Christmas Blessings (Ditto)

My uncle Tommy McDermmott posted a picture on Face Book that made laugh out lout. It is two houses sitting side by side. The first is elaborately decorated for Christmas with icicle lights hanging from the roof, every tree in the yard decorated in color lights, plastic Santa Claus and reindeer are prominently displayed and the entire yard literally glows in the spirit of the season.

Next door is the other house. It has one string of white lights but is otherwise dark. The lights spell, "Ditto."

I wonder if the neighbors were once competitors over who loved Christmas the most and one gave up? Or perhaps, one grew appalled at the never ending chase to capture holiness in plastic manager scenes and lights that remind us the reason for the season. Maybe one put up "Ditto" challenging his neighbor to come up with something good to mimic.

Last Christmas I put up a tree because my Mother shamed me into it. When I plugged it in only half the lights worked. It was my first Christmas alone so it seemed wickedly funny. I decorated only half the tree. Then my Mother got onto me again so I decorated the other half ... then I left it here and went to St. Martin.

Before I returned, Mom and my daughter Kristen had taken it all down and thrown it away. They did this because I wanted to have a tree burning when I got back. Inviting my dearest of friends over, we would carry the tree into the back yard, toast the things that used to be and set it on fire.

I thought it was a great idea!

This Christmas "it's just like starting over" sings the major Prophet John Lennon. "Happy Xmas (War is over if you want it)" he famously sings every holiday season on the radio.

The truth of the matter is the war is indeed over. She took the offense. I retreated. She conquered the other side of the country. I held on to a small clump of sand.

When war is over, it is quiet. You wildly celebrate victory but then the parties over. Most just marvel at survival. Then there are all of those to do after the war ... pick up the pieces ... restore the scar stained land or the mutilated soul ... rebuild the bombed out home or putt the heart back together.

This is what happened last year. I marveled at my survival. I did all of these other things. All of the verbs in my life had re- in front of them. Re-building. Re-storing. Re-everything. It was ... "just like starting over."

At fifty-five years of age ... starting over is the last thing I ever planned for. Though, it does seem that everyone around me is doing so. We are bound together by starting over. Some are older, others younger, but we are all share the starting over. The war is over ... or almost over in a couple of cases ... and Christmas time is coming.

I count my blessings today. I have many. New ones are dropping into my life. What's funny about surviving is that you remember the horrors and it makes you ... timid. My Dad lied about his age to get into the Marines so that he could march into Korea. Korea kicked his ass. He was wounded. He was Prisoner of War. He escaped when everyone else in his platoon was killed. By the time he 18, he was back home recovering ... marrying my Mom and having me.

This year I am determined. I've yet to get a tree, but have talked for weeks about decorating it with underwear ... because last year when I returned home a pair was hanging on my door. Then Dani Sadowski burst my bubble. She's already had a Christmas tree decorated in underwear. While I am very proud to have a part in Dani's upbringing, it kills me when she beats me to something.

So ... now I'm re-thinking.

I'm not going to St. Martin (sorry guys, I don't know who will cook breakfast on Boxing Day). I've got to get a new tree ... and everything that goes on one. It is the first Christmas and there are new traditions to discover ... a different family to live it with ... one that's being re-built from the other things that used to be.

It will be decorated with blessings. In spite of all of the things that I've lost, I seem to have just enough blessings to really enjoy this Christmas.

"Ditto" for you I hope.

I'm So Tired

"I'm so tired, I haven't slept a wink ..." sings the Major Prophet John Lennon and the song is ringing in my head.

I went to bed early but it ended up being restless when all was said and done. I'm one of those people who falls asleep hard and quick ... then a bit later my eyes pop open and I stare at the ceiling feeling what's beside ... even if there's nothing beside me.

Over the past couple of years I've spent more time alone than I ever have in my life. Hours upon hours of ... just me. My dog Goddess went through it too so I had her. This wall of trees in the back yard reminded me of a long dead friend and I talked to her more than I talked to anyone else.

Over time, I got used to it.

It was funny because I've lived this very public life. I was always in demand, in the news, selling books, giving speeches, traveling here and there, dealing with groupies, politicians and other devils incarnate ... being everything to everybody.

It caught up with me.

So the life I was living exploded and I was left with the dog and the house. It's better than a lot of people I've known. Then this tiny group appeared ... I can count them on my hands. They brought love back to me. And there is this one ... well, I love her so.

The last few weeks, and especially the last few days, have been this wonderful, glorious celebration of life now. It was peaceful, serene, comforting and filled with joy.

Without any warning ... it exploded. Suddenly everybody wanted everything again. I was to be here, do that, give of myself completely to one after another ... all seemingly at the same time. I laughed at myself because I wanted it to be Thanksgiving again. I don't remember the last time that I thought that.

The thing about losing so many things is you never ... ever ... forget what it feels like to lose. It makes you tired ... weary ... fatigue.You can lose houses, things, kids or love. You can lose yourself.

You can be surrounded with family, friends, everything you've every wanted to possess ... and then you're reminded of what it was like to lose it all ... and you shut down ... hard as you may try to fight it ... and you naturally lapse back into ... exhaustion.

I was tired when I woke up this morning ... I had things to do. People I was supposed to see. Places I was to be. It reminded me of who I used to be.

I didn't like it at all.

I did not want to get out of bed. Lying next to me was love. Love was tired too. But I made myself ... and I went to the place ... I saw the people ...and I did what I was supposed to do.

But I wasn't there.

I was back home in my sanctuary.

Longing for the one.

Pining ... I love that word. It is so southern. I pine for for you. Mother Maybelle Carter knocks John Lennon out of my head. Will the Circle be unbroken?

Hell no!

The pony tail holder is warped around my finger. I stare at it as I listen to the waves crash the shore. No longer tired, I am determined. In clarity, I know what I need ...

And I go back to bed.

Hurricane Season

The waves are bringing the tide in this morning and Goddess and I listen to the sea sing its song. Fran's thousand shades of green have ceased her dance to listen too. The blooms of the Hibiscus plants explode around me on the Beloved Back deck. Brown leaves litter the wooden planks making it look like the fall but it's already seventy degrees and the sun has yet to craw out from under the blanket of clouds. The Palm Tree with the oyster shell smiling face, coconut bra and grass skirt looks happy and awake.

My bare feet dangle from the table underneath the colorful umbrella and Pandora throws "James Taylor" at me ... he's telling me about "Copperline" but the waves keep him from coming to close. Who wants to be in North Carolina when you can have this?

Now this is the way winter should be!

I know it won't last. Those bastards who work for the weather stations are already throwing their gloom and doom my way. Apparently next week it's going to get cold ... and they seem so damn happy about it.

Have you ever noticed that the Weather men and women of this world are the only ones who are gleefully happy when a Hurricane is coming? I mean they have Hurricane tracking maps printed to give to loyal viewers so they can plot the coordinates all the way from the Lesser Antilles to your house. I'm talking about you Pat Prokop.

Once I was running down the beach when an alleged Hurricane was coming our way. The Weather Channel had trucks set up. John Cantore was here so it must have been serious. He had a room at the Old Desoto beach club and was doing a live broadcast from the beach ... meaning he stood in the sand with a raincoat on while his cameraman filmed him with one hand and squirted him with a garden hose with the other.

I swear!

Though that is not my favorite Weather Channel story. The first time they arrived on Tybee Island to do a live broadcast they stood near the Pier. For those who don't know, the Pier is very close to Doc's Bar which has a television. The moment the live remote was seen by the patrons of Doc's, they knew what to do. Everybody left their Bar Stools, except Mrs. Sylvia, and went to the beach. When John Cantore did his next live remote, they all took their clothes off and went streaking behind him on live television.

I love this island!

The other thing about Doc's Bar is they have Hurricane Parties. While everybody else evacuates inland, "any excuse for a party!" is a lifestyle commitment. So a few dozen arrive at Doc's, nail themselves inside to keep the Hurricane and the Police Department out and ... a good time is had by all.

Still, I'll take Hurricanes over the other weather that people have to deal with. Tornadoes, snow storms, mudslides, Tsunamis, flash-floods and severe storm warnings show up so fast that the Weather People cannot predict them. So everybody's caught off guard and bad things happen.

Come to think of it, this is probably why the Weather People love Hurricanes so much. Hurricanes are slow moving and you have days to plan ... even if you live on an small island in the Caribbean.

A couple of years ago one hit my beloved St. Martin. My dear friend Verna went nuts. My dear friend Carlos told her to calm down. My other Chelsea ... the black one ... went to bed. The storm came and the winds were fierce. Verna was up all night crying and praying to God and stuff.

When Carlos woke, Verna was a pool of sweat and tears. Carlos shook his head and put his arm around her.

"Cum'here," he slurred in his French West Indies voice as he opened the front door.

"You see any fish in the yard?"

Verna shook her head.

"Exactly," Carlos said, slamming the door. "Let's go back to bed."

So they did.

These things make me smile this morning. The sun is now kicking behind the clouds. The waves are singing louder. Fran's thousand shades have draped themselves over my shoulder. Goddess is biting Hibiscus blooms. The Palm Tree with the oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt is doing a hula dance.

My bare feet hit the planks of the beloved back deck littered with brown leaves.

I look southeast and say out loud to my dear friend Carlos. "Thanks Buddy! See you soon I hope. Give my love to Verna and Chelsea."

Then ... like him ... I go back to bed.

It's Hurricane Season.

Black Macaroni and Cheese (The Wisdom of Mitch Wesley)

According to my dear friend Mitch Wesley, who to the best of my knowledge has never been wrong ... though he sometimes keeps things to himself ... the famous television idiot evangelist Pat Robertson asked if Mac and Cheese "is a black thing?"

Then he said he's never tasted it in his life!

WAIT!

The story gets weirder.

He made these comments after watching a clip of former Secretary State Condoleeza Rice, who worked for one of the Bush Boys ... I can't remember which one ... (which is kind of like Bush Beer), said she enjoyed the gooey delicacy ... but only during Thanksgiving."

What?

Pat Robinson has never had Mac and cheese in his life? Condoleeza Rice only eats it once a year?

WAIT! It gets weirder still.

"What is this mac and cheese?" the famous evangelist idiot asks. "Is it a black thing?"

To which Kristi Watts, Robertson's African-American co-host, says "Yes."

Idiocy abounds in religion and politics!

On Thanksgiving.

I have lots to be thankful for today. My kids are healthy and happy. I'm surrounded by this incredible collection of friends who love me and we've been through hell together and will gladly do it again for one another. I live on Tybee Island where the salt air takes your breath away throughout a day. Goddess is happy and healthy (well, after the $400 Vet bill). Blessings are sprinkled throughout my day with increasing frequency. Work is a work in progress ... but man is it fun! I'm in a band again (although aforementioned Mitch Wesley appears to have lost his bass at a time when the entire universe is in desperate need of a bass player!). And there is this one ...well ... there is this one.

But forget all of that!

I'm having Mac and Cheese today!

I'll embrace my blackness ... though I have to be honest ... Edith Carver my grandmother made some killer macaroni and cheese and she was white ... she was very white ... she was white like people from the North are white which is much whiter than people from the South.

It makes me think this whole black/white thing is blown out of proportion. Probably by aforementioned idiotic evangelist and politicians ... I don't think aforementioned Mitch Wesley, the bass player who can't seem to find his bass had anything to do with it ... ummm ... then again, he's a top down only kind of guy ...

Regardless ... grab yourself some mac and cheese today.

Celebrate your blackness.

Or if you're black ... be thankful Condoleeza Rice is no longer in a position of power.

Wash it down with Bush beer.

And don't watch Pat Robertson.

Happy Thanksgiving

Reaching the Top

When Goddess and I got to our house after leaving the sad little holy dock where I'd baptized myself in pain from the past, it was dusk. Our house is changed and different from when it belonged to just Goddess and I. Cars and Golf Carts fill the side of the yard. At first I don't see anybody then a little girl calls my name as she climbs out of a car.

"They've gone looking for you," she explains and as soon as she did there they were. I'd come one way from the sad little holy dock and they'd gone in the other direction. When we see each other we embrace in the front yard ... and remain there for a long time ... locked in love.

Rocky who lives with me comes out with her dog Simon, brushes pass the group hug smiling and says, "Hey Kids!"

I think I waved without moving my arms.

I am content.

Willie Nelson once told this story. "A guy named Ben Dorsey used to work for Johnny Cash, and he had a bunch of suits that Johnny had given him. He was walking down the street in Nashville in front of the Grand Ole Opry, and this guy came up with a guitar in his hand and thought Ben was one of the stars because he had on Cash's suit. He said, "How do you get started in this business?" And Ben said, "Ain't but one way, hoss. You start at the bottom, you go right to the top. Don't mess with that in-between shit."

After years ... decades ... of actually living this advice ... the last couple of years I fell into the in-between shit. Actually I was pushed.

Suddenly the pushers have re-entered my life. They call. They text. They ask for things that I used to give them. And let's be honest ... shit is shit ... there's not much pleasant about it. There are shitty things and there shitty people (Board Chair who are too small so they beg to remain anonymous). I had too many of both.

When Jeremy and Kristen were little I was determined that they would love water. We'd walk into the swimming pool and they were six and four. As we entered, I'd grab my little girl by her hand and literally throw her over my head into the deep end. Mothers trying to teach their babies not be afraid of the water screamed. Kristen emerged, spitting water, laughing, begging me, "Do it again Daddy."

But I couldn't. I was busy climbing up the High Dive Board with Jeremy. At the end, horrified Mothers with their babies screamed "Don't do it!" as I held him over the deep end of the pool from the end of the board.

Then I would let him go.

It always evoked screams.

He loved it and when he wants to ... he can still make make girls scream (Marie ... it would be in your best interest to weigh in on this).

The point is, Jeremy and Kristen didn't go through the in-between shit when it came to living life when you're in over your head. They learned to laugh at it ... to be comfortable with it ... to enjoy it.

And I watched both of them do this.

Jeremy was determined that he and Marie could buy a house in Madison, Georgia though they really didn't have any money. So he got frustrated one night and did the math on the eraser board they kept in the kitchen. It stayed up for months ... reminding themselves that deep waters are ... sailed. Then they bought the house.

Kristen surfs. From relationship to relationship. To school. Through multiple jobs. But the girl works. My God her work ethic is the stuff of legend. She remains an incredible athlete and is thirty-something going on to teenage years. Last year I asked her if she could hit a boy in the face while serving a volley ball like she used to at Catholic girls school. The boy, a muscle bound thing, scoffed and laughed. She got pissed. Served the ball. Hit him in the face knocking him on the ground. I then fell on the ground laughing.

My favorite picture of Chelsea was taken when she was twenty feet under water. In the ocean. It was her first snorkeling experience. She'd never had the pool upbringing that her brother and sister had but after getting over the fact that jelly fish are in the ocean, she excelled. And she still does. But I love that picture when I'm ten feet above her and she's diving deep for the first time in her life. Now she's graduating from college with honors and marrying the love of her life.

Standing in the front yard in an embrace that I will not let go of ... all of these things rush through my mind.

I've been in over my head. I've been surrounded by shitty people and shitty things.

I've been to the bottom.

Now it's time for the top.

No more of that in-between shit.

Old Lady Luck is Laughing Now

The day before yesterday I quoted Larry Munson.

Yesterday he died.

Today I learned about it. My entire family is in mourning. The legendary broadcaster of University of Georgia football has been as much a part of our lives as ... well ... we have.

My Dad made sure we knew. He was an unapologetic announcer of what was happening during the game from the moment he started, "Starting from left to right on your screen ..." to well ... the calls.

"Run Lindsey Run!" "Look at the Sugar Falling out of the Sky!" "I broke my chair. I came right through a chair. A metal chair with about a five inch cushion. I broke it!" "My God a freshman." "We just stepped on their face with a hobnail boot." "Old Lady Luck is laughing now." "Yeah, yeah, yeah!"

And my personal favorite ... "Jeff, you gotta see Anaconda!"

When we were actually at the game watching unfold for ourselves, we all had radios to our ears to listen to Larry ask Loren "Whatdoyagot?" Nothing happened unless Larry said it happened even though we'd just watched it happen.

The guy was something.

If we weren't at the game, we turn the television on, turn the sound down and turn up the radio to listen to Larry. He was always ahead of television ... by about two seconds ... so he would tell us before we actually saw it.

The guy was amazing.

If we weren't at the game and it was on television, you would have thought it was the 1930s and Roosevelt was having a fireside chat. We huddled around the radio and listened to Larry.

Now we have the tapes, DVD's and recordings of some of our life's favorite moments. They are as precious as Christmas Carols!

I met him a few times. The first walking into Grant field where the Beloved Dawgs of Georgia were playing Georgia Tech. I was with my brother David and there he was! It may as well have been Zeus coming down from Mt. Olympia. I had to touch him and did, which surprised him but he smiled at the little boy who was in awe.

Decades later, Jeremy, Kristen, Chelsea and I went to the UGA bookstore to get his book and to see him. He was frail but the voice was still there. I was immediately transformed into that little boy again but had done my job passing the adoration of him on to my kids.

Day before yesterday I was at the game with the radio to my ear. Larry was no talking to me. I was trying to explain to Maddie why college football is a religion and Pro-football is ... adult entertainment. She got it I think. Who couldn't? She was meeting 100,000 of her closest friends. Eating a Pretzel wearing the "red and black" for the first time.

I wish she could have heard Larry.

He would say something like ... "Oh m y God! Oh my God! The stadium is worse than bonkers! Eleven seconds. I can't believe what he did. This is ungodly."

If you know what I'm talking about ... thanks Larry.

It's still hard doing it without you.

If you have no clue what I'm talking about.

Well ... you missed something really special.

A Year's Difference

What a difference a year makes.

I'm talking about this college season football year. After starting with two prime time losses the Beloved Dawgs of Georgia have won eight straight ... albeit some were of the ugliest win variety I've ever witnessed. Then last week, everything about this football team came together and we beat Auburn 45-7. No one was more stunned than the 97,000 people at the game.

The crowd would cheer over a play and then lapsed back into stunned silence.

It was great!

Afterwards I celebrated with all of my kids in the restaurant at the Holiday Inn in Athens. We lingered enjoying a season that has turned completly around. Today should the Beloved Dawgs of Georgia win it's ninth in a row over the Philistines of Kentucy ... then we play for the SEC Championship which is akin to reaching the Promised Land.

If everything goes right, as the major Prophet Larry Munson once said, "They tore our hearts out and threw in on the foot. They ran all over it. We picked it up and put it back in. Touchtown! Georgia wins!"

I've always loved that call of the game against Georgia Tech. Jeremy and Chelsea and I were there. Tech had just scored to take the lead with a minute left to play. The Beloved Dawgs of Georgia were led by God all of the way down the field scoring on an incredible towndown catch. My daughter, son and I danced like heathens in the end zone.

Last year's football season saw the Beloved Dawgs of Georgia back wandering in the wilderness. Pagans from Alamaba and Lousiana had made an unholy alliance to create an evil empire in the Southeastern Conference. At the same time, I wasn't in the best of shape. I don't even remember last year's games though I was here for all of them.

Today I'm full of excitment and surrounded by love and happiness. Last night we went to the Holy Shrine of the Varsity to break bread together ... and eat chili cheeses dogs, several naked dogs and onion rings and fries together. Then we settled in the room to try to unwind and prepare for today. Anticipation and excitment abounded. Everyone knows ... something special is happening.

In just a little while, I'll be surrounded by one-hundred-thousand of my cloest friends. We will all be styling wearing red and black. We'll sing the familiar Hymns ... "Glory, Glory to Old Georgia" and "Hunker Down Hairy Dog." We'll offer prayers throughout the day, "Please God let him tackle that SOB" and "Thank you Lord for that incredible catch in the corner of the end zone."

After the game we will all make our way to the Chapel ... to ring the victory bell throughout the night.

Like the Beloved Dawgs of Georgia, I've had my fair share of wandering in the wilderness alone and foresaken. Today I am part of this community of believers and we love and support one another as we build new lives. We take to time to celebrate and to laugh. We are quick to share our love.

And God looked down and said ... "It is good."

I'm Not Dead Yet

For the first time in a long, long time I donned a coat, put on underwear and socks, black shoes and stuff in my long hair to slick it back so it's acceptable in public ... then I drove to a Chamber of Commerce function.

It's a gala for the fiftieth anniversary of "Leadership Savannah", the nation's oldest such program. I was in it at the half way mark. Accepted just after moving back to Savannah, nominated by Beth Daniels, I got in because two of my books had been published and they had no other alternative for the "Author" category.

Nevertheless, I loved it and became very devoted. I always made certain a Union Mission person participate in every class. So for the better part of twenty years, I had people go through the program ... except for one time when Memorial Health wouldn't nominate our friend Peter so we did and he got in. My last year at Union Mission we actually had two staff participate. And somebody told me that Francis, the new CEO, got in so I'm glad that the tradition continues.

Besides, Bill Hubbard and Trip Tollison embraced our work like they would any other successful company. Through good times and bad, they remained staunch supporters of the things we were doing. I was often seated at head tables next to Governors or the elite of "The Elect" ... Senators or Congressmen ... because of Bill and Trip. They were integral in helping us burst through many "glass ceilings."

So I owe them and I never forget my debts. Besides, I needed to go on the "I'm not dead yet" tour in Savannah.

In Monty Python's hysterical "The Search for the Holy Grail", the Plague has hit Europe. A cart is pushed through city daily. "Bring out your Dead! Bring out your Dead!" cries the carrier. So a man brings out a body slung over his shoulder and says "I got one" to which the body objects "I'm Not Dead Yet." He's told he will be soon and protesst go back and forth until the body is slapped in the head with shovel and thrown on the cart.

The truth of the matter though ... is I'm not dead yet.

The thing about leaving decades of work in the same place and in the same town is how quickly you're forgotten.

Not that this isn't a two-way street ... there are so many forgettable people I've had to work with though they are mixed with these really remarkable ones. It's been this gumbo of good and bad, blessed and wicked, kindness and some of the meanest Sons-of-Bitches to ever grace the world (Board Chair who chooses to remain anonymous ... like the tiny Wizard of Oz who hides behind curtains). Then there are graceful people like Bill and Trip.

So there's good to found in everything. I forget those who aren't worth remembering and the ones who didn't care for me anyway ... forget me. It's a question of balance.

I arrive and it's typical high class stuff at the "Savannah Yacht Club". I immediately run into my dear friend Stacy who embraces me. Then Margaret Mary who really runs the Chamber of Commerce leaves her post checking people in to hug me too. Right off the bat ... I'm not dead yet!

David Paddison ... whose Dad and I worked together years ago establishing the Chatham-Savannah Authority for the Homeless (and Bob Paddison is a legend who I will pay proper homage to one day) ... and I run into one another. A very successful in his own right, David is also a Union Mission Board member (one of the last who came in under my reign) and we greet one another in warmly suspicious way.

I work the room. Bill Hubbard gives me a bear hug in front of a hundred people and tells me how glad he is that I'm there. Joe Buck and his wife Marilyn stop what they're doing to do the same ... and I love Joe who led Leadership Savannah for all of those years and is really the one who kicked me in the ass to get my career started.

Then I see people who love me ... and people who ignore me ... and others who are shocked that I'm there at all. It's always fascinating to see's who's who. But I do ... and I'm fascinated.

But fascination quickly gets boring.

This isn't my world anymore. There are people I will be forever connected to ... and others who thought I was dead.

I'm proud of the things I did in Savannah. The City still reaches out to me. People who benefited from the work call, text, Face Book or stop by unannounced with regularity.They're not homeless anymore.

Then there are all of those I worked along side ... politicians who only care about who can help them ... Non-Profit leaders who are mostly non ... sprinkled with a few who are ... newcomers to the City who work the room really hard to establish themselves ... and the Established who stand or sit at tables waiting for the rest of us to pay homage to them.

The new class is acknowledged. I'm in a side room talking to Peter for the first time in a year. We struggle to find the commonality we used to share.

Then I'm done.

"Beam me up Scotty," I say out loud.

As I make my way out, Trip grabs me. "Hey Rev," he says warmly and we talk Georgia football. He can't go to the game this weekend so he gives me his tickets.

Then Margaret Mary sees that I'm leaving so she leaves being in charge of everything to give me another hug.

Driving home through the marsh on the Tybee road in the darkness of the night ... I see Orion's bow ... my beautiful daughter Chelsea when she was a little girl once pointed at it and exclaimed ... "Look Daddy! It's our Christmas Tree!" because if you look at it as little girls do ... it's a Christmas Tree as Christmas is arriving.

At the time I lived alone with her sister Kristen. Chelsea was with us every other night. We lived with Cheryl and Jodee cause we had no other place to live.

Driving home, I stare at Chelsea's Christmas tree in the sky. I text to tell her. She's in class finishing up her degree at the University of Georgia. She immediately texts me back to say ... the most beautiful of words ... "It's our time of year. I can't wait to get out of class and look up in the sky to see."

I cry when I read this.

Then I look up again at the Christmas Tree in the sky.

What I see under it ... is me.

I'm not dead yet ... just kicking off the wrappings of those who believe I am.

Waiting on my Sails to Fill

"Why is it that whenever I can't reach you, I always imagine that you are doing something far more fun than talking to me?" asked the famous Dr. Jim Withers in the voice mail message.

I missed his call because I was having a long deep conversation. We weren't laughing but the talk was heartfelt about the future and how it can't arrive quickly enough. Isn't that the funny thing about the future? It never arrives on time. "The face on my watch just says NOW," sings Jimmy Buffett and man is he right, though you still have to plan for what's coming.

The thing about the future is you have to live it now ... and it arrives in increments. "Inch by inch, row by row, we're gonna make this garden grow," Arlo Guthrie teaches ... cause "we are made of dreams and bones."

Jim left me a message about the future too. He's got several futures looming in front of him. He's been commissioned to write his memoirs, we've launched a new company that'll eventually work at full time, his youngest child will soon leave for college, and he'd just finished doing an interview with "Books & Beyond" which will air on Thanksgiving Day. Oh yeah, and he's teaching at a Medical School and doing Street Medicine in the meantime.

I was struck by the thought that it is a wonderful thing to be living my life with a group of friends who are all managing away from their pasts, navigating out of the waters of the present as we collectively sail into the future. Jim and I talk throughout the week thanks to the miracles of technology though he's in Pittsburgh and I'm on Tybee Island.

Then I got a text message from Cheryl. Another from Dedra. I was with John and Judy earlier. We are all talking about the future. Sam and I had a talk about his and Cheslea's looming wedding. Kristen and Sterling are trying to plan dinner for Sarah and I. Jeremy and Marie want us to come down to Valdosta. Samuel Adams who plays damn good live music on Tybee is after me to preach at Bar Church again.

I want to go to the French West Indies ... and am planning for it whenever it happens but ... I am quite content and happy with this carnival of friends and the love that fills me.

Then my Mom calls and there are these trunk loads of books, awards, mementos and gifts that I have stored at her house from my Jeff Street and Union Mission days. They are the past. I would just as soon ignore them but she won't let me.

"Get them the hell out of here," was her sentiment.

The thing is I have no place to put them.

My present is full.

But the future ... I'm just waiting on the sails to fill ... then I'm there ... Now.

Reclaiming the Day that Was

The Fog that rolled in and Kidnapped the sun has now laid seize to the entire island. Moisture drips from everything and leaves hang limp from the heaviness. It is a day for near sighted vision because if you try to look into the future there isn't a lot to see. So I may as well just focus on what I have around me right now ... it's all that I really have anyway.

Yesterday I had all of these plans to get things done but ... just as the Fog kidnapped the sun ... things kidnapped my day.

Thank God !

It was a wonderful celebration of a day and a night.

If the Fog wasn't enough, Georgia Power decided it was a great time to cut the power off for a while. While my flashlights have no batteries, the I-Pod with the external speakers do so music filled the house. The windows were open, it was pleasant enough and the house was filled with people I dearly love. I'd lit a fire on the beloved Back Deck and they were hungry for breakfast. God had blessed me because the coffee had finished peculating before Georgia Power did their deed.

So we improvised. I toasted English Muffins in a frying pan in the Chemania on the Beloved Back Deck. We sat outside enjoying one another and hot muffins dripping with butter. Kenny showed up at that point and joined us. The four of us laughed, talked and shared the morning away.

Then it was after Noon so we hopped in the car and drove to the "Crab Shack" to meet Cheryl and Boo. Lunch was oysters and beer ("for dinner every day of the year and I'll be fine"), Crab Au-gratin, Bar-B-que, and laughter with my dearest friends. "I wish Lunch could last forever" is one of my favorite songs and stories from Jimmy Buffett and yesterday ... it did.

The Fog continued to roll ... which is an excellent excuse for a nap. So I had one falling into the arms of love.

When I got up, Dedra was working away doing all of the things that I hadn't done. It's hard not to love Dedra.She covers many an ass.

So, I fired the grill next to the fire that was already lit and it was time to plan the next meal. Soon the smoke from Chicken and ribs waged war with the greyness of the Fog. I lit candles too just ... because. And we sat outside again for supper, laughing, listening to music and loving one another.

Afterwards we told stories of runaway brides, musicians who can't commit, and did our best to plan for the holidays ... which are way out there in the future somewhere so you can't see them because of the Fog anyway ... so we didn't get very far ... other than Dedra is perfectly convinced that she can do everything at once, as though Scotty is going to beam her from conversation to conversation ... "any old place in time or in space" ... but that's what I love about Dedra. She believes that you should never let reality get in the way of what you really want to do.

Then was bedtime.

A perfect time for a baptism! So at midnight in the "new and improved" outdoor shower there was one. Hot water mixed with the Fog and the universe became one ... and God smiled ... and all was good.

Now it is a new day.

I would very much like to repeat yesterday.

Perhaps in this Fog ... we may pull it off.

Do it or die

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.

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!

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."

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.