailing home through the sun kissed golden Marsh, I marvel at the day.

Sarah and I had orchestrated  Church and I think the Lord was pleased ... I participated in a Memorial Service on the Beach for people I love ... munched with others I love ... before hearing Laurel's choir of little Angels sing ... before the pompousness that is Savannah.

I'm glad my world is smaller.

I can still VERB + PRONOUN with the best of them ... but teaching Sarah's girls the appropriate use of cuss words (which they knew WAY before I met them but had no clue as to their effective utilization) is a major focus in my life ... as is rubbing Sarah's feet with lotion at night ... planning suppers nobody wants ... forever suggesting we go somewhere they've never been ... and changing the sheets on little girls beds ... that's pretty much my world.

It's a Hell of a lot better than that bigger one I used to live.

Joyful Noises

One of my forgotten joys of life is listening to children sing Christmas Carols.

I fondly recall Jeremy, Kristen and Chelsea as kids happily singing along with "Santa Claus is coming to town" or "Silent Night."

But they grew up and moved out and I mostly celebrated the Holidays alone, not really hearing the music as I often struggled to just get through the damn Season.

"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas," Cassidy, Sarah's 8 year old, softly sings sitting in her bedroom floor, putting her shoes on, looking like a tiny Angel with a thoughtful glow on her face.

She stops me dead in my tracks by the sheer beauty of her innocence and hope.

A wall crumbles in my mind and I vividly recall the same beauty in my children when they were small.

My heart shakes in a way that it hasn't in years.

Laurel, Sarah's 10 year old, enters a room like Kramer on "Seinfeld," loudly singing "Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer" and while there's little Angelic about it, she is a ball of utter joy!

Maddie, the 13 year old who already knows everything while being clueless about anything, quietly sings "Away in Manger" as though it's a prayer, ignoring the rest of us, intensely focusing on the song.

Rushing to ready herself for work, Sarah's very Angelic voice warms the kitchen asking "Mary do you know?" as she pours the last of the coffee down the drain and rushes to find the right shoes for work.

I find myself delighting in their sounds of the season.

When did I become cynical enough to lose the joys of Christmas Carols?

I understand why it happened ... loss of loved ones, work that never ended, exhaustion, money to make and bills to pay ... being alone at Christmas even if someone else was with me.

As I write this, Cassidy stumbles into the kitchen, hair askew from her pillow, wearing a shirt her Daddy gave her, stretching out her arms for me to pick her up.

"Will you help me find Chester?" she asks already full of anticipation.

Chester is the little Elf who hides in a different place every morning so the girls can find him.

I've been given the gift of doing it all again.

It's hard to repeat most anything in life but here I am ... listening to children singing Christmas songs ... reminding me of the ghosts of Christmas past ... the joy of Christmas present ... and the hope of many Christmases to come.

Angel Sexism

"Hey," she spits ... literally in the kitchen sink ... a big long logy that takes 30 seconds to drip all the way from her mouth down the drain.

Wiping her mouth with the dirty blue stole, she takes a shot of bourbon and chases it with a tall boy Pabst Blue Ribbon.

"What," I ask sitting at the kitchen table while Sarah and the girls sleep.

"You're not supposed to tell everybody by business," she snaps, black oily hair draped over one shoulder and her dirty white robe dropping over the other almost exposing her breast.

"You're my Guardian Angel," I reply. "I'm proud I got one! Who wouldn't want to share such a thing."

"It's a secret thing," she snaps then thoughtfully adjust the one broken wing so it's semi-symmetrical with the one that works.

"Well, I'm glad you're my Guardian Angel," I sigh.

"Jesus Christ," she says in exasperation, "between you and Jimmy Cochran ..."

"Hey somebody sent me a picture of you the other day," I interrupt.

"Really," she asks suddenly interested.

"It's not a good one," I confess. "On the up side though, you got a lot of 'Groupies'."

"Angels aren't supposed to have 'Groupies,'" she says taking a long draw from her cigarette and blowing a Halo over her head.

"Well you have quite the following," I tell her.

"Let me see the picture," she demands.

Opening my Laptop, I go to the saved pictures and open one as she leans over my shoulder smelling like Bourbon Street late at night.

"I don't look like that," she explodes taking another shot of bourbon.

"I know," I agree ... because she really doesn't. The picture is of an old white haired lady Angel smoking a cigarette and my Angel looks like Olive Oil on meth.

"Besides there are famous Angels," I remind her. "Gabriel and Michael ..."

"Both sexists," she snaps.

"I'm just saying you may be breaking the glass ceiling of Angel Sexism."

"Hmmm," she murmurs ... blowing more Halos.

"I am a little surprised there's Sexism in Heaven," I say sipping coffee.

"Thank you Eve," she shoots.

"Well, Jimmy and I love you," I sigh. "And you got Groupies!"

Staring out of the window, she processes what I've said before replying, "I've got to go to the Liquor Store," then disappears.

"What was that all about?" I ask Goddess who sighs heavily and goes back to sleep.

"Oh well," I say pouring my coffee in the sink to wash her logy away, "Jimmy Cochran's coming on island today. Maybe he knows something about it."

Cold Toes and other Atrocities

I had to get out of the house so I went outside and there's so much fog it feels like I'm still inside.

I can't see ten feet in front of my face.

But it's not cold.

The only thing I truly hate in life, according to my wife, is cold and, as always, she's right. I passionately, ruthlessly and demonically hate cold.

I pull for Hitler against cold.

It's just fog though so I make my way to the Beach and ... I can hear it but I can't see it ... so I stumble through the sand ... ten toes having ten simultaneous orgasms.

I jump because I stumble on a Seagull who has built a fort.

It's not something you see every day so I pause to lean over through the fog and appreciate her craftsmanship.

It's quite the fort, blocking the wind ... it's got a thatched roof and a huge Yule Tide log inside.

"This is mighty impressive," I say to the Seagull who ignores me.

The wind is blowing from the north, the ocean is roaring and the fog's like walking in soup.

"Well," I say standing up, "you got a nice place. Who knew Seagulls are capable of building projects? The Board of Education could use somebody like you."

Blindly I continue towards the crashing waves and before I know my orgasmic toes are cooling down.

"This feels nice," I say out loud to no one, "but I can hardly see the Sea."

My friend Dave Postle pops in my head and I wish he were standing beside me. Dave's blind but recognizes lots of things the rest of us miss. It would be cool to share this experience with him.

But he's not here.

I'm sure he feeling his way around orbs ... or his wife Sandi.

"Okay," I spit. "It's cold," and I turn making my way towards home.

Passing the Seagull's house, she's still standing there, admiring her cleverness ... maybe planning what to serve at the party that night.

Back home my toes are spent.

Not a damn one of them has an orgasm left in him.

So I turn on the hot water in the bath tub, sit on the side and drown the little bastards.

Because if there's one thing I've learned in life is ... your toes should never be cold.

Rearranging Life

Staring out of the window, I'm thinking about what to think about.

An American flag flaps in the wind surrounded by Palms, Banyans and Banana Trees.

Scott is wandering around his yard as though he's lost and doesn't know what to do.

Wearing a heavy grey sweatshirt with GEORGIA spelled in bright red and blue pajama bottoms, he drops to his knees and digs in the dirt.

His hair is long, grey and unwashed draping his shoulders.

He's wearing bedroom slippers.

Scott has terminal cancer but damn if he isn't out planting something!

Out of death comes life.

His cat follows him religiously.

Many mornings the cat disappears and Scott feebly wanders out and whistles until they reunite.

Grabbing a shovel he digs up banana plants and replants them... rearranging his yard ... rearranging his life ... or what's left of it.

Our neighbors claim he's crazy as a loon but I've always liked him and we sometimes have pleasant conversations about nothing.

He has to stop and repeatedly pull up the pajama bottoms but he's determined.

He's living longer than the projections and I marvel he's outside ... pruning.

I have no idea how much life I have left but I already know it's not enough.

Hell Sarah and I just arrived and I'm in no hurry to leave her.

Who knows?

I could drop dead before finishing this sentence.

Whew!

I didn't.

Thank God.

The wind picks up.

The American flag flaps.

Scott wipes dirt on his face and laughs.

Ashes to Ashes.

He's getting ready.

But he's not done yet.

Perfectly placed Banana plants are the most important thing in the Universe right now.

I have to go tell him how good everything looks.

Standing, he hugs the flagpole, pulls his pajama bottoms up and I burst into tears.

My Christmas Letter

Dear Santa,

A lot of people don't believe in you and every single one is a damn idiot.

You were born in Turkey, went to Church, became a "Professional Christian," gave lots of gifts to the poor and was an original signer of the "Nicene Creed" (which is like the religious Declaration of Independence).

You were made a Saint because of the gift giving part of your ministry.

St. Nicholas morphed into Santa Claus because wealthier people couldn't stand the thought of poor people getting all of the gifts.

A complete makeover took place culminating in the 1920s when Coca-Cola used you in an advertising campaign, making you a fat, jolly, smoker who prefers the color red.

They made you cute.

You were anything but cute.

You were deadly serious ... about your faith ... helping the poor ... fasting on Wednesdays and Fridays ... and putting all your spare change in the shoes of poor people who came to your Church.

So Santa, I still believe ... though I prefer to call you Nick.

So Nick ... here's my Christmas list.

It's not much ... primarily because I'm not an asker.

But I'd really like more time.

It took Sarah and I a lifetime and multiple divorces to get to us and we've got lots of life to enjoy ... making up for all of that life we didn't have together.

I know that you know what I'm talking about.

Whatever you have to give our kids would be great too but it's up to them to have a relationship with you ... or no (as Sarah and the girls say).

That's pretty much it.

Thanks Nick.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas!

While everybody else is buying stuff, I have no doubt whatsoever, you'll still be slipping your spare change inside the shoes of poor people looking for God.

Toasty Forgiveness

Tired and worn out ... burned out ... I tie the lases on my running shoes when the phone rings at 7:00 in the morning.

"I want to meet you for breakfast," he says.

"I've already left the Breakfast Club," I reply with a sigh.

"It's not open yet," he snarls.

"Yeah, well, I've already been."

After an eternal moment of silence he snaps, "We need to meet. What time can you be there? I'm already coming out to the island for this."

"I'll see you in an hour," I say hanging up, petting Goddess and go for a run on the beach.

I'm off but the Chairman of the Board doesn't care ... he wants what he wants when he wants it ... and I'm heading out of town to meet my kids in Athens and the last thing I want is more work ... with him.

Strolling inside the Club wearing black running shorts, a UGA tee shirt and flip flops ... he's impatiently waiting ... wearing a blue suit, white shirt and orange tie ... everyone who works there yells "REV!" as I slide into the booth across from him.

"I'm ready to order," he says.

"Go for it," I reply.

"What are you having?"

Caroline slides water with lemon in front of me and explains, "He's already had coffee."

"You're not going to eat," he asks.

"No."

He orders bacon and eggs, grits and toast and more coffee.

"I need to know ..." he begins when a piece of toast hits the side of his head.

"What the ..." he begins surprised.

"You're being a little aggressive," I explain. "These are my friends. They will not stand for that."

Sitting back he stares at Val who is working toast and has another piece in her hand ready to fling it with Ninja precession should he get too aggressive again.

"You  have crazy friends," he says wiping the crumbs from his suit with a napkin.

"I do," I confess.

He proceeds to rip me a new one.

After a quarter-of-a-century of doing everything right, it's all suddenly wrong.

When he raises his voice ... another piece of toast hits the side of his head.

"You shouldn't be so loud," I tell him.

Angrily, he looks at Val who's holding another piece of toast while grinning as though to say, "Do it again Blue Suit."

"You wanted to come here," I shrug.

"I want to meet you on your turf," he snaps.

Caroline misses his cup as she refills his coffee and it spills in his lap.

"Ooops," she says walking away.

He stares at me with eyes full of hate.

"You know," I say, "I look inside to make sense of the world. It doesn't make sense if you look at it any other way."

"What?' he shoots.

"You are here to embarrass me on my home turf," I reply. "You want to show your dominion over the world ... beginning with me."

"I am doing my job," he says slapping his hand on the table.

A piece of toast hits the side of his head and he cusses out loud.

"You picked the wrong spot," I shrug.

"I want you gone," he says standing to leave.

"I've gotta go anyway," I say standing but before I can walk out before him ... Caroline and Val leave what they're doing and hug me ... blocking his exit ... while everybody else working yells "REV!"

As funny as it is ... it's not a pleasant memory.

Well ... Val throwing toast and Caroline missing his c
up is pretty funny ... but it was a horrible time and I'm thankful it's over.

This morning I stayed in bed with Sarah rather than go to the Breakfast Club when I normally go because ... it's Sarah.

I'm perilously close to forgiving the former Board Chair but ... not quite yet ... because he's a mean SOB and we've all got too many of those in our lives.

Making it worse, he hurt Sarah too.

But to this day, I can't have a piece of toast without enjoying the Hell out of it.

Delma Presley

It's funny how someone you spend a relatively short period of time with can alter everything about your life.

Delma Presley is one.

God I love the man!

In College I took "The Bible As Literature" looking like a Hippy, long hair, sex crazed, rock-n-roller because I was raised Southern Baptist and was therefore incredibly confused.

In contrast, Dr. Presley was square but hip at the same time.

I'd never seen that before and it blew me away.

He was understated in an overwhelming sort of way.

Though I'd won a thousand "Sword Drills," Del taught me how to read ... and how to think ... and want to be hip with the slightest air of "square-ness" about me so I could throw everyone else off.

I'd often wander into his office, find him sitting in a recliner reading ancient texts surrounded by four walls of books and he'd smile ... put away his thoughts ... lay down his book ... and say how delighted he is that I came to see him.

Once Fran ... of the thousand shades of green ... went with me but her feeble little legs wouldn't make it up the stairs so I carried her and Del ... upon seeing our arrival ... jumped up, jerked her from my arms and tenderly placed her in his recliner.

That was a thousand years ago.

So last night, when I read Del's message to me to Sarah ... about his Parkinson's Disease ... his body's not quite as well as it used to be but his mind remains sharp as a tact ... how he loved me as a student when I wasn't really a good one ... how proud he is of me ... I sob.

"Are you crying," Sarah asks?

"Of course," I answer.

She crawls in my lap and hugs me.

I am incredibly thankful I had the balls to say thank you to Dr. Delma Presley and he cares enough to answer ... most people don't do things like this ... which is really what the Bible's all about.

Most people don't have the balls to take the Bible seriously.

It's why religion is so screwed up.

Ah but Delma Presley taught the Bible ... as Literature ... and I've never been the same since.

So Del!

After Sarah loveingly crawled out of my lap, I raised a glass to you ... and thanked you once again ... for everything.

A Baby?

"Do you want to have a baby?"

"We got six," I reply.

"No ... one of our own," she clarifies.

Contemplating, I remain quiet.

At 58 working hard on what to work on, most wouldn't consider me an ideal candidte.

Of course most people thought I'd lost my mine when Sarah and I married and she brought three little girls into my life after I'd already survived raising three into adulthood.

Melding families is hard work and, while we certainly not finished, I find myself very happy and mostly delight in the crazy things little girls do.

"Judy O thinks we should have a baby," Sarah continues.

"Really?"

"Someone who is ours ... to leave behind in the world ... to share as long as we're together ... cause chances are you're going to go first."

I think of my friend Dan Sheehan who faced the same question years ago and he and Carolyn brought Eamon into the world. While Dan's gone, Carolyns still on Tybee Island and Eamon's happily married in Hollywood trying to make it as a star.

Once Dan and I played in a Father/Son basketball game with Eamon and my son Jeremy. Dan was older but out there giving it his sweaty best and I was in my physical prime. We didn't take it as serious as the boys, laughed a lot and actually won the game.

"I only have a few more years to consider it," Sarah concludes.

The dinner that night was a joyus celebration with Sarah's girls, Jeremy and his fiancee Terencia, who has two little girls of her own. They face the same question under almost identical circumstances.

"Everybody put a dollar on the table," I say, "and lets start a pool ... Who's going to have the first baby in the family? ... Terencia and Jeremy ... Sarah and me ... my daughter Chelsea and her husband Sam ... my daughter Kristen who is single ... or 13 year old Maddie?"

There's time for you to get in on this pool if you want but ... not a lot of time.

Except hopefully in Maddie's case.

The Music is snoring

I'm sipping coffee.

He's snoring.

The Hotel lobby is festive, a full breakfast bar steams, soft music plays as employees cheerfully wish everyone "Good Morning."

He is balled up in a chair in an alcove behind a column where no on can see him.

No one except me.

Leaving a room full of sleeping girls, I grab my lap top and head for the coffee.

After years of travel I established routines I still maintain; rising early, head to the common area for coffee and time to collect my thoughts, pray and write. To do this I find a corner of the room, away from the televisions, loud families, bleary eyed partiers and laughing business people.

I'm lost in thought and suddenly find myself wondering why the music is snoring?

It takes me a full minute longer to start looking around and ... there he is.

The lobby is filling up and is getting loud covering up his noisey slumber.

From his vantage point, no one can see him unless they walk between my table and him.

It is cold outside.

Certain the cheerful employees will be horrified if he's discovered, I pull my chair ... and the table slowly towards him so that whoever comes this way must encounter me first.

The Holiday season is upon us and I can at least give this poor guy a warm place to sleep for a little while.

Athens Weekend

We're heading to Athens today.

Sarah and I are taking off in a bit, rendezvousing with her girls in Dublin where we'll lunch, then head on up 441 sliding into the Classic City.

After being there every weekend during football season for 2 decades, I've become a slacker and this is my first time there all year.

Life got in the way.

Laurel, Sarah's 10 year old, is in the Savannah Children's Choir and for some inexplicable they perform on Saturday's during football season.

Plus we enjoy hanging out together on the weekends.

Sarah's girls are with their Dad during the week and home with us on the weekends so it's a big deal!

The girls recognize football Saturdays are special and wean UGA garb ... meaning they steal mine ... and Maddie even watches the game with me, learning players names and asking to go to games.

We'll hook up with my son Jeremy and Terenca tonight and will tailgate together along with dozens of friends.

The girls are excited.

I'm about to explode.

We don't have tickets yet ... my brother's using them this year ... but we're unconcerned ... Sarah's working on it but ... it'll work out.

Kristen and Chelsea, my daughters, want to join us but one has to work and the other's spending time with her husband ... an alumni of the North Avenue Trade School who refuses to return to Athens.

His loss! ... and I mean that literally.

Regardless, it's a time with family, friends, tradition and making new memories ... the things Thanksgiving's all about.

Happy weekend everyone!