I did something today that I haven't done since my beautiful daughter Chelsea was sixteen. Her sixteenth birthday was one of the happiest days of my life ... because I didn't have to drive her school anymore. She could take herself and I could do whatever I wanted too. This came on the heels of me driving her brother Jeremy to school then her sister Kristen to school and finally Chelsea.
Collectively it seemed like three decades of carpooling.
And let me be the first to say ...carpooling sucks!
For adults carpooling, it may be environmentally friendly but if you're packing your car full of kids like sardines in a can who all want control of MY RADIO, it can be ... well ...
PLUS, I was the cool Dad in touch with his feminine side, who listened to music loud, played air guitar while driving and would get the entire mob of unruly kids in my back seat to head bang in unison like like that scene from "Wayne's World" when the fast part of Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" comes on. I must say that we looked good driving up to St. Vincent's Academy everyday doing this. Sister Pat was a big fan!
But when Chelsea got her driver's license I gladly got her a car, gave her the keys, climbed into my car and drove around listening to whatever I wanted to on MY RADIO.
{ I should add that I did an impeccable job introducing my children to music. All three have excellent musical taste and listen to things I enjoy. Two of the three and I regularly exchange music with one another. Kristen loves Tom Petty and ... that's pretty much it! Jeremy and Chelsea are much more expansive.]
So for the past eight years, my mornings have been mine! Carpooling was a horror story from the past. To this day, if one of my children try to get in my car I have anxiety attacks. I try to prearrange meeting places with them or make them come to my house ... after hiding the keys to my car.
But this morning I was asked to take three little girls to school ... not one but TWO schools!
You know what though?
It was fun.
I was reminded of all of the good times that I had with Jeremy, Kristen, Chelsea and their friends. As I make my way around Savannah or on the island, my children's friends greet me warmly and sometimes we tell stories of things that we did carpooling.
To celebrate this morning and my return to carpool experience, we all went to McDonalds for breakfast. Let me begin by saying I HATE MCDONALD'S! Ronald should be maimed then stuffed with two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese and stuck on a sesame seed bun! Then set on fire! Then he can have a Happy Meal with himself!
But today we had a good time.
Until O Johnny showed up which terrified the three little girls I was with. So we left.
"Who was that strange man?" they asked through tears once back in the safety of the car.
"Don't worry girls," I calmly explained. He is a government employee working for Federal Reserve Bank in Atlanta. You know ... people you can trust."
Then I slowed down to 35 miles an hour so the girls could jump out and be at school on time.
For the preschooler, I actually had to stop and get out and break into a door so she could join her hoodlum friends.
Then I got back in my car, turned the radio to my station, put the top down and cruised back home with the confident knowledge that ... if push comes to shove ... I can still carpool.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
The Interview
What's it like to get up everyday and write?
Well, the first thing I do is fall in the shower, then I go to the Breakfast Club where I wake up. Then I go home and write. Sometimes I run after the Breakfast Club before writing. I just have coffee at the Club with my friends.
Your topics are all over the place. How do you decide what to write about?
I have no idea. Sometimes ideas come to me in the middle of the night and I have some notion of where I'm going. Like earlier this week I woke up in the middle of the night remembering a line that I wrote two years ago ... "Sometimes you give yourself away and sometimes they give you back to you" ... and I got to thinking about how the meaning of those words have changed for me. It was a curse when I first wrote them, but its all blessings now.
Other times there are just stories that I remember. Some are current like when I failed to go to Bar Church on Sunday and was introduced to preach. Others are from the past either at Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel or Union Mission. There are lots of stories and its fun to remember them and share them.
Then a lot of times its praying. I put my fingers on the keyboard, close my eyes and see what happens. I like these a lot because they are always so surprising. I never know where the creative process takes.
Sometimes I just bitch. I think its better to let it out than keep it in. My son Jeremy once described it as "you write it out of yourself and then it's gone." I'm not sure its ever gone but its processed.
Occasionally I write with others. Dedra feeds me titles. Dave and Sandy once challenged to to write using a certain mix of words. Mitch and I have a few together and we mostly laugh. Once Mark joined us too on the beloved back deck and we all wrote one together. That was a lot of fun!
So why do you do this every single day?
It's praying I guess ... at least my perverted way of praying. I take half an hour to remind myself of the things I love ... the things I have loved ... the good and bad that's happened in my life, the lessons learned, the celebrations that I've had or should have had but didn't ... so I try to go back and reclaim them.
It's interesting. When I first started it was all work related to help Union Mission. Then I was "suddenly single" and after years of having a Midas touch at work things went to hell. It was a lot to cope with at the same time so I started writing about what I was going through ... again it's better to let it out than keep it in. So there was a lot of pain that I let out. Then the funniest thing happened. All of these people started responded saying, "I know know feelings. They're my feelings too. Or your stories brought me laughter today. Thanks."
After a while the Board Chair who chooses to remain anonymous (Jerry Rainey) got all over me about it after driving out to meet me at the Breakfast Club. He told me I was being unprofessional and inappropriate. My friends at the Breakfast Club threw toast and bacon at him. I knew I was on to something then.
Now it is part of this broader conversation with people around the world really. People post of Face Book, write messages, call and even write old fashion letters so it's kind of like being part of this community ... church if you will ... and we all chastise each other or cheer one another on.
So some people get offended by these things. Does that bother you?
I was in the press a lot throughout my career so I developed this attitude that I always said what I wanted and it was in the paper or on the news. So when others wanted to agree or disagree then it was their right. It was always interesting. I made a lot of friends and a lot of enemies through this so you develop a thicker skin.
Plus I was attacked a lot, especially at Union Mission when we did the AIDS work, and especially the mental health stuff (we tried to reform a program where nobody is in charge), so I'm used to being talked about.
Sure if I had my druthers I'd want everybody to love everything that I do. That's not reality though. I am impressed that people will tell me what they think and we continue to develop friendships. At the same time I certainly know that I've run some people off.
What's next?
That's the question right? There's over a thousand pages of this writing and a lot of people have asked for books. So Dedra is helping me to catalog them into subjects. We think there's three books there. One on "Life on Tybee" ... another on "Working through Loss" and a third that's more spiritual in nature, though there's a lot of overlap with the working through loss stuff. At some point we'll get books out.
At the same time my life's a lot busier than it has been since leaving Union Mission. I've traveled everywhere and I hope that continues though Goddess isn't happy about it. And my close friends here ... we're frustrated that we don't get to spend the time together than we used to. But ... there is work to be done and it contributes to the things that I write so its a circle really.
Seriously? You see books coming out of all of this crap?
Sure! Why not? It could be a reality television show or a major motion picture!
Uh-huh. I suppose you need to go work on that now.
Thanks. I do.
Well, the first thing I do is fall in the shower, then I go to the Breakfast Club where I wake up. Then I go home and write. Sometimes I run after the Breakfast Club before writing. I just have coffee at the Club with my friends.
Your topics are all over the place. How do you decide what to write about?
I have no idea. Sometimes ideas come to me in the middle of the night and I have some notion of where I'm going. Like earlier this week I woke up in the middle of the night remembering a line that I wrote two years ago ... "Sometimes you give yourself away and sometimes they give you back to you" ... and I got to thinking about how the meaning of those words have changed for me. It was a curse when I first wrote them, but its all blessings now.
Other times there are just stories that I remember. Some are current like when I failed to go to Bar Church on Sunday and was introduced to preach. Others are from the past either at Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel or Union Mission. There are lots of stories and its fun to remember them and share them.
Then a lot of times its praying. I put my fingers on the keyboard, close my eyes and see what happens. I like these a lot because they are always so surprising. I never know where the creative process takes.
Sometimes I just bitch. I think its better to let it out than keep it in. My son Jeremy once described it as "you write it out of yourself and then it's gone." I'm not sure its ever gone but its processed.
Occasionally I write with others. Dedra feeds me titles. Dave and Sandy once challenged to to write using a certain mix of words. Mitch and I have a few together and we mostly laugh. Once Mark joined us too on the beloved back deck and we all wrote one together. That was a lot of fun!
So why do you do this every single day?
It's praying I guess ... at least my perverted way of praying. I take half an hour to remind myself of the things I love ... the things I have loved ... the good and bad that's happened in my life, the lessons learned, the celebrations that I've had or should have had but didn't ... so I try to go back and reclaim them.
It's interesting. When I first started it was all work related to help Union Mission. Then I was "suddenly single" and after years of having a Midas touch at work things went to hell. It was a lot to cope with at the same time so I started writing about what I was going through ... again it's better to let it out than keep it in. So there was a lot of pain that I let out. Then the funniest thing happened. All of these people started responded saying, "I know know feelings. They're my feelings too. Or your stories brought me laughter today. Thanks."
After a while the Board Chair who chooses to remain anonymous (Jerry Rainey) got all over me about it after driving out to meet me at the Breakfast Club. He told me I was being unprofessional and inappropriate. My friends at the Breakfast Club threw toast and bacon at him. I knew I was on to something then.
Now it is part of this broader conversation with people around the world really. People post of Face Book, write messages, call and even write old fashion letters so it's kind of like being part of this community ... church if you will ... and we all chastise each other or cheer one another on.
So some people get offended by these things. Does that bother you?
I was in the press a lot throughout my career so I developed this attitude that I always said what I wanted and it was in the paper or on the news. So when others wanted to agree or disagree then it was their right. It was always interesting. I made a lot of friends and a lot of enemies through this so you develop a thicker skin.
Plus I was attacked a lot, especially at Union Mission when we did the AIDS work, and especially the mental health stuff (we tried to reform a program where nobody is in charge), so I'm used to being talked about.
Sure if I had my druthers I'd want everybody to love everything that I do. That's not reality though. I am impressed that people will tell me what they think and we continue to develop friendships. At the same time I certainly know that I've run some people off.
What's next?
That's the question right? There's over a thousand pages of this writing and a lot of people have asked for books. So Dedra is helping me to catalog them into subjects. We think there's three books there. One on "Life on Tybee" ... another on "Working through Loss" and a third that's more spiritual in nature, though there's a lot of overlap with the working through loss stuff. At some point we'll get books out.
At the same time my life's a lot busier than it has been since leaving Union Mission. I've traveled everywhere and I hope that continues though Goddess isn't happy about it. And my close friends here ... we're frustrated that we don't get to spend the time together than we used to. But ... there is work to be done and it contributes to the things that I write so its a circle really.
Seriously? You see books coming out of all of this crap?
Sure! Why not? It could be a reality television show or a major motion picture!
Uh-huh. I suppose you need to go work on that now.
Thanks. I do.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
When God Speaks (or Doesn't)
It was a wonderful and peaceful Sunday. As is my custom, "Acoustic Cafe" was on the radio and it was a peaceful easy feeling all of the way around. I was finally home and enjoying the hell out of it which is about as holy as it gets. Then the phone rang.
"Where the hell are you?" Dedra snared into my ear.
"Home," I calmly replied.
"Well, Sam just introduced you to preach at Bar Church."
Samuel Adams, who plays damn good live music on Tybee Island, was also having a special Bar Church service at Pirate Fest. The service was taking place on the main stage where bands had been playing all weekend. Of course I knew about this and had even helped Sam design the special Bar Church tee shirt for Pirate's Fest by coming up with the tag ... "Where Wenches Sing Hymns".
That was a moment of divine creativity.
Unlike this moment as Dedra sounded like a demonic dragon breathing fire into my ear.
"I'm sure that God told told Sam that I would preach at Bar Church today," I replied, still mellow in the morning, "but God obviously forgot to tell me."
"FINE!" Dedra said hanging up on me so that she could better focus on worshiping Jesus.
I turned up the radio listening to a really fine version of "Sweet Melissa" by the Allman Brothers ... re-embracing my paganism.
It is true that I am an ordained Southern Baptist Minister, occasionally preach at Bar Church, have written several religious books, once spoke at the Southern Baptist Convention and toured around for a while doing such stuff, went to Seminary and graduated twice, was a "Professional Christian" for eight years, and even had a three-piece suit for a little while (that's a whole other story) ... so to quote "Jesus Christ Superstar" ... "One thing I'll say for him, Jesus is cool" and I really do believe that ...
... but I also appreciate the finer aspects of Paganism. I like the Druids who danced naked in the woods. Buddhism is awful compelling. Jewish story telling is among the finest. And the Tao belief system of water dripping on a rock is pretty powerful. Then there is the whole pantheism thing where God is in everything so staring at the ocean or Fran's thousand shades of green becomes a worship service. It's all good stuff!
Over time, I've grown to appreciate the aspects of other belief systems and have incorporated many of the elements into what I believe.
I know, I know ... there are a lot of people who say that is only one way to be saved and they can have that way. I think holiness is achieved on a daily basis if we work at it and religious services may, but probably not, have much to do with it.
Sam called me later and God apparently got back to him after I didn't show at Pirate Fest Bar Church to preach to say the service was better without me anyway. God had already told me this so Sam and I said how much we love one another and wished the other "Peace" and promised to pray for Dedra who obviously has anger issues.
Then I fell back in the arms of the loveliest of Sunday mornings.
ARRRRRMMMEEENNNN!!!!
"Where the hell are you?" Dedra snared into my ear.
"Home," I calmly replied.
"Well, Sam just introduced you to preach at Bar Church."
Samuel Adams, who plays damn good live music on Tybee Island, was also having a special Bar Church service at Pirate Fest. The service was taking place on the main stage where bands had been playing all weekend. Of course I knew about this and had even helped Sam design the special Bar Church tee shirt for Pirate's Fest by coming up with the tag ... "Where Wenches Sing Hymns".
That was a moment of divine creativity.
Unlike this moment as Dedra sounded like a demonic dragon breathing fire into my ear.
"I'm sure that God told told Sam that I would preach at Bar Church today," I replied, still mellow in the morning, "but God obviously forgot to tell me."
"FINE!" Dedra said hanging up on me so that she could better focus on worshiping Jesus.
I turned up the radio listening to a really fine version of "Sweet Melissa" by the Allman Brothers ... re-embracing my paganism.
It is true that I am an ordained Southern Baptist Minister, occasionally preach at Bar Church, have written several religious books, once spoke at the Southern Baptist Convention and toured around for a while doing such stuff, went to Seminary and graduated twice, was a "Professional Christian" for eight years, and even had a three-piece suit for a little while (that's a whole other story) ... so to quote "Jesus Christ Superstar" ... "One thing I'll say for him, Jesus is cool" and I really do believe that ...
... but I also appreciate the finer aspects of Paganism. I like the Druids who danced naked in the woods. Buddhism is awful compelling. Jewish story telling is among the finest. And the Tao belief system of water dripping on a rock is pretty powerful. Then there is the whole pantheism thing where God is in everything so staring at the ocean or Fran's thousand shades of green becomes a worship service. It's all good stuff!
Over time, I've grown to appreciate the aspects of other belief systems and have incorporated many of the elements into what I believe.
I know, I know ... there are a lot of people who say that is only one way to be saved and they can have that way. I think holiness is achieved on a daily basis if we work at it and religious services may, but probably not, have much to do with it.
Sam called me later and God apparently got back to him after I didn't show at Pirate Fest Bar Church to preach to say the service was better without me anyway. God had already told me this so Sam and I said how much we love one another and wished the other "Peace" and promised to pray for Dedra who obviously has anger issues.
Then I fell back in the arms of the loveliest of Sunday mornings.
ARRRRRMMMEEENNNN!!!!
Monday, October 10, 2011
Breaking Free
Sometimes you give yourself away to someone ... and sometimes they give you back to yourself.
If it's never happened to you then thank your lucky stars that you'll never understand the severity of the words. The gift of yourself has been consistently accepted and probably returned in equal proportion to what you gave.
"And in the end," sang the Beatles, "the love you take is equal to the love you make."
Except that its not always true.
Sometimes you give more than you get and it catches up with you ... and relationships go wrong ... work sours ... faith fades ... confidence erodes ... life becomes a prison.
And you are faced with a horrible choice ... stay put or break free.
I know a lot of people who choose to stay put in spite of recognizing the life they are living is a dead end street. Try as they may, nothing gets better.
All of those years that I worked with homeless people taught me a lot of lessons about the rest of us. We all have this incredible capacity to adapt ... to the bad things. It is not all that far from a man sleeping in a cardboard house built on top of a subway grate for warmth on a bitter, freezing night ... to sleeping coldly next to someone you do not love and who doesn't love you.
Working at a job that is not satisfying may pay the bills but leaves you less than you are.
Praying without ceasing that things will get better only to have things stay the same leaves you ... questioning.
That's a lot of people. Then they decide to break free and it happens in one of two ways. Many simply flee with no real concern about who or what they're leaving behind. "I'm getting the hell out of here because anywhere is a better place to be."
Except its not. "Hell's portable," says my friend Guy Sayles, "you take it with you wherever you go."
He's right about that. I know many who have fled for the Promised Land only to find more broken promises ... most of which were made to themselves. "I'll never do that again," they say ... but then they do.
The other way of breaking free though is more thoughtful ... spiritual ... rooted in the same pain as wandering around in the wilderness or hanging on a cross ... it is grounded in belief ... I will really live in spite of this.
"I will make myself better. I will be all that I am capable of being. I will surround myself with people who love me for who I am and not who they want me to be. I will be born again."
So this past weekend, I was reborn. Like any birth there was pain involved ... way too damn much of it ... but then there is the precious, unbridled joy and uncontrollable happiness of ... just being me. And find that I am loved for it.
Last night several of us gathered to just be together again. We've all been through so much. We've shared our hurts and disappointments and made laughter in barren lands. We're all at different places but on the same pilgrimage ... and we love each other for that.
I'm sitting here watching it rain like a "Mutha". Some low front is hanging over the ocean and it's pissing on the island as though full of anger and frustration. The sliding glass door is open and the wind blows Fran's thousand shades of green everywhere. A limb snaps from a tree narrowly missing the fence but falling on a flower bed. The violent wind blows into my kitchen and kisses my cheek ... I laugh and kiss it back.
Not too long ago I would have been sad by what they day was giving me. That was before I broke free. So this morning is an afternoon delight. This afternoon will be the dawning of a new life. Tonight will be the continued birth of me.
"Free as a bird," the Beatles sang in the very last thing that they did together long after John Lennon was dead, "Whatever happened to the love that we once knew ... always made me feel so free ... as a bird."
But with this crazy rain and wind on a rotten day when I'm finally back home, I find myself smiling Mona Lisa smiles, feeling free ... as a bird.
If it's never happened to you then thank your lucky stars that you'll never understand the severity of the words. The gift of yourself has been consistently accepted and probably returned in equal proportion to what you gave.
"And in the end," sang the Beatles, "the love you take is equal to the love you make."
Except that its not always true.
Sometimes you give more than you get and it catches up with you ... and relationships go wrong ... work sours ... faith fades ... confidence erodes ... life becomes a prison.
And you are faced with a horrible choice ... stay put or break free.
I know a lot of people who choose to stay put in spite of recognizing the life they are living is a dead end street. Try as they may, nothing gets better.
All of those years that I worked with homeless people taught me a lot of lessons about the rest of us. We all have this incredible capacity to adapt ... to the bad things. It is not all that far from a man sleeping in a cardboard house built on top of a subway grate for warmth on a bitter, freezing night ... to sleeping coldly next to someone you do not love and who doesn't love you.
Working at a job that is not satisfying may pay the bills but leaves you less than you are.
Praying without ceasing that things will get better only to have things stay the same leaves you ... questioning.
That's a lot of people. Then they decide to break free and it happens in one of two ways. Many simply flee with no real concern about who or what they're leaving behind. "I'm getting the hell out of here because anywhere is a better place to be."
Except its not. "Hell's portable," says my friend Guy Sayles, "you take it with you wherever you go."
He's right about that. I know many who have fled for the Promised Land only to find more broken promises ... most of which were made to themselves. "I'll never do that again," they say ... but then they do.
The other way of breaking free though is more thoughtful ... spiritual ... rooted in the same pain as wandering around in the wilderness or hanging on a cross ... it is grounded in belief ... I will really live in spite of this.
"I will make myself better. I will be all that I am capable of being. I will surround myself with people who love me for who I am and not who they want me to be. I will be born again."
So this past weekend, I was reborn. Like any birth there was pain involved ... way too damn much of it ... but then there is the precious, unbridled joy and uncontrollable happiness of ... just being me. And find that I am loved for it.
Last night several of us gathered to just be together again. We've all been through so much. We've shared our hurts and disappointments and made laughter in barren lands. We're all at different places but on the same pilgrimage ... and we love each other for that.
I'm sitting here watching it rain like a "Mutha". Some low front is hanging over the ocean and it's pissing on the island as though full of anger and frustration. The sliding glass door is open and the wind blows Fran's thousand shades of green everywhere. A limb snaps from a tree narrowly missing the fence but falling on a flower bed. The violent wind blows into my kitchen and kisses my cheek ... I laugh and kiss it back.
Not too long ago I would have been sad by what they day was giving me. That was before I broke free. So this morning is an afternoon delight. This afternoon will be the dawning of a new life. Tonight will be the continued birth of me.
"Free as a bird," the Beatles sang in the very last thing that they did together long after John Lennon was dead, "Whatever happened to the love that we once knew ... always made me feel so free ... as a bird."
But with this crazy rain and wind on a rotten day when I'm finally back home, I find myself smiling Mona Lisa smiles, feeling free ... as a bird.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Goddess' Nest
Back when I first found myself "suddenly single" my gorgeous dog Goddess developed this habit of building a nest beside my bed in the middle of the night. She would go through her doggie door into the back yard and bring in Palm frawns and sticks and pile them beside the bed. Then she would sleep lying beside it.
Of course I would get up in the middle of the night to pee and step on them, jump half-a-mile into the air and cuss her with everything in me. Goddess would lay there with her head on the floor and watch me without moving. Then I would carefully make my way around the nest when I returned to bed still muttering cusses.
So every morning I would tear the nest apart throwing the Palm frawns and sticks into the back yard and get on with my day. I would give it no thought until she did it again the next night.
Over time she changed this behavior. We grew comfortable living alone, just she and I, so that was the norm. After a while work and other obligations got in the way and I would have to leave her and travel to and fro on the face of the earth. Goddess would go nuts and act like a monkey-humper when I returned from these trips wanting me to rub her butt and give her all of my attention.
Then the first night I was back ... she would build the nest.
I would get up to pee, step in it, cuss her loudly, go back to bed and then throw it all away the next morning.
Then I learned that she is a building a nest to protect me from whatever it is she thinks is coming after me in the night. To save me from more hurt. To chase tears away. To make certain that I slept well. To show me that she loves me with everything inside of her.
It made me love her more which I didn't think was possible.
Then she stopped. I kept traveling, in fact I traveled far more and have crisscrossed the country several times in the last three months. She still greeted me acting like a money-humper but the nest building disappeared.
Yesterday morning I flew in from Philadelphia and everything about everything changed when I got home. First of all, the house was full with people waiting on me. Second, there was a large "Welcome Home" sign that was specially made for me hanging at the top of the stairs. Then there were these presents hanging on the Jesus magnate refrigerator. Finally, Goddess acted like a monkey-humper going wild after being gone all week.
Then we were off to Pirate Fest at the Breakfast Club before jumped on Jenny O's float for Fannies-On-the-Beach, throwing beads to the crowd and making our way back home to avoid the crowds and the craziness of Tybee Island.
Goddess lay there as the beloved Dawgs of Georgia claimed victory. It was the most wonderful of nights.
Until I got up to pee in the middle of the night.
I stepped on Palm frawns and sticks piled next to the bed. Jumping half-a-mile into the air I cussed her with everything inside of me. She opened her eyes and stared at me.
Then the entire universe came to a screeching halt. I knelt down in the dark and hugged my dog. She licked my cheek then followed me into the kitchen for a glass of water and stared with me at the things on the refrigerator. Walking out on the back deck I blew a kiss to God for the warmth of my house. Then I stumbled back to bed and wrapped myself in the love of the night.
Goddess resumed her place beside her nest ... offering protection from everything that is bad.
And welcoming everything that are blessings.
Of course I would get up in the middle of the night to pee and step on them, jump half-a-mile into the air and cuss her with everything in me. Goddess would lay there with her head on the floor and watch me without moving. Then I would carefully make my way around the nest when I returned to bed still muttering cusses.
So every morning I would tear the nest apart throwing the Palm frawns and sticks into the back yard and get on with my day. I would give it no thought until she did it again the next night.
Over time she changed this behavior. We grew comfortable living alone, just she and I, so that was the norm. After a while work and other obligations got in the way and I would have to leave her and travel to and fro on the face of the earth. Goddess would go nuts and act like a monkey-humper when I returned from these trips wanting me to rub her butt and give her all of my attention.
Then the first night I was back ... she would build the nest.
I would get up to pee, step in it, cuss her loudly, go back to bed and then throw it all away the next morning.
Then I learned that she is a building a nest to protect me from whatever it is she thinks is coming after me in the night. To save me from more hurt. To chase tears away. To make certain that I slept well. To show me that she loves me with everything inside of her.
It made me love her more which I didn't think was possible.
Then she stopped. I kept traveling, in fact I traveled far more and have crisscrossed the country several times in the last three months. She still greeted me acting like a money-humper but the nest building disappeared.
Yesterday morning I flew in from Philadelphia and everything about everything changed when I got home. First of all, the house was full with people waiting on me. Second, there was a large "Welcome Home" sign that was specially made for me hanging at the top of the stairs. Then there were these presents hanging on the Jesus magnate refrigerator. Finally, Goddess acted like a monkey-humper going wild after being gone all week.
Then we were off to Pirate Fest at the Breakfast Club before jumped on Jenny O's float for Fannies-On-the-Beach, throwing beads to the crowd and making our way back home to avoid the crowds and the craziness of Tybee Island.
Goddess lay there as the beloved Dawgs of Georgia claimed victory. It was the most wonderful of nights.
Until I got up to pee in the middle of the night.
I stepped on Palm frawns and sticks piled next to the bed. Jumping half-a-mile into the air I cussed her with everything inside of me. She opened her eyes and stared at me.
Then the entire universe came to a screeching halt. I knelt down in the dark and hugged my dog. She licked my cheek then followed me into the kitchen for a glass of water and stared with me at the things on the refrigerator. Walking out on the back deck I blew a kiss to God for the warmth of my house. Then I stumbled back to bed and wrapped myself in the love of the night.
Goddess resumed her place beside her nest ... offering protection from everything that is bad.
And welcoming everything that are blessings.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Celebration
I'm brain dead this morning.
Of course, I got up at four a.m. to make my way to the air port for the flight home from Philadelphia where I've been all week. It's hard to get the creative juices flowing at four in the morning. Besides, I think I may have used them up working all week spending most of my time in meetings writing or rewriting business plans, grants, funding plans and other magic formulas designed to pull money out of the air ... in this economy!
It would make anybody brain dead.
But ...
The sunrise on the horizon is pretty spectacular.
Pirate Fest is happening at home on Tybee Island and I'll be there soon.
The beloved Dawgs of Georgia play football tonight.
A housefull of girls await me that Goddess is looking after.
Bar Church is taking place in the middle of Pirate Fest tomorrow "where wrenches sing hymns ... Arrrrmen!"
Tomorrow night we're having "Friend-fest" at the pool and skinny dipping will likely be involved.
There is a lot occupying my mind.
My list of things to do is long.
Philadelphia really loaded me down. I tried to get as much of it done as possible while I was there but everytime that I turned around I had more to do. So on Monday I really have to get back to work in the home office on the beloved back deck. For the first time in months, I get to stay home for a few weeks (at least at this point ... my fingers are crossed) and work without the burdensome confines of underwear. I think my bicycle and I may get drunk. The De-Luv Band may reunite.
Wait!
I was talking about all of the work that I have to do. It's important stuff. I get paid for it which is really important these days. And it's for the holiest of causes ... taking care of people who really need taking care. Well ... not them but the people who take care of them.
But you know what? It's the weekend. There are lots of things that I am going to do and work is not one of them.
It is time for my home, my love, my friends, and my dog ... and the beloved Dawgs of Georgia.
I want to celebrate.
So I am.
I hope you are too.
ARRRRR ...MEN!
Of course, I got up at four a.m. to make my way to the air port for the flight home from Philadelphia where I've been all week. It's hard to get the creative juices flowing at four in the morning. Besides, I think I may have used them up working all week spending most of my time in meetings writing or rewriting business plans, grants, funding plans and other magic formulas designed to pull money out of the air ... in this economy!
It would make anybody brain dead.
But ...
The sunrise on the horizon is pretty spectacular.
Pirate Fest is happening at home on Tybee Island and I'll be there soon.
The beloved Dawgs of Georgia play football tonight.
A housefull of girls await me that Goddess is looking after.
Bar Church is taking place in the middle of Pirate Fest tomorrow "where wrenches sing hymns ... Arrrrmen!"
Tomorrow night we're having "Friend-fest" at the pool and skinny dipping will likely be involved.
There is a lot occupying my mind.
My list of things to do is long.
Philadelphia really loaded me down. I tried to get as much of it done as possible while I was there but everytime that I turned around I had more to do. So on Monday I really have to get back to work in the home office on the beloved back deck. For the first time in months, I get to stay home for a few weeks (at least at this point ... my fingers are crossed) and work without the burdensome confines of underwear. I think my bicycle and I may get drunk. The De-Luv Band may reunite.
Wait!
I was talking about all of the work that I have to do. It's important stuff. I get paid for it which is really important these days. And it's for the holiest of causes ... taking care of people who really need taking care. Well ... not them but the people who take care of them.
But you know what? It's the weekend. There are lots of things that I am going to do and work is not one of them.
It is time for my home, my love, my friends, and my dog ... and the beloved Dawgs of Georgia.
I want to celebrate.
So I am.
I hope you are too.
ARRRRR ...MEN!
Friday, October 7, 2011
Running Again
OK, I've got my running stuff and am getting ready to look like Rocky when he drinks the eggs and goes for his first run on the streets of Philadelphia. I'll be humming the theme as I stumble along. This is a perfect place to get back into it.
Forever I've been an every day runner. Five miles a day for the most part. Every day! Radio or I-pod in my ears, bandana around my head, running shorts and shoes, gum in my mouth and I'm off.
I run alone because I normally slide into this zone where it is music, contemplation and sweat. There are these times when I'm so lost in thought that I've gone a mile and didn't even realize it. All kinds of thoughts, feelings, memories, ideas and stories are born during my runs. It is holy and prayer like.
Most days I have the luxury of running along the beach but I've run streets of the nation's cities, along country road, through forest, up mountains, and through cow pastures. In Jamacia I ran into the slums of Montego Bay and in St. Lucia I dodged cows along a very narrow road almost falling down the embankment into the ocean. I've always ran.
Forever, it has merely been part of who I am.
Then over the summer, I started skipping days. Then I skipped a week. And then I was not running anymore. Goddess got long walks and I spent more time on my bicycle which are enjoyable but they're not the same.
I think it was something psychological. I'd already broken from the past ... what did, what my family was, how I spent my days and who I spent them with had all changed. Perhaps I was still going through changes and the time of running had passed in my life. The way I thought about things certainly changed.
Then I noticed things. My body started to change a little bit. I didn't put on weight (I actually lost some) but I moved with more stiffness. I lost my breath quicker when I was doing things. I started feeling ... old.
So I started getting onto myself. My best friend started coaching me to start again. So ...
Today's the day!
It's been a while so I'd appreciate it all if you all hum the theme from "Rocky" for a few seconds for me. It'll make you feel good. It may not help me at all, but it couldn't hurt.
Gonna fly now!
Da-Da-Da ... da-da-da
Forever I've been an every day runner. Five miles a day for the most part. Every day! Radio or I-pod in my ears, bandana around my head, running shorts and shoes, gum in my mouth and I'm off.
I run alone because I normally slide into this zone where it is music, contemplation and sweat. There are these times when I'm so lost in thought that I've gone a mile and didn't even realize it. All kinds of thoughts, feelings, memories, ideas and stories are born during my runs. It is holy and prayer like.
Most days I have the luxury of running along the beach but I've run streets of the nation's cities, along country road, through forest, up mountains, and through cow pastures. In Jamacia I ran into the slums of Montego Bay and in St. Lucia I dodged cows along a very narrow road almost falling down the embankment into the ocean. I've always ran.
Forever, it has merely been part of who I am.
Then over the summer, I started skipping days. Then I skipped a week. And then I was not running anymore. Goddess got long walks and I spent more time on my bicycle which are enjoyable but they're not the same.
I think it was something psychological. I'd already broken from the past ... what did, what my family was, how I spent my days and who I spent them with had all changed. Perhaps I was still going through changes and the time of running had passed in my life. The way I thought about things certainly changed.
Then I noticed things. My body started to change a little bit. I didn't put on weight (I actually lost some) but I moved with more stiffness. I lost my breath quicker when I was doing things. I started feeling ... old.
So I started getting onto myself. My best friend started coaching me to start again. So ...
Today's the day!
It's been a while so I'd appreciate it all if you all hum the theme from "Rocky" for a few seconds for me. It'll make you feel good. It may not help me at all, but it couldn't hurt.
Gonna fly now!
Da-Da-Da ... da-da-da
Thursday, October 6, 2011
A Southern Girl Up North
Dedra stared at the chopskicks on the table in the Chinese restaurant in China town in Philadelphia.
We had given orders of fried rice and Dee was in desperate search for a fork. Or a spoon.
There was none to be found in the non-English speaking, very authentic Chinese restaurant.
"Take the spoon out of that jar of sause," she commanded. "I'll wipe it off with my napkin and use it."
The very famous Dr. Jim Withers picked up and eggroll with his chopskicks, promply dropped it, broke it in half, then used his chopskicks to pick out the insides.
Horrified, Dedra said, "I'm going to throw up."
I stood and walked to a table and grabbed one of the spoons used for Won Ton soup. They are uniquely shaped, pure white with a very deep bowl.
"What kind of sppon is that?" she said exclaiming it suspiciously.
We laughed.
We had forty-five minutes for a quick lunch. After a morning full of meetings, Jim and I were trying to prepare remarks that we were to give to kick off the International Street Medicine Symposium. We were trying to compare our notes over lunch but Dedra was diverting our concentration.
We were the only caucasions in the restaurant jammed with Asians.
"I am not an international girl," she proclaims.
The crisis is adverted when the fried rice arrives with a real American spoon on the plate.
It got better when we had dinner with twenty people at the Vietnam Palace. Dedra takes the umbrella out of her desert and sticks it in her hair. The entire table burst into laughter.
This morning she is having a yellow breakfast consisting of scrambled eggs, pineapple and a banana. She is complaing that her stomach is upset.
Everyone at the entire Symposium comes up to tell her hello. She takes a seat at my table where I've been sitting alone writing. It quickly fills up with all of Dedra's new best friends. I've become a minor character in my own life. Dedra appears to be the center of attention.
She may not be an international girl but her southern charm has commanded an audiance from around the world.
I slide under the crowded table and leave her in charge. Making my back to my room, I wish my world good morning. Then it's time to head back downstairs for another day full of meetings and to see what the southern girl will learn today as she continues to charm an entire city.
We had given orders of fried rice and Dee was in desperate search for a fork. Or a spoon.
There was none to be found in the non-English speaking, very authentic Chinese restaurant.
"Take the spoon out of that jar of sause," she commanded. "I'll wipe it off with my napkin and use it."
The very famous Dr. Jim Withers picked up and eggroll with his chopskicks, promply dropped it, broke it in half, then used his chopskicks to pick out the insides.
Horrified, Dedra said, "I'm going to throw up."
I stood and walked to a table and grabbed one of the spoons used for Won Ton soup. They are uniquely shaped, pure white with a very deep bowl.
"What kind of sppon is that?" she said exclaiming it suspiciously.
We laughed.
We had forty-five minutes for a quick lunch. After a morning full of meetings, Jim and I were trying to prepare remarks that we were to give to kick off the International Street Medicine Symposium. We were trying to compare our notes over lunch but Dedra was diverting our concentration.
We were the only caucasions in the restaurant jammed with Asians.
"I am not an international girl," she proclaims.
The crisis is adverted when the fried rice arrives with a real American spoon on the plate.
It got better when we had dinner with twenty people at the Vietnam Palace. Dedra takes the umbrella out of her desert and sticks it in her hair. The entire table burst into laughter.
This morning she is having a yellow breakfast consisting of scrambled eggs, pineapple and a banana. She is complaing that her stomach is upset.
Everyone at the entire Symposium comes up to tell her hello. She takes a seat at my table where I've been sitting alone writing. It quickly fills up with all of Dedra's new best friends. I've become a minor character in my own life. Dedra appears to be the center of attention.
She may not be an international girl but her southern charm has commanded an audiance from around the world.
I slide under the crowded table and leave her in charge. Making my back to my room, I wish my world good morning. Then it's time to head back downstairs for another day full of meetings and to see what the southern girl will learn today as she continues to charm an entire city.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
The Warm Winds of Home
It is warm in Philadelphia.
On all of these trips warm winds have blown me in and out of town. In Santa Barbara I brought flip-flops. In Anchorage I bought tee shirts because I'd packed for Antartica. Today I have the offical uniform of working on behalf of people on the streets ... black polo tee, kaki pants and loafers. Thank God I threw in the short sleeves as I packed yesterday.
The warm winds of the south have stayed with me and I am grateful. A year ago only cold winds blew, tenderness had fled, my heart was tired, worn and broken. Once you go through such things you never forget what the pain feels like. In the right circumstances, in the wrong mood, or merely because a certain song comes on ... I can instantly be transported back into the cold pain.
It's hard not to become guarded. Once you've been hurt you don't want to experience it again. So defenses quickly become the norm. We hold pieces of ourselves back ... just in case. Trust is always circumspect. Love becomes this balancing act of giving only as much as I receive.
I've never been one to hold back ... much anytime. Live to excess because it's just the one life we have and I've always been determine to make the most of it. Though it all fell apart a couple of years ago, I still still believe and the times I find myself becoming guarded, I fight it. I want to love completely and be completely loved because in the end that really is what life is supposed to be. And if the Bible is right then God is to be found somewhere in that love.
Sitting here this morning, sipping coffee I ponder these things. I feel better today. The last couple of days have been rough. I was sick but still had things to do. So I slept through most of them on Monday and spent yesterday here working late into the night. Afterwards I collpased on the hotel room bed and talked into the night. Fitfull sleep followed.
A new day now dawns. A blazing sun appears over the skyline of the city and a magnificant blue sky has been washed clean of any clouds. And ... a warm wind blows.
I have a busy day. The first meeting begins shortly and will last until lunch. Then there is a speech to give. Tonight there is another dinner to attend.
But I start with these morning prayers, asking for forgiveness for those I've let down ... strength to do the right things at the right time and to not force it ... for laughter to come my way ... for Mona Lisa smiles ... for home.
On all of these trips warm winds have blown me in and out of town. In Santa Barbara I brought flip-flops. In Anchorage I bought tee shirts because I'd packed for Antartica. Today I have the offical uniform of working on behalf of people on the streets ... black polo tee, kaki pants and loafers. Thank God I threw in the short sleeves as I packed yesterday.
The warm winds of the south have stayed with me and I am grateful. A year ago only cold winds blew, tenderness had fled, my heart was tired, worn and broken. Once you go through such things you never forget what the pain feels like. In the right circumstances, in the wrong mood, or merely because a certain song comes on ... I can instantly be transported back into the cold pain.
It's hard not to become guarded. Once you've been hurt you don't want to experience it again. So defenses quickly become the norm. We hold pieces of ourselves back ... just in case. Trust is always circumspect. Love becomes this balancing act of giving only as much as I receive.
I've never been one to hold back ... much anytime. Live to excess because it's just the one life we have and I've always been determine to make the most of it. Though it all fell apart a couple of years ago, I still still believe and the times I find myself becoming guarded, I fight it. I want to love completely and be completely loved because in the end that really is what life is supposed to be. And if the Bible is right then God is to be found somewhere in that love.
Sitting here this morning, sipping coffee I ponder these things. I feel better today. The last couple of days have been rough. I was sick but still had things to do. So I slept through most of them on Monday and spent yesterday here working late into the night. Afterwards I collpased on the hotel room bed and talked into the night. Fitfull sleep followed.
A new day now dawns. A blazing sun appears over the skyline of the city and a magnificant blue sky has been washed clean of any clouds. And ... a warm wind blows.
I have a busy day. The first meeting begins shortly and will last until lunch. Then there is a speech to give. Tonight there is another dinner to attend.
But I start with these morning prayers, asking for forgiveness for those I've let down ... strength to do the right things at the right time and to not force it ... for laughter to come my way ... for Mona Lisa smiles ... for home.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
The Promise
It always happens this way. When you have the most to do, time is of the essence and it seems as your entire future is dependent on what you're doing ... you get sick.
With all of the travel that I've done over the past few months, I've remained on-half step in front of the sickness that has been chasing me. My friend Jodee and I were having a conversation about this the other day and spending time on airplanes exacerbate the body's proneness to illness. Breathing recycled air means I'm breathing a little bit of everything that everybody else has in them. I figure I've got a little bit of everything.
I'm tired of phlegm being my most constant companion.
So yesterday it all came crashing down. I did alright through the morning then friends took me to lunch, but this ended up being at the expense of a lunch promise that I'd made with someone else. Then it happened ... with a long list of things to do and a kitchen that looks like a mail truck hit it, I fell into the bed and slept.
All day ...
All night ...
I woke at some point and called my promise. Then I wrapped myself in a blanket and slept again. Too tired to dream, lying there with some notion that someone was hovering over me, I sweated in my sleep.
This morning I woke because I have to get on a plane. My kitchen looks like a second mail truck slammed into it. Goddess is giving me her "pissed off" look because she knows I'm leaving her again. On the beloved back deck, the green blanket around my shoulders complements Fran's thousand shades of green. The sun smiles through Fran's shades. Fran seems bothered.
When I was little, my brother David and I were hyper-competitive with one another. He is eleven months younger than I am (I got my understanding of birth control naturally from my parents) so he thinks he's better than I am. Obviously I know this is not true. So we grew up competing ... over everything!
He can throw a football better than me but I play guitar cords and he can't carry a tune. He's mastered procrastination while I'm phobic about being ready for everything in advance. He embraces tradition and celebrates what was while I thumb my nose at conventionality and celebrate what will be. He's cool with clutter while I know everything has a place.
We've always been that way.
This morning, I thinking of him because of the way that I feel. "Remember all those movies that we'd go and see, trying to act like the hero's we thought we had to be," sang the minor prophet Bruce Springsteen.
I feel like the Knight whose been knocked off his horse but has gotten up ... dirty and bloody but I've grabbed my sword and am waiting on the next pass by the other Knight who still has a horse. My knees are wobbly but the swords pointed in the right direction. The horse's knees seem to be working just fine as it gallops towards me. The Knight on the horse is polished and ready and laughing as he knows who has the upper hand.
"Bring it on you SOB," I mutter.
Then I think about David. At the end of every competition, we would throw our arms around each other and walk back into the house. Peace would descend upon our nights while we prepared for battles the next day.
In my sweating sleep, with the notion that people who love me are hovering around ... I throw my sword to the ground so that I can pick up a promise that I'd left ... and I look at the Knight on the horse racing towards me ... with a sword straight and true.
"Bring in on," I say as I turn and walk away.
With all of the travel that I've done over the past few months, I've remained on-half step in front of the sickness that has been chasing me. My friend Jodee and I were having a conversation about this the other day and spending time on airplanes exacerbate the body's proneness to illness. Breathing recycled air means I'm breathing a little bit of everything that everybody else has in them. I figure I've got a little bit of everything.
I'm tired of phlegm being my most constant companion.
So yesterday it all came crashing down. I did alright through the morning then friends took me to lunch, but this ended up being at the expense of a lunch promise that I'd made with someone else. Then it happened ... with a long list of things to do and a kitchen that looks like a mail truck hit it, I fell into the bed and slept.
All day ...
All night ...
I woke at some point and called my promise. Then I wrapped myself in a blanket and slept again. Too tired to dream, lying there with some notion that someone was hovering over me, I sweated in my sleep.
This morning I woke because I have to get on a plane. My kitchen looks like a second mail truck slammed into it. Goddess is giving me her "pissed off" look because she knows I'm leaving her again. On the beloved back deck, the green blanket around my shoulders complements Fran's thousand shades of green. The sun smiles through Fran's shades. Fran seems bothered.
When I was little, my brother David and I were hyper-competitive with one another. He is eleven months younger than I am (I got my understanding of birth control naturally from my parents) so he thinks he's better than I am. Obviously I know this is not true. So we grew up competing ... over everything!
He can throw a football better than me but I play guitar cords and he can't carry a tune. He's mastered procrastination while I'm phobic about being ready for everything in advance. He embraces tradition and celebrates what was while I thumb my nose at conventionality and celebrate what will be. He's cool with clutter while I know everything has a place.
We've always been that way.
This morning, I thinking of him because of the way that I feel. "Remember all those movies that we'd go and see, trying to act like the hero's we thought we had to be," sang the minor prophet Bruce Springsteen.
I feel like the Knight whose been knocked off his horse but has gotten up ... dirty and bloody but I've grabbed my sword and am waiting on the next pass by the other Knight who still has a horse. My knees are wobbly but the swords pointed in the right direction. The horse's knees seem to be working just fine as it gallops towards me. The Knight on the horse is polished and ready and laughing as he knows who has the upper hand.
"Bring it on you SOB," I mutter.
Then I think about David. At the end of every competition, we would throw our arms around each other and walk back into the house. Peace would descend upon our nights while we prepared for battles the next day.
In my sweating sleep, with the notion that people who love me are hovering around ... I throw my sword to the ground so that I can pick up a promise that I'd left ... and I look at the Knight on the horse racing towards me ... with a sword straight and true.
"Bring in on," I say as I turn and walk away.
Monday, October 3, 2011
Apprehension Falls
Probably because I was home I slept like a baby last night ... hard and deep.
It could have been the coolness of the evening. Though in general terms I hate the freekin cold, I do have a tendency to sleep better in it. Though let me be perfectly honest ... I will gladly give up such sleeps for hot weather.
Course it was the best of weekends ... well, until I got home and the phone was ringing off the hook with work related issues weren't supposed to start until today. Kristen was sitting here wanting time with her Dad but the calls were important and in these times and days ... keeping or finding work takes more priority than it used to.
Eventually, after an hour-and-a-half of her watching me talk on the phone, Kristen and I got half-an-hour of quality Daddy/Daughter time. Then she had to leave.
So I rode up to Marlin Monroe's and finally hooked back up my friends. We're all sitting there for the Sunday afternoon ritual ... drinking, eating, laughing ... just friends who love one another being friends when my I-phone buzzes. Old habits die hard and I whip it out in a flash and check the message.
It's from Cheryl who is sitting across the table from me.
"You look tired and spent. What's up?" she texted.
I look up at her. She's looking at me.
A lot of people don't like technology. But I think it's great! There were ten of us sitting there, all having a collective conversation, while two of us had a private one. Friends who love each other looking after each other by ... whatever means necessary.
It's been weeks since we've all been together. My friends and I have been scattered to and fro upon the face of the earth. After a summer full of celebration we are all entering a Fall of apprehension. With the coming cold you can't help but wonder if the economy will ever thaw ... or just freeze more ... perhaps leaving us out in the cold.
That's what Kristen wanted to talk about. She works as a bartender/waitress six days a week, is in school full time and her land lord just seriously raised the rent. AND ... winter's coming on ... Tips are gonna drop, school's gonna get harder and the rents already been raised.
"How am I going to do his Daddy?"
Daddy's don't have answers for everything.
And that's why I had to take those damn phone calls because the work I am doing is on behalf of the people who are already outside ... many of whom were working good jobs not too long ago. So as I give them my best explanations, I stare at my daughter finding serious motivation.
By the time Cheryl texts me, I really am tired and worn. Crashes come so quickly. People who love me and know me can see.
Then my I-phone buzzes again. It's a little girl who wants to know if I want to join her family for dinner.
"Of course I do," I say into the phone.
I say goodbyes and hop in my car with the top down and make my way from one end of the island to the other.
"Hey Mike!" Chris says I sip coffee at the Breakfast Club this morning. "I waved at you like crazy yesterday but you were zoned somewhere else. Next time I'll save the wave."
I stare at him.
I think everyone's a little zoned these days. We all got through the summer. Cold winds are now blowing. Apprehension falls around us.
"It's gonna work out," I say to my daughter.
She looks at me with moist eyes.
"I know," she answers.
Salt water fills my eyes.
It could have been the coolness of the evening. Though in general terms I hate the freekin cold, I do have a tendency to sleep better in it. Though let me be perfectly honest ... I will gladly give up such sleeps for hot weather.
Course it was the best of weekends ... well, until I got home and the phone was ringing off the hook with work related issues weren't supposed to start until today. Kristen was sitting here wanting time with her Dad but the calls were important and in these times and days ... keeping or finding work takes more priority than it used to.
Eventually, after an hour-and-a-half of her watching me talk on the phone, Kristen and I got half-an-hour of quality Daddy/Daughter time. Then she had to leave.
So I rode up to Marlin Monroe's and finally hooked back up my friends. We're all sitting there for the Sunday afternoon ritual ... drinking, eating, laughing ... just friends who love one another being friends when my I-phone buzzes. Old habits die hard and I whip it out in a flash and check the message.
It's from Cheryl who is sitting across the table from me.
"You look tired and spent. What's up?" she texted.
I look up at her. She's looking at me.
A lot of people don't like technology. But I think it's great! There were ten of us sitting there, all having a collective conversation, while two of us had a private one. Friends who love each other looking after each other by ... whatever means necessary.
It's been weeks since we've all been together. My friends and I have been scattered to and fro upon the face of the earth. After a summer full of celebration we are all entering a Fall of apprehension. With the coming cold you can't help but wonder if the economy will ever thaw ... or just freeze more ... perhaps leaving us out in the cold.
That's what Kristen wanted to talk about. She works as a bartender/waitress six days a week, is in school full time and her land lord just seriously raised the rent. AND ... winter's coming on ... Tips are gonna drop, school's gonna get harder and the rents already been raised.
"How am I going to do his Daddy?"
Daddy's don't have answers for everything.
And that's why I had to take those damn phone calls because the work I am doing is on behalf of the people who are already outside ... many of whom were working good jobs not too long ago. So as I give them my best explanations, I stare at my daughter finding serious motivation.
By the time Cheryl texts me, I really am tired and worn. Crashes come so quickly. People who love me and know me can see.
Then my I-phone buzzes again. It's a little girl who wants to know if I want to join her family for dinner.
"Of course I do," I say into the phone.
I say goodbyes and hop in my car with the top down and make my way from one end of the island to the other.
"Hey Mike!" Chris says I sip coffee at the Breakfast Club this morning. "I waved at you like crazy yesterday but you were zoned somewhere else. Next time I'll save the wave."
I stare at him.
I think everyone's a little zoned these days. We all got through the summer. Cold winds are now blowing. Apprehension falls around us.
"It's gonna work out," I say to my daughter.
She looks at me with moist eyes.
"I know," she answers.
Salt water fills my eyes.
Saturday, October 1, 2011
The Kids and I
It's a beautful morning in Athens and though we arrived much too late to hook up with the kids, we still made a night of it. There is the fall chill in the air that everybody says they love so much (to which I say "To Hell with this! Give me hot weather and girls in bikinis!!") but it's college football season so I go with the flow. It's that quiet time before the explosion of hyper activity that will lead up to the game and then the game (with a damn noon kickoff because that's what happens when you lose your first two games) but then the evening in Athens will be a pleasant and intimate affair. A quiet dinner with the kids and then ...
who knows?
They're my kids.
They are different.
Last time we got here and met Jeremy and my brilliant daughter-in-law Marie, Mark, my illigitimate brother and his wife Kim and Angela, I have no idea who is ... but we hooked up at the Globe, then moved to 8-T's and danced till 2:30 in the morning.
Jeremy is now enrolled as a student again working on his Ph.D. in Athens while Marie is Assistent Professor of Film at Valdosta State University ... meaning they live four hours apart from one another. They are cool with it. In fact, this isn't the first time they've done in. Once Marie lived in LA working on films while Jeremy lived in Atlanta working on ceiling tiles so in the scheme of things they've actually gotten closer.
Jeremy and I have done everything together from surviving a head on collision that should have left us both dead to one night three years ago when I told him goodbye to stumble home in this very city with two of Savannah's most upstanding Catholic individuals. His lap was occupied at the time so he didn't go.
Marie just laughs when she hears the things that my son and I do.
Kristen is the wild child. Beautiful, athelically blessed, she somehow survived St. Vincent's Academy until the nuns threw her out with a degree. She came to Athens for one semester, dated the entire University of Georgia football team by Thanksgiving and felt that college had little more to offer. So she returned to Tybee.
"You're keeping your ass in school," I told her like a good parent would.
"I'm going surfing," she said sitting at the kitchen table across from me.
"Can I go?" I answered.
Kristen and I have a long history of kitchen table conversations. We lived two years by ourselves and I learned several things about her. (1) She will replace the rum in the bottle with tap water trying to hide the fact that she drank all of my rum; (2) We once compared bite marks lifting up pieces of apparal and saying "Oh yeah?"; (3) She once picked my up from the airport insisting that she would drive and she kept jumping out to open the door for me. We got home. The next morning I went to go the work and she had ripped off the entire driver's side of the car.
Then again, Krissy is my caregiver. She will break into my house at any moment that she perceives I need something. It doesn't matter what I'm doing or if I need anything.
Chelsea is the baby who is now a senior at the University of Georgia. She and Jeremy are in the same school at the same time. Chelsea is engaged to Sam who is at Georgia Avenue Trade School (sometimes referred to as Georgia Tech). They are a soon to be mixed marriage. Chelsea is an artist of the finest quality so I assume she is going to do this magnificant makeover of Samuel who I can't imagine her being without. It's going to be fun to watch.
Once we were suba diving in Key Largo and excitedly she dove in first. On top of a shark. I now completely understand the concept of Jesus walking on water. Chelsea sprinted!
That same night she was asking me theological questions sitting beside the pool. Like Kristen, Chelsea went to St. Vincents Academy so everything had a Catholic bent to it. Finally I don't her, "I don't know. Ask the Pope!"
So we called the Vatican. 1-800-Vatican and sure enough it rang and we got an answering machine. We left a message but never heard back from them.
We also never won the St. Vincinets annual Father/Daughter dance though clearly we were the best dancers on the floor but Sister Pat knew we were not Catholics. And that whatever I am is largely suspect all of the way around. I further believe she has a copy of the tape from the answering machine at the Vatican and was punishing us ... as Catholics are prone to do.
So those are my kids.
We are close.
And the more life rolls along, we grow closer. I am blessed. A lot of other things may not have gone right in my life, but the kids and I ... well, I've turned the hat trick. The children whom I love so much are also friends and we dearly love one another ... individually and as a group.
who knows?
They're my kids.
They are different.
Last time we got here and met Jeremy and my brilliant daughter-in-law Marie, Mark, my illigitimate brother and his wife Kim and Angela, I have no idea who is ... but we hooked up at the Globe, then moved to 8-T's and danced till 2:30 in the morning.
Jeremy is now enrolled as a student again working on his Ph.D. in Athens while Marie is Assistent Professor of Film at Valdosta State University ... meaning they live four hours apart from one another. They are cool with it. In fact, this isn't the first time they've done in. Once Marie lived in LA working on films while Jeremy lived in Atlanta working on ceiling tiles so in the scheme of things they've actually gotten closer.
Jeremy and I have done everything together from surviving a head on collision that should have left us both dead to one night three years ago when I told him goodbye to stumble home in this very city with two of Savannah's most upstanding Catholic individuals. His lap was occupied at the time so he didn't go.
Marie just laughs when she hears the things that my son and I do.
Kristen is the wild child. Beautiful, athelically blessed, she somehow survived St. Vincent's Academy until the nuns threw her out with a degree. She came to Athens for one semester, dated the entire University of Georgia football team by Thanksgiving and felt that college had little more to offer. So she returned to Tybee.
"You're keeping your ass in school," I told her like a good parent would.
"I'm going surfing," she said sitting at the kitchen table across from me.
"Can I go?" I answered.
Kristen and I have a long history of kitchen table conversations. We lived two years by ourselves and I learned several things about her. (1) She will replace the rum in the bottle with tap water trying to hide the fact that she drank all of my rum; (2) We once compared bite marks lifting up pieces of apparal and saying "Oh yeah?"; (3) She once picked my up from the airport insisting that she would drive and she kept jumping out to open the door for me. We got home. The next morning I went to go the work and she had ripped off the entire driver's side of the car.
Then again, Krissy is my caregiver. She will break into my house at any moment that she perceives I need something. It doesn't matter what I'm doing or if I need anything.
Chelsea is the baby who is now a senior at the University of Georgia. She and Jeremy are in the same school at the same time. Chelsea is engaged to Sam who is at Georgia Avenue Trade School (sometimes referred to as Georgia Tech). They are a soon to be mixed marriage. Chelsea is an artist of the finest quality so I assume she is going to do this magnificant makeover of Samuel who I can't imagine her being without. It's going to be fun to watch.
Once we were suba diving in Key Largo and excitedly she dove in first. On top of a shark. I now completely understand the concept of Jesus walking on water. Chelsea sprinted!
That same night she was asking me theological questions sitting beside the pool. Like Kristen, Chelsea went to St. Vincents Academy so everything had a Catholic bent to it. Finally I don't her, "I don't know. Ask the Pope!"
So we called the Vatican. 1-800-Vatican and sure enough it rang and we got an answering machine. We left a message but never heard back from them.
We also never won the St. Vincinets annual Father/Daughter dance though clearly we were the best dancers on the floor but Sister Pat knew we were not Catholics. And that whatever I am is largely suspect all of the way around. I further believe she has a copy of the tape from the answering machine at the Vatican and was punishing us ... as Catholics are prone to do.
So those are my kids.
We are close.
And the more life rolls along, we grow closer. I am blessed. A lot of other things may not have gone right in my life, but the kids and I ... well, I've turned the hat trick. The children whom I love so much are also friends and we dearly love one another ... individually and as a group.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Taste of Tybee
It's Friday and I've got too much to do. All of the work that I've been doing all week kept multiplying during the nights ... like rabbits ... and every day I wake up with more to do. Yesterday I realized there's no way that I'll get it all done by the deadline.
Plus I have to leave the island today ... TWICE!!!!
First, Goddess is out of food. I think she's figured this out because she is standing there staring at me ... patting her left paw on the floor ... giving me this disgusted look. So Wall Mart is in my immediate future.
Second, I am leaving later for the ride to Athens where I have an intimate weekend planned with 100,000 of my closest friends. The beloved Dawgs of Georgia, coeds, long time dear friends and my kids will all come together. We will do a hostile take-over of my son's condo and sometime Sunday morning will wake up for the drive back home. Good Times!
I wish I was up for all of this. Last night I was home alone studying my Sunday School lesson for Bar Church (Do Marijuana prayers go higher than regular prayers?) when Cheryl and Dedra broke into my house and forced my to attend the Chamber of Commerce's annual "Taste of Tybee".
In my former life as President & CEO of Union Mission I used attend all of these things. I was a member of the Chamber Board, CEO Council, graduated from Leadership Savannah and was the regularly appointed "clergy-to-pray" at Chamber functions (cause I was member of the Chamber with the "Rev" in front of his name). Since then I've become a beach bum, my appointed destination in life ... except financing the life lifestyle is a bitch!
So I needed to dress for the occasion ... after this was a business function. So I got my powder baby blue tee shirt that reads "St. Martin, a sunny place for shady people", my shorts, a real pair of underwear and flip-flops. I dabbled some salt water behind my ears and we were off.
As a Chamber member we got in quickly and cheaply. Looking over my shoulder at Cheryl and Dedra I said, "I haven't done this in a while. Let's see if I still got it."
And I dove in.
And it was fun.
I saw lots of old friends ... was accosted by everybody running for office on Tybee Island (I must say that Dac's wooden nickles were the hit of the night) ... Chamber President Bill Hubbard asked me where the Mayor was I happily told him that I have no idea ... Russ Abolt, the County Manager and I chatted and his wife and I hugged (that is another long story) ... Marjorie Young and I discussed the United Way campaign ...
"What's happening at Union Mission?" people asked.
"Beats me," I replied.
"What are you doing?" they cleverly asked next.
"Beats me," I begin ... "but the truth of the matter is I'm working for a bunch of crazy doctors and nurses who believe they can change the world and redefine health care in the world."
Cheryl brought me a plastic cup of wine and gives me this look ... asking in her face "You cool with this?"
Dedra bring me a coconut shrimp and give me this look ... "You cool with this?"
We all look at each other.
To hell with this.
So we leave.
We go to Spankey's for chicken fingers because we really didn't taste much of anything at the Taste of Tybee.
Then we broke onto Johnny O and Judy O's porch. Except they caught us because they were sitting on it. So we sat and we talked and laughed and made plans.
Suddenly summer was back ... celebrations were in the air ... everything was good again.
Later Cheryl threw me out of her new car at 35 miles per hour in front of my house. Goddess was standing there tapping her paw in the grass giving me this look ... "Where the hell have you been?"
I stumbled inside, climbed the stairs, fell on the green couch and ... reflected.
Man, what a crazy ride! But it is good! I feel good. It feels good. Then the phone rang and the celebration of it all continued.
Plus I have to leave the island today ... TWICE!!!!
First, Goddess is out of food. I think she's figured this out because she is standing there staring at me ... patting her left paw on the floor ... giving me this disgusted look. So Wall Mart is in my immediate future.
Second, I am leaving later for the ride to Athens where I have an intimate weekend planned with 100,000 of my closest friends. The beloved Dawgs of Georgia, coeds, long time dear friends and my kids will all come together. We will do a hostile take-over of my son's condo and sometime Sunday morning will wake up for the drive back home. Good Times!
I wish I was up for all of this. Last night I was home alone studying my Sunday School lesson for Bar Church (Do Marijuana prayers go higher than regular prayers?) when Cheryl and Dedra broke into my house and forced my to attend the Chamber of Commerce's annual "Taste of Tybee".
In my former life as President & CEO of Union Mission I used attend all of these things. I was a member of the Chamber Board, CEO Council, graduated from Leadership Savannah and was the regularly appointed "clergy-to-pray" at Chamber functions (cause I was member of the Chamber with the "Rev" in front of his name). Since then I've become a beach bum, my appointed destination in life ... except financing the life lifestyle is a bitch!
So I needed to dress for the occasion ... after this was a business function. So I got my powder baby blue tee shirt that reads "St. Martin, a sunny place for shady people", my shorts, a real pair of underwear and flip-flops. I dabbled some salt water behind my ears and we were off.
As a Chamber member we got in quickly and cheaply. Looking over my shoulder at Cheryl and Dedra I said, "I haven't done this in a while. Let's see if I still got it."
And I dove in.
And it was fun.
I saw lots of old friends ... was accosted by everybody running for office on Tybee Island (I must say that Dac's wooden nickles were the hit of the night) ... Chamber President Bill Hubbard asked me where the Mayor was I happily told him that I have no idea ... Russ Abolt, the County Manager and I chatted and his wife and I hugged (that is another long story) ... Marjorie Young and I discussed the United Way campaign ...
"What's happening at Union Mission?" people asked.
"Beats me," I replied.
"What are you doing?" they cleverly asked next.
"Beats me," I begin ... "but the truth of the matter is I'm working for a bunch of crazy doctors and nurses who believe they can change the world and redefine health care in the world."
Cheryl brought me a plastic cup of wine and gives me this look ... asking in her face "You cool with this?"
Dedra bring me a coconut shrimp and give me this look ... "You cool with this?"
We all look at each other.
To hell with this.
So we leave.
We go to Spankey's for chicken fingers because we really didn't taste much of anything at the Taste of Tybee.
Then we broke onto Johnny O and Judy O's porch. Except they caught us because they were sitting on it. So we sat and we talked and laughed and made plans.
Suddenly summer was back ... celebrations were in the air ... everything was good again.
Later Cheryl threw me out of her new car at 35 miles per hour in front of my house. Goddess was standing there tapping her paw in the grass giving me this look ... "Where the hell have you been?"
I stumbled inside, climbed the stairs, fell on the green couch and ... reflected.
Man, what a crazy ride! But it is good! I feel good. It feels good. Then the phone rang and the celebration of it all continued.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Weenises (The Eviction of Bar Church)
Bar Church has been evicted from the Bar!
Apparently, God wanted a bigger bar ... so we are moving from the Wind Rose Cafe to Bennie's on the corner of 15th and Butler which claims to have America's coldest beer. They also have two pool tables, a real stage, bigger bar and much more space.
I suppose this is like when God led the chosen people out of Egypt. Maybe we'll have a formal ceremony marking the Exodus and we'll march down the street symbolizing our growth. This might not be a good idea after all. No doubt it would take some of us 40 years to wander the half-a-block from the Wind Rose to Bernie's Promised Land!
Luckily, this is not my first experience participating in a church being evicted. Way back when I was a "Professional Christian" (getting paid to do what I was asking everybody else to do for free, while asking them to pay church for it) the Southern Baptist evicted my church from our building.
The reason was I'd hired a woman to be the Associate Minister. The local Corporate Headquarters at the Long Run Baptist Association went nuts and I got called in to the Director's Office.
"What are you doing?" I was asked.
"The work of the Lord," I answered.
"Don't give me that crap!" he said.
"Don't you know that you have to have a penis to be a preacher?"
This gave me pause. Mega Churches were starting to happen and Baptist churches were suddenly becoming campuses with television studios. I wondered if the preachers with the bigger penises were starting the mega churches and the ones in charge of smaller churches are ... not so heavenly endowed.
Before I could ask the question though, I was summoned to National Corporate Headquarters in Atlanta where the Southern Baptist Home Mission Board is located. They paid for the trip so I was cool with it. I went to a Braves game first.
Afterwards I rode the elevator to 14th floor of Corporate Headquarters and walked into Charlie and Harold's office. They ran the division I worked for ... "The Poor People's Division" which wasn't profitable at all but God said to love the poor so Corporate Headquarters hadn't figured out how to get around this yet (That would take another decade.).
"What are you doing?" they both asked the same time.
"The work of ..."
"Don't give us that crap," they yelled in unison.
Then they sat me down. "Look," Harold said. "Don't get us wrong. We like women. I've got one myself. But ... we just can't have this. You understand?"
"I don't know Herod," I replied (Please catch that before proceeding cause I really called him that), "the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel is mostly comprised of women so it kind of makes sense. Unless you want me to put the homeless guys in charge ... hmmm, come to think of it Jesus was homeless so that makes sense too."
"Get out!" they said. So I left.
Then AIDS happened and I got flown back to Atlanta Corporate Headquarters and was in trouble again (though the Braves won that day). Then I got myself in more trouble. But through it all ... Cindy remained the Associate Pastor.
After I resigned and took my penis with me, the Long Run Baptist Association evicted Cindy, the little old ladies and the homeless guys. Cindy led them in finding a new place, orchestrating an Exodus, marching from the old building to the new one and all of these year's later they are still rocking and rolling.
Hallelujah!
Which brings me back to Bar Church.
So we've changed Bars.
It's the Church that counts. So, come on out at 10:30 on Sunday and worship with us.
Then have one of the coldest beers in America.
And organizations and Corporate structures and denominations and religions and such who do things ... well you are all "Weenises".
You can figure out the etymology.
Apparently, God wanted a bigger bar ... so we are moving from the Wind Rose Cafe to Bennie's on the corner of 15th and Butler which claims to have America's coldest beer. They also have two pool tables, a real stage, bigger bar and much more space.
I suppose this is like when God led the chosen people out of Egypt. Maybe we'll have a formal ceremony marking the Exodus and we'll march down the street symbolizing our growth. This might not be a good idea after all. No doubt it would take some of us 40 years to wander the half-a-block from the Wind Rose to Bernie's Promised Land!
Luckily, this is not my first experience participating in a church being evicted. Way back when I was a "Professional Christian" (getting paid to do what I was asking everybody else to do for free, while asking them to pay church for it) the Southern Baptist evicted my church from our building.
The reason was I'd hired a woman to be the Associate Minister. The local Corporate Headquarters at the Long Run Baptist Association went nuts and I got called in to the Director's Office.
"What are you doing?" I was asked.
"The work of the Lord," I answered.
"Don't give me that crap!" he said.
"Don't you know that you have to have a penis to be a preacher?"
This gave me pause. Mega Churches were starting to happen and Baptist churches were suddenly becoming campuses with television studios. I wondered if the preachers with the bigger penises were starting the mega churches and the ones in charge of smaller churches are ... not so heavenly endowed.
Before I could ask the question though, I was summoned to National Corporate Headquarters in Atlanta where the Southern Baptist Home Mission Board is located. They paid for the trip so I was cool with it. I went to a Braves game first.
Afterwards I rode the elevator to 14th floor of Corporate Headquarters and walked into Charlie and Harold's office. They ran the division I worked for ... "The Poor People's Division" which wasn't profitable at all but God said to love the poor so Corporate Headquarters hadn't figured out how to get around this yet (That would take another decade.).
"What are you doing?" they both asked the same time.
"The work of ..."
"Don't give us that crap," they yelled in unison.
Then they sat me down. "Look," Harold said. "Don't get us wrong. We like women. I've got one myself. But ... we just can't have this. You understand?"
"I don't know Herod," I replied (Please catch that before proceeding cause I really called him that), "the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel is mostly comprised of women so it kind of makes sense. Unless you want me to put the homeless guys in charge ... hmmm, come to think of it Jesus was homeless so that makes sense too."
"Get out!" they said. So I left.
Then AIDS happened and I got flown back to Atlanta Corporate Headquarters and was in trouble again (though the Braves won that day). Then I got myself in more trouble. But through it all ... Cindy remained the Associate Pastor.
After I resigned and took my penis with me, the Long Run Baptist Association evicted Cindy, the little old ladies and the homeless guys. Cindy led them in finding a new place, orchestrating an Exodus, marching from the old building to the new one and all of these year's later they are still rocking and rolling.
Hallelujah!
Which brings me back to Bar Church.
So we've changed Bars.
It's the Church that counts. So, come on out at 10:30 on Sunday and worship with us.
Then have one of the coldest beers in America.
And organizations and Corporate structures and denominations and religions and such who do things ... well you are all "Weenises".
You can figure out the etymology.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Underwear Optional (In support of Breast Cancer)
"Underwear is an intimate thing," says Edna Jackson, member of the Savannah City Council and candidate for Mayor.
"It should not be on public display."
This riveting bit of public policy came about after the "Breast Cancer Awareness" folks came up with the idea to get bras, have people sponsor them and hang them across Broughton Street, historic Savannah's main drag.This would be a very visual display that breasts are important and cancer should be eradicated. Having done fund raising throughout my career, it strikes me as a novel and unique approach to raising awareness ... so that women will get regular breast exams ... while also raising money for the cure.
These are the same folks who came up with the clever saying "Save your Ta-Ta's" and paints everything in pink ... the color of Breast Awareness.
Alas ... the Savannah City Council said no.
There used to be a popular restaurant in Savannah named "The 606 Cafe". It was extremely popular and was decorated in bras and panties. City Council members ate there.
I deduce from this that Edna and the Savannah City Council believe that underwear is perfectly acceptable inside, but shouldn't be used outside.
Let me stop and say that Edna and I go way back. We were in Leadership Savannah together. I'm pretty sure that she wore underwear to every meeting. I, on the other hand, believe in the "Underwear Optional" movement and would sometimes show up wearing no underwear. I figured, "Dammit! If you're going to lead ... LEAD!" It's kind of like the whole "Divining Rod" stick when you're looking to quench thirst by finding water. You know what I'm saying.
Edna never mentioned it.
That was then ... this is now.
I'm sitting in corporate headquarters on the beloved back deck of my company. I am writing reports that must be sent out today for a Board meeting in Philadelphia next week. And ... I do not have underwear on.
I donated them to "Bra's for a cure" ... not that I had any bras to donate ... but as a man I stand in solidarity with a cure for breast cancer so I did my best ... as "brief" as it is ... and it's pretty brief.
Anyway in corporate headquarters we just passed new company policy. We are an "Underwear Optional" company.
As soon as this happened, productivity increased dramatically.
We're adopting Breast cancer awareness as one of our company causes along with Street Medicine and Bar Church. It fits in line with our corporate value system.
If you go to page 414, Article 2, Section 315, Paragraph 8 of the employee handbook, it reads ... "We believe in medicine on the streets where it's most needed. Further, we believe in Bars. Further still, wear underwear if you want to. Finally, we believe in taking care of you ... even if bras are involved.
So my favorite pair of underwear just left.
And I'm not wearing any anyway.
And I got work to do.
But ... and let me be perfectly clear about this ... underwear hanging across Broughton Street in support of ending Breast Cancer is far better ... that one-quarter of Savannah living in poverty ... more murders per capita than mostly anywhere ... Let's lose those things by having Leaders.
"It should not be on public display."
This riveting bit of public policy came about after the "Breast Cancer Awareness" folks came up with the idea to get bras, have people sponsor them and hang them across Broughton Street, historic Savannah's main drag.This would be a very visual display that breasts are important and cancer should be eradicated. Having done fund raising throughout my career, it strikes me as a novel and unique approach to raising awareness ... so that women will get regular breast exams ... while also raising money for the cure.
These are the same folks who came up with the clever saying "Save your Ta-Ta's" and paints everything in pink ... the color of Breast Awareness.
Alas ... the Savannah City Council said no.
There used to be a popular restaurant in Savannah named "The 606 Cafe". It was extremely popular and was decorated in bras and panties. City Council members ate there.
I deduce from this that Edna and the Savannah City Council believe that underwear is perfectly acceptable inside, but shouldn't be used outside.
Let me stop and say that Edna and I go way back. We were in Leadership Savannah together. I'm pretty sure that she wore underwear to every meeting. I, on the other hand, believe in the "Underwear Optional" movement and would sometimes show up wearing no underwear. I figured, "Dammit! If you're going to lead ... LEAD!" It's kind of like the whole "Divining Rod" stick when you're looking to quench thirst by finding water. You know what I'm saying.
Edna never mentioned it.
That was then ... this is now.
I'm sitting in corporate headquarters on the beloved back deck of my company. I am writing reports that must be sent out today for a Board meeting in Philadelphia next week. And ... I do not have underwear on.
I donated them to "Bra's for a cure" ... not that I had any bras to donate ... but as a man I stand in solidarity with a cure for breast cancer so I did my best ... as "brief" as it is ... and it's pretty brief.
Anyway in corporate headquarters we just passed new company policy. We are an "Underwear Optional" company.
As soon as this happened, productivity increased dramatically.
We're adopting Breast cancer awareness as one of our company causes along with Street Medicine and Bar Church. It fits in line with our corporate value system.
If you go to page 414, Article 2, Section 315, Paragraph 8 of the employee handbook, it reads ... "We believe in medicine on the streets where it's most needed. Further, we believe in Bars. Further still, wear underwear if you want to. Finally, we believe in taking care of you ... even if bras are involved.
So my favorite pair of underwear just left.
And I'm not wearing any anyway.
And I got work to do.
But ... and let me be perfectly clear about this ... underwear hanging across Broughton Street in support of ending Breast Cancer is far better ... that one-quarter of Savannah living in poverty ... more murders per capita than mostly anywhere ... Let's lose those things by having Leaders.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Vacancy Abounds
One of the things about all of the traveling that I’ve done over the past several months is that you notice similarities in the places that you visit. Since July I’ve been to St. Martin, Pittsburgh, Santa Barbara, Cleveland, Anchorage, San Juan, Pittsburgh again, Denver, Minneapolis, Savannah and … of course … Tybee Island.
Every single one has a significant number has a lot of places for rent … especially buildings that used to house businesses and condos and homes. Vacancy abounds.
It makes me mindful of these troublesome times we are living through. I can’t help but whisper a prayer of thanks because I still live in a house that I love, in a place that restores my soul and … for the moment anyway, I’m working a job that pays me well.
All of the “For Rent”, “For Sale,” “For Lease” signs reminds me that others have not been so fortunate.
Walking down the streets of each of these places I stop in front of plate glass windows into an emptiness … where things used to be … where people were fulfilled with work … and happy homes were made.
All of the travel has been grueling and I’ve stayed half-a-step in front of getting sick. Home again, I was craving normalcy. I left the loving arms of my bed, hopped on my bicycle and coasted in the dark to the Breakfast Club. My extended family there welcomed me with love and questions about where I’d been. I sipped coffee and we chatted as they prepared for the lines of a Sunday.
As I left, walking out on the sidewalk I literally bumped into him.
“Micheal,” he exclaimed with the familiar smile that I’d known for years.
Brian is gregarious, has this tremendous smile and is large. His infectious personality and presence forces you to enjoy him even if you’re in a bad mood. For years he was part of “Counter Intelligence” … the morning collection who drink coffee, solve all of the world’s problems and never share the solutions with anybody. He had moved on, living and working in Savannah and I hadn’t seen him in several years.
“Brian,” I exclaimed back and we embraced.
“I missed everybody?” he asked with the familiar smile and dancing eyes.
“Yeah, these days I’m the last one out,” I explained. “Come on in.”
We walked inside and I resumed my stool and he sat on the one that he used to and we chatted. After telling him that I’m doing well, been through a lot, no longer married but quite happy with who I’m with, I asked him how he’s doing.
He laughed in response. “Well … they’re shutting down the plant and moving it to California … and,” he paused and flashed his million dollar smile with the dancing eyes … “They’re not taking me with them.”
“Oh,” I said putting my hand on his shoulder.
He grinned again. “But you’re not getting rid of this transplanted Yankee,” he laughed, “I’m staying as a professional pain in the ass.”
“Good,” I said, meaning it deeply.
We chatted a while longer and I left him there, drinking his coffee and staring into space. Climbing on my bicycle, I pedaled down Tybrissa Street (Don’t get me started!) to the sun rising above the ocean. Coasting up on the crosswalk, I stayed seated on the bike kicking a leg out to rest on the rail and just stared at the sea, bathed in the golden rays of the sun, and watched the surfers ride the waves of chance.
It seems as though everyone I know is going through major transitions in their lives … traveling through difficult times. Job loses … moves they don’t want … separations and divorces … retirement planning after retiring and the math no longer works … enough work or money for now but worried like hell a month from now … or a week from now … or …
I understand.
“Hey God” I say to the sea.
“Thanks for now. It’s all I got. For now, I have this work to do … this place to live … these friends who love me so …but could you be a little kinder to those who don’t have these things? I don’t mean to bitch and please don’t take it out on me if you’re in an Old Testament mood today but we’re all just doing the best we can. I’m sure you’re busy. There are so many calling on you these days. The prayer hot line probably never stops ringing with that most basic of prayers … ‘Oh God, please?’”
I lean over to the other rail stripping off my Jimmy Buffett tee shirt continuing the prayer.
“Hey God!” I say out loud to the sea. “Maybe you need to be in an Old Testament mood after all. Part some seas! Make bread fall from heaven! Lead the people out of Egypt! Send locusts on Congress! Do something!”
“We need it.”
“My friends need it.”
“I do too.”
“Thanks for today … Please God, work on tomorrow I’m not sure how much more we can take.”
Every single one has a significant number has a lot of places for rent … especially buildings that used to house businesses and condos and homes. Vacancy abounds.
It makes me mindful of these troublesome times we are living through. I can’t help but whisper a prayer of thanks because I still live in a house that I love, in a place that restores my soul and … for the moment anyway, I’m working a job that pays me well.
All of the “For Rent”, “For Sale,” “For Lease” signs reminds me that others have not been so fortunate.
Walking down the streets of each of these places I stop in front of plate glass windows into an emptiness … where things used to be … where people were fulfilled with work … and happy homes were made.
All of the travel has been grueling and I’ve stayed half-a-step in front of getting sick. Home again, I was craving normalcy. I left the loving arms of my bed, hopped on my bicycle and coasted in the dark to the Breakfast Club. My extended family there welcomed me with love and questions about where I’d been. I sipped coffee and we chatted as they prepared for the lines of a Sunday.
As I left, walking out on the sidewalk I literally bumped into him.
“Micheal,” he exclaimed with the familiar smile that I’d known for years.
Brian is gregarious, has this tremendous smile and is large. His infectious personality and presence forces you to enjoy him even if you’re in a bad mood. For years he was part of “Counter Intelligence” … the morning collection who drink coffee, solve all of the world’s problems and never share the solutions with anybody. He had moved on, living and working in Savannah and I hadn’t seen him in several years.
“Brian,” I exclaimed back and we embraced.
“I missed everybody?” he asked with the familiar smile and dancing eyes.
“Yeah, these days I’m the last one out,” I explained. “Come on in.”
We walked inside and I resumed my stool and he sat on the one that he used to and we chatted. After telling him that I’m doing well, been through a lot, no longer married but quite happy with who I’m with, I asked him how he’s doing.
He laughed in response. “Well … they’re shutting down the plant and moving it to California … and,” he paused and flashed his million dollar smile with the dancing eyes … “They’re not taking me with them.”
“Oh,” I said putting my hand on his shoulder.
He grinned again. “But you’re not getting rid of this transplanted Yankee,” he laughed, “I’m staying as a professional pain in the ass.”
“Good,” I said, meaning it deeply.
We chatted a while longer and I left him there, drinking his coffee and staring into space. Climbing on my bicycle, I pedaled down Tybrissa Street (Don’t get me started!) to the sun rising above the ocean. Coasting up on the crosswalk, I stayed seated on the bike kicking a leg out to rest on the rail and just stared at the sea, bathed in the golden rays of the sun, and watched the surfers ride the waves of chance.
It seems as though everyone I know is going through major transitions in their lives … traveling through difficult times. Job loses … moves they don’t want … separations and divorces … retirement planning after retiring and the math no longer works … enough work or money for now but worried like hell a month from now … or a week from now … or …
I understand.
“Hey God” I say to the sea.
“Thanks for now. It’s all I got. For now, I have this work to do … this place to live … these friends who love me so …but could you be a little kinder to those who don’t have these things? I don’t mean to bitch and please don’t take it out on me if you’re in an Old Testament mood today but we’re all just doing the best we can. I’m sure you’re busy. There are so many calling on you these days. The prayer hot line probably never stops ringing with that most basic of prayers … ‘Oh God, please?’”
I lean over to the other rail stripping off my Jimmy Buffett tee shirt continuing the prayer.
“Hey God!” I say out loud to the sea. “Maybe you need to be in an Old Testament mood after all. Part some seas! Make bread fall from heaven! Lead the people out of Egypt! Send locusts on Congress! Do something!”
“We need it.”
“My friends need it.”
“I do too.”
“Thanks for today … Please God, work on tomorrow I’m not sure how much more we can take.”
Vacancy Abounds
One of the things about all of the traveling that I’ve done over the past several months is that you notice similarities in the places that you visit. Since July I’ve been to St. Martin, Pittsburgh, Santa Barbara, Cleveland, Anchorage, San Juan, Pittsburgh again, Denver, Minneapolis, Savannah and … of course … Tybee Island.
Every single one has a significant number has a lot of places for rent … especially buildings that used to house businesses and condos and homes. Vacancy abounds.
It makes me mindful of these troublesome times we are living through. I can’t help but whisper a prayer of thanks because I still live in a house that I love, in a place that restores my soul and … for the moment anyway, I’m working a job that pays me well.
All of the “For Rent”, “For Sale,” “For Lease” signs reminds me that others have not been so fortunate.
Walking down the streets of each of these places I stop in front of plate glass windows into an emptiness … where things used to be … where people were fulfilled with work … and happy homes were made.
All of the travel has been grueling and I’ve stayed half-a-step in front of getting sick. Home again, I was craving normalcy. I left the loving arms of my bed, hopped on my bicycle and coasted in the dark to the Breakfast Club. My extended family there welcomed me with love and questions about where I’d been. I sipped coffee and we chatted as they prepared for the lines of a Sunday.
As I left, walking out on the sidewalk I literally bumped into him.
“Micheal,” he exclaimed with the familiar smile that I’d known for years.
Brian is gregarious, has this tremendous smile and is large. His infectious personality and presence forces you to enjoy him even if you’re in a bad mood. For years he was part of “Counter Intelligence” … the morning collection who drink coffee, solve all of the world’s problems and never share the solutions with anybody. He had moved on, living and working in Savannah and I hadn’t seen him in several years.
“Brian,” I exclaimed back and we embraced.
“I missed everybody?” he asked with the familiar smile and dancing eyes.
“Yeah, these days I’m the last one out,” I explained. “Come on in.”
We walked inside and I resumed my stool and he sat on the one that he used to and we chatted. After telling him that I’m doing well, been through a lot, no longer married but quite happy with who I’m with, I asked him how he’s doing.
He laughed in response. “Well … they’re shutting down the plant and moving it to California … and,” he paused and flashed his million dollar smile with the dancing eyes … “They’re not taking me with them.”
“Oh,” I said putting my hand on his shoulder.
He grinned again. “But you’re not getting rid of this transplanted Yankee,” he laughed, “I’m staying as a professional pain in the ass.”
“Good,” I said, meaning it deeply.
We chatted a while longer and I left him there, drinking his coffee and staring into space. Climbing on my bicycle, I pedaled down Tybrissa Street (Don’t get me started!) to the sun rising above the ocean. Coasting up on the crosswalk, I stayed seated on the bike kicking a leg out to rest on the rail and just stared at the sea, bathed in the golden rays of the sun, and watched the surfers ride the waves of chance.
It seems as though everyone I know is going through major transitions in their lives … traveling through difficult times. Job loses … moves they don’t want … separations and divorces … retirement planning after retiring and the math no longer works … enough work or money for now but worried like hell a month from now … or a week from now … or …
I understand.
“Hey God” I say to the sea.
“Thanks for now. It’s all I got. For now, I have this work to do … this place to live … these friends who love me so …but could you be a little kinder to those who don’t have these things? I don’t mean to bitch and please don’t take it out on me if you’re in an Old Testament mood today but we’re all just doing the best we can. I’m sure you’re busy. There are so many calling on you these days. The prayer hot line probably never stops ringing with that most basic of prayers … ‘Oh God, please?’”
I lean over to the other rail stripping off my Jimmy Buffett tee shirt continuing the prayer.
“Hey God!” I say out loud to the sea. “Maybe you need to be in an Old Testament mood after all. Part some seas! Make bread fall from heaven! Lead the people out of Egypt! Send locusts on Congress! Do something!”
“We need it.”
“My friends need it.”
“I do too.”
“Thanks for today … Please God, work on tomorrow I’m not sure how much more we can take.”
Every single one has a significant number has a lot of places for rent … especially buildings that used to house businesses and condos and homes. Vacancy abounds.
It makes me mindful of these troublesome times we are living through. I can’t help but whisper a prayer of thanks because I still live in a house that I love, in a place that restores my soul and … for the moment anyway, I’m working a job that pays me well.
All of the “For Rent”, “For Sale,” “For Lease” signs reminds me that others have not been so fortunate.
Walking down the streets of each of these places I stop in front of plate glass windows into an emptiness … where things used to be … where people were fulfilled with work … and happy homes were made.
All of the travel has been grueling and I’ve stayed half-a-step in front of getting sick. Home again, I was craving normalcy. I left the loving arms of my bed, hopped on my bicycle and coasted in the dark to the Breakfast Club. My extended family there welcomed me with love and questions about where I’d been. I sipped coffee and we chatted as they prepared for the lines of a Sunday.
As I left, walking out on the sidewalk I literally bumped into him.
“Micheal,” he exclaimed with the familiar smile that I’d known for years.
Brian is gregarious, has this tremendous smile and is large. His infectious personality and presence forces you to enjoy him even if you’re in a bad mood. For years he was part of “Counter Intelligence” … the morning collection who drink coffee, solve all of the world’s problems and never share the solutions with anybody. He had moved on, living and working in Savannah and I hadn’t seen him in several years.
“Brian,” I exclaimed back and we embraced.
“I missed everybody?” he asked with the familiar smile and dancing eyes.
“Yeah, these days I’m the last one out,” I explained. “Come on in.”
We walked inside and I resumed my stool and he sat on the one that he used to and we chatted. After telling him that I’m doing well, been through a lot, no longer married but quite happy with who I’m with, I asked him how he’s doing.
He laughed in response. “Well … they’re shutting down the plant and moving it to California … and,” he paused and flashed his million dollar smile with the dancing eyes … “They’re not taking me with them.”
“Oh,” I said putting my hand on his shoulder.
He grinned again. “But you’re not getting rid of this transplanted Yankee,” he laughed, “I’m staying as a professional pain in the ass.”
“Good,” I said, meaning it deeply.
We chatted a while longer and I left him there, drinking his coffee and staring into space. Climbing on my bicycle, I pedaled down Tybrissa Street (Don’t get me started!) to the sun rising above the ocean. Coasting up on the crosswalk, I stayed seated on the bike kicking a leg out to rest on the rail and just stared at the sea, bathed in the golden rays of the sun, and watched the surfers ride the waves of chance.
It seems as though everyone I know is going through major transitions in their lives … traveling through difficult times. Job loses … moves they don’t want … separations and divorces … retirement planning after retiring and the math no longer works … enough work or money for now but worried like hell a month from now … or a week from now … or …
I understand.
“Hey God” I say to the sea.
“Thanks for now. It’s all I got. For now, I have this work to do … this place to live … these friends who love me so …but could you be a little kinder to those who don’t have these things? I don’t mean to bitch and please don’t take it out on me if you’re in an Old Testament mood today but we’re all just doing the best we can. I’m sure you’re busy. There are so many calling on you these days. The prayer hot line probably never stops ringing with that most basic of prayers … ‘Oh God, please?’”
I lean over to the other rail stripping off my Jimmy Buffett tee shirt continuing the prayer.
“Hey God!” I say out loud to the sea. “Maybe you need to be in an Old Testament mood after all. Part some seas! Make bread fall from heaven! Lead the people out of Egypt! Send locusts on Congress! Do something!”
“We need it.”
“My friends need it.”
“I do too.”
“Thanks for today … Please God, work on tomorrow I’m not sure how much more we can take.”
Monday, September 26, 2011
Rolling Stops
It ended up being the Sunday that I wanted ... quiet, laid back, music and grilled chops and sausage. Goddess got walks and we took bicycle rides. The girls watched Mama Mia and laughed while I puttered around the kitchen. We made our way to Shirley Sessions at Doc's Bar for "The Girlfriend's" performance which is always a lot of fun.
Shirley's running for Mayor.
Politicians were everywhere yesterday either running to or from office. You couldn't swing a dead feral cat without hitting one. They showed up at the Bored meeting, the daily celebration of life on Tybee Island. They attended Shirley's event even though it was Shirley's event and not their own ... hmmm ... perhaps all Politicians cannot afford their own events and Shirley is being magnanimous about it all.
After spending all of their money on signs, a lot of these poor politicians may not have anything left over for events. As you may know, politicians on Tybee love signs and encourages their utilization. After two other towns went out of business Tybee purchased all of their stop signs and the island has more per capita than any other organized community in all of North America, eastern and western Europe, most of China and Russia.
It is a sad waste of the utilization of signs.
Recycling expert and former politician Johnny O has made a novel contribution to this year's election. He has obtained all of the signs that had been used in previous elections and placed them in his yard. No one currently running for anything has a sign there. All of the signs are the unelected, dead, and decomposing politicians.
He is currently searching for the most obscure, hard-to-find and rarest of all Tybee political signs ... the "Whitley Reynolds" sign. According to ancient history only remembered by Roma, Gloria the Bird Lady (nice finger!) and Nicki Alexander ... Whitley Reynolds once ran for city council and actually won! He proudly served for ten minutes and has never been heard from politically again! Some doubt his actual existence but his ghost can be seen pedaling a drunken bicycle on most nights or eerily sitting at the counter of the Breakfast Club before the doors are unlocked and customers are allowed inside.
But in Whitley is kind of like believing that there non-feral cats on the island. It's crazy.
Back when Johnny O last ran for City Council they sponsored "Ask the Candidate Night" so I showed up because I wanted to ask him something.
He looked good. Brill-cream in his hair, nice suit with really wide tie left over from the 1970s, I think he was even sucking on a peppermint. He was giving it his all.
"I need to ask you something," I said.
"Get the hell away from me," he said.
"What?" I cleverly responded. "It's ask the candidate night."
"Get the hell away from me!" he shouted.
The entire audience of fifteen people witnessed this and, of course, John lost.
The point is ... if you're running for office and I ask you a question ... you sure as hell better answer it ... in public.
So yesterday I met John Somebody-with-no-vowels-in-his-last-name-at-all who running for something. I wanted to buy a vowel but nobody was offering.
Then at Shirley's thing, I met Monty Parks ... who I think used to be a game show host. He was styling though with his open Hawaiian flashing a white chest, shorts, and saddles with socks. He's a nice guy who does nice things. He knew my name. I didn't have any questions for him because Sandy McCloud was lusting after me from the stage and couldn't take her eyes off of me.
So I walked up to Shirley. "Which game show was Monty Parks host of?"
Shirley said, "Get the hell away from me!"
So we came home, grilled, sat on the beloved back deck, listened to music, watched Rocky rise the dead, danced to the incredible deep lyrics of ABBA ... ignoring Stop Signs ... and politicians.
{ P.S. Julia Pierce was kicked out of a food bank for wearing a political shirt to it. Tybee has a thing against shirts. Had she not been wearing one it all would have been fine. Or ... if it was a sign.]
Shirley's running for Mayor.
Politicians were everywhere yesterday either running to or from office. You couldn't swing a dead feral cat without hitting one. They showed up at the Bored meeting, the daily celebration of life on Tybee Island. They attended Shirley's event even though it was Shirley's event and not their own ... hmmm ... perhaps all Politicians cannot afford their own events and Shirley is being magnanimous about it all.
After spending all of their money on signs, a lot of these poor politicians may not have anything left over for events. As you may know, politicians on Tybee love signs and encourages their utilization. After two other towns went out of business Tybee purchased all of their stop signs and the island has more per capita than any other organized community in all of North America, eastern and western Europe, most of China and Russia.
It is a sad waste of the utilization of signs.
Recycling expert and former politician Johnny O has made a novel contribution to this year's election. He has obtained all of the signs that had been used in previous elections and placed them in his yard. No one currently running for anything has a sign there. All of the signs are the unelected, dead, and decomposing politicians.
He is currently searching for the most obscure, hard-to-find and rarest of all Tybee political signs ... the "Whitley Reynolds" sign. According to ancient history only remembered by Roma, Gloria the Bird Lady (nice finger!) and Nicki Alexander ... Whitley Reynolds once ran for city council and actually won! He proudly served for ten minutes and has never been heard from politically again! Some doubt his actual existence but his ghost can be seen pedaling a drunken bicycle on most nights or eerily sitting at the counter of the Breakfast Club before the doors are unlocked and customers are allowed inside.
But in Whitley is kind of like believing that there non-feral cats on the island. It's crazy.
Back when Johnny O last ran for City Council they sponsored "Ask the Candidate Night" so I showed up because I wanted to ask him something.
He looked good. Brill-cream in his hair, nice suit with really wide tie left over from the 1970s, I think he was even sucking on a peppermint. He was giving it his all.
"I need to ask you something," I said.
"Get the hell away from me," he said.
"What?" I cleverly responded. "It's ask the candidate night."
"Get the hell away from me!" he shouted.
The entire audience of fifteen people witnessed this and, of course, John lost.
The point is ... if you're running for office and I ask you a question ... you sure as hell better answer it ... in public.
So yesterday I met John Somebody-with-no-vowels-in-his-last-name-at-all who running for something. I wanted to buy a vowel but nobody was offering.
Then at Shirley's thing, I met Monty Parks ... who I think used to be a game show host. He was styling though with his open Hawaiian flashing a white chest, shorts, and saddles with socks. He's a nice guy who does nice things. He knew my name. I didn't have any questions for him because Sandy McCloud was lusting after me from the stage and couldn't take her eyes off of me.
So I walked up to Shirley. "Which game show was Monty Parks host of?"
Shirley said, "Get the hell away from me!"
So we came home, grilled, sat on the beloved back deck, listened to music, watched Rocky rise the dead, danced to the incredible deep lyrics of ABBA ... ignoring Stop Signs ... and politicians.
{ P.S. Julia Pierce was kicked out of a food bank for wearing a political shirt to it. Tybee has a thing against shirts. Had she not been wearing one it all would have been fine. Or ... if it was a sign.]
Sunday, September 25, 2011
What Sunday's Should Be
The sun winks at me from the Palm tree with the oyster eyes, Mona Lisa smile, coconut bra and grass skirt. Goddess is lying under my feet. Fran's thousand shades are radiant with splendor. A bird belts a solo backed by a choir of cicadas. The sky is a brilliant blue, the marsh grass stands tall above the high tide and the ocean is peaceful and calm. The house is festive and filled with joy and love.
All is right with the world.
From the moment my plane landed and the sweet humidity of coastal Georgia kissed my skin. Walking down the hall out of the airport my heart was filled with delight. The cold and damp of Minneapolis/St. Paul is just another story to tell. As soon as we hit the island we were summoned by the carnival of friends who gather daily in front of Fannie's On-The-Beach for the daily celebration of life on this clump of sand.
I crawled into Roma's baby chair with her ... the woman once dated George Washington knocking his teeth out ... she's old!
"Get off my arm," she screeches.
I adjust and ask "So you okay?"
"I am now," she firmly explains. "I can see except peripherally. Straight ahead is fine but I'm good cause I can't see you at all."
"Oh," I say, "you're a peripheral visionary. You can see the future but just way off to the side?"
"Get out of my chair," she commands.
So I sit with Johnny O and Judy, O Johnny and the other Judy, an extremely hot thing in a black dress and Al. Everybody's having fun, laughing and toasting and loving the hell out of the fact that we are all together again.
"When's Cheryl getting back?" Judy asks.
The rest of us shrug our shoulders. Cheryl lost her mind and went to Chicago for like three months.
"Well," Judy says ,"whenever she does get back ... it's a party with chocolate martinis."
We all agree.
Then this little girl wearing a bathing suit and riding her bicycle comes to a halt beside me. She has freckles and long brown hair. Staring intently at me she smiles and says hello.
I recognize her from Bar Church ... the celebration of God, life and survival of Saturday nights ... the place that smokers and flip flops are welcome ... where pirates worship and wenches sing hymns.
"Can you show me a trick?" I ask her.
She grins and takes off on her bike. Half a block away she hits the brakes and skids around facing me. She did it perfectly!
Then it was time for home and the Goddess and the pure and holy love that fills me with dreams ... where I imagine the future ... and forget the losses and the settling ...
I sit here now in the dawn of the day and the little girl has filled my head with little girls ... and the sun rises above the Palm Tree with the oyster eyes, Mona Lisa smile, coconut bra and grass skirt. It warms my bare skin. The celebration of home has begun. Today there will be songs, food on the grill the pure joys of what Sunday's should be.
All is right with the world.
From the moment my plane landed and the sweet humidity of coastal Georgia kissed my skin. Walking down the hall out of the airport my heart was filled with delight. The cold and damp of Minneapolis/St. Paul is just another story to tell. As soon as we hit the island we were summoned by the carnival of friends who gather daily in front of Fannie's On-The-Beach for the daily celebration of life on this clump of sand.
I crawled into Roma's baby chair with her ... the woman once dated George Washington knocking his teeth out ... she's old!
"Get off my arm," she screeches.
I adjust and ask "So you okay?"
"I am now," she firmly explains. "I can see except peripherally. Straight ahead is fine but I'm good cause I can't see you at all."
"Oh," I say, "you're a peripheral visionary. You can see the future but just way off to the side?"
"Get out of my chair," she commands.
So I sit with Johnny O and Judy, O Johnny and the other Judy, an extremely hot thing in a black dress and Al. Everybody's having fun, laughing and toasting and loving the hell out of the fact that we are all together again.
"When's Cheryl getting back?" Judy asks.
The rest of us shrug our shoulders. Cheryl lost her mind and went to Chicago for like three months.
"Well," Judy says ,"whenever she does get back ... it's a party with chocolate martinis."
We all agree.
Then this little girl wearing a bathing suit and riding her bicycle comes to a halt beside me. She has freckles and long brown hair. Staring intently at me she smiles and says hello.
I recognize her from Bar Church ... the celebration of God, life and survival of Saturday nights ... the place that smokers and flip flops are welcome ... where pirates worship and wenches sing hymns.
"Can you show me a trick?" I ask her.
She grins and takes off on her bike. Half a block away she hits the brakes and skids around facing me. She did it perfectly!
Then it was time for home and the Goddess and the pure and holy love that fills me with dreams ... where I imagine the future ... and forget the losses and the settling ...
I sit here now in the dawn of the day and the little girl has filled my head with little girls ... and the sun rises above the Palm Tree with the oyster eyes, Mona Lisa smile, coconut bra and grass skirt. It warms my bare skin. The celebration of home has begun. Today there will be songs, food on the grill the pure joys of what Sunday's should be.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Believing in Excess
I'm in the air again.
Some would say that I've always been in the air ... tossed about ... thrown aside ... kicking my heels ... not staying grounded ... floating away ... soaring ... crashing... diving … rising again …
In the Minneapolis/St. Paul Crowne Plaza lobby sitting on a couch with my friend Steve, a psychiatrist from New Mexico, he looks at me as with a concerned face … full of compassion that only a psychiatrist has perfected to display in his 50 minute hours …
“How are you?” he asked.
“Good,” I answer as I slap his knee.
Psychiatrist are not used to being touched so he stiffens but keeps his deeply perfected compassionate stare on me … eyes locked … full of empathy …
He makes me laugh so I do.
“Can I tell you something?” he says leaning forward.
“Sure.”
“We’ve been worried about you.”
“It’s good to have people who worry about you,” I say. “I’ve learned that.”
He sits back and rubs his chin, never taking his eyes off of mine, and looks even more compassionate than he did a few seconds ago. Steve is damn good.
He leans forward, remaining silent, intense compassionate gaze coming my way. I stop and stare back. Then I lean forward so that our foreheads are almost touching.
“Hey Steve,” I say in my deep voice, “I’m good. It’s been a crazy rough time. But I’m having fun. Work is good. Love is great.”
Sitting back, he contemplates what I’ve told him.
I wish I could do this. I can’t. My mind works quickly and for a Southern boy my words come fast. My dear friend Terry Ball has this gift and I’ve always admired the hell out of it. Someone asks him a question and he leans back considering it … tasting it … mulling it over … so that you want to reach your arm down his throat and rip the answer out. By the time he speaks you feel that you’ve just had an orgasm.
As a social worker I know what to do. Steve leaned back so I lean back. I mirror his actions. We stare at one another.
He starts laughing.
I start laughing.
We both stop in the same instant and lean forward again, foreheads almost touching, staring intensely at each other.
“Good,” he finally says.
I touch his knee again. He stays focused. I lean back and put my feet on the coffee table.
“Yeah,” I say. It’s been a while since good.”
He waits for what seems like three hours before responding.
“You seemed to really be enjoying yourself last night ... to the point of excess … we were worried.”
“Oh!” I say out … laughing, “Well I believe in excess. I don’t believe in restraint. It is good to be here. I have enjoyed it. You will not make me feel guilty.”
Steve sits back again and contemplates this. So I sit back again contemplating Steve contemplating me.
He leans forward and laughs.
“Good,” he says.
And it is.
Some would say that I've always been in the air ... tossed about ... thrown aside ... kicking my heels ... not staying grounded ... floating away ... soaring ... crashing... diving … rising again …
In the Minneapolis/St. Paul Crowne Plaza lobby sitting on a couch with my friend Steve, a psychiatrist from New Mexico, he looks at me as with a concerned face … full of compassion that only a psychiatrist has perfected to display in his 50 minute hours …
“How are you?” he asked.
“Good,” I answer as I slap his knee.
Psychiatrist are not used to being touched so he stiffens but keeps his deeply perfected compassionate stare on me … eyes locked … full of empathy …
He makes me laugh so I do.
“Can I tell you something?” he says leaning forward.
“Sure.”
“We’ve been worried about you.”
“It’s good to have people who worry about you,” I say. “I’ve learned that.”
He sits back and rubs his chin, never taking his eyes off of mine, and looks even more compassionate than he did a few seconds ago. Steve is damn good.
He leans forward, remaining silent, intense compassionate gaze coming my way. I stop and stare back. Then I lean forward so that our foreheads are almost touching.
“Hey Steve,” I say in my deep voice, “I’m good. It’s been a crazy rough time. But I’m having fun. Work is good. Love is great.”
Sitting back, he contemplates what I’ve told him.
I wish I could do this. I can’t. My mind works quickly and for a Southern boy my words come fast. My dear friend Terry Ball has this gift and I’ve always admired the hell out of it. Someone asks him a question and he leans back considering it … tasting it … mulling it over … so that you want to reach your arm down his throat and rip the answer out. By the time he speaks you feel that you’ve just had an orgasm.
As a social worker I know what to do. Steve leaned back so I lean back. I mirror his actions. We stare at one another.
He starts laughing.
I start laughing.
We both stop in the same instant and lean forward again, foreheads almost touching, staring intensely at each other.
“Good,” he finally says.
I touch his knee again. He stays focused. I lean back and put my feet on the coffee table.
“Yeah,” I say. It’s been a while since good.”
He waits for what seems like three hours before responding.
“You seemed to really be enjoying yourself last night ... to the point of excess … we were worried.”
“Oh!” I say out … laughing, “Well I believe in excess. I don’t believe in restraint. It is good to be here. I have enjoyed it. You will not make me feel guilty.”
Steve sits back again and contemplates this. So I sit back again contemplating Steve contemplating me.
He leans forward and laughs.
“Good,” he says.
And it is.
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