Riding the Bus ... NOT!

I'm uncertain of when riding the bus to school became so complicated but ... it has.

When I rode the bus we'd walk to Mrs. Dumas' house and get on it as she finished breakfast.

Those were good times!

Listening to transistor radios, dancing down the walkway, telling jokes or slowly waking up it was always fun.

Until Mrs. Dumas got on H.E.R. bus then it was all serious and everyone shut up.

I'm pretty sure Mrs. Dumas was a NAZI in hiding ... a Commandant probably in a Concentration Camp ... at least that's how she ran our bus.

It was as quiet as a cemetery as she climbed the three steps onto H.E.R. bus.

We used the time to do our homework.

She threw me off the bus once as we made our way home from school. I no longer recall the details of the altercation but a girl was involved.

"ELLIOTT GET OFF NOW," Mrs. Dumas pulling H.E.R. bus over to the side of the road several miles away from my stop.

And she threw me off and drove away as all my friends made faces on the large rear window with the biggest seat on H.E.R. bus.

I got home by dinner.

I'll give her this though ... Mrs. Dumas knew how to run H.E.R. bus ... on military precision ... always on time.

Unlike now when Laurel, the 11 year old, wasn't picked up at all today by the bus because ... we have no idea  ... it simply didn't come.

Several hours later the Chatham Savannah Board of Education responds to the situation by telling Laurel to "take the day off. It's on us."

Bus service in Chatham County has gone to hell since Mrs. Dumas was extradited for War Crimes.

In the News we understand the President of the School Board, Jolene Byrne, and the Superintendent, Dr. Thomas Lockamy,  are having public skirmishes over the matter to resolve the matter.

Tell that to Laurel who's missed school today when she really wants to be there ... and the system's response if "take the day off" ... because the people in charge apparently don't know what to do.I'm uncertain of when riding the bus to school became so complicated but ... it has.

When I rode the bus we'd walk to Mrs. Dumas' house and get on it as she finished breakfast.

Those were good times!

Listening to transistor radios, dancing down the walkway, telling jokes or slowly waking up it was always fun.

Until Mrs. Dumas got on H.E.R. bus then it was all serious and everyone shut up.

I'm pretty sure Mrs. Dumas was a NAZI in hiding ... a Commandant probably in a Concentration Camp ... at least that's how she ran our bus.

It was as quiet as a cemetery as she climbed the three steps onto H.E.R. bus.

We used the time to do our homework.

She threw me off the bus once as we made our way home from school. I no longer recall the details of the altercation but a girl was involved.

"ELLIOTT GET OFF NOW," Mrs. Dumas pulling H.E.R. bus over to the side of the road while opening the door at 35 miles/hour several miles away from my stop.

And se threw me off and drove away as all my friends made faces on the large rear window with the biggest seat on H.E.R. bus.

I got home by dinner.

I'll give her this though ... Mrs. Dumas knew how to run H.E.R. bus ... on military precision ... always on time.

Unlike now when Laurel, the 11 year old, wasn't picked up at all today by the bus because ... we have no idea  ... it simply didn't come.

Several hours later the Chatham Savannah Board of Education responds to the situation by telling Laurel to "take the day off. It's on us."

Bus service in Chatham County has gone to hell since Mrs. Dumas was extradited for War Crimes.

In the News we understand the President of the School Board, Jolene Byrne, and the Superintendent, Dr. Thomas Lockamy, are having public skirmishes over the matter to resolve things.

Tell that to Laurel who's missed school today when she really wants to be there ... and the system's response is "take the day off" ... because the people in charge apparently don't know what to do.

That's leadership there folks.

I just hope they aren't left behind.

Like the kids.

The Coming Joy

I actually read the Savannah Morning News  today.

You have to wonder why things work out so magnificently for some people but ... not so much ... for others.

A couple successfully navigates three decades of marriage in spite of difficulties to celebrate while others are wildly happy about their second, third or forth spouse.

Some stay in the same job their entire career safely landing in retirement while others bounce around work ending with no savings and enough social security to keep working well into the later years.

Miraculously a woman bounces back from multiple cancers to live a very fulfilling life while others die the first time around.

Dream homes last forever for many though most become unsustainable burdens constantly in need of repair.

The world is a playground for lots while Disney is the as most most ever see.

"Why did you do this?" my daughter once angrily fires at me.

She's referring to a divorce and starting over again.

"Nobody chooses this baby," I reply.

I mean given our choices everything would always be great.

Marriages made in Heaven remain there ... Jobs become fulfilling careers ... Homes are Castles ... the world is an oyster.

And for those who live life this way ... good for you!

Life's hard enough.

Just don't be haughty, arrogant or boastful that yours is better than ours.

I know you didn't work at it any more than anybody else ... maybe you just had more friends to start with ... or money ... or your Guardian Angel is of a higher caliber than ours.

I don't believe God loves you any more.

In fact, I think God loves us more.

God loves the broken things most and while we have to work harder at it ... we grow stronger at the broken places.

So enjoy your decades of stability, job and financial security, overcoming your bad times, Castles and vacations.

We toast you!

Joyus la vie!

You're having yours now.

But ... and never forget this ... ours is coming.

Preaching and Panhandling

Chester Fawbush and I are in a First Baptist Church somewhere in Mississippi preparing to speak.

The Baptists flew us down after hearing me talk about him at the National Women's Missionary Union Conference in Nashville.

They wanted to see if he really exists or if I'm a liar.

Chester is a street alcoholic who used to live in a garbage dump where he could drink without being bothered.

He lives with me now in the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel, makes endless coffee for whoever needs some and babysits my children.

"Hey Rev," he announces early one Sunday morning, "I quit drinking."

"That's great Chester," I reply.

"Yep," he continues, "six times already today."

The man is a master of one liners.

The Baptist lady introduces me and I tell stories about our homeless friends, our crazy little inner city Church and then I introduce Chester.

He's old, wears a suit he picked from the "Clothes Closet", is missing a few teeth, has salt-and-pepper hair and is the epitome of humility.

He proceeds to give a talk that has the whole damn Church in tears.

Finishing he sits beside me on the alter in a big preacher chair and winks.

The entire congregation sits in stunned silence ... wiping their eyes ... thanking Jesus ... until one stands and claps ... followed by every Baptists in the House ... and there's a thunderous standing ovation.

Leaning over I ask, "How did you do that?"

He leans over to me with a bowed head, "Rev ... Preaching ... Panhandling ... they're the same."

All these years later, Chester's still right.

Let's everybody Lighten Up

Let's see.

So far this week I've shared stories and thoughts on hate ... being forced into the past ... how funerals suck ... death ... and my writing in general.

All pretty depressing topics.

I feel the need to lighten things up today!

But I can't.

Sarah made me watch the Republican Presidential Carnival the other night and I'm the first to admit whenever you get 17 Clowns together there will be lots of laughs ... and God knows there were ... until we fell asleep on the couch.

It is obvious though Donald Trump is the best Clown in the Republican Party.

Having said that, the Democratic Penny Anny Circus is no better primarily they're too damn serious.

Honestly speaking Republicans make better Clowns than Democrats.

Democrats make the best ... I have no idea ... funeral directors ... Tybee Island Cops ... whoever it is that bags the fat after Liposuction.

Plus Jon Stewart ended his show which is a bummer.

It's where I got my News.

Though "The Stone Stairs of Death" is emerging as The News Leader (for those of you who don't live in Savannah ... become friends with him and learn what life is really like in The Hostess City).

As depressing as it all is, I'm determined to end on a high note.

Several of us ... Monty Parks, Slo's Bass and me ... decided to make it easy on God and lighten Her work load by condemning ourselves to Hell without due process.

It makes me happy to know I've helped the Lord without even being asked.

Praying for Hate

"Hey Micheal," she asks as I rush inside the Post Office.

"Yep," I say spinning around.

"Did you hear about Mark ...?"

She's someone I once worked with, still does the same job although we both live on island occasionally running into one other.

"No," I say uncaringly.

In every life hate sometimes appears.

Mark certainly hated me and went to incredible lengths to prove it.

I work every hard to develop a relationship with him which is akin to beating my head against a wall because he had no interest in anything other than hating me.

He does his best to get me fired meeting with the President of my Board and making his best case why I should be terminated immediately.

He steals money so we sue him ending up in court where he snarls full of cold indignation.

He uses every opportunity to berate, belittle and build a coalition of people to also hate me.

He leaves me utterly confused and frustrated.

"To hate somebody is to be diminished and drained by it," says Frederick Buechner. "Theirs is the ultimate consuming passion."

"He has cancer," she continues on a hot day in front of the Post Office, "it's the fast kind. He's been moved to his family in Pennsylvania ... his wife moved to another state ... will you pray for him?"

"We didn't get along," I honestly reply.

Startled, she repeats ... "But will you pray for him?"

A long, dreary, sad and exhausting sigh fills my soul.

"Sure," I say before spinning around to get the mail.

In many ways Mark got everything he wanted.

I left the job ... he won the day in court having to pay back what he hadn't spent ... and his coalition grew.

I retreated into a smaller world, finding loving happiness and have been forced to slow down enough to save myself.

In the end, haters simply loose themselves.

Lovers finally finds love and, in doing so, themselves.

But hate's a hard thing to overcome once it's bitten you.

I'm still pumping myself up for that prayer.

Sitting in the Past

There I am sitting in the middle of the past.

Ten men on two pews in an old Church at the funeral of a friend.

They look the same ... professional ... nice suits ... talking about the same things ... behaving in the same old Savannah ways ... performing, posturing and perfecting who they want the world to believe they are.

I'm the only one with long hair, an ear ring and not wearing socks.

My realities are two rows behind me ... Sarah, Maddie and my Mom ... yet here I am without them ... sitting in the past.

Five years ago we were all equal cogs in leadership positions excelling in what we did and collectively working to make the City a better place.

A lot's changed since then.

The economy wacked everybody but they still perform, posture and perfect the image nothing's changed.

"Hey," I say, waiting on the funeral to begin," remember that time you and Curtis Lewis call me because I'd written there are three types of statistics ... lies, damn lies and Salvation Army numbers?"

I'm talking to the past President of The Salvation Army.

Talk about taking the steam out of a funeral!

He claims he can't recall.

Shrugging my shoulders I turn to my former Chairman of the Board, "Hey Archie! What was the name of that guy who helped us co-op both Hospital systems into investing millions in homelessness?"

Smiling, Archie says his name.

No one else wants to participate in the conversation.

"How's your brother-in-law?" I ask the man sitting next to me ... a famous developer, former Board member and current architect of homelessness in Savannah.

"Which one?" he asks indignantly.

"The one in Statesboro," I reply.

I watch him remember ... when he and his wife asks me to help her mentally ill, self-medicating brother-in-law get into treatment.

"He's better," is the reply as the bulletin suddenly becomes the Magna Carter he has to read without interruption.

"Well," loudly whispers another former Board Chair, "Ben's having the last word with you."

Ben's the one who gave his life for us to be here.

"He got us all together again and he got you in a coat and tie."

"Oh, I already got him back," I laugh. "I've blogged about him the last two days."

As Ben's funeral commences, they're suddenly uncomfortable and seem out of place.

"He's still got it," Mom whispers to Sarah.

"He does," my wife whispers back. "He's just figuring out what to do with it."

Ben would have loved it.

Funerals Suck!

There's a lot ... I mean A LOT ... to dislike about funerals.

The best parking spots are reserved.

Funeral directors dress like bankers ... which makes sense I suppose because they're depositing the body.

You have to sit in a room with a dead person and that's pretty uncomfortable.

Ministers typically say the same thing at every funeral only changing the names.

Let's be honest ... nobody likes funerals ... especially if it's yours.

Or someone you dearly love.

I've conducted lots of funeral services in my role as a "Semi-Professional" Christian and they all have one thing in common ... they suck!

The few good ones celebrate a life well lived while the bad ones are sad reminders of never really getting what life could have been.

There are far more bad funerals than good ones.

"Micheal," Betty Barns says, "Ben and I have decided that when it's our turn ... we want you to do our funerals."

"Absolutely not," I fire.

They look at each other.

"Look," I explain leaning forward, "I'd be terrible because I'll get all emotional and cry which is embarrassing in a room full of people ... believe me! ... I've done it and I don't want to do it again ... so get your own Preacher to do your funeral."

Ben erupts in laughter.

Betty is not happy.

That was years ago and in that time our lives slowly became less entwined ... visits rarer ... phone conversations diminish ... our worlds change ... moving on without each other ... as lives do.

In the end, we're all gifts to each other ... just like the toys we cherished getting at Christmas didn't last ... we don't either.

It's best to enjoy them while you got them.

You know what I mean?

Ben's Last Words

"That's where my office was," Ben Barnes points as we stand on the second floor of 2 Peachtree Street.

I've been traveling to Atlanta for years but it's my first time with Ben.

2 Peachtree, once the tallest building in the south east, was built in 1966, has 44 stories and was home to First Atlanta Bank ... where Ben presided.

I am mesmerized because I hate the building.

It's now own by the State of Georgia, purchased to keep people working in downtown Atlanta so Government employees are coerced to remain where everyone's moving out to give the appearance of a thriving metropolis.

Elected Officials do not run Government.

Lifelong bureaucrats do.

2 Peachtree Street is full of them and Ben and I are making the rounds to ensure our work with the homeless, the sick, the addicted and the uninsured have what they need to recover, heal and thrive.

We're quite the Mutt and Jeff team, as Ben calls us.

He's drips professional dignity while I look like the bagboy at Kroger.

He is a God in the world of banking and homeless people, those with AIDS and every addiction known comprise mine.

Nevertheless we are wildly successful bringing millions of dollars to those who would never have received the help necessary to live.

Ben was in his 70s when we making the rounds.

Yesterday he died.

"Well," I sigh to Sarah with a crack in my voice, "he was a good friend and we had one Hell of a ride."

And we did.

In his 90s we'd meet for lunch and reminisce about the "old days" until he couldn't anymore so it's been months since we were last together.

"Do you remember when I had the Triple Malt Scotch in my briefcase?" he asks last time over lunch in Marsh Harbor at The Landings.

I showed up wearing a UGA tee shirt so they gave me an awful gold collared shirt to let me in which makes me look fat.

"I do. Terry Ball met us for dinner that night after a grueling day of begging and we were having sips when he arrives."

"Yep," Ben smiles and for the last time ... I see a twinkle in his eyes.

"We kicked some ass," I laugh placing my hand on top of his.

"We did that," he laughs.

Those are the last words he's left me.

Putting it out there!

"Man you really just put it out there," he says flipping through the newest edition of "The Beach Comber".

"Nobody's ever going to hire you," she says, "because you just say it as you see it for all the world to see."

"Please don't write about this," the elected official asks "we'd like to handle the situation quietly."

"Why don't you write more about Winston, The Little Gay Dog?" he snaps over coffee.

"Why write about the past? It's over!" I'm told when I tell old stories.

"Tell Micheal we loved his Father's Day message to his Dad," my Mom shares an email she receives, " Mentions Billy Herrin and Danny Sims! I printed it out to share with all the guys."

"Don't ever write about me again," Mom warns on another occasion.

Every day I receive emails and private messages either expressing gratitude or telling me how happy they are I'm going to Hell!

I'm pretty immune to it all.

I figure I'd had my say and it's someone else's turn.

It's very rare I comment again on whatever it is I've already had my say about.

Every day the words find me or I find them ... new stories are born or old ones come back to life ... real people become characters and imagined characters become people ... I open up my heart and let you walk right in.

It started when I was a "Professional Christian" ... paid to love when I asked everyone else to do it for free ... and apparently took it far too serious ... trying to authentically be me ... not hiding or changing it.

Like everyone else, I've done good and bad ... been a Sinner and a Saint ... created some Miracles and my fair share of disasters ... told Glorious truths and some really excellent lies ... lost love and thankfully now have the best I've ever known.

I try to not hide from any of it.

Sharing is a great way to not hide.

It's a better way of keeping me honest ... with myself.

Word

It's raining and staring out the windows everything drips Tropical.

Green, lush Palm Trees and purple Wisteria are bathed in God's tears.

Seashells decorate the windows I'm staring through.

Salt floats in the air.

Waves kiss the sand in the distance.

Mermaids sleep in the warm dreariness.

Goddess snores on the cool tile floor and my bare feet rub her golden coat.

Wounded deep in battle my guitar stands like a soldier undaunted in the red room.

Beach music plays softly in the background.

Wind Chimes hang quietly with nothing to sing.

"Is it Sunday?" Cassidy asked yesterday.

"No baby," I reply knowing she's ready for our weekly tradition of Cinnamon Rolls to celebrate the Lord's Day and each other.

"Awe," she sighs.

The memory makes me smile as the oven preheats and I prepare sweet delights for the girls who fill me with delight.

The rain stops.

The sun dances in the hair of the Palm Tree with the oyster eyes, coconut bra and grass skirt.

White clouds dot blue skies.

I feel God's love.

I'm too humbled by it all to mumble a word.

"Thanks."

Too much damn fun to leave!

And when I die.

And when I'm gone.

Well ... I'll be dead.

I'll be gone.

I can't imagine not being here but ... it's gonna happen.

Hell it took Sarah and I all this time to finally get together and it scares me it'll end too soon ... which it will ... and that's the greatest bummer of all time!

If Scotty beams me up first my heart will break leaving her behind.

If Sarah's beamed up first ... I'll just die.

Last night we were putting a ladder together and my job's to hold it while she screws a step together.

I get distracted because Laurel's talking ... imagine that ... and one of my hands inexplicably lets a bar of the ladder go ... whacking Sarah in the head.

"Ooops," I say to God.

She is not a happy camper.

Suddenly it's my and Laurel's responsibility to put the ladder together.

We do a good job finishing in record time.

In the meantime Sarah's lost a screw.

We eventually find it because who doesn't like screwing?

Anyway ... we finished what we were doing ... which I can't talk about ... because my wife's instructed me not to ...and even Laurel's keeping her mouth shut.

I want to keep on doing this.

There's no winning in death.

I'm going to avoid it as long as I can.

It's too much damn fun being here.

Channeling Love for Roy

"Oh look!" Roy Swindell exclaims in the middle of his set. "The Elliott's are here and Micheal dressed for the occasion!"

Apparently Roy is underwhelmed by my black running shorts and UGA tee shirt at his concert.

The masterful musician and leader of the grassroots music movement in Savannah laughs, shakes his head and launches into another song.

Every grassroots musician in Savannah has stories about Roy.

After I got involved in Bar Church, Roy's the first musician I invite to participate.

"Call me," he texts.

I do.

"Hey Micheal, I'd love to do it but there's a problem."

"What?" I can't imagine what it is.

"Yeah," he stammers, "I'm not too sure about this whole God thing."

"Are you kidding me?" I yell. "Do you listen to your music? It is full of Spirituality, Hope and Healing. That's pretty God-like."

He laughs and says, "Okay."

A few Sundays later he and Martha arrive for Bar Church and Roy blows the roof off the place letting God descend from Heaven and have a seat.

He is one of the rare ones in life who's impossible to not love.

He and Martha are in the Hospital at the moment.

She's vertical ... he's horizontal.

The Internet and Social Media is transformed into a Prayer Vigil led by God Herself.

I think Prayer has a lot to do with love.

I believe prayer is our attempt to channel love ... slip into its stream ...immerse ourselves in it and go where it takes us.

So Roy and Martha ... there's a lot of us flowing with you on this unwanted journey ... overwhelming the medical world ... and giving you more love than you ever knew you had.

Kicked out of Church

Bar Church was kicked out of the Oceanside Nursing Home today.

Apparently stripping the floors is more important to caring for the inmates than ... oh ... ministry they really enjoy and look forward to ... but it ain't happening today.

Floor wax is more important.

Now to put floor wax down in the Oceanside Nursing Home all the inmates ... who pay to be there ... are vacated the premises.

They are rolled outside in the hot weather with no ocean breeze.

The militant faction refuse to go ... knowing they've paid damn good money to stay cool ... remain inside the Air Conditioner lobby ... looking at us on the other side of the glass doors.

"We want you to play!" we hear their muted voices say from the outside.

I flash the "Peace Sign."

They flash it back and grin.

Being a loving person is hard enough.

Being a ministering loving person, doing it for free is harder.

Love being rejected is hardest of all.

We are one broke Church.

The only thing we have to give is ourselves which is what we do.

Because there's nothing else to give.

But we do it cheerfully and the inmates sing, laugh clap, shake tambourines and ... are crying on the other side of the door as we load up our gear.

"And if any place will not welcome you or listen to you, leave that place and shake the dust off your feet as a testimony against them" (Mark 6:11).

We wish it was that easy.

Love never is.

Leaving the Dead

I'm on bus load of Southern Baptist ministers in Washington D.C.

I'm the only one with long hair.

Honestly I normally wouldn't be caught dead with these people but it's a free trip and the first time I'm in the nation's Capitol.

They all wear three piece suits and, as usual, I sport a dark blue blazer, light blue shirt, sock tie, blue jeans and hiking boots.

I'm the lone inner city Southern Baptist minister on the bus.

It's not to say we don't get along ... well it is to mostly say we don't ... but sometimes we do ...just not often.

We're having breakfast hosted by Congress.

There are twenty of us and a bunch of members of the Kentucky delegation ... Mitch McConnell is one.

He says something but I can't get over how runny the scrambled eggs are!

They're not really cooked at all and lots of yellow juice sobs up the toast and the bacon's not really cooked either limply leaning over in my hand when I pick it up.

It dawns on me why Congress is so messed up ... their breakfast sucks!

They're as limo as the bacon.

On the other hand, Mitch McConnell and the other members of the Kentucky delegation spend lots of time kissing our ass ... proclaiming how much they believe in God ... how important we are to the fabric of society ... and asking us to pray for them in such difficult times.

They're as soft as the scrambled eggs.

I throw up a little in my mouth but swallow it back.

Back on the bus, we're off to the White House for a tour.

"Hey," I wave from the back row, "can you pull over and let me off? I'd rather walk and see some other things."

Dr. Russell Bennett grins happily and orders the driver over.

Making my down 14th towards Park, I'm continuously hit on by Hookers as I look for "Sojourners" ... a community and a magazine the few liberal Southern Baptists who exist read.

"Hey Baby," an old Hooker wearing a dirty white Fur coat asks, "want to buy me a cup of coffee?"

She used to be pretty.

It's freezing cold outside so as I'm walking with determined purpose she's jumping up and down on one leg trying to warm herself.

"Sure," I sigh and she leads me inside a grungy McDonalds.

"What did you do today?" Dr. Bennett asks in the lobby of The Willard Hotel before dinner where Mitch McConnell is joining us to talk more.

"Gospel stuff," I answer making my way to the bar.

"You want some wine?" I ask as I order.

Smiling and shaking his head, Russell walks away leaving me alone.

The Announcement (Sarah doesn't know. Don't tell her.)

I'm seriously considering running for public office.

Okay ... wine's involved ... but I want to start the disclosure process before I even announce which office I'm running for ... because I haven't decided yet.

This is where I'm at right now.

Democrat or Republican?

Who cares?

It doesn't matter.

They're all the same!

"Get elected! Stay elected!" is the motto of both parties.

I've always had a fondness for "Libertarians" ... Republicans who smoke Pot ... but these days Republicans are passing legislation legalizing Pot so ... choosing a party is more confusing than ever.

Bureaucracy and Bloated Government?

Fire everybody and start over!

I've never actually been in Government but I've worked with every level for decades learning several things.

Whenever Government downsizes ... say by combining Departments ... no one loses a job.

How is this possible when eliminating entire Departments?

But it happens every single time Government downsizes!

Ronald Reagan was the best at this ever which is why he remains so revered!

Protocol

Every single thing about Government is scripted.

I believe we should blow up the script.

Every Government meeting ... of any kind ... from a Council person meeting with a City Manager or all of Congress convening ... a mandatory "Group Hug" is had to begin ... and to end ... the meeting.

As a matter of fact when hiring the new Bureaucrats to take the place of the ones we've fired I think we start by hiring "Professional Huggers" to greet every single person who tries to meet with any one elected.

Hugs take all the pressure out of the room and make everyone feel better before we get down to business.

Vacation Time

This is one area where Government excels!

I believe we can do better.

"The more he sleeps," Arlo Guthrie once said of the President, "the safer we are."

I think this is true of every single elected official.

Let's make it public policy.

Either go to sleep ... we'll provide Government subsidized medication and alcohol ... OR ... go on vacation ... also subsidized.

It'll hurt far less from the ways you're screwing us now.

Campaigning

All campaigning should be on social media.

You don't want me knocking on your door and I really don't care who you are.

I just want you to vote for me.

Let's eliminate the discomfort for everybody!

I'll post my position on Facebook.

You slam it with comments, Tweets and photos of me on Instagram.

That way I don't have to raise money to run for office ... completely confusing big business and putting Lobbyists out of business.

It just makes sense.

Taxes

Everybody owes.

It's irrelevant.

Terrorism

The current American political system is the single largest cell in the world.

Elect me ... and I'll start eliminating them ... and I'm not calling you on the phone ... ever ... or stopping by your house to ask you to vote for me.

I promise you that!

And that is a promise I will not break.

All We Got

A lot of things broke at our house this week.

The transformer in the back yard caught on fire, the Tybee Police evict Sarah from bed until Georgia Power cuts the trees around lines killing everything in our meticulously landscaped yard or left hanging 20 feet in the air waiting for the next storm.

Sarah's car is recalled.

The AC in my car stops working.

The tenants in her rental think it's a good idea to leave a large wet rug on the back deck for a couple of months, rotting the wood and claiming it's our fault for putting the deck there in the first place.

The brand new door knob to the porch comes off in our hand.

It rains so much a lake now exists where I park.

I drop my I-phone shattering the glass cover.

But we are so happy to be together it doesn't matter.

I Got You Babe!

All you need is love!

Sarah's folks arrive from New York and on the first night I prepare a feast of slow cooked bar-b-que ribs, homemade au gratin potatoes and "southern" Green beans with lots of salt, bacon fat and my special ingredient.

Early afternoon, I fire up the Grill which is a lot like foreplay.

As the fire burns, I prepare the ribs, crank up the Beach Boys, fix a big drink and get ready for the long ... smoldering ... W.E.T. ... sensual ... sexual act of grilling.

Throwing the ribs on, I take a sip ... do a little dance ... and am suddenly horrified ... to watch one of the legs on my Grill ... ever so slowly ... slide across the deck ... with pork blistering in the heat above the coals.

"Goddess," I say to our dog ... who likes to grill with me, "this is not good."

Goddess is a smart dog who can speak telepathically screams, "SAVE THE MEAT."

Holding my drink in one hand, I quickly throw the ribs on a plate while the other saves the celebratory meal.

My Grill however is no more.

Oh well!

I Got You Babe!

All you need is love!

That's pretty much all we got.

The Greatest Untold Story

"You can't write about this," Sarah admonishes at dinner.

The girls giggle under their breaths, cut their eyes at me but don't say anything.

I stare out of the window and sigh.

What my wife is referring to is a volatile situation we find ourselves in coping with and other people are involved.

My writing about it could make things worse.

I can already see the story in my head, with all of the gory details, lies, deceits and betrayals ... a tale exploring the unanswerable questions ... why do bad things happen to good people ... why don't people do what they say ... where is God when you really need him?

It'll be a great story!

It could make the world a better place if I write it ... generating an honest discussion of such universal issues ... breaking down barriers ... bringing people closer together ... teaching the world to sing in three part harmony.

But ... it ain't gonna happen.

My wife told me not to write about it.

Kisses in the Rain

"Sounds like the Mike I used to know," Skutch writes.

Skutch is a reporter who looks like an actor in a B movie playing a reporter but he's the very best at what he does.

For years he took my calls pitching a story for The Savannah Morning News or would call me demanding, "Elliott what in the Hell is going on?"

We had lots of fun and made lots of News.

I feel obligated to respond to him.

Because I'm not the Mike I used to be.

Thirty years of helping the poor, homeless, people living with AIDS, the sick, addicted and insane take their toll and something inside of me broke one day and I can't put Humpty Dumpty together again.

Jesus only lasted 3 years.

Just like it was the politics of it that crucified him in the end ... that's what did me in.

The biased silliness of the American Political Process ... and the endless demands and conditions of people who give money to help the poor ... the ruthless conniving of the "Helping Community" who take far more than they give ... the hollow promises of the Religious World ... the ceaseless inquiries of family wanting me to take care of their problem when they're perfectly capable of doing it themselves ... they take their toll.

And I broke and everything about that world came to an end and E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G. about my life changed.

Just like Jesus came back in a different way ... I have too.

For me it's a time of healing and receiving love ... enjoying it.

The other night Sarah and I are having drinks and a bite at a bar in Savannah when a torrential rain comes. We have to pick up Maddie, our 13 year old, so I tell my wife I'll run to the car and drive back to get her.

Thankfully, I only wear black running shorts, tee shirts and flip flops these days when clothes are necessary so it's easy to strip down to the shorts and take off into the rain.

A group of homeless people stand under the awning of Junk Shop on Franklin Square where we're parked see me.

"GO ELLIOTT!" a woman yells clapping.

"IT'S THE REV!" a giant black man grins.

Smiling, I blow them kisses in the rain, jump in the car ... get my family ... and go home ... to keep doing what I'm doing.

I'm not the Mike I used to be.

I think I'm a much better one.

Dugger

"What's wrong with him?" I ask as the man shuffles his feet a couple of inches at a time walking across the lobby.

"He's doing the Thorazine Shuffle," I'm told.

Thorazine is used to treat schizophrenia and this dude is obviously heavily medicated with his head down, eyes almost shut, body leaning forward and moving a foot an inch at a time.

"Who is he?"

"Dugger," I'm told. "Part of a prominent Savannah family."

"Why's he homeless?"

"Look at him! Nobody wants to take care of him."

Nodding my head, I take several quick steps and put my arm him. "Hey Mr. Dugger! Welcome!"

His feet stop shuffling and his head turns ever so slightly towards me. Glazed eyes look through me and he grunts something then continues inching forward.

"I like him," I say out loud.

One of the things about working with the poor, homeless, sick, addicted and depressed is you have to have favorites. There are simply too many and you can easily be overwhelmed. I counter this by choosing a few to take special interest in and keep it personal.

Over the next several months ... in flagrant violation of HIPPA code, public safety requirements, political correctness and common sense ... I take Dugger with me most everywhere I go.

Ever so slowly his self awareness returns and we talk.

He begins to dress better, even wearing a tie and combing his thick black hair.

Standing on the corner of 34th and East Broad, we're meeting with a real estate agent because I want to buy ten dilapidated apartments across the street from Phoenix Place, a residential medical program for people living with AIDS. We need to expand.

"What's it gonna take to make this happen?" I ask.

The agent throws out impossible numbers.

Out of nowhere, Dugger steps forward
and machine gun fires questions at the Agent. They go back and forth for half an hour with me occasionally nodding and before I understand ... we've reached a deal, shake hands and make our way back to my car.

"How did you ...?" I ask cranking the engine.

For the only time I ever witness, Dugger smiles, looks me the eyes and answers, "My family knows Real Estate. That's how we made our money."

"You're homeless," I laugh and he shrugs his shoulders.

That was Dugger's shinning moment. He decompensated afterwards, the schizophrenia aggravates, he stops combing his hair and shuffles his feet again.

He disappears.

I was told he was later found in the Casey Canal, a water way beside a Parkway and was heavy a backhoe was necessary to lift him out.

That's the last I heard.

Sarah, Maddie and I zip along the Parkway towards a function and staring at the Canal, I remember Dugger.

It was a long time ago but he's worth remembering and I'm glad I do. 

10 Things I Am Not Thinking About This Weekend!

It's the weekend and though I have to work for no money, I still like the idea of the weekend and want to protect it.

In spite of the fact that my Saturday's shot and Sunday Morning I'm busy being a Semi-Professional Christian at Bar Church ... and on Monday I have to meet with the person who didn't show on Thursday because he owes us money and ... I'd rather think the weekend.

Starting at what I'm N.O.T. thinking about because often it's best to weed out the bad and back into the good.

1. Tybee Island

How do you take God made beauty and screw it up so badly? I know Adam and Eve started the whole the "let's improve on paradise" concept but Jesus Christ ... Tybee is perfecting it.

"Doing the right thing for the wrong reasons" is the modus operandi here.

You'll understand that if you can find parking.

HINT: Don't look on the ocean side of 13th Street because old rich people have a Government approved yellow curb to prevent you from parking and ... people who live here want you leave anyway.

2. Donald Thump

Honestly I think he's funny but I can't get passed his hair. Though I love the fact he made Lindsay Graham look stupider than he already is with the ... "I'll show you Donald by smashing my phone, taking it viral and really believing I'm funny and helping my political career."

It is so stupid it borders on Tybee Island leadership thinking.

3. Buddy Carter

I like the Congressman. We grew up together in Port Wentworth, Georgia but he was hardly ever around because he was on the phone.

I think he's got a phone addiction but those aren't pleasant things to think about or discuss in public.

But Republicans crack me up so it's hard not to laugh ... even when it's a sad addiction.

BRAHAHAHAHAHA!

4. Bills

Not the Congressional, County Commission or City Council kind but people I owe money to who have the audacity to call when I'm off for weekend!

5. Historical Preservation

Jim Klutz, representing the Tybee Island Historical Preservation Society, says, "This is about putting something in an ordinance that would benefit Tybee because it would protect what we have now, "Historic preservation has made Savannah the tourist destination that it is."

Let's talk about what Tybee has now.

Lot's of old people who can afford to live here.

No parking ... just like Savannah.

There's nothing for kids to do on Tybee ... except go to Bars ... the Youmans/Solomon's Gym ... named after famous Tybee Island politicians ...  oh wait! ... It's never open! ... Never mind!

The Tybee Island Historical Preservation Society is doing the same thing with housing on the island.

Can you say "Seaside, Floridia" and even more tourists who can't find a place to park ... because THERE IS NONE!

Nobody plans on island.

We just react.

6. The Tybee Island Police Department

It's damn near impossible because they're everywhere.

Especially Sundae's Café for lunch every single day between 11nish and 1nish.

So if you want to commit a crime ... there's your sign.

Otherwise just wait ... they'll pull you over ... search your car illegally and make your island experience something you'll talk about for the rest of your life.

7. T.D. Jakes and Joel Osteen

I've met T.D. Jakes.

He's alright if you like pompous.

I haven't met Joel Osteen and don't want to.

8. Things for kids to do on Tybee Island

Wait!

There's nothing to think about!

My mistake!

9. Missing the things that used to be on Tybee Island

The diner at Chu's ... Helen rolling her own ... the Amusement Park ... the Water Slide ... Arcade ... Sinbad ... the Belly Flop Competition and David Ring ... the Bums ... Best Buns on the Beach Competition and David Ring ... the Desoto Beach Club and David Ring taking the microphone from Ansel, Strong & Reeves and not giving it back ... Henry Levy's "Clothing Optional" campaign ... when everyone on City Council brought a Styrofoam Cup to the meeting from Spankey's ... Councilman Crawford throwing his Styrofoam Cup on the Council before walking out ... and the dump truck of rocks dumped in front of City Hall.

That's when it was fun!

10.   How much verses How Much

Sell now or sell later?

What we bought is no longer what we get.

It's all run by Adam and Eve any way.

Let's improve on Paradise!

Let's put up a parking lot!

Oh Wait!

We can make more if we don't.