Wet Dreams

The Starfish Cafe was the thing I liked the best at the end of my time at Union Mission. It's a restaurant we opened when I sold an old lawyers office across the street from what is now Paula Deans restaurant. (In retrospect, it was a stupid thing to do but we made a bundle and bought our own restaurant.) The Starfish Cafe is also a culniary arts training program for homeless people. Hundreds have graduated and now work for, or operate, their own restaurants across the country. Orginially it was named The Bread & Butter Cafe (thank you Leigh Calhoun Martin for the name) and right off the bat it became crazily successful. Nobody had ever done a restaurant/culinary arts training program for homeless people before. There was a lot of press. CNN showed up and ran a story for four consecutive days over a holiday weekend. I was in an airport somewhere when I saw it. Al Roker and the TODAY Show arrived and did a live broadcast. (They actually did two, coming back the next year to gauge our progress.) SOUTHERN LIVING Magazine followed then National Public Radio kept me on the phone doing interviews for the longest time. After that we hit the bump in the road. The Food Bank decided to it wanted to be sole owner though Union Mission owned the place. So I get a phone call one day and am told by an attorney to "cease and deist" using the name Bread & Butter Cafe because the Food Bank had trademarked it. I'm a good guy and didn't want to cause any trouble so I changed the name to "I Can't Believe it's not the Bread & Butter (thank you Micah Berry for coming up with that and Kurt Schmit for hanging the sign). The Press went nuts and we got a whole new round of press and many more customers. My friends at The Savannah College of Art & Design hosted a contest to come come up with a new name. Hundreds of entries tried for the grand prize of free lunch for a week. The Starfish Cafe was the winner because of the story of the little girl trying to save starfish washed ashore by throwing them back into the sea. She's told there are too many dying starfish to save and she can't make a difference. She smiles while throwing another back into the water and answers, "I made a difference to that one." After twenty-three years at Union Mission, I was burned out, my marriage was falling apart and I couldn't manage all of the need anymore. I had too many of my own. Asking the Board for a Sabbatical, they said no, even though there was a clear policy they'd approved saying I should have it). So it all got worse. The marriage fell apart. I continued to burn out (thank you Jerry Rainy, Herb McCkenzie and Philip Solomon). At the end, we were opening up lots of new stuff but the only thing that still stired by soul was The Starfish Cafe. Yesterday, Sarah and I returned to the Cafe. It's always interesting to tip-toe through the past. The Cafe itself looks as good as it when it opened (thank you Chef Paul for caring) though the rest of the place looks neglected. The old press clippings that I'd hung remain on the walls. The garden across the street (bought when I'd won an award and donated all the cash to Union Mission so we could buy three parccels of property) looks the same as it did two years ago when I left. We had our meeting. People came to give Sarah and I hugs. We had lots of emotions. It's ashamed when you can't quite shake all of the past. Then we left ... and went swimming (me in my underwear). D-Luv was hosting. The girls were having a blast. Ryan showed up with Ginger, his dog. It was a typical Tybee moment. We forgot about the Cafe and enjoyed ourselves. Later the phone rang and the past was calling and left a message. "How do you get certified for culinary arts instruction?" Not answering, we left and went to Huck-A-Poos for Sean's birthday party. It's hard when the past calls. It's like a wet dream ... no longer the real thing.

Summer Lovin'

It's Mayberry on Acid ... a Redneck Reviera ... an island Paradise ... a small community with more Stop Signs per square inch than any place on earth ... full Platoons of Parking Nazis ... Beach music most every night ... a Bar Church ...ten thousandTourons on Summer weekends (Tourist + moron = Touron) ... the smell of the marsh ... sunsets over the the Back River ... sunrises out of the ocean ... miles and miles of clear blue skies ... Ocean breeze, rum on ice, lazy days and party nights ... In spite of what the elected officals keep doing to the place, Tybee Island is still pretty spectacular. I love summer! I love the beach! I love islands! I love Tybee! For years I lived on the corner of Tenth and Butler, which is the ocean side of the Main Drag. My son Jeremy and I became convinced that hundreds of people from Effingham and Bryan Counties planned their weekends around driving to Tybee so they could turn around in our Drive-way. So we got a bunch of balloons, filled them with water, took the screens out of the upstairs windows and waited. Sure enough in no time at all, people from somewhere else started using our Drive-Way as a stock car turn-around. As soon as they did, we hurled water balloons at them, laughing our asses off. My daughter Kristen saw what was going on and she has a better arm than Jeremy and I combined. So she started throwing with precision ... breaking several windshields and knocking a couple of redneck heads down the street. It runs in the family though. My Dad once heard two drunk guys cursing in the middle of the Tenth Street Crosswalk in front of a bunch of girls. He told them to stop. They cussed at him. So he decked them, knocking one unconcious. My Uncle Curtis and Jeremy drug Dad away before the Tybee Island Police showed up. The girls thanked my Dad as he was being taken. Fast forward to now. I live in a quiet part of the island, surrounded by a thousand shades of green, the smell of the marsh, sound of the sea, salt in the air. I nod at my neighbors as we walk the dogs (well ... Winston, the little gay dog, prances with his mouth open while Goddess looks like royalty) and we sometimes stop and have wine with Art (who loves Auburn). We go to Shirley's sad little holy dock to listen to the concert of the choir of mussels. We have dinner on the Beloved Back Deck. Then there are those summer nights ... "Summer lovin' had me a blast ..." You know what I'm saying. Alright then ... I wonder if Sarah's up. It's a beach day! Time to get the beach balls out. Y'all all have fun! (And I the good Lord and I forgive you for your dirty minds!)

Bill and me

Bill Berry (not the former drummer for R.E.M.) but the other one who went to Seminary with me and I were in Prague in the Chec Republic. He wanted me to spend an hour with some clery there who might benefit from my experiences leading the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel and Union Mission. So we planned a two week trip around the one hour meeting. If you've never been to Prague, it is the most beautiful city I've ever seen. Cathedrals, a Palace, walking bridges across the Vltava River, cobblestone streets, great beer and an excellent Subway system. In fact, at most Subway shops you can buy porn. Tables are set up selling the stuff everywhere and many satisfied customers read it while they ride home or to work. I'd never seen that before. Prague also has a Sex Tour. We didn't take it but I got a brouchure and brought it home to my son Jeremy. As far as I know, he hasn't taken it either though he and my brilliant daughter-in-law Marie have spent a lot of time in Amsterdam which has the largest "Brothel" section in the world. They brought me a magent of a Brothel with topless women hanging out of it which hangs on the refrigerator. There is also a picture of Bill and I hanging on it too standing in Prague's Old Town, with our arms around each other under the statue of Good King Wenceslas. I recall that we'd spent a great deal of time consuming Pilsner Urquell Beer. This was because we'd spent the morning in the Old Jewish Cemetery with thousands of tombstones leaning on top of each other and being consumed by trees. Virtually all of the Jews were killed by the Nazis during the war. There is also a Synagoge with the names of every Jewish person killed during the Holocaust painted on the wall. That's all that's inside. Overwhelmed by all of this, we got drunk that day and ended up bounching around the city long after the Subways had stopped running. Making our way through one of the Plaza, I was accousted by a bunch of Turkish Whores reaching for me. Bill was laughing his ass off until I yelled, "He's the one with the money" and they rushed after him. He took off in full stride and disappeared in the darkness. An hour later we hooked back up. He was out of breath from running so much but he'd lost them. We made our way back to the small hotel we were staying in. We'd already been to Auschwitz, the concentration camp in Poland, the jail in Berlin where Detrich Bonhoeffer had been jailed for trying to kill Hitler because it was his duty as a Christian, to a Gypsy camp in Krakow and the blacked stoned St. Peter and Paul Church there. It had been a sobering ... and life changing trip for us. We reached a point where we could no longer talk but completely understood what the other was feeling. We've had many adventures together but this was the pennacle. Bill tried to call me on my birthday but we missed each other. I tried to call him back but to no avail. His son Micah and his wife Mary Catherine, whose wedding I performed, will be here in a few weeks and though it will be brief, I really looking forward to that. I think about all of the things that we've done. Chec Republic, Poland, Germany, Cuba, New York, D.C., New Orleans, Southern Baptists and Gethsemane Monastary in Bardstown, Kentucky ... we've done it all. We can go a year without seeing each other but when we do, it's like we've haven't missed a beat. The thing I love about Bill is he's always always looking for what's next. Though he's now in the used body parts business and lives on a farm miles away from anybody else, he always thinking about we might do next. "Figi," he told me now to long ago. "We need to go to Figi," he explained and there was other need for additional words. It's good to have friends who, in spite of anything and everything, will always be your friend.

Really Liking who I am now

As a dreamer of dreams and a traveling man I've chalked up many a mile Read dozens of books about heros and crooks and learned much from both of their styles Yep. Thank you Jimmy Buffett! Christians talk about being re-born and it's true! I'm on my forth or fifth incarnation of me! I used to be somebody else ... a small town Southern Boy in Port Wentworth, Georgia spending my days riding bicycles with my friends, making out with girls behind the elementary school, and stealing all of the American Flags out of the building. Then I became a college student, helped conceive my beloved son Jeremy who became my best pal, learned how to learn, and was booed by the graduating class when I got dilpoma and walked straight out of the door rather than return to my assigned seat. Inexplicably, God told Guy Sayles to tell me to go to Seminary ... so I did and mostly got in trouble, eventually earning two degrees while vandalizing the statue of Billy Graham, throwing a text book on Greek out of the window in protest, and walking out of class if the professor was repetitive or boring. At the same time, God told Guy Sayles to tell me to become a Pastor. I don't think that Guy's ever forgiven God for actually doing it or that God's ever forgiven Guy for actually telling me ... but that's how it happened. And I became a Professional Christian for the next eight years. I got in trouble for a lot of things ... turning Sunday School rooms into apartments for homeless guys, turning the Baptismal Pool into a bathtub, concieving my daughter Kristen and breaking into Russell Bennett's office one night with Claude Drouet and Larry Desolier and putting pages of pornography in each of his thousands of files in his filing cabinet. I did become The Rev. Then I became an Unprofessional Christian, moving to Tybee Island and becoming a President & CEO in Savannah, writing books, helping to concieve Chelsea, running with the Olympic Torch, appearing on the TODAY Show, CNN and speaking at the National Press Club in Washington D.C. I won a bunch of stuff, traveled the world, met famous people ... including the President and ... all it cost was two wives, my mental health and a lot of people who loved me once but don't anymore. That was then. Today I'm a Beach Bum, happily married to Sarah, learning how to talk to little girls again, watering plants, talking to trees, strolling to a sad little holy dock, raising a gay dog, remembering to turn my ear ring everyday, being Chaplain of the Breakfast Club, and wondering how in the hell to sustain this lifestyle for the rest of my life. I don't know. I got more to do. I just don't know what it is yet. Sarah told me the other day that Steve Jobs said "Great Artist have to go away and reinvent themselves." He certainly did. I suppose that's what I'm doing. It does feel familiar. I've been so many people already ... but ... I really like who I am now.

Birthday Wishes

You're supposed to make a birthday wish on your birthday. Sometimes its hard narrowing it down to just one. After stumbling into the door marked "Exit Only" at The Breakfast Club, Nancee stuck a candle in my face and told me to make a wish. It was the number 1 with a flame on top. After taking my first sip of coffee, I blew it out with a smile. There were greetings of good tidings and joy and several hugs by everyone else. The place exploded with customers when it opened so I left and went to the beach. With my feet in the water, the sun baptized me in a yellow light sent down by God Herself. Lost in thought, I remembered something I'd read ... "As I reinvent myself I'm constantly curious about everything, I can't wait to see what's around the corner in newfound art, entertainment and exploration" (Pam Grier). Then it was time for Sunday morning prayers so I went home, kissed the top of Sarah's head sticking out from the covers, went to the Beloved Back Deck and livestreamed Organic X. There are four blooms on the Hibiscus plants. Goddess shoves Winston, the little gay dog, out of the way to wish me "Happy Birthday". She does it in her laid back way, rubbing her head against my leg. When she's done, Winston, the little gay dog, tries to make up for it in volume, prancing underneath my feet without ceasing. An ocean breeze rustles Fran's Thousand shades of green and I can't help but believe that God is going a little overboard with the Birthday wishes. On Face Book, there are lots of birthday wishes and they overwhelm me. A seagull lands in the backyard under the Palm Tree with the oyster smile, coconut bra and grass skirt. He is mostly white, with a touch of grey ... like me ... and pecks the grass. Snapping to attention, Goddess flies down the stairs and chases it away. Goddess is determined to keep me young though Winston, the little gay dog, follows her and pees on the spot where the seagull was letting his feelings be known. The choir of birds burst into song. Thoughtfully I pay attention to all of these things. These are my presents as I continue to re-invent myself. It's the birth of the new ME. Micheal Elliott is no longer who he was. I'm becoming somebody else. I wouldn't change anything I've done, but am much more curious about what is happening next. So ... what do I want for my birthday? Everything.

Sharing Words

"Well Hemingway was an old drunk who shot himself," Sarah said, "and I don't want that to happen to you. "He moved from Key West to Cuba to Ketchem Idaho," I replied. "I'd shoot myself too." "Well ..." she mused, uncertain of the argument now. "Plus he stopped writing," I continued. "He should have never have stopped writing. She hugged me and that concluded the conversation. It had begun discussing which books we've re-read the most. Hers is Sid Silverstein's THE GIVING TREE which she's read to the girls a hundred times. Mine is Hemingway's THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA, followed by THE LORD OF THE RINGS trailed by Buechner's WISHFUL THINKING and PECULIAR TREASURES with the BIBLE coming in fifth. I don't think I've ever re-read any of my books. Right now I'm mostly done re-reading Graham Greene's mangificant THE HEART OF THE MATTER but I already know the ending. So I pick up great phases but struggle to re-do something I've already done. It's like when I re-read the Bible. I already know the Devil did it and the good guy wins. Plus I live on Tybee Island, write every morning listening to Pandora radio counting the number of Hibiscus blooms there are on the Beloved Back Deck (3 today). Goddess snores laying beside me while Winston, the little gay dog, licks my toes and prances around. I take my time. Sometimes it pours out of me quickly and my fingers can't type fast enough while other mornings I sit and stare at the Palm Trees waiting on words to come. For years, I gave it all away, writing for the places I worked, using my words to advance the efforts and make the places better than they were when I found them. In that regard, I was incredibly successful. Now, it's for me. It's like morning prayers. I share it because I believe in sharing. I think we'd all be better off, if we shared more.

Why is the Universe slightly off kilter this morning?

Stumbling from the shower into the kitchen, I pick up the two pills laying on the counter and pop them in my mouth, washing them down with a glass of water. Then I look at the counter and see that I took Goddess' pills instead of mine. Of course this is right after I've given Goddess my pills so she is waiting for the treat I normally give her after this routine. Winston, the little gay dog, is prancing and dancing around my feet. "Shit," I mutter, grabbing the bottles so that I can take the Cholesterol and Blood Pressure medicine and Goddess can have pills for her joints. Then it's off to The Breakfast Club for coffee. Stumbling in the door marked "Exit Only," I pour myself a cup and sit on my normal stool. The entire staff are sleep walking through the prepping that occurs for hours before the place opens. They've been slammed all week and look worn and tired. That's when Dedra, or D-Luv as she is know on the island, burst through the doors like Ehtel Merman, singing at the top of her lungs. "Whoa, Whoa, Whoa, listen to the music." "What in the hell is that?" Bree asks from the back. The entire cook staff turns in unison and if looks could kill Dedra would have been dropped on the spot. Ryan actually opened his eyes. Nancy left claiming she was no longer able to work. Dedra notices none of this and sits next to me now singing "Rock and Roll Hootchie Coo". I give her coffee to shut her up. Leaving the Club, I make my way back home to discover that Winston, the little gay dog, has stolen a stuffed animal from Cassidy's room and white cotton stuffing is laying all over the floor. Goddess is standing there looking like she had nothing to do with it and feeling sorry for her little brother. Sitting down to collect my thoughts, Cassidy wanders out drapped in a red blanket. She stares at me as I sit to write and then starts talking. The quiet of the morning is shattered as bad as Dedra's gross misinterpretation of Ethel Merman. What does one do? The universe is slightly off kilter. It's a beautiful morning and I've been looking forward to the day since yesterday. Something's just not-quite-right. Cass is hungry so I make her pancakes which she immediately pronounces as burnt. "Not if you cover them in syrup," I explain. She decides its more important to color at this moment. I leave her to the crayons and return to the Beloved Back Deck. My neighbor comes out and screeches "HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY." The neighbor on the other sides cranks his lawn mower. Winston, the little gay dog, pees on the kitchen floor. Goddess shakes her head and walks away. I don't know why the universe is slightly off kilter this morning but it is. It could be because its an election year, the Southern Baptist elected a black man as their President, or the woman on the Bachlorette decided not to send somebody home last week because she likes them all. Sarah wakes up but refuses to get out of bed. I don't blame her in the least. It's going to be an interesting day. So if you're also experiencing things in a slightly-off-kilter-kind-of-way I wonder why you think it is? Oh wait ... Cass is eating the pancakes. Never mind.

Instant Karma

Let me start by professing that I am mostly a Christian. I paid a lot of good money at Seminary to get ordained so I guess I'd better be. My creedo starts with Jesus and the Saints and all the prophets but then it takes some interesting turns. I like Zen and waiting on things to enlighten me. Che Guevera and Liberation theology is a stready stream. I have lots of pantheism inside of me. Salt water pumps my heart. To cap it all off, I'm a hopeless romantic who really beleives love conquers all, forgiveness is integral to living and hope is the proper beginning for everything. And I like Karma a lot. It's the concept of action and deeds which forever start and forever end the cycle of cause and effect. What goes around comes around. If you do good things then good things eventually come back to you. If you do bad things, eventually it becomes apparent that you're screwing yourself. Mix it all up in a pot and that's the religion of Micheal. So on the 4th of July, I was particularly religious. It started with me rolling over it bed, hugging Sarah and thanking God for her. Then I thanked God forThe Breakfast Club and coffee with friends. Afterwards I rode my bicycle back home prayed that Jesus it a nice beach day. I invoked the name of God in entirely different ways when the three Mermaids got up wanting breakfast while Sarah slept and I was enjoying the morning on the Beloved Back Deck. So we had communican over Cinnamon roles, wishing each other a very nice day. We made our way to the beach and in the middle of it, Sean and Wen needed our help. God had blessed them with a washer and dryer that they had to immediately get (I think they got it on the Black Market) and we needed to watch their kids. So we had lots of kids at the beach. I took them all out into the ocean way over their heads. We laughed and body surfed until it was time to go back to the house. Five girls instantly turned our newly redone home into a third world country. It's amazing to me how quickly this can happen. It makes you beleive in God even if you don't because you're asking ... "Whose going to save me from this?" Of course I tried to sleep through it but five girls have the accumulative capacity of detonating a nuclear bomb. I got up, poured a glass of Holy Water and sat with Sarah on the Beloved Back Deck. Sean and Wen returned and, under protest, liberated two of the girls. I fired the grill and threw the chicken on. Sarah baked a cake. Dedra arrived. We ate. It was stil early and we wondered what to do. We are blessed to live on Tybee Island so there is always something. Arriving at The Rock House we settled in as the sun set to listen to The Samuel Adams Band who play damn good live music most nights. They were glad to see us. The girls and I danced. I did shots with the band. Sarah ordered desert. It was a charismatic worship experience. Then we retreated to the sanctuary of our bedroom and called on God in other ways. The girls decided this was the perfect time to burst through the closed door to wish us a good night. But it's all good. Instand Karma making its way back around. Today it all starts over again, thank God! If we want to, we all shine on ... like the moon and the stars and the sun. Religion doesn't get much better.

A Family of Mermaids

Last year, Conner, Hugh and I joined 97 other Patriotic Americans and marched naked down Orient Beach wrapped in red, white and blue ... body paint. It was Conner's idea that we celebrate his birthday this way. Hania and Patty wanted nothing to do it with so we went without them. I grew up on the Stand Up for America Day in Port Wentworth, Georgia but celebrating Independence Day in St. Martin was a lot more interesting. Carlos, my friend and manager of Papagayo's, put on a French version of an American meal. Hot dogs with creamy cheese glaze, french fries (because they're already French), Chocolate Mousse and bottles of Pouly Fousse wine. I love Carlos because he tries so hard. It was as American as the French can do. I don't remember who drove me home that night. Home is a fifteen feet walk from the restaurant on a sandy road covered with Palm Trees. Conner has no idea who drove him home either. The last thing I remember was Hugh dancing with his hands over his head ... which is never a good sign. It was also the last time I was in St. Martin alone. This year, I'm back doing it all the American way. After grilling hamburgers and hot dogs last night, Sarah and the kids walked with me to the beach for the fireworks. In spite of the City of Tybee's front page announcement that anyone visiting the island would be ticketed, a decent crowd showed up. Entrepeneurs were selling Glow Sticks while people sat on their coolers. In typical Tybee fashion, the fireworks were late. It didn't matter. The rising full moon erupting from the ocean put on a better show anyway. Afterwards, we all walked home holding hands talking on a paved street lined with Palm Trees. Neighbors threw their arms around us saying how good it is we're back. Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog, welcomed us into our new home. Over the past few weeks, we've redone mostly everything about it. It is now a simply elegant Beach House that you can wash down with a hose if it gets too dirty. Later, I texted Conner and Hugh trying to make plans for another adventure. The Carnival of Friends have suddenly become strangely conservative and Prudish. Jeremy and my brilliant daughter-in-law Marie are laying low. Kristen is too. Chelsea and Sam are working away in Atlanta which is a horrible way to spend the 4th of July. As the night moved towards day, I sat on the Beloved Back deck with my feet propped on rail and Goddess laying at my feet. Cassidy walked out in a pink bath robe with Winston, the little day dog. "Mike," she sweetly asked, "Can I sit with you? Because I always sit with you." She crawled in my lap and propped her feet on my feet which were still on the rail. She asked me if I wanted some of her bubble gum. I asked her if she wanted a sip of wine. Laughing, we both declined. Today, it's back to the beach with this family of Mermaids that now surround me. Friends are making plans to visit. The grill is begging to be used again. Fran's thousand shades of green are dancing in delight. A Palm Tree with oyster eyes, a coconut bra and a grass skirt is smiling with the sun in its hair. I had a blast last year being an expadriate on the 4th of July and will likely do it again before I die. But this year is better. Happy 4th everyone! Oh ... and Conner ... Happy Birthday.

Independence Day (Cuba)

He was blacker than most black people but with the whitest broad smile I've ever seen. I'd just checked into the Hostal Del Tejadillo and it was his first day on the job. He was taking his time trying to get the entire process right. I'd made the reservations on-line and Bill Berry (not the former drummer for R.E.M. but the other one who went to Seminary with me) had picked me up at the Jose Marti airport and brought me here. I have to give Cuban Airlines credit for a couple of things. Though the airplane was 1940's vintage with ropes for seatbelts, they had a cigar cart and a rum cart which is a perfect way to fly from Nassau, Bahamas to Havana, Cuba. I was smoked up and wasted when we arrived and had to pee really bad. Of course I was detained by Immigration as they questioned why I was in Cuba. "I am on a missionary mission," I explained hopping from one foot to another. He carefully eyed my passport for a full five minutes before stamping it. I already had a foot out of the door as I sprinted to the rest room where an old man blocked my entrance. I needed to throw change into a jar before I could enter. Capitalism is alive and well in Cuba. Michael ... pronounced Michelle by him ... carried my backpack to my room. He showed me how to turn on the facets in the bathroom, gave me a key to the safe and asked Bill and I if he can make any arrangements for us. "What kind of arrangements?" I asked. He winked. "Ahh Sir," he answered, "for the Cabaret?" "No thanks," we told him. "We going to Salsa tonight." And we did. A bunch of students at the University of Havana met us and walked us five miles to a tiny apartment where we were told that we must move all of the furniture before we could dance. So we did ... into the front yard ... except for the chair that the little old lady in ... she was the mother of one of the students and was in charge of the Boom Box. On a hot Cuban night, we danced with Communists who love Americans. Perhaps twenty of us were crowded in the tiny two bedroom unit. They taught me Salsa. I showed them Shag." Laughter errupted and neighbors showed up to join in. Salsa is religion in Cuba. At 3:00 in the morning, they carried us back to a street corner so that I could fall into a cab. In Cuba, Rum and Salsa go together. The Taxi dropped me off in front of the Hostal Del Tejadillo, which was closed. A giant metal door had been pulled down over the front door. Cursing, I banged on it. "Micheal?" Michael asked. "Stop it! "You're going to wake everybody up." "Let me in," I slurred. He did with the white teeth smile and told me that he would take me to my room. He was much bigger than me, so he basically carried me up two flights of stairs and put me to bed. The next morning, I stumbled downstairs in the same clothes he'd put me to bed in. Michael handed me a tiny cup of strong Cuban coffee. "You look like ..." he struggled with the words, "how do you say in English?" "Shit," I said rubbing my head and drinking the coffee. "That's it," he exclaimed. We talked throughout the afternoon. I'd slept through the morning. He gave me a book about Che Guevara who is a Jesus figure in third world countries and one of my heros. I asked him what he wanted from the States and he told me a Bible. When I got back I sent him one, along with a copy of Running With the Dolphins so he could learn a bit about the island I live on. I don't know if he ever got it. I tried to track him down to see but never could. It is a Communist country still and everybody in the world except Americans visit Cuba. Our Government hates their Government which hates our Government ... which is the way Government works (Mine's bigger than yours ...) This morning, on the Eve of American Independence Day, I find myself thinking of Michael ... I hope he got the books. Actually, I pray that he did.

Cuban Birthdays

His name was George and when he saw me wearing the grey tee shirt with the red letters spelling out "Georgia" he broke into a huge grin as he stood on the Camelback and stormed over to me. I was sitting between a woman breast feeding her baby and an old woman with a chicken in her lap. "I am George," the big man bellowed, smothering me in a hug and laughing. "We are friends now. I take care of you on this bus." Bill Berry (not the former drummer for R.E.M. but the other one who went to Seminary with me) smiled and shook his head as George shoved the old woman with the chicken in her lap down the seat. Bill was the reason we were riding a Camelback in the first place. Public transportation is Cuba is interesting and the buses are three times the size of those in the United States. That's because the Cubans literally take three buses and thrown them on top of each other ... hence the hump in the camel ... and cram as many people as possible on it for only 35 cents. "Since we're here," Bill explained to me, "we should travel like the locals do." So we rode the bus from downtown Havanna into the country where Ernest Hemingway's house, Finca La Vigia or "The Lookout House" which was ten miles away in San Francisco de Paula, a sleepy little village. "You get off here," George commanded with a smile and smothering me in another sweaty hug. Bill and I got off the bus with several other people who immediately disappeared somewhere in the thick, lush Tropical landscape. We stood there on a gravel road wandering in the general direction of Hemingway's past. When we got there, it's closed on Monday's. "Well, that's great," I bitched to Bill. "What are we going to do now?" Aside from Fica La Virgia, there is absolutely nothing in San Francisco de Paula. "We'll travel like the locals do," Bill cheerily replied without hesitation. "We'll thumb back to the city." So two Americans with back backs stood there with our thumbs sticking out. An old 1950's pick up truck held together by rust and wire coasted to a stop at our feet. It was filled with Cubans. The cab had five men in it and the bed looked like a can of sardines. Everybody was smiling at us. The driver, an old toothless man with flaming blue eyes, jumped out yelling in Spanish at his seat mates. Shaking their heads understanding, they vacated the cab and somehow crammed themselves in the back. The driver then made a great bow inviting Bill and I to sit in the cab with him. "No, no, no," we both protested but he and the 47 people crammed in the back would have nothing to do with it. They all clapped when Bill climbed in the middle and I took the seat with the window that wouldn't roll up. The truck spit gravel as it carried us back to Havannah where I was already dreaming of a majito at La Floridita, Hemingway's favorite bar. Bill can butcher Spanish with the best of them and was in some conversation with the driver with the smile and the flaming eyes. I just tried to absorb it all in. I mean who gets to do this? And I wanted to experience Cuba before it evenually becomes a Disney Land for the rich and famous. I've been to a lot of places but the nicest people I've ever met live in Cuba ... and some of the most beautiful too. We were dropped off at the University of Havannah where we were to meet up with a bunch of students that Bill knew who were going to teach us Salsa that night. When the driver got out, we emptied my back back on the seat. Snickers bars, bandaids, rubbing alcohol, medicine, cue tips, and such things. Bill and I bowed very ceremoniously and the driver returned the bow. Those in the back all smiled and waved. We turned to go. He climbed back into the cab and we heard him squeal in glee. We quickly made our way off into the bustle of one of the most cities I've every seen. In spite of a stupid Embargo, these are the nicest people I've met anywhere. They don't care for government, hell most of the time I don't either, but they love Americans. It makes me think, if we can keep Government ... and religion ... out of human relationships, we'd all get along a whole lot better. And I want to go back. I want to take Sarah. "What do you want for your birthday?" she asked me yesterday. I just smiled.

Another Day in Paradise

We got home from Jodee and Cheryl's last night and sat on the Beloved Back Deck talking into the night. We're finally glad to be home. It seems that we've hardly been here at all this summer. We've traveled to and fro on the face of the earth. It's been fun ... how can it not? A crusie, Daytona Beach, Belieze, St. Martin, and San Juan Island were all incredibly enjoyable! But that many places in three months is a lot of travel. When we were home , we're remaking the house. So there's been painting, throwing out old stuff, replacing it with other things, moving the girls into their rooms, fixing things that were broken and seeing how much we can cram into the storage room to deal with later. Plus it seems as though we've had a lot of company too. Folks wandered in and out of the house and we did our best to accomodate. So we grilled out, took them to Doc's Bar or to listen to Samuel Adams who plays damn good live music on Tybee Island. Or we were meeting up at North Beach Grill to listen to new bands or hooking up withThe Carnival of Friends which has been quite challenging so far this season. Chelsea's in town today, but is heading back to Atlanta so a visit with my baby daughter will be brief. We keep trying to hook up with Jeremy and my brilliant-daughter-in-law Marie but it hasn't worked out yet. Kristen did blow through yesterday because she was out of coffee and needed some of ours. Maddie, Laurel and Cassidy have been in New York for the last three wees and are due home next week and Sarah is beside herself with anticipation of their homecoming. I find myself missing all of them at once. Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog, seem awful happy that we're here. Goddess didn't even mind me giving her a bath in the outdoor shower. Winston, the little gay dog, loves his girlfriend Sarah more than anything and prances around her like a ballerina. The choir of birds that live outside of our bedroom window sing us new Hymns every morning and the woodpecker that resides in the tree in the neighbor's back yard taps a backbeat to it all. The grass is cut and I'm almost finished decorating the back yard. The plants are all watered and blooming. There is a hammock to hang and the critical decision of where it goes must be made. There is Mermaid Bar sign that I want to buy and the bicycles need air in the tires. It's July 4th weekend and the bicycles are the only sane way to travel on the island. So in the midst of all of this craziness, last night we just sat by ourselves and talked. The air was still though the ocean was loud. An almost full moon cast a wonderful glow on Sarah's face which left me distracted over the things she was saying. Salt stuck to our skin and we could hear the traffic on Butler Avenue five blocks away. We talked about how blessed we are, in spite of a lot of things, and how wonderful it is to be in love. We shared our fears of something interrupting it and pledged to never allow that to happen. Sometime close to midnight, we made our way to bed and slept without dreams in each others arms. It's just another day in Paradise. And God looked down from heaven and said, "It is good." Today, we have date to go to the beach. I'm not sure if it gets any better than this. Tonight ... we'll see.

Aren't you someone?

"Aren't you someone?" she asked me. She was an attractive African-American lady sitting beside me on the airplane. Toni works for International Paper, lives in Charlotte and has a home on Hilton Head. We were flying to Savannah in First Class ... I got bumped but Sarah didn't (and I tried to give the seat to my wife but she decided to pick up guys in the back of the plane instead). "Yes I am," I repsonded ordering a glass of wine. "Oh shit," she said. "If he's having wine then I guess I'll have wine too." "Good for you," I told her. The wine came and we toasted cups. "So who are you?" she asked. "Oh, I'm nobody," I answered. "I used to be somebody but now I'm a beach num." "No, No," she quickly shot back, glancing at me suspiciously, "You are somebody. I recognize you." "You go to the beach?" "Hilton Head." "That islands going to sink one day because of the traffic and the outlet malls," I said. 'No on Tybee." "I spend a lot of time on Dufaski and can see Tybee Island from there but have never actually been there." "Then I don't know how you'd recognize me," I explained as we sipped the wine. The plane was taking off so we couldn't talk because of the roar. Eventually it ended and we were in the air. "Weren't you on television?" "I was." "I knew it," she said slapping her leg. Then she asked, "Why?" "OK," I replied, "this is who I used to be. I ran Union Mission for a long time and was in the news a lot." "You were on the TODAY Show," she interruped. "I was." "What do you do now?" "I'm a beach bum. My wife's in the back being picked up by guys. I wish she was in your seat." "Well," she sighed. We were silent for a while. The stewardness came and refilled our glasses. "You did good stuff," she said. "AIDS and stuff right?" "Yep," I stared out of the window remembering what was. "It's good you're a beach bum now," she concluded. "That's a long time for stuff like that." Looking at her large brown eyes between thick glasses, I smiled. "It is." The flight from Atanta to Savannah is only half-an-hour so we landed. Toni rushed to get away after handing me her card. Sarah strolled down the runway with a tall, handsome guy named Rick from New Zealand. Rushing up, I grabbed her hand and drug her away from him. He smiled at her. I smiled at her. God it's good to be home.

Living in the Present

The sun was setting on the west side of the house over the marsh as we sat on the east side of the house on the Bleoved Back Deck under Fran's thousand shades of green. The Palm tree with the oyster eyes, coconut bra and grass skirt was smiling at all of the new yard art I've placed everywhere. Two wooden fish now adorn the wooden fence along with a giant iton cross, a sun, moon, stars, hanging baskets of blooming flowers, an "It's 5 o'clock somewhere" sign, two "Fisk Naked" signs and three things that look like church windows with the ocean on the other side. There's also these funcky things that Rocky left that glow in the dark. The Back deck is full of flowers, the grill, a frog with a crystal ball on its head that my Mom gave me, a "Clothing Optional Beyond this point" sign that Conner and Hania gave me for my birthday, various wind chimes that the girls brought when they moved in, a "Beach Break" sign with a broken clock that my sister gave me, and a rock that says "Imagine" that Cheryl left for me in the middle of the bad days. I like the way the yard is becoming an artistic expression of who I am ... whatever that is. Sitting outside we were feasting on spaghetti, salad and bread. Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog, ran around the eight feet hanging from the tall chairs under the table which is under the colorful umbrella. It was balmy with a slight ocean breeze. Dedra was being eaten alive by "no-see-ums" but the rest of us were fine. Sarah and I are finally home in what seems like forever with no plans on the horizon. We had a visiting dignitary, Shirely Sessions, so everything was clean and perfect! We really haven't seen Shirley in a while so the conversation turned to her catching us up on things we really haven't been thinking about ... Savannah. Specially, we wanted to know about certain people: Kim, Greg, Peter, Michael and ... a son-of-a-bitch named Mark. We talked politics and about her guests at the Blue Bird, her bed-and-breakfast, and a little bit about Tybee Island which is home. A little after nine, Shirley was ready to take a walk. Dedra went with her. Wonderful husband that I am, the house was already clean and the dishwasher was humming. Sarah and I collapsed on the large brown U-shaped sofe that sucks you in and never wants to let you go. The television was on but we were't paying attention. Truth be told ... we were petting. The windows were open and the ocean breeze was drawn in by the ceiling fans. Half-a-moon threw off enough light that we really didn't need lights. Winston, the little gay dog, lay near Sarah. Goddess was carefully watching us from the floor. It had been interesting re-visiting a place and its people with Shirley. It's like running into someone whose been to the same places that you have. You share what you have in common ... "Oh I went there. It was great!" ... or, "Yes, I met him. I didn't think he was all that." After a quarter-of-a-century of intensity, where that was my life, it's now surreal ... like talking about a dream. It is what was. This morning Sarah is still asleep ... our petting lasted a long time. Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog, are laying under my feet on the Beloved Back Deck. Fran's thousand shades of green are dancing in the ocean breeze. The sun is smiling down from the east, resting in the hair of the Palm Tree with the oyster eyes, cocnut bra and grass skirt. Birds are singing Hymns to the glory of the day. This is what is. I like living in the present. It's so much better than the past.

My Church of Choice

Back in the day I attended Catholic masses with regularity. It was in Louisville and my dear friend Father Vernon Robertson was the Priest of St. Martin de Tours Church. It was the noon mass and I was the minister at the Baptist Church a couple of blocks away and did the Scripture readings from the high Holy Alter. I grew to love and appreciate the liturgy and, if I don't go to Bar Church on Tybee Island, when I miss Church, I like a good Catholic Mass. It's ashamed the Catholic Priests are having such problems, have a terrible Pope, and the Church still doesn't recognize that Nuns really run things. On my refrigerator are lots of Jesus magnets, photographs and drawings by the girls. It's a shrine of sorts to the things I love and the things I believe. There is one of Vernon, visiting us here at Tybee when he could no longer bear the winters of Louisville, wearing a tanned coat, khaki shorts, black socks and brown loafers, flashing a peace sign while I laugh beside him. And there's another of St. Martin's ... "full of plaster statues with the swords in the bleeding heart: the whisper behind the confessional curtains: the holy coats and the liquefaction of blood: the dark side Chapels and the intricate movements, and somewhere behind it all is the love of God" (Graham Greene). I've long since traded in that kind of religion. I believe its the other way around. The love of God comes first. Church may, or may not, have anything to do with it. Lenny Bruce said, "Every day people are straying away from the Church and going back to God." I agree with Lenny. Sure, there are some really good congregations out there, doing really good things, but they are the exceptions rather than the rule. Sunday morning at 11:00 remains the most segregated hour in the world, which is the best visualization of sin that I know. People choose churches based on what color everybody is, how much money the general congregation makes, the music, the parking and if the minister can hold their attention or not. Parents want to introduce their children to God while they have a couple of hours to themselves sitting in a pew relaxing. The ambiance is important too ... so church must meet the threshold of whatever is holy enough for you. I, on the other hand, occasionally attend Bar Church these days because I'm on the Beloved Back Deck, naked in the sunshine, listening to "Organic X", waiting on Sarah to wake up so that we can celebrate the "Sun". I sing in the grand Cathedral that God built with a choir of birds, the smell of the marsh, and the salt of the sea. I pray, write and sometimes dance. I call the kids. Later, there is always a party on Tybee that we mostly make for the community of believers who toast the Holy Ghost with wine. I still have traditionalist tendencies though and check out Michael Ruffin's prayers and whatever Guy Sayles has posted that day. It's good stuff. When people ask me about me about Church, I suggest Bar Church with Sam Adams, Asbury Methodist with Billy Hester or First African Baptist with Thurmond Tillmond; Jim Lowder if you're in North Carolina or Cindy Weber if you're in Louisville. If you happen to be in Calcutta find Jack Preager. Sometimes I still go but don't feel guilty about not going. The love of God rains down regardless. Pieces of the Garden of Eden remain and ... that's my church of choice.

The Ties With God

They come in the night, as though someone who hates you has a voodoo doll and they're sticking pins in its head sending bad thoughts into your mind mind. Half-conscious dreams that may be literally true or some exaggerated distortion of what actually happened force you to toss and turn throughout the night. Dreams sometimes are like science fiction with you in the staring role and you wake up with a jolt wondering where that came from. And sometimes they are so sensual and real you can feel and taste them. Night before last in Seattle, I had strange dreams. It was the night before travel so I was restless, ready to go and get there. It'd been a long day and Sarah and I had to get up at 5:30 to make our flight. So when my dead friend Joe Bridges came to see me in a dream, I was unprepared for the visit. Joe had been a homeless alcoholic who overcame those things to help us build Union Mission. He wanted me to take a ride with him on his motorcycle. This was the Joe before he lost his leg in an accident, a time when he was at his best in life. We rode until we came to another long dead friend Chester Fawbush. Chester was the first homeless person I ever became friends with in Louisville Kentucky when I was in Seminary. He was long dead before I ever met Joe but they got along fine in my dream. They were wanting to talk to me about something but I can't recall it was. But they were as real and alive as if they were sitting across from me right now. Yesterday we literally flew all day, finally arriving in Savannah around 7:30. An hour later we were home on Tybee and took Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog, on an evening walk. Collapsing we were happy to be back in our own bed. There's nothing better than your own bed. We were exhausted and making the adjustment from West Coast time back to East Coast time. So when the Board Chair who chooses to remain anonymous ... Jerry Rainey ... showed up in a dream, he was definitely unwelcome. Being the little Dictator that he is, he showed up anyway. Smiling evilly, he told me he'd won. I flipped him the finger. Then we both realized at the same time that we were surrounded by a crowd of homeless people watching us. I knew most of them. Joe and Chester were there. Jerry seemed confused. Waking up, I tossed in a fidgeting way. Sarah said, "It's hot isn't it?" She was half asleep and had kicked all of the covers off. Wrapping myself around her, I fell back asleep. I've never been one to dream while I slept (which is different from dreaming while I'm awake ... which I do a lot). If I did dream while I slept, I never remembered them ... until now. The Bible makes it pretty clear that God sometimes speaks through dreams. Beginning with Jacob in the Old Testament through Joseph in the New Testament, God gave instructions. Jacob, sees a bunch of angels coming and going making promises. After the Three Wise Men visited the baby Jesus, God told Joseph in a dream to get the hell out of there. There are other examples, Moses and Daniel. So it makes me wonder. Why am I suddenly remembering my dreams? It is a rainy morning on Tybee Island, a perfect ambiance for contemplating such things. Sarah is back in bed, the trees drip in wetness, the birds dart searching for places to perch and I sit under the umbrella on the Beloved Back Deck wondering if God's trying to tell me something. Why does God want to be subtle? It's God, for God's sake! Send lightening bolts or angels or a burning bush (but please don't burn one of mine, but my neighbor's bushes are fine)! What is She trying to tell me? Is there something else I should be doing? Some other place to go? Some other truth to know? I happen to be re-reading Graham Greene's wonderful The Heart of the Matter while I think these things. There is a line in it that touches me ... "The truth, he thought, has never been of any real value to any human being --- it is a symbol for mathematicians and philosophers to pursue. In human relations kindness and ties are worth a thousand truths." A common theme in my dreams have been the ties. Joe, Chester, and even the Board Chair who chooses to remain anonymous remain with me. We're surrounded by those who we've been kind to or have been kind to us ... or those we didn't really give a shit about. On a rainy Tybee morning, it is not the truth so much that I am seeking, but the ties with God. I suppose Joe and Chester are now angels delivering messages. The Little Dictator is still alive and I think he's a symbol of truth ... which I'm not particularly interested in. The ties with God however are far more intriguing. I'm going to spend my day pursuing those.

No Plane on Sunday

No Plane on Sunday Maybe one on Monday Just a hopeless situation Make the best of it that's all you can do I have often affirmed the phophetic utterances of Jimmy Buffett and this is another one of those times. Luckily, there is a plane on Monday though it's taking off 45 minutes after it's supposed to, meaning that we'll never make the connection in Atlanta. I was able to book us on a later flight home although God knows where our bags are going to end up. "Eventually we'll make it home," Sarah said as we boarded. And evenutally we will. When you travel a lot, most of the time it goes remarkably well. In spite of all of the ways that the airlines have screwed up the flying experience ... less flight options, more jam paced planes, $7 cocktails and $8 dollar stale sandwhiches ... what are you going to do? Especially if you want to see the world? So you have to spend some time in Travel Hell. Travel Hell now starts with booking your flight. Delta is no longer ready when you are but is ready when it is, so you have to book your time to fit in with their time. On this trip that meant a Red-Eye overnight flight with 12 inches of leg space. That's hard to do when you're wide awake on a five our flight. So we're on Alaska Airlines, a Delta partner for the daytime flight. Stage two of Travel Hell is T.S.A. which now has four times as many employers who it had just a month ago. You have to take off your jacket, belt, shoes and everything out of your pockets. Then a bored man waves you through the screening device which now requires that you spread your legs and hold your hands above your head. You look like you're being robbed, which of course you are. On a good day, Travel Hell ends here. On a bad day, it's just starting to get hot. For us, it started getting hot on Saturday night when my cell phone rang as we stood on the dock waiting for the sea plane. The nice voice on the other end of the line informed me that our flight was canceled due to bad weather, though it was pleasant where we were standing. This call came five minutes before we were scheduled to take off. Surely the airlines had been aware of this bad weather before now. "I see," I slowly replied. "Well, let me think about this ..." I was saying when Sarah jerked the phone out of my hand. "Let a northern girl handle it," she explained before exploding in the phone, "I don't have time to deal with you. Give me my money back! I'll deal with you later" Seeing that she had things under control, I looked at Conner who was looking at me. "You want a beer?" he asked. I nodded. So we made our way off the dock, dragging a loud Sarah along with us, and went to a party. The next morning I learned that there was no plane on Sunday so ... we went to Seattle and found a wonderful place called ... Elliott's! We highly recommend it. Then to accomodate the airlines, we got up at 5:30 this morning and made our way through parts one and two of Travel Hell. Then to torture us a bit, the airlines delayed our plane for 45 minutes and you know the rest of the story. Having said all of that, we saw whales up close and personal. We saw Eagles, otters, a Camel (why there was a Camel on San Juan island is a mystery to us but it's there), snow covered mountains, and the North Pacific Ocean. There were two quaint seaside harbor towns that are postcard perfect. We were with fun people. And Sarah and I are doing it together, rolling with the punches and enjoying the ride. There's lots to do when we get home. After a summer of constant travel, we're ready to spend the rest of the season on Tybee Island having cookouts, visiting with the kids, taking the girls to the beach, reuniting with the Carnival of Friends and taking Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog, on walks. We'll do bike rides to The Bored Meeting and find music to listen to while we dance. We're both ready for this vacation to be over. So that vacation can begin.

Easy Going Love

It had been Conner again who'd asked me to do it. Would I come to the Florida Keys to perform the wedding of two of his best friends, Christy and Ronnie. He promised that it would be fun. I told him that I would because Conner asking and we always seem to have fun ... plus it was a trip to the Keys! I love it down there. I was also in desperate need of diversions. After a 23 year career, I'd burned out and was no longer working. I was also suddenly single, living alone in the house that we'd used to share so it was like living in an empty tomb. Aside from my dog Goddess, there was a tiny collection of people who were part of my life. I was sad, tired, questioning everything about how it could have happened to me, and full of uncertainty about what to do next. "Have fun with them," Conner instructed. "They are really good people." Eventually we set a time so that we could talk on the phone and I could get to know them. "Hello, I'm the Reverend Micheal Elliott," I said in my deepest and most solumn preacher's voice. "And before I can agree to do your wedding, I need you to answer some questions." They said fine though there was clear apprehension in their voices. Conner had told them that I was a crazy minister and a fun loving guy. "Now, which church do you attend?" After a moment of silence, Christy said "Um, we don't go to church." "I see," I gravely replied. "How many times have you read the Bible?" A longer period of silence followed. "We're not sure." "So you have read the Bible?" Silence again before they meekly said, "We haven't read the Bible." "I see," I said with even more gravity in my voice. "Do you beleive in God?" "Um," they said in a lingering sort of way. "OK," I continued, "Have you ever used God's name while having sex?" "YES!," they both exclaimed with enthusiasm. "Fine," I concluded, "we can proceed with this ceremony. Several weeks later, on the island of Islandmorada, as the sun set, I conducted their ceremony beside the ocean. It was a glorious affair with lots of laughter and affirmation of easy going love. They sailed away on a boat to commence their marriage. We all burst into laughter. If you go to Christy's Face Book page, her profile picture is the three of us standing there. She's looking stuningly beautiful in a formal wedding dress. Her face is radiant. Ronnie is wearing a flowered shirt and a broad smile as he celebrates with those watching. And I'm standing there with my arms raised in blessing, wearing a black robe and a UGA baseball cap. They are laughing because I'd just put the cap on my head before pronouncing them husband and wife. Last night, Sarah and I were with Christy and the story was retold in laughter the way friends do. We were at the wedding of Conner and Hania's son. It was another beautiful ceremony and The Nines were blasting good dance music. We all danced and celebrated. And there was a moment when I was back there on Islandmorado, suffering through the worst times of my life but being reminded by Christy and Ronnie that when love happens, it is a joyous explosion of happiness.

Homesick

The sun rises above the snow capped mountain throwing a blinding light on the calm waters of Puget Sound. Lush green fern trees seperate the two. No boats dot the water and I cannot see another house from where I sit drinking coffee from a giant brown mug. There is a peaceful scerenity to it all. A light chilled breeze is blowing so the branches are waving their tips wishing me a good morning. I find myself just sitting and staring at it, breathing it in and feeling as though I'm living a prayer. Others are asleep. It was a big night. After a rehersal for a wedding, there was a party in Roche Harbor, a quaint little fishing village that Norman Rockwell must have designed. Salmon was grilled, mussells steamed and wine flowed freely. Sitting around a huge fire pit, we laughed, toasted, spoke in pairs or found ourselves staring in silence at the beauty of our surroundings. Earlier in the day we'd made our way to Lime Klinn Park where pods of Orca Whales live. The mountains of Canada are across the sound. Otters and Sea Lions break the surface and sun. A tiny lighthouse sits atop a cliff and we sit there waiting and watching. The only sounds are those of nature ... the breaking of a tree limb, water slapping against rocks, the roaring silence of creation. Sarah snapped photographs when we weren't holding hands, walking and appreciating the experience. Conner keeps us laughing when he's around. His kids and grandchildren bring a youthful enthusiasm to it all when we're around them. They search the shore for eels and large purple Starfish or gleefully throw rocks in the water. "We should have booked more time here," I say. "We've come to the other side of the country and we're only staying for a couple of days. We could have driven south to Portland and that area." Nodding her head, Sarah replied, "Yeah but I'm ready to be home ... in our house. We've been gone a lot and we're still setting up our home. The girls will be away another week and I want to finish painting, get their rooms done and clean out the storage room." She's right. It's been a busy few months for us beginnning with our marriage in March. We went to Belize, took the girls to Daytona and then I had to share St. Martin with Sarah. Now we're in the San Juan Islands off the coast of Washington waiting on whales. "We've hardly been in our home," she sighs, surrounded by uncommon beauty and a question of who knows when we get to do this again. "Yeah," I softly answer. Homesickness happens ... often when you least expect it. It's Chelsea's birthday and I'm far, far away. There hasn't been enough Tybee time in our lives. We've taken the girls to the beach once this summer. There's only been scant skirmishes with the Carnival of Friends. Attendace at the daily Bored Meetings in front of Fannies-on-the-Beach have been brief and random. Goddess and I have barley touched the sad, little, holy dock. Winston, the little gay dog, still isn't properly trained for life inside. Fran and her thousand shades of green are lonely standing guard on the Beloved Back Deck without us. The charcoal in the grill is old. I miss the smell of the marsh and the feel of salt sticking to my skin. Sarah is looking at me. She has this way of being very intensely thinking while staring so deeply it cuts right through you. I look back at her, nodding my head. We're ready to come home.

Waiting for Whales

It never seemed to get dark last night. The sky was more of a dirty grey and the heavy dark drapes had the one crack where they didn't quite close so the little bit of light shone directly on me. On West Coast time we went to bed relatively early, 10:30, but we're still on east coast time so things are moving slow this morning. Roche Harbor is a drop dead gorgeous place ... a seaside harbor with quaint shops, houses on mountain sides and a retro hotels that look like a movie set. The restaurant sat above it all, off a cobblestone street with paroramic views of the boats, the mountains and the harbor town. It's a chore to get here. Fly to Seattle, drive 80 miles north, and then you catch a Ferry for an hour. The Ferry has a bar so it was a easy glide across Puget Sound. Sea Lions swam beside the Ferry and I found myself on the constant lookout for whales. Getting up front and personal with a whale has long been on my bucket list and this is my chance. When Conner first asked me to conduct the wedding of his son, he said that the service would be in Key West. Island Boy that I am, I immediately said I was available. Of course this is Conner. We've had many adventures together and this is the opportunity for a new one. I would have done it for him and Hania regardless of where and when. Plus, I love Key West and have been wanting to take Sarah for a while so this made for the perfect opportunity. Things don't always go according to plan in life so when Conner called me to say we would now be going to the San Juan Islands in Washington state, I cussed. I'd never heard of them but Washington state sounded cold ... even in late June. I hate cold. My enthusiasm for the entire thing suddenly was something that I was no longer looking forward to. Until now. First it is uncommingly warm here (though last week it apparently wasn't). There is plenty of snow but it's all on top of the mountains and luckily I'm at the bottom of the mountains. Mountains are everywhere. So is water. The mountains are covered with trees that reach for the sky covered in green. The water is grey and flat. The sun shines brightly sprinking diamonds on the sound. Bald Eagles are keeping an eye on things. I'm sipping coffee watching for whales. The house we're in sits at the base of a mountain so when I look to the left, the glass walls display a wall of stone and trees covered in lush greens. When I look to the right, the glass walls display a smattering of trees that hang over the water highlighted by the sun. There is a solitude and peacefulness here that I hadn't anticipated. Refreshing my coffee, I walk outside on to the deck and breath in a cleanness that I've rarely smelled. I'm used to salt hanging in the air. Sitting back in one of the deck chairs, I become one with it all. Steam rises from the coffee mug. Everything is still and the quiet roars. I keep my eyes open. I do not want to miss the whales.