A beautiful sunrise has been kidnapped by the Fog which was rolled in from the Back River. The morning is muted in a haze so ... I light a fire on the Beloved Back Deck where I am working and create ... cozy. Goddess loves a fire and sits under my feet with her face staring into the flame.
The famous Dr. Jim Withers calls me and says that it is cold and raining in Pittsburgh. I say that once the sun burns this fog off, it's going to be close to eighty degrees and a lovely day. He is driving his daughter to school and immediately asks her if she wants to come to Tybee Island.
I re-read a letter I received yesterday for the hundredth time. Pandora plays on the computer. I hold the morning in balance. Before me are the things that I wish for today but like the fog that has hidden the sun I know things will get in the way. Everything will not go right.
The fog drags a cold breeze off of the ocean and throws it at me. I throw wood on the fire.
"Bring it on," I say out loud.
The song changes and I listen intently warming my bare feet in crackle of the wood.
You should know that life is a gamble all along
winners and losers who keep rolling on
so go on and roll the dice
you only live twice
do it or die
My favorite song by the Atlanta Rhythm Section plays arriving perfectly. I've always loved that line ... "you only live twice" ... it's such a wonderful ... truth.
The song is about everything going wrong.
Resurrection is funny concept. Jesus comes back from the dead to remind us ... "Don't let your bad breaks go getting you down ... even when times are rough and you've had enough ... do it or die."
So when death came ... Jesus refused to die.
I've been there.
Everything went wrong ... EVERYTHING ... and I was left alone in a tomb of a house ... dead to my own life.
But you know what?
You only live twice.
There's the first time when it all goes mostly right. Then there is this bitch of a crucifixion and you either allow it to happen or ... you don't. Marriages end but life goes on. Jobs come and go but you're left standing. Dreams don't always come true and you wonder if this is all that there is on the other side of the rainbow. The Fog rolls in an kidnaps a sunny day. Darkness falls inside of you when nights should be full of love.
These these certainly happened to me.
They suck.
But ... do it or die.
I'm not ready to die. So I lit a fire ... on the back deck and inside of me.
So just like when Jesus came back because he refused to die ... watch me.
I'm just getting started.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Sunday, November 13, 2011
The Brady Bunch
Once at a University of Georgia football game, the boys were standing on the porch overlooking the Courtyard at the Holiday Inn wheree kids were tossing the ball around, families had tailgates set up, and it was a glorious fall day. We were indulging in self-medication and talking as we do everygame.
"Boys," Bill Shearhouse said, "from this perch we have experienced everything. Marriages and divorces. Births and deaths. Wins and losses. We've solved every problem in the world from here."
"And never told anybody," Jeremy replied.
My son cracks me up.
Yesterday when the Penn State football game started on television he quipped, "This game is brought to you by Toys-R-US."
He's working on his Ph.D. at UGA and carries his wit to class with him. A professor asked his class last week "What are examples of negative reprecussions of the computer in American society?"
"It has eroded socity's ability to spell because 'auto-correct'," one of the students said.
"Really?" Jeremy blurted out. "I thought that was due to the loss of Nuns with rulers in the classroom."
We were having cocktails together Friday night talking about his marriage with Marie, Chelsea and Sam getting married, Kristen in a long term relationship and I am too. "I get it Dad," he summarized. "We're going to be 'The Brady Bunch' ... a dysfuctional Brady Bunch, but the Brady Bunch nevertheless."
He's also got a serious side and is quite the student. We often have long lingering conversations about life and the problems we may be having. He's fiercely devoted to his sister Chelsea and the two of them spend lots of time together. He reads like I do and has spent the better part of last year working on his writing skills. He sleeps later than I do but the two of us have closed down many a night together.
It's a wonderful thing when you become close friends with your children when they become adults.
I've been so blessed.
So on Sunday morning, I'll count my blessings.
Oh My God!
There are eight!
We really are becoming the Brady Bunch!
"Boys," Bill Shearhouse said, "from this perch we have experienced everything. Marriages and divorces. Births and deaths. Wins and losses. We've solved every problem in the world from here."
"And never told anybody," Jeremy replied.
My son cracks me up.
Yesterday when the Penn State football game started on television he quipped, "This game is brought to you by Toys-R-US."
He's working on his Ph.D. at UGA and carries his wit to class with him. A professor asked his class last week "What are examples of negative reprecussions of the computer in American society?"
"It has eroded socity's ability to spell because 'auto-correct'," one of the students said.
"Really?" Jeremy blurted out. "I thought that was due to the loss of Nuns with rulers in the classroom."
We were having cocktails together Friday night talking about his marriage with Marie, Chelsea and Sam getting married, Kristen in a long term relationship and I am too. "I get it Dad," he summarized. "We're going to be 'The Brady Bunch' ... a dysfuctional Brady Bunch, but the Brady Bunch nevertheless."
He's also got a serious side and is quite the student. We often have long lingering conversations about life and the problems we may be having. He's fiercely devoted to his sister Chelsea and the two of them spend lots of time together. He reads like I do and has spent the better part of last year working on his writing skills. He sleeps later than I do but the two of us have closed down many a night together.
It's a wonderful thing when you become close friends with your children when they become adults.
I've been so blessed.
So on Sunday morning, I'll count my blessings.
Oh My God!
There are eight!
We really are becoming the Brady Bunch!
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Chelsea
The cold in the air forced my hands into my pockets and Jeremy quick-stepped beside me as we made our in the night. The campus is lit well and remains beautiful while it sleeps. We make our way up the hill and see the light and hear the laughter through the large glass wall that is the entrance to the University of Georgia School of Art. Bursting inside we shake off the cold as the warmth of the room and positive karma surround us.
I gaze over the crowd and am struck by it's beauty. The girls all wear dresses and the guys have on khakis and button down shirts. They're all young and if they are aware of the things wrong in the world, there is no evidence of it tonight. Bright smiles and heartfelt embraces are the languages being spoken. The energy of youth, the conviction that each has the "Midas touch" and optimism that they will fix all of the things that are wrong abounds. Those of us who are older and know better still can't help but be caught up in it.
Chelsea, with her long blong blond hair, beautific smile that she whips out like a switch-blade, floats over to us in a black dress and boots. She drips beauty. My heart stops for a moment. The whole damn world stops for a moment. Then she crashes into me with a hug before moving on to the brother she adores.
Full of excitment she leads us past the wine and the food into the gallery. I laugh at the food table because it is full of the things that her mother makes. I flash back to all of those little girl birthday parties where the same things sat on a different table.
Sam suddenly stands in front of us. Chelsea's fiancee had picked me up earlier in Atlanta. When I got off of the Subway where we were to meet, he's talking to a homeless guy eating an orange. Dressed in faded jeans with holes everywhere, a dirty shirt and his beloved Georgia Tech cap he smiles when he sees me. We talk all of the way from Atlanta to Athens. Now, he is transformed into a college senior with the entire world and the girl he loves lying before him. He beams.
Janice, the maker of the food and the mother of the kids, is there too along with Shannon, her significant other. We all come together as a family no longer legally bound but the years and the devotion to the kids have softened the places that were torn apart. We embrace and then I shake Shannon hands warmly.
Collectively we turn and Chelsea's art is on display. My eyes grow wide as it is obviously different from the everything else on display ... Barbie doll themes, majestic depictions of life's diversity and sweeping scenes of landscapes and life. Chelsea's stands alone.
The largest piece is a cherub face of a little boy wistfully looking upward. A black Cherub's face is behind his left shoulder and an older one rests on his right. Both faces are full of sadness. DNA codes are the buttons on the shirt of the center child and DNA codes rain down upon him. At the bottom are rubber ducks and teddy bears.
The next one to catch me is her deceased grandfather in his last days, looking off to one side as though he was painfully trying to process whatever it was saw ... but could no longer put it all together. Behind him is a large mirror of everything the man accomplished in his past. Whimsical swirls and bright colors are splattered across the canvas illustrating the joy that he was.
Salt water from the ocean finds my eyes.
I see Chelsea looking at me looking at these things. "They're like the homeless stuff at Union Mission," I say.
She nods with the switch blade smile.
Back when I was at Union Mission we used art a lot. Artist would come in and pair up with homeless people and create. The pain of the people we housed made its way to the canvas and were proudly displayed everywhere. I hope they are still there as they are the deepest places that homeless people needed to get outside of themselves.
Chelsea had witnessed this as a child. As an adult, she'd made it her own. The little boy had autism and she'd spent month's studying it and then she'd expressed what she'd learned with paint. "It's conscience not contagious" is the title.
Each work displays the pain of being who you are juxaposed with the discrimination of what that often means.
Chelsea and I share music with one another often. Jeremy and I do too. Kristen ... occasionally stops long enough to listen to music. Years ago, when she first started college I made her a CD of songs. The first was Paul Simon's "Father and Daughter" from the Thornburies movie which Chelsea watched as a little girl. She often plays it when we are together listening to music.
It's something to watch your kids grow up. Who they become is never what you think. Jeremy was going to be a football player and brain surgeon when he was little. Now he's working on his Ph.D. Kristen was going to be a sports superstar (which she was for a while) and now lives happily ... alone.
Chelsea was always going to be an artist ... always.
Coloring led to drawing which took her to painting ... and then something happened and she started taking these things to other places.
Now she graduates from art school at the University of Georiga where always wanted to graduate from then she and Sam will marry. Then she's going to continue her studies in New York ... where's she's always wanted to go too. She's always knew what she wanted. The rest of us seem to always be looking.
This song keeps floating in my head. It is the one I gave her those years ago.
"As long one and one are two ... there could never be a father ... who loves his daughter ... more than I love you."
I gaze over the crowd and am struck by it's beauty. The girls all wear dresses and the guys have on khakis and button down shirts. They're all young and if they are aware of the things wrong in the world, there is no evidence of it tonight. Bright smiles and heartfelt embraces are the languages being spoken. The energy of youth, the conviction that each has the "Midas touch" and optimism that they will fix all of the things that are wrong abounds. Those of us who are older and know better still can't help but be caught up in it.
Chelsea, with her long blong blond hair, beautific smile that she whips out like a switch-blade, floats over to us in a black dress and boots. She drips beauty. My heart stops for a moment. The whole damn world stops for a moment. Then she crashes into me with a hug before moving on to the brother she adores.
Full of excitment she leads us past the wine and the food into the gallery. I laugh at the food table because it is full of the things that her mother makes. I flash back to all of those little girl birthday parties where the same things sat on a different table.
Sam suddenly stands in front of us. Chelsea's fiancee had picked me up earlier in Atlanta. When I got off of the Subway where we were to meet, he's talking to a homeless guy eating an orange. Dressed in faded jeans with holes everywhere, a dirty shirt and his beloved Georgia Tech cap he smiles when he sees me. We talk all of the way from Atlanta to Athens. Now, he is transformed into a college senior with the entire world and the girl he loves lying before him. He beams.
Janice, the maker of the food and the mother of the kids, is there too along with Shannon, her significant other. We all come together as a family no longer legally bound but the years and the devotion to the kids have softened the places that were torn apart. We embrace and then I shake Shannon hands warmly.
Collectively we turn and Chelsea's art is on display. My eyes grow wide as it is obviously different from the everything else on display ... Barbie doll themes, majestic depictions of life's diversity and sweeping scenes of landscapes and life. Chelsea's stands alone.
The largest piece is a cherub face of a little boy wistfully looking upward. A black Cherub's face is behind his left shoulder and an older one rests on his right. Both faces are full of sadness. DNA codes are the buttons on the shirt of the center child and DNA codes rain down upon him. At the bottom are rubber ducks and teddy bears.
The next one to catch me is her deceased grandfather in his last days, looking off to one side as though he was painfully trying to process whatever it was saw ... but could no longer put it all together. Behind him is a large mirror of everything the man accomplished in his past. Whimsical swirls and bright colors are splattered across the canvas illustrating the joy that he was.
Salt water from the ocean finds my eyes.
I see Chelsea looking at me looking at these things. "They're like the homeless stuff at Union Mission," I say.
She nods with the switch blade smile.
Back when I was at Union Mission we used art a lot. Artist would come in and pair up with homeless people and create. The pain of the people we housed made its way to the canvas and were proudly displayed everywhere. I hope they are still there as they are the deepest places that homeless people needed to get outside of themselves.
Chelsea had witnessed this as a child. As an adult, she'd made it her own. The little boy had autism and she'd spent month's studying it and then she'd expressed what she'd learned with paint. "It's conscience not contagious" is the title.
Each work displays the pain of being who you are juxaposed with the discrimination of what that often means.
Chelsea and I share music with one another often. Jeremy and I do too. Kristen ... occasionally stops long enough to listen to music. Years ago, when she first started college I made her a CD of songs. The first was Paul Simon's "Father and Daughter" from the Thornburies movie which Chelsea watched as a little girl. She often plays it when we are together listening to music.
It's something to watch your kids grow up. Who they become is never what you think. Jeremy was going to be a football player and brain surgeon when he was little. Now he's working on his Ph.D. Kristen was going to be a sports superstar (which she was for a while) and now lives happily ... alone.
Chelsea was always going to be an artist ... always.
Coloring led to drawing which took her to painting ... and then something happened and she started taking these things to other places.
Now she graduates from art school at the University of Georiga where always wanted to graduate from then she and Sam will marry. Then she's going to continue her studies in New York ... where's she's always wanted to go too. She's always knew what she wanted. The rest of us seem to always be looking.
This song keeps floating in my head. It is the one I gave her those years ago.
"As long one and one are two ... there could never be a father ... who loves his daughter ... more than I love you."
Thursday, November 10, 2011
How Things Get Better
Making my way through the crowded room towards the serving table for wine someone in the crowd grabbed my butt. Turning around in mid-stride I saw Jenny's gnarled black hand suspended in the air above her wheelchair. Her body is twisted to one side as she flashed a dazzling smile. Wearing a black evening gown with long black dregs that draped her shoulder, she was a thing of beauty condensed into a rolling platform.
"Micheal Elliott," she said in her squeaky little girl voice, "I need you."
So I dropped to a knee beside her wheelchair in the middle of a crowded room.
"What's Up Jenny? You look fabulous!"
She laughed as I touched her arm and this photographer appeared out of nowhere and started snapping pictures. Neither of us paid him any attention.
"We've lost all of our government funding," she wistfully explained. "Will you help?"
"Aww that's what all the girls say to me," I reply.
The gnarled hand slaps the side of my head.
"I'm being serious," she scolded.
"Of course I'll help. Can I get us some wine first," I ask standing up.
"No," she snaps, "get back down here."
So I got back on my knees in the middle of a crowded room with the wine table way onthe other side.
"Will you help me?" she asked looking me dead in the eye.
'Who can tell you no?" I say.
"The Government," she fired back.
"Touche," I nod.
"Most everything to help facilitate handicap accessiblity and to train folks to be independent has been slashed from the budget. We've morphed into a volunteer driven organization but need operating captial. Advise me," she demanded.
"Now?"
Her garled hand hit my head again and she laughed her squeaky little girl voice. "No not now! Let's talk tomorrow and work something out."
"Stop hitting me," I tell her with a smile. "Tomorrow then. Can I get us some wine now?"
"Bring me red," she laughs.
I stand, bow in homage to a lady who has made her city a better place for those who live in wheelchairs.
Her twisted head regally nods back and I kiss her forehead before turning and making my way across the room.
Tough times can get tougher sometimes and that certainly seems to be the case for many these days. Jenny is a nationally recognized hero for thousands of people who are too intimidated by their disabilities to speak out for themselves. Congress can't pass a budget and State legislators balance theirs by passing the buck on to others. People fall through cracks such "leadership" creates.
I've never met a Republican who doesn't believe any problem can be solved with a tax cut and I've never met a Democrat who doesn't think one can be fixed with a new program. The Tea Party People are mad as hell about all of this and the Occupy People are squatting everywhere these days. It's all gone crazy.
I find myself getting asked if I can help a lot on this trip. The answer is always the same. We "get by with a little help from my friends," prophecy the Beatles and its more true now than ever.
I help them. They help me and that is how things get better.
"Micheal Elliott," she said in her squeaky little girl voice, "I need you."
So I dropped to a knee beside her wheelchair in the middle of a crowded room.
"What's Up Jenny? You look fabulous!"
She laughed as I touched her arm and this photographer appeared out of nowhere and started snapping pictures. Neither of us paid him any attention.
"We've lost all of our government funding," she wistfully explained. "Will you help?"
"Aww that's what all the girls say to me," I reply.
The gnarled hand slaps the side of my head.
"I'm being serious," she scolded.
"Of course I'll help. Can I get us some wine first," I ask standing up.
"No," she snaps, "get back down here."
So I got back on my knees in the middle of a crowded room with the wine table way onthe other side.
"Will you help me?" she asked looking me dead in the eye.
'Who can tell you no?" I say.
"The Government," she fired back.
"Touche," I nod.
"Most everything to help facilitate handicap accessiblity and to train folks to be independent has been slashed from the budget. We've morphed into a volunteer driven organization but need operating captial. Advise me," she demanded.
"Now?"
Her garled hand hit my head again and she laughed her squeaky little girl voice. "No not now! Let's talk tomorrow and work something out."
"Stop hitting me," I tell her with a smile. "Tomorrow then. Can I get us some wine now?"
"Bring me red," she laughs.
I stand, bow in homage to a lady who has made her city a better place for those who live in wheelchairs.
Her twisted head regally nods back and I kiss her forehead before turning and making my way across the room.
Tough times can get tougher sometimes and that certainly seems to be the case for many these days. Jenny is a nationally recognized hero for thousands of people who are too intimidated by their disabilities to speak out for themselves. Congress can't pass a budget and State legislators balance theirs by passing the buck on to others. People fall through cracks such "leadership" creates.
I've never met a Republican who doesn't believe any problem can be solved with a tax cut and I've never met a Democrat who doesn't think one can be fixed with a new program. The Tea Party People are mad as hell about all of this and the Occupy People are squatting everywhere these days. It's all gone crazy.
I find myself getting asked if I can help a lot on this trip. The answer is always the same. We "get by with a little help from my friends," prophecy the Beatles and its more true now than ever.
I help them. They help me and that is how things get better.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
This One
I hit the road again tomorrow. After a three week reprieve from travel, it's back to the airport to Baltimore for a meeting of the "Community Health Leaders" of which somehow I remain one. There are 180 of us from throughout the country who have been recognized for improvements in how health care works in the United States.
No one there thinks inside of the box so these are my kind of people. "Mama always told me not to look into the eyes of the sun, but Mama ... that's where the fun is!" That's the mantra of this group.
At this point in my life, I've been most everywhere I've ever wanted to go. A lot of places, I've been to numerous times, so much so, that most cities look the same to me. Sure, some are better than others but after a while they all seem the same. When I hit one, I try to find pubs or bookstores where locals hang out which is a lot more fun than sitting in a conference room or a hotel meeting space which all look alike.
This week, I've received texts, phone calls and emails from my St. Martin friends. "Where are you?" was the common question. Last year at this time I was there. I suppose they expected me back which is nice. After you've lived through not being wanted you learn what a wonderful thing it is to be wanted.
And I love St. Martin as much as I love anyplace. It's up there with Tybee Island for sure. Savannah used to be way high on the list but it's dropped out of the "Top Ten." Stevenson, Washington took it's place.
Havana, Cuba comes next followed by Hope Town in the Bahamas. I still get a rush in Washington, D.C. and Prague in the Chec Republic is the world's most beautiful city. New York City remains though I no longer love it as much as I used to. Athens, Georgia in the fall will never leave the list and of course, Key West rounds it all out.
Over the last year something has happened. The day before I leave has become a day of dread. I travel so much I have weeks and weeks of dread. There is a weariness to the road and honestly, I've really become a homebody. Goddess and I are quite content watering the flowers and taking walks to make sure that Shirley's sad little holy dock hasn't fallen into the marsh.
This tiny collection of friends somehow morphed into family last year and I miss them when I am gone ... and the missing grows more intense.
Then there is this one ... I miss her most of all. Days are no longer right when we cannot share them. It is not the day's fault, nor is it anybody else's ... save perhaps the Gods conspiring against us ... or forcing us to remember that absence does indeed make the heart grow fonder ... though "waiting is the hardest part" according to the prophet Tom Petty and ... waiting is a bitch.
I'm fifty-five years old and have done a lot in those years. I've seen the world and liked most of it. I've been glorified and vilified. I've been crucified and I've ascended to heaven on more than one occasion. I've gotten standing ovations and have been cussed out in public. I've held the hands of the dying and I've also watched the dead come back to life. I have healed and I have been so hurt that I couldn't stand in my own house. I've been so public and now ... I am private. I used to chase things ... not I wait on them to come to me.
Today I ponder these things. It is the dread of leaving the things you love.
I have too of course. There is money to be made and possibilities to explore. But I do these things for what is coming. Not for what's been left behind ... those are just stories to tell.
The God's have stopped conspiring and Paul McCartney is now singing a Hymn.
"Did I ever take you in my arms, look you in the eye and tell you that I Do? Did I ever open up my heart and let you look inside? If I never did it, I was only waiting for a moment that didn't come. There could never be a better moment than this one ... this one."
I love you.
No one there thinks inside of the box so these are my kind of people. "Mama always told me not to look into the eyes of the sun, but Mama ... that's where the fun is!" That's the mantra of this group.
At this point in my life, I've been most everywhere I've ever wanted to go. A lot of places, I've been to numerous times, so much so, that most cities look the same to me. Sure, some are better than others but after a while they all seem the same. When I hit one, I try to find pubs or bookstores where locals hang out which is a lot more fun than sitting in a conference room or a hotel meeting space which all look alike.
This week, I've received texts, phone calls and emails from my St. Martin friends. "Where are you?" was the common question. Last year at this time I was there. I suppose they expected me back which is nice. After you've lived through not being wanted you learn what a wonderful thing it is to be wanted.
And I love St. Martin as much as I love anyplace. It's up there with Tybee Island for sure. Savannah used to be way high on the list but it's dropped out of the "Top Ten." Stevenson, Washington took it's place.
Havana, Cuba comes next followed by Hope Town in the Bahamas. I still get a rush in Washington, D.C. and Prague in the Chec Republic is the world's most beautiful city. New York City remains though I no longer love it as much as I used to. Athens, Georgia in the fall will never leave the list and of course, Key West rounds it all out.
Over the last year something has happened. The day before I leave has become a day of dread. I travel so much I have weeks and weeks of dread. There is a weariness to the road and honestly, I've really become a homebody. Goddess and I are quite content watering the flowers and taking walks to make sure that Shirley's sad little holy dock hasn't fallen into the marsh.
This tiny collection of friends somehow morphed into family last year and I miss them when I am gone ... and the missing grows more intense.
Then there is this one ... I miss her most of all. Days are no longer right when we cannot share them. It is not the day's fault, nor is it anybody else's ... save perhaps the Gods conspiring against us ... or forcing us to remember that absence does indeed make the heart grow fonder ... though "waiting is the hardest part" according to the prophet Tom Petty and ... waiting is a bitch.
I'm fifty-five years old and have done a lot in those years. I've seen the world and liked most of it. I've been glorified and vilified. I've been crucified and I've ascended to heaven on more than one occasion. I've gotten standing ovations and have been cussed out in public. I've held the hands of the dying and I've also watched the dead come back to life. I have healed and I have been so hurt that I couldn't stand in my own house. I've been so public and now ... I am private. I used to chase things ... not I wait on them to come to me.
Today I ponder these things. It is the dread of leaving the things you love.
I have too of course. There is money to be made and possibilities to explore. But I do these things for what is coming. Not for what's been left behind ... those are just stories to tell.
The God's have stopped conspiring and Paul McCartney is now singing a Hymn.
"Did I ever take you in my arms, look you in the eye and tell you that I Do? Did I ever open up my heart and let you look inside? If I never did it, I was only waiting for a moment that didn't come. There could never be a better moment than this one ... this one."
I love you.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Dancing WIth Fran
It is a beautiful morning as Goddess and I sit on the beloved back deck watching the sun and Fran's thousand shades of green do this Tango. Everything remains in bloom though the deck is littered with leaves from the huge tree that leans between my house and the neighbors. The Hibiscus blooms are a reddish orange complimented by the yellows and pinks of the Gerber Daises. The Palm Tree with the oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt wishes me a happy "Good Morning". Fran is out dancing the sun who suddenly stands still to admire her beauty and I must admit that she still takes your breath away.
"Hey!" I yell at her, though she's been dead for decades only to be risen when I needed her most in her thousand shades of radiance. "Give me my breath back!"
She would have loved the line.
We danced together once ... at "The Flame" in Statesboro. She'd had never been and I spent most of my time there. She was trying to cram all of these things into her life before she died, because she knew she was dying. I'm not sure how but I became "Accomplish in Living" so I drug her to "The Flame" one night with her protesting all of the way. She was very close to God ... much closer than me ... and she knew she'd be spending more time with God than with me anyway ... but she loved me and we walked in giggling.
Fran dripped in beauty. There is no other way to describe her. Long black hair that curled in ringlets, the largest brown Cow eyes that made you melt, olive skin and this Pirate Smile that was forged in hell but loved by God so much that he gave it to her. She may have weighed ninety pounds.
But she saw things the rest of us never saw. Trees were thousands of shades of green. Tiny legs with MS would pedal a yellow bicycle built for two ... because she believed she was never alone. I would often find her, sitting alone by the lake or in Sweetheart Circle ... reading or writing or just staring at things.
"What are you doing Fran?" I would ask.
She moved in slow motion as though forcing herself out of one universe into another. When those large eyes finally rested on me, it took her seconds to process everything as though she were looking at me for the very first time. The silence was pounding and then would finally speak. When she did, she shared something about wherever universe it was just been.
"See those the thousand shades of green in those trees?" was the first time she did this to me. She never said "Oh hey Mike" but took me directly to wherever she was.
Everyone treated her as though she were some frail invalid because she couldn't always control her legs or arms and would just topple over in a crowded hallway for no apparent reason. And the most beautiful she ever was sitting there, papers and books spread everywhere, her legs spread in her blue jeans as she tried to steady herself on the floor and ... she would just smile.
People rushed by her to their classes and on numerous occasions I would find her there, trying to reach the papers and books furthest from her ... with beautiful arms that didn't quite work. I would plop on the floor beside her and spread my legs like her.
"What are you doing Fran?" I would ask.
And she would laugh. Then she thrown her arm around my shoulder and I pick her up. Then we would do this silly dance because she would have to be the one to collect her own stuff ... my job was to keep her mostly upright as she bent over. We fell over together a lot and would just laugh. Somehow, the Professors would always excuse me for being late to class because Fran had given me this excuse.
I never treated her as she was fragile or dying or anything other than her beautiful self. So at "The Flame" that night ... a stale beer and urine smelling kind of place ... we danced to ... "Stairway to Heaven."
She didn't cry.... though I did.
She giggled.
So I giggled and we burst into laughter.
I stare off into space with moist eyes. The phone rings and I jump to life. Dedra tries to open the back gate and it takes her a long time to operate machinery. Goddess licks my foot.
I stand and light a fire in the pit just ... cause today is special.
The winds pick up and Fran's leaves shimmer.
The sun continues to defer to her.
And she just dances ...
like she always has.
"Hey!" I yell at her, though she's been dead for decades only to be risen when I needed her most in her thousand shades of radiance. "Give me my breath back!"
She would have loved the line.
We danced together once ... at "The Flame" in Statesboro. She'd had never been and I spent most of my time there. She was trying to cram all of these things into her life before she died, because she knew she was dying. I'm not sure how but I became "Accomplish in Living" so I drug her to "The Flame" one night with her protesting all of the way. She was very close to God ... much closer than me ... and she knew she'd be spending more time with God than with me anyway ... but she loved me and we walked in giggling.
Fran dripped in beauty. There is no other way to describe her. Long black hair that curled in ringlets, the largest brown Cow eyes that made you melt, olive skin and this Pirate Smile that was forged in hell but loved by God so much that he gave it to her. She may have weighed ninety pounds.
But she saw things the rest of us never saw. Trees were thousands of shades of green. Tiny legs with MS would pedal a yellow bicycle built for two ... because she believed she was never alone. I would often find her, sitting alone by the lake or in Sweetheart Circle ... reading or writing or just staring at things.
"What are you doing Fran?" I would ask.
She moved in slow motion as though forcing herself out of one universe into another. When those large eyes finally rested on me, it took her seconds to process everything as though she were looking at me for the very first time. The silence was pounding and then would finally speak. When she did, she shared something about wherever universe it was just been.
"See those the thousand shades of green in those trees?" was the first time she did this to me. She never said "Oh hey Mike" but took me directly to wherever she was.
Everyone treated her as though she were some frail invalid because she couldn't always control her legs or arms and would just topple over in a crowded hallway for no apparent reason. And the most beautiful she ever was sitting there, papers and books spread everywhere, her legs spread in her blue jeans as she tried to steady herself on the floor and ... she would just smile.
People rushed by her to their classes and on numerous occasions I would find her there, trying to reach the papers and books furthest from her ... with beautiful arms that didn't quite work. I would plop on the floor beside her and spread my legs like her.
"What are you doing Fran?" I would ask.
And she would laugh. Then she thrown her arm around my shoulder and I pick her up. Then we would do this silly dance because she would have to be the one to collect her own stuff ... my job was to keep her mostly upright as she bent over. We fell over together a lot and would just laugh. Somehow, the Professors would always excuse me for being late to class because Fran had given me this excuse.
I never treated her as she was fragile or dying or anything other than her beautiful self. So at "The Flame" that night ... a stale beer and urine smelling kind of place ... we danced to ... "Stairway to Heaven."
She didn't cry.... though I did.
She giggled.
So I giggled and we burst into laughter.
I stare off into space with moist eyes. The phone rings and I jump to life. Dedra tries to open the back gate and it takes her a long time to operate machinery. Goddess licks my foot.
I stand and light a fire in the pit just ... cause today is special.
The winds pick up and Fran's leaves shimmer.
The sun continues to defer to her.
And she just dances ...
like she always has.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
Becoming me
'm a big believer in patterns in life. Looking for them and understanding them is key.
If someone consistently tells you they love you and makes it pretty obvious then they probably love you.
If somebody else treats you like a nobody, they likely think you're a nobody.
Sure everybody has aberrations and screw ups ... the person who loves you meets you and is suddenly unlovely and distant ... and it leaves you questioning everything about that love. And the person who thinks little of you is sometimes overcome by their need for you and, at least for a moment, they are grateful for you.
I've been considering the patterns in my life.
The other night I went to a birthday party for a blessing of a little girl. Sam and Gordon, who play damn good music on Tybee Island, showed up with guitar and harmonica and sang to her. "Happy Birthday to you" followed by "You say it's your birthday, It's my birthday too yeah!"
She sat there completely overwhelmed by it.
Her mother said, "Well, this sets the bar for every birthday party moving forward."
I laughed considering life's patterns have to be measured against certain bars.
In another life, not too long ago ... I had everything ... and I had nothing. An incredibly successful career, known everywhere I went, plenty of money, a beautiful wife, books I'd written, speeches I'd given, expectations to live up to ... "I used to rule the world, seas would rise when I gave the word. But now I sleep alone ... sweep the streets I used to own."
First I lost me ... to all of these other things. It is a terrible thing to lose yourself. You sleepwalk through your own life trying to justify your existence and love from what other people give you. But that's what I did and it brings a heaviness that you cannot imagine.
Then I lost I lost the wife. She fled because there was no "me" to love anymore I guess. I don't know. She started leaving years before she actually left ... but I never recognized the patterns. Stupid me! I was preoccupied with losing myself.
Then the work went away and it took many people with it. That was shocking! I mean for years they'd told me how special I am and how much they love me but ... suddenly I was no longer in a position to ... do things for them on demand. So they moved on to who could leaving me to discover "that my castles stand upon pillars of salt, pillars of sand."
The winds of change blew ... and all of that was gone.
Somehow ... I held on to a few things ... where I live ... a handful of friends ... a dog ... and I wept at everything I'd lost.
I don't remember when ... but I remember who ... reminded me of a verse from the Bible ... "This day I call on heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life so that you and your children may live."
So I chose ... life.
First I got me back though it took a long time and was a lot of hard work. There are moments and times when I lose myself again but that is anomaly and not the norm. I regain myself quickly.
Then the love came back and it was far more giving than any love I've ever had ... and it humbles me ... and I find that I spend my time wanting to serve and honor that love.
The work is not quite back yet. I've been working for good and holy things but ... its not all settled like the holding on to me and holding on to the love parts ... but I believe ... it will come ... I just can't rush ... I must believe and wait on it to come to me ... which is not to say I should be surprised at whatever comes because I am prepared for ... whatever comes.
So I stand on this precipice.
The castles are not quite what they were, but the rooms are filled with light and happiness.
"It was the wicked and wild wind, blew down the doors to let me in ... shattered windows and the sound of drums ... people couldn't believe what I'd become."
You know what?
To hell with them.
I've become me.
If someone consistently tells you they love you and makes it pretty obvious then they probably love you.
If somebody else treats you like a nobody, they likely think you're a nobody.
Sure everybody has aberrations and screw ups ... the person who loves you meets you and is suddenly unlovely and distant ... and it leaves you questioning everything about that love. And the person who thinks little of you is sometimes overcome by their need for you and, at least for a moment, they are grateful for you.
I've been considering the patterns in my life.
The other night I went to a birthday party for a blessing of a little girl. Sam and Gordon, who play damn good music on Tybee Island, showed up with guitar and harmonica and sang to her. "Happy Birthday to you" followed by "You say it's your birthday, It's my birthday too yeah!"
She sat there completely overwhelmed by it.
Her mother said, "Well, this sets the bar for every birthday party moving forward."
I laughed considering life's patterns have to be measured against certain bars.
In another life, not too long ago ... I had everything ... and I had nothing. An incredibly successful career, known everywhere I went, plenty of money, a beautiful wife, books I'd written, speeches I'd given, expectations to live up to ... "I used to rule the world, seas would rise when I gave the word. But now I sleep alone ... sweep the streets I used to own."
First I lost me ... to all of these other things. It is a terrible thing to lose yourself. You sleepwalk through your own life trying to justify your existence and love from what other people give you. But that's what I did and it brings a heaviness that you cannot imagine.
Then I lost I lost the wife. She fled because there was no "me" to love anymore I guess. I don't know. She started leaving years before she actually left ... but I never recognized the patterns. Stupid me! I was preoccupied with losing myself.
Then the work went away and it took many people with it. That was shocking! I mean for years they'd told me how special I am and how much they love me but ... suddenly I was no longer in a position to ... do things for them on demand. So they moved on to who could leaving me to discover "that my castles stand upon pillars of salt, pillars of sand."
The winds of change blew ... and all of that was gone.
Somehow ... I held on to a few things ... where I live ... a handful of friends ... a dog ... and I wept at everything I'd lost.
I don't remember when ... but I remember who ... reminded me of a verse from the Bible ... "This day I call on heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life so that you and your children may live."
So I chose ... life.
First I got me back though it took a long time and was a lot of hard work. There are moments and times when I lose myself again but that is anomaly and not the norm. I regain myself quickly.
Then the love came back and it was far more giving than any love I've ever had ... and it humbles me ... and I find that I spend my time wanting to serve and honor that love.
The work is not quite back yet. I've been working for good and holy things but ... its not all settled like the holding on to me and holding on to the love parts ... but I believe ... it will come ... I just can't rush ... I must believe and wait on it to come to me ... which is not to say I should be surprised at whatever comes because I am prepared for ... whatever comes.
So I stand on this precipice.
The castles are not quite what they were, but the rooms are filled with light and happiness.
"It was the wicked and wild wind, blew down the doors to let me in ... shattered windows and the sound of drums ... people couldn't believe what I'd become."
You know what?
To hell with them.
I've become me.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Getting it right this time
My friend Mike Ethridge made a "B" in his "Marriage Enrichment" course in Seminary the same semester that he got divorced.
It just goes to show you that things are not always what they seem.
Then again I've come to believe that's the way it is ... especially with relationships, but also what it's really like in the work place, with the elected official and even the miss-truths we tell ourselves to feel better about it all.
Mike was great though. We went with him to a Jimmy Buffett concert and met his new girlfriend Kim who also went to Seminary. She was great! They had moved in together after his wife had fled the lifelong commitment to be a Preacher's wife.
Rather than be sullen and hide the fact that he'd been abandoned, Mike was pretty open about it. "She couldn't play the piano anyway," he explained as we drank beers one night.
"Well then" I said, "what kind of Preacher's wife could she have been anyway?"
He stared off into space. "We were great in bed," he finally said.
I ordered another pitcher.
Last night we were having this intense conversation about relationships ... and how they are almost never the way people in them represent them to be ... or what we believe they are.
Husbands belittle wives comparing them to the really hot girl sitting at the next table or to the chick in the porn they watched last night. Wives grow emotionally detached from husbands and give everything they've got to their children ... then the children grow up and leave, and they got nothing. Children internalize watching these things and grow up distrustful of commitment.
Then we stay in relationships that are meaningless to us for crazy reasons ... other people's perceptions ... convenience ... money ... or worst of all religious convictions.
If we're lucky, we finally reach some point where we recognize that its ourselves that we are screwing ... and we stop it. Self mutilation is the worst kind of hall! I mean who in their right mind nails themselves to a cross every single day.
The sad answer is a lot a people.
Now in my not-too-distant past, I was abandoned. Shock, agony, decompensation, and a lot of other things resulted. Everything about my life changed overnight. Friends chose sides which is always ... as fascinatingly shocking as it is hurtful ... though it is holy too. You learn who really loves you and it's a much smaller group than you used to know. And I learned to examine myself in far deeper ways than I ever had before.
So on the last day of the last class of Seminary, I happened to be sitting next to Mike Ethridge. The class was called "Exit to Ministry" and this old man taught it. He went on about making certain we kept our socks pulled up sitting in the pulpit.
Mike raised his hand and the old man called on him.
"I think we've all made a mistake," Mike said staring off toward heaven while the rest of us stared at Dr. Allen.
"Please explain yourself Mr. Ethridge," the old man said.
Mike looked at me and winked. I'll never forget that as long as I live. His blue eyes blazed. The smirk on his face was perfect. Then he stood from his desk and collected his stuff.
"Well, Dr. Allen," he said, "You really think Jesus gives a shit about our socks? Or all of this?"
Mike swept his arms around the room.
"Or three piece suits?" Or divorces when he said he is a healer who came to bring peace."
"Mr. Ethridge," Dr. Allen yelled. "Resume your seat! There will not be such outburst in my ..."
"HEY!" Mike screamed. "Be honest Doc. We are the ones who fucked it up. It's up to us to make better! I think if Jesus was here now he would rent a bulldozer and level all of this stuff. Then he'd tell us to start and please do better this time."
The class broke into pandemonium. Pharisees threw stones and Sadducees looked for crosses and nails.
Mike threw his book bag over his shoulder and looked at Dr. Allen.
"I quit!" and he looked at me ... and he winked.
And that's the last time I ever saw him.
He went on to become an attorney and is very successful. I don't think that he and Kim made it but I'm sure it's not for a lack of trying. They were together when they needed to be together.
I sit here this morning remembering my friend and thanking him for important lessons in my life. Sometimes people are in our lives for reasons ... to get us to the next level ... to teach us painful things about ourselves ... to birth children ... to remind us of the things that we really want and believe and are ...
So I've abandoned and I've been abandoned.
Jesus' bulldozer has leveled my life ... but you know what? I understand things better now. Love came to me first and that's where God always starts anyway. So that's what I'm working on ... I've learned enough ... it's time to get it right ... THIS TIME.
It just goes to show you that things are not always what they seem.
Then again I've come to believe that's the way it is ... especially with relationships, but also what it's really like in the work place, with the elected official and even the miss-truths we tell ourselves to feel better about it all.
Mike was great though. We went with him to a Jimmy Buffett concert and met his new girlfriend Kim who also went to Seminary. She was great! They had moved in together after his wife had fled the lifelong commitment to be a Preacher's wife.
Rather than be sullen and hide the fact that he'd been abandoned, Mike was pretty open about it. "She couldn't play the piano anyway," he explained as we drank beers one night.
"Well then" I said, "what kind of Preacher's wife could she have been anyway?"
He stared off into space. "We were great in bed," he finally said.
I ordered another pitcher.
Last night we were having this intense conversation about relationships ... and how they are almost never the way people in them represent them to be ... or what we believe they are.
Husbands belittle wives comparing them to the really hot girl sitting at the next table or to the chick in the porn they watched last night. Wives grow emotionally detached from husbands and give everything they've got to their children ... then the children grow up and leave, and they got nothing. Children internalize watching these things and grow up distrustful of commitment.
Then we stay in relationships that are meaningless to us for crazy reasons ... other people's perceptions ... convenience ... money ... or worst of all religious convictions.
If we're lucky, we finally reach some point where we recognize that its ourselves that we are screwing ... and we stop it. Self mutilation is the worst kind of hall! I mean who in their right mind nails themselves to a cross every single day.
The sad answer is a lot a people.
Now in my not-too-distant past, I was abandoned. Shock, agony, decompensation, and a lot of other things resulted. Everything about my life changed overnight. Friends chose sides which is always ... as fascinatingly shocking as it is hurtful ... though it is holy too. You learn who really loves you and it's a much smaller group than you used to know. And I learned to examine myself in far deeper ways than I ever had before.
So on the last day of the last class of Seminary, I happened to be sitting next to Mike Ethridge. The class was called "Exit to Ministry" and this old man taught it. He went on about making certain we kept our socks pulled up sitting in the pulpit.
Mike raised his hand and the old man called on him.
"I think we've all made a mistake," Mike said staring off toward heaven while the rest of us stared at Dr. Allen.
"Please explain yourself Mr. Ethridge," the old man said.
Mike looked at me and winked. I'll never forget that as long as I live. His blue eyes blazed. The smirk on his face was perfect. Then he stood from his desk and collected his stuff.
"Well, Dr. Allen," he said, "You really think Jesus gives a shit about our socks? Or all of this?"
Mike swept his arms around the room.
"Or three piece suits?" Or divorces when he said he is a healer who came to bring peace."
"Mr. Ethridge," Dr. Allen yelled. "Resume your seat! There will not be such outburst in my ..."
"HEY!" Mike screamed. "Be honest Doc. We are the ones who fucked it up. It's up to us to make better! I think if Jesus was here now he would rent a bulldozer and level all of this stuff. Then he'd tell us to start and please do better this time."
The class broke into pandemonium. Pharisees threw stones and Sadducees looked for crosses and nails.
Mike threw his book bag over his shoulder and looked at Dr. Allen.
"I quit!" and he looked at me ... and he winked.
And that's the last time I ever saw him.
He went on to become an attorney and is very successful. I don't think that he and Kim made it but I'm sure it's not for a lack of trying. They were together when they needed to be together.
I sit here this morning remembering my friend and thanking him for important lessons in my life. Sometimes people are in our lives for reasons ... to get us to the next level ... to teach us painful things about ourselves ... to birth children ... to remind us of the things that we really want and believe and are ...
So I've abandoned and I've been abandoned.
Jesus' bulldozer has leveled my life ... but you know what? I understand things better now. Love came to me first and that's where God always starts anyway. So that's what I'm working on ... I've learned enough ... it's time to get it right ... THIS TIME.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Sunrise
Stumbling out of the door marked "Entrance" I am feeling pretty good for someone who left the island three different times yesterday.
I normally don't leave the island that many times in a week! But I did and each time was wonderfully pleasant as I sailed across the causeway through the marsh with the sun sprinkling diamonds on the high tide.
Once I passed the gantlet of people running for elected office ... with their magazine smiles and waving like crazy at people they don't recognize ... I am in the beauty of the marsh. The windows are rolled down and I suck in the pungent aroma of sex in the tropics which is what the marsh smells like.
Then last night when the politicians were covered in the darkness, the moon shown on the tides of the marsh as I made my way home. The radio was full of silly love songs which complemented my own feelings so I smiled and sang along. At home I found myself falling asleep even though I didn't really want to but in no time at all I was gone.
Waking especially early, I ran through the shower and made my way to the Breakfast Club. Lots of thoughts are on my mind and I want to get it done. There was a Board meeting yesterday of the Street Medicine Institute and my list of things to do got longer and I am determined to get it all done before the weekend which I just want to enjoy.
But at the Club it was just them and me. So I lingered and we laughed and hugged and these people who are not related but are just as much my family as the DNA connected people in my life ... celebrate the birth of a new day together.
Then it was time to get busy so I told the kids bye and walked outside only to stop dead in my tracks.
The sun was just bubbling out of the ocean ... large and orange with no clouds to cover it. There is no breeze for the first time in days. The world is still. I stand at attention witnessing God's creation of ... today.
Morning prayers came quickly though without words.
"Thank you for getting me this far. Thank you for the things I've done. Thank you for letting me survive the horrible things that have happened when people I loved with everything inside of me screwed me royally. Thank you for letting me not hate them too much. Thank you that incredible collection of friends who start every day with me. Thank you most of all for the love in my life ... and thank you so much for tapping me on the shoulder just now with this sunrise and making me stop ... to say thanks."
Standing in the middle of 15th Street, the sun tops the cross walk and Dedra walks outside and stops beside me.
"What are you looking at?" she ask.
"The sunrise," I say never taking my eyes off of it.
"Oh," she says in prayerful emotion. Her words were taken away too.
A white truck pulls to a stop and when the door opens the sunrise is blocked. Three tied looking man crawl out and I wish them a good morning; they do not respond as they merely stare at me with empty eyes as though in shock.
I smile.
Dedra has forgotten her phone and her glasses and the sun be damned ... the world is coming to an end. She jumps in her car and takes off so that they world might be saved.
I stand there as the orange turns to yellow and the deep blue sky turns baby blue.
"Hey God," I say out loud. "Seriously. Thank you."
"Here Comes the Sun", I sing one of the Hymns of my life as I drive home so Goddess can experience it too.
I normally don't leave the island that many times in a week! But I did and each time was wonderfully pleasant as I sailed across the causeway through the marsh with the sun sprinkling diamonds on the high tide.
Once I passed the gantlet of people running for elected office ... with their magazine smiles and waving like crazy at people they don't recognize ... I am in the beauty of the marsh. The windows are rolled down and I suck in the pungent aroma of sex in the tropics which is what the marsh smells like.
Then last night when the politicians were covered in the darkness, the moon shown on the tides of the marsh as I made my way home. The radio was full of silly love songs which complemented my own feelings so I smiled and sang along. At home I found myself falling asleep even though I didn't really want to but in no time at all I was gone.
Waking especially early, I ran through the shower and made my way to the Breakfast Club. Lots of thoughts are on my mind and I want to get it done. There was a Board meeting yesterday of the Street Medicine Institute and my list of things to do got longer and I am determined to get it all done before the weekend which I just want to enjoy.
But at the Club it was just them and me. So I lingered and we laughed and hugged and these people who are not related but are just as much my family as the DNA connected people in my life ... celebrate the birth of a new day together.
Then it was time to get busy so I told the kids bye and walked outside only to stop dead in my tracks.
The sun was just bubbling out of the ocean ... large and orange with no clouds to cover it. There is no breeze for the first time in days. The world is still. I stand at attention witnessing God's creation of ... today.
Morning prayers came quickly though without words.
"Thank you for getting me this far. Thank you for the things I've done. Thank you for letting me survive the horrible things that have happened when people I loved with everything inside of me screwed me royally. Thank you for letting me not hate them too much. Thank you that incredible collection of friends who start every day with me. Thank you most of all for the love in my life ... and thank you so much for tapping me on the shoulder just now with this sunrise and making me stop ... to say thanks."
Standing in the middle of 15th Street, the sun tops the cross walk and Dedra walks outside and stops beside me.
"What are you looking at?" she ask.
"The sunrise," I say never taking my eyes off of it.
"Oh," she says in prayerful emotion. Her words were taken away too.
A white truck pulls to a stop and when the door opens the sunrise is blocked. Three tied looking man crawl out and I wish them a good morning; they do not respond as they merely stare at me with empty eyes as though in shock.
I smile.
Dedra has forgotten her phone and her glasses and the sun be damned ... the world is coming to an end. She jumps in her car and takes off so that they world might be saved.
I stand there as the orange turns to yellow and the deep blue sky turns baby blue.
"Hey God," I say out loud. "Seriously. Thank you."
"Here Comes the Sun", I sing one of the Hymns of my life as I drive home so Goddess can experience it too.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Bar Church Second Anniversary Themes
It is Wednesday so I am thinking about Church.
Not the Southern Baptist Church that I grew up in forcing religion upon us in the middle of the week when the Catholic, Methodist, Presbyterian and other pagan believers got to do whatever they wanted on Wednesday nights. As a matter of fact, Pastor Johnson in Port Wentworth had the nickname "Fireball" because of his fervor ... the man could get hot!
So he also forced us to attend Church on Sunday nights and miss the Ed Sullivan Show which was an obvious tool of Satan to convert us to rock-n-roll. It started with the Beatles of course but then it was the Stones ("Let's Spend the Night Together"), the Doors ("Touch me Baby") ... you know, all of the stuff we were all praying for anyway. To prevent our prayers from coming true, Fireball Johnson forced us to attend Sunday evening services.
But that is not I thinking about this morning. I am thinking about Bar Church which is celebrating it's second anniversary this Sunday. Instead of dinner on the grounds after the service, we're having BYOB ... which is what happens anyway.
At this point I must explain that inexplicably Dedra has emerged as the keeper of Bar Church standards ... which is new for us because we've never had any.
So yesterday, God led me to Publix where I ran into Dedra ordering the sheet cake for the second anniversary of Bar Church. It is the logo of a funky Celtic cross kind of thing with red plume coming out giving it a "Three Musketeers" theme. I had reasons to visit the cake section of Publix anyway but had no idea that it was God's idea.
So there was Dedra ... keeper of standards none of us knew that we had ... trying to decide how to finish decorating the cake. She had the Bar Church logo on it but otherwise was as lost as the baby Moses when his pushed the straw basket down the river.
Luckily, God had led me there at that precise moment.
"We need a tag line," God told me to say to her.
"We do not," Satan told her to tell me.
"Seriously," I continued. "Bar Church, two years of defying conventional religion."
Satan forced her to roll her eyes like the demon possessed little girl in the Exorcist.
"OK," I continued, "Bar Church, come spend 40 years wandering in the wilderness with us."
She threw up a little.
"Bar Church," God told me to press, "where the staff and the rod comfort ye."
She threw up a lot but I was on a roll.
"Bar Church, if it hasn't risen in a while, we'll lay hands on it."
Dedra put her hands on her hips and gave me that "Oh you're so going to hell look."
"One more," I said, "Bar Church where your breasts are like twin fawns of a Gazelle that browse among the lilies."
Dedra suddenly smiled.
"Now you talking," she said.
Not the Southern Baptist Church that I grew up in forcing religion upon us in the middle of the week when the Catholic, Methodist, Presbyterian and other pagan believers got to do whatever they wanted on Wednesday nights. As a matter of fact, Pastor Johnson in Port Wentworth had the nickname "Fireball" because of his fervor ... the man could get hot!
So he also forced us to attend Church on Sunday nights and miss the Ed Sullivan Show which was an obvious tool of Satan to convert us to rock-n-roll. It started with the Beatles of course but then it was the Stones ("Let's Spend the Night Together"), the Doors ("Touch me Baby") ... you know, all of the stuff we were all praying for anyway. To prevent our prayers from coming true, Fireball Johnson forced us to attend Sunday evening services.
But that is not I thinking about this morning. I am thinking about Bar Church which is celebrating it's second anniversary this Sunday. Instead of dinner on the grounds after the service, we're having BYOB ... which is what happens anyway.
At this point I must explain that inexplicably Dedra has emerged as the keeper of Bar Church standards ... which is new for us because we've never had any.
So yesterday, God led me to Publix where I ran into Dedra ordering the sheet cake for the second anniversary of Bar Church. It is the logo of a funky Celtic cross kind of thing with red plume coming out giving it a "Three Musketeers" theme. I had reasons to visit the cake section of Publix anyway but had no idea that it was God's idea.
So there was Dedra ... keeper of standards none of us knew that we had ... trying to decide how to finish decorating the cake. She had the Bar Church logo on it but otherwise was as lost as the baby Moses when his pushed the straw basket down the river.
Luckily, God had led me there at that precise moment.
"We need a tag line," God told me to say to her.
"We do not," Satan told her to tell me.
"Seriously," I continued. "Bar Church, two years of defying conventional religion."
Satan forced her to roll her eyes like the demon possessed little girl in the Exorcist.
"OK," I continued, "Bar Church, come spend 40 years wandering in the wilderness with us."
She threw up a little.
"Bar Church," God told me to press, "where the staff and the rod comfort ye."
She threw up a lot but I was on a roll.
"Bar Church, if it hasn't risen in a while, we'll lay hands on it."
Dedra put her hands on her hips and gave me that "Oh you're so going to hell look."
"One more," I said, "Bar Church where your breasts are like twin fawns of a Gazelle that browse among the lilies."
Dedra suddenly smiled.
"Now you talking," she said.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
The Best Health Care in the World
I'm sitting here sipping black coffee because I have to go to the Doctor's office and she is going to draw blood and if I have anything other than black coffee she can't do it. This means that I would have to go see her twice and I don't want to do that.
Don't get me wrong, I like her. The first time we met she walked in a touched me a lot. What's not to like?
Then she said, "Mike you have high Cholesterol. Though it is hereditary we can treat it with diet and exercise."
"I run five miles a day," I said.
"Drugs it is then," she announced whipping out her prescription pad.
Having started the J. C. Lewis Health Center I learned a great deal about how health care works in the United States. The main thing I learned is to always demand samples ... even of the drugs that you may not be on. You'll be surprised at what you can walk out with!
She put on medications and I took them religiously ... until I ran out. Then I called the pharmacy and had them call Marilyn my Doctor because I didn't want to do it. The drugs were extended for another few months but then she cut me off, hence today's visit to see her.
This is another thing that I've learned about health care in America. The primary purpose is not to make people well but to manage their illness in ways that produce a profit! The bottom line is it's a business.
If I was going to continue to get drugs from my Doctor, even though they were keeping me well, I am going to have to go see her, pay for the office visit, and listen to a lecture on why I have get blood work when she orders me to get it. She's done this before.
"It's on the south side of town," I'll explain. "It's too far."
She will look at me and shake her head but not say anything.
I won't say anything either so it becomes a bit of a stand off.
Finally she's write down the tests she wants, make me pay her for it, then send me on my way with clear instructions to give blood.
She will also renew the prescriptions for my medications which I will have filled and religiously take.
Then I will throw away the orders for blood work and wait on her to get pissed again, cut off the meds and force me to return to her office ... paying up front of course.
After two years, she's finally caught on and I've been instructed that as soon as I pay for the office visit a bunch of nurses are going to tackle me and stick a needle in my arm to draw blood.
Who said Doctors aren't smart people? They're like preachers ... they got a book to go by ... it can't be that hard.
Anyway I'm trying to be good patient today. And I have to go to the grocery store anyway.
Plus I've made a list of the samples I want.
And that is why the United States has the best health care in the world! Just ask any elected official who recieves contributions from the Medical Societies of Savannah, Georgia, the United States or the plain old fashion graft that comes from passing money under the table.
Don't get me wrong, I like her. The first time we met she walked in a touched me a lot. What's not to like?
Then she said, "Mike you have high Cholesterol. Though it is hereditary we can treat it with diet and exercise."
"I run five miles a day," I said.
"Drugs it is then," she announced whipping out her prescription pad.
Having started the J. C. Lewis Health Center I learned a great deal about how health care works in the United States. The main thing I learned is to always demand samples ... even of the drugs that you may not be on. You'll be surprised at what you can walk out with!
She put on medications and I took them religiously ... until I ran out. Then I called the pharmacy and had them call Marilyn my Doctor because I didn't want to do it. The drugs were extended for another few months but then she cut me off, hence today's visit to see her.
This is another thing that I've learned about health care in America. The primary purpose is not to make people well but to manage their illness in ways that produce a profit! The bottom line is it's a business.
If I was going to continue to get drugs from my Doctor, even though they were keeping me well, I am going to have to go see her, pay for the office visit, and listen to a lecture on why I have get blood work when she orders me to get it. She's done this before.
"It's on the south side of town," I'll explain. "It's too far."
She will look at me and shake her head but not say anything.
I won't say anything either so it becomes a bit of a stand off.
Finally she's write down the tests she wants, make me pay her for it, then send me on my way with clear instructions to give blood.
She will also renew the prescriptions for my medications which I will have filled and religiously take.
Then I will throw away the orders for blood work and wait on her to get pissed again, cut off the meds and force me to return to her office ... paying up front of course.
After two years, she's finally caught on and I've been instructed that as soon as I pay for the office visit a bunch of nurses are going to tackle me and stick a needle in my arm to draw blood.
Who said Doctors aren't smart people? They're like preachers ... they got a book to go by ... it can't be that hard.
Anyway I'm trying to be good patient today. And I have to go to the grocery store anyway.
Plus I've made a list of the samples I want.
And that is why the United States has the best health care in the world! Just ask any elected official who recieves contributions from the Medical Societies of Savannah, Georgia, the United States or the plain old fashion graft that comes from passing money under the table.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Monday Morning Baptism
Several of us were sitting in the Baptismal Pool talking.
The water was warm and we had votive candles lit. Jimmy Buffett music played from the stereo I'd rigged up. Nobody had clothes on. We could look out into the sanctuary as the late afternoon sun beamed through the stained glass windows bathing the room in yellows, greens, reds and blues. It was a beautiful site in a warm and inviting adoption of faith. Nobody was being dunked though surely this was baptism.
Outside of those windows was a grimy inner city comprised of dirty streets, housing projects, homeless people, drug addicts and hookers. At this time of the day, before night fell ... drug deals were being made, the whores were looking for prime time street lights to stand under, and the noise from the housing projects reached a crescendo of babies crying and drunken laughter.
The ways of the world were out there.
We were engaged in Christian community.
We didn't have much so we made the most of what we had.
There was a large kitchen and social hall on the bottom floor so we cooked a lot. Every holiday we'd do these elaborate meals with live music for everybody who had nobody to celebrate with. Sunday mornings consisted of the feeding of the five thousand though we couldn't afford fish so we had biscuits instead of bread smothered in sausage gravy. Wednesday night covered dishes was always the most interesting of all ... homeless guys would panhandle until they could buy chicken or Happy Meals, little old ladies on fixed incomes would make modern day versions of "Stone Soup", and the radical Seminary students who came brought Ramon Noodles.
Above the third floor where I lived was a hatch to the roof and we would regularly have gatherings there. We'd form a line up the ladder and pass folding metal church chairs up to one another until we had enough. Then we'd make our way to the front of the building so we could overlook the ... squalor. There were always guitars and inevitably the choir would break into the James Taylor Hymn "Up On the Roof."
Of all of the religious things that I participated in the church, I still think that this was the most Godly. Whenever I hear that song I see us all on warm summer nights ... the smell of Louisville's Stockyards behind us with the chorus of Pigs screaming in agony at their Holocaust ... the cacophony of baby screams and adult screams from across the street in the housing project ... and the beauty of the moon and the stars when the sky was clear ... which was rare.
And we had a Baptismal Pool which was rarely used because nobody ever got saved.
So we got creative.
Actually my son Jeremy started it all. One Sunday I was a doing a baptismal re-dedication of all of these addicts and hookers who were getting saved for the sixth time that week (you know ... the Salvation Army version of salvation) so I was filling the baptismal pool. Jeremy was maybe five and he loved it. So he took off his clothes and dove in. The homeless guys who were with me looked at him having a grand time diving and coming up spitting water ... so we all looked at each other and followed suit. We took off our clothes and joined him.
Over time we refined this regular worship activity with the stereo, candles and ... timing. When the sun set the stained glass windows put on a show for free ... and the harshness and meanness of the world ... went away for a little while.
These are wonderful memories.
When I go to Church these days ... it's kind of like going to McDonald's ... it's all the same.
God however ... delights in the differences of creation.
This morning ... decades later ... I remember ... or to use the goal of Jesus at the Last Supper, I re-membered ... bringing it all together again ... creating something out of nothing ... making joy out of sadness ... turning chaos into community ... making idealism idolatry ... touching the finger of God with my finger.
It's funny ... the things I did when I was young ... keep me young.
"I believe if I refuse to get old, I can stay young till I die," sings Granny in in my favorite musical Pippin.
Me too!
Fortunately, and few friends and I built a good foundation to draw upon
The water was warm and we had votive candles lit. Jimmy Buffett music played from the stereo I'd rigged up. Nobody had clothes on. We could look out into the sanctuary as the late afternoon sun beamed through the stained glass windows bathing the room in yellows, greens, reds and blues. It was a beautiful site in a warm and inviting adoption of faith. Nobody was being dunked though surely this was baptism.
Outside of those windows was a grimy inner city comprised of dirty streets, housing projects, homeless people, drug addicts and hookers. At this time of the day, before night fell ... drug deals were being made, the whores were looking for prime time street lights to stand under, and the noise from the housing projects reached a crescendo of babies crying and drunken laughter.
The ways of the world were out there.
We were engaged in Christian community.
We didn't have much so we made the most of what we had.
There was a large kitchen and social hall on the bottom floor so we cooked a lot. Every holiday we'd do these elaborate meals with live music for everybody who had nobody to celebrate with. Sunday mornings consisted of the feeding of the five thousand though we couldn't afford fish so we had biscuits instead of bread smothered in sausage gravy. Wednesday night covered dishes was always the most interesting of all ... homeless guys would panhandle until they could buy chicken or Happy Meals, little old ladies on fixed incomes would make modern day versions of "Stone Soup", and the radical Seminary students who came brought Ramon Noodles.
Above the third floor where I lived was a hatch to the roof and we would regularly have gatherings there. We'd form a line up the ladder and pass folding metal church chairs up to one another until we had enough. Then we'd make our way to the front of the building so we could overlook the ... squalor. There were always guitars and inevitably the choir would break into the James Taylor Hymn "Up On the Roof."
Of all of the religious things that I participated in the church, I still think that this was the most Godly. Whenever I hear that song I see us all on warm summer nights ... the smell of Louisville's Stockyards behind us with the chorus of Pigs screaming in agony at their Holocaust ... the cacophony of baby screams and adult screams from across the street in the housing project ... and the beauty of the moon and the stars when the sky was clear ... which was rare.
And we had a Baptismal Pool which was rarely used because nobody ever got saved.
So we got creative.
Actually my son Jeremy started it all. One Sunday I was a doing a baptismal re-dedication of all of these addicts and hookers who were getting saved for the sixth time that week (you know ... the Salvation Army version of salvation) so I was filling the baptismal pool. Jeremy was maybe five and he loved it. So he took off his clothes and dove in. The homeless guys who were with me looked at him having a grand time diving and coming up spitting water ... so we all looked at each other and followed suit. We took off our clothes and joined him.
Over time we refined this regular worship activity with the stereo, candles and ... timing. When the sun set the stained glass windows put on a show for free ... and the harshness and meanness of the world ... went away for a little while.
These are wonderful memories.
When I go to Church these days ... it's kind of like going to McDonald's ... it's all the same.
God however ... delights in the differences of creation.
This morning ... decades later ... I remember ... or to use the goal of Jesus at the Last Supper, I re-membered ... bringing it all together again ... creating something out of nothing ... making joy out of sadness ... turning chaos into community ... making idealism idolatry ... touching the finger of God with my finger.
It's funny ... the things I did when I was young ... keep me young.
"I believe if I refuse to get old, I can stay young till I die," sings Granny in in my favorite musical Pippin.
Me too!
Fortunately, and few friends and I built a good foundation to draw upon
Friday, October 28, 2011
It's all wrong but its alright
"It's all wrong but it's alright," sings Dolly Parton.
(A confession: I love Dolly Parton! ... I know, I know ... a lot of people will talk about her assets ... but the woman is amazing for many reasons and I've always loved her music. The night before my first wedding, I was holed up with Bob Coursen in a cabin in Meriweather County, Georgia ... drinking beer and listing to Dolly's "New Harvest; First Gathering" album. Some bachelor party, huh? but her banjo playing, singing and writing of 'Apple Jack' is freaking amazing!
In the middle of the night Goddess' snoring woke me up ... she's taken to stealing pillows after I fall asleep and making herself a pallet on the floor beside my side of the bed to sleep on. Of course if I have to get up to pee I step on her. The dog just kills me!
Anyway, her snoring woke me up and Dolly was singing and dancing in my head. "All you gotta do is smile that smile and there go all my defenses and in a little while you're messing up my mind and filling up my senses."
Earlier in the day my defenses had gone flying out of the window. It's not the kind of thing you plan for. Your day is rolling merrily along until something happens that changes it and then you can never quite pull it back together in the way that you imagined it was going to be.
That was my yesterday. I had it planned to the nines ... but ended up only reaching the sixes. It all started out alright but then ... it went all wrong.
Who plans wrong?
To be honest, I have met people who plan wrong. Many of them have been elected to public office. Most are in Congress. A lot of others are in charge of banks and churches ... which as Jesus pointed out are often interchangeable institutions. Then are just the mean people who survive by tearing down others so they can build themselves up.
For the most of us though ... nobody plans wrong.
Yet wrong happens.
So when you spend your day trying to right wrongs ... it's like trying to fall asleep. You ever tried to fall asleep? It just doesn't happen.
You can step back from the wrong but it remains in the room like an pink elephant. Over the years, I try to live by doing what the things that I say I'm going to do. The world is screwed because people say they're going to do something and don't. There are normally a thousand distractions but remaining focused on doing what you said you were going to do is the real definition of success.
Looking back on yesterday, I had a lot of successes. I did virtually everything that I had said I was going to do ... but then there were a couple of things ... and they overshadowed everything else. So a day beginning with dancing ended up in glue ... slow motion discussions and deliberate actions.
It's all wrong ... but its alright.
So in the night I got up, stepped on Goddess and walked out to the beloved back deck in the middle of the night. Goddess followed me. I looked at the stars and just stood there shaking my head in prayers for forgiveness. Then God took a break from her busy schedule and told me a few things.
"Do your best. Keep striving to do the things that you say are going to do. When you don't, do your best to make it right. When you're sitting at the table looking across at the people you love ... be honest. Don't beat yourself up too much because ... you get it right far more than you get it wrong ... and everybody screws up. Try not to screw up too much. When you do ... say you screwed up and try to fix it. If you can't fix it ... start over. My greatest gift is the chance to start over ... every single day."
I felt better and thanked God for telling me these things.
Then Goddess and I went back to our bedroom. Stepping on her pillow pallet, I cocooned myself in covers.
Then Dolly broke out in song.
Here you come again.
(A confession: I love Dolly Parton! ... I know, I know ... a lot of people will talk about her assets ... but the woman is amazing for many reasons and I've always loved her music. The night before my first wedding, I was holed up with Bob Coursen in a cabin in Meriweather County, Georgia ... drinking beer and listing to Dolly's "New Harvest; First Gathering" album. Some bachelor party, huh? but her banjo playing, singing and writing of 'Apple Jack' is freaking amazing!
In the middle of the night Goddess' snoring woke me up ... she's taken to stealing pillows after I fall asleep and making herself a pallet on the floor beside my side of the bed to sleep on. Of course if I have to get up to pee I step on her. The dog just kills me!
Anyway, her snoring woke me up and Dolly was singing and dancing in my head. "All you gotta do is smile that smile and there go all my defenses and in a little while you're messing up my mind and filling up my senses."
Earlier in the day my defenses had gone flying out of the window. It's not the kind of thing you plan for. Your day is rolling merrily along until something happens that changes it and then you can never quite pull it back together in the way that you imagined it was going to be.
That was my yesterday. I had it planned to the nines ... but ended up only reaching the sixes. It all started out alright but then ... it went all wrong.
Who plans wrong?
To be honest, I have met people who plan wrong. Many of them have been elected to public office. Most are in Congress. A lot of others are in charge of banks and churches ... which as Jesus pointed out are often interchangeable institutions. Then are just the mean people who survive by tearing down others so they can build themselves up.
For the most of us though ... nobody plans wrong.
Yet wrong happens.
So when you spend your day trying to right wrongs ... it's like trying to fall asleep. You ever tried to fall asleep? It just doesn't happen.
You can step back from the wrong but it remains in the room like an pink elephant. Over the years, I try to live by doing what the things that I say I'm going to do. The world is screwed because people say they're going to do something and don't. There are normally a thousand distractions but remaining focused on doing what you said you were going to do is the real definition of success.
Looking back on yesterday, I had a lot of successes. I did virtually everything that I had said I was going to do ... but then there were a couple of things ... and they overshadowed everything else. So a day beginning with dancing ended up in glue ... slow motion discussions and deliberate actions.
It's all wrong ... but its alright.
So in the night I got up, stepped on Goddess and walked out to the beloved back deck in the middle of the night. Goddess followed me. I looked at the stars and just stood there shaking my head in prayers for forgiveness. Then God took a break from her busy schedule and told me a few things.
"Do your best. Keep striving to do the things that you say are going to do. When you don't, do your best to make it right. When you're sitting at the table looking across at the people you love ... be honest. Don't beat yourself up too much because ... you get it right far more than you get it wrong ... and everybody screws up. Try not to screw up too much. When you do ... say you screwed up and try to fix it. If you can't fix it ... start over. My greatest gift is the chance to start over ... every single day."
I felt better and thanked God for telling me these things.
Then Goddess and I went back to our bedroom. Stepping on her pillow pallet, I cocooned myself in covers.
Then Dolly broke out in song.
Here you come again.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
My Morning Prayers
Sitting on my bicycle I stare at the line of shrimp boats floating on the grey sea. Just above is a sea of grey clouds so I feel as though I'm stuck in the middle with ... me.
I am parked on the top of the crosswalk beside the Pier and in the distance I see silhouettes of people casting fishing lines. To my left a lone gentleman sits in a swing, dragging his feet in the sand, drinking a cup of coffee that I watched him buy at the Breakfast Club a little earlier ... smoking a cigarette, staring at the seas ... lost in his own universe.
To my right are the shrimp boats, lined up at a respectful distance from one another, nets dragging and lights shinning in the bleakness of the predawn with ... Captains praying like hell that the catches are good so that they can pay for another day. They are as beautiful as they are sad ... giving so much to others with their bounty of shrimp, fish, crabs while getting paid so little in return. The world is not perfect.
In front of them stands a lone paddle boarder looking like a crippled Jesus walking on the water, leaning to one side yet determined to make his way to the Captains of the boats to offer them blessings.
In front of me is a couple kissing. They are young and beautiful ... and carried away. They are a joy to watch ... reaffirming that romance is born in the sea and our bodies are seventy percent water because God really wants each of us to have romance so She stacked the deck in our favor. It's a shame that so many opt for the thirty percent of the other stuff that make us who we are.
I have lots to do today but am in no hurry.
This is prayer time and I'm taking in everything that God is sending my way ... stopping to appreciate each particle of creation that is laid on the ocean's table in front of me.
Two old men walk passed me on the crosswalk and we wish one another good morning. When we nod, they dip their heads down. Mine cocks towards the grey sea of blankets above. I am struck by that ... how so many naturally look down and I instinctively look up. If hell's below and heaven's above ... then there must have been a reason that the universe was aligned in such a fashion ... and its fascinating to know which we accept.
They make their way towards the glassy grey sea and do something that makes me laugh. Bending over, they unstrap their boats ... why in the world would anyone where boots to the ocean? ... why in the world would anyone wear shoes to the ocean? ... or underwear? ...and leaving them in the sand they wade into the ocean as though little boys.
I laugh at this.
Then they reach out and hold hands ... and salt water flies from the ocean into my eyes.
I've often been accused about my wacky crazy ideas of who God is that I don't pay much attention to the criticism anymore. My beliefs are pretty simple. God Herself is love. God can be anything She wants to be ... man, woman, whichever ... but the thing that She chooses to be is love.
We are to love one another. As a matter of fact, God wants us to show of love for Her by loving one another. She like its that way. Her ego doesn't need stroking. She delights more in our happiness than in Hers.
So if the above two are true ... then our life's pilgrimage is to find love. This may take us through several relationships and perhaps a few marriages but ... if the goal is to get to God and God is love and loving others is the way that we profess our love of God ... then it's not rocket science.
Oh ... and there's one other thing. When Jesus was crucified they stuck him in a tomb and locked him inside. But he broke out ... raising himself from the dead ... just like he breaks out of Church today, try as we may to keep him in. I have a hard time with those who try to maintain modern day tombs to keep God inside of four walls or love confined to one way of expression. The truth of the matter is that "love is all around" as the song goes.
It's such a shame that so many never take the time to see it all.
Or they are so determined to just see it one way.
And they are so arrogant to think that God prefers to locked inside of four walls to be drug out on Sundays and maybe Wednesdays ... wants everyone to adhere to a giant book of rules that She had nothing to do with writing ... or that love can only be expressed one way ... and you better not try it another way ... because hell is right down there ... and the God who is love loves sending people to hell if they break the rules.
"Bullshit!" I say in morning prayer.
Then I turn and coast home. On the beloved back deck, I light a fire in the Tabernacle and make burnt offerings. Goddess and I have community.
The phone rings ... and it is love.
I am parked on the top of the crosswalk beside the Pier and in the distance I see silhouettes of people casting fishing lines. To my left a lone gentleman sits in a swing, dragging his feet in the sand, drinking a cup of coffee that I watched him buy at the Breakfast Club a little earlier ... smoking a cigarette, staring at the seas ... lost in his own universe.
To my right are the shrimp boats, lined up at a respectful distance from one another, nets dragging and lights shinning in the bleakness of the predawn with ... Captains praying like hell that the catches are good so that they can pay for another day. They are as beautiful as they are sad ... giving so much to others with their bounty of shrimp, fish, crabs while getting paid so little in return. The world is not perfect.
In front of them stands a lone paddle boarder looking like a crippled Jesus walking on the water, leaning to one side yet determined to make his way to the Captains of the boats to offer them blessings.
In front of me is a couple kissing. They are young and beautiful ... and carried away. They are a joy to watch ... reaffirming that romance is born in the sea and our bodies are seventy percent water because God really wants each of us to have romance so She stacked the deck in our favor. It's a shame that so many opt for the thirty percent of the other stuff that make us who we are.
I have lots to do today but am in no hurry.
This is prayer time and I'm taking in everything that God is sending my way ... stopping to appreciate each particle of creation that is laid on the ocean's table in front of me.
Two old men walk passed me on the crosswalk and we wish one another good morning. When we nod, they dip their heads down. Mine cocks towards the grey sea of blankets above. I am struck by that ... how so many naturally look down and I instinctively look up. If hell's below and heaven's above ... then there must have been a reason that the universe was aligned in such a fashion ... and its fascinating to know which we accept.
They make their way towards the glassy grey sea and do something that makes me laugh. Bending over, they unstrap their boats ... why in the world would anyone where boots to the ocean? ... why in the world would anyone wear shoes to the ocean? ... or underwear? ...and leaving them in the sand they wade into the ocean as though little boys.
I laugh at this.
Then they reach out and hold hands ... and salt water flies from the ocean into my eyes.
I've often been accused about my wacky crazy ideas of who God is that I don't pay much attention to the criticism anymore. My beliefs are pretty simple. God Herself is love. God can be anything She wants to be ... man, woman, whichever ... but the thing that She chooses to be is love.
We are to love one another. As a matter of fact, God wants us to show of love for Her by loving one another. She like its that way. Her ego doesn't need stroking. She delights more in our happiness than in Hers.
So if the above two are true ... then our life's pilgrimage is to find love. This may take us through several relationships and perhaps a few marriages but ... if the goal is to get to God and God is love and loving others is the way that we profess our love of God ... then it's not rocket science.
Oh ... and there's one other thing. When Jesus was crucified they stuck him in a tomb and locked him inside. But he broke out ... raising himself from the dead ... just like he breaks out of Church today, try as we may to keep him in. I have a hard time with those who try to maintain modern day tombs to keep God inside of four walls or love confined to one way of expression. The truth of the matter is that "love is all around" as the song goes.
It's such a shame that so many never take the time to see it all.
Or they are so determined to just see it one way.
And they are so arrogant to think that God prefers to locked inside of four walls to be drug out on Sundays and maybe Wednesdays ... wants everyone to adhere to a giant book of rules that She had nothing to do with writing ... or that love can only be expressed one way ... and you better not try it another way ... because hell is right down there ... and the God who is love loves sending people to hell if they break the rules.
"Bullshit!" I say in morning prayer.
Then I turn and coast home. On the beloved back deck, I light a fire in the Tabernacle and make burnt offerings. Goddess and I have community.
The phone rings ... and it is love.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Who in the hell is Papa Grand Elliott?
I jumped on Face Book and there was this note from "Papa Grand Elliott" which featured a picture of my Dad, Mom, sister and me. Died died a couple of years ago so I knew it wasn't him. Mom mostly posts things others write on Face Book. David quotes scripture, has pictures of this seven thousand grandchildren and writes homilies on things. Angi mostly congratulates her sons for whatever sport they played that day.
Hmmm ...
I posted on the wall. "Who the hell are you and what have you done with my Dad?"
There was no response.
Yesterday would have been Dad's 78th birthday. David posted a homily in his honor which is what one would expect. Dad has become a Saint since I last saw him. This was welcome news as I had no idea. We used to drink beer together and philosophize about things. I once went with him and his friends to the Bahamas and couldn't hang. They were wild! Nevertheless, I'm glad that he's reached Sainthood and that David monitors and reports on his progress.
On the other hand Angi, took Dad, now living in a box as ashes, on the road to the GA/Tennessee game and gave him a beer. As a matter of fact, for every University of Georgia football game, Angi makes sure that Dad is resting comfortably in his chair in front of the wide screen television set with a beer resting on the coffee table should he want a sip.
My recollections are Dad actually lived somewhere between the two extremes celebrated above.
But what I appreciate about David and Angi and ... whoever the hell "Papa Grant Elliott" is ... is that they continue to celebrate his life.
Just because someone dies doesn't mean they don't linger.
Dad certainly does, though he never had a great sense of timing knowing when to leave.
The other day I was reminded of Warren Zevon a famous songwriter (Werewolves of London, Poor Poor Pitiful Me and hundred others). He was riding high when cancer came. Rather take treatment ... he hated doctors ... he recorded an album about having cancer and dying. Everybody showed up to be on the album ... Bruce Springsteen, Don Henley, Jackson Browne, Emmy Lou Harris, and others). The last song on the thing is "Knocking on Heaven's Door."
Before he died he was on the David Letterman show and was asked, "What have you learned about life and death?"
Warren looked down, then looked up, and said to the world, "Enjoy every sandwich."
Yep.
So that is how I try to live. Dad loved to eat. He ate too much but damn he enjoyed it! He enjoyed most of the rest of life too. I took that as a lesson from him ... do your best to enjoy the hell out of it ... we just have it this once.
But according to whoever the hell "Papa Grand Elliott" is on Facebook, Dad is watching Braves games from heaven and if Angi is to believed, he's taking regular road trips, keeping up with college football and is back to drinking beer.
These things make me smile.
"So Dad! I knew it was your birthday yesterday but didn't say much about it. I told Sarah and Dee and Mom and I had a brief conversation. I don't remember you being especially excited about birthdays anyway (though I remember pictures of the cake the boys gave you at Spanky's and you taking a bite out of the ... appropriate spot). Anyway, I'm glad that you never had a knack for leaving cue ... hell you waited on me to get back before leaving at all! ... and I'm you're lingering."
And, um ... Papa Grand Elliott!
Who in the hell are you?
Hmmm ...
I posted on the wall. "Who the hell are you and what have you done with my Dad?"
There was no response.
Yesterday would have been Dad's 78th birthday. David posted a homily in his honor which is what one would expect. Dad has become a Saint since I last saw him. This was welcome news as I had no idea. We used to drink beer together and philosophize about things. I once went with him and his friends to the Bahamas and couldn't hang. They were wild! Nevertheless, I'm glad that he's reached Sainthood and that David monitors and reports on his progress.
On the other hand Angi, took Dad, now living in a box as ashes, on the road to the GA/Tennessee game and gave him a beer. As a matter of fact, for every University of Georgia football game, Angi makes sure that Dad is resting comfortably in his chair in front of the wide screen television set with a beer resting on the coffee table should he want a sip.
My recollections are Dad actually lived somewhere between the two extremes celebrated above.
But what I appreciate about David and Angi and ... whoever the hell "Papa Grant Elliott" is ... is that they continue to celebrate his life.
Just because someone dies doesn't mean they don't linger.
Dad certainly does, though he never had a great sense of timing knowing when to leave.
The other day I was reminded of Warren Zevon a famous songwriter (Werewolves of London, Poor Poor Pitiful Me and hundred others). He was riding high when cancer came. Rather take treatment ... he hated doctors ... he recorded an album about having cancer and dying. Everybody showed up to be on the album ... Bruce Springsteen, Don Henley, Jackson Browne, Emmy Lou Harris, and others). The last song on the thing is "Knocking on Heaven's Door."
Before he died he was on the David Letterman show and was asked, "What have you learned about life and death?"
Warren looked down, then looked up, and said to the world, "Enjoy every sandwich."
Yep.
So that is how I try to live. Dad loved to eat. He ate too much but damn he enjoyed it! He enjoyed most of the rest of life too. I took that as a lesson from him ... do your best to enjoy the hell out of it ... we just have it this once.
But according to whoever the hell "Papa Grand Elliott" is on Facebook, Dad is watching Braves games from heaven and if Angi is to believed, he's taking regular road trips, keeping up with college football and is back to drinking beer.
These things make me smile.
"So Dad! I knew it was your birthday yesterday but didn't say much about it. I told Sarah and Dee and Mom and I had a brief conversation. I don't remember you being especially excited about birthdays anyway (though I remember pictures of the cake the boys gave you at Spanky's and you taking a bite out of the ... appropriate spot). Anyway, I'm glad that you never had a knack for leaving cue ... hell you waited on me to get back before leaving at all! ... and I'm you're lingering."
And, um ... Papa Grand Elliott!
Who in the hell are you?
Monday, October 24, 2011
Monday's Work Agenda (Change the World)
My bare feet dangle just above Goddess' head. She is content and still, not asleep but relaxed.
The sun is just beginning to crown the Palm Tree with the oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt and it is going to be a brilliant day.
It is Monday and I sit preparing for work on the beloved back deck. There is lot for me to accomplish but there are a couple of things about this day that already excite me. There is just the simple beauty of the morning.
Since I left the mad unrelenting need of creating and maintaining Union Mission, my work days now begin doing this. There is time for long drawn out thoughts, prayers, listening to birds sing, watching how the sun moves a tiny bit closer south this time of year.
I'll linger here now whereas I used to dive into Mondays as though from a high dive board in the deep end of a swimming pool with only a foot of water in it. That was intense ... this is serene.
The work remains the same, just in a much different way and on a much grander scale.
At Union Mission I was in the forefront of everything. I worked to push others to the forefront but most remained timid about it so I was the one who always ... "out there." I learned many wonderful things and the skill set is certainly unique because of it but ... I also discovered how lonely it is to be the one ... "out there" ... all of the time. And I learned how much it can cost you too.
My dear friend Shirley tells me that when I walk Goddess to the sad little holy dock it is much different from the way that I used to. Back then it was as if the weight of the world was my shoulders all of the time and no matter how much I smiled ... my face was sad.
She tells me that I am lighter now. I linger. My eyes dance. She joins Goddess and I for walks and she scolds me on the things that I write ... some of the words I use ... I am no longer ... guarded.
I laugh. "To hell with being guarded! I'm going to be me. I'm going to say what I want to say. It's not my problem if other people have a problem with me. I've had that my whole life."
I'm also no longer at the forefront but am a happy background player. On Friday night we all gathered around the television set to watch the famous Dr. Jim Withers on the CBS Nightly News. He is a doctor who has made the streets of Pittsburgh his office ... seeking out and finding people nobody wants to treat. Years later the city's street homeless population is less than half of what it used to be.
My work is helping him take it world wide.
I look at my own city of Savannah where a decade ago we were the first in the United States to cut a homeless population in half. Today is back to where it was and the street homeless population is growing daily.
It's odd.
But it's not my problem anymore.
Today my work is staffing a movement. Back then it was making a city I love a better place ... and we did. Then your time passes ... and it is somebody else's time to manage ... and you have to let it go.
So this morning, sitting with the sun in my eyes and Goddess nudging me for a walk ... I'm trying to figure out how to write a check in Chinese ... to a group of students in Peeking who got the International Rotary Club to give them money to start a Street Medicine program in a Communist country that doesn't believe it has people living on the streets.
Though I haven't met them yet, I've grown to love these students. They refuse to sit on the sidelines and wait on the world to change. They are determined to change it themselves ... in spite of Communist rule.
Next on the list of things to do is to help the famous Dr. Withers get into Moscow so we can help the soon-to-be-famous Dr. Gleb Glinka continue her remarkable work.
As I write this, I hear the large cargo ships coming in to the mouth of the Savannah River to make their ways from around the world ... many with Chinese writing on them ... to the Georgia Ports Authority.
I stare at the Palm Tree dancing in the sun and hope they are bring some good ideas for Savannah ... which seems to be exporting all of theirs.
The sun is just beginning to crown the Palm Tree with the oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt and it is going to be a brilliant day.
It is Monday and I sit preparing for work on the beloved back deck. There is lot for me to accomplish but there are a couple of things about this day that already excite me. There is just the simple beauty of the morning.
Since I left the mad unrelenting need of creating and maintaining Union Mission, my work days now begin doing this. There is time for long drawn out thoughts, prayers, listening to birds sing, watching how the sun moves a tiny bit closer south this time of year.
I'll linger here now whereas I used to dive into Mondays as though from a high dive board in the deep end of a swimming pool with only a foot of water in it. That was intense ... this is serene.
The work remains the same, just in a much different way and on a much grander scale.
At Union Mission I was in the forefront of everything. I worked to push others to the forefront but most remained timid about it so I was the one who always ... "out there." I learned many wonderful things and the skill set is certainly unique because of it but ... I also discovered how lonely it is to be the one ... "out there" ... all of the time. And I learned how much it can cost you too.
My dear friend Shirley tells me that when I walk Goddess to the sad little holy dock it is much different from the way that I used to. Back then it was as if the weight of the world was my shoulders all of the time and no matter how much I smiled ... my face was sad.
She tells me that I am lighter now. I linger. My eyes dance. She joins Goddess and I for walks and she scolds me on the things that I write ... some of the words I use ... I am no longer ... guarded.
I laugh. "To hell with being guarded! I'm going to be me. I'm going to say what I want to say. It's not my problem if other people have a problem with me. I've had that my whole life."
I'm also no longer at the forefront but am a happy background player. On Friday night we all gathered around the television set to watch the famous Dr. Jim Withers on the CBS Nightly News. He is a doctor who has made the streets of Pittsburgh his office ... seeking out and finding people nobody wants to treat. Years later the city's street homeless population is less than half of what it used to be.
My work is helping him take it world wide.
I look at my own city of Savannah where a decade ago we were the first in the United States to cut a homeless population in half. Today is back to where it was and the street homeless population is growing daily.
It's odd.
But it's not my problem anymore.
Today my work is staffing a movement. Back then it was making a city I love a better place ... and we did. Then your time passes ... and it is somebody else's time to manage ... and you have to let it go.
So this morning, sitting with the sun in my eyes and Goddess nudging me for a walk ... I'm trying to figure out how to write a check in Chinese ... to a group of students in Peeking who got the International Rotary Club to give them money to start a Street Medicine program in a Communist country that doesn't believe it has people living on the streets.
Though I haven't met them yet, I've grown to love these students. They refuse to sit on the sidelines and wait on the world to change. They are determined to change it themselves ... in spite of Communist rule.
Next on the list of things to do is to help the famous Dr. Withers get into Moscow so we can help the soon-to-be-famous Dr. Gleb Glinka continue her remarkable work.
As I write this, I hear the large cargo ships coming in to the mouth of the Savannah River to make their ways from around the world ... many with Chinese writing on them ... to the Georgia Ports Authority.
I stare at the Palm Tree dancing in the sun and hope they are bring some good ideas for Savannah ... which seems to be exporting all of theirs.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
The Lord's Day
Sure it's Saturday if you're Jewish but ... bear with me.
"There is a thin line between Saturday night and Sunday morning," Jimmy Buffett tells us.
Last night I found that line.
After a pleasant day discovering the joys of recovery from Friday night, I found myself strapped into a child's seat in the back of a small car. Luckily I held a glass of wine. The two women in the front seats were singing Gospel hymns sounding like Janis Joplin having a baby while singing "Happy Jack" Praise music.
I tried to concentrate on other things.
The sun was setting to the west and we were in the middle of marsh on the causeway that connects Tybee Island to Wilmington Island. The destination was a rendezvous with our dear friends Gyni and Mark who have the incredible misfortune of living three-and-a-half hours from the ocean. So we hooked up and we laughed and caught one another up as dear friends do ... the only thing missing was a bass player.
Then we came home and it was an early night. Way before midnight I was sound asleep.
A little after midnight, I woke up and stumbled to the bathroom. My throat was dry so I stumbled to the kitchen for a glass of water and poured it down my throat.
Then the spirit of the Lord descended upon me and I opened the sliding glass doors and walked outside on the beloved back deck. The chill of the past several days had blown elsewhere so I stood there naked and looked up to the heavens. God had sprinkled stars across the sky and the moon was a sliver of itself. It was so quiet and on this silent night all is calm ... all is bright. Somewhere shepherds were quacking at the site ... I just stood there in solidarity with them.
A story from earlier in the evening was given to me at that moment as a gift to be enjoyed as the best gifts are. She had told this story earlier in the evening.
Tim and Barb were getting married and she had attended the ceremony. The thing is though ... Barb had cancer. The doctors had already taken everything out of her that they could ... so she stood there frail in her white gown, holding red roses that would be used for other purposes in their not-too-distant future.
"Do you vow," the minister asked ,"in sickness and in health ... till death do you part."
And they cried as they said that they do.
The Minister cried.
The entire congregation cried.
But through the tears, they said that they gladly accept themselves in spite of ... the most difficult of circumstances.
Barb died within a year ... but isn't that a lesson in love?
So I stood there in the night that God had made, staring at the constellations, marveling at the silent Lord's Day that I was suddenly a part of, re-living a story that I wasn't a part ... offering prayers of Thanksgiving and praise for the things that I do have.
Goddess came through her doggie door and stuck her head between the picks on railing to see whatever it was that I was looking at ... which was nothing ... but at the same time ... it was everything in the universe exploding in my heart all at the same time.
Then I went back inside ... no longer stumbling, but with purpose ... and climbed back in the safety of my new bed ... excitedly waiting on the new dawning ... of the rest of the Lord's Day.
"There is a thin line between Saturday night and Sunday morning," Jimmy Buffett tells us.
Last night I found that line.
After a pleasant day discovering the joys of recovery from Friday night, I found myself strapped into a child's seat in the back of a small car. Luckily I held a glass of wine. The two women in the front seats were singing Gospel hymns sounding like Janis Joplin having a baby while singing "Happy Jack" Praise music.
I tried to concentrate on other things.
The sun was setting to the west and we were in the middle of marsh on the causeway that connects Tybee Island to Wilmington Island. The destination was a rendezvous with our dear friends Gyni and Mark who have the incredible misfortune of living three-and-a-half hours from the ocean. So we hooked up and we laughed and caught one another up as dear friends do ... the only thing missing was a bass player.
Then we came home and it was an early night. Way before midnight I was sound asleep.
A little after midnight, I woke up and stumbled to the bathroom. My throat was dry so I stumbled to the kitchen for a glass of water and poured it down my throat.
Then the spirit of the Lord descended upon me and I opened the sliding glass doors and walked outside on the beloved back deck. The chill of the past several days had blown elsewhere so I stood there naked and looked up to the heavens. God had sprinkled stars across the sky and the moon was a sliver of itself. It was so quiet and on this silent night all is calm ... all is bright. Somewhere shepherds were quacking at the site ... I just stood there in solidarity with them.
A story from earlier in the evening was given to me at that moment as a gift to be enjoyed as the best gifts are. She had told this story earlier in the evening.
Tim and Barb were getting married and she had attended the ceremony. The thing is though ... Barb had cancer. The doctors had already taken everything out of her that they could ... so she stood there frail in her white gown, holding red roses that would be used for other purposes in their not-too-distant future.
"Do you vow," the minister asked ,"in sickness and in health ... till death do you part."
And they cried as they said that they do.
The Minister cried.
The entire congregation cried.
But through the tears, they said that they gladly accept themselves in spite of ... the most difficult of circumstances.
Barb died within a year ... but isn't that a lesson in love?
So I stood there in the night that God had made, staring at the constellations, marveling at the silent Lord's Day that I was suddenly a part of, re-living a story that I wasn't a part ... offering prayers of Thanksgiving and praise for the things that I do have.
Goddess came through her doggie door and stuck her head between the picks on railing to see whatever it was that I was looking at ... which was nothing ... but at the same time ... it was everything in the universe exploding in my heart all at the same time.
Then I went back inside ... no longer stumbling, but with purpose ... and climbed back in the safety of my new bed ... excitedly waiting on the new dawning ... of the rest of the Lord's Day.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
When the Celebration Begins
It has been crazy! I've spent the entire week trying to get this document for work written ... a very important thing that clarifies what my world will be like over the next several years ... as well as the important work of Street Medicine as one of the solutions to the worlds health care problems ... but man! ... have there been distractions!
Monday was so long ago the only thing that I remember is that we spent the entire day dealing with the politics of the Internet but that night I went out pizza with a bunch of girls. It was great ... though we didn't solve the political Internet problems.
On Tuesday we focused on the politics of Hospital Administrators ... who are like elected officials thinking they know everything and want what they want when they want it. I was exhausted at the end of the day and went to bed just as soon as I possibly could.
Hump day was all about humping. Or being humped. I'm not exactly sure what was accomplished from a work perspective though I did seem to be on the phone a great deal. That night a bunch of girls conducted a hostile takeover of my house and did all of the things that girls do. When they left, the refrigerator was stuffed full of stuff, new pictures had been cut and drawn, the coffee table was covered with glue, and Simon ... the dog that lives downstairs ... and I were exhausted.
Thursday morning, I was sitting at the Conference Room table in corporate headquarters when Dedra asked what we needed to do that day and how she could help.
I told her.
She burst into tears.
At 1:50 that afternoon, she quit. She did so by leaving me a note. "It's 1:50. I quit!" Dee's always been a word master.
But lightning struck and I started the report sitting on the beloved back deck. The night was unsettled and restless and I couldn't wait to the morning with things are normal. "The trouble with normal is it always gets worse," sings the minor prophet Bruce Cockburn ... so I wrestled through a night ... like Jacob wrestled with an angel and it was a draw ... neither would let the other go.
"Bless me," Jacob said so the angel kicked him in the hip (Genesis 32).
It was that kind of night.
Friday was the dawning of a new day. It began with the most pleasant of surprises, the report was written and emailed off, then ... it was time to party!
So this tight collection of friends who are family gathered around a fire. Weenises were involved ... as were pitchforks. One was slain in the spirit when he was knocked out of his chair onto the lawn. Pulling up his socks he returned to his chair when God knocked him out of it again.
Then the Spirit of God moved to the woman sitting next to him and knocked her out of her chair. A Princess toasted her buns and a couple locked themselves in a straight-jacket. Another sipping on Holy Water found the light and shown it ... on the ground ... ignoring the rest.
These are my people.
So it was a typical Friday night on Tybee Island.
I sit here in morning prayers, reflecting over the week, happy that it's not raining though I could sing in the rain today. The sun beams and love is all around me. It is quiet for the moment and Goddess sits under my feet. Fran's thousand shades of green dances in joy outside. All of the work has been put away and will wait until Monday.
I've learned many things the past few years. One is that it'll all work out. An angel keeps telling me that. There are lot of unknowns that I wish I could control better ... but I can't. But in the end it gets done and the celebration begins. There is no rushing it though. It happens when it happens.
And yesterday the work got done and the celebration happened.
Monday was so long ago the only thing that I remember is that we spent the entire day dealing with the politics of the Internet but that night I went out pizza with a bunch of girls. It was great ... though we didn't solve the political Internet problems.
On Tuesday we focused on the politics of Hospital Administrators ... who are like elected officials thinking they know everything and want what they want when they want it. I was exhausted at the end of the day and went to bed just as soon as I possibly could.
Hump day was all about humping. Or being humped. I'm not exactly sure what was accomplished from a work perspective though I did seem to be on the phone a great deal. That night a bunch of girls conducted a hostile takeover of my house and did all of the things that girls do. When they left, the refrigerator was stuffed full of stuff, new pictures had been cut and drawn, the coffee table was covered with glue, and Simon ... the dog that lives downstairs ... and I were exhausted.
Thursday morning, I was sitting at the Conference Room table in corporate headquarters when Dedra asked what we needed to do that day and how she could help.
I told her.
She burst into tears.
At 1:50 that afternoon, she quit. She did so by leaving me a note. "It's 1:50. I quit!" Dee's always been a word master.
But lightning struck and I started the report sitting on the beloved back deck. The night was unsettled and restless and I couldn't wait to the morning with things are normal. "The trouble with normal is it always gets worse," sings the minor prophet Bruce Cockburn ... so I wrestled through a night ... like Jacob wrestled with an angel and it was a draw ... neither would let the other go.
"Bless me," Jacob said so the angel kicked him in the hip (Genesis 32).
It was that kind of night.
Friday was the dawning of a new day. It began with the most pleasant of surprises, the report was written and emailed off, then ... it was time to party!
So this tight collection of friends who are family gathered around a fire. Weenises were involved ... as were pitchforks. One was slain in the spirit when he was knocked out of his chair onto the lawn. Pulling up his socks he returned to his chair when God knocked him out of it again.
Then the Spirit of God moved to the woman sitting next to him and knocked her out of her chair. A Princess toasted her buns and a couple locked themselves in a straight-jacket. Another sipping on Holy Water found the light and shown it ... on the ground ... ignoring the rest.
These are my people.
So it was a typical Friday night on Tybee Island.
I sit here in morning prayers, reflecting over the week, happy that it's not raining though I could sing in the rain today. The sun beams and love is all around me. It is quiet for the moment and Goddess sits under my feet. Fran's thousand shades of green dances in joy outside. All of the work has been put away and will wait until Monday.
I've learned many things the past few years. One is that it'll all work out. An angel keeps telling me that. There are lot of unknowns that I wish I could control better ... but I can't. But in the end it gets done and the celebration begins. There is no rushing it though. It happens when it happens.
And yesterday the work got done and the celebration happened.
Friday, October 21, 2011
The Unjustness of a $20 Bill
When I was a kid I was making my way home from Robert Mixon's house by cutting through back yards from his street to my street, half a block away. Each yard had a chain link fence which I could easily jump by putting both hands on top then throwing my feet skyward to propel myself to the other side. I didn't even need a running start. I was good for a nine year old.
As I made my way through a yard I looked down and couldn't believe it! Crumbled and lying in grass was a $20 bill. It may have been like Uncle Jed shooting his gun to discover oil or Jack Benny opening up his vault filled with the money he refused to spend.
I was rich!
Stuffing the bill into my jeans I ran home to share my incredible good fortune. "MOM!" I screamed as I ran into the house which was silent. Flying through the rooms, my Dad was asleep.
He worked nights and slept days. He'd wake up around the time we got home from school, cook dinner while we waited on Mom to get home from work and then we would sit and eat together before he went back to work.
Seeing he was still asleep, I tip toed out of the house. I knew from experience not to wake him up. (Now that I think about it, I must have skipped school on this particular day because I was coming from Robert Mixon's house and he and I had numerous adventures together --- stealing all of the American flags out of the Port Wentworth Elementary School, stealing all of the fire extinguishers from the factory on the other side of the viaduct, filling up the Baptismal pool in the First Baptist Church for a pool party, etc.)
On the carport I pondered what to do.
After a few moments I jumped on my bicycle and rode to Cowart's Drug Store, by far the most important establishment in the city of Port Wentworth, Georgia. He had a massive comic book section that I would stand in front of reading comics until Mr. Cowart would walk up to say, "This is not a library son."
On this day though, I was rich. I bought my Mom a bottle of perfume and got Dad some Old Spice. I picked up a couple of packs of baseball cards for my brother David. My sister Angi was still too small to merit a gift as she wouldn't have appreciated it. I then bought myself twenty-seven comic books and a chocolate shake from the Fountain.
This was one great day!
I carried the treasures back home and laid them on the kitchen table. Dad was up and he walked in and looked at the gifts laid out for my family.
"Where did you get these?" he asked rubbing his eyes still filled with sleep.
"I bought them," I proudly explained.
"With what?" he asked.
It was a good question. We had little money back then. Everyday, depending on if it was David or me that Dad could grab by the neck, one of us would have to ride our bicycle to Crosby's Food Town to buy whatever it was we were having for dinner that evening.
So I excitedly explained how I found $20 and wanted to shower my family (sans Angi) with lavish gifts.
Dad figured I was lying. What normal Port Wentworth nine year old boy would do such a thing? What Port Wentworth yard would have a $20 bill laying in it. Who had $20 at all in Port Wentworth, Georgia?
Dad figured I'd shoplifted from Cowart's Drug Store (see above references to Robert Mixon and myself) so he took me in the back and gave me a serious spanking. Then he made me take all of the things I bought back to Mr. Cowart who was shocked but took everything back.
And I learned about injustice that day.
Sometimes you do the right thing and you are punished for it. There are people who will deprive you so they can have what they think is better or right. You can do holy and good works and still get screwed for it. The Problem of Evil in the universe! Why do bad things happen to good people?"
So yesterday rocked and rolled along and I was getting lots accomplished, throwing good across the universe, leaving people smiling and satisfied ... loving everything and everybody ... until suddenly I wasn't. Life became unsettled and unsettled went to bed with me last night. If you've ever slept with unsettled then you know that there is no sleeping.
I remembered that night all of those years ago lying in bed, crying and angry ... pissed at my Dad for injustice to me. He was logical in his thinking but ... this was unjust.
"The truth is always in the middle," is one of my favorite sayings and I really do believe that wholly.
Last night I lay there ... tossing and turning ... almost half asleep but mostly awake ... and remembered the $20 bill.
In the end it all turned out fine. Dad was doing his best to raise me right. Mom thought it was sweet that I either found $20 and spent it on the family (sans Angi) or had shoplifted because I was hanging around Robert Mixon but obviously loved my family. David was madder than hell that I had to take his baseball cards back to Mr. Coward.
But they loved me. And they loved the thought. Even though it didn't work out right.
Because sometimes, unjust things happen.
As I made my way through a yard I looked down and couldn't believe it! Crumbled and lying in grass was a $20 bill. It may have been like Uncle Jed shooting his gun to discover oil or Jack Benny opening up his vault filled with the money he refused to spend.
I was rich!
Stuffing the bill into my jeans I ran home to share my incredible good fortune. "MOM!" I screamed as I ran into the house which was silent. Flying through the rooms, my Dad was asleep.
He worked nights and slept days. He'd wake up around the time we got home from school, cook dinner while we waited on Mom to get home from work and then we would sit and eat together before he went back to work.
Seeing he was still asleep, I tip toed out of the house. I knew from experience not to wake him up. (Now that I think about it, I must have skipped school on this particular day because I was coming from Robert Mixon's house and he and I had numerous adventures together --- stealing all of the American flags out of the Port Wentworth Elementary School, stealing all of the fire extinguishers from the factory on the other side of the viaduct, filling up the Baptismal pool in the First Baptist Church for a pool party, etc.)
On the carport I pondered what to do.
After a few moments I jumped on my bicycle and rode to Cowart's Drug Store, by far the most important establishment in the city of Port Wentworth, Georgia. He had a massive comic book section that I would stand in front of reading comics until Mr. Cowart would walk up to say, "This is not a library son."
On this day though, I was rich. I bought my Mom a bottle of perfume and got Dad some Old Spice. I picked up a couple of packs of baseball cards for my brother David. My sister Angi was still too small to merit a gift as she wouldn't have appreciated it. I then bought myself twenty-seven comic books and a chocolate shake from the Fountain.
This was one great day!
I carried the treasures back home and laid them on the kitchen table. Dad was up and he walked in and looked at the gifts laid out for my family.
"Where did you get these?" he asked rubbing his eyes still filled with sleep.
"I bought them," I proudly explained.
"With what?" he asked.
It was a good question. We had little money back then. Everyday, depending on if it was David or me that Dad could grab by the neck, one of us would have to ride our bicycle to Crosby's Food Town to buy whatever it was we were having for dinner that evening.
So I excitedly explained how I found $20 and wanted to shower my family (sans Angi) with lavish gifts.
Dad figured I was lying. What normal Port Wentworth nine year old boy would do such a thing? What Port Wentworth yard would have a $20 bill laying in it. Who had $20 at all in Port Wentworth, Georgia?
Dad figured I'd shoplifted from Cowart's Drug Store (see above references to Robert Mixon and myself) so he took me in the back and gave me a serious spanking. Then he made me take all of the things I bought back to Mr. Cowart who was shocked but took everything back.
And I learned about injustice that day.
Sometimes you do the right thing and you are punished for it. There are people who will deprive you so they can have what they think is better or right. You can do holy and good works and still get screwed for it. The Problem of Evil in the universe! Why do bad things happen to good people?"
So yesterday rocked and rolled along and I was getting lots accomplished, throwing good across the universe, leaving people smiling and satisfied ... loving everything and everybody ... until suddenly I wasn't. Life became unsettled and unsettled went to bed with me last night. If you've ever slept with unsettled then you know that there is no sleeping.
I remembered that night all of those years ago lying in bed, crying and angry ... pissed at my Dad for injustice to me. He was logical in his thinking but ... this was unjust.
"The truth is always in the middle," is one of my favorite sayings and I really do believe that wholly.
Last night I lay there ... tossing and turning ... almost half asleep but mostly awake ... and remembered the $20 bill.
In the end it all turned out fine. Dad was doing his best to raise me right. Mom thought it was sweet that I either found $20 and spent it on the family (sans Angi) or had shoplifted because I was hanging around Robert Mixon but obviously loved my family. David was madder than hell that I had to take his baseball cards back to Mr. Coward.
But they loved me. And they loved the thought. Even though it didn't work out right.
Because sometimes, unjust things happen.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Girls
My house was full of girls last night.
I was the lone Y chromosome until Simon the dog who lives downstairs took pity on me and came to stand by my side.
We were pitifully outnumbered.
The girls were of all ages and experiences. Goddess, who can be a bitch, quickly took their side on pretty much everything!
You live with a dog all these years, and its just you and her and think you know her, but ... she's a girl! And the Lady of the House. I finally conceded that this really her party.
I did the cooking, bar-b-que chicken and a special request for "one" rib.
Now in the Bible, God ribbed a rib out of Adam so that Eve could be made. This is one of the many reasons that I think God is a woman.
"Come here Adam! I want to show you something ... RIP!!!! HAHAHAHAHA"
Adam's left there agonizing in pain until he wakes up and sees ... Eve.
Then he feels other things and ... all is right again in the Garden of Eden.
I think the request for one rib was a symbolic reminder of this. So I mostly stayed in the kitchen while they took over everything else!!
There were games, serious talks and funny ones, art made, gifts passed, and of course chocolate was involved.
At one point I was in the kitchen watching seven girls and a dog named Goddess enjoying one another. They are all part of my family and every single one of them is managing change and life's transitions. The younger ones are growing up. The grown up ones are learning what it's like to be grown up ... things don't have to stay the same.
We said "I Do", then we signed "I Don't" and we swore we'd never do that again.
It's a line from a dated song that nobody listens to anymore from the 1980s. A country music song of all things. I remember listening to it when it first came out. I was young, having babies, starting out, beginning the growing up process (though many question if I ever really started).
And I never in a million years thought that things would turn out as they have. Or that I am where I'm at right now. Or that I'm doing the things I'm doing.
Or ... that my house is chalk full of girls of every age and background ... including a dog ... and we all love one another passionately. And we're all holding one another hands as we ... get through all of these changes ... and become who we are actually meant to be anyway.
I come out of the trance of these thoughts to find a little girl is sitting on poor Simon's back. He needs help.
I grab my rib ... and dive in!
I was the lone Y chromosome until Simon the dog who lives downstairs took pity on me and came to stand by my side.
We were pitifully outnumbered.
The girls were of all ages and experiences. Goddess, who can be a bitch, quickly took their side on pretty much everything!
You live with a dog all these years, and its just you and her and think you know her, but ... she's a girl! And the Lady of the House. I finally conceded that this really her party.
I did the cooking, bar-b-que chicken and a special request for "one" rib.
Now in the Bible, God ribbed a rib out of Adam so that Eve could be made. This is one of the many reasons that I think God is a woman.
"Come here Adam! I want to show you something ... RIP!!!! HAHAHAHAHA"
Adam's left there agonizing in pain until he wakes up and sees ... Eve.
Then he feels other things and ... all is right again in the Garden of Eden.
I think the request for one rib was a symbolic reminder of this. So I mostly stayed in the kitchen while they took over everything else!!
There were games, serious talks and funny ones, art made, gifts passed, and of course chocolate was involved.
At one point I was in the kitchen watching seven girls and a dog named Goddess enjoying one another. They are all part of my family and every single one of them is managing change and life's transitions. The younger ones are growing up. The grown up ones are learning what it's like to be grown up ... things don't have to stay the same.
We said "I Do", then we signed "I Don't" and we swore we'd never do that again.
It's a line from a dated song that nobody listens to anymore from the 1980s. A country music song of all things. I remember listening to it when it first came out. I was young, having babies, starting out, beginning the growing up process (though many question if I ever really started).
And I never in a million years thought that things would turn out as they have. Or that I am where I'm at right now. Or that I'm doing the things I'm doing.
Or ... that my house is chalk full of girls of every age and background ... including a dog ... and we all love one another passionately. And we're all holding one another hands as we ... get through all of these changes ... and become who we are actually meant to be anyway.
I come out of the trance of these thoughts to find a little girl is sitting on poor Simon's back. He needs help.
I grab my rib ... and dive in!
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