Living Again

The Bahamas ... Belize ... Tybee Island ... Pittsburgh?!

What's wrong with this picture?

I must have done something wrong. Perhaps I've committed the unpardonable sin. This is a crazy turn of events. At least the weather is good. Last night I stood on the banks of the Allegany River wishing that it was carrying me out to Sea. I was with the very famous Dr. Jim Withers and his friend Bita, a soon-to-be professional Psychiatrist. She was analyzing me.

"When you meet her," the very famous Dr. Withers had cautioned me, "act like you're a Christian. She's very Christian so don't offend her."

I have no idea how the very famous Dr. Withers got to be so very famous.

Nevertheless, I acted very Christian, didn't say any cuss words, made the sign of the cross when I met her and hugged her when we said goodbye. She even invited me back.

"Nice job," the very famous Dr. Withers said as we ran back to his car, already twenty minutes late for the meeting that I'm in Pittsburgh to attend.

He drives like a bat out of hell while reading the GPS on his I-Phone.

I pray like I've never prayed before.

We arrive at a seafood restaurant which stikes me as the epitome of irony.

As we enter, the people we are joining stand and applaud. They are from across the country, including two from Texas and you never know what to expect with Texans.

"Congratulations," exclaims the not so famous Dr. Dave Buck. He's from Texas.

I look at the very famous Dr. Withers who is looking at me. Neither of us have a clue what is going on.

"You're married," he said. "Show us the ring."

I did, explaining, "It's titanium knock-off," and can see my wife Sarah rolling her eyes as I do so. It makes me feel closer to home.

They ooh and ah, which I am not expecting.

As we sit, there are handshakes, pats on the back, hugs, and congradulatory comments. The meeting they had been having is interrupted to celebrate me being married. They ask me how Sarah is though the very famous Dr. Withers is the only one to have actually met her. My heart smiles.

The other day at Bar Church I talked about what it's like to have been dead and then be alive again. That is the truth of my life. We live ... we die ... and if we're lucky and blessed, we live again. It's a very Christian belief.

This afternoon, I'm heading south again ... back to the islands ... where my heart and home is. Where I live ... again.

Fish Naked

I have to go to Pittsburgh today.

I don't want to go.

Don 't get me wrong, I love Pittsburgh! It's one of my favorite cities of all time and I've been there a lot over the past several years. I love the ride from the airport through the tunnel and then ... BOOM ... you're in the city. I have great friends there and the very famous Dr. Jim Withers is picking me up when I arrive. I'd love to return to my friend Suzanne's house for another hot tub experience. The bartenders at the airport call me by name when they see me.

I have a dinner meeting tonight ... which I demanded, so I guess I have to go. Then in the morning there is a retreat that I have to attend. It is a work, planning thing to improve access to the American Health care system. We have the best health care in the world but the worst access. So it's interesting stuff to work on.

Though I'd just assume stay here.

There are important things to do here too!

Sarah's still sleeping and Goddess may bother her and I don't want that to happen. The back tire on my bicycle is flat and I need to get it fixed. I'm really into my back yard right now trying to determine if weeds overtake the grass ... it's a fierce battle at this point with the weeds slightly ahead but it's all green so it must be alright.

Besides, yesterday we bought to new pieces of yard art that need hanging.

FISH NAKED.

One is of a woman casting her rod and the other of a man casting his.

They are great!

At this particular moment, they seem far more important than Pittsburgh or anything to do with the American Health Care system.

Hmmm ... it dawns on me that for slight change fee, I could be flying south instead of north. For the same fee I can change the date and have enough time to get Sarah a ticket too. Then I could hang my signs, we can fly to St. Somewhere and ... fish naked!

I love it when a plan is born.

A Mother's Worry

Fran has adorned her beautiful self with purple wisteria and the sun throws yellow on her thousand shades of green. All of the plants on the Beloved Back deck survived the winter and are in bloom with green, red, yellow and white all clamoring for attention. The Palm Tree with the oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt oversees all of this with a smile. Goddess's head rests under my bare feet as I sit here marveling at all of the newness.

It's the first day of spring and God has never created better weather for it. I'm loving the moment.

"I'm worried about you," my Mom said as I drove on the Tybee Road last night.

"Well," I replied in the cell phone, "that's what Mother's do right? Worry about their children."

She wasn't expecting this.

"Yes," she finally said firmly. "That is what Mother's do."

"Good," I told her. "I wouldn't know what to do if you weren't worried."

It'd been a crazy day and I'd just finished telling her about it. Half the morning was spent on the phone with AT&T negotiating payment on my cell phone bill from our honeymoon in Belize. I have the International Plan but learned that certain countries are not included in AT&T's International coverage.

"So let me ask you a question," I asked in my best Conner impersonation. "Doesn't 'International' imply every nation?"

"It does," Robert is based in India replied. "Except for countries like Belize and Russia. They aren't included. You should have called us first so that you would know. Next time you travel, call us first."

"Hey Robert," I said. "Do you know what customer service is?"

Anyway, Robert was pretty cool about it and ... at this point ... I remain an AT&T customer.

Then it was on to dealing with the insurance company, a customer who had the audacity to think that I wasn't giving her the best customer service, sending things to the accountant for taxes, and trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up.

When I told all of this to my Mom driving on the Tybee Road to have dinner with Sarah and the girls, she told me that she remains worried ... as she always has been ... about most everything I've ever done.

As soon as I hung up, Samuel Adams ... who plays damn good live music on Tybee Island ... called. Sam is also a Jesus Impersonator ... they're kind of like Elvis Impersonators except Sam has "the look" down ... Jesus in bifocals.

"God told me to call you," he says, "to let you know how blessed you are."

God often speaks to Sam first and then Sam decides whether or not to tell the rest of us whatever it was God said.

I thanked him and hung up.

Sitting here now, I feel like a Beach Bum which is exactly what I always wanted to be when I grow up. I make the assumption that Mothers of Pirates worried about their sons and daughters as they pillared, raped and stole. I've been in a sea of battles but am now moored in the calm of the first day of spring. Sarah is bouncing in giving me kisses and looking like a voluptuous wench. I'm hosting a meeting later that I may or may not attend.

There's only one thing left to say ...

AAARRRRGGGG.

Advances in Bar Church

We got a brand new sound system at Bar Church yesterday. Unfortunately, it didn't work.

Some say it was Satan. Others claim it was precedence as Bar Church's sound system is always blowing up in the middle of the service. Still others insist it's because it is entirely too early for any one to accurately plug the red cord into the socket marked red on the Board ... for Christ's sake most only went to bed a couple of hours earlier. For whatever reason, the brand new sound system blew in the middle of the service.

Just as I was starting to preach (and I use the term loosely)!

While Sam and Davy cussed and pulled cables out and plugged them back in again behind me ... I brought forth the Gospel message.

Whoever may have been interested in anything I had to say were mesmerized watching Sam and Davy ... perform ... behind me. They were the Keystone Cops doing it for God.

My microphone was dead so, anyone who was trying to listen to me couldn't hear anything I was saying.

So I need to say something.

I was good.

I wanted to take notes on myself in the margins of my Bible.

It was fabulous.

I'm the only one who heard it.

Sam and Dave finally got things working in time for the music. Grabbing our guitars we brought praise in song.

What if God was one of us? we sang ... well ... that's an exaggeration. Sam was so frustrated he left the stage. Davy was madder than hell so he beat the shit out of the drums.

On the other hand, Sean, Dedra and I were ... fabulous. I made up words to the first verse. Sean got the second verse right. Dedra got three out of four notes right with brilliant consistency. And when the three of us sang the chorus, angles wept.

As did everybody else at Bar Church.

What do you do?

Shit happens.

Even in church.

But it was a good day that the Lord had made. We had some lunch. We went to the beach. We toasted the author of creation, threw meat on the grill and told stories into the night.

"Who invented Sunday on the day after St. Patrick's Day," Stephen asked while playing an incredible lead guitar solo on the wrong song.

It was a good question.

While we're at it ... who invented Monday?

I know ... I know. Shit happens. Even in heaven

Simple Gifts

At 2:36 my eyes popped open with a song in my head. This actually happens with some regularity and I often say that I think in lyrics anyway. Sometimes I wake up with worries, vivid reminder of a dream or ... a song. This morning it was a song.

'tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free

'tis the gift to come down where you ought to be

And when we find ourselves in the place just right

Twill be in the valley of love and delight

It is an old Shaker Hymn that I learned when I was the professional Christian inexplicably in charge of the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel in Louisville, Kentucky. We grew to do all kinds of music at the Chapel, most were outside of the Broadman Hymnal sanctioned and required by Baptist Corporate Headquarters in Nashville, Tennessee. I remember that Associate Pastor, Cindy Weber, brought that song and I haven't thought of it in years until the middle of last night.

Rolling over I lay my head beside Sarah's.

When true simplicity is gained,

to bow and bend we shan't be ashamed

I know all about that. My ass has been bowed and bent like crazy over the past several years. What had once been a steady and relentless uphill ascension where I could do no wrong turned into a roller coaster quickly descending into hell. Everything about everything changed and suddenly I found myself ... free.

I was free from the tremendous obligations of a very public and demanding career ... from the unending needs of others that never goes away ... from the marriage I was in ... from having to be anywhere at any particular time ... free of having to do anything.

I've read when Slaves were first freed in emancipation as the Civil War concluded many had no idea what to do. Freedom overwhelmed them so they stayed put in the slave quarters and at the beckon of their former owners. They had no idea what to do ... no way of imaging how life could be different.

I know that feeling. It took me a year or so to work through this tremendous need to go backwards. It was all I'd known and all that I still wanted. I couldn't imagine a different life that was better or more fulfilling than what I'd already had.

Then just as the freed slaves finally figured it out and made new and better lives, I've come a long way into the Promised Land too.

To turn, turn will be our delight

Till by turning, turning we come out right.

Sarah reaches and grabs my arm, still sleeping. The girls are quiet in their rooms. Goddess snores beside the bed. Chelsea is with her Mom and getting over being sick. Jeremy and Marie are in Milledgeville for some reason. Kristen is still working as St. Patrick's Day draws to an end.

Listening to Sarah breath, I think how odd it this song comes to me. A sliver of moon casts its trail on the floor beside us. I recall the Shaker's danced and many think the song a dancing song for when they gathered for church. At the end, where it says turn, turn ... these were instructions in the dance.

Turn and dance into your new life.

Come down where you ought to be.

Find yourself in a place just right.

In the valley of love and delight.

Sarah rolls and throws and arm over me. I fall back asleep. 'tis a gift!

Payback (with love, of course)

You know what it's like when you finally get home from a trip and are just so ready to be back in the comforts of your own place?

After a full day of air travel with connections in three cities in two different countries, I was ready for the familiarity of my sanctuary. Imagine my surprise as I entered and that found someone had rearranged all of the furniture inside, put cellophane inside the toilets, decorated it with blown up medical gloves and those little umbrellas that go inside of mixed drinks in a bar.

Someone also left gifts of cheese and crackers, Pretzels, candy and a bottle of wine ...so they weren't all bad.

Someone had also brought all of the cards and gifts that Sarah and I got at the Full Moon wedding last week.

It was quite the homecoming after such an exhausting day!

Someone ... would be Cheryl Sadowski!

There is a vague memory, watered down by time and alcohol, of Cheryl explaining that theirs is a tradition of rearranging all of the furniture in the house of a newly wed couple when they were on their honeymoon.

I recollect that I said something incredibly witty yet profound like, "Bring it on Bitch."

She did.

The Living Room furniture was in the kitchen. Sofas were turned around. Coffee tables were where tables are supposed to be.

And Goddess hair was everywhere!

I figure that Goddess ... in an attempt to thwart Cheryl's evil plan ... attacked her viciously and the two fought on the floor. Trying to not be bitten, Cheryl grabbed clumps of hair from Goddess' back while my brave dog tried to prevent our home being wrecked. Knocking Goddess unconscious, a bloody and bruised Cheryl just left the dog hair strewed where sofas used to be as she went about her control of damage.

And so ... after an incredible send off at the Full Moon Wedding by the Carnival of Friends ... this is the homecoming!

It is time for me to put the joys of the past weeks behind me and get serious. I need to start running and doing more pushups. I plan on watching every single Rambo and Charles Bronson movie today as I mentally prepare myself for the things that I must now do.

Oh Cheryl ???? My dear, dear friend.

Payback is going to be a bitch!

Battles of Lifel

A T & T called me yesterday to explain the International Coverrage Plan I've had forever does not include Belize. I've been in Belieze all week making numerous phone calls back home and texting away. I not certain what Belize did to A T & T but the agent made it very clear that I would be obigated to pay for all of this usage and the roaming changes at the regular rate. The current tab for six days of use is $3,000. He then asked if I would like to upgrade my plan.

Battle # 1 when we get home.

Of course we have to get home first. Flying out of Placencia airstrip to Belize City we have to clear customs. Then we fly to Atlanta and have to clear customs again. Then we have to recheck everything go through security again under the watchful eyes of TSA's then hope we make the connection back to Savannah. On the upside, Delta sent me a bunch of free drink tickets so I should be more than ready for these security checks.

Battle # 2.

And it's St. Patrick's Day in Savannah this weekend. According to news reports the parade and crowd may pass the ones in New York and a million people will form a blockaid in the city. You cannot get from the airport to Tybee Island where I live without going through Savannah. It is always a nightmare! Still, we want to get home today so we have to somehow find passage through the green drunken glob.

Battle # 3.

There's also this leftover battle with my insurance company. A leak had sprung in the upstairs shower which was fixed and covered minues the deductible. No problem, I said to myself, that's the way it works. The day after I got the check, two more leaks sprung. Then there were two more after that. I reported all of this to my insurance company who politly told me that this constitutes five different claims, therefore I would have to pay five differeent deductibles. The deductible is $1,000. I took a break from this one but will have to resume it when we get home.

Battle #4 awaits.

I used to wage multiple battles on a daily basis at Union Mission, fighting homelessness, AIDS, the American Health Care system, inadequate housing and such. Now I help out others who muti-task their wars. The only battles I'm normally engaged in these days are the ones with myself.

Why is life this way?

We either make things hard on ourselves or others are doing a pretty good job of making it difficult for us. It doesn't seem fair.

I know ... there are bigger problems. My friend Angela's son is having surgery today and it is serious. Carolyn is having to endure a St. Patrick's day without her beloved Daniel. Jimmie's trying to stay sober when it's raining booze in the city. Charles will watch the city through eyes that are processed by a mentally ill brain and he will talk to himself without ceasing. Someone will lose their battle with age or cancer or themselves today

The wind has died in Belize. It'd been blowing pretty good all week. The sea is silent now. The long leaf Palm Trees stand at attention. The sky is a brilliant blue and all of the clouds have gone elsewhere. It is quiet and peaceful in the Tropics. Later today it will be sweltering. I suppose it's a good day to come home.

I don't know of anyone who isn't fighting something ... be it a bad hair day or international conglomerates like A T & T. It's just part of living.

Ah well, I've got another hour to enjoy it here so that's what I'm going to do. Then the battles will begin.

Oh yeah, the Carnival of Friends will find all of this to be a perfectly good excuse for a party.

A Show for Free

There is a giant Iguana outside of our bathroom window watching us shower. About the size of Goddess, my beautiful 70 pound dog, the Iguana is gold with brown claws and stipes around its thick long tail. It's a punk Iguana because it's got spiked hair. It is not a sissy Green Iguana but a Lesser Antilliean one. And it hasn't moved in the last twenty-four hours, just lying there on the branch of a Palm Tree waiting for us to take showers. Apparently, Peeping Tom laws are pretty loose in Belize.

"Can it get inside," Sarah asked?

"Sure," I replied, showing her that the Palm Trees lean onto the third floor Varanda that we're staying in, "it'd be easy if it wanted to."

It's a big Veranda with a table, four chairs and a hammock. Two large French doors lead into a large bedroom and living room area. A good size bathroom is at the other end. The Iguana obviously prefers trees with a view.

Besides there are plenty of coconuts in these trees. The one beside me right now has about fifty green balls ripening in the sun. This reminds me that I need to have a Rum and Coconut Water today.

We were getting ready for the ten minute taxi ride back into Placentia, the small fishing village with the world's tinest road. A reggae band was playing at a bar called Barefoot which I love because that is my shoe of choice. So I didn't wear any. The Iguana seemed unconcerned about any of this.

When we arrived at Barefoot, Richie, our seven foot tall mammoth of a taxi driver, got out with us. He would hang with his friends until we were ready to leave. Besides, there is absolutely nothing else going on in this tiny seaside village.

Barefoot is an open air with no walls serving food with the bar in the middle. Tables are strewed everywhere in no particular order. Grabbing a table for two beside where a wall would have been had there been walls, locals congregate beside us just outside of the restaurant. The white ones look weatherworn and leathery and the black ones are smooth, wearing sunglasses at night or picking their massive Afro's.

Stars are ablaze in the sky and there are no lights to deminish the spectacular show that they're putting on for free. Mostly residential, the people of Placencia wander up and down the street as we order drinks. The shipment for Chardonney didn't come in so I am forced to drink a Beach Bum ... two different rooms with orange and pineapple juices. Sarah has Rootbeer.

The band took the stage and ... watched soccer while they played Reggae. A large screen television was behind them showing soccer from somewhere and the band was revited. Nevertheless, they sounded pretty good so American tourists and locals danced. We join them, twiring and swinging around the make shift dance floor.

Grilled pineapple, blackened shrimp and sausage comprise our meal as we discuss the future and the things that await us when we return home tomorrow. It's one of those intensly serious conversations that is continuously broken up by ... where we are.

We stroll down the sleepy street of the village which are dark with families sitting inside of their tiny shacks with lights on as they do whatever they do at night. Returning to Barefoot we retrieve Richie who brings his friend along for our ride back to Robert's Grove.

It is only 9:45 but everything is quiet. We return to our room. The Iguana remains in the tree. Feeling that we owe him something, we give it to him.

This morning ... he's waiting for more.

Joy

My Face Book locator informs me that my status update was written near Woodbridge, VA which is funny because I'm actually in a tiny village in Belize. The miracles of technology! I have no idea where Woodbridge is but am fairly certain that it's not beside the ocean. (OK, I goggled it and it is near a bay so perhaps it was the currents that carried my status update from the Caribbean Sea to near Woodbrige.

God works in mysterious ways.

The sun and the clouds are playing tag this morning. Bright sunshine floods the sea only to be tagged by shades of clouds. Then the sun slaps back and its sunshine again, like two little kids laughing and playing. Rain falls off in the distance but not on me. It is out there and I see it as the storm that I've lived through but am no longer inside. I made it through.

The past week has been full of celebration and full of well wishers. Photographs and films clearly capture the happiness and joy that a full moon cast down upon us. Well wishers from around the world chimmed in with thumbs up images or messages of affirmation. Joy is more so when it is shared and it is obvious in the images. That is the sun shine of my now.

The storm is sweeping over the Atolls in the distance, a long line of purple with darker lines shoot water below on the trees swimming in the sea. I have no idea how long I've been staring at it when my mind comes back to the computer screen. That storm is a symbolic visualization of the past several years.

It's also interesting to take notice of those who used to be part of my life but aren't anymore. If they took notice of the changes that I've undergone or give a Tinker's Damn that I'm alright now, they no longer care enough to say so. Perhaps they're all in the middle of their own storms and their lives have been blown to far away places like Woodville or Hell. They're just doing their best to get by just like I did. I'll say a prayer for them and get on with this new joy that fills me now.

It is funny though how once you've survived bad times, a cautiousness grows inside making you supicious of the good happening in your life. We tell ourselves, this is too good to be true ... so it's not.

I believe that all we have is this moment.

The past are memories and stories, dreams and bones, scars and wonderment.

The future is our box of hopes doused in the realities of circumstance, determinations and faith.

What is have is now ... and apparently I am not where I'm supposed to be according to the beliefs of a lot of people, or according to technology indicators, but I am where my joy is.

Escape

Placencia, Belize is an old fishing village that boast of having the world's tinest road. It is the width of a small sidewalk and, sure enough, it runs from one end of the mostly residential village. Built to accomodate fishermen bringing in their hawls in baskets on wheels, the road is now a reminder of the past. A proper two lane road is near by lined with restaurants, Dive-shops and grocery stores. They are more Americanized than the quaint alternatives on the tiny street.

Sarah and I made our way down one and up the other. After an excellent lunch at Barefoot's we met a woman who'd arrived eighteen years ago for a two-week vacation.

"I fell in love and never left," she explained.

The art studio she runs is the front room of her house. The house was once on stilts but a hurrican knocked it off of them. So they propped it back up and have lived happiily ever after.

As we made our way, it was hard not to notice the number of people who have expatriated to this tiny place. They are easy to spot, giving us chipper "Hello's" and "Good Morning's."

I've always liked the idea of expatriating ... escaping fom the sometimes harst realities of my life to ... someplace else ... something else ... to become someone else!

I never did though. There were all of those responsibilities of family and work. So as time went on and I reached a place where I could, I took longer and more exotic vacations ... temporatily escaping from my life.

It recently dawned us though that for years we figured out emergency escapes from the relaities of our lives. Staying at work late because we didn't want to go home or calling in sick to stay at home because we cannot bear our work ... nightly runs to Wall-Mart or the grocery store means that we can get away from the spouse we're scared of leaving ... constant church meetings accomplish the same goal.

I'm struck that I have now accomplished the goals of expatriating without having never really done it. I am someplace else, doing something else, and have become someone else.

Today I am celebrating these things with Sarah in Belize.

Next week we will be doing it at home.

I Am Risen

A thin blanket of clouds, sheet like, is spread across the ocean which is restless and kicking. The breeze is blowing so the long leaf Palm Trees dance on the shore. Lying in bed, I watch the sky turn from dark gray to a litghter shade of pale. Jumping up, I close the curtains so Sarah can sleep. A quick shower later I grab a cup of coffee and sit on the veranda to watch the sun rise.

It wasn't a pure ball of fire bubbling out of the sea because of the thin blanket of clouds. Yellow rays burst heavenly and then the sun peaks out from the sheets. It rises as quickly as I did. Then the strangest thing happens ... the sheet of clouds disappear, evaporating into nothingness. A brilliant yellow ball stands alone in the sky.

The sea calms down. Palm Tress stop dancing and wave instead welcoming the new day.

Surveying the beach, I am the lone witness to this birth.

Recognizing this, the sun throws a handful of diamonds on the ocean creating a trail that leads directly to me. I am bathed in holiness.

Over the past few years, I lived through a great deal of hurt. There were days when I didn't think I could take anymore. People would try to encourage me. "The Lord will never give you more than you can bear," some said in a gross misquoting of Scripture. The truth is though I've seen many people crumble and die over what the Lord gave them to bear.

I'm lucky though. I got through it with the kindness of an incredible, tiny community of believers ... they believed in me when I wasn't believing in myself. It was a much different me that ended up getting through.

The relentless competitor was tempered. Desires of fame and fortune no longer burned ..they'd been satisfied and I learned the cost. Money still matters but so much less than ... watching the sun rise, praying on a sad little holy dock, discovering worship again in a Bar or learning to gracefully accept the love and kindness of others.

"I was once dead but now I live," John says Jesus said in Revelation. I know the feeling!

Life is brand new. Happy and in love, I celebrate everything around me, though I remember the dark times and those who created them. I do not dwell on these things but they remain a part of who I am. I believe one day they will be resolved.

When Jesus came back from the dead, I can't help but believe he was miffed at some. Sure, it was love he came to demonstrate but look at what happened over the long hawl. Judas, the friend who betrayed him did himself in as all betrayers ultimately do. Rome crumbled. The Empire that ruled the world and provided political authorization of his crucifixion is now ancient ruins. The Jewish faith that requested his death is more fractured than ever still wandering in the wilderness searching for a home.

In the end it seems, justice was served. The love of God was demonstrated at the same time. I think they are intertwined. I wonder about these things at the individual level ... in my life.

Clouds now bow below the risen sun. Peering in I see that Sarah is still sleeping. A parrot squaks. The coffee is cold. A new day has begun. I am risen.

A Fantabulous Night for a Moon Dance

I've been to a lot of weddings.

I mean a really lot of them ... performing them, attending them, being in them ... a lot of weddings!

Most are in a church, are pretty standard, play roughly the same music and are very serious affairs.

Then three was last night ... under a full moon that popped over the ocean right on cue.

It was a clear warm night, bare feet in the sand, a carnival of friends, laughter and dancing, drinking and live music, and kissing and dancing.

It was a fantabulous night for a Moon Dance ... and boy did we!

The New Brady Bunch came together.

Sins were made and forgiven at the same time!

Bubbles were blown ... rings were given and taken ... children took over the pool ...

The VooDo Band played Lttle Wing!

Johnny O gave me away and got wasted ... Samuel Adams looked like Jesus ... Dedra looked like Satan ... others looked this way or that ... Bonnie Gaster finally got to be the flower girl.

Yeah, I been to a lot of weddings, but none as fantabulous as last night.

To Jenny Orr and the gang at Marlin Monroes, thank you.

To the entire carnival of friends too.

To the kids and the electronic hugs and the prayers given our way, thank you too.

I have to go now and move on to the next lines in that song ... a wonderful night for romance under the stars up above.

A Special Full Moon Party

The plan was to not have much of a plan. We were just going to grab the kids and head to the Full Moon Party at Marlin Monroe's, have a few drinks, listen to the VooDo Band, and stumble out on the beach under the moon. Samuel Adams, who plays damn good live music on Tybee Island, would say a few words, promises would be made and sealed with a kiss. Then we'd go back to the party.

That was the plan anway.

Then the Carnival of Friends got involved.

A party was thrown for Sarah last night and by the time she got home she was equipped with everything necessary to have a successful career as a prostitute.

The pictures have now made their way to Face Book and provides ample evidence that a good time was had by all. One of the traits that has emerged whenever the Carnival of Friends gather together is that everyone brings a camera. This is because everyone is trying to incriminate everyone else. We all have a proponderance of proof documenting the guilty.

The other thing that's happened is no matter what you do ... or what you don't do ... it makes someone mad. In retrospect I should have taken out billboards inviting the entire universe to the Full Moon Party tonight. Our plan was just to keep it simple and quiet.

Then Conner found out.

Conner is my dear friend that I hang out with in St. Martin. We've had many excellent adventures including the complete kidnapping of the Manager's Wine and Cheese party. This did not go over well with the Manager's who stripped us of our wine glasses. Anyway, Conner and Hania are coming and they're like pouring gasoline on a fire. Tybee Island is already crazy and the Carnival of friends are nuts ... adding Conner to this is ... I shutter to think of the things that may happen.

Then Chuck Courtenay and Vickie are coming too. Suddenly there arte three bands and numerous clergy to handle anything that is necessary. Holiness will blanket everything and forgiveness will be readily available to all.

Oh well, what does one do?

Personally I plan to stick as close as possible to the orginal plan ... which was not to have much of a plan ... though I do have my doubts given the configeration of this particular congregation.

So let this celebration of life begin. We're starting with Scripture readings from the Song of Solomon and going downhill from there.

And before it's all said and done I can't help but think that on this full moon night, there will be blue ones too ... probably an entire constellations of them.

ALmost Perfect

Peering over the cliff that is eighty feet from the aqua blue water below, I pause.

I'm at Rick's Cafe in Jamaica and the locals are pissing me off. They're climbing up a tree on the top of the cliff and diving off. So they are about eight feet higher than me. I turn around looking at them. They're asking for tips. I'm giving them competition.

A tall thin black Rastafarian leaps from the tree, twirling around in front of me laughing in my face as he falls. Then he cannon balls into the water.

People applaud.

Money is placed in a jar.

They're standing there at Rick's which is a bar on a cliff. It's a tourist trap and the drinks all have umbrellas in them. The vast majority are wearing Birkenstock's. Several dozen also have on black socks. Strange people indeed. Tour buses wait to take them to the next stop.

The tall thin black Rastafarian pops out of the water looking up at me ... still laughing.

"Son of a Bitch," I say out loud.

Then I spread my arms like an eagle and jump off of an eighty foot cliff into the cove below. It is a swan dive. My chest is pointing towards the sun. My legs make their way over my head. I become a pinpoint missile coming straight into the cove that the tall think black Rastafarian is swimming out of. He watches me approach. I feel perfect and hit the water beside him with the slightest of splashes.

Had this been the Olympics, I would probably have received a score of 99.

Yeah ... it was that 1% ... the slightest of splashes.

My legs hurt for a week.

But thin black Rastafarian dude never knew.

When I surfaced, he gave me a high-five yelling "RESPECT MON! RESPECT!".

I slapped his hand and said, "Respect."

We made our way up the cliff laughing together.

There are costs in life. Everything has a cost. I'd pulled off the dive earning his respect but the back of my legs hurt like hell. At the bar, someone handed me a beer and lots of people slapped me on the back. The celebration of almost perfect began.

That's the lesson right? Nothing is perfect ... though some things appear to be. And when they're not, we act like they are ... though deep down inside of our selves ... we know better.

I've come to accept that in life. It's mostly perfect. Those things that aren't drive me nuts and keep me up at night. Why do I focus on these things?

It's mostly perfect.

Tomorrow is a big day. I'm hitting the water again having already done this perfect swan dive off of a cliff. Diving into beauty.

I've tried before and failed.

But I know with everything in me ... that this time ... it's perfect.

Experience Matters

Cinnamon rolls are baking casting an aroma throughout the kitchen.

It mixes with the smell of brewing coffee.

Staring out the sliding glass doors I see that the wind has not let up as it blows through Fran's thousand shades of green. The grass skirt on the Palm Tree with the oyster face and coconut bra blows giving the appearance that she's dancing as the sun rises.

Girls are asleep everywhere. Two beds and two couches are currently occupied. Goddess is confused as she meanders from room to room attempting to keep watch over everyone at once.

I'm wondering when was the last time that I cooked Cinnamon rolls. It had to have been for Chelsea and that would have been decades ago.

I remember enough to save the icing because someone is going to lick the container clean.

"Damn," I think to myself. "I'm domesticated."

Firing up Pandora, I listen to Amie Mann and crack it up as a way of waking everyone up.

The kitchen counter looks as though a food delivery truck crashed into it. A&W Root beer, Powdered donuts, popcorn, peperoni and cheese crackers are everywhere.

The living room appears to have been hit by a National Linen Service truck. Blankets, sheets and stuffed animals are littered throughout. Random sneakers and slippers lay on the floor. Book bags and plastic sacks are piled up on the table.

They begin to stir.

Normally when I leave for the Breakfast Club, Goddess is snoring beside the bed. Now she looks traumatized.

Suddenly there is a mad dash for the Cinnamon Rolls. Apparently one has more icing than the others.

"This is weird," I say out loud.

A Cinnamon roll drops to the floor and a scream follows.

Goddess makes a mad dash for it but the three-second rule applies. Dejected, my dog goes outside.

I fix a screwdriver.

"I have the experience for this," I say to myself. "I survived raising Kristen for God's sake!"

Then Sarah wanders in, hair askew, wearing one of my shirts, eyes full of sleep ... and she kisses me.

"And on the seventh day ... God said it was good."

This is going to be alright.

Where the River Meets the Sea

God dips Her hands in buckets of brilliant reds, pinks and yellows throwing them across the sky as though finger painting first thing in the morning. Colors all mushed together above a full high tide with only the tips of marsh grass seen. God is getting up earlier these days because the sun is already rising when just last week it was still dark at this time of morning.

Goddess nudges her head beside mine laying her paw on my hand which is on the gear shift. There are no other cars on the Tybee road as we make our way home. Sipping coffee from a Styrofoam cup, we sail pass Fort Pulaski. The Cockspur Lighthouse with no light in it, welcomes us to the island.

Many years ago my dear friend Bruce and I climbed on top of it to yell at cars making their way over the Lazaratto Bridge "I'm DOING THIS AND YOU"RE NOT!"

We'd been on a two case boat ride. We were in the boat just long enough to drink twenty four beers. Kyle was with us. Every time I see Cockspur the memory of that day washes over me. I miss him.

On top of the bridge, I spy Hilton Head Island with its golf courses, plantations and enough traffic to sink the island. Turtle Island is there too along with Dafuski. The lights of Savannah are behind us. What captures my attention every single time I cross the bridge is where the mouth of the Savannah River meets the Sea. Fresh water mixes with salt water and holiness is born.

Goddess gives me a kiss, licking my cheek before jumping in the passenger seat. I roll the window down and she sticks her head out, smelling the salt, sand and sea. She knows that home is around the corner and is excited. Her tail wags without ceasing ... hitting me in the face as I drive down Butler Avenue.

I don't mind.

I'm lost in thought and full of emotions.

My life is where the river meets the sea ... where fresh water mixes with salt water ... sand is a lifestyle commitment and suntan lotion is perfume ... sub-tropical temperatures are exotic displays of green ... and it's always 5 O'Clock on Tybee.

Everything that has happened so far in my life has passed away.

Now there is just ... next.

"If this many people are against us," I told Sarah, "then we must really be on to something."

In four days we will be married underneath a full moon with people who love us and lots more who could care less. We'll be surrounded by little girls in dresses and bare feet in the sand. Two-thirds of my children will be there. Parents have mixed opinions about it. There will be religion, music, dances and drinks all in a gumbo of joy.

There will also be the re-opened scars from those who sit in judgement, missing members of the congregation, and organized religion will be brought in Samuel Adams guitar case ... frozen soup that has freezer burn. Things that still torch our souls.

The car rolls to a stop in the Drive way. Goddess excitedly jumps over me to get out. Draining the last of the coffee, I unlock the door and let her inside. Diving back behind the wheel, I drive the short distance to The Breakfast Club for more coffee with friends I love.

Staring out of the window at the flags whipping above the Ocean Plaza, the wind is blowing out to sea ... where the water is full of salt and there is no more fresh ... where the possibilities are endless ... and as much is unknown as known ... the future is out there somewhere and the chains of the past are behind me ...

I've only got so much life left.

It's been great so far but I believe in better.

Forever, I've lived where the River meets the Sea.

Now ... I'm sailing into my future.

Freedom (from a boat)

"Just look like you have Dementia," I explained. "It'll be easy for you.

Dedra looked like she would cry.

"Listen," I pressed, "if you act like you know what you're doing everyone will think you know what you're doing."

"Huh," she signed.

"Follow us," Sarah said.

"This isn't going to work," Dedra protested.

Sarah grabbed one arm and I grabbed the other and pulled her along.

"I'm not supposed to leave the boat until 9:45," she said.

It was ten-minutes-to-eight. Sarah and I had carried our luggage on. It was a four day cruise and the weather was eighty degrees. How many clothes do you need?

If you're Dedra ... or Johnny O ... you pack enough to dress all of southern Africa.

Johnny O had four costume changes every day (and everything was pressed ...even his underwear! Who presses their underwear?)

Dedra was afraid to open her suitcase because it looked as though it would explode at any moment anyway ... so she mostly watched Horton Hears a Who on her stateroom television set.

(Though we did teach her how to drink, gamble, pick up married Irish guys and get a tattoo!)

Now it was time to disembark and Sarah and I were in the very first wave to be set free from Adult-Camp-at-Sea. I'm not certain why. Our cabin was in bottom of the boat. We could look out of our porthole and see fish.

Cheryl and Jodee were on top and were released next. Then came Johnny O and Judy O. Dedra was the last to be go.

"To hell with that," I told her.

So Dedra came down looking like Eeyore from Winnie the Poo saying, "This will never work. I'm not supposed to leave until 9:45."

"Right," Sarah and I said at the same time as we pulled her along.

At checkpoint number one, Sarah went first explaining, "She's with us. She has Dementia."

"Just give me her card," the bored woman said as she checked people off the boat.

On the gangplank, Dedra was ecstatic.

At customs, Sarah and I breezed right through but Dedra was detained. Her big ass suitcase was on another side of the room sitting on two tables by itself. The legs on both tables were buckling.

"You can't come this way," the customs agent said, holding Dedra back. "Go back out the door you came in and go in the one beside it and get your back."

Dedra looked like she had Dementia.

She always overacts.

So Sarah and I cleared customs and Dedra went backwards. Outside, we waited.

And waited ...

and waited ...

Then Dedra came out dragging her big ass bag.

She started crying. "You waited!" she exclaimed.

"Stop acting," I ordered. "You're off the boat."

Tear streamed down her face.

"I don't think she's acting," Sarah said.

It took all three of us to get her suitcase in the back of the van. Then it took another ten minutes to get the front wheels back down on the pavement.

Dedra cried the whole time.

Sarah and I looked at each other with concern.

"Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty! I'm free at last!"

Dedra had suddenly discovered the Civil Rights movement.

The ride home was uneventful.

"You do know," I said at one point.

"That you told me so?"

"Yep."

"Yep," she sighed.

Ego Tripping at the Gates of Hell

For more years that I've been alive than not ... I've read about myself.

For the better part of thirty years I was in newspapers, articles, books and on television. (I think that my favorite is this book called Spiritual Literacy in which stories of mine are quoted. A exasperated Rabbi called to protest that was nothing especially literate about my spirituality!)

At first it was a real ego trip. I remember going to the Seminary Library to look at "The Journal of Social Work and Christianity" to see my name in print for the first time. It was an article I'd written that I now no longer remember the title. It was cool seeing myself there and my ego tripped.

Anyway, there was a lot of it in the decades which followed. The vast majority was good. Some of it was bad. Over time I became immune to it ... just part of another day ... give a quote or a sound bite ... write another book or newsletter story.

Now newspapers and books as we've known them are dying. Replaced by cyberspace, instant gratification and discarding things with the click of a button.

Earlier this week, Sarah and I took boxes of books to the Library. Things I'd read forever ago where taking up space. It was interesting. The Library was full ... of people on the computers.

The book shelves were half empty with no one wandering up and down the aisle's.

Every day I sit with the lap top open and the entire world is at my disposal on a ten by fourteen screen. I read news from other countries, listen to old music and the newest stuff, converse with friends strewn to and fro on the face of the earth. I've got friends whom I've never actually met though we talk often. Requests come from everywhere.

I get instant messages, private ones, wall posts and ... the occasional request for an interview by a reporter. I tell them everything I have to say can be found on the web. "Just take whatever quotes you want from there," I explain.

They protest wanting to do things the old fashion way. I sat that I'll call them back though I never do ... though that time is quickly coming again.

Of course there are those messages that make me out to be this horrendous creature from hell. Just the other day I was described as "a predator of women, the architect of failed marriages, a man who cusses, drinks and is a generally bad influence on children."

I take issue with none of these things ... though the women I've been married to might ... my children certainly would as they my mightiest protectors ... lots of children love me, especially three little girls and if the author came to Bar Church they may be cut during the service for saying such things about me.

There's one person who flew over my house in a helicopter once and confessed, "If I had a bomb I would drop on him. I hate him" (Hi Francis!).

If she attended Bar Church I'm afraid that more than being cut with a knife would be involved.

The point being that I've done far more good than bad in my life ... though I certainly have scars and am as wounded as anyone else from the bad.

I'm not perfect, just forgiven as the old saying goes and I started by forgiving myself. God forgave me long before I forgave myself. I've done the best I know how to do. And there are a lot of people who appreciate that.

In the Library I ran into Dicky who used to be homeless but isn't anymore and we chatted as he ran his business from the public computer. At practice for Bar Church yesterday I was hugged and thanked for loving people though they don't feel especially lovely these days. A friend asked me about getting affordable dental care in Savannah and, say what you will, I'm the one who created it (though it's no longer mine). There are all of these messages that take more and more of my day, "Can I ...?" and I believe in customer service so I respond to each and every one.

And these reporters keep calling and messaging. I really don't want to do that right now but ... they are relentless and I've got great stories to tell!

I've had my share of ego tripping. It'll take you straight to hell. I left mine there.

I wake up every day and try to do a little better than I did yesterday. I try to be nice. If people ask me for stuff I try to help and get frustrated when I can't. I've given the best of me away only to have it handed back to me on a silver platter. I lived large and I've downsized significantly.

Last night we sat at Wyn and Sean's, eating spaghetti, watching the moon rise over the ocean, telling stories and being friends. We shared from the brokenness which really is the best place to start ... and not from pompousness ... which is where hell begins.

I Love Fridays

Fridays are always best.

The week is over ... or almost over ... and everyone is looking ahead to whatever it is they look forward to ... let the good times begin.

The drudgery of Thursday is done.

Yesterday was quite the chore ... attorneys who admit what they represent is morally wrong but legally right ... elected officials who have columns in the newspaper, on Face Book, and Twitter posts that they never wright but pay others to so that it looks like them (Hey Eric and Buddy!) ... clergy who pour through books of sermons to come up with this Sundays ... Board members who care about their legacy more than the work ... I could go on and on.-

The world is a screwed up place.

(It took a lot of self-restrained to use the word "screwed").

Sometimes I sit and wonder why.

Lawyers are gunslingers of the past ... any gun for hire ... not giving a shit cause so long as they are paid. Elected officials are old fashion whores prostituting themselves for re-election ... clergy (Samuel Adams, who plays damn good live music on Tybee Island and I are two) get paid to do what they ask everybody else to do for free ... I could go on.

The point is ... last night Sarah and I sat out here with a fire on the Beloved Back Deck ... with Bar-B-Q ribs and chicken grilling ... corn in butter ... green beans for Dedra ... three little girls running around and i am struck by the fact that I've only mastered two little girls and not three ... I may not survive ... though Kristen and Chelsea have already introduced me to most everything that little girls have to throw at you.

So that is the world right?

Evil balancing itself with good. Most of us (though certainly not all) believe that evil is slightly more than fifty percent of our reality. The rest of us don't really believe attorneys, elected officials, clergy ... though the Samuel Adams Band and Bar Church are rocking ... evil may be more than 50% ... who knows? ... it is what it is.

I don't care.

It's Friday.

The weather is here ...

sitting naked on the back deck writing ...

I think that dancing is in my immediate future ...

I love Fridays!

Life's Most Amazing Journey

Brilliant blasts of sunshine bursts through Fran's thousand shades of green illuminating the Beloved Back Deck and giving the Palm Tree with the oyster eyes, coconut bra and grass skirt a halo. Goddess contently sits at my feet chewing on a raw hide. The yard is full of weeds and needs work. The Red-Tips need are overgrown and several plants need to be replaced. I'm sitting here taking inventory of what to keep, what to trim and what to get of ... and it reminds me of my life.

Sitting outside of a hospital emergency room in Richmond, Virgina my old friend Bill Berry (not the former drummer for REM but the other one who went to Seminary with me) was trying to stay awake. He'd been up for 25 straight hours waiting on a patient to die so that he could oversee the donation of body parts that would keep others alive. He filled some of the time by writing me.

"I hear rumor that you are engaged, I could tell back in November that Sarah is the woman for you." He went on to describe a Hodge-podge of the future and the past. His aging parents need constant supervision and their days are numbered. Business is booming so he works more than he ever has. He and Kathy are returning to the scene of one of our greatest crimes ... when he threw over the wall of the Trappist Monastery where Thomas Merton used to live and I landed on two monks who had taken vows of silence only to cuss.

"I don't know if I can get Kathy to do it," he says of throwing her over the wall, "I may spend all of my time at the Makers Mark Distillery. Tell Sarah 'Hi.'"

On this brilliant last morning of February that occurs every four years, I read his message again and am lost in thought. Whenever Bill and I are together, things happen. We've been around the world more than once ... chased by Turkish whores in Prague, walked together on the railroad track out of Auschwitz in Poland because there was no other way to leave, and he got me busted in Cuba. I love the man.

I imagine him sitting outside of the Emergency Room, leaning in a chair, the back of his head against the wall, fighting off sleep so that he can comfort the dead and save the living at the same time.

As the day unfolds, it becomes this crazy series of exchanges ... both though cyber space and live ... good news and bad news ... love and something other than love. Old friends want me to return to acting like the way I used to act and chiding me not doing so. Newer friends finding themselves in a position where they have to choose ... continue being my friend could risk offending somebody. There are conversations with attorneys, birthday wishes to Lenora, thanks to Jenny Gentry for inspiration, invitations from Stacy and expectations from Roma. My son Jeremy and I have a long talk about nothing and everything. Sarah sits beside me wrestling with similar things.

It's all a Hodge-podge of past and my future.

Suddenly, it's night time and Sarah and I make our way to Fannie's-on-the-Beach for Essie's surprise birthday. We're joined by Cheryl and Wyn (an old friend and a new one). Essie is surprised and everyone has a good time. At one point, I'm half-way listening to Sarah and Wyn who are in deep conversation when Jenny O is kicking my foot.

I stand up and she hugs me.

"You ready for this?," she asks in dead seriousness.

And I swear it was four of the sweetest words ever uttered. Behind each word was love and concern for me, where I'm at and where I'm going.

Salt water leaked out of my eyes as I nodded yes.

"Good," she said. "We'll get some pink table clothes, the bands good, and a bunch of people who don't know you will join those who do and toast you and Sarah. It'll be great!"

We hugged again and she made her way off to run Fannies.

Staring at the brilliant sunshine dancing with Fran's thousand shades of green, I think about Thomas Merton, the Trappist Monk whose ghost Bill and I chased all those years ago. Merton was something! He wrote great books and pushed Catholicism to be more than it was. He did these things having taken a vow of silence and lived alone in a Hermitage. He died trying to unite Buddhist monks with Catholic ones. A lot of Catholics were happy about it.

When Bill threw me over the wall that day, we were determined to find his Hermitage. It didn't go as planned.

Nothing ever does.

But you know what? I have lots of love again. The friends I have now are good ones. The uncertainty about the future are deep but the celebrations of the present keep doubts at bay. Somehow I've managed to achieve knowing exactly what I'm doing without having a clue at the same time!

Yesterday was cloudy, windy and cold.

Today is sunshine, blue skies, a calm ocean for sailing away and a warm exclamation point to "a long, cold, lonely winter."

I have things to do this morning. People in Atlanta, New York and Savannah want stuff from me. Two different publishers want chapters and there is a third I need to call back. I think I'll give them the morning ... then work on my tan.

Oh yeah ... I'm doing a wedding at Fannie's this afternoon.

So much to do ... so little time.

I'm going to enjoy it while I got it.