I know a miracle when I see one

At 4:37 the crack of thunder is so loud I jump upright fearing the worse!

Nuclear explosion ... Hurricane ... Tornado ... Island Police Department SWAT Team ... reconvening Congress ... Today's Country Music ... FOX News ... all the worse things in life run through my mind.

Sarah sleeps right through it.

The power goes off then almost immediately comes back on.

The alarm clock blinks 12:00.

Laying down again I cuddle Sarah who has no idea a storm is in full rage outside ... listening to the rain pelt against the numerous windows in our house from the comfort of our bed.

Winston, The Little Gay Dog, is curled in a ball shivering on the other side of Sarah.

Goddess ... who is sleeping halfway in and halfway out of our bedroom in the doorway ... protecting us from whatever evil may come in the night ... gets up ... yawns ... lumbers to my side of the bed ... collapses on the floor with thud ... sighs heavily ... and falls back asleep.

The Meteorologists got it wrong again as the weather is completely unexpected.

The rain pelts the windows harder.

I wonder if God's saying something so I climb out of bed, careful to not step on Goddess, and make my way through the Living room ... then the kitchen ... to the sliding glass doors leading to the Beloved Back Deck.

Opening the doors, I have visual confirmation of what I already knew ... it's one Hell of a storm!

Standing in the open door way ... feeling the spray of rain on my naked body ... I wonder if I should join God's party?

It would be quite the Baptism.

I take a step ... and sort of halfway do and halfway don't ... join the party.

It makes me laugh.

I love God but hate the cold ... especially wet cold.

"Sorry God," I mutter sliding the glass doors shut, retracing my steps through the kitchen ... then the Living room ... stepping over Goddess ... and re-entwine myself with Sarah.

Then I say a prayer ... really I think a prayer ... something I learned from my Grandma Carver ... whom I adore to this day though she's long dead.

Images of people I care about flood my mind like raindrops pelting windows and I think out loud, "Bless them."

Hours later, it's still raining ... Sarah and I remain entwined and she's still asleep ... Goddess is up and ready for a treat ... the clock continues to blink ... Winston, TLGD, shivers in a ball.

"Thank you," I say out loud.

To God ... to them ... to our bed ... the warmth and the love of our lives ... and to the reality that I'm still here.

How blessed I am.

I know a miracle when I see one.

Love and Ear Wax

I saw my Doctor for the first time in two years.

She hugs me sitting on a table, wearing a paper gown and nothing else.

Placing her hands on her hips she gives me a look of exasperation, "Where have you been?"

"Busy," I reply. "I got married."

"Oh," she excitedly replies and claps her hands. "Tell me about it."

So I do.

I describe Sarah and the girls ... she asks for updates on my kids and I catch her up.

She starts poking me, feeling me up and sticking a light in my ears as I'm talking.

"You got ear wax," she states grabbing what appear to be plastic pliers, "keep talking ... you look real happy. I'd like to meet Sarah."

"Well she tried to be your patient," I say holding my ear open as she excavates, "but you were full so she shopped elsewhere."

That's when she jerks the wax out of my ear ... my ass jumping off the table as both fists clinch and I'm ready to take her out.

"Oh that's a shame," she says, "Other ear."

"How long is this going to take? I got things to do."

Grabbing hold of something inside my ear with the plastic pliers, she scolds, "You haven't been here in over two years ... it's going to take a while."

"I can't help it the American Health Care system is the most dysfunctional of any first world country," I say.

"Where you been getting your prescriptions filled?" she sweetly coos toying with something inside my ear. "Your Blood Pressure and Cholesterol levels are remarkably consistent."

"Canada," I answer. "So much cheaper and easier than drugs in the States. AND ... they deliver."

"Really?" she asks ripping something out of head.

I come out of the gown ready to fight!

"Get back on the table," she commands, "turn on your side and grab your knees to your chest."

"You are not,"  I say as she puts lubricant on a gloved finger.

She did.

"I want to see you again in a month," she says after I calm down.

"Absolutely not," I answer.

"Here are your American prescriptions," she says handing me several hundred pieces of paper.

"Great," I say throwing them on the table as I pull up my jeans.

"Hey Micheal," she says, turning at the door, wearing the white Doctor's coat over a red and blue dress while standing in heals, "you really do look great."

"You would know," I answer ... pulling my UGA tee back on, "you've seen inside of me from one end to the other."

"That's what I mean," she smiles. "On the inside you look perfect."

And I know exactly what she's talking about.

Killing Time

"I'm just killing time," the old man says, "before it kills me."

He's lived a grand life ... had loads of fun ... loved and been loved ... had wonderful success and lost it all ... fought depression and mostly won ... believed in himself but traded that for God these days.

"What do you mean?" I ask sliding into the Bar booth across from him.

"Micheal," he sadly says, "when you're as old as me ... and as frail as me ... you're just waiting for your time to be up."

I have no idea what to say.

For nearly 30 years I've watched him work, laugh, make money, hold women and ... age.

He's got a full head of hair, is perpetually bent forward on his walker and wears a black leather jacket.

Wiping tears from his eyes, he places his hand on mine and says, "It's alright. There's nothing to say."

I couldn't conjure up a word for the life of me ... though I share tears with him.

"Is Sarah coming?" he asks grabbing hold of things he still enjoys, determined to keep making the most of his time.

"Not today," I answer.

"Oh," he says looking off in a distance far, far away. "Well, tell her I miss her. She sings like an Angel."

Nodding my head I place my hand on top of his and he flashes the saddest of smiles.

"I'm glad you're here," I finally say ... and I really am!

"For now," he grins, "until my times up."

I can't find any words.

"You know how I spend my time?" he asks and I am so damn grateful he still has words.

I shake my head from side to side.

"I wait for Church," and he places his hand on top of mine. "And when it's not Church ... which is most of the time ... I watch TV Church."

What does one say?

"Well I guess that's a great way to kill time," I finally answer.

"It is," he states flashing the crooked grin, "though I gotta tell you ... live Church beats the Hell out of TV Church ... but when you got nothing else ... you take what you got."

"Hmmmm," is all I can manage.

Looking directly into my moisture filled eyes, holding my hand very tightly, he smiles ... ... saying everything without saying anything.

"I'm glad you're here," I stammer.

"Me too," he laughs. "For now anyway."

"Yeah," I say giving him a hug.

40 Again ... at 58

Bill Berry ... not the former drummer for REM ... but the other one ... whom I've had countless great adventures with ... sent me mail 18 years late ... yesterday.

He sent me a card for my 40th Birthday which ... he never sent.

All these year later, he's rummaging through old papers, finds my still sealed birthday card and decides to mail it to me.

You can understand why he doesn't play the drums.

He's got no beat whatsoever.

He certainly could never be in a band.

I'm not sure he can beat himself.

Anyway ... it was kind of nice ... I guess.

At 58 ... I was 40 again.

Let's see ... at 40 I was separated ... living with my oldest daughter in an apartment ... trying to make perfect sense of the world ... trying to find my way ... it was a dark lonely time.

Did I say that Bill Berry has an excellent sense of timing?

Did I also say this is the same Bill Berry who "forgot" to give me the Department of Treasury letter giving me Government clearance to enter Cuba?

So I got busted by Immigration when I returned to the U.S.A.

It doesn't matter.

We have Good times!

I get a birthday card for my 40th ... when I passed that Port long time ago ... all my kids are doing quite well ... I'm passionately in love with Sarah ... I have 3 little girls who gift me with doing it all again ... and inexplicably I'm in charge of a Church ... which no one could have guessed was possible.

It's hard to not love Bill Berry.

I have no idea how he's survived to be a year older than me.

But he has.

So .... more Bill Berry stories to come.

Now it's time to set fire to this birthday card, the letter explaining it and the envelope it came in.

I'll toast Bill Berry as I burn it.

I like the Now more.

Through Bill Berry and I still have some more beats left in our hearts that we are sure as Hell enjoying.

Old Ministers and me

I have lots of old minister friends.

Sarah calls them Pastors.

Whatev's!

They're old.

I mean ... we're old.

Well ... not me ... but them.

Bill Berry ... not the former drummer for REM but the other one ... has the best hair ... except it's all grey.

Michael Ruffin looks good in a robe ... in Fitzgerald, Georgia ... where nothing's ever happened ... except Jefferson Davis ... the President of the Confederacy ... was captured 15 miles outside of town.

Mitch Wesley plays bass ... but refuses to share this talent with anybody.

Mitch was recently kicked out of Milledgeville, GA ... no small feat ... and now lives in Athens, GA ... so he won ... regardless of what the Baptists say.

America's Best Minister ... not the most famous ... just the best ... quit his job.

Guy Sayles has beaten cancer so far ... is thin ... has no hair ... looks good ... if I were gay I'd want him.

Samuel Adams couldn't take it any more and fled.

I don't blame him.

I did too.

Church is for crazy people.

I had to get out.

This is my favorite saying about Church ...

"Religion is excellent stuff for keeping common people quiet," said Napoleon Bonaparte. "Religion is what keeps the poor from murdering the rich."

Yep.

Except ... I'm back in.

Not in a Church but in a bar.

It's pretty cool.

We don't start on time.

Screw up the music.

Occasionally make a point.

But God we enjoy it.

Or maybe it's God we're enjoying.

I have no idea.

I need to ask my friends.

(Thanks to my friend Dr. Michael Ruffin ... for lots!) 

All are precious in His sight ... or not

We're in Washington D.C. and Jim Wallis is speaking ... Jim founded "Sojourners" both a magazine and a Christian Community ... and he's telling the story of working with Desmond Tutu killing "Aparteid."

I can tell Lavanda Brown's pissed at the things Jim's sharing.

She and I work together overseeing Union Mission, at the time the country's most successful response to ending homelessness.

"Why is it," she explains later, "he's taking credit for Bishop Tutu's accomplishments?"

"What?" I ask completely baffled as Jim's story was that he helped, they became friends and relationships can transcend race.

"It was a Black people's movement," she spits. "It wasn't a white people's movement."

"You mean like de Klerk ... the South African President who started the whole movement and let Mandela out of prison to show he was serious?"

Anger fills her brown eyes but she reels herself back in to ask, "Who's de Klerk? What do you mean?"

"Do you know who Will Campbell is?" I ask.

"No," she replies sipping her cocktail.

"Maybe part of the problem," I counter, "is you know who all the Major players are ... Mandela, Tutu, Martin Luther King ... but you have little idea of who was with them ... either at the beginning, setting the stage or behind-the-scenes."

"This is the glory of black achievement being watered down by white revisionists," she replies rubbing her finger around the rim of her glass.

"So you're saying everything ... and by that I mean everybody too ... is either white or black?"

"Yes," she defiantly announces.

"Hmmm," I contemplate and sip my wine. "So what do you do with Mulattoes? ... or black people with red hair and light skin? ... with those who can pass?"

"That's not the point," she snaps.

"Really" I ask, "then what is the point?"

"Dr. King is ours," she says, meaning black people, "not yours ... Mandela too ... and Bishop Tutu's not a friend of Jim Wallis."

"Really?" I say ... not knowing what else to say.

And for too many people ... red and yellow, black and white ... Martin Luther King Day really is about Either/Or ... Black and White ... Us verses Them.

For some ... it a day to celebrate overcoming ... for others it's fuel to the fires of hate, ignorance and bigotry ... red and yellow, black or white.

That's pretty damn sad.

But people are going to enjoy Holidays however they wish.

"Sunrise doesn't last all morning ... a cloudburst doesn't last all day ..."

So sings the Major Prophet George Harrison.

All Things Must Pass.

I've passed through two marriages to get to the right one.

I passed over great opportunities to live and work elsewhere.

I left organized religion only to find myself captured by the unorganized kind ... in a Bar ... with no real plan.

I stopped trying to prove myself to everybody ... ultimately agreeing with Popeye ... "I am what I am" ... warts and all.

I left the boredom of not being a musician ... because if you aren't making music of some type ... you're not really living.

I quit being a carefree adult to choose parenthood ... again ... after I've already survived once ... and passionately love a house full of girls ... who passionately love me.

I used to intensely care about politics but don't anymore ... because they're all the same.

I was once a reader but now I'm a writer.

I really love where I'm at!

But I've lived long enough to know that it's not going to last.

Just like George Harrison prophetically passed away, I will too.

Not by choice!

Who wants
to die when life is so good?

So I'm just going to enjoy today ... Sarah and the girls ... my kids ... the sunshine in a blue sky ... walking the dogs ... the Beef Stew I'm making for dinner ... the cookies the girls are making today for our new neighbors ... the Netflix movie we'll watch tonight ... the glasses of wine ... the sliver of moon in the nighttime sky ... laying beside the woman I deeply love with my leg on hers ...

I am going to claim these things because I choose to live in the now and not think about when all things pass away.

Reasons to NOT MOVE TO TYBEE ISLAND, GA

I love Tybee Island, lived here a long time and been here my whole life.

My first book was penned in the old Veranda Restaurant where I'd stare at the Texas Tower floating 3 miles out on the ocean ... until it got knocked down by a tanker that missed the Savannah River.

The island's as beautiful as ever ... the ocean's majestic ... sunrises and sunsets are breathtaking ... the Back River is spectacular ... the Lighthouse is stunning ... Turtles lay eggs in the Dunes and they hatch ... Dolphins are everywhere ... Shrimp Boats make you dream ... the smell of the Marsh ...

BUT ... other than that ... IT SUCKS!

Here's why.

Everything is fried

It doesn't matter where you go the food is fried. Even if you order something grilled it's cooked beside the fryer and has the aroma of fried food when it's plated. Old grease is stored in tubs for recycling and the fat skims to the top and forms a layer harder than Congress.

Tybee City Hall

Got a good idea?

Want to improve your home ... enhance quality of life on the Island ... help old ladies cross Butler Avenue ... or DO ANYTHING AT ALL FOR KIDS ... which Tybee City Hall doesn't believe exists?

It will cost you.

Tybee City Hall levees a fee, fine or make you a foe for pretty much anything.

Right now you can still breath for free but no one is certain how much longer that's going to last.

Parking

There is none.

What parking exists cost a quarter for 15 minutes which is more than most anything cost anywhere.

Plus the above mentioned Tybee City Hall hires Nazis to enforce parking.

If you come ... you WILL Pay.

Jones Avenue

Tourists drive down Butler Avenue to get from one end of the island to the other but locals take Jones Avenue ... which used to be great because it was 35 miles an hour and no Stop Signs ... so it took 2 minutes to go 3 miles.

Not any more.

The City loves "Stop Signs" and Tybee Island has more per square feet than any place in the Universe.

You can't pee without having to Stop.

Apparently this wasn't enough for aforementioned Tybee City Hall because the entire street is now ripped to Hell so it's not a drivable option.

Therefore if you live here ... you drive like a tourist.

Flood Insurance

Two words.

One is a Verb.

The other is a pronoun.

The pronoun is "YOU'RE."

You can feel the Verb repeatedly pounding itself from behind.

Easter Sunrise Service

Long, long time ago ... on an island far far away ... everybody loved everybody.

Then we got Churches.

So everybody tolerated everybody.

Then the Baptists withdrew participation from the Easter Sunrise Service on the Pier.

The Methodist put up "Crime Scene" tape to keep people out.

The Catholics believe they're the only ones on the Island anyway.

And no one cares about the Episcopalians ... because black people attend.

BUT ... out of this mess ... Bar Church was born ... so in spite of the Holy Wars ... Inquisitions ...bad music ... worse sermons ... and the stupid sayings on the sign in front of the Baptist Church ... it's all good.

I could go on but that's enough.

Besides ... I have to make my daily run to Tybee Market ... sometimes referred to as IGA ... to pick up things for the weekend ... cause the girls are coming home and Sarah's out of Orange Juice ... and Tybee Market is always fun ... especially when Nancy's working.

Though in the summer and on Holiday weekends ... even Tybee Market's sold out.

Nancy or no Nancy.

So don't move here.

It's not worth it.

I'd Rather Be Dead

"I couldn't sleep at all last night."

Yep I was "tossing and turning ... turning and tossing" because I couldn't get that damn song out of my head!

Every time I woke up  ... Sarah's laying there sleeping ... and if that doesn't keep you up nothing will ... but I digress.

A "Play List" was running through my head because I have a big gig at the Nursing Home today.

If you're a musician and never played a Nursing Home gig ... then you could be a much better person.

The first musician I'm aware to play such a gig was Harry Nilsson who did a live video in a British Nursing Home for his song ... "I'd rather be dead" ... (check it out ... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mHmH9lQZq6I ).

It's great!

The Nursing Home residents sing along with Harry,  "I'd rather be dead than wet my bed" as they toast one another with Champaign, dance, toss balloons around and LIVE IN THE FACE OF DEATH.

It's a courageous thing.

Many years later, my friend Chuck Courtenay, Jr. ... who looks remarkably like Harry Nilsson ... decides to start doing Nursing Home gigs and invites Sarah and me ... and ... I've never seen anything like it.

The near dead come back to life when he sings "I can't get no satisfaction" ... because the last place you can get any satisfaction is in a Nursing Home (check it out ... https://www.facebook.com/video.php?v=10205399540287969&set=p.10205399540287969&type=2&theater )

Chuck does an incredible job with his Nursing Home gigs.

He set the bar.

Now as part of Bar Church, I'm doing a weekly gig too.

I was so excited "I couldn't sleep at all last night!"

I got up early so Sarah could sleep late to learn the chords to "Duke of Earl" which is a special request from last week.

It's nuts.

"It is nuts," Guy Sayles told me the other day, "but maybe (this is what I wonder, not what I know) the nuttiness of it is part of the fun."

Yep.

Because if life isn't fun ... nutty ... satisfying ... and fulfilling ... you're already dead.

The Coast is Not Clear

I do not like Meteorologists.

They take great delight in giving bad news.

If the weather is going to suck, it makes them happy and they're giddy explaining how crappy it's going to be and for how long.

They wear suits, tight dresses, have perfect hair, look a bit too serious and smile a little too much.

Making it worse they've successfully conducted a hostile takeover of the "Traffic Report"?

The guy who used to fly around in a Helicopter to report a Walmart truck full of sanitary napkins had fallen over on I-95 backing up vehicles for 5 miles is no more.

The Meteorologists killed him off.

WHAT IN THE HELL DO Meteorologists KNOW ABOUT TRAFFIC?

They're not even outside!

They report from inside the TV station, standing in front of the Green Screen, pointing at things they've programed into a Computer and ... smiling ... much like a Politician ... or worse a Televangelist.

God knows if there's a Hurricane, conditions are favorable for Tornados or there may be scattered showers ... because they're going to report all Hell's breaking loose!

THEN ... they will advise us on the precautions we should take when Hell breaks loose ... stock up on batteries ... bottled water ... peanut butter ... listen to the Emergency Weather Radios they pass out in the parking lot at McDonalds ... hide out in a door frame if you haven't built the bunker they've advised.

They don't say a damn thing about stocking up on wine, beer, Vodka, pretzels and boiled peanuts which is what gets most people through a Hurricane, Tornado or scattered shower!

AND NOW ... right before the Sanitary Napkin commercial leading into the Weather Report ... there's a cutaway to the Meteorologist sitting in front her or his computers acting like they're working hard on the forecast.

If the damn forecast isn't ready 60 seconds before you give it ... IT AIN'T READY!

I know there's lots of bad things happening in the world ... Terrorism ... ISIS ... Congress ... actual bad weather like droughts and Tsunamis ... FOX News ... and today's Country Music ...

BUT Meteorologists just make it all seem worse.

I'm glad I got that off my chest.

I feel better ... staring at the fog and rain Kris Allred says is going to last until sometime Friday or Saturday.

Dammit.

The World Spins without me

It's very hard adjusting to the fact the world spins without you.

At first I was in shock.

I was such an integral part of why the world spins at all ... how can it possibly spin without me?

But it does.

I was in St. Martin when it stopped ... leaving me in shock ... and completely perplexed.

Of course it's our own egos that make us think such things.

My Grandparents die and my world revolves around them and ... though they were gone ... the world keeps on spinning.

Same with my Dad.

He said he was ready ... we said okay ... he dies ... the world keeps spinning.

"O-blah-Di ... O-Blah-Da ... Life Goes on ... BRA!"

Jesus, The Beatles, Desmond Decker and Jimmy Scott-Emuakpor got it right ... Life goes on ... BRA!

The hard part is understanding it ... accepting it ... embracing it ... and getting on with it!

I was chatting with an old friend who recently got off the world to ask "How's it going?"

"I'm tired," he replies ... and I completely understand.

In St. Martin when I got off ... or the world threw me off ... it's hard to tell which ... I sat there a lot, staring at the breakers on the reef ... exhausted.

He's grateful the world doesn't need him anymore.

I'm far too arrogant for that.

Though I remember the tired-ness of it all.

What I've learned though is weariness is quickly replaced by wonderment.

I am in awe of my life.

I don't know how it got to this point ... I'm not that smart ... but God I love it.

These days ... I beam in and out of the world ... but mostly keep my distance.

I don't want to be tired anymore.

I want to live ... and enjoy ... be loved ... and love.

So ... I can't wait to meet Sarah later ... the girls to come home ... the kids to call ... Bar Church on Sunday ... Monty Parks and the Acoustic Jam tonight ... Mitch to play bass ... the Boys to have lunch ... Judy O's birthday ... Dano's baby to be born ... AND ...

For Guy Sayles to tell stories in a Bar ... that Jesus transforms into a Church ... once a week ... maybe more.

Sleeping with the Maid of Honor

I'm pretty impressed with myself.

I've slept with four Bridesmaids!

One Matron of Honor!

AND ... a Maid of Honor!

I can tell you're impressed too!

I'm a stud.

AND ... to make it all even more impressive ... I did it all on the same night.

John O'Neill can't even touch such a record ... or Franklin Pierce (who is brown) ... though both will claim they've done far better!

If you don't know, Johnny O is actually raising Franklin.

After Franklin's Mom refused to speak to him anymore, Johnny O took pity and began giving advice and encouragement to the Brown Boy ... kind of like Tarzan being raised by Apes ... and not having a clue of to what to say to Jane.

But I digress.

I've shattered the record of sleeping with the female side of a wedding party in a single night!

They were all completely satisfied when I was done.

This happened after the Golden Globe Awards but I was up for it.

So to recount ... four Bridesmaids ... one Matron of Honor ... AND the Maid of Honor in a single night!

Thank you Sarah.

One wife beats all the others!

Who used to be one of the others but isn't anymore.

Happy Monday everybody!

I'm still thinking about the Golden Globes.

An Open Letter to God

Dear God,

Why are you keeping so quiet?

It's driving lots of us crazy!

Well ...

Not the clergy who like it when you're not saying much because it gives them the opportunity to do all the talking, but the rest of us would rather you speak up more often.

And ...

Politicians could care less what you have to say as they're too busy getting re-elected or, when they're not, opening up consulting businesses.

Though Police Departments don't really want to hear from you either feeling whatever actions they take are already justified.

Aside from Chick-Fill-A, the Business Community don't want to listen to much you have to say because they're too busy making money.

Most Doctors believe they're God and don't want to waste time being challenged that they're not.

Sport stars already make more money than you do, have followers and, while they may tap their heart and point to the sky after they score ... it's all for show.

The Industrial Military Complex stopped listening to you as soon as they got started.

Newspaper columnists already know what you have to say so you don't have to say it.

Hmmmm ...

Come to think of it God, there's only a handful of people interested in anything you have to say.

Sorry about that God.

I know we can do better.

Just give the word and we'll start listening.

Thank you.

Sincerely,

ME

Re-Gifted

Watching a Netflix movie there are 5 of us in various stages of recompose on the large sofa.

Everyone is touching someone.

It's a touching family time ... a Hallmark moment.

We're completely re-gifted.

The girls are Sarah's and Ben's ... Sarah left Ben to find herself ... married me ... I have three children who live elsewhere ... but we are one family.

It's hard to diagram.

Once in Seminary I gave a talk in class titled, "Divorce: A Great Gift from God."

It was a Southern Baptist Seminary so it didn't go over very well.

But it's true.

There is no worse sin than to waste your life with the wrong person.

Yeah, yeah, yeah ... it's selfish  ... good relationships take work ... commitment ... marriage is a permanent relationship ... ordained by God ... never to be broken ... blah, blah, blah.

"For we know," says St. Paul, "that the whole creation groins and travelith in pain together until now"

We do our best.

We screw up ... dust ourselves off ... start over.

It's the way God ... and us ... create life.

50% of the people who get married divorce.

The other 50% die.

Of course the first 50% die too.

We just do the best we can.

I think everybody would be happier if we just accept it.

So last night, as I realize how much I love ... and am enjoying ... the gifts of Divorce ... as we touch one another ... love our family ... miss the Kids ... anticipate Jeremy and Terenca's wedding ... celebrate Chelsea and Sam's ... wonder what Kristen is going to do ... and really don't care what other people think ... because we've groaned for the completion of this happiness.

We know how blessed we are.

If God is love ... and love is God ... and love is all you need ... we got it.

And it was a good movie too.

The Duke Of Earl and Me

Scratching the top of my head I'm struck by two things.

How thin my hair is up there ... and how calloused my fingers have become.

It gives me pause.

My hair's as long as it's ever been and I'm going to enjoy it as long as I have it.

My fingers do things they haven't done in decades, stretching this way and that, hitting the right strings in the right frets, making music.

My voice is deeper with a gravelly quality to it that I like.

It reminds me of "Preaching" when I would drop my voice an octave on a dime ... which is one of the tricks of preaching.

I don't preach anymore though I do tell stories.

Besides there's WAY TOO MUCH Preaching in the world today.

I prefer the later and I think God does too.

I do sing however ... with more regularity and have the daily challenge of finding new ... or rediscovering old ... songs for both secular and religious purposes.

The secular songs are for me ... Monty Park's Tuesday Night Acoustic Jam ... the occasional times I play a set at Benny's Tybee Tavern & Restaurant and my regular weekly gig at the Nursing Home.

The Nursing Home crowd leaves me perplexed because they've demanded I do "The Duke of Earl" next week and I have no idea how to do a solo acoustic version of that song.

But I'll tell you this ... I'm going to try ... and while it may be the "Peasant of Earl" they get ... it'll be a damn good Peasant.

"How's retirement?" I was asked the other day.

"I'm not retired," I shoot back.

"You making any money?" he counters.

"Well no," I confess, 'but I'm having a real good time."

"Really?" he asks with surprised eyes.

"Yeah, I like my life. I'm just figuring out how to finance it."

He hands me his Business Card ... he's a Financial Advisor ... and says he'll take me to lunch ... as if I had any money to advise ... though I do like lunch.

"You look happy," he says as we hug.

"I am," I tell him before asking, "Have you ever heard an acoustic solo version of 'The Duke of Earl'?"

"What?" he says ... and I think he wants his card back.

I don't care.

I'm hanging out with the Duke of Earl.

Caldestine Lunch Dates

"You want to meet for lunch?"

"I'll be home in a little while," she sighs.

"I don't care," I reply. "Let's meet for lunch."

"I don't want to go to Johnny Harris," she replies.

Johnny Harris Restaurant is roughly half way between us but we were just there on Sunday night for the "Singer-Songwriter" Series ... and we meet there about once a week.

That's because we have a "Lunch Date" about once a week.

It's usually completely spontaneous and rarely planned.

"You want to meet for lunch?" one of us asks the other.

We contemplate things needing to be accomplished today... other obligations ... the drive ... calculate the time necessary to stop for gas ... feel guilty about leaving work ... wonder if God punishes people who do what they really want ... and how much tax must be paid to the Government because you want to have fun and God knows the Government is Anti-Fun.

"Sure," Sarah replies.

""Where?" I ask.

"I don't want Asian," she snaps knowing how much I love Asian.

"Well I don't want that lame place besides "Whole Foods" ... it sucks," though somehow  my wife is quite fond of it.

"How about the Cotton Exchange?" I ask.

"That's too far for you," she protests..

"No, I'll meet you there."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Okay."

I love the Cotton Exchange. Gene Prevatt and I ordered beers there a thousand years ago when we were 17 and ... they served us ... I'm sure because we looked and acted older! ... so I've had a special affinity for it ever since ... AND they make the best potato salad ever!

So we meet and Sarah's as lovely as ever when she graces the room ... only to endure the catcalls and whistles of Ben Price and his friend who are also having lunch at the Exchange.

Ben and I go way back ... he was famous then ... I was famous then ... we liked each other anyway ... his Dad was very, very good to me ... and I performed his and Pam's wedding ceremony on a glorious evening in a glorious place.

He and Sarah meet for the first time and ... it's obvious Ben and I like each other so she's forced to like him too ... ON THE SPOT!

"Who was that?" Sarah asks when Ben and his friend leaves.

"He used to be somebody," I answer.

"Like you?" she lovingly asks putting her hand on top on mine.'

"Yeah ... like me,"" I answer kissing her in public.

If you don't think this boring story could get any worse ... you're right ... it doesn't.

Ben emails Sarah and I later inviting us to dinner with Pam and him ... making the assumption he's paying ... so we're pretty damn excited!

And that my friends is why it's important to have lunch dates with your spouse ... lover ... significant other ... clandestine relationship ... Anti-Government endorsed relationship ... or whoever ... or whatever ... you really love.

You might get a free dinner out of it.

Our Christmas Tree fights for life!

"The Christmas Tree's sagging," Sarah says.

"So," I reply as she beautifully walks down the stairs leaving me lustful ...and full of sinful thoughts ... on her way to work.

I love Christmas Trees!

I don't care if they sag.

I don't care if they're brown.

Once in St. Martin, my friend Verna took to the store because I didn't have a car ... it was Christmas Eve and I needed groceries ... and the island was decorated ... with brown Christmas Trees bleached out in the sun ... fully decorated with bright ornaments.

Verna belted Christmas carols the entire trip with the windows rolled down and my bare feet on the dashboard.

"I'm dreaming of a brown Christmas," I sing.

Laughing, she says, "You're so white."

I love that image.

Anyway, Sarah leaves and I sit on the bench and stare at our Christmas Tree.

I think it should remain until Winter is over.

I hate Winter!

I didn't say that with enough passion.

I. HATE. WINTER. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I hate snow ... cold wind ... Nor'easters ... scraping windshields ... multiple blankets ... ice (well ... except in a sweating glass) ... cranking the car to heat it before driving ... coats ... long pants and shoes!

I hate snow Angels.

But I love our Christmas Tree.

I'd leave it up till March if Sarah would let me ... which she won't ... but ... it's warm and nice ... the decorations are wonderful reflections of everything we've been through to get to us ... and ... Goddess likes sleeping under it.

Most Ornaments are homemade by my kids ... her girls ... things she made as a child ... or I made as a child ... my Grandfather's tie ... her parent's ornament.

The presents are long gone ... our children and friends ripped them open a couple of weeks ago.

The only thing left under our Christmas Tree is love.

And I'm basking it in right now.

It's our life and I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Girls Clothing and me

It's one of those "sit and wait" mornings.

Sarah and her girls rushed out a while ago for work and school and now the house is quiet as a mouse.

Well ... except for the Paul Thorn music I have blasting!!!

I'm waiting on inspiration ... which obviously has an appointment somewhere else.

After a great long weekend together they leave ... and I've developed a ritual of meandering into their rooms ... straightening up the messes little girls make ... you know like ... a Fed EX truck full of dresses, designer jeans and underwear EXPLODING in a 12 by 14 room ... clothing is everywhere.

"Which one of your rooms is going to make me curse first?" I sweetly ask before they leave.

"Probably mine," Maddie the 13 year old confesses stuffing another doughnut in her mouth while taking a "Selfie."

I already know without saying anything that she's right.

And she is.

Sarah is a very meticulously, organized, diligent mother, individualizing their laundry in baskets with the girls names on them and asks the girls to put their clothes up.

Cassidy, the 8 year old, does a pretty good job of it ... primarily because there's no room anywhere else due to the "American Girl Dolls," random pieces of art and candy rappers occupying every square inch of floor space.

Laurel, the 10 year old, puts the basket in her closet and shuts the door ... Problem solved.

Maddie ... or "Madaster" as I call her ... because she's quite mad and reminds me of the "Tasmanian Devil" when she's pissed ... twisting through the room like the Twister in "The Wizard of Oz" ... simply dumps her basket on the bed.

I pick up the stray dolls and candy wrappers Cass leaves on the floor.

In Laurel's room, I smile and stay the Hell away from her closet or looking under her bed and tell myself, "Bless her heart! She did good."

Then I go to Maddie's door ... and hit my head against it ... because I know ... this is going to be ugly.

"HOLY SHIT!" I say out loud when I finally walk inside.

She's topped herself again!

But you know what?

They won't be back until Friday and I already miss them.

Preaching and Panhandling

Chester Fawbush, a homeless man, and I are in Mississippi because the "Women's Missionary Union" flew us in to speak at their annual meeting.

It was in a big white Southern Baptist Church ... because Baptists love buildings more than most anything else.

Months earlier I'd talked about Chester at the National Women's Missionary Union Annual meeting and the Mississippi Chapter didn't believe he actually existed so they invited me to prove it.

It was the first time Chester flew on a plane, stayed in a posh hotel (well by Mississippi standards) or gave a speech.

A thousand finely dressed women occupied the pews, sang Hymns, gave awards to one another, made lots of announcements and a gavel was passed as two women hugged and cried to the point of uncomfortableness.

I was introduced and talked about the tiny, rag-tag, inner city congregation in Kentucky and how we are changing the world.

They didn't care.

They wanted to hear Chester.

In his mid-60s, wearing a plaid coat from the Clothes Closet, with most of his teeth, salt-and-pepper hair, the thin little man stood behind the massive Pulpit ... cocked his head towards me and ... winked.

Then he grabs the microphone, storms across the stage, tells his story, cries in ways that puts Jimmy Swaggart to shame and ... gets a massive standing ovation.

Afterwards he got several wedding proposals and opportunities for discreet rendezvous in hotels just out of town.

Alone at the airport I look at Chester, who'd lived for several years in a Landfill, and ask, "Where'd you learn to speak like that?"

Flashing the crooked grin he laughs, "Aw Rev ... Preaching ... Panhandling ... it's all the same."

Erupting in laughter we hug, board the plan and fly home.

I tell you that story to tell you this one.

There's an honesty at Bar Church, I don't see much anymore.

I'm not asking for anything ... not panhandling ... or preaching ... but I was part of a special church before so I recognize special when I see it.

This is special.  

Friends

I seem to have filled my life with a new batch of friends.

It's not that my old friends went away ... we're just not moving in the same circles any more.

We keep up on Facebook, commenting and messaging ... there's the occasional phone call ... and in a few weeks Bill Berry (not the former drummer for REM but the other one) and I are actually getting together for a few days!

My mates from College and I sling arrows at each other almost daily with Mark being the most accurate ... Mitch being the most creative ... Dedra being the most clueless ... and me missing virtually everything they shoot.

Some of my friends from Seminary are speaking to me again ... at this point in their Ministries I suppose they're finally getting around to that "forgiveness" stuff.

Throughout the World homeless people using free computers in Library sending me nice messages ... or ask if I can still help them bypass the system.

My Professional Peers mostly went away ... except for Terry Ball who actually ran homelessness for a long time. We communicate with some regularity... and Sandy Durden who recently gave me a body slam hug in the Cathedral of St. John ... and the very famous Dr. Jim Withers who is shoving health care down the throats of those needing it most while shaming the Hospitals that demand payment at the door.

Angela Barris Bracket, a real "Hottie" when I was growing up, and I keep up with each other ... she's met Sarah and, while I enjoy our encounters, she often questions my sanity.

Shirley Sessions continues to say "Fabulous" when I see though she recently told me she was giving that up.

The "Carnival of Friends" are still constant presences but, while we love each other dearly, we're not constantly doing the things we used to do.

Jenny Orr allowed John Branigin to take control of "Bored Meetings" at "Fannies-on-the-Beach" because Roma has abdicated all control. O Johnny "(not to be confused with Johnny O) changed the time of being Bored so I don't do it much anymore though Essie and Brown seem to be doing just fine.

Besides, Sarah's girls keep me completely amused!

Oh My God, who knew 3 little girls can be like Patton's Army rolling across Germany one second and melt your heart like butter as they're doing it? ... Neither Science or Religion can explain such things.

Plus Chelsea and Sam are married ... Jeremy are and Terenca are getting married ... and Kristen is almost a Nurse ... and I work hard to keep up with their lives.

I've given up keep up with my Mom's life ... she's too busy ... though we occasionally have nice conversations when she has time ... and she's not getting on to me for whatever I wrote.

Oh yeah ... Monty Parks and the Tuesday Night Acoustic Jam consumes increasing amounts of my time! You won't believe this but I actually missed part of the Beloved Dawgs of Georgia football game the other night to show up ... but then again I've always like people who like music ... and don't fit in anywhere else.

Mostly it's my wife's fault.

She's just too damn enjoyable!

AND ... she's my best friend therefore requiring significantly more time, attention, focus, restraint and physical activity.

I'd tell you more but I got to go Bar Church now.

I love my crazy friends who have Church in a Bar!