Zombies

I've known a lot of Zombies in my life. They're not much fun, stumbling through their existence without any real purpose other than sucking the life out of those who happen to be too close. The vast majority of politicians are Zombies as are the bulk of people who go to Church. Certainly most bankers are Zombies. They want far more than they're willing to give. At the same time, I am surrounded by people I love who are obsessed by the walking dead. My beautiful daughter Chelsea and my brilliant daughter-in-law Marie spend a great deal of time preparing for the impending Zombie Apocalypse. Nancee, me favorite waitress at the Breakfast Club, has a book about defending yourself against Zombies. D-Luv and Sandi became Zombies in the movie Abraham Lincoln and Zombies which we watched last night. "Does Dee get her head cut off?" Cassidy asked. "No," Sarah and I mumbled because we were riveted by the incredible acting performances we had the privileged of watching in High Def. "Awwww," Cass sighed. Maddie and Laurel don't like the idea of Zombies or D-Luv being one so they stayed the hell away from it all. Well ... except for the couple of seconds it took Dedra to stumble across the bridge to Fort Pulaski in an attempt to eat President Lincoln. Dee and I have never really discussed politics but I assume she is anti-Republican because she wanted to eat a President. At the same time, I really don't care. "She looks good," Maddie exclaimed. "I think that makeup really works for her." Sarah, Cass and I all agreed. Regardless, I've met way far too many Zombies in my life and try to avoid them as much as possible yet they keep intruding into my life. Yesterday I got letters in the mail from both Mitch Romney and Michelle O'Bama ... both Zombies ... both wanting money for nothing in return. Michelle is by far the better looking Zombie though Mitch has better underwear. The Board Chair who chooses to remain anonymous is a Zombie. In my opinion Jerry Rainy wouldn't know life if it hit him in the face so he tries to take everybody elses. Every single person who works for a television news channel is a Zombie having sold their souls to be broadcast nightly. My current favorite television Zombie is Kris Allred Possman who got tired of being dead and used the "F" word to describe what it's like. She got put on Zombie suspension but she's back now ... though she's lost a little something. We live in a world mostly dominated by Zombies. It's a sad state of affairs. That's why I spend so much time on the Beloved Back Deck trying to stay away from it all. At the same time, Zombies are said to have originated on the coasts of Africa and in Haiti ... both beach communities ... which makes me wonder ... Do Zombies Surf? ... on Tybee Island mornings I see Zombies on Paddle Boards looking like a bunch of crippled Jesus walking on the water ... the entire Tybee Island Parking Services is staffed by Zombies ... Doc's Bar host a nightly gathering of Zombies for cocktails ... and Tybee Island City Council meetings are restricted to advanced Zombie meetings. Alright, it's a nice Hump Day. The sun is shining. The Sky is blue. The breeze is light. All of my kids are good. Sarah is snoozing away. Goddess seems happy and Winston, the little gay dog, seems especially gay today. But I've got this feeling that I can't shake ... Zombies are coming ... sometime today. I'm ready. I have a tan. They're whiter than most white people. Besides, Laurel learned how to do the dance from Michael Jackson's Thriller on the boat this week so she can keep them at bay with her incredible Zombie dance moves while I grab Sarah's hand and we get the hell out of here.

Zombies

I've known a lot of Zombies in my life. They're not much fun, stumbling through their existence without any real purpose other than sucking the life out of those who happen to be too close. The vast majority of politicians are Zombies as are the bulk of people who go to Church. Certainly most bankers are Zombies. They want far more than they're willing to give. At the same time, I am surrounded by people I love who are obsessed by the walking dead. My beautiful daughter Chelsea and my brilliant daughter-in-law Marie spend a great deal of time preparing for the impending Zombie Apocalypse. Nancee, me favorite waitress at the Breakfast Club, has a book about defending yourself against Zombies. D-Luv and Sandi became Zombies in the movie Abraham Lincoln and Zombies which we watched last night. "Does Dee get her head cut off?" Cassidy asked. "No," Sarah and I mumbled because we were riveted by the incredible acting performances we had the privileged of watching in High Def. "Awwww," Cass sighed. Maddie and Laurel don't like the idea of Zombies or D-Luv being one so they stayed the hell away from it all. Well ... except for the couple of seconds it took Dedra to stumble across the bridge to Fort Pulaski in an attempt to eat President Lincoln. Dee and I have never really discussed politics but I assume she is anti-Republican because she wanted to eat a President. At the same time, I really don't care. "She looks good," Maddie exclaimed. "I think that makeup really works for her." Sarah, Cass and I all agreed. Regardless, I've met way far too many Zombies in my life and try to avoid them as much as possible yet they keep intruding into my life. Yesterday I got letters in the mail from both Mitch Romney and Michelle O'Bama ... both Zombies ... both wanting money for nothing in return. Michelle is by far the better looking Zombie though Mitch has better underwear. The Board Chair who chooses to remain anonymous is a Zombie. In my opinion Jerry Rainy wouldn't know life if it hit him in the face so he tries to take everybody elses. Every single person who works for a television news channel is a Zombie having sold their souls to be broadcast nightly. My current favorite television Zombie is Kris Allred Possman who got tired of being dead and used the "F" word to describe what it's like. She got put on Zombie suspension but she's back now ... though she's lost a little something. We live in a world mostly dominated by Zombies. It's a sad state of affairs. That's why I spend so much time on the Beloved Back Deck trying to stay away from it all. At the same time, Zombies are said to have originated on the coasts of Africa and in Haiti ... both beach communities ... which makes me wonder ... Do Zombies Surf? ... on Tybee Island mornings I see Zombies on Paddle Boards looking like a bunch of crippled Jesus walking on the water ... the entire Tybee Island Parking Services is staffed by Zombies ... Doc's Bar host a nightly gathering of Zombies for cocktails ... and Tybee Island City Council meetings are restricted to advanced Zombie meetings. Alright, it's a nice Hump Day. The sun is shining. The Sky is blue. The breeze is light. All of my kids are good. Sarah is snoozing away. Goddess seems happy and Winston, the little gay dog, seems especially gay today. But I've got this feeling that I can't shake ... Zombies are coming ... sometime today. I'm ready. I have a tan. They're whiter than most white people. Besides, Laurel learned how to do the dance from Michael Jackson's Thriller on the boat this week so she can keep them at bay with her incredible Zombie dance moves while I grab Sarah's hand and we get the hell out of here.

My House Boat

By this time in my life I thought I'd be living on a House Boat. It's been where I've always wanted to end up. From the first time I set foot on one in Clark Lake I was mesmerized and wanted one. Then I read all of John McDonald's Travis McGee novels and the hook was set. What's not to love about selling everything you have and getting a House Boat? If you don't like the neighbors ... it's easy to move. Want a better school district for the kids? Sail to a one. When the crooks in Congress change your district from party to the other ... just drift on down to where you like. It's really hard for Jehovah Witness people to knock on your door if they have to swim to it. You see the attraction of what I'm saying. On a rolling sea the other day Sarah needed a break from the top deck so we all inside for lunch. Inside for lunch on a cruise ship is like going to Food Court in a Mall made in hell! There's all you can eat soft serve ice cream which is what the girls ate for lunch every day so there we were. Plus you have to put on a shirt and flip flops to eat inside which sucks. "How you feel baby?" I asked tenderly holding her hand. "You got your sea legs yet? You need 'em before we get the House boat." "We've got time," she said looking purple. At this precise moment, Cassidy knocked Maddie's plate of ketchup with a few French Fries over into Maddie's lap. Laurel patiently watched it all licking her ice cream. I think this is cruise ship Food Court norm as people were spilling plates left and right ... no one seemed to notice or care. Staring at the girls, I realized that ... as usual ... Sarah is right. We've got time. The House Boat will come later. A couple of years ago I almost moved to St. Martin for good. The time was right. The money was right. The only thing that wasn't right was me. I was pretty messed up ... lost and adrift ... dazed and confused ... abandoned and alone. But I didn't. Last night Sarah and I were home alone and opted to head to Nicki's for a late night bite. We talked while we ate and prepared for her parent's visit, how the girls are doing and my kids Jeremy and Marie, Kristen and Chelsea and Sam. Afterwards we strolled down the beach holding hands and talking about this and that. "Are y'all locals?" a pasty white dude asked. We told him we were and he explained that when he gets out of the military in eight more years he wants to move to Tybee Island. He asked where he should live, so we told him where we live. Walking back to the Combat Zone we ran into Samuel Adams, who plays damn good live music most nights, and Bob Tripp so we sat and visited on a beautiful summer night at the beach. After a good visit, we came home and I called Jeremy and Chelsea from the Beloved Back Deck and we laughed and made plans. Wandering back inside, Sarah was finishing up hiding pictures we'd taken on my I-Phone (in case I lose it again) so we did what married couples do ... at least what happy married couples do. After we consummated things we took Winston, the little gay dog, outside to do the things little gay dogs do. There was a beautiful sliver of moon. The waves were roaring in the distance. The air was warm and filled with salt. The Palm Trees danced in the breeze. The House Boat will come. I'm much too determined a person to not have that experience. I think to myself ... well while I wait ... this isn't too bad a way to spend my time. Days pass without a cloud. And I'm smiling out loud.

A Beauty Never Seen

“I want my picture taken on the beach at Paradise Island,” she announced, “because my hair is beautiful and I want everyone to see me.” I was struck by her sincerity. Her black hair, a powerful contrast to her white skin, had obviously been braided the day before in Freeport, Bahamas and was in neat corn rows with white beads dangling from the end. She wore a matching black and white bathing suit which corresponded nicely with her walking stick. She was blind and would never see the picture soon to be taken for everyone else to see. Her smile however was beatific but eclipsed by her youthful enthusiasm. She’s a teenager and over the few days we were on a cruise ship, I watched her do all of the things that adolescents do … fill her plate like they’ll never be another meal, jump into the swimming pool with the other kids, and stroll off by herself to get whatever struck her fancy. The white and black walking stick would click from side to side of the polished wooden deck as she made her way this way and that. She seemed to always be wearing half-a-smile and her eyes were forever focused somewhere else. When Sarah and I took the girls to the beach in Nassau, there she was enjoying the crystal clear waters of the Gulf Stream and working on her tan as she lay on the white powder sandy beach. As the bands played, she danced a swirling kind of motion with her knees bouncing up and down with her arms outstretched. Her family seemed to both dote on her and keep a distance at the same time. They were older with grey hair, saggy skin and moved much slower that she does. The last time I saw her she was climbing out of the salt water swimming pool and somehow navigated the rows of chairs to her family through the cacophony of screams, talk and loud music blaring from the sound system. I think she is quite remarkable. There were others too, not blind but wheel chair bound or hobbling on canes. Not much seemed to stand in their way either as I saw them rolling down city sidewalks and shopping in straw markets. I watched one flip herself into a hot tub which scared the legion of kids that were in it and within seconds she had the bubbling water to herself. It only took a few seconds though before others joined her. Like everyone else I’ve had difficult things thrown my way in life. Abrupt disturbances that rocked my world, the abandonment of love and friends, the depression that loneliness brings have all hit me at the same time leaving me wounded, hurt and wondering if I would ever truly live again. Luckily, over the past few years I’ve mostly shaken off the trauma of the past and now work towards a future where the sun is shining brightly over a clam blue ocean. Every time I saw her on this trip, I stopped to watch her for a second or two. She personified an elegant grace that I do not have. Perhaps it was because she was in public and screams like most adolescent girls when she doesn’t get what she wants. I’ll never really know but I don’t think she’s like most teenagers. Most kids on the ship were obnoxious intrusions with absentee parents. They overindulged in everything from Pizza to ice cream and literally ran the adults out of the pool every afternoon. They screamed at their parents when they were around and the singular most often used phrase I heard on the boat was “THAT’S NOT FAIR!” Her walking stick steered her away from such things. She has a beauty that she’s never seen but one that she knows with everything inside of her is there. I saw it.

The Little Boy Inside

Wearing only a tan-through Speedo I pour myself coffee standing beside a woman clad in some kind of uniform with her brown hair in a tight bun. In front of us is an African American family dressed in bright yellow and orange shirts with matching jams. Behind me are college girls wearing bikinis followed by an idiotic guy wearing a purple LSU jersey. One thing I will say about cruising is that the culture clashes are quite stark. Having embarked out of Jacksonville though, this one is really a southern based multiculturalism. “We drove all the way from Arkansas,” a boy told me last night through a deep southern drawl. “It was the longest two days of my life.” He is fourteen. He hasn’t met a long day yet. After being challenged to race him down the dual water slide on the back of the boat I began teaching him about long days by beating him two out of three times. “Kicked your ass,” I told him. “You did,” he agreed in the southern drawl. It is fair to say that the “little boy” inside of me never grew up. Just ask anyone I’ve ever worked with or spent a substantial amount of time. I believe play and having a good time absolutely must co-exist with work! I think that’s how I survived for so long in my career … I made homelessness fun! Now, at 56 years old, I’m racing 14 year old kids down water slides, encouraging one to take his droopy jams that don’t cover his underwear off because they slow his swimming down (he did), and teaching Maddie how to be picked up by aforementioned 14 year old boys. As night fell on the boat, Sarah and I sat on the edge of the pool literally surrounded by fifteen or so kids. We were the loan adults included in the group. Of course Sarah was wearing a bikini and 14 year old boys are learning how to master lust and that may have had something to do with it. I’m not especially self-conscious either. Even when I get in trouble I have a tendency just to keep on keeping on. Yesterday the girls and I made our way to the end of a concrete pier that had a “No Diving” sign on it. I immediately dove into the crystal clear water of the Gulf Stream. Just as immediately, a Bahamian Police officer informed me that I can’t do this. He was pretty brief about it, probably because I was wearing aforementioned tan-through Speedo. Thanking him for the warning, I strolled to the end of the structure and cannonballed into the water. Within five minutes there were twenty kids jumping off the end of the pier with me and the girls. Pretty soon, adults joined in. Even in my sad, lonely and tired days, I found things to laugh at. In the midst of the tired fatigue that divorce brings, I was talking to one of my best friends about relationships with women. The conversation turned to sex so I asked Johnny O how many women he’d slept with. “I dunno,” he replied shrugging his shoulders, “couple of thousand.” Now that’s funny! One of the reasons I love Johnny O so much is the “little boy” inside of him and the “little boy” inside of me really get along! We hang around the “little boys” in Jodee, Sean, O Johnny and Whitley (OK, the little boy inside of Whitley is a Nerd). Throw in the “little girls” inside of Judy O, Cheryl, Joanie, Roma, Julia-Just-Julia, O Judy … wait a minute! … I’m naming most of the people I know on Tybee Island. Obviously I like to hang around people who keep their “inner child” alive and thriving. I got up early today because I’m excited. It’s a day at sea. Scoping out our chairs on the kids play deck, where the water slides are, I’ve already reserved the best ones for us. The sun is throwing a blanket of white blinding light on the ocean. The morning is warm without being hot and the breeze is cool but light. It’s a perfect day to be at sea! A guy wearing an orange Syracuse jersey interrupts these thoughts. He has a shaved head and a salt-and-pepper goatee. He appears to be educated. “Excuse me,” he politely asks, “did you purchase those on ship?” He’s pointing at my tan through Speedos. “Sorry, but I didn’t.” “Oh,” he sighs crestfallen. Yep. It’s just me. Let the day begin!

Experiencing the New

Sipping coffee I stare at the bright green, yellow, orange and blue buildings in the harbor of Nassau, Bahamas. It’s a tourist’s façade of course as the city is a sprawling urban mess of straw markets with aggressive hawkers, inadequate plumbing, an overcrowded population and far too much traffic for the roads to handle. It merely has the incredible good fortune of location. A group of workers try to move an overflowing dumpster but each time they attempt to drive away another pile of garbage spills out. They don’t seem to mind as they laugh and talk as they retrieve the rubbish and put it back in the truck. Finally one finds a tarp and they cover the bed and make their way to the mountain of discarded things. It is now a bright beautiful Bahamas morning. The ocean is flat and calm. There is no breeze and the sun is hot. Seagulls are everywhere squawking as they salvage and fight for food. The dark rain clouds are now in the distance over the sea while billows of white hang behind the colors of the city. The last time I was here Sarah wanted to see Paradise Island which I had absolutely no interest in whatsoever. But I love her so what was I to do? We took a mad taxi ride through parts of the city tourists rarely go. It was fascinating as our driver even stopped and picked up a girl on the way. “Don’t worry Mon,” he explained to the dark suspicious girl dressed in red as she climbed in, “Mike and Sarah are good. They be like us.” It was a great compliment. One of the reasons I’ve lived such an interesting life is I have a knack of easily sliding into whatever environment I happen to find myself. Sure I like more than others. A wild taxi ride through the dark parts of town is far more intoxicating than looking at hats in a straw market. To me there’s no difference between putting on my pompousness for meetings in Congress than to have coffee with hookers in a D.C. McDonalds. It’s mostly the same thing anyway. Another reason is my DNA is comprised of a great deal of empathy. I easily identify with whoever I happen to find myself sitting beside. I not only hear what they’re saying but see how they say it, feeling the emotion … or lack of it … behind the words. I easily navigate to the heart of the matter. And when someone else needs to have their say I’ve learned how to be quiet and let them. It began when I was in the press a lot saying whatever I wanted to say. People would react and I’d had my say so I figured it was time for them to have theirs. It’s a little harder if Sarah’s getting on to me but I mostly sit there letting her get it out, internalizing far more than she thinks and then carry it with me until some resolution is reached. We’ve planned a full day in Nassau showing the girls the world is a far bigger place than they think. It’s me they have the sad fortune of being with so it’s the Bahamas as the kiddie starting point. Later we’ll progress to the Caribbean and Central America. This is the world I love. Last night we saw a show of Latin and Caribbean music, most of it sung in Spanish. They were mesmerized by the Calypso moves and the lavish Junkaroo costumes. They were horrified at the scantily clad dancers who shook their breasts while showing their asses. In the end though, they were on their feet clapping and dancing along. Music is another thing that’s in my DNA. If you really want to understand another culture … or another person … start with the music. If it’s a place or a person devoid of melody or harmony then there is likely little to be gained from interacting with them. The plan is to leave the sanitized culture of a cruise ship, lunch in Nassau and then head to a local’s beach. An unfinished concrete dock abruptly ends at the beach and city kids do flips off of it into the sea. There are food stands selling Conch Fritters, salted fish and Kalik Beer. I’ll slide right into it all. Sarah’s doing pretty good at it too these days. Jeremy, Kristen and Chelsea are all comfortable quickly adapting to people and places, experiences and environments, angels and assholes. A large line of tourists are being disgorged from the ship after gorging on pancakes, bacon and pastries. Most are excited saying they are heading to Paradise Island. I hope they have a good time and find the things they’re looking for. Sarah surprises me by kissing me on the head. The girls wish me a good morning. “You want to eat inside or outside,” she asks them? “Outside,” they exclaim. “It’s too hot out here.” “What,” I shoot? “You’re crazy! This is perfect.” “Inside,” they yell in unison as Sarah shrugs her shoulders. “Shit!” I mumble as they go to the air conditioned controlled milieu of the masses. I’ve married into a crazy ass family that has a lot to learn.

The Beauty that surrounds

In High School I worked at the Airport Quality Inn. My job was to do whatever the manager told me so I did laundry, carting towels and sheets to the Maids, helped stock the bar, cut the grass and drive the van to the Travis Field Airport to pick up guests staying with us. My friend Steve Brantley worked there too and we mostly had a good time. The best part of the job was driving the van … you’d be surprised how long a mile long ride can take. There were several important perks to my position. The pilots and stewardess tipped a quarter each for the ride. There was nothing better than a packed van! We got to eat for free and as anyone growing up knows, eating out is always better than eating in! They would cook us whatever we asked. They didn’t care if we stole beer. We never stole a lot but always just the right amount. We had a set of keys that we could use at night when we were off meaning that I could always say to my date, “Hey baby, I can get us a hotel room if you want.” The Maids, all African American, had a terrific sense of humor and Steve and I mostly hung around with them. They sang Gospel songs and cracked dirty jokes as they raked the shag carpet of each room. We loved them and they loved us. So I have a strong affinity for people who work at hotels. I’ve witnessed how unthankful people can be for a clean room, a nice atmosphere and good food while traveling or vacationing. I’ve seen the aftermath of how people trash rooms and just leave stuff anywhere because they know someone else has to clean it up. I travel a lot and stay in a lot of places always leaving my rooms as clean as I found them. I hang towels up and don’t leave them on the floor. I say “Thank you” to everybody who contributes to making it a good stay. Over the years, I’ve become good friends with Maids who work at these places … Martina and Angela in St. Martin. Carlos who runs the restaurant there is one of my best friends. I’m on a cruise ship today watching people eat breakfast. It’s like a war has broken out as people fight for food. Discarded napkins dance across the deck in the wind. Plates of uneaten food are stacked on tables for someone else to clean up. I no longer have an appetite. Turning my back on all of this, I watch the ocean roll by … vast, clean, majestic and perfect … just the way God created it. The sun is shining over my shoulder and I feel my skin tan. Clipping my I-pod to my ears, I tune them all out to focus on the beauty that surrounds me while whispering prayers for forgiveness for those who don’t give a damn.

Sailing

In my life there are several constant places that are holy to me and I find myself going to them again and again. Athens, Georgia is where my Dad took me to football games and where I took my children. My son now lives there. My sister does too. Its hard not to love a place filled with memories, tradition and friends. I don't know how many times I've been to Athens but its in the hundreds. St. Martin of course is my home away from home. I've been to the island 21 times in the past several years. While I know my way around the place ... where to find the best croissants, lobster cooked over fire in a drum, even where the boats are sunk near the reef ... I have a tendency to stay at one end of Orient Beach. It became a sactuary for me through bad times and the site of many wonderful celebrations. It's also crowned with a wonderful set of friends! Tybee Island is home and remains the ultimate place of refuge for my soul. It's beauty continues to take my breath away daily on walks with Sarah, Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog. It's fun watching the girls discover the island and listen to them make plans to have their friends visit. I still enjoy watching friends visit and witness their excitment to be back on the island. I have a Carnival of Friends, countless opportunitites to celebrate, dolphins to run with and a wonderful home that keeps me anchored. It strikes me this morning that the Crowne Plaza hotel in Jacksonville, Florida is another. It used to be a Holiday Inn and I've been coming here for as long as I can remember, first for football games and then later to stay before jumping on an airplane to take me to the Caribbean. It's a jumping off place and a place to return to. It has a pool that is both indoor and outdoor, meaning you can swim through a wall to get in or out, a nice bar overlooking it, and a lot of glass that allos me to stare at Palm and Pine Trees. It's a big place though it rarely seems crowded. I've stayed here with my children, accompanied Bruce, Jodee and Ryan from the Breakfast Club here for a "Boy's Trip" and held Sarah's hand as we walked through the door for our first stay. And I've come here alone when I was sad, depressed and lonely because I needed to get away from the reminders of painful things. I don't know how many times I've been here but I have enough points that this stay is free. It was the last time Sarah and I stayed here too. There are enough award points for several more visits in the future. We are blessed with the gift of time right now. As a result, we've done a lot of traveling over the past few months. A cruise with The Carnival of Friends, a Honeymoon in Belize, Daytona Beach, St. Martin, and San Juan Island in Washington State. Today we're jumping on a cruise ship which is the last of the trips of this gift of time. Nothing else is planned for the year, though we'll make it back to Athens soon. The girls are excited as this is the first time they've ever done anything like this. They have no idea how large the ships are or the expanse of the ocean when you're on it. It is hard to not catch part of their enthusiasm. It keeps me young. Today there are no big plans, no deep thoughts and no funny stories. It is a time to count my blessings and I have many. My struggles and fears have been set aside for the moment. My love and best friend are building our mountain of memories. And today we sail to celebrate beginning with a silent prayer of Thanksgiving.

Endless Summer

It is pouring rain so I am inside rather than sitting on the Beloved Back Deck. Laurel is sitting across from me staring at her laptop as I write on mine. It looks like we're playing Battleship but we're not. The glare from the computer screens are the only lights in the room. There is movement downstairs from Maddie and Micah ... son of my comrade Bill Berry, not the former drummer for R.E.M. but the other one who went to Seminary with me and then everywhere else. Micah and his beautiful wife Mary-Catherine are watching Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog, while we're gone. Which begs a question: If its raining on the island where you live ... what do you do? We're going to the Bahamas. It is strictly for the girls and their education so I think its tax deductible. They've never been anywhere. I think this is because they had the incredible misfortune of God choosing Houghton, New York for them to live. It's the western part of the state and nobody lives there except Christians who mostly keep to themselves. The biggest hobby there is talking about each other. So we've made a firm commitment to show them the ways of the world. We started by taking them to the Den of Iniquity known as Daytona Beach. They liked it so much we took them back so they could sin some more. Now they need to progress to advance sinning so we're off to the Bahamas. I mean most kids learn about sinning at school. That's where they pick up cussing, exposing body parts, smoking in the bathroom and kissing on the playground. After school they learn about playing Doctor and such. I'd rather the girls learn these things under parental supervision like Jeremy, Kristen and Chelsea did. They all turned out good so I figure it'll work for Mad, Laurel and Cass too. Now that I think about it, I also learned about sinning at Church. I did ... making out in an empty Baptismal Pool at the Port Wentworth First Baptist Church and the best place for parking in Garden City, Georgia was between the sanctuary and the educational buildings of the Methodist Church. I make myself a note to take them to Bar Church when we return which is the weekly gathering of really good sinners on Tybee. Good times! Anyway ... I hate the rain on a summer day. I want an endless summer. It's been a freaking good one so far. Just like last summer was ... one party after another with the Carnival of Friends. But this summer ... I'm a parent of young children again. I have responsibilities and need to get to work raising those babies. "Surf's Up!" I yell at Laurel. She shakes her head and continues watching The Brady Bunch.

Me and St. Jude

When I wore a Toga the other day for the first time in my life, my friend Kenny Hill quipped, "There are so many comments ready to roll off the tip of my tongue." As Sarah wrapped me in a fitted sheet, holding a pair of scissors, I asked that she make me not look like a member of the Klan. Then I told her a story. Back in the early 80s as AIDS exploded gripping the nation in hysterical fear, I was the 24 year old Pastor of the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel in Louisville, Kentucky. I know, I know ... God works in mysterious ways and obviously has a sense of humor, hence my stint as a "Professional Christian." At Jeff Street we'd turned Sunday School rooms into apartments to house the homeless and the Baptismal Pool into a bathtub complete with candles and a boombox. Word on the street was it was a place to could go if you were in trouble and needed help. As people were diagnosed with HIV, frightened landlords immediately evicted them, not wanting their apartments and houses defiled by the unclean and dying. Uncertain of what else to do they sought out the church for help. Most clergy responded by locking the doors and for the most part the Church turned its back on people with AIDS. I'm proud to say that we didn't ... though honestly I was just as scared as anybody else. My friend Father Vernon Robertson called inviting me to a meeting at the St. Martin of Tours Catholic Church. When I arrived there were eight of us sitting in his Rectory ... four clergy, three prominent members of the gay community and the Mother of a son with AIDS. "We have to do something," Vernon explained the purpose of the gathering. "Why should we trust you," shot Paul, the owner of several successful restaurants? Over the next several hours we worked through lots of things and eventually hatched a plan to open a residential facility so people would have a place to live. "We need a name," Vernon pronounced as we were leaving that first night. "I propose The St. Jude's Guild." "Who the hell is St. Jude," I asked? "The Patron Saint of Lost Causes," he explained. Jack Kersy and I looked at each other. "Huh, Vernon," we both said at the same time, "we ain't losing anybody else." A scant three months later, Glade House opened, the nation's second program for people with AIDS. The celebratory gathering of the St. Jude's Guild took place at Paul's mansion. I'd never seen anything like it. Statues of Toga clad Greek boys spewing water out of their mouths, marble floors, candles hanging from the walls and a golden chandelier suspended above. I swear to God our dinner was served by two beautiful young men in Togas. Wine was poured in golden goblets and Paul toasted, "To hell with lost causes!" We all laughed except for Vernon who raised his glass and said, "To St. Jude." Sarah snipped the fitted sheet, jerked it tight and my Toga was complete, sans the underwear. Glade House is still there though now run by Catholic Nuns. It's a part of my past which is largely forgotten ... except by me. Later at the party, which was fabulous by the way, I raised my glass to an almost full moon and for a second thirty years melted away as I toasted the heavens ... "To hell with lost causes. And to you St. Jude."

A Visit from Union Mission

"Rev. Elliott," he asked. I don't get called that much anymore. Back in my professional life at Union Mission I did but not so much on the beach. That's where he knew me from through and that is where we were standing. His face looked familiar though I couldn't place him as he jumped from his beach chair and made his way to me with a smile. I'd just stumbled in from the ocean and was dripping wet as we shook hands. Sarah looked up from reading her book taking notice of the invasion into personal space. "Jimmy Kicklighter," he said with a million dollar smile and a handsome boyish face. The name was familiar though I still couldn't remember who he is. It's a curse. I'm good with faces but not names. Leading a public life, I had all of these tricks to people to tell me who they were cause I sure as hell couldn't remember. It's not a public life anymore so I was rusty on the tricks. Sarah couldn't jump up and help because she didn't know. "You gave Danny and me our first contract to build the J. C. Lewis Health Center," he beamed as a flood of memories rushed through me. Danny is Daniel Pinyan, Jr. who runs a successful construction company in Savannah. I heard about them before I ever met them because of my friend Dan Sheehan called me one day in my office. "Micheal," he said in his southern Irish brogue. "I understand that you're taking bids on building another building and I want you to look at Danny and Jimmy. They're good boys." I've accomplished many things in my life. Telling Dan Sheehan no was never one of them. The "boys" got their first big construction contract, built a million dollar building which was also the first of its kind, did it under budget and managed all of my design changes throughout the process. Jimmy introduced me to his wife who is just as beautiful as he is. I introduced them to Sarah who's more beautiful than both. (I try to not be as competitive as I used to but I seem to fail at that too.) "Are you still at Union Mission," he asked. After telling him no he asked me what I do now. Spreading my arms I reply, "This." His beautiful wife says, "We always seem to see you when we're here." Jimmy added, "That's great! We want to do this too." Through smiles, handshakes and hugs we departed making our way to our own realities. Toating our chairs and cooler back to the house Sarah asked, "How'd that make you feel?" I took a long time before saying anything. What it made me feel was proud. In addition to ending homelessness for thousands, caring for the sick and dying and either influencing or redesigning the County's health systems, we did a lot of other things when I was at Union Mission. We gave first contracts to start-up companies that continue to thrive (OK, in this economy they're still in business which is the same thing!). For 22 consecutive years we created jobs and eventually eclipsed 300 employees. I was appointed to the Board of Directors of the Chamber of Commerce and became a member of the CEO Council. A charity burst through the glass ceilings of the business world. At the end of my time there, Business Magazines were giving us awards and writing articles on our accomplishments. I didn't say these things to Sarah yesterday. Instead we talked about how sad it is that Union Mission is now a simple charity again ... what it feels like to see children you conceived be raped by people you trusted ... how pitiful it is that she's no longer there merely because we're together (oh the things that were said about us, according to our friends still working there). Homelessness is on the rise, the Health Center has a waiting list that is months long and nothing new is occurring as they struggle to maintain the past. At home we shower and lay on the couch. Sarah reads as I lay my head in her lap, we talk about tomorrow. "It'll never be the same again," she says. "I'd just need two years," I reply before falling asleep.

A Visit from Union Mission

"Rev. Elliott," he asked. I don't get called that much anymore. Back in my professional life at Union Mission I did but not so much on the beach. That's where he knew me from through and that is where we were standing. His face looked familiar though I couldn't place him as he jumped from his beach chair and made his way to me with a smile. I'd just stumbled in from the ocean and was dripping wet as we shook hands. Sarah looked up from reading her book taking notice of the invasion into personal space. "Jimmy Kicklighter," he said with a million dollar smile and a handsome boyish face. The name was familiar though I still couldn't remember who he is. It's a curse. I'm good with faces but not names. Leading a public life, I had all of these tricks to people to tell me who they were cause I sure as hell couldn't remember. It's not a public life anymore so I was rusty on the tricks. Sarah couldn't jump up and help because she didn't know. "You gave Danny and me our first contract to build the J. C. Lewis Health Center," he beamed as a flood of memories rushed through me. Danny is Daniel Pinyan, Jr. who runs a successful construction company in Savannah. I heard about them before I ever met them because of my friend Dan Sheehan called me one day in my office. "Micheal," he said in his southern Irish brogue. "I understand that you're taking bids on building another building and I want you to look at Danny and Jimmy. They're good boys." I've accomplished many things in my life. Telling Dan Sheehan no was never one of them. The "boys" got their first big construction contract, built a million dollar building which was also the first of its kind, did it under budget and managed all of my design changes throughout the process. Jimmy introduced me to his wife who is just as beautiful as he is. I introduced them to Sarah who's more beautiful than both. (I try to not be as competitive as I used to but I seem to fail at that too.) "Are you still at Union Mission," he asked. After telling him no he asked me what I do now. Spreading my arms I reply, "This." His beautiful wife says, "We always seem to see you when we're here." Jimmy added, "That's great! We want to do this too." Through smiles, handshakes and hugs we departed making our way to our own realities. Toating our chairs and cooler back to the house Sarah asked, "How'd that make you feel?" I took a long time before saying anything. What it made me feel was proud. In addition to ending homelessness for thousands, caring for the sick and dying and either influencing or redesigning the County's health systems, we did a lot of other things when I was at Union Mission. We gave first contracts to start-up companies that continue to thrive (OK, in this economy they're still in business which is the same thing!). For 22 consecutive years we created jobs and eventually eclipsed 300 employees. I was appointed to the Board of Directors of the Chamber of Commerce and became a member of the CEO Council. A charity burst through the glass ceilings of the business world. At the end of my time there, Business Magazines were giving us awards and writing articles on our accomplishments. I didn't say these things to Sarah yesterday. Instead we talked about how sad it is that Union Mission is now a simple charity again ... what it feels like to see children you conceived be raped by people you trusted ... how pitiful it is that she's no longer there merely because we're together (oh the things that were said about us, according to our friends still working there). Homelessness is on the rise, the Health Center has a waiting list that is months long and nothing new is occurring as they struggle to maintain the past. At home we shower and lay on the couch. Sarah reads as I lay my head in her lap, we talk about tomorrow. "It'll never be the same again," she says. "I'd just need two years," I reply before falling asleep.

Toga Party

"I can't believe a bunch of old farts would show up wearing sheets but they did," she exclaimed as the only non-sheet wearing woman at our Toga party last night. It was Sarah's idea. "Let's have a Toga party," she said a couple of weeks ago. "OK," I replied shrugging my shoulders. Then the anticipation started building. The Carnival of Friends take their Togas very seriously! Who knew? I should have. We've partied over "Whine and Cheese", naked swimming, birthdays, elections, the burgeoning clothing optional movement on Tybee Island (we think the beach between 12th and 14th Streets should be roped off for nude sunbathing and water frolicing for those who choose to do so) and we often laugh at funerals. Last night it was Togas. We were fabulous! Everyone took their swaddling clothing very seriously. Judy O wore a table cloth with pearls. Jodee wore Pharaoh eye shadow and wieided a sword. Johnny O looked gay. Cheryl looked laced. Dedra was dressed in drapes from Wall Mart. Todd looked tall. Art looked like Yasser Arafat. And Sarah was freaking hot! Then Paul and Lamy showed up looking ... normal. Uncomfortable and embarrassed at their Togaless covered asses they tried to overcompensate with personality and good taste ... which are, of course, foreign concepts on the island of Tybee. I don't know what you did last night but we hosted a gathering of Greek Goddesses and Gods ... and two very ordinary looking people trying to fit in. Which brings me to the points of this. What do you suppose heaven looks like after a party? Does it look like hell with empty bottles, cigarette butts, spill stains, and someone sleeping in a bed that you had no idea was here? "How in the hell did she get in," St. Peter asks. "Awww, let her sleep," God says. I mean a party's a party and if its a good one it leaves an aftermath ... even in heaven. Second, people who are not willing to wear a Toga out in public on short notice are very boring people ... think Obama, that Morman Mitch guy, Eric Johnson and Buddy Carter, Mother Mary and most people who are getting ready for Church right now. In fact, Jesus wore a Toga so doesn't it make sense that people who go to Church wear them too? Just Saying.

My Confession

If confession is good for the soul, then this is going to suck. I like the BeeGees. I know ... I know. I shouldn't but I do. Aside from that Saturday Night Fever crap, they did some pretty good stuff. Except they really sucked in that film version of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band. I mean how much cocaine could they have snorted to convince them that was a good idea? Then there was Andy Gibb, their little brother, who was stupid enough to choose cocaine over his wife Victoria Principal who starred on the television show Dallas and was hot! And sure you have lead singer Barry Gibb standing there with a full beard, Jesus looking hair, an open shirt with chest hair implants and sings like girl. Standing beside him was Robin Gibb, who was a girl who looked like a boy. The other brother Maurice, pretty much kept quiet standing several steps away from the other two. But their last album was "One Night Only" is a live concert full of really good stuff! The acoustic version of "Nights on Broadway" is killer! Why am I confessing such a thing? My wife's nickname in High School was Fannie. I'm uncertain how this nickname was derived from her last name "Stafanski" but it was. She told us this last night at dinner ... everybody choked on their chicken a little. Which, of course, brings up one of my favorite BeeGee songs ... Fannie be tender with my love. I asked her if she'd ever heard it and when she understood it was by the BeeGees she threatened to leave me immediately so I shut up. Today, while she's asleep, I've been listening to BeeGee's. If you don't look at them, they're pretty damn good. Usually I try to make a point in these writings. Today I'm just making a confession. I love my wife. And there's normally not any point in confessing anything.

The Tybee Island Majority

The island of Tybee is easily divided into three categories of people. (1) Those of us who refuse to grow up. Channel your Bob Dylan ... "I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now." (2) Grown Ups who spend their time volunteering on the Planning Commission, passing rules and trying to get those of us who refuse to grow up to grow up. Channel some Beatles ... "Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm 64?" The answer's no. (3) Grown ups in other places who need a vacation from being a grown up so they get a place on Tybee for several days and really blow it out. Channel your Rolling Stones ... "You can't always get what you want but if you try sometimes you get what you need." Therefore, two-thirds of the people on this clump of sand at any one time are those of us wanting to enjoy the sun, sand, sea, music, food, marshes and have a real good time without rules, religion or regulations. Channel your Country Joe and the Fish ... "Give me an F! Gimmie a U! Gimmie a C! ..." Many people have summer homes here who live in Savannah or thereabouts. They are grown ups at home who try to bring their homes here. For the most part these people keep to themselves and their own kind. They are isolationists and two-thirds of the people on the island of Tybee have no use for such people. Channel your Popeye ... "I Yam what I Yam ... and if you don't like it to hell with you! But the island is a democracy! Majority rules! There is amble evidence to prove it! For example there are twenty-three places that serve alcohol as opposed to four churches where they don't ... well, the Catholics do but they don't serve everybody ... which is a discrimation most on the island do not appreciate so most do not attend. Channel your Billy Joel ... "I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints, the sinners are much more fun." Tybee has a long history of mistrust of political officals. This is because they want the rest of us to buy their drinks whenever they are out in the bars looking for votes. Obviously this pisses us us off. The most popular thing on the ballot on the island is the "Write In" box that doesn't have a candidate. It is the overwhelming winner in every election. And people on Tybee vote! We have a higher percentage than the rest of the state. We just just leave our drinks on our bicycles while we vote. Channel your Rolling Stones again ... "Sympathy for the Devil." Besides, it is a celebratory weekend. We kicked the elected offical's asses in the T-SPLOST vote! We all toasted one another in the parking lot of the Gym right after we voted. Then we got on our bicycles and cruised the island looking for a good time. Channel your Jimmy Buffett. "There's this one particular harbor."

Loving God Now ... to hell with "then"!

"I get up and meditate, pray, offer thanks for this day and try to help others," the Dalai Lama explained. "Will it do you any good?" the searcher asked. The Dalai Lama shrugged his shoulders. "We won't know until I die." That's a pretty good answer. I think it's half-right. There's a lot we won't know for sure about God, our religion, beliefs and whether eating a Chick-Fill-A yesterday did anything other reinforce capitalism until we die. Say what you want ... profess what you believe ... but the fact of matter is your won't really know until you die. The great religions of the world teach that you express love for God by loving others. "Beloved, if God so loved us we should love one another" (Christian) ... "You cannot love God until you completely love another person" (Buddhist) ... "The world shall be saved one neighbor at a time" (Judaism) ... and so on. There's no question that loving someone now makes a difference ... NOW! A cup of cold water for the thirsty, shelter for the homeless, sitting with the dying are all basic expressions of love. So is coaching a kids baseball team trying to teach the self-worth and the rules of the game of life. As is making just yourself available because someone asks when you'd really rather be doing something else. Each of these things makes a difference in someone's life NOW ... and you know it does ... way before you die. I suppose the trick is how many people can you love at one time? There are other ways too, I think. The last several nights we've taken the girls to watch turtles hatching on the Beach. A crowd gathers around a small group of volunteers so awed by nature and the beauty of life they do everything possible to help the turtles make it to the ocean ... where they still have just a small chance of survival. This loving attention certainly means a lot to those turtles who do and will return to Tybee Island several years of now to lay their own eggs. Each of these are expression of one's love of God. Each make a difference now! The validity of others won't be known until we die and God rewards us ... or not. I cast my lot with the difference makers now. I've never really been sure about then. As a matter of fact, to hell with "then".

A Life being restored

I am full of introspection today. That's a funny thing to say given all of the days and nights that I've sat on this Beloved Back Deck ... alone ... pondering ... reflecting on things I'd done right and those things that had gone horribly wrong. I had long talks with God but She was mostly silent in response. Day in and day out, I would contemplate, pray, cry and wonder. The truth is I've spent several years immersed in introspection. This was tough because mine had been such an active, demanding life with never ceasing demands on my time. It seems as though all of these things stropped suddenly throwing me into this new world of exploring my consciousness, thoughts and feelings. Occasionally, people would come by and join me but it was mostly Goddess and me. Somewhere deep inside of me, I knew this was the time to invest in myself. So I did. I had equity in the house, savings in the bank and a decent portfolio for the future. To the chagrin of advisers, I bought myself time and a place. In today's world, people aren't suppose to such things ... time is money and you're expected to go where the demands are. I did the opposite. Accounts were diminished but "He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His names sake," to quote one of the sixteen versions of the King James Bible. The Hebrew is much more to the point ... God causes my life to return. That's not to say I'm done. I am not. I'm living a pretty full life right now, surrounded by people who love me, sun rises and sunsets, ocean breezes and a calmness that is hard to get used to. I'm still fighting demons from the past ... unresolved conflicts and hurts and the damaging ways in which I got through them ... and the things I must to do continue this path are becoming clearer. This morning I had to drive into Savannah. The High Tide and Marsh grass were adorned with diamonds sprinkled by the sun. I had the top down and sucked in the salt air. I hit the traffic when I hit the city. Red lights managed stop and go, hocking horns tried to change the flow, cars fought for parking places, lines were formed and people either seemed incredibly bored or very angry. I passed through these things as a shadow ... no longer a part of that world. Besides, I've got lots to do ... A few more demons to exorcise ... a couple of more unresolved things to bury ... a love to celebrate ... a future to continue building ... smiles to have ... life to live. Mine's being restored.

Post Doctorate Skipping

I have a long, rich history of skipping ... not like down the road but ... like school. Gene Prevatt and I were sick of the stuff the Board of Education was passing off as food at Groves High School so we skipped out and went Joe's Drive Inn. If you've ever seen American Grafitti or Happy Days then you've seen Joe's Drive Inn except it was called something else. Anyway ... Gene and I pull up and happily order cheeseburgers and fries through the advanced speaker system ... when my Mom pulls in across from us. We hit the floor, figuring we'd wait her out. After about ten minutes being curled up in the floor board, Gene finally said, "I'll handle this." He got out of the car and strolled to my Mom's car. "Shouldn't you be at work Mrs. Elliott?" "Shouldn't you be at school Mr. Prevatt?" Always snappy with a quick comeback, Gene replied, "Mike made me do it." I got put on restriction for a week or so but it did nothing to prevent me from moving onto "Advanced Skipping." Guy Sayles and I were sitting beside each other in Greek class in Seminary. It was a warm day and the windows were open on the second floor classroom. Dr. Omanson was reading from the Greek textbook when I raised my hand and asked some brilliant question. "It's in the book," was Dr. Omanson's scholarly reply. Barely missing Guy's nose, I threw my text book out of the window. The entire class looked at me while Dr. Omanson continued reading from the text book failing to have noticed anything. I took this as my cue to leave. From that moment on, if I was sitting in a lecture that was particuarly boring, I'd just get up and walk out. It was purely capitalistic thinking ... which is not necessarily theological in nature. I was putting myself through Seminary and saw it as a return-on-investment calculation. I wasn't going to pay to be bored. I also skipped work a lot in my career. The great thing about having graduated from Seminary ... or being thrown out ... is that I have the "REV." in front of my name. This often comes in handy so when I didn't show up at something I was supposed to be at ... or lead ... I simply explained, "God called me to do something else." It always worked ... except when Sarah called me one day demanding to know where in the hell I was. In fact, God had called me to chew tobacco and drink a beer in the parking lot of a Food Lion while listening to Alice Cooper. Apparently I was supposed to be leading a staff meeting and the Governor was touring Union Mission ... or something. For the last couple of years, I've skipped out on most everything, staying at home being a full time Beach Bum. I am now beyond advanced. I'm blazing Post Doctorate skipping. There are others who have gone this far but ... not many. So in planning today, I've decided to skip my doctors appointment, not water the plants, vote against everything, and take the girls into the complex with the "NO TRESSPASSING" sign on the door. I'm going to continue to not get a hair cut, wear underwear, or shoes. I'm not going to go to Church, sing in a choir or listen to a sermon (though I do read Guy Sayles stuff out of guilt for almost hitting him with the Greek text book). I refuse to watch the news, answer the door if somebody's running for office though ... I will open the door if it's Jehovah Witnesses because they're so fun to screw with. I just hope my Mom doesn't pull up ... though Sarah's probably going to get on to me.

No longer at a crossroads

Thunder rolls in the distance ... to the west ... and the sun refuses to pull the blanket of clouds away, obviously still recovering from yesterday which is his day anyway ... but the sky is blue in the east and it's going to be a beach day here ... whether or not it rains. Listening to the casualties booming in Savannah and the rest of the world, I sit here understanding that is no longer my world. "I want to know, have you ever seen the rain?" Yeah ... way to much of it. I used to dance in depravity ... sing in sadness ... comfort the uncomfortable ... polarize the political ... rebell at the righteous ... manipulate the masses ... and lead the blind. The sun throws off the blanket of clouds, baptizing me in golden light. The thunder continues to roll in the distance, in worlds that I am no longer a part of ... striking me of the contrast of where I now reside ... half way from then and almost to now ... no longer at a crossroads because I've definetely left "then" ... throwing myself wholeheartedly into the now. A bird sings a lovely solo ... the ocean breeze blows the smell of salt marsh (which is pungent aromoa of sex in the Tropics) ... the wind chimes dance ... the Palm Tree with the oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt suddenly believes she is a Hula dancer and that makes me laugh. While the thunder continues to roll ... I see skies of blue, clouds of white ... bright blessed days ... dark sacred nights ... and I think to myself ... I no longer live under dark clouds, thunder and lightning, or warning of the end times. Those times have already ended ... Jesus has already returned ...there's just enough oil in the candles ... ramadan is over. For some reason that I cannot explain, each morning as I stumble into the door marked "Exit Only" into The Breakfast Club, I grab a copy of the Savannah Morning News, spread it out in front of me and review ... what used to be. I'm quite detached and it's like reading an old book that you used to love but can't quite figure out why you did. The sun pulls the blankets back over its head ... then kicks them off again. The gift of this day has begun. It's nice to be out of what used to be.

Tybee Market

IGA ... pronounced as a single word as it sounds ...used to be the Tybee Market and is the islands only grocery store. After the original Tybee Market burned down, it became an IGA ... a member of the Independent Grocery Alliance ... now we just call it IGA ... pronounced "iga". It's got most everything a normal IGA ... has except parking. It does have fresh shrimp though ... and the steaks are really good and fresh ... and the frozen French Fries are usually frozen ... and if you're looking for things that your Mom used to make but Publix or Kroger doesn't sell the ingrediants anymore, then Tybee Market likely has them ... you just have to look. Most days they also have bags of ice. Mike Hosti, the owner, is an island character, very benevolent and serves as the island's "Food Bank." I think he should be granted "Non-Profit" and "Tax-Exempt" Status for these efforts but he will be the first to ask, "What profit?" I'm a regular customer either riding my bike or driving the car six blocks to IGA. Sarah and I did that last night ... at 6:00 P.M. ... which is stupid ... because Saturday is check in/check out day on the island ... and I mean that in so many different ways. Everybody renting a place for a week checks out Saturday morning and everyone checking in arrives around 4:00. After dropping off their shit in the rental unit, they go to Tybee Market ... which happened to be at the same time Sarah and I strolled inside. Have you ever seen the footage of the crash of the Hindenburgh? Shopping at Tybee Market is like standing under it as it comes down in flames. "Oh the humanity!" To his credit, Mike has tried to fix the parking and the number of spaces actually doubled but ... there is no longer a clearly marked "IN" and a clearly marked "EXIT" ... like at THE BREAKFAST CLUB ... so it's mostly a traffic jam. For locals ... there's a back gate which you're never supposed to exit but we do all of the time ... Don't tell Mike. So we fought through the immpossible crowds of tourisst checking in, buying groceries and then we stood in the check out line. Now aside from Nancy ... each and every cashier at IGA lives in an alternative universe. They have no sense of time ... or change. An hour later, Sarah and I arrived home with our purchases ... a can of Cambell's soup and a chicken pot pie. They were out of everything else. But we feasted on our meal, holding hands and washing them down with drinks without ice. I love island life! Shit! I'm out of Orange Juice!