Heaven's Planning Committee

"Well you know everybody," Sarah says getting dressed.

"I knew Dick because of my folks," I reply making up the bed.

Dick Smith died yesterday and I've known him for so long I have a hard time pinpointing a time when I didn't know him.

He was funny in debonair sort of way.

Classy humor with an undercut of lazier focused satire!

"Are you out of your frigging mind?" I asked him once in the Tybee Post Office.

Dick had announced he was running for City Council.

"I wish I would have done this a long time ago," he replies ... then grins and agrees, "Yes I've lost my freaking mind."

He won ... then he lost ... but he never stopped sharing his freaking mind.

We were rarely together but there was a great fondness we shared when we were.

Today's the Beach Bum Parade which somehow seems fitting as a send off for Dick. Have a good time but keep it clean! Wash you sins away while laughing. Make fun at Government control.

A parade of people are marching before me ... lining up to greet Dick in Heaven ... Roma is of course at the front of the line though David Ring is jostling for position with her as they laugh ... Steve Hendricks is flashing his sly grin and shaking his head ... Dean's holding a beer to hand over ... Dirty Dan is going to pop out of a cake wearing a thong ... Chicago Bob is crooning ... Trolley Joe is sitting in the driver's seat ready to take everybody to God ... and Bruce Bohme is saying to Dean, "PLA-EEE-ZZZ-EEE! You didn't bring enough beer."

My Dad's standing there too greeting his old friend.

Here's to you my friend Dick Smith!

Enjoy our other friends!

We're all going to have one Hell of a party when we're together again.

Now you're part of the planning committee. 

After A Resurrection

"Hey Mr. Demery," I speak into the phone. "It's Micheal."

"Who?" his shaky voice asks.

"Micheal Elliott," I clarify.

"Micheal?" he asks as remembering who I am.

Bob Demery and I met because of Frank Stanton ... both incredibly compassionate Savannah businessmen who cared about the dark sides of their city ... homelessness ... AIDS ... addictions ... and such.

At the time my world is full of homelessness ... AIDS ... addictions ... and such and sitting in my office one day, Mr. Demery says, "Mike, if you ever find yourself in a hard spot and need a check ... just call me."

He's that kind of guy.

Mr. Demery did lots of things in Savannah ... inherited a successful business and made it better ... passing it on to his son ... started Savannah Country Day, based on a boarding school model for those who can afford it ... and lots more.

"Hey Mr. Demery," I continue, "you remember that time you told me if I ever needed a check I should just call you?"

We really needed the check.

Caring for people always takes more than you have to give ... monetarily and emotionally.

There was a long pause.

"Micheal," he finally says as though he realizes it's really me he's talking to.

"Yes Sir, it's me."

"Micheal," he repeats before blurting, "I have Alzheimer's."

I am speechless.

What does one say?

"Hey Robert," I finally stammer, "I just wanted to say 'Hey.' I hope you're doing okay. Can I do anything for you?"

And I hear him cry.

"Thank you Micheal," he finally says hanging up.

That was a long time ago but last night Sarah and I are watching an excellent movie about what it's like to have Alzheimer's and ... Mr. Demery decides to show up ... and full of emotion of his kindness and his lost-ness  ... I tell my wife the story ... and I just cry ... and she just holds me tight.

I do believe in the Resurrection.

Mr. Demery did it last night.

Hell he's doing it again this morning.

Now the question is ... what does one do after a resurrection?

Catholic Prejudicial Dance Judging

For years, we have believed that the annual "Father/Daughter Dance" at St. Vincent's Academy was rigged so only Catholics won.

Kristen and I blew their socks off only to lose to a senior with two left feet.

Chelsea and I were so hot lights melted and Sister Pat grew flush ... but we lost to a Catholic Dad wearing a suit.

Who wears a suit to a Father/Daughter Dance?

Now I love to dance and really throw myself and ... Sarah ... into it!

Dancing is good the heart ... the soul ... the mind ... throwing caution to the wind ... finding your rhythms ... showing love ... just having fun!

I don't believe in that formal Ball Room dancing stuff ... though I can fake it ... I like the wildly abandoned leave-it-all-on-the-floor stuff.

Over the past few years I've been teaching the girls to dance like me.

Honestly, whenever we're out ... they love to dance with me and we have a good time.

Today though it strikes me that because Maddie, the 13 year old, has enrolled in St. Vincent's Academy  for High School ... there is the opportunity for me to participate in more "Father/Daughter Dances" and break the Catholic prejudicial judgment system once and for all.

They finally ran Sister Pat off which saddens me because I still want to watch her cry when I win with my daughter.

Which reminds me that the Judges at the St. Vincent's father/Daughter Dance are all Nuns!

I've seen a singing Nun but never a dancing one!

What do Nuns know about judging a Dance?

I tell you the whole thing is rigged at St. Vincent's Academy!

BUT ... I have a chance to take 'em down again!

It's not all that easy because Maddie may take her actual Father to the Dance but I've got time to work on that.

Maddie and I already practice our dancing.

We need to get an online "Confirmation" Certificate and I think we're ready to take them down!



 

The Wrong Side of Judgment

"People either love you or they hate you," I'm often told, "and those who love you really love you but those who hate you seriously hate you!"

It's true regardless of what you do ... even if it's good.

Back in my corporate days I hired lots of women ... of all colors ... gay or straight ... because they were smarter, more ambitious and willing to do go above and beyond. Consequently less than a quarter of our workforce were male

I thought it was a good thing.

Then people posted on the Savannah Morning News webpage that it's "all about Micheal Elliott and his Harem" ... how I take advantage of women ... I'm a swinger ... and what a rotten person I am.

Shaking my head as I read these things I marvel ... not only that people believed such things but publically pass their judgments on for all to see.

I'm not saying I'm perfect ... I already confessed to breaking the majority of the 10 Commandments and a few of the 7 Deadly Sins ... but the things they said simply weren't true ... or certainly not as true as they said them.

I am not one to judge often going overboard giving others the benefit of the doubt.

Waiting on a meeting to start, talking to some guys, one says, "Did you hear about Rob? He's separated and living in an apartment ... seems he can't keep his pants zipped up."

Immediately I feel a sympathy for Rob and his wife, Susan, a peer at work, and walk away from the conversation.

Who knows what happening to Rob and Susan ... though obviously they're going through tough times.

Shortly afterwards I find myself with Rob who's standing in a corner of a room either being shunned or too wounded to talk.

Making a beeline, I give him a hug and ask, "How you doing man?"

Though far taller than me, Rob shrinks a bit but we chat until the meeting starts and he seems grateful as his sad eyes keep darting to me.

In the end Rob and Susan work through whatever it was and are happily married as they now slide into retirement.

Perhaps he couldn't keep his pants zipped up or maybe Susan keep her skirt pulled down or ... who knows except them ... and who should really care?

We love to judge, condemn, put on trial and execute before asking.

I've been on the wrong side of Judgment in my life and hope I've learned from it.

I'm certainly not one to rush towards Judgment.

There's already far too much in the world.

Blending without a Blender

I went from being a single father of three adult children ... meaning I lived alone if other people weren't here ... with a semblance of a plan ... but no real focus ... to blessedly becoming Sarah's husband ... and "parental advisor" to her 3 little girls ... and do my best to introduce a little fun in their lives.

Like yesterday ... we are at Laurel's, the 10 year old, concert ... apparently because the people who run the Savannah Children's Choir planned to get a big crowd of Mothers to pay $10/head to get in to see their kids perform ... ON DAMN MOTHER'S DAY!

Talk about perfectly executed kidnapping and extortion ... the Savannah Children's Choir has it down!

The Choir administrators took our money ... Mothers attended having to cancel seeing their Mother's on Mother's Day ... or as my Mother put it ... "I love Laurel and know she will do well but there is no way in Hell I'm coming to downtown Savannah at 3:00 on a Sunday afternoon!"

Of course, we live on Tybee so if we leave the Island there is always the realistic increasing reality we will be stuck in traffic for hours getting home ... and ticketed several times by the Police force.

Now I understand there will be 25 new Lifeguards who will probably stop traffic too for new ... and heretofore unimagined ticketed offenses ... like sticking a toe in the sand without a permit.

But I digress.

During the cursed timed ... yet wonderfully performed ... Savannah Children's Choir performance ... this is what I did:

1. Lusted Sarah who wore a blue jean miniskirt and a tank top that almost covers everything.

2. Executed a perfect practical joke on Maddie, the 13 year old, which left her angry for the rest of the night!

3. Took Cassidy, the 8 year, to the bathroom twice because ... I don't know ... she's a big fan of singing ... but that got pretty boring so ... using a credit card we opened the door to the "Elvis Room" at the Savannah Arts Academy ... where we took pictures waiting on the concert to end.

4. Texted Kristen, our adult child, who wants us to stop at her place for swimming and grilling to celebrate "Mother's Day" and Sarah's birthday at her place but ... of course ... we can't because of the damn Savannah Children's Choir planners!

5. Jeremy and I text and I learn he and Terenca and their girls have almost finished moving from Athens to Gainsville, Georgia before they move again to Alabama.

6. See that Chelsea and her husband Sam are at a concert in Atlanta and though we don't communicate, we sent them love and wishes for a good time.

Ours is a blending family and like many it's a crazy emotional ride  that ... on the one hand makes you perfectly understand the concept of "if we weren't all crazy we'd all go insane!" ... and on the other ... feel love again as deeply as ever.

We all gave up lots to get here though we're gaining more every single day!

Our investments are yielding significant results.

Lots of people scratch their heads at us ... but we don't care.

We love our family and all the crazy insanity that makes us ... US!

And if you have issues with the more than 50% of families like us ... I suggest you get a blender!

Toast us ... or ... be us!

A Double Whammy Day

Today is Sarah's birthday and Mother's Day ... meaning it is a cluster at our house.

Three years ago she was sick with Strep Throat and I was in charge of the girls which was unfortunate because I'd completely forgotten the parental skill set necessary to supervise three small girls at one time.

When Sarah finally recovered our house looked like Berlin in April 1945 after the Allies had blown it to Hell.

Last year Sarah and I were in Ireland without the girls and it was a wonderful lifetime experience.

Today I've learned I still haven't mastered adult supervision of three little girls as there are four very distinct plans for celebrating Sarah's birthday and Mother's day.

Of course none of the plans overlap in any way, shape, form or matter.

Whatever ends up taking place is going to be interesting.

Very interesting.

With an affinity for Wonder Woman, Sarah is something of a Super Heroine, seemingly doing pretty much everything at once while looking very good!

Rarely does she "lose it" over much anything, is forever pushing the girls to be everything they're capable of and forever plots about what's best for all six kids.

She sends lots of little gifts and notes to her friends, not expecting anything in return but celebrating friendship ... an increasingly rare commodity in the world.

She is practical, personable, passionate, pastoral and patient.

She deserves a "Double Whammy" day!

Happy Mother's Day my love.

Happy Birthday too!

You make me smile.

Water on Tybee Island

"Isn't that's what's happening to us?" Maddie the 13 year old exclaims while laying on the sofa staring at her phone and texting without ceasing.

Stunned to discover she can still actually talk Sarah and I look at her ... confused.

"What?" we both ask.

Pointing at the television with one hand while continuing to text with the other and never taking her eyes off the phone she says, "That."

We're watching the News and the story's on Credit Card Companies inappropriately charging people for Medical Insurance and rectifying their systems by reimbursing customers for gross overcharging.

Sarah and I comprehend the story on the television ... stare at each other for a moment ... look at Maddie who hasn't moved anything except her thumbs ... and wonder, "Who is this child and what has she done with Maddie?

"Water bills on Tybee Island," she says while still working on an unending text exchange.

"MY GOD," I say to Sarah, "the child can multi-task!"

"WHO KNEW?" we both exclaim at the same time.

Maddie rolls over to stare at us before rolling her eyes and saying, "Isn't Tybee Island scamming us?"

"Well yeah," we reply still dazed she knows anything about ... oh ... anything!

"It's not right," she says throwing her leg back over the sofa, resume texting and the soft light from the cell phone illuminates the beauty of her face.

"No it's not," I say, "but they've promised to work it out."

"Who?" she asks without moving anything other than her thumbs.

"The Mayor ... our Councilman ..." I explain.

The News shifts to a story about the school system in Atlanta and if it's better since educational administrators and teachers were convicted of "fixing" test scores and are now imprisoned.

Everyone's quiet.

"Okay," Maddie says standing up and heads off to bed.

Sarah and I look at one another ... shrug our shoulders at her ... just like we do the City of Tybee Island amidst all this water that surrounds us.

My New Angel

"For Christ's sake will you get up?" she snarls. "I brought company."

Grabbing hold of semi-consciousness, prying my arms from around Sarah, I roll over to see My Guardian Angel who reeks of cigarette smoke, bourbon and beer.

"Oh go to Hell," I sigh, rolling back over to spoon Sarah.

"Oh no you don't," she spits in her raspy voice pulling me out bed so I lay naked in the floor.

"Have you been working out?" I ask suddenly awake.

Her puny arms are pasty white ... she's way too thin ... so the stained white robe with blue stole ... is always dropping over one shoulder or the other almost exposing one of her breasts.

"Follow me," she commands and floats across the bed room.

Thankfully Sarah's sleeping though I notice Goddess, Winston The Little Gay Dog and Gypsy the formerly-Gender-confused-cat are shivering under the bed.

When I get to the kitchen I drink a glass of water before stumbling out into the warm night on the Beloved Back Deck and take a seat at the table.

My Guardian Angel does a shot of bourbon and chases it with a tall boy PBR, hacks up a lung and spits it over the side and speaks in her raspy voice, "Meet my friend Adaliah."

Looking across the table into the darkness, Adaliah is dark so I have to really look hard ... "Nice tan," I finally say. "Why are your eyes so red? You spend a lot of time on Tybee?"

She laughs and her voice is what you expect an Angel's voice to sound like as she replies, "I get around."

Burping my Guardian Angel throws and empty into the back yard.

"Wait a minute," I exclaim standing up ... fully awake now ... 'Adaliah' means death in Hebrew!'"

"Nice to meet you," Adaliah says, "now sit down. Don't worry I'm off the clock. I've heard lots about you and just wanted to meet you in person."

"Great," I sigh.

"Actually we've almost met several times," Adaliah continues, "but it never worked out."

"You're welcome," my Guardian Angel sneers.

"I owe you the next round," I yawn scratching myself.

"You owe me several," she snaps.

"Well what can I do for you?" I ask Adaliah who ... aside from the red eyes looks remarkably like Jennifer Lopez.

"I didn't want to come," she smiles nodding her head to the right, "she made me."

"Pleazzzzzeeee," I say to my Guardian Angel. "Why? What?"

She burps in my face and snaps, "Because you owe me and I wanted to."

There is an awkward silence.

"Hey Adaliah," I ask, "would you be reference on my resume?"

"What?" she asks.

"Yeah," I say standing up again, "if we almost met several times but never did ... that's pretty cool! It should be on my resume. Are you on anybody else's resume?"

"I've never been asked before," she smiles.

I hug my Guardian Angel who screams, "LET ME GO YOU BASTARD!"

"My goodness," my beautiful wife Sarah says over coffee this morning, "you certainly are happy today."

"What's not to love?" I smile. "Plus I have a new angle ... I mean Angel ... on the job front."

"Good," Sarah smiles looking like Heaven.

Honest At The Broken Places

"The world breaks everyone and afterwards many are strong in the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially."

Ernest Hemingway wrote that before killing himself at the age of 62.

I love Hemingway ... his extraordinary writing and the way he lived his life, except for the end.

I used to believe him right ... that we can all be strong in the broken places ... that we can overcome ... God will heal ... like a Phoenix we will rise ... but now I know it's a lie.

There is another great piece of writing that I think is closer to the truth.

"And all the King's Horses and all the King's Men couldn't put Humpty Dumpty together again."

Sitting in a McDonald's I watch a fat woman yawn while reading the Newspaper, a flamboyant gay couple tenderly attend to one another as they split a sausage biscuit and a tall thin man order food to go but quickly eats it before he makes it outside.

"I am weak but he is strong"  is an unending loop playing in my head and I know the first part is certainly true but can find no real evidence of the second part.

I can pinpoint the general era when I was broken and now know that it wasn't any one thing or a particular person or group that did ... it really doesn't matter ... but I broke ... and there's no strength in broken places ... King's Horses and King's Men or Jesus himself can't put it back to the way it used to be.

Not that I want it to be like it was because I don't.

Like most I exaggerate the fond memories and minimize the bad ones trying to prove I've done pretty good getting to this point ... though the reality is no one really cares.

Last night, sitting at the dinning room table, after several frustrating days ... I broke again but this time it was to let Sarah in.

My wife is a strong woman and won't be denied entry and, though it's taken a while and circumstances conspire against us, I let her in ... to wander where she will ... to touch every hurt, failure and loss that make me who I am today.

I've never done that before and now, sitting in McDonald's, I feel open and exposed as the fat woman stares at me intently ... the gay couple whisper as their eyes dart my way ... and the tall think man pretends to pick crumbs from his tee shirt while glances towards where I'm sitting.

I don't mind.

I am here because Cassidy, our 8 year old, asked if I would meet her for lunch at her school. I was mad at her the other day and let her know so she knew I was angry and she's a wickedly smart child who knows childhood selfishness caused it ... so she blows off her Mom and Dad and asks me to join her for lunch.

I'm supposed to do other things but I couldn't say "No" so I blew them off ... as important as they are ... and am killing time until I walk into an Elementary School lunchroom so we can ... I don't know ... heal each other .... say "I love you" without saying it.

I think I'm finally becoming honest at the broken places.

And know there are those who still believe in me ...  in spite of them.

Closet Excavation!

Sarah and I are sitting in the floor in the Red Room going through boxes long hidden in my closet.

The boxes have been on the top shelf or in the corner of the closet floor for years.

Out of sight ... out of mind.

That pretty much sums up my closet.

Cracking the door open, sticking my arm inside, I find a pair of black running shorts and a tee shirt ... every color matches black ... and put them on.

Sarah's closet is meticulously organized through she can't possibly fit anything else inside and has begun "coveting" my closet ... which quite honestly ... I have no idea what's in there.

There some Union Mission clothes I have no need for ... a tie Chelsea gave me when she was little ... a tuxedo I hope to never wear again ... shoes I hate ... and God only knows what else.

"Honey," I say to my wife who I adore than anything ever, 'Thou Shalt Not Covet. It's one of the Ten Commandments."

"So," she says. "You've broken more than me."

"Damn," I think to myself, "she's right again."

Anyway ... because I love my wife ... I actually opened my closet door and pulled out boxes of ... I have no idea ... boxes ... and not wanting to carry them downstairs ... I left them in the Red Room ... which Sarah immediately spied ... and suddenly a nice night of my head in her lap was evilly transformed into sitting in the floor looking at every single thing in those damn boxes.

I'll cut to the chase ... aside from a couple of funny letters from Bill Berry (not the former drummer from REM but the other one) ... it was mostly crap ... news clippings of things that no longer matter ... old pictures ... awards ... and reports cards.

"Seriously" Sarah asks sitting there with those beautiful legs, "you made D's in English?"

"I don't remember ever taking English," I lustfully reply.

BUT ... the excavation of my closet has begun!

Sarah is beside herself as Mother's Day looms ... which is also her birthday ... because she's getting more closet space ... and I'm discovering just how much past I have buried.

To celebrate everything ... the girls and I decided we're having Key Lime Pie for her Birthday ... as she pries things out her closet to loosely hang them in what used to be mine ... we will celebrate O.U.R.S.

That's all there really is anyway.

The World is made of Glass

I know what it's like to do something you hate.

Go to work ... or home ... or to other people's houses.

At the end of my days saving the world I couldn't bear to go to the office anymore ... the aroma was heavy and depressing ... regardless of how I pumped myself up ... the smell immediately left me depressed and sad.

The people did too ... all wanting more than they were willing to give ... all taking with the expectation I'll always deliver ... each wanting more at the precise moment they're receiving.

The last several months ... thanks to technology ... I went to a coffee shop on Chippewa Square, turned on the laptop and communicated with everyone from a distance ... because I could no longer bear their sight ... touch ... smell ... sound ... and unceasing demands.

The truth of the matter was I had nothing else to give.

Though I never gave up ... which was a gross mistake ... sometimes in life it's best to give up.

Of course once you do ... you have to start over.

"God's greatest gift," says Elie Wiesel, "is the chance to start over."

God's been good to me.

I've started over a lot in my life ... and am doing it again.

Sitting in the dark on the back deck in the middle of the night ... full of frustration and non-understanding ... I think of something I haven't in years.

"Commit a crime and the world is made of glass," wrote Ralph Waldo Emerson. "Some damning circumstance always transpires."

In worlds made of glass you can see everything regardless of how much you hide ... and things break to the point of no repair.

One of my favorite writers ... Morris West ... wrote a book about a rich woman overcoming childhood incest and the damnation of the Catholic Church ... on women and incest and sex ... so she has a single visit with Carl Jung ... the inventor of analytical psychology.

It's a great book ending in a convoluted mess because ... life is often a convoluted mess.

I think the secret is choosing what's good and doing your best with what's bad ... and everyone comes down on one side or the other ... because there's always good ... and there's always bad.

"Why do you do this every day?" I'm asked. ""Put yourself out there ... say what you feel ... question the majority ... dig through the past searching for clues to why I behave the way I do now ... celebrate your NOW in flamboyant ways ... juggle the light with the dark?"

I believe it's because the world really is made of glass and I'd be foolish to hide it ... and what I do ... when it's all transparent anyway ... perhaps just to you ... or your lover ... or the whole damn world!

I don't mind the transparency ... in fact I welcome it.

I do care when glass breaks and worlds fall apart.

I've seen ... and lived ... far too much of that in my life.

Sunday Cinnamon Rolls

Watching the sun rise through the Palm Tree with the oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt, choirs of birds sing Hymns of Praise to the birth of this day for an audience of one.

Sitting on the Beloved Back Deck under a deep blue cloudless sky, Fran's thousand shades of green glisten in the sunshine, dripping dew from the night.

Goddess lays under my bare feet and I rub her white golden fur.

Squirrels play in the trees, the pungent aroma of the Marsh ... the smell of sex in the Tropics ... fills the air and, in the distance, waves are the kissing the beach.

Golden rays flood the yard, illuminating the yellow, purple and red blooms of the plants I tenderly care for.

A door slams causing the birds to cease and the stopping the Squirrels dead in their tracks.

Turning I spy Cassidy, the 8 year old, wrapped in her blanket, blond hair askew in every direction, stumble into the kitchen looking for me.

Goddess' tail wags as she jumps up and paws the sliding screen door.

Following her inside, I pick Cass up and she rests her head on my shoulder.

"Are the Cinnamon Rolls ready?" she sleepily asks.

"It's too early," I whisper because everyone else is still asleep.

"Aw," she sighs.

The birds resume their Hymns.

"Why don't you get back in bed and I'll get you when it's time to put on the icing."

The girls fight to lick the plastic container and the knife once the rolls have icing.

"Don't lick a knife!" I scold. "You're going to cut your tongue off."

They lick it anyway.

I place Cass back in bed and return to the kitchen ... where Laurel the 10 year old waits ... blond hair askew in every direction.

"Are the Cinnamon Rolls ready?" she asks.

"Not yet," I reply. "Go back to bed."

"Call me when you put the icing on," she yawns.

"Sure."

Strolling outside I thank the Heavens, the birds, Squirrels and the rising sun for a prayerful, peaceful beginning to this day.

Turning I make my way to oven because if I don't get these babies baking ... all Hell's going to break lose and ruin a beautiful day that the Lord has made. 

A Vanilla Blog

"Why did you write that?" she sighs.

It's not my Mom this time.

Mom's forever asking me before proceeding to get on to me if when I use "bad words," chiding me and reminding "You were raised to be better than that!"

It wasn't my wife Sarah either.

My writing typically leaves her speechless and she refuses to bring it up at all unless she thinks I'm thinking too much about the past when we have so much present to live and future to plan.

It wasn't Sarah or Mom this time ... it was Judy O.

"Why did you write that," she asks.

"Me?" I cleverly deflect the antagonistic question ... I haven't even finished my first cup of coffee at The Breakfast Club.

"Tybee does not hate black people," she clarifies.

"Yeah we were just counting the number walking by," I smile.

"Gay black people," Johnny O further clarifies.

"Yeah," I agree, "gay black people. We haven't seen one yet."

"Well don't write that kind of stuff," Judy O says sounding like Sarah and Mom.

"Fine," I agree because I love Judy and Johnny O, "I'll write something vanilla today."

"That's great!" Johnny O and Judy O say at the same time.

"It'll be about white people," I let them know in advance.

So I've come up with a new game based on living on Tybee Island for those who don't live here but want to ... or for those white people who want to know exactly who lives here.

Whitley Reynolds is going to help me design a plotted map of the island showing every dwelling.

In the middle of the map is a string to calculate the radius of how far your house is from (a) a Gay Person ... (b) a black person ... (c) a politician ... (d) homes without children ... (e) number of cop cars ... (f) everybody else.

There will be little pins to mark the homes ... (a) rainbow colored pins ... (b) black ones ... (c) green puke colored ones ... (d) a couple of transparent ones no one can see ... (e) a couple of hundred pins with little flashing blue lights and (f) and ones with dollar signs on them.

You can have fun plotting who lives near you ... even if you don't live here yet and plan on buying a house from Judy O ... or the Soul Sisters ... or a Gaster ... you'll know what you are buying and it'll be fun knowing what's around you.

This is going to significantly help keep people excited about Tybee when they're stuck in traffic trying to leave the island ... or come on the island ... or waiting on the Cop to finish searching their car without a warrant.

Well I have to go ... wait on Whitley Reynolds to call me back ... put our house on the market ... take Goddess and Winston The Little Gay Dog downstairs to wait on the Cop who's going to ticket for writing this blog ... wave at my gay neighbors ... and brace myself for what Sarah, Mom and Judy O are going to say to me about this.

Good News from Tybee Island!

It's Friday and after all of the horrible news around the world ... especially Baltimore ... and that guy who hung up on the Pope TWICE DURING THE SAME PHONE CALL ... can you spell J.E.R.R.Y. R.A.I.N.Y.? ... I am happy to report there is Good News on Tybee Island!

First though, I like Pope Francis!

He's "Sinner Friendly" and who doesn't like that?

Well ... T.D. Jakes, Joel Osteen and his bleach blond wife, Charles Stanley, and the Tybee Island Methodist Church who uses crime scene tape for worship don't ... but Pope Francis is great!

"You've sinned ... I've sinned ... everybody loves sin!"

"I scream ... you scream ... we all scream for ice cream?"

That's Pope Francis's message.

What's not to like?

After the racist debacle of  "Orange Crush" ... where the citizens of Lewis Avenue stole barricades from the Georgia Department of Transportation to block black people from driving down their street ... things have gotten better.

While Tybee Island doesn't like black people ... Tybee Island LOVES GAY PEOPLE!

It makes me proud.

Not the first part about black people but the second part about Gay People.

It's Gay Days on Tybee and honestly ... the entire island is mostly financed by Gay People ... though politicians and Church officials deny this.

The island's mostly Lesbian ... they ran most of the Gay guys off ... but occasionally invite them back to dance ... they do a really excellent job of maintaining the things about living on an island that you really love about island living in the first place.

They have great parties ... much better than anything the American Legion throws.

Tomorrow's a Gay Pride Parade and everyone is looking forward to it.

Sarah, the girls and I will be there!

We can't wait to celebrate island acceptance.

There's only one thing that worries me ... I hope there are no black Gays here ... the island will go nuts.

We're a tiny island and can only stand so much.

Top 10 Things for Kids to do on Tybee Island, GA

Our house is an anomaly on Tybee Island for many reasons ... meaning we have children.

There's not a lot for kids to do on-island because it's overrun with childless adults who could care less about anything other than when their grandchildren visit during the summer!

Year round there's not many activities for our girls to take advantage of on Tybee because all the structured, financed, planned functions are for old people.

The current big controversy on-island ... well if you don't count Orange Crush ... is if the City will build a public pool?

City leadership refuses to make the call and put it out for a referendum in November because they don't want to be blamed if the pool fails ... so they want the public to demand it be built ... rather than make a decision themselves ... which is what they are elected to do.

A decade ago City Leadership did have the guts to make a decision and built the "Yoeman Solomon's Gymnasium" ... named after two politicians ... which nobody really uses ... because it's inaccessible and expensive ... plus it's built backwards, is ugly and occasionally opens for kids to use.

It was one of the worst councils ever elected ... unless you talk to anyone's who's elected ... then they were great ... and have a Gym to prove it.

I think the people on-island will demand a pool be built ... because they are too old to play basketball or roller skate in a Gym ... but they will flock to water aerobics with floats!

Of course there will be no available parking for the new "Old People Pool" ... because there is no parking on Tybee Island ... just stroll down the ocean side of 12th or 13th Street and count the number of yellow curbs for no apparent reason ... the island could have more parking but doesn't want it.

Honestly I believe we're morphing into a "Gated Community" which is what old people love.

But I digress.

This is the top 10 list of things for kids to do and enjoy on Tybee Island, Georgia.

1. Go to the beach.

2. Pick up a dead cannon ball jellyfish and toss it to your Mom or Dad to scare tourists.

3. Count the number of police vehicles and lifeguards on the beach (and to make it more challenging count the number of people being ticketed for simply being here  ... this will soon become a more challenging game when plastic bags are banned).

4. Take your friends to the top of the Lighthouse so you can spit on tourists entering the Lighthouse ... BY FAR ... THIS IS THE MOST EXCITING ACTIVITY FOR KIDS WHO LIVE ON TYBEE OR ARE VISITING!

5. Get your Mom to drive to drive you to the Wilmington Island YMCA to go swimming in the pool, play soccer, run the track, and actually meet fellow young people!!!!

6. If you are an older kid ... screw in the Dunes after 5 when the Lifeguards and Cops stop patrolling the beach.

7-10. There are none.

I hope this is helpful because I love this place but our girls keep asking me "What are we going to do today?"

It strikes me that, if they're asking ... then other kids are asking too ... so this is for them.

Now I'm going to go outside with our dogs and wait on the Police Department to ticket me for barking ... as Goddess and Winston, the Little Gay Dog, sleep in the grass.

Betting the Bank

"Life is short ... even on it's longest days," sings the Prophet John Mellencamp ... "even when your best efforts don't pay."

The words hit me like Scripture.

I don't know how much time I have left but I feel young and believe it's lots of time ... though in the back of my head I know that's not true.

I've spent more than I have.

The days are long right now because ... I don't know why ... most things are going to plan ... little girls tell me how much they love me to begin each day and end every night ... which intensely delights me ... filling my heart ... and I talk to our adult children who struggle being adults ... just like me ... but the financing of it all is not going to plan ... though there are more of us to plan for but I've always loved a challenge.

My wife Sarah went from a family of five and a golden career track to ... ME.

It was a bad career choice.

I went from a burned out, unfocused, uncaring after carrying-the-world-on-my-shoulders-person to the male adult of a family of 13 ... the little ones plus ... Sam Harris ... Terenca, Ava and Nina ... and whoever Kristen's dating.

Let's not get into Inlaws ... it's too mind boggling!

I love my Mom though our schedules don't mesh these days so we don't talk much.

Sarah loves her folks ... and I talk to them when they're here ... which is week after next or so ... and we have established a great foundation for a relationship ... they don't say much to me ... I don't say much to them ... we all work real hard on being nice.

I wouldn't change ... much.

We are where we are and we are here together which is what we've bet the bank on.

Literally!

Love or money?

Money or love?

I've cast my vote.

Coffee

It is extremely rare that I have coffee anywhere other than The Breakfast Club.

It is my home away from home, I love my friends who own it and those who work there, the little group of others who join me each morning and the crazy jump start kick starts to my day.

For almost three decades I've started my days there.

Sometimes when my car's being serviced or repaired, I have coffee at the McDonald's on Whitemarsh Island.

Let me be clear ... I. HATE. McDONALDS!!!! ... though our girls love it so I've been more in the past few years in the past several lifetimes combined.

I do like the "CAUTION HOT" warning printed on the Styrofoam cups as if no one realizes coffee is H.O.T.

It stems from a lawsuit of course when a lady spilled hot coffee on herself in the drive through, sued McDonald's for a gazillion dollars and ... WON!

Sometimes stupid people win big.

That's why it says "Caution Hot" on McD's cups.

Regardless I am sitting in another place for coffee that I do not enjoy ... Starbucks.

The girls L.O.V.E. Starbucks ... not the coffee but the frappies ... because of the way they look ... so I have to go sometimes ... but I never order anything.

I have a meeting with a guy who loves Starbucks so here I sit ... sipping bottled water  because ... thankfully I've already had coffee at The Breakfast Club this morning.

But ... the promise of business is almost like actually having business so you have to work at it.

It's best to understand that last sentence over coffee.

Hell Exist for a reason

Some S.O.B. stole the handicap ramp Bar Church uses to get ... people with one leg or on walkers up the two stairs inside Benny's Tybee Tavern for worship.

It could have been the Methodist Church who are known to use "Crime Scene" tape to block off their parking lot during Orange Crush ... because they don't believe in black people ... though I don't believe it was them.

The Baptists on the island never come out to associate and play with others so it's likely not them either.

The Episcopalians are pretty supportive of Bar Church so if they did it ... I'm sure it was prank and they'll bring it back.

The Catholics don't even know we exist because they think they're the only ones going to Heaven anyway so it wasn't them.

Tybee SPIRIT believes everyone is accessible to God in every way anyway so they have no use for stolen handicap ramp.

It could have been skateboarders because God knows there's nothing for kids to do on this island so they are forced to make their own fun however they can.

Speaking of the City .... it could have been the City ... because I'm pretty certain a Church handicap ramp needs a permit on Tybee ... supervised installation at a fee to the installer ... probably a couple of public hearings ... numerous inspections ... photographs taken by the City Marshall in a Police Car with Police "back-up" in case things go wrong ... so that if aforementioned Church receives a subpoena to Tybee Court ... the City comes packing with evidence ... often in spite of truth.

Hell it could have been the Delivery Truck people bringing things to Benny's because it's easier to lug cases of beer and food up two stairs with a Church handicap ramp than without one.

Whoever it was is one mean S.O.B. I believe is going STRAIGHT. TO. HELL.

Because I was one of the several holding a man with one leg back in his wheelchair on a crowded street ... full of tourists ... causing them to look the other way ... while causing him shameful embarrassment ... to drag him up stairs to ... praise God ... throughout Church I prayed with everything in me to run into whoever ... or whatever ... stole a handicap ramp from a Church.

It's a most shameful beginning to Church for those most needing help in the first place.

And Hell exists for a reason.

And I'm praying for whoever took it but ... well ... Hell exist for a reason.

I hope they find it ... accessible.

Amen ... Rock On!

Standing as part of a seven piece band in front of a packed house on a Saturday night, I take a moment to savor the moment.

At 17 Rick Hudson and I tried to be rock stars and while we thought we were pretty good I derailed our skyrocket climb to the top by having my son.

I thought Jeremy was more fun so the guitar went away until Guy Sayles talked me into attending Seminary.

If you go to Seminary you are expected to go Church ... Guy left that part out ...and after horrific peer pressure expertly delivered by Southern Baptists, I inexplicably became the "Professional Christian" of an inner city church that couldn't afford music.

We have a piano but no pianist ... an organ but no organist ... Hell we even had a set drums but, aside from Jeremy banging on them ... no drummer.

So I called my friend Mitch Wesley, pull out my guitar and we give everything we can to God, Prostitutes, Prisoners and Junkies.

The Church did well in spite of my lack of an attendance policy so Mitch went his own way and the guitar was packed away again.

Sporadically though the years I'd pull it out and ... remember what it's like to make music.

Decades later Samuel Adams, who used to play damn good live music on island, presses Sarah and I to join the Bar Church Band and it's hard to not like Sam ... and whole idea of Church in a Bar ... plus Davy is the drummer ... so I pull the guitar out and we join.

It was a lot of fun until Sam kicks Sarah and me out of the band.

About that time Monty Parks decides to start a weekly jam and I have no recollection of why he asked me or why I attended but I kept playing.

Then Sam kicks himself out of the Bar Church Band ... and Bar Church in general ... and Stephen Gross calls Sarah and I to take over the band we'd been kicked out of.

After a business meeting on the Pier, Sarah, Davy the drummer and I form the nucleus ... maybe it's anti-matter ... of the Bar Church Band.

Lona Crasks joins because ... I don't know why ... she lost her mind and joined.

John Iacovini joins and brings his Groupies with him.

Lots of musical friends ... too many to mention though Roy Swindell, Tom Cooler, Randy Stokes, Thomas Oliver and Jimmy Cochran are among them ... and even for a shinning moment Rick Hudson himself ... rotate through making it all better.

Last night it was Doug Carter from Tennessee laying it down and I realize that my 58 year old love of God and music ... the dream to play live ... with people who are better than me ... in front of a crowd ... has come true.

I'm gearing up for Bar Church now and whisper a simple prayer of thanks that I get to do this for now.

Amen.

Rock On!

Help Me Steal On Tybee!

I need to get a Port-A-John for the Beloved Back Deck.

It won't look good and it probably won't smell good in the summer heat but I have to get one.

There are three bathrooms in our house but let me count the ways I can't use one in a moment of need.

Sarah is asleep in our bedroom and she's had an exhausting week and I love her with everything in me and I don't want to risk waking her up so ... that one's out.

Cassidy, the 8 year old, is asleep in her bedroom with the half-bath, and there's no way in Hell I want her up yet because she will want me to play and ... it's too early to play.

The other bathroom is downstairs meaning I will have sneak though Laurel's, the 11 year old, bedroom and she's asleep then open the door to Maddie's, the 13 year old, bedroom and she's asleep too and that's like waking up Hell and I don't want to go there.

I'm literally left outside.

I love the outdoors and do not mind peeing off the Beloved Back Deck ... in fact, it's my preferred method of urination ... but all the windows are open and I can be pretty elaborate about the splashes I make ... but I love my girls and don't to wake them up.

Plus I don't really have to pee.

This is going to take place all summer and the only possible solution is a Port-A-John on the Beloved Back Deck.

I went on Craig's List to look for "used" Port-A-John's but nobody seems to be selling.

We can't cough up the bucks for a new one.

What I need is several friends to help me steal one.

There are lots on Tybee Island so locating the right one is easy... you know one of those big custom ones ... shouldn't be problem ... because there are limited peeing places on Tybee so, as a temporary solution, the beach is littered with Port-A-Johns.

We can steal one between 11:30 and 1:00 on any weekday when all the cops have lunch at the same time at the Sundae Café.

The issue will be getting it through the gate and up the stairs.

Did I mention I love my girls?

Did I mention I really have to go?

Okay ... let's see who my friends are ... WHO'S IN WITH ME?