I should first confess that I have a long and rich history of sacrilegious worship so it should come as no surprise that I am the one who first suggested that we have a "Dance" service at Bar Church.
All dancing ... No Preaching.
It's Biblical.
King David lost the laundry and danced naked when God came back in a box and ... well ... David lost his mind, lost the laundry and danced in front of everybody!
All of his subjects!
In front of the bureaucrats who actually ran the Kingdom.
All of his soldiers were standing there holding their spears ... comparing their size to his size ... the things that boys do ... raising flags when they can't raise anything else.
But King David didn't care ... he danced.
So an all Dance worship service makes perfect sense to me.
Naked would be better but people can be so ... conservative ... Puritan ... Republican ... Democrat ... whatev?
I suggested this yet again at Bar Church. And yesterday I led the pack and danced in Bar Church. People clapped. Some said, "Praise Jesus!" Others were slain in the Spirit and passed out. A few fixed another cocktail.
But I danced with clothes on.
Dedra was my dance partner. She kept saying, "Please don't, please don't, please don't" with water in her eyes until ... we danced ... in front of a congregation ... with damn good live music ...
then Davy the drummer did a mosh pit kind of dance with us ...
oh yeah, and the press was there ... filming it all
Probably like King David got filmed by the Jerusalem CBS affiliate ... cause a King loved God and himself at the same time ...
and became ...
just himself ...
in joyful abandonment.
So that is my plan for today.
You?
Monday, August 22, 2011
Friday, August 19, 2011
Happy Friday
It is Friday.
Thank God!
I'm taking the day off.
The world can get along without me for a few days.
Though I do have some minutes to approve, emails to answer, and I have to make some plane reservations.
Hmmm ... I'm taking most of the day off. But definitely the entire weekend.
There are two problems.
First the Samuel Adams Band has decided to take Friday off too and that messes up my Friday night routine, when a collection of my carnival of friends usually gathers at Bernie's to listen to them. Essie orders tater tots and a musical feast is born.
But that is not is not going to happen tonight.
This morning at the Breakfast Club I asked everybody what we're doing tonight. Johnny O said we need the night off to get ready for tomorrow night. Car Queer felt Johnny O up with a smile. Dedra was oblivious to everything going on around her. Ryan sat next to me and asked, "Did he just feel Johnny O up?" Philip grew another foot and kept bumping his head. Denise was explaining how a car full of four people can get lost driving to the Doctor's office. Justin and I gave each other a "High Four!"
Dave and Sandi arrived so that he play with his bosom buddies.
Whitley jumped on his drunken bicycle and went to ... Doc's.
It was a typical morning at the Breakfast Club to start this Friday but none of us have a clue as to how it will end.
Then problem number two is my dear friend Chuck Courtenay.
He is playing at the Tybee nursing home at 2:00. It's an amazing thing to witness. Chuck is a famous musician who plays rock-n-roll and ... ministers to people in nursing homes. Several months ago, Roma, Johnny O, Whitley, Esther and I went to watch him bring the dead back to life. People jumped out of wheelchairs and deathbeds to ... dance.
I danced with them ... and felt like Lazarus.
Roma danced too ... and looked stupid. But we had a good time.
So how can I miss that?
Then the tides are going to be low about the time Goddess demands a walk ... and Lady of the House gets whatever she wants ... so the choirs of mussels will be singing so we'll stop and listen to that ... then Shirley is sick and an entire tri-county area has grounded to stop because of it so I took her a can of SPAM to feel better ... so I need to check on her cause she spent all of that time checking on me ... and Cheryl's knee looks bad cause she hasn't mastered stairs yet and that's always fun to watch ...plus the coconut bra on my Palm Tree needs tightening.
I can't take today off.
There is too much to do.
Tomorrow I am definitely taking off.
I just have to get some rest before next weekend.
The famous Dr. Jim Withers is coming to be our house guest. The man is insane. I have to get ready.
OK.
Everybody have a good weekend.
Whew ... I'm already tired.
Thank God!
I'm taking the day off.
The world can get along without me for a few days.
Though I do have some minutes to approve, emails to answer, and I have to make some plane reservations.
Hmmm ... I'm taking most of the day off. But definitely the entire weekend.
There are two problems.
First the Samuel Adams Band has decided to take Friday off too and that messes up my Friday night routine, when a collection of my carnival of friends usually gathers at Bernie's to listen to them. Essie orders tater tots and a musical feast is born.
But that is not is not going to happen tonight.
This morning at the Breakfast Club I asked everybody what we're doing tonight. Johnny O said we need the night off to get ready for tomorrow night. Car Queer felt Johnny O up with a smile. Dedra was oblivious to everything going on around her. Ryan sat next to me and asked, "Did he just feel Johnny O up?" Philip grew another foot and kept bumping his head. Denise was explaining how a car full of four people can get lost driving to the Doctor's office. Justin and I gave each other a "High Four!"
Dave and Sandi arrived so that he play with his bosom buddies.
Whitley jumped on his drunken bicycle and went to ... Doc's.
It was a typical morning at the Breakfast Club to start this Friday but none of us have a clue as to how it will end.
Then problem number two is my dear friend Chuck Courtenay.
He is playing at the Tybee nursing home at 2:00. It's an amazing thing to witness. Chuck is a famous musician who plays rock-n-roll and ... ministers to people in nursing homes. Several months ago, Roma, Johnny O, Whitley, Esther and I went to watch him bring the dead back to life. People jumped out of wheelchairs and deathbeds to ... dance.
I danced with them ... and felt like Lazarus.
Roma danced too ... and looked stupid. But we had a good time.
So how can I miss that?
Then the tides are going to be low about the time Goddess demands a walk ... and Lady of the House gets whatever she wants ... so the choirs of mussels will be singing so we'll stop and listen to that ... then Shirley is sick and an entire tri-county area has grounded to stop because of it so I took her a can of SPAM to feel better ... so I need to check on her cause she spent all of that time checking on me ... and Cheryl's knee looks bad cause she hasn't mastered stairs yet and that's always fun to watch ...plus the coconut bra on my Palm Tree needs tightening.
I can't take today off.
There is too much to do.
Tomorrow I am definitely taking off.
I just have to get some rest before next weekend.
The famous Dr. Jim Withers is coming to be our house guest. The man is insane. I have to get ready.
OK.
Everybody have a good weekend.
Whew ... I'm already tired.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Ear Fights (Shitty Days)
It ended up being the craziest of days, full of incredible highs that led to emotional crashes that were as unexpected as they were unwanted.
"How did happen?" I kept asking myself.
But it did though I still can't find any rational reasons. Sometimes life is like that ... there are no rational reasons, Dr. Spock is back on Vulcan and he took logic with him.
"Beam me up Scotty! It's nuttier than hell down here! Get me out now cause I'm really sure how I got here in the first place."
It started with my neighbors I guess. One collects feral cats a living and walks outside throughout the day screeching, "Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!" ... again and again and again ... it helps me to appreciate and understand ... violence.
Then my neighbors on the other side decided that now is a good time to replace the singles on their roof. In and of itself that's fine, but the problem was Rebekah and I were on the beloved back deck (a.k.a. Corporate Headquarters) having a conference call with people scattered throughout the world on my cell phone because ... I live on an island and the only place I have reception is on the back deck.
So Rebekah and I are having ear fights to see who can hear. I'm running the meeting. She's taking minutes. We're both doing our best to hear what is being said.
Of course this is complicated because of the "BAM, BAM, BAM" of the nail guns and the "Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!" of a grown woman in cat fur laden bathroom with toilet paper in her hair. Then the generator from the nail gun kicks in and then Rebekah would get her ear laying the tiny little speaker of my cell phone and rapidly take minutes. Then my ear would throw her ear off and I would bark "Next agenda item".
Rebekah is from the mountains of North Georgia and I'm sure wrestled pigs or something growing up so she's got her "pig ears" throwing mine off again. This lasted for three hours.
Did I mention it was hot?
I don't have a dress code in corporate headquarters so Rebekah is wearing a bikini and I have on black running shorts and nothing else. Our ears are sweaty making it more difficult to maneuver for hearing ... and the bitch is strong.
Anyway ... we eventually make it through the meeting and everything that I wanted ... I got ... so I'm jumping up high fiving myself ... cause I kicked Rebekah's sweaty pig eared self out of the office (a.k.a. the beloved back deck) as soon as the meeting was over.
Then there were the after calls. Every single Board member had to have a private conversation with me after we had all just had sweaty public conversation with each other. (I have a vague recollection that Scotty beamed Dedra in for second while this was happening but then he beamed her right out.)
Then it got dark. And days can go to shit in the dark. And it did.
I am a big believer in angels and second chances. "The movement you need is on your shoulder," Paul McCartney told Julian Lennon.
I'm back on the back deck this morning. Over my left shoulder, in a deep blue sky is a three-quarter moon. To my right, blazing through a Palm Tree with an oyster face, coconut bra, and grass skirt is the sun.
"It's all OK," I tell myself. "I know what I love."
Then this frigging generator kicks in ... and a "BAM, BAM, BAM" of a nail gun starts blasting ... then this bitch in a dirty robe walks on her deck screeching "Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!" Then a lawn mower cracks from my other neighbor.
And I have embraced violence.
(I'll be really happy when eight more days is over and I have time off for the things that I love most.)
In the meantime ... REBEKAH! Bring it on!
"How did happen?" I kept asking myself.
But it did though I still can't find any rational reasons. Sometimes life is like that ... there are no rational reasons, Dr. Spock is back on Vulcan and he took logic with him.
"Beam me up Scotty! It's nuttier than hell down here! Get me out now cause I'm really sure how I got here in the first place."
It started with my neighbors I guess. One collects feral cats a living and walks outside throughout the day screeching, "Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!" ... again and again and again ... it helps me to appreciate and understand ... violence.
Then my neighbors on the other side decided that now is a good time to replace the singles on their roof. In and of itself that's fine, but the problem was Rebekah and I were on the beloved back deck (a.k.a. Corporate Headquarters) having a conference call with people scattered throughout the world on my cell phone because ... I live on an island and the only place I have reception is on the back deck.
So Rebekah and I are having ear fights to see who can hear. I'm running the meeting. She's taking minutes. We're both doing our best to hear what is being said.
Of course this is complicated because of the "BAM, BAM, BAM" of the nail guns and the "Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!" of a grown woman in cat fur laden bathroom with toilet paper in her hair. Then the generator from the nail gun kicks in and then Rebekah would get her ear laying the tiny little speaker of my cell phone and rapidly take minutes. Then my ear would throw her ear off and I would bark "Next agenda item".
Rebekah is from the mountains of North Georgia and I'm sure wrestled pigs or something growing up so she's got her "pig ears" throwing mine off again. This lasted for three hours.
Did I mention it was hot?
I don't have a dress code in corporate headquarters so Rebekah is wearing a bikini and I have on black running shorts and nothing else. Our ears are sweaty making it more difficult to maneuver for hearing ... and the bitch is strong.
Anyway ... we eventually make it through the meeting and everything that I wanted ... I got ... so I'm jumping up high fiving myself ... cause I kicked Rebekah's sweaty pig eared self out of the office (a.k.a. the beloved back deck) as soon as the meeting was over.
Then there were the after calls. Every single Board member had to have a private conversation with me after we had all just had sweaty public conversation with each other. (I have a vague recollection that Scotty beamed Dedra in for second while this was happening but then he beamed her right out.)
Then it got dark. And days can go to shit in the dark. And it did.
I am a big believer in angels and second chances. "The movement you need is on your shoulder," Paul McCartney told Julian Lennon.
I'm back on the back deck this morning. Over my left shoulder, in a deep blue sky is a three-quarter moon. To my right, blazing through a Palm Tree with an oyster face, coconut bra, and grass skirt is the sun.
"It's all OK," I tell myself. "I know what I love."
Then this frigging generator kicks in ... and a "BAM, BAM, BAM" of a nail gun starts blasting ... then this bitch in a dirty robe walks on her deck screeching "Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!" Then a lawn mower cracks from my other neighbor.
And I have embraced violence.
(I'll be really happy when eight more days is over and I have time off for the things that I love most.)
In the meantime ... REBEKAH! Bring it on!
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Disaster Relief
I have a Board meeting today.
The last one was in Chicago and I sat at a conference room table, with Rebekah sitting beside me as she has for more than a decade taking notes, surrounded by Board members, conducting business.
Today I'll be sitting in Corporate Headquarters on the beloved back deck under the red, yellow, green, brown umbrella, overlooked by Fran's thousand shades of green, picking the dead Hibiscus blooms off the trees so new ones will sprout and giggling at the Palm Tree in our Backyard that has a smiling face on it made of oyster shells, a coconut bra and grass skirt. I'll likely stare at the rock one of my friends placed in the garden with the word "Imagine" inscribed on it.
This is my first totally virtual Board meeting. The members are scattered everywhere ... Copenhagen, Chicago, Houston, Pittsburgh ... so we'll conference call it ... Skype if necessary ... all of us sitting in front of a computer screen communicating in real time ... emailing and instant messaging back and forth as we meet.
On Monday I emailed a 39 page attachment for everyone to review in advance providing financial statements, cash flow projects, fund development strategies, marketing plans, a web page and Face Book design, and the draft agenda for an International Symposium that will be in Philadelphia in October.
Today I will add to that ... there is conflict with one of the partners ... I've been invited to be one of twelve who will meet in Denver in September to offer policy initiatives to Congress on how government can better respond to natural disasters because I have overseen the evacuation of hundreds of homeless people from Savannah during a hurricane ... TWICE!
Then I bitched myself into a meeting with Philip Manango, who was President Bush's "Homeless Czar" in Washington D.C. (Thank you Jack Kingston for your help in arranging this!)
It was OK. Philip wears nice suits.
A couple of years later when another Hurricane obliterated the 9th ward of New Orleans he called me. "Hey Mike," he said in the nice sweet drippy voice of a politician who wants something, "so I guess you've seen the news. Katrina was bad."
"Yep," I say as I make my way through the Boston airport working on funding for Union Mission back home.
"So you've overseen homeless evacuations," he said, "I'm calling around talking to people who have been through it like you have. Any advice?"
I thought for a minute, standing still in front of a Legal's Seafood as people rushed by me.
"Well," I said, "wherever you send them, make sure they have drugs. They'll be there for a long time and a 3 day supply won't cut it. Then they'll go nuts and it'll get ugly."
"Oh wow," he said excitedly, "I hadn't thought of that. Thanks Mike!" and he hung up on me.
So I get to go tell that story now. Plus my answer to how to make the government response to natural disasters better ... drop the President, Speaker of the House, and Mitch McConnell's asses in the middle of whatever is going on ... then mobilize the military, FEMA and the Post Office to go get them and bring back whoever you find along the way!
I wish this wasn't a virtual Board meeting.
I really want to see their faces when they this.
The last one was in Chicago and I sat at a conference room table, with Rebekah sitting beside me as she has for more than a decade taking notes, surrounded by Board members, conducting business.
Today I'll be sitting in Corporate Headquarters on the beloved back deck under the red, yellow, green, brown umbrella, overlooked by Fran's thousand shades of green, picking the dead Hibiscus blooms off the trees so new ones will sprout and giggling at the Palm Tree in our Backyard that has a smiling face on it made of oyster shells, a coconut bra and grass skirt. I'll likely stare at the rock one of my friends placed in the garden with the word "Imagine" inscribed on it.
This is my first totally virtual Board meeting. The members are scattered everywhere ... Copenhagen, Chicago, Houston, Pittsburgh ... so we'll conference call it ... Skype if necessary ... all of us sitting in front of a computer screen communicating in real time ... emailing and instant messaging back and forth as we meet.
On Monday I emailed a 39 page attachment for everyone to review in advance providing financial statements, cash flow projects, fund development strategies, marketing plans, a web page and Face Book design, and the draft agenda for an International Symposium that will be in Philadelphia in October.
Today I will add to that ... there is conflict with one of the partners ... I've been invited to be one of twelve who will meet in Denver in September to offer policy initiatives to Congress on how government can better respond to natural disasters because I have overseen the evacuation of hundreds of homeless people from Savannah during a hurricane ... TWICE!
Then I bitched myself into a meeting with Philip Manango, who was President Bush's "Homeless Czar" in Washington D.C. (Thank you Jack Kingston for your help in arranging this!)
It was OK. Philip wears nice suits.
A couple of years later when another Hurricane obliterated the 9th ward of New Orleans he called me. "Hey Mike," he said in the nice sweet drippy voice of a politician who wants something, "so I guess you've seen the news. Katrina was bad."
"Yep," I say as I make my way through the Boston airport working on funding for Union Mission back home.
"So you've overseen homeless evacuations," he said, "I'm calling around talking to people who have been through it like you have. Any advice?"
I thought for a minute, standing still in front of a Legal's Seafood as people rushed by me.
"Well," I said, "wherever you send them, make sure they have drugs. They'll be there for a long time and a 3 day supply won't cut it. Then they'll go nuts and it'll get ugly."
"Oh wow," he said excitedly, "I hadn't thought of that. Thanks Mike!" and he hung up on me.
So I get to go tell that story now. Plus my answer to how to make the government response to natural disasters better ... drop the President, Speaker of the House, and Mitch McConnell's asses in the middle of whatever is going on ... then mobilize the military, FEMA and the Post Office to go get them and bring back whoever you find along the way!
I wish this wasn't a virtual Board meeting.
I really want to see their faces when they this.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
College Again
Jeremy my son started work on his Ph.D. at the University of Georgia yesterday returning to his Alma Marta, this time living in his own apartment four hours away from his wife Marie. She is a Professor at Valdosta Stat. Back from Italy, my daughter Chelsea just began her last semester before graduating from Georgia. Her fiance Sam is an hour away at Georgia Tech. Even my daughter Kristen who not been to school in a decade started nursing classes at Savannah Tech.
I have the sudden urge to matriculate.
I loved college. I loved Seminary.
On the other hand, they did not love me so much ... institutionally speaking. I mean I got to know the Deans really well at both institutions ... that's because I was forever sitting in their offices for some infraction of academic standards. Most of it was silly. Once I threw a Greek textbook out of second story window when Professor Olmanson told me that I could find the answer in the book because he didn't have time to answer it. The book sailed under Guy Sayles nose and he called on the name of Lord which got him an "A" in the freaking class ... again!
But ... that was a long time ago. And I'm not going back to school ... aside from this life school stuff ... and the good friends that I had in college and in Seminary have all come back into my life ... and I didn't have to pay anything for it.
So Father Guido Sarducci come to mind.
He argues for the "5 Minute University" because five years after you graduate these are the things the average college graduate remembers from school. It only cost $20 for 5 minutes.
Economics is supply and demand
Spanish is boiled down to hola and adios
Business is ... you buy something and you sell it for more.
In Theology class you have to learn the answer to the question "Where is God?" The answer is "Everywhere." If you ask "Why?" The answer is "Because he likes you."
Then he takes a Polaroid snapshot, gives you your diploma and asks if you another minute to attend Law School.
There is a lot of truth in what he says. Again in Seminary I paid thousands of dollars to learn the word "Anthropomorphic" which basically means attributing human characteristics to God. So God is an old white man in the sky with a beard ... or a woman who loves her children ... or Che Guevara.
I work the word into every possible conversation that I can because ... well ... dammit I paid a lot of money to learn that word and it's the only thing that I remember from that class!
Anyway ... in a few short weeks I'll be joining my college children with my friends and my best friend on the campus ... for football games ... which is really what college is about.
Which reminds me of one of my favorite college stories ... and it is not mine ... but belongs to a friend ... years ago the annual Georgia/Florida game was called the "World's Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party" because you could carry your liquor into the stadium ... then some Professors and administrators thought this to be a bad idea and banned alcohol from the game. They employed security to enforce the rule and even pat you down which is still the case.
So my friend Gay, a college graduate from the University of Georgia, was outraged at this flagrant breaking of college tradition. So she bought a wheelchair. Sitting in it ... she put bottles of booze between her legs ... then she got a plaid blanket and covered herself ... and rolled right by security.
I love college.
Hey Kids! Do me proud!
I have the sudden urge to matriculate.
I loved college. I loved Seminary.
On the other hand, they did not love me so much ... institutionally speaking. I mean I got to know the Deans really well at both institutions ... that's because I was forever sitting in their offices for some infraction of academic standards. Most of it was silly. Once I threw a Greek textbook out of second story window when Professor Olmanson told me that I could find the answer in the book because he didn't have time to answer it. The book sailed under Guy Sayles nose and he called on the name of Lord which got him an "A" in the freaking class ... again!
But ... that was a long time ago. And I'm not going back to school ... aside from this life school stuff ... and the good friends that I had in college and in Seminary have all come back into my life ... and I didn't have to pay anything for it.
So Father Guido Sarducci come to mind.
He argues for the "5 Minute University" because five years after you graduate these are the things the average college graduate remembers from school. It only cost $20 for 5 minutes.
Economics is supply and demand
Spanish is boiled down to hola and adios
Business is ... you buy something and you sell it for more.
In Theology class you have to learn the answer to the question "Where is God?" The answer is "Everywhere." If you ask "Why?" The answer is "Because he likes you."
Then he takes a Polaroid snapshot, gives you your diploma and asks if you another minute to attend Law School.
There is a lot of truth in what he says. Again in Seminary I paid thousands of dollars to learn the word "Anthropomorphic" which basically means attributing human characteristics to God. So God is an old white man in the sky with a beard ... or a woman who loves her children ... or Che Guevara.
I work the word into every possible conversation that I can because ... well ... dammit I paid a lot of money to learn that word and it's the only thing that I remember from that class!
Anyway ... in a few short weeks I'll be joining my college children with my friends and my best friend on the campus ... for football games ... which is really what college is about.
Which reminds me of one of my favorite college stories ... and it is not mine ... but belongs to a friend ... years ago the annual Georgia/Florida game was called the "World's Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party" because you could carry your liquor into the stadium ... then some Professors and administrators thought this to be a bad idea and banned alcohol from the game. They employed security to enforce the rule and even pat you down which is still the case.
So my friend Gay, a college graduate from the University of Georgia, was outraged at this flagrant breaking of college tradition. So she bought a wheelchair. Sitting in it ... she put bottles of booze between her legs ... then she got a plaid blanket and covered herself ... and rolled right by security.
I love college.
Hey Kids! Do me proud!
Monday, August 15, 2011
Imagine that!
The sun blazes over a water glass ocean ... yellow and commanding ... birthing this day ... and the chance to start over.
The full moon refuses to concede the night ... hanging against a deep sky ... suspended over the dark green marsh grass ... the greenish brown water of the tide is high.
Pelicans fly in V formation overhead ... choirs of birds sing ... a cool sea breeze blows from the south in contrast to this 82 degree morning ... flowers bloom everywhere ... a marsh rabbit waits for us to pass.
Goddess and I make our way to the end of the sad little holy dock. Turning around in slow motion several times I can't help but know to my core ... that I am surrounded by beauty.
This is the first Monday in a month that I'm not traveling or getting ready to travel. I've been across the country twice ... from California to Cleveland and from Alaska to San Juan ... doing the work of taking health care to where it normally doesn't go ... understanding that problems are the same everywhere ... and so are the solutions ... just treat others as you want to be treated ... that's really religion has to say about how to live when you boil it down ... it doesn't matter the religion.
This is a busy Monday though. I have lots to do. So early this morning I start ... in corporate headquarters ... which is on the beloved back deck ... there is a Palm Tree in the middle of back yard ... it makes me laugh ... It has oyster shells making eyes, nose and a Mona Lisa smiling face ... the Palm fawns are the hair ... Saterday I added a coconut bra and a grass skirt ... she looks good!
This continues the re-birthing of my life. The backyard had already been transformed into a garden and someone ... I don't know who ... added a rock while I was gone with the word "Imagine" engraved on it ... it sits between the elephant ears ... underneath the sun and stars on the fence.
A notebook full of my scribbled writing in blue ink is spread before me ... the sea breeze blow them around the beloved back deck giving me my morning exercise as I hop up to retrieve them ... then sit back down to work ... taking a month's worth of notes and turning them into a consice report that hopefully makes a compelling argument ... then the sea breeze picks up again ... and I do it all again. My heart rate is up.
On Friday Chatham County government awarded Union Mission a couple of million dollars to cover the last of things that I did there. As they should have. It was silly cost overruns on building buildings that Union Mission has since given away ... which I do not understand ... but I don't work there anymore ... but we were in partnership with the County to improve health care for the people who live here ... and Union Mission had raised it's share ... and the County needed to raise its share ... Government takes so long ... so a two years after I first approached them ... they approved the check (Thank you Herb McKenzie!).
Whew!
I'm glad that's over.
The Monkees ... of all people ... do one of my favorite songs ... (I know ... and it's not Daydream Believer) ... when they got back twenty years after breaking up ... "That was then, this is now".
And that is my life on this sun and moon dance in the sky at the same time morning. One is setting while the other rises. All things must pass, says the major prophet George Harrison.
So that is the conclusion of my contributions to Union Mission ... for now anyway ... who knows? ... I'm busy saving the world ... from corporate headquarters ... on a beloved back deck ... imagine that.
The full moon refuses to concede the night ... hanging against a deep sky ... suspended over the dark green marsh grass ... the greenish brown water of the tide is high.
Pelicans fly in V formation overhead ... choirs of birds sing ... a cool sea breeze blows from the south in contrast to this 82 degree morning ... flowers bloom everywhere ... a marsh rabbit waits for us to pass.
Goddess and I make our way to the end of the sad little holy dock. Turning around in slow motion several times I can't help but know to my core ... that I am surrounded by beauty.
This is the first Monday in a month that I'm not traveling or getting ready to travel. I've been across the country twice ... from California to Cleveland and from Alaska to San Juan ... doing the work of taking health care to where it normally doesn't go ... understanding that problems are the same everywhere ... and so are the solutions ... just treat others as you want to be treated ... that's really religion has to say about how to live when you boil it down ... it doesn't matter the religion.
This is a busy Monday though. I have lots to do. So early this morning I start ... in corporate headquarters ... which is on the beloved back deck ... there is a Palm Tree in the middle of back yard ... it makes me laugh ... It has oyster shells making eyes, nose and a Mona Lisa smiling face ... the Palm fawns are the hair ... Saterday I added a coconut bra and a grass skirt ... she looks good!
This continues the re-birthing of my life. The backyard had already been transformed into a garden and someone ... I don't know who ... added a rock while I was gone with the word "Imagine" engraved on it ... it sits between the elephant ears ... underneath the sun and stars on the fence.
A notebook full of my scribbled writing in blue ink is spread before me ... the sea breeze blow them around the beloved back deck giving me my morning exercise as I hop up to retrieve them ... then sit back down to work ... taking a month's worth of notes and turning them into a consice report that hopefully makes a compelling argument ... then the sea breeze picks up again ... and I do it all again. My heart rate is up.
On Friday Chatham County government awarded Union Mission a couple of million dollars to cover the last of things that I did there. As they should have. It was silly cost overruns on building buildings that Union Mission has since given away ... which I do not understand ... but I don't work there anymore ... but we were in partnership with the County to improve health care for the people who live here ... and Union Mission had raised it's share ... and the County needed to raise its share ... Government takes so long ... so a two years after I first approached them ... they approved the check (Thank you Herb McKenzie!).
Whew!
I'm glad that's over.
The Monkees ... of all people ... do one of my favorite songs ... (I know ... and it's not Daydream Believer) ... when they got back twenty years after breaking up ... "That was then, this is now".
And that is my life on this sun and moon dance in the sky at the same time morning. One is setting while the other rises. All things must pass, says the major prophet George Harrison.
So that is the conclusion of my contributions to Union Mission ... for now anyway ... who knows? ... I'm busy saving the world ... from corporate headquarters ... on a beloved back deck ... imagine that.
Imagine that!
The sun blazes over a water glass ocean ... yellow and commanding ... birthing this day ... and the chance to start over.
The full moon refuses to concede the night ... hanging against a deep sky ... suspended over the dark green marsh grass ... the greenish brown water of the tide is high.
Pelicans fly in V formation overhead ... choirs of birds sing ... a cool sea breeze blows from the south in contrast to this 82 degree morning ... flowers bloom everywhere ... a marsh rabbit waits for us to pass.
Goddess and I make our way to the end of the sad little holy dock. Turning around in slow motion several times I can't help but know to my core ... that I am surrounded by beauty.
This is the first Monday in a month that I'm not traveling or getting ready to travel. I've been across the country twice ... from California to Cleveland and from Alaska to San Juan ... doing the work of taking health care to where it normally doesn't go ... understanding that problems are the same everywhere ... and so are the solutions ... just treat others as you want to be treated ... that's really religion has to say about how to live when you boil it down ... it doesn't matter the religion.
This is a busy Monday though. I have lots to do. So early this morning I start ... in corporate headquarters ... which is on the beloved back deck ... there is a Palm Tree in the middle of back yard ... it makes me laugh ... It has oyster shells making eyes, nose and a Mona Lisa smiling face ... the Palm fawns are the hair ... Saterday I added a coconut bra and a grass skirt ... she looks good!
This continues the re-birthing of my life. The backyard had already been transformed into a garden and someone ... I don't know who ... added a rock while I was gone with the word "Imagine" engraved on it ... it sits between the elephant ears ... underneath the sun and stars on the fence.
A notebook full of my scribbled writing in blue ink is spread before me ... the sea breeze blow them around the beloved back deck giving me my morning exercise as I hop up to retrieve them ... then sit back down to work ... taking a month's worth of notes and turning them into a consice report that hopefully makes a compelling argument ... then the sea breeze picks up again ... and I do it all again. My heart rate is up.
On Friday Chatham County government awarded Union Mission a couple of million dollars to cover the last of things that I did there. As they should have. It was silly cost overruns on building buildings that Union Mission has since given away ... which I do not understand ... but I don't work there anymore ... but we were in partnership with the County to improve health care for the people who live here ... and Union Mission had raised it's share ... and the County needed to raise its share ... Government takes so long ... so a two years after I first approached them ... they approved the check (Thank you Herb McKenzie!).
Whew!
I'm glad that's over.
The Monkees ... of all people ... do one of my favorite songs ... (I know ... and it's not Daydream Believer) ... when they got back twenty years after breaking up ... "That was then, this is now".
And that is my life on this sun and moon dance in the sky at the same time morning. One is setting while the other rises. All things must pass, says the major prophet George Harrison.
So that is the conclusion of my contributions to Union Mission ... for now anyway ... who knows? ... I'm busy saving the world ... from corporate headquarters ... on a beloved back deck ... imagine that.
The full moon refuses to concede the night ... hanging against a deep sky ... suspended over the dark green marsh grass ... the greenish brown water of the tide is high.
Pelicans fly in V formation overhead ... choirs of birds sing ... a cool sea breeze blows from the south in contrast to this 82 degree morning ... flowers bloom everywhere ... a marsh rabbit waits for us to pass.
Goddess and I make our way to the end of the sad little holy dock. Turning around in slow motion several times I can't help but know to my core ... that I am surrounded by beauty.
This is the first Monday in a month that I'm not traveling or getting ready to travel. I've been across the country twice ... from California to Cleveland and from Alaska to San Juan ... doing the work of taking health care to where it normally doesn't go ... understanding that problems are the same everywhere ... and so are the solutions ... just treat others as you want to be treated ... that's really religion has to say about how to live when you boil it down ... it doesn't matter the religion.
This is a busy Monday though. I have lots to do. So early this morning I start ... in corporate headquarters ... which is on the beloved back deck ... there is a Palm Tree in the middle of back yard ... it makes me laugh ... It has oyster shells making eyes, nose and a Mona Lisa smiling face ... the Palm fawns are the hair ... Saterday I added a coconut bra and a grass skirt ... she looks good!
This continues the re-birthing of my life. The backyard had already been transformed into a garden and someone ... I don't know who ... added a rock while I was gone with the word "Imagine" engraved on it ... it sits between the elephant ears ... underneath the sun and stars on the fence.
A notebook full of my scribbled writing in blue ink is spread before me ... the sea breeze blow them around the beloved back deck giving me my morning exercise as I hop up to retrieve them ... then sit back down to work ... taking a month's worth of notes and turning them into a consice report that hopefully makes a compelling argument ... then the sea breeze picks up again ... and I do it all again. My heart rate is up.
On Friday Chatham County government awarded Union Mission a couple of million dollars to cover the last of things that I did there. As they should have. It was silly cost overruns on building buildings that Union Mission has since given away ... which I do not understand ... but I don't work there anymore ... but we were in partnership with the County to improve health care for the people who live here ... and Union Mission had raised it's share ... and the County needed to raise its share ... Government takes so long ... so a two years after I first approached them ... they approved the check (Thank you Herb McKenzie!).
Whew!
I'm glad that's over.
The Monkees ... of all people ... do one of my favorite songs ... (I know ... and it's not Daydream Believer) ... when they got back twenty years after breaking up ... "That was then, this is now".
And that is my life on this sun and moon dance in the sky at the same time morning. One is setting while the other rises. All things must pass, says the major prophet George Harrison.
So that is the conclusion of my contributions to Union Mission ... for now anyway ... who knows? ... I'm busy saving the world ... from corporate headquarters ... on a beloved back deck ... imagine that.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Drunken Jesus Freaks Under the Pier on Tybee Island
"Why is Dedra spending so much time away from home?"
It is a legitimate question. She hasn't been home much at all.
"Because she's spending all of her time with Drunken Jesus freaks under the Pier on Tybee Island," was the answer.
And that's true I suppose.
Every Wednesday at 10:00 under the Pier the Samuel Adams Band sets up and conducts a worship service for anybody who wants to show up. A lot of tourists, including girls wearing bikinis, leave the beach to worship God. Many are regulars at Bar Church, the Sunday morning gathering again hosted by the long haired, surfer looking, most cool dude on the island ... Sam Adams along with Gordon who plays the best harmonica ever and Davy the prankster drummer.
Then the city of Tybee usually sends someone to say that such services are illegal but it is hard to give God a ticket so ... until Shirley who runs Tybee Island and most of a tri-county area decides if God can be ticketed or not ... girls in bikinis and drunken Jesus freaks meet under the Pier and do ... church.
It is a blessed alternative to Steeple Churches ... many of which have gone corporate using multimedia, Happy Jack music (I'm knocked up, hooks on drugs and have a husband who emotionally and physically rapes me every day but Jesus loves so its all OK!) and membership levels on their forever expanding campuses.
Bar Church ... a.k.a. ... drunken Jesus freaks under the Pier ... is as far from that as you can possible get.
"When Jesus went to start the church where did he go? Did he recruit the top scholars of the University of Jerusalem? Did he insist on scholarly expositors who thought they knew how to be relevant? Or did he pick up some fishermen who smelled bad, a couple of ex-prostitutes and a midget named Zacchaeus? Face it --- Jesus had a zoo on his hands. If Jesus wanted people with credentials he would have chosen the Pharisees. Instead, he took the people society said were nothing" (Tony Compolo, Metro-Ministry, p.31.
It's a pretty good description of Bar Church.
And it's pretty damn holy.
Yesterday ... on the Pier ... not under it ... we gathered for the celebration of the life of Trolly Joe.
There were maybe sixty of us. Dedra was there. Sam Adams too. The entire Bored. Of course the family came from four different states.
Wearing my black robe over running shorts and Jimmy Buffett concert tee shirt I officiated. Micky who runs Trolly tours in Savannah spoke. Johnny O spoke. People laughed ... and they cried.
Then the military did the flag presentation to Barbara ... Trolly Joe's wife. They looked good in their olive green uniforms, sharply creased, precision salutes and dripping in dignity. One solemnly lifted his trumpet and and prayerfully played "Taps".
The entire beach stopped. Old black men stood and saluted. Old women grabbed handkerchiefs and wiped tears away. Younger men stood at attention. Girls in bikinis stood still with their hands over their chests. Children stopped boogie boarding and looked in wonderment.
And the Kingdom came on earth as it is in heaven.
Then we took Trolly Joe's ashes into the surf. And we gave him to the ocean which he loved so dearly ... and which so dearly loved him.
As we made our way back to the beach ... a dolphin danced on the water ... welcoming Trolly Joe home.
Many of us drunken Jesus freaks who meet under the Pier laughed ... and cried ... and clapped and hugged one another.
Then we went to Fannies-On-the-Beach and toasted the heavens ... and the gift of Trolly Joe in our lives.
And when church was over ... we went home ... or stayed in the bars ... or back to work ... to the beach ... boat ... or made the run to Wall Mart.
But holiness clung to us like dew on the grass in the mornings.
It is a legitimate question. She hasn't been home much at all.
"Because she's spending all of her time with Drunken Jesus freaks under the Pier on Tybee Island," was the answer.
And that's true I suppose.
Every Wednesday at 10:00 under the Pier the Samuel Adams Band sets up and conducts a worship service for anybody who wants to show up. A lot of tourists, including girls wearing bikinis, leave the beach to worship God. Many are regulars at Bar Church, the Sunday morning gathering again hosted by the long haired, surfer looking, most cool dude on the island ... Sam Adams along with Gordon who plays the best harmonica ever and Davy the prankster drummer.
Then the city of Tybee usually sends someone to say that such services are illegal but it is hard to give God a ticket so ... until Shirley who runs Tybee Island and most of a tri-county area decides if God can be ticketed or not ... girls in bikinis and drunken Jesus freaks meet under the Pier and do ... church.
It is a blessed alternative to Steeple Churches ... many of which have gone corporate using multimedia, Happy Jack music (I'm knocked up, hooks on drugs and have a husband who emotionally and physically rapes me every day but Jesus loves so its all OK!) and membership levels on their forever expanding campuses.
Bar Church ... a.k.a. ... drunken Jesus freaks under the Pier ... is as far from that as you can possible get.
"When Jesus went to start the church where did he go? Did he recruit the top scholars of the University of Jerusalem? Did he insist on scholarly expositors who thought they knew how to be relevant? Or did he pick up some fishermen who smelled bad, a couple of ex-prostitutes and a midget named Zacchaeus? Face it --- Jesus had a zoo on his hands. If Jesus wanted people with credentials he would have chosen the Pharisees. Instead, he took the people society said were nothing" (Tony Compolo, Metro-Ministry, p.31.
It's a pretty good description of Bar Church.
And it's pretty damn holy.
Yesterday ... on the Pier ... not under it ... we gathered for the celebration of the life of Trolly Joe.
There were maybe sixty of us. Dedra was there. Sam Adams too. The entire Bored. Of course the family came from four different states.
Wearing my black robe over running shorts and Jimmy Buffett concert tee shirt I officiated. Micky who runs Trolly tours in Savannah spoke. Johnny O spoke. People laughed ... and they cried.
Then the military did the flag presentation to Barbara ... Trolly Joe's wife. They looked good in their olive green uniforms, sharply creased, precision salutes and dripping in dignity. One solemnly lifted his trumpet and and prayerfully played "Taps".
The entire beach stopped. Old black men stood and saluted. Old women grabbed handkerchiefs and wiped tears away. Younger men stood at attention. Girls in bikinis stood still with their hands over their chests. Children stopped boogie boarding and looked in wonderment.
And the Kingdom came on earth as it is in heaven.
Then we took Trolly Joe's ashes into the surf. And we gave him to the ocean which he loved so dearly ... and which so dearly loved him.
As we made our way back to the beach ... a dolphin danced on the water ... welcoming Trolly Joe home.
Many of us drunken Jesus freaks who meet under the Pier laughed ... and cried ... and clapped and hugged one another.
Then we went to Fannies-On-the-Beach and toasted the heavens ... and the gift of Trolly Joe in our lives.
And when church was over ... we went home ... or stayed in the bars ... or back to work ... to the beach ... boat ... or made the run to Wall Mart.
But holiness clung to us like dew on the grass in the mornings.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
My Mother the Wanna Be Gang Member
While I was in Puerto Rico my Mother broke into my house viciously attacking it with a mob, Windex, a washing machine and a hose. She also stole money from my secret stash treating herself to fabulous dinners with wine. She also kidnapped Goddess and gave her a bath.
THEN!!!! She has the audacity to tell me when I called her inquiring about the above mentioned offenses that Goddess is now to have a bath once a week, I shouldn't leave money just laying around, I should introduce myself to the washing machine, mob and Windex.
Can you believe this woman?
Yeah, yeah, yeah ... I know ... she's your Mother! You should listen to her.
Well my Mother will be the first to tell you that I have a long outstanding history of not listening to her. I have spent one entire decade of my life being grounded because this but then I finally escaped my household prison (with outside assistance from Gene Prevatt) and fled to another part of the state hiding out as a college student.
After five successful years as a college student some administrator discovered who I was and immediately kicked me out. (Though I did manage to steal a degree!)
Vowing that I would never be grounded again I needed a better hideout ... so I went to Seminary. The people there were always reading the Bible or preaching to one another so I lasted six years before they found me out. I'll never forget it.
I was blending in with the Chapel crowd (with a cold beer in a Communion Chalice) when the preacher (none other than the famous Bill Berry, winner of the Clyde T. Franciso Preaching Award, though he is not the former drummer for R.E.M.) pounded the pulpit with fiery condemnation.
"You got to reshape your lives! God is confronting you!! Some of you in this room," he bellowed with sweat pouring from his face, "know that you not not saved and spend your lives in dens of iniquity, prostituting yourself for Satan's delight and paving your expressway to hell!"
I thought to myself, "Damn! He's good. How does he know me?"
It was soon afterwards that some administrator discovered who I was and threw me out (this time I copped two degrees and fled the state).
With nowhere else to go, I returned and successfully stole Union Mission keeping it under wraps for 23 years. We hid under the cover of doing lots of good things for lots of people. I thought I was home free until I got a call from a Board Chair who was a pain the ass called me when I was hiding out in St. Martin from all of the good things that we were doing (I needed a vacation) so I no longer hide out with my dear friends the homeless, HIV infected, sick, wounded uninsured, prostituting, drug dealing friends.
Cast adrift with nowhere to hide ... I stayed home. Until people started breaking into my house cause they thought we should hang out together. So suddenly I find myself being part of a gang.
I wish I had discovered gangs earlier! They are lots of fun! Now I get in trouble with them and group activities are always the best.
NOW ... I figure my Mother is trying into the gang ... hence all of the violent assaults on my house, dog and general lifestyle.
But Mother dear ... I was reviewing all of the things you did to my house and ... you missed a spot.
You're not in yet.
THEN!!!! She has the audacity to tell me when I called her inquiring about the above mentioned offenses that Goddess is now to have a bath once a week, I shouldn't leave money just laying around, I should introduce myself to the washing machine, mob and Windex.
Can you believe this woman?
Yeah, yeah, yeah ... I know ... she's your Mother! You should listen to her.
Well my Mother will be the first to tell you that I have a long outstanding history of not listening to her. I have spent one entire decade of my life being grounded because this but then I finally escaped my household prison (with outside assistance from Gene Prevatt) and fled to another part of the state hiding out as a college student.
After five successful years as a college student some administrator discovered who I was and immediately kicked me out. (Though I did manage to steal a degree!)
Vowing that I would never be grounded again I needed a better hideout ... so I went to Seminary. The people there were always reading the Bible or preaching to one another so I lasted six years before they found me out. I'll never forget it.
I was blending in with the Chapel crowd (with a cold beer in a Communion Chalice) when the preacher (none other than the famous Bill Berry, winner of the Clyde T. Franciso Preaching Award, though he is not the former drummer for R.E.M.) pounded the pulpit with fiery condemnation.
"You got to reshape your lives! God is confronting you!! Some of you in this room," he bellowed with sweat pouring from his face, "know that you not not saved and spend your lives in dens of iniquity, prostituting yourself for Satan's delight and paving your expressway to hell!"
I thought to myself, "Damn! He's good. How does he know me?"
It was soon afterwards that some administrator discovered who I was and threw me out (this time I copped two degrees and fled the state).
With nowhere else to go, I returned and successfully stole Union Mission keeping it under wraps for 23 years. We hid under the cover of doing lots of good things for lots of people. I thought I was home free until I got a call from a Board Chair who was a pain the ass called me when I was hiding out in St. Martin from all of the good things that we were doing (I needed a vacation) so I no longer hide out with my dear friends the homeless, HIV infected, sick, wounded uninsured, prostituting, drug dealing friends.
Cast adrift with nowhere to hide ... I stayed home. Until people started breaking into my house cause they thought we should hang out together. So suddenly I find myself being part of a gang.
I wish I had discovered gangs earlier! They are lots of fun! Now I get in trouble with them and group activities are always the best.
NOW ... I figure my Mother is trying into the gang ... hence all of the violent assaults on my house, dog and general lifestyle.
But Mother dear ... I was reviewing all of the things you did to my house and ... you missed a spot.
You're not in yet.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Humbled
Sitting in the Courtyard of El Convento, the golden sunlight shimmers through the Palm Streets and bushes that line the marble tiled floors. The busyness of Old San Juan is on the other side of the four walls that rise four stories. Each floor is distinguished by open arches that allow sunshine and ocean breezes through the hallway, and before air conditioning, into the open doors of the rooms where the Nuns stayed before it became a hotel. The rooms are large enough and have floor to ceiling windows opposite the doors to allow the breeze to cool the rooms.
It is late afternoon and I am sitting in a large soft chair with my bare feet propped on a glass coffee table. I am keenly aware of where I am at … and am taken aback by it. This is beautiful! I’m back in the Caribbean which is a place that I love and I am working.
For years I wondered what it would be like to work here. Though I’m only here doing this for a few days, it’s another dream come true I suppose. Just a taste but … well you never know. There is still time in my life to expatriate, chase Hemingway or mimic Buffett. Maybe live in a thatched hut under the coconut trees, beside a white sandy beach and the aqua blue water of a reef protected Bay. Of course I’d need a generator to power the blender and the sound system.
It could happen.
My life has seen a lot happen though I can’t figure out how … or why.
Most were fantastic: work accomplishments that had never been achieved … the satisfaction of helping so many people achieve things they never thought they could achieve … invitations to speak carried me around the world … books I’ve written sit on a shelve and give me pride … inside of them are letters and notes thanking me for things I said … and I live on a beautiful island surrounded by an incredible carnival of friends who spark laughter and joy.
Sure there were other things not so great. I was run over as a kid and my left leg was shattered … my son and I were in a head on collision and somehow survived though the experience stays with me to this day … marriages ended … so did a career … I learned that giving my life trying to do good means there are some who hate me for it and hurt me …burnout and depression arrived.
Sitting in this courtyard I am watching the golden sun shine through the long lead green Palm trees on me. I am bathed in it. So is the space and things around me. It is as though the Kingdom has come on earth as it is in heaven. I am suddenly one with both.
Earlier I was with my friend Chaco, Dr. Jose Vargas Vidot who takes health care to people in Puerto Rico, Haiti and most of Central America. He’d been attacked in the newspapers because while he graduated from medical school he is not a licensed physician. He does manage them though to provide wonderful care to people desperate for it. So another group of physicians attacked him for it ... Health care is a screwed up system.
I was at his press conference where he answered the charges. There were many reporters and a huge crowd for the event ... Doctors, medical students, and the people who benefit from the work. He spoke eloquently and answered every question. At the end of it … he cried.
Then I saw something that I’ve never seen before.
A lady screamed out the name “Chaco” and the hundred or so people there burst into applause, clapping and crying and screaming. Then they all rushed and with him standing crying in the center a hundred people hugged him at once, continuing to scream his name in unison. “Chaco … Chaco … Chaco!” and they cried with him ... in joyful celebration of him.
The press went nuts of course. They jerked their cameras off their stands and angled for shots of this amazing thing. It lasted a long time and I stood there humbled by such an expression of love.
I do believe that love conquers hate … good triumphs evil … in second chances and angels … there is always a way regardless of the obstacles … forgiveness is better than resentment … life is a gift and that the gifts of life come and go … happiness is there to grab hold of but it often means letting go of something else … we can live right up until we die.
Sitting in El Convento bathed in heaven and earth I experience prayer. There are no words. I have survived hate, abandonment, depression, burnout and death … so far. I also love, feel good, have yet another chance, feel angels kiss me and am happy.
I feel all of these things at once. Powerfully! Fully! Completely!
How is it that I am here?
Everything went wrong. Now everything is going right.
Then I know … cause the angels tell me so … because you are where God needs you to be.
I stand and get wine. Communion occurs. I touch my finger to the wine and then the wine to my forehead and heart … still bathed in heaven and earth …
And I humbly cry in joy.
It is late afternoon and I am sitting in a large soft chair with my bare feet propped on a glass coffee table. I am keenly aware of where I am at … and am taken aback by it. This is beautiful! I’m back in the Caribbean which is a place that I love and I am working.
For years I wondered what it would be like to work here. Though I’m only here doing this for a few days, it’s another dream come true I suppose. Just a taste but … well you never know. There is still time in my life to expatriate, chase Hemingway or mimic Buffett. Maybe live in a thatched hut under the coconut trees, beside a white sandy beach and the aqua blue water of a reef protected Bay. Of course I’d need a generator to power the blender and the sound system.
It could happen.
My life has seen a lot happen though I can’t figure out how … or why.
Most were fantastic: work accomplishments that had never been achieved … the satisfaction of helping so many people achieve things they never thought they could achieve … invitations to speak carried me around the world … books I’ve written sit on a shelve and give me pride … inside of them are letters and notes thanking me for things I said … and I live on a beautiful island surrounded by an incredible carnival of friends who spark laughter and joy.
Sure there were other things not so great. I was run over as a kid and my left leg was shattered … my son and I were in a head on collision and somehow survived though the experience stays with me to this day … marriages ended … so did a career … I learned that giving my life trying to do good means there are some who hate me for it and hurt me …burnout and depression arrived.
Sitting in this courtyard I am watching the golden sun shine through the long lead green Palm trees on me. I am bathed in it. So is the space and things around me. It is as though the Kingdom has come on earth as it is in heaven. I am suddenly one with both.
Earlier I was with my friend Chaco, Dr. Jose Vargas Vidot who takes health care to people in Puerto Rico, Haiti and most of Central America. He’d been attacked in the newspapers because while he graduated from medical school he is not a licensed physician. He does manage them though to provide wonderful care to people desperate for it. So another group of physicians attacked him for it ... Health care is a screwed up system.
I was at his press conference where he answered the charges. There were many reporters and a huge crowd for the event ... Doctors, medical students, and the people who benefit from the work. He spoke eloquently and answered every question. At the end of it … he cried.
Then I saw something that I’ve never seen before.
A lady screamed out the name “Chaco” and the hundred or so people there burst into applause, clapping and crying and screaming. Then they all rushed and with him standing crying in the center a hundred people hugged him at once, continuing to scream his name in unison. “Chaco … Chaco … Chaco!” and they cried with him ... in joyful celebration of him.
The press went nuts of course. They jerked their cameras off their stands and angled for shots of this amazing thing. It lasted a long time and I stood there humbled by such an expression of love.
I do believe that love conquers hate … good triumphs evil … in second chances and angels … there is always a way regardless of the obstacles … forgiveness is better than resentment … life is a gift and that the gifts of life come and go … happiness is there to grab hold of but it often means letting go of something else … we can live right up until we die.
Sitting in El Convento bathed in heaven and earth I experience prayer. There are no words. I have survived hate, abandonment, depression, burnout and death … so far. I also love, feel good, have yet another chance, feel angels kiss me and am happy.
I feel all of these things at once. Powerfully! Fully! Completely!
How is it that I am here?
Everything went wrong. Now everything is going right.
Then I know … cause the angels tell me so … because you are where God needs you to be.
I stand and get wine. Communion occurs. I touch my finger to the wine and then the wine to my forehead and heart … still bathed in heaven and earth …
And I humbly cry in joy.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Gifts to share
Sitting in the back seat of the rental car we bounced down the sun baked roads of the Los Monjos neighborhood of San Juan on our way to "Inicative Communitara". My I-phone buzzed and it was Johnny O. I asked him what was up as I bounced because Jim Withers was determined to hit every single pothole he passed and San Juan has many.
"It's bad news," he said in a voice that I rarely hear ... serious and with emotion ... "Trolley Joe died."
"Shit!" I exclaimed staring out of the window at the white concrete Carribean buildings that go on for miles and miles.
"When you coming back?" John continued.
"Friday."
"OK ...," he sighed. "Fuck this! and he hung up"
"Yeah ..." I softely said into the phone holding it against my chin.
Jim was staring at me in the rearview mirror and the man is already a dangerous driver. I told him what had happened and he returned to staring in the direction of where we were headed.
Joe was a member of the Bored ... the daily collection of friends to celebrate life on Tybee Island. For years we have gathered on the Pier, in front of Fannies-On-the-Beach, and increasingly at Marlin Monroes on Sunday afternoons. We pretty much raise drinks to the ocean and make fun of most everything. But ... we're also really good friends who have helped one another get through dark and difficult times.
When I found myself suddenly single a couple of years ago, Joe would put his arm around me and make me take down the sidewalk with him. He'd tell me his story of survival and new love. Then he'd tell me it going to be ok and that he loves me.
This is the same man who actually drove trolly tours in downtown Savannah and when he would see me walking down the sidewalk rushing to a meeting would stop the tour full of people, reach out and shake my hand, then announce over the speaker who I am. He did this repeatedly ... whenever he saw me.
Once he stopped a tour in front of Union Mission to take a picture of the sign in front of my old parking place. The sign was a gift from people who used to work with me and it marked my spot and had my name on it. The leadership put duct tape over name and Joe decided the rest of the world needed to know this ... so he took the picture, posted it on Face Book with the caption ... 'What happens to Has-Beens."
He also read everything I write and would me know what he thought ... often by taking playful issue with things. "You know that it was your Mother who redid your Backyard and you claimed the credit! I can't beleive you!" Then he turn his back to me.
Then he delighted over the last several months as I came back to life and love graced me. On Saturday he strolled up and hugged me and prounounced blessing on the way things are going in my life.
It was all good.
Life is a gift each of us share but none of us asked for. We share with one another if we're lucky. That's the thing though ... you never know how long gifts last. Our own gift of life or how long others are going to share theirs with us. There is just now. So we only have now to celebrate what we have.
So yesterday at the Bored and in Kansas City and in San Juan we all raised glasses to our dear friend Trolly Joe. What a gift. We'll still be celebrating it for a long time to come.
As long as we have gifts to celebrate.
"It's bad news," he said in a voice that I rarely hear ... serious and with emotion ... "Trolley Joe died."
"Shit!" I exclaimed staring out of the window at the white concrete Carribean buildings that go on for miles and miles.
"When you coming back?" John continued.
"Friday."
"OK ...," he sighed. "Fuck this! and he hung up"
"Yeah ..." I softely said into the phone holding it against my chin.
Jim was staring at me in the rearview mirror and the man is already a dangerous driver. I told him what had happened and he returned to staring in the direction of where we were headed.
Joe was a member of the Bored ... the daily collection of friends to celebrate life on Tybee Island. For years we have gathered on the Pier, in front of Fannies-On-the-Beach, and increasingly at Marlin Monroes on Sunday afternoons. We pretty much raise drinks to the ocean and make fun of most everything. But ... we're also really good friends who have helped one another get through dark and difficult times.
When I found myself suddenly single a couple of years ago, Joe would put his arm around me and make me take down the sidewalk with him. He'd tell me his story of survival and new love. Then he'd tell me it going to be ok and that he loves me.
This is the same man who actually drove trolly tours in downtown Savannah and when he would see me walking down the sidewalk rushing to a meeting would stop the tour full of people, reach out and shake my hand, then announce over the speaker who I am. He did this repeatedly ... whenever he saw me.
Once he stopped a tour in front of Union Mission to take a picture of the sign in front of my old parking place. The sign was a gift from people who used to work with me and it marked my spot and had my name on it. The leadership put duct tape over name and Joe decided the rest of the world needed to know this ... so he took the picture, posted it on Face Book with the caption ... 'What happens to Has-Beens."
He also read everything I write and would me know what he thought ... often by taking playful issue with things. "You know that it was your Mother who redid your Backyard and you claimed the credit! I can't beleive you!" Then he turn his back to me.
Then he delighted over the last several months as I came back to life and love graced me. On Saturday he strolled up and hugged me and prounounced blessing on the way things are going in my life.
It was all good.
Life is a gift each of us share but none of us asked for. We share with one another if we're lucky. That's the thing though ... you never know how long gifts last. Our own gift of life or how long others are going to share theirs with us. There is just now. So we only have now to celebrate what we have.
So yesterday at the Bored and in Kansas City and in San Juan we all raised glasses to our dear friend Trolly Joe. What a gift. We'll still be celebrating it for a long time to come.
As long as we have gifts to celebrate.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Old San Juan
Old San Juan is a place of incredible beauty … a walled City on the sea, very European with narrow Cobblestone streets, each ending at the ocean it seems. There are parks and salsa music dances in them. Banyan trees are huge and lush while the Palms are thin and slick unlike the ones back home. El Mortro, the fort is majestic and imposing.
I am staying at El Convento, an old convent that has been transformed into a luxury hotel. All of the rooms face into a lovely courtyard with fountains, quaint bars and swirling fans. A slight breeze blows from the ocean so the trees sway over my head as I sip coffee.
The rest of the city is a mass of urban sprawl ... as though New York City was slammed onto an island. Congested, backed up, crowded and huge … the place has more than its share of poverty. I’ll leave the beauty and pleasant delights of Old San Juan for the dearth of the rest of it today hooking up with my friend Dr. Jose Vargas-Vidot, known here as Chaco.
We met over a decade ago when we were both being recognized for our work in Washington D.C. We hit it off immediately because of our mutual love of Liberation Theology. Chaco thinks he is Che Guevara, and actually looks like the dead Cuban Revolutionary. He’s been at my house on Tybee and I’ve been to his house here and we stay in touch when he’s not out on the streets taking medicine to where people need it.
This is the fourth trip in four weeks and I’m feeling it. Crisscrossing the country twice takes a toll. I love the work, travel and it is rewarding to be in the Caribbean again. I’m a child of the ocean and an island boy and it is cool to be here but I’m really ready to stay home for a while. There are a lot of things that I need and want to do. That joy of those things will commence on Friday.
Yesterday I strolled the plazas, churches and sea side of this city. I was with the famous Dr. Jim Withers the champion of street medicine but my mind was somewhere else … back home.
It’s funny … throughout my life I’ve gone everywhere and couldn’t wait to get back and do it again. I conquered challenges and work. I was generously rewarded and recognized for it. I was an adventurer forever lusting for the next adventure.
I’m doing it again with this work … taking the crazy idea of rallying nurses and doctors to practice medicine again the way that it was originally practiced … where the sick are … without buildings … but in a spiritual way … one human helping another. Given the complexity, insanity and entrenchment of the American Health Care System … I may as well be attacking windmills. But it is good work with very good people who inspire me.
The last year has changed me though. I am somehow now the calming presence … no longer the one stirring things up … helping others to fulfill those roles in better ways.
So today I’m diving back into all of that! And I will give it my best.
But I’m homesick.
Soon I will be back to it.
But not soon enough.
I am staying at El Convento, an old convent that has been transformed into a luxury hotel. All of the rooms face into a lovely courtyard with fountains, quaint bars and swirling fans. A slight breeze blows from the ocean so the trees sway over my head as I sip coffee.
The rest of the city is a mass of urban sprawl ... as though New York City was slammed onto an island. Congested, backed up, crowded and huge … the place has more than its share of poverty. I’ll leave the beauty and pleasant delights of Old San Juan for the dearth of the rest of it today hooking up with my friend Dr. Jose Vargas-Vidot, known here as Chaco.
We met over a decade ago when we were both being recognized for our work in Washington D.C. We hit it off immediately because of our mutual love of Liberation Theology. Chaco thinks he is Che Guevara, and actually looks like the dead Cuban Revolutionary. He’s been at my house on Tybee and I’ve been to his house here and we stay in touch when he’s not out on the streets taking medicine to where people need it.
This is the fourth trip in four weeks and I’m feeling it. Crisscrossing the country twice takes a toll. I love the work, travel and it is rewarding to be in the Caribbean again. I’m a child of the ocean and an island boy and it is cool to be here but I’m really ready to stay home for a while. There are a lot of things that I need and want to do. That joy of those things will commence on Friday.
Yesterday I strolled the plazas, churches and sea side of this city. I was with the famous Dr. Jim Withers the champion of street medicine but my mind was somewhere else … back home.
It’s funny … throughout my life I’ve gone everywhere and couldn’t wait to get back and do it again. I conquered challenges and work. I was generously rewarded and recognized for it. I was an adventurer forever lusting for the next adventure.
I’m doing it again with this work … taking the crazy idea of rallying nurses and doctors to practice medicine again the way that it was originally practiced … where the sick are … without buildings … but in a spiritual way … one human helping another. Given the complexity, insanity and entrenchment of the American Health Care System … I may as well be attacking windmills. But it is good work with very good people who inspire me.
The last year has changed me though. I am somehow now the calming presence … no longer the one stirring things up … helping others to fulfill those roles in better ways.
So today I’m diving back into all of that! And I will give it my best.
But I’m homesick.
Soon I will be back to it.
But not soon enough.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Little Girls
We were in Nickie’s, a Tybee Bar and restaurant oprated by my friend Dean, and Sam and Gordon were playing damn good live music. The atmosphere was festive, the food good and the people were supportive of one another.
It’s a shame it was a funeral.
But that is why we were there.
It was a glorious Tybee night. I’d taken the bike to have dinner with four girls and we feasted on Pizza. Then there were tattoos given and laughs had. Then I rolled home only to be told of the service. So I jumped back on my bike and got there just as the service was ending.
The bar was filled with a different kind of emotion. Normally it is laughter, sadness, lust, depression, community and lonliness … all happening at the same time. That is what happens in bars … but last night t was … filled with two things only … sadness … and people sharing it.
Jennifer the bartender had drowned in Florida. She has a four year old daughter and a boyfriend. They were there. As were a crowd of people who have little … except for one another.
This is the Bar Church crowd at its best.
Mostly those who struggle to raise enough money to pay rent so that they can continue to live in paradise. Sam had a bucket for people to throw in money that they do not have for the little girl.
It is hard not to love them. Especially when you see how we prop each other up. This is really what church is … not most of those steeple places.
Back home I sat on the beloved back deck sending love into the night. How can you not after experiencing such loss?
God had suspended a bright half-moon to shed me a ittle light. I needed to pack but I didn’t. The night was being too good. I whispered a prayer for Jennifer and her little girl who will grow up without her mother. I thought of the girls I’d delighted in pizza with earlier and sent them prayers too.
Dedra blew back in for all of this and was at the funeral and then later checked on me while I was on the deck. Dee is like a tornado … she blows in and out. Last night she brought a real one with her.
Storms blew the moon away.
Now I’m back in the airport … waiting on another plane … this time to Puerto Rico … where the very famous Dr. Jim Withers has somehow booked himself two ridiculously expensive hotel rooms when he only needs one … we’re meeting with Chaco (who thinks he is Che Guevara) but the three of us really love one another and do interesting stuff.
But what I am thinking about today are little girls.
One who lost most every thing.
And others … who have everything.
It’s a shame it was a funeral.
But that is why we were there.
It was a glorious Tybee night. I’d taken the bike to have dinner with four girls and we feasted on Pizza. Then there were tattoos given and laughs had. Then I rolled home only to be told of the service. So I jumped back on my bike and got there just as the service was ending.
The bar was filled with a different kind of emotion. Normally it is laughter, sadness, lust, depression, community and lonliness … all happening at the same time. That is what happens in bars … but last night t was … filled with two things only … sadness … and people sharing it.
Jennifer the bartender had drowned in Florida. She has a four year old daughter and a boyfriend. They were there. As were a crowd of people who have little … except for one another.
This is the Bar Church crowd at its best.
Mostly those who struggle to raise enough money to pay rent so that they can continue to live in paradise. Sam had a bucket for people to throw in money that they do not have for the little girl.
It is hard not to love them. Especially when you see how we prop each other up. This is really what church is … not most of those steeple places.
Back home I sat on the beloved back deck sending love into the night. How can you not after experiencing such loss?
God had suspended a bright half-moon to shed me a ittle light. I needed to pack but I didn’t. The night was being too good. I whispered a prayer for Jennifer and her little girl who will grow up without her mother. I thought of the girls I’d delighted in pizza with earlier and sent them prayers too.
Dedra blew back in for all of this and was at the funeral and then later checked on me while I was on the deck. Dee is like a tornado … she blows in and out. Last night she brought a real one with her.
Storms blew the moon away.
Now I’m back in the airport … waiting on another plane … this time to Puerto Rico … where the very famous Dr. Jim Withers has somehow booked himself two ridiculously expensive hotel rooms when he only needs one … we’re meeting with Chaco (who thinks he is Che Guevara) but the three of us really love one another and do interesting stuff.
But what I am thinking about today are little girls.
One who lost most every thing.
And others … who have everything.
Monday, August 8, 2011
Grabbing Hold
You have to grab hold of your happiness when it comes by and hold on for dear life.
You never know when its coming so you have to always be ready ... and there are so many distractions forcing us to focus on other things ... doubts ... others who want us to focus on them because they don't have it in them to focus on themselves ... so they don't ... giving everything to someone or something else ... until they wake up one day and realize that happiness has passed you by.
I've lived a funny life. Fantastic accomplishments and terrible tragedies. I've been everywhere ... seen everything I've wanted to see ... fallen in love with certain places ... St. Martin for sure ... the Mill Top in St. Augustine ... Smather's Beach in Key West ... Athens on a fall Saturday ... a sad little Holy dock ... a beloved Back Deck.
George Harrison is in my head. He is a Saint you know. The Pope (who is not all of that) should hurry his beautification ahead of Mother Teresa's. "Within you, without you" is one of the may reasons why.
"We were talking about ... the space between us all
And the people who hide themselves behind a wall of illusion
Never glimpse the truth - then it's far too late ...when they pass away"
So it's all about breaking down the space between us all. I think that Jesus said something very similar when he talked about "community".
It's in the Talmud too. "The world shall be saved one neighbor at a time."
I'm a big believer in breaking down the space between us all. It often gets me in trouble but it's who I am. I don't know who else to be ... so I fiercely remain me.
But it gets me in trouble.
It all started with my Mom. She was a relentless hugger. She would pick me up and hug me for no real reason. Just to say "I love you." It was often awkward ... I'd be playing football in the back yard or talking on the phone to my latest squeeze and Mom would wander in an hug me. Hugs are the way that life is to be lived.
Then I went to work with homeless people and people with AIDS.
Nobody hugs them.
So I did.
Relentlessly.
They were often shocked but I did it anyway. Grabbing a dirty, smelly, rotten, alcohol ridden person and embracing him ... or her.
Once I hugged a homeless her ... she stepped back flashing yellow teeth ... said "Thanks Rev!" ... pulled her tube top down and flashed me ... cupped her breast ... and gave me a seductive yellow grin.
"There are boundary lines," I told myself as I hurried to my next meeting.
The reality is I'm not really into boundaries. Huggers aren't. It's my Mom's fault.
So I've hugged lots of people in my life who you normally wouldn't touch ... bankers (even a Board Chair who chooses to remain anonymous ... Jerry Rainy ((I'm still bathing)) ... Politicians ... members of the Clergy ... singers in a Sunday choir ... numerous hookers ... drug dealers ... HIV infected dying folks ... and people who haven't showered in years.
I wouldn't trade it for anything.
Well ... the Board Chair who chooses to remain anonymous (Jerry Rainy) ... but the rest ... well ... most of the politicians .... but the rest ...
were magnificent people who greatly influenced my life.
And gave back as freely as I gave. More so in most cases.
So I try to live my life that way.
It is very Christ like. Mohammed like. Gandhi like. Martin Luther King like. Buddha like. Allah like.
Whatev's.
Not to say I rank with any of them but I aspire.
So I hug.
And I tell people in superfluous language that I love them. For me its the point and not the words. I don't know why I do things this way ... but it's worked for me. So I have a tenancy to remain pretty consistent in what I do.
What I mostly believe in is love.
God is love according to St. John ... I love St. John ... he was a Hippy ... obviously discovered Pot on the island of Patmos and wrote the book of Revelation.
All of that to say ...
Happiness is a fleeting thing ...
it comes and it goes ...
when you see it ... tackle it ...
and hold on for dear life ...
because happiness is rooted in love.
You never know when its coming so you have to always be ready ... and there are so many distractions forcing us to focus on other things ... doubts ... others who want us to focus on them because they don't have it in them to focus on themselves ... so they don't ... giving everything to someone or something else ... until they wake up one day and realize that happiness has passed you by.
I've lived a funny life. Fantastic accomplishments and terrible tragedies. I've been everywhere ... seen everything I've wanted to see ... fallen in love with certain places ... St. Martin for sure ... the Mill Top in St. Augustine ... Smather's Beach in Key West ... Athens on a fall Saturday ... a sad little Holy dock ... a beloved Back Deck.
George Harrison is in my head. He is a Saint you know. The Pope (who is not all of that) should hurry his beautification ahead of Mother Teresa's. "Within you, without you" is one of the may reasons why.
"We were talking about ... the space between us all
And the people who hide themselves behind a wall of illusion
Never glimpse the truth - then it's far too late ...when they pass away"
So it's all about breaking down the space between us all. I think that Jesus said something very similar when he talked about "community".
It's in the Talmud too. "The world shall be saved one neighbor at a time."
I'm a big believer in breaking down the space between us all. It often gets me in trouble but it's who I am. I don't know who else to be ... so I fiercely remain me.
But it gets me in trouble.
It all started with my Mom. She was a relentless hugger. She would pick me up and hug me for no real reason. Just to say "I love you." It was often awkward ... I'd be playing football in the back yard or talking on the phone to my latest squeeze and Mom would wander in an hug me. Hugs are the way that life is to be lived.
Then I went to work with homeless people and people with AIDS.
Nobody hugs them.
So I did.
Relentlessly.
They were often shocked but I did it anyway. Grabbing a dirty, smelly, rotten, alcohol ridden person and embracing him ... or her.
Once I hugged a homeless her ... she stepped back flashing yellow teeth ... said "Thanks Rev!" ... pulled her tube top down and flashed me ... cupped her breast ... and gave me a seductive yellow grin.
"There are boundary lines," I told myself as I hurried to my next meeting.
The reality is I'm not really into boundaries. Huggers aren't. It's my Mom's fault.
So I've hugged lots of people in my life who you normally wouldn't touch ... bankers (even a Board Chair who chooses to remain anonymous ... Jerry Rainy ((I'm still bathing)) ... Politicians ... members of the Clergy ... singers in a Sunday choir ... numerous hookers ... drug dealers ... HIV infected dying folks ... and people who haven't showered in years.
I wouldn't trade it for anything.
Well ... the Board Chair who chooses to remain anonymous (Jerry Rainy) ... but the rest ... well ... most of the politicians .... but the rest ...
were magnificent people who greatly influenced my life.
And gave back as freely as I gave. More so in most cases.
So I try to live my life that way.
It is very Christ like. Mohammed like. Gandhi like. Martin Luther King like. Buddha like. Allah like.
Whatev's.
Not to say I rank with any of them but I aspire.
So I hug.
And I tell people in superfluous language that I love them. For me its the point and not the words. I don't know why I do things this way ... but it's worked for me. So I have a tenancy to remain pretty consistent in what I do.
What I mostly believe in is love.
God is love according to St. John ... I love St. John ... he was a Hippy ... obviously discovered Pot on the island of Patmos and wrote the book of Revelation.
All of that to say ...
Happiness is a fleeting thing ...
it comes and it goes ...
when you see it ... tackle it ...
and hold on for dear life ...
because happiness is rooted in love.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Pony Tail Bands
Yesterday I purchased my first new set of pony tail holders for the first time since 2009.
Throughout my career at Union Mission I had a pony tail. My brother David stole every picture ever taken, displayed or hidden from at my parents house. Lately he has taken to posting them on Face Book. He's big on what used to be. And it's fun ... seeing us the way we used to be.
I don't dwell on it. I mean it was all great! Growing up in Port Wentworth, Georgia was glorious ... once you got used to the smell of the paper factory. But we had a swimming pool that my cousin worked at so I got in for free. There was an abandoned factory in the woods and that is where we played. On the other side was another set of woods with a big canal going through it. There was a large log over the canal that we would run across.
Once I went out to play on a Sunday morning with my heathen Port Wentworth friends. At church time my Mom and Dad sent David to get me for church. He showed up in the woods wearing a three-piece suit (very nice vest) and was walking across the log to get me. He was maybe nine. I was ten.
"Mike," he yelled. "It's time for church."
Those are fighting words to a ten year old boy in the woods. So Gene Prevatt, Robert Mixon, and I started throwing rocks at him. He ducked then fell in the canal ... three piece suit and all ... when he came out of the water he was crying and told me he was telling Mom and Dad ... as though it wasn't obvious with his wet three piece suit and all ... Gene and Robert were nowhere to be found (I guess they went to church).
What I remember next ... and this is a very vivid memory ... is walking out on that log and sitting down ... alone in the glory of the woods ... water beneath me ... sunshine glistening through the trees ... thinking to myself ...
"Shit! I'm in serious trouble! If I go to church it could be worse than Dad beating the hell out of me."
So I stayed in the woods.
The family went to church without me.
I communed with God ...
Meaning I pleaded "God if you get me out of this, I promise to never do it again."
God let me down.
I got a serious spanking.
David laughed.
But I tell you that to tell you this.
My pony tail is almost back.
My hairs longer than its been in years. Like the rest of my soul, I gave it to Union Mission auctioning it off for $1000 for Parent & Child which was broke ... but its all about the people getting what they need ... cause God Damn they need it. And that's where God is anyway.
But yesterday I pulled out a pony tale band and wrapped it in my hair. Felling like Samson I went to the Bored meeting. My strength was with me.
"You have your hair in a bun?" Johnny O asked.
Johnny O can be dense. When he dies he's getting cremated. I'm bringing marshmallows.
But ...
on this Sunday morning ...
I'm skipping church ... throwing rocks ... understanding that God transcends all of this ....
and I'm a ten year old boy ...
sitting on a log with my legs dangling over the water ...
with long hair that parents hated ...
happy to be who I am.
Throughout my career at Union Mission I had a pony tail. My brother David stole every picture ever taken, displayed or hidden from at my parents house. Lately he has taken to posting them on Face Book. He's big on what used to be. And it's fun ... seeing us the way we used to be.
I don't dwell on it. I mean it was all great! Growing up in Port Wentworth, Georgia was glorious ... once you got used to the smell of the paper factory. But we had a swimming pool that my cousin worked at so I got in for free. There was an abandoned factory in the woods and that is where we played. On the other side was another set of woods with a big canal going through it. There was a large log over the canal that we would run across.
Once I went out to play on a Sunday morning with my heathen Port Wentworth friends. At church time my Mom and Dad sent David to get me for church. He showed up in the woods wearing a three-piece suit (very nice vest) and was walking across the log to get me. He was maybe nine. I was ten.
"Mike," he yelled. "It's time for church."
Those are fighting words to a ten year old boy in the woods. So Gene Prevatt, Robert Mixon, and I started throwing rocks at him. He ducked then fell in the canal ... three piece suit and all ... when he came out of the water he was crying and told me he was telling Mom and Dad ... as though it wasn't obvious with his wet three piece suit and all ... Gene and Robert were nowhere to be found (I guess they went to church).
What I remember next ... and this is a very vivid memory ... is walking out on that log and sitting down ... alone in the glory of the woods ... water beneath me ... sunshine glistening through the trees ... thinking to myself ...
"Shit! I'm in serious trouble! If I go to church it could be worse than Dad beating the hell out of me."
So I stayed in the woods.
The family went to church without me.
I communed with God ...
Meaning I pleaded "God if you get me out of this, I promise to never do it again."
God let me down.
I got a serious spanking.
David laughed.
But I tell you that to tell you this.
My pony tail is almost back.
My hairs longer than its been in years. Like the rest of my soul, I gave it to Union Mission auctioning it off for $1000 for Parent & Child which was broke ... but its all about the people getting what they need ... cause God Damn they need it. And that's where God is anyway.
But yesterday I pulled out a pony tale band and wrapped it in my hair. Felling like Samson I went to the Bored meeting. My strength was with me.
"You have your hair in a bun?" Johnny O asked.
Johnny O can be dense. When he dies he's getting cremated. I'm bringing marshmallows.
But ...
on this Sunday morning ...
I'm skipping church ... throwing rocks ... understanding that God transcends all of this ....
and I'm a ten year old boy ...
sitting on a log with my legs dangling over the water ...
with long hair that parents hated ...
happy to be who I am.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Life is good today (Grace)
Grace is what makes life not fair.
I suppose there are other things too ... but grace ... well ... it mixes and jumbles everything ... foiling our plans ... making us do things that we would have never planned ... putting people in our lives we would never have expected ... making us love when love is the last thing are looking for.
Last night we lost the laundry and swam in the night.
It was so Tybee.
It was an evening full of grace.
I have no idea how I got home.
It makes me wonder if Conner is here.
But I woke in the arms of love and now sit on the beloved back deck (sans the laundry) admiring the beauty of the place.
Pandora sings to me.
Fran's thousand shades of green look over me.
A choir of birds harmonize.
The elephant ears have exploded into yellow blossoms that counter the red Hibiscus blooms which are everywhere.
Beauty abounds.
Salt air hangs in the air. The ocean sings in the distance. Seagulls sing.
Life is good today ... Samuel Adams sang last night ... with Gordo playing damn good live music ... (my dear friend Dedra tells me this is a country music song. Who cares? Teachers don't listen very well).
But I sit here this morning ... after a very shitty couple of years ...
Happy ...
Content ...
Naked ...
Life is good today
The morning drips in beauty.
Graceful beauty.
So ...
What am I going to do today?
Nothing.
And everything.
Life is good today.
Hey God!
Bless tonight too.
Thanks.
I suppose there are other things too ... but grace ... well ... it mixes and jumbles everything ... foiling our plans ... making us do things that we would have never planned ... putting people in our lives we would never have expected ... making us love when love is the last thing are looking for.
Last night we lost the laundry and swam in the night.
It was so Tybee.
It was an evening full of grace.
I have no idea how I got home.
It makes me wonder if Conner is here.
But I woke in the arms of love and now sit on the beloved back deck (sans the laundry) admiring the beauty of the place.
Pandora sings to me.
Fran's thousand shades of green look over me.
A choir of birds harmonize.
The elephant ears have exploded into yellow blossoms that counter the red Hibiscus blooms which are everywhere.
Beauty abounds.
Salt air hangs in the air. The ocean sings in the distance. Seagulls sing.
Life is good today ... Samuel Adams sang last night ... with Gordo playing damn good live music ... (my dear friend Dedra tells me this is a country music song. Who cares? Teachers don't listen very well).
But I sit here this morning ... after a very shitty couple of years ...
Happy ...
Content ...
Naked ...
Life is good today
The morning drips in beauty.
Graceful beauty.
So ...
What am I going to do today?
Nothing.
And everything.
Life is good today.
Hey God!
Bless tonight too.
Thanks.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Ahhh ...
I'm almost recovered. It's a long way to Alaska and back. Happy to be home and in the hot summer night, I stayed out on the beloved back deck talking until I stumbled into the bed. Then I slept ... really slept!
Getting up late I stumble into the outdoor shower and it is hot ... really hot! I love it. Throwing on running shorts and tee shirt I make my way to the Breakfast Club which opened hours ago.
"You're back already" Val exclaims when I walk in. She is pointing at me with one hand and holding up her pants with the other one.
Ignoring her I pour myself a cup of coffee, breezing passed her, breaking Helen's rule of customers not going behind the counter.
"You're an idiot" Val continues.
Ahhhhh ... it's good to be home.
Taking my stool on the other side of the counter, Ryan my red headed Step son takes the seat next to me. "Man for two days I've saying 'I hope Mike comes in today' cause there's something I need to tell him. Now for the life of me I can't remember what it is."
Ahhhh... everything is normal at home.
Philip, who is the seven foot tall master of toast, grits and garnishments at the Club turns to me and says, "Hey it's Katie's birthday and we're having a party that starts after work today and ends ... whenever, so ... y'all come by tonight. Any time's a good time."
Ahhhh ... the party theme at home that dominated July is extending into August.
I love Katie. She is like 25 but functions as a surrogate mother to me giving me advice, sending me thoughtful little messages and we play a wicked game of water basketball. Philip, her husband and I, really enjoy each other too.
Driving back home, Goddess is waiting at the bottom of the stairs as I enter. She wants her walk and the lady of the house get's what she wants. Grabbing her leash from the top of the fridge covered in pictures and Jesus magnets, her tail wags and she is full of excitement. Jumping on me, she leaves a big scratch on my leg but she's happy that its hard not to be happy with her.
She guides me ... that is generous ... she pulls me to the marsh ... around the corner to the Back River ... stops to smell some dog crap ... she's never met any that she doesn't think is interesting ... then she pulls me to the sad little holy dock so that we can listen to the choir of mussels ... then around to Art's yard where she leaves a pile for other dogs (but I pick it up) ... then back home where she chases the neighbors cats away from our yard.
Ahhhh ... the pup has already forgiven me for leaving her for the third consecutive week. (Yeah, I haven't told her about next week yet.)
Inside the house I check on my flowers which are now everywhere. In the back yard, on the back deck and in the house. Fran's thousand shades of green have grown feisty and are hanging everywhere. I've forgotten how Fran could always take the lead and make me enjoy it as I tagged along.
"Fran," I say to the trees that are growing from the neighbors yard into mine, "you're getting a hair cut soon."
She says nothing back staring at me.
Ahhhh ... Fran is so consistently Fran and I love her dearly.
Dedra has fled the island since I've been gone. The last I heard is she had become a full time roadie/groupie for the Samuel Adams Band and was in a van with Sam and Gordon heading to an Italian gig. Eventually she'll make her way back ... I suppose. She's more Tybee like than I am now.
So I'm home and am loving being home. Don't get me wrong ... Alaska was great, but home is the most fascinating and rewarding place. It is full of peace.
Ahhhh ...
Getting up late I stumble into the outdoor shower and it is hot ... really hot! I love it. Throwing on running shorts and tee shirt I make my way to the Breakfast Club which opened hours ago.
"You're back already" Val exclaims when I walk in. She is pointing at me with one hand and holding up her pants with the other one.
Ignoring her I pour myself a cup of coffee, breezing passed her, breaking Helen's rule of customers not going behind the counter.
"You're an idiot" Val continues.
Ahhhhh ... it's good to be home.
Taking my stool on the other side of the counter, Ryan my red headed Step son takes the seat next to me. "Man for two days I've saying 'I hope Mike comes in today' cause there's something I need to tell him. Now for the life of me I can't remember what it is."
Ahhhh... everything is normal at home.
Philip, who is the seven foot tall master of toast, grits and garnishments at the Club turns to me and says, "Hey it's Katie's birthday and we're having a party that starts after work today and ends ... whenever, so ... y'all come by tonight. Any time's a good time."
Ahhhh ... the party theme at home that dominated July is extending into August.
I love Katie. She is like 25 but functions as a surrogate mother to me giving me advice, sending me thoughtful little messages and we play a wicked game of water basketball. Philip, her husband and I, really enjoy each other too.
Driving back home, Goddess is waiting at the bottom of the stairs as I enter. She wants her walk and the lady of the house get's what she wants. Grabbing her leash from the top of the fridge covered in pictures and Jesus magnets, her tail wags and she is full of excitement. Jumping on me, she leaves a big scratch on my leg but she's happy that its hard not to be happy with her.
She guides me ... that is generous ... she pulls me to the marsh ... around the corner to the Back River ... stops to smell some dog crap ... she's never met any that she doesn't think is interesting ... then she pulls me to the sad little holy dock so that we can listen to the choir of mussels ... then around to Art's yard where she leaves a pile for other dogs (but I pick it up) ... then back home where she chases the neighbors cats away from our yard.
Ahhhh ... the pup has already forgiven me for leaving her for the third consecutive week. (Yeah, I haven't told her about next week yet.)
Inside the house I check on my flowers which are now everywhere. In the back yard, on the back deck and in the house. Fran's thousand shades of green have grown feisty and are hanging everywhere. I've forgotten how Fran could always take the lead and make me enjoy it as I tagged along.
"Fran," I say to the trees that are growing from the neighbors yard into mine, "you're getting a hair cut soon."
She says nothing back staring at me.
Ahhhh ... Fran is so consistently Fran and I love her dearly.
Dedra has fled the island since I've been gone. The last I heard is she had become a full time roadie/groupie for the Samuel Adams Band and was in a van with Sam and Gordon heading to an Italian gig. Eventually she'll make her way back ... I suppose. She's more Tybee like than I am now.
So I'm home and am loving being home. Don't get me wrong ... Alaska was great, but home is the most fascinating and rewarding place. It is full of peace.
Ahhhh ...
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Red Eye
I’ve never flown a Red Eye before. I now understand why. I got on the plane at 8:00 p.m. Alaskan time which is midnight my time for a six hour flight to Detroit arriving at 6:30 a.m. my time … somehow God or Delta took four hours away from my life during this trip.
In Detroit I have a one hour layover then a two-and-a-half hour flight to Atlanta. Then I have a three-and-a-half hour layover. Then I arrive in Savannah at 3:30 p.m. assuming Delta is ready when I am. An hour later I get home.
For the first time I understand why all night flights are called red eyes … That’s what you have when you get through them! I’m a morning person. Not a night owl. This is killing me.
Plus it was a long day in Anchorage and it just drug forever. Then I was in a meeting right up until I got on the plane. I had a quick talk with my home and it was rushed and home should never be rushed. But it was because work can rape your life sometimes and if you let it … it’ll rape your life all of the time.
Climbing on the plane I had a last quick talk with home and it was unsatisfying. Isn’t that a bitch? When the people, places, things that you love the most … makes you understand that you are in a different world, different time zone, rushed, and thousands of miles away.
The guy in the seat next to me wants to talk. “What are you doing in Alaska?”
So I tell him ... because it is an unpleasant leaving and I have six hours to think about it. I don’t sleep well on planes. Don’t know why … I love flying … it just is.
“Health care in the United States is crazy … we have the best care and the worst access and the highest prices,” I say.
He nods.
“So take away the buildings which drive up the costs, the frequent fliers who will go to an emergency room 77 times in one year, and take medicine to where the need is rather than the other way around and … you save a shit load of money. It is not rocket science. We’re going to make it happen.”
He nods more aggressively and clears his throat, “Christ I’ve never heard it put like that! You make sense.”
I am into my argument and keep going. “Then there is the Congress subsidized pharmaceutical industry, Lawyers who specialize in malpractice and doctors who are demigods … it’s a fucked up system … but … it’s still the best health care in the world … just the worst access.”
He orders a gin and tonic.
I put my ear buds in and listen to the major prophet Bob Marley. “No Woman, No Cry.”
Then I lean my head back on the crowded plane and sigh.
Todd, the flight attendant brings me a glass of wine … I like Todd. He has great hair.
Then I think about me. So at the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel and at Union Mission we had tremendous successes. It’s been a bitch to watch them become less than what they were. But that was then and this is now. And I gave both everything in me.
And they took it (thank you Southern Baptist leaders and the Board Chair who chooses to remain anonymous … Jerry Rainy).
I’ve vowed never to do that again.
And I won’t.
My home is the most important thing in my life. I am so ready to be back there. I am doing good stuff but some things are … more important. I love home with everything inside of me. I hate to be away from it but I am still crazy enough to think that the world can be saved … “one neighbor at a time” is how the Talmud puts it.
And I really do believe that.
Plus I am a competitor who doesn’t like to lose. I’ve lost once. I’m not doing that again. To hell with losing!
Besides that I am not big on the past. “My life is now,” as John Mellancamp puts it … in one of the Hymns of my life. And he’s playing in Savannah soon. I want to go see him.
When I am get back to my home.
In Detroit I have a one hour layover then a two-and-a-half hour flight to Atlanta. Then I have a three-and-a-half hour layover. Then I arrive in Savannah at 3:30 p.m. assuming Delta is ready when I am. An hour later I get home.
For the first time I understand why all night flights are called red eyes … That’s what you have when you get through them! I’m a morning person. Not a night owl. This is killing me.
Plus it was a long day in Anchorage and it just drug forever. Then I was in a meeting right up until I got on the plane. I had a quick talk with my home and it was rushed and home should never be rushed. But it was because work can rape your life sometimes and if you let it … it’ll rape your life all of the time.
Climbing on the plane I had a last quick talk with home and it was unsatisfying. Isn’t that a bitch? When the people, places, things that you love the most … makes you understand that you are in a different world, different time zone, rushed, and thousands of miles away.
The guy in the seat next to me wants to talk. “What are you doing in Alaska?”
So I tell him ... because it is an unpleasant leaving and I have six hours to think about it. I don’t sleep well on planes. Don’t know why … I love flying … it just is.
“Health care in the United States is crazy … we have the best care and the worst access and the highest prices,” I say.
He nods.
“So take away the buildings which drive up the costs, the frequent fliers who will go to an emergency room 77 times in one year, and take medicine to where the need is rather than the other way around and … you save a shit load of money. It is not rocket science. We’re going to make it happen.”
He nods more aggressively and clears his throat, “Christ I’ve never heard it put like that! You make sense.”
I am into my argument and keep going. “Then there is the Congress subsidized pharmaceutical industry, Lawyers who specialize in malpractice and doctors who are demigods … it’s a fucked up system … but … it’s still the best health care in the world … just the worst access.”
He orders a gin and tonic.
I put my ear buds in and listen to the major prophet Bob Marley. “No Woman, No Cry.”
Then I lean my head back on the crowded plane and sigh.
Todd, the flight attendant brings me a glass of wine … I like Todd. He has great hair.
Then I think about me. So at the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel and at Union Mission we had tremendous successes. It’s been a bitch to watch them become less than what they were. But that was then and this is now. And I gave both everything in me.
And they took it (thank you Southern Baptist leaders and the Board Chair who chooses to remain anonymous … Jerry Rainy).
I’ve vowed never to do that again.
And I won’t.
My home is the most important thing in my life. I am so ready to be back there. I am doing good stuff but some things are … more important. I love home with everything inside of me. I hate to be away from it but I am still crazy enough to think that the world can be saved … “one neighbor at a time” is how the Talmud puts it.
And I really do believe that.
Plus I am a competitor who doesn’t like to lose. I’ve lost once. I’m not doing that again. To hell with losing!
Besides that I am not big on the past. “My life is now,” as John Mellancamp puts it … in one of the Hymns of my life. And he’s playing in Savannah soon. I want to go see him.
When I am get back to my home.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Blue Ice
We're driving down the road with snow capped mountains on one side and gray angry ocean on the other making our way to the blue iced glacier. The wind is blowing so the waves are high and crashing into one another. It is raining so the greens of mountains bow in their wetness. Water sheets down the rocks and waterfalls gush down.
Staring out of the back seat window I see a bald Eagle flying beside us carrying a large fish in his claws. Jim slams on the brakes because the cars in front of us see it too. The Eagle turns into the Mountains and disappears. Traffic moves again.
We turn into one of Alaska's few roads into the Mountains. The woods are thick and the few houses are hidden. I've learned that most of Alaska's housing is substandard and really not designed for winter. That seems odd doesn't it? But construction here only takes place in the summer which is about two to three months of cooperative weather. So every construction project in the state takes place at the exact same time and it's a race to see what gets finished.
The stunning beauty of the mountains, forest, ocean and glaciers are in stark contrast to the ugliness of Anchorage. Low and flat the city is mostly miles of strip malls. Many of the side roads are unpaved so the constant rain has turned them into muddy messes. Potholes are everywhere. There are strip clubs, chain after chain of restaurants and car dealerships. There is a surprising low number of vehicles with four-wheel drive. Everything is ridiculously expensive.
The day had been spent at "Homeward Bound" a primary social service center in Anchorage. There are a large number of homeless camps littered around. In the winter they build snow caves to stay warm. Of course several die every year and frost bite is rabid. We're trying to help them add a medical component so that care is given in the camps on a regular basis. There is much enthusiasm for the concept.
Now it is late afternoon and the famous Dr. Jim Withers has kidnapped Linda Sheets and me because he wants to go the mountains. "There's plenty of time," he happily explains, "it doesn't get dark until 11 tonight."
At the bottom of the glacier I stare at the massive sheet of blue ice. The green of the trees beside it make it more pronounced. A purple cloud covers the top. Wiping the drizzling rain from my face, we return to the car and make our way back to the city. We're all tired as out body's are still on East Coast time so we laugh and make tired jokes. The rain grows heavy again.
In the hotel room I sip a glass of wine and call home where it is nearly ten o'clock. We have a dinner meeting in an hour. From my window the ugliness of Anchorage is spread below me and the beauty of the mountains parade in the distance. I think, "we're really trying to move mountains over here."
It's been done before.
We'll do it again.
Staring out of the back seat window I see a bald Eagle flying beside us carrying a large fish in his claws. Jim slams on the brakes because the cars in front of us see it too. The Eagle turns into the Mountains and disappears. Traffic moves again.
We turn into one of Alaska's few roads into the Mountains. The woods are thick and the few houses are hidden. I've learned that most of Alaska's housing is substandard and really not designed for winter. That seems odd doesn't it? But construction here only takes place in the summer which is about two to three months of cooperative weather. So every construction project in the state takes place at the exact same time and it's a race to see what gets finished.
The stunning beauty of the mountains, forest, ocean and glaciers are in stark contrast to the ugliness of Anchorage. Low and flat the city is mostly miles of strip malls. Many of the side roads are unpaved so the constant rain has turned them into muddy messes. Potholes are everywhere. There are strip clubs, chain after chain of restaurants and car dealerships. There is a surprising low number of vehicles with four-wheel drive. Everything is ridiculously expensive.
The day had been spent at "Homeward Bound" a primary social service center in Anchorage. There are a large number of homeless camps littered around. In the winter they build snow caves to stay warm. Of course several die every year and frost bite is rabid. We're trying to help them add a medical component so that care is given in the camps on a regular basis. There is much enthusiasm for the concept.
Now it is late afternoon and the famous Dr. Jim Withers has kidnapped Linda Sheets and me because he wants to go the mountains. "There's plenty of time," he happily explains, "it doesn't get dark until 11 tonight."
At the bottom of the glacier I stare at the massive sheet of blue ice. The green of the trees beside it make it more pronounced. A purple cloud covers the top. Wiping the drizzling rain from my face, we return to the car and make our way back to the city. We're all tired as out body's are still on East Coast time so we laugh and make tired jokes. The rain grows heavy again.
In the hotel room I sip a glass of wine and call home where it is nearly ten o'clock. We have a dinner meeting in an hour. From my window the ugliness of Anchorage is spread below me and the beauty of the mountains parade in the distance. I think, "we're really trying to move mountains over here."
It's been done before.
We'll do it again.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Traveling to Alaska
The plane is either flying below 10,000 feet or is more than 100 miles from the Continental United States. This means that I cannot access the Internet which is frustrating cause I did all of this work that I want to send and be done with … but I can’t. Then I’m supposed to be talking to someone and … well … Bill Gates and Steve Jobs need to get off of their rich lazy asses and fix this.
NOW DAMMIT!
Besides that the movie is Jane Eyre which I care nothing about but there is nothing else to do so I thought I’d branch out. But my earphones don’t work in the speaker though they work fine in my I-Pod. As near as I can figure out by watching but not hearing … Jane Eyre is about this man who falls in love with a girl who wears corsets.
So I’m listening to my I-Pod trying to figure out why Canada is so damn big. We’re flying across Canada to get to Sarah Palin land and that is the reason that we are more than 100 miles from the Continental United States.
Hmmm …. I should ask the Pilot to land so that I can pick up affordable prescription medications. We don’t have any in the United States but they have tons in Canada which they are happy to mail to you.
I was so bored that I actually read newspapers today for the first time in … oh … a year. Back then I was always in the paper so I subscribed and looked for me … or what people said about me … or what I’d done … or what I hadn’t done. You can’t win.
(Oh Stacy … yeah … I hate to tell you this way … but my subscription to the Savannah Morning News has lapsed … I know, I know … but I love you dearly and lunch is on me.)
Anyway … in the newspapers that I read … the Atlanta Journal, The Wall Street Journal and the New York Times … there was evidently this crisis in Washington because America hasn’t paid its credit card bill and it’s due.
I don’t blame them. I hate paying my credit card bill! Who knew I spent that much at Bernie’s last month? Or that wine in St. Martin is that expensive. Or that Conner talked me into a back wax? (Just like Congress I hate reading the details of what I charged.)
So those people in charge did what the rest of us do … raise the amount they can borrow so they can keep doing what they are doing and swear that they are going to never do it again. Then they do it again. I wonder if anybody in Congress can balance a check book?
In spite of all of these things I made it to Anchorage, Alaska and I'm sitting here watching it rain and pondering these things. Alaska is way behind east coast time and I got to bed at like 4:00 in the morning though here it was 1:00. It is 65 degrees and I'm wearing my flip flops.
We had a dinner last night with Ida Nelson learning about the politics of the place. As you would expect ... it is weird. Then again ... everything about politics is weird. Especially politicians! It doesn't get any weirder than them.
Mountains surround me and there is snow in the canyons and crevices. I thank God that it is not cold. It was daylight when I went to sleep and it was daylight when I woke up. Apparently moose walk down sidewalks here. Ida gave me a cookbook "Traditional Food Guide" that has two pages dedicated to ... I'm not making this up ... "Moose and Caribou Parts."
That's not something you see every day. It is full of interesting information like ... did you know that "Head muscles are cooked and eaten" or that "Brain is used in preparing 'head cheese' and in tanning hides?
I know. I didn't either.
So in spite of failed technology, traveling across Canada, women who wear corsets, newspapers, the really stupid crisis that politicians made up so that they can solve them to get their sorry asses re-elected, my credit card bill, Moose and Caribou parts, snow in the mountains, and having discovered what daylight savings time really is ...
I'm happy to be here.
I'm happy.
It feels good.
NOW DAMMIT!
Besides that the movie is Jane Eyre which I care nothing about but there is nothing else to do so I thought I’d branch out. But my earphones don’t work in the speaker though they work fine in my I-Pod. As near as I can figure out by watching but not hearing … Jane Eyre is about this man who falls in love with a girl who wears corsets.
So I’m listening to my I-Pod trying to figure out why Canada is so damn big. We’re flying across Canada to get to Sarah Palin land and that is the reason that we are more than 100 miles from the Continental United States.
Hmmm …. I should ask the Pilot to land so that I can pick up affordable prescription medications. We don’t have any in the United States but they have tons in Canada which they are happy to mail to you.
I was so bored that I actually read newspapers today for the first time in … oh … a year. Back then I was always in the paper so I subscribed and looked for me … or what people said about me … or what I’d done … or what I hadn’t done. You can’t win.
(Oh Stacy … yeah … I hate to tell you this way … but my subscription to the Savannah Morning News has lapsed … I know, I know … but I love you dearly and lunch is on me.)
Anyway … in the newspapers that I read … the Atlanta Journal, The Wall Street Journal and the New York Times … there was evidently this crisis in Washington because America hasn’t paid its credit card bill and it’s due.
I don’t blame them. I hate paying my credit card bill! Who knew I spent that much at Bernie’s last month? Or that wine in St. Martin is that expensive. Or that Conner talked me into a back wax? (Just like Congress I hate reading the details of what I charged.)
So those people in charge did what the rest of us do … raise the amount they can borrow so they can keep doing what they are doing and swear that they are going to never do it again. Then they do it again. I wonder if anybody in Congress can balance a check book?
In spite of all of these things I made it to Anchorage, Alaska and I'm sitting here watching it rain and pondering these things. Alaska is way behind east coast time and I got to bed at like 4:00 in the morning though here it was 1:00. It is 65 degrees and I'm wearing my flip flops.
We had a dinner last night with Ida Nelson learning about the politics of the place. As you would expect ... it is weird. Then again ... everything about politics is weird. Especially politicians! It doesn't get any weirder than them.
Mountains surround me and there is snow in the canyons and crevices. I thank God that it is not cold. It was daylight when I went to sleep and it was daylight when I woke up. Apparently moose walk down sidewalks here. Ida gave me a cookbook "Traditional Food Guide" that has two pages dedicated to ... I'm not making this up ... "Moose and Caribou Parts."
That's not something you see every day. It is full of interesting information like ... did you know that "Head muscles are cooked and eaten" or that "Brain is used in preparing 'head cheese' and in tanning hides?
I know. I didn't either.
So in spite of failed technology, traveling across Canada, women who wear corsets, newspapers, the really stupid crisis that politicians made up so that they can solve them to get their sorry asses re-elected, my credit card bill, Moose and Caribou parts, snow in the mountains, and having discovered what daylight savings time really is ...
I'm happy to be here.
I'm happy.
It feels good.
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