Yesterday was a crazy work day with curve balls coming at me left and right!
I was sending emails to people I haven't seen in years telling them what I'm up to these days. These are all folks I care about, were important as my career developed or I flat out like. They are also survivors ... meaning I purged my contact list last week and none of them were deleted.
Well ... to be honest a few were deleted but when we launched the new business (www.letustellit.com) several of them wrote me nice words so they were un-deleted which is like being raised from the dead.
Just as I was hitting my groove, Sarah burst into my office on the back deck where I prefer to work. Her office is at the other end of the house in the red room.
Our offices have a couple of distinct differences.
She prefers quiet when she works, has a proper desk and everything she needs is spread on it before her. I sit outside at a table under an umbrella with music blasting from on Rhapsody from my laptop, loving the sunshine, dancing leaves in the ocean breeze and yellow butterflies sucking the pollen out of the red Hibiscus blooms.
We have a quick "coffee break" without actually drinking any coffee.
She goes back to her office and I get back to work. But people have actually started answering my emails. That can screw up a day's agenda! Now I have to answer their email! Christ! How am I supposed to get any work done!
Then Stacy Jennings calls me from the Savannah Morning News asking if I would stop everything I'm doing and write something for the paper. Double Christ! I can't tell Stacy "No!"
Stacy is a lot like Joshua in the Old Testament. She can make the sun stop, the moon stop, avenge herself on her enemies and completely screw up someone's daily agenda. (See Joshua 10:13. That's really about Stacy.)
So I wrote it and send it only to be confronted by these evil people called editors. Evidently my words needed work. So I do what I always do when confronted by editors ... I ignored them. I'm a big believer that if you ignore a problem long enough it will go away.
On the other hand, Stacy had already stopped the sun and the moon from moving so ... I was edited which is like getting the paper you were proud of writing in college handed back to you marked up in red by some idiot professor who doesn't recognize great writing!
When I got back to work, MORE PEOPLE HAD REPLIED TO MY EMAILS!
Now there's even more to do!
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the sun had moved. Of course it had! Stacy had gotten what she wanted.
My computer kept beeping with new emails as the sun painted the deep blue sky in pinks and purples. Inexplicably "Scarborough Fair" streamed through my computer.
Seriously? "Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme?
I got mellow, walked inside and poured myself a glass of wine. Sarah was still working away in her quiet solitude. No one else else was working but then again no one else was here.
Returning to my office on the back deck I stuck my bare feet on the rail and toasted Stacy Jennings. She's freaking amazing. And apparently does all of this on one foot.
How do you compete with that?
I turned off the computer, drank wine and watched the sun set.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Avalon
Islands are magical places though I'm the first to admit that some are more special than others. Key West is better than Hilton Head, St. Martin eclipses Jamaica and Tybee Island surely bests the British Isles.
Avalon was the magical island where King Arthur got his start when the Lady of the River forged his sword, Excalibur. It was where he went to recover or die from his wounds after the Battle of Camlann and its where he eventually returned the sword when he was said and done with it all.
It's also a song by Roxy Music with the lines ... and the background is fading out of focus, yes the pictures are changing every moment and your destination? you don't know it ... Avalon.
We all believe in mystical places like Avalon, Heaven, Atlantis, the bright lights of a big city or the quiet majesty of the mountains, the plains of the Parries or the serenity of the sea.
So we work towards these places. We travel, pray, believe when there's no real evidence of what we want ever coming true. We become absorbed in the crowd or relish the solitude, touching them from time to time but they never last. Those moments are holy and special. We want them back.
Last night I was tossing and turning in bed, falling in and out of sleep, hugging Sarah or staring at the numbers on the ceiling letting me know what time it was. Thoughts came in rushes, flooding my brain with different images or dreams. I was restless.
As is my custom I climbed out of bed and walked outside in the middle of the night to the beloved back deck. Brilliant stars danced in a black sky. Goddess followed me and lay beside me as I just stood there in prayerful thought.
Several years ago I went through a lot at once, like Arthur's Battle of Camlann. I was left fatally wounded, hurt and betrayed. Avalon was Tybee. Saints came to my rescue and Sarah emerged from a watery past that was suddenly out of focus. Like Arthur leaving Avalon with Excalibur after he was healed because he had more to do ...
I feel that way.
It's why I'm restless.
There is more to do.
All of the things I've done are buried and in the past. What I'm doing now is far more interesting. But the things I will do in the coming years with Sarah are far more intriguing. There were times I felt I'd died and there is no question that lots of people were wishing I'd just go away.
But I didn't.
I've been healed.
And I'm restless ... not for what's next ... but for now.
Avalon was the magical island where King Arthur got his start when the Lady of the River forged his sword, Excalibur. It was where he went to recover or die from his wounds after the Battle of Camlann and its where he eventually returned the sword when he was said and done with it all.
It's also a song by Roxy Music with the lines ... and the background is fading out of focus, yes the pictures are changing every moment and your destination? you don't know it ... Avalon.
We all believe in mystical places like Avalon, Heaven, Atlantis, the bright lights of a big city or the quiet majesty of the mountains, the plains of the Parries or the serenity of the sea.
So we work towards these places. We travel, pray, believe when there's no real evidence of what we want ever coming true. We become absorbed in the crowd or relish the solitude, touching them from time to time but they never last. Those moments are holy and special. We want them back.
Last night I was tossing and turning in bed, falling in and out of sleep, hugging Sarah or staring at the numbers on the ceiling letting me know what time it was. Thoughts came in rushes, flooding my brain with different images or dreams. I was restless.
As is my custom I climbed out of bed and walked outside in the middle of the night to the beloved back deck. Brilliant stars danced in a black sky. Goddess followed me and lay beside me as I just stood there in prayerful thought.
Several years ago I went through a lot at once, like Arthur's Battle of Camlann. I was left fatally wounded, hurt and betrayed. Avalon was Tybee. Saints came to my rescue and Sarah emerged from a watery past that was suddenly out of focus. Like Arthur leaving Avalon with Excalibur after he was healed because he had more to do ...
I feel that way.
It's why I'm restless.
There is more to do.
All of the things I've done are buried and in the past. What I'm doing now is far more interesting. But the things I will do in the coming years with Sarah are far more intriguing. There were times I felt I'd died and there is no question that lots of people were wishing I'd just go away.
But I didn't.
I've been healed.
And I'm restless ... not for what's next ... but for now.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Mitt Romney and Tybee Foreign Policy
When I wasn't watching Monday night football or the conclusion of the incredible comeback of the Giants against the Cardinals or stealing glances of Sarah in her nighties, I'd watch the final Presidential debate. Immediately I was stuck by a couple of things.
I think President Obama and Mitt Romney use the same mortician. They both looked dead. At the same time, the economy remains a mess so they probably went in together to split the cost of hiring somebody to make them look good. They both looked awful.
The focus of the debate was foreign policy. They talked about Libya, Israel, Egypt, the military, and how many jobs they would both create (which has nothing to do with the topic but they didn't seem to care).
The most interesting thing was when Mitt Romney said we get the American economy going again by opening up trade relationships with Central America. He claims its as big a market as China and jobs will get created if we open up those markets.
Now I know America has a lot of shit people in Central America want. Blue jeans, cars, I-pads, Bose speaker systems for the cars, X Boxes, videos of Glee and boxes of Animal Crackers. Who doesn't want that stuff?
But what does Central America have to trade in order to get these things?
Mitt Romney knows ... Opium!
It's their biggest crop and I heard Mitt saying last night that Poppy is apparently good for the American economy.
I didn't like him before and I've actually met him once but I started warming up to him during the debate.
Let's be honest we haven't had a great President since Bill Clinton. Bill knew how to have a good time in the White House! The man can multitask! Balance the budget, create a surplus, smoke a cigar and make oral sex popular ALL AT THE SAME TIME! We haven't had enough Presidents who know how to have a good time. I think we have a new possibility.
Mitt Romney may be on to something after all with this Central American thing. Let's keep being honest. We have terrible relationships with the Middle East. It's like going to supper with a family of people who hate each other.
The Euro continues to kick the dollar's butt, we really don't really care about Africa and China spends all of its time counting the interest of how much we owe them.
With the opium market opened in America, we wouldn't care. AND TO MAKE IT EVEN BETTER, Romney wouldn't tax like Obama would!
Does it get any better?
I'd sworn off politics but am suddenly interested again. Regardless of the elections outcome, I'm going to call Mayor Buelterman on Tybee Island where I live and ask him what our foreign policies are? We're surrounded by the ocean thereby exposed to possible attack by other countries. We must have a foreign policy. Most of the people who work in hotels here are from other countries!
But I'm especially interested in what is Tybee Island's relationship with Central American countries. It could be good for the island.
Really good!
It would be a great high for every American regardless of political persuasion.
I think President Obama and Mitt Romney use the same mortician. They both looked dead. At the same time, the economy remains a mess so they probably went in together to split the cost of hiring somebody to make them look good. They both looked awful.
The focus of the debate was foreign policy. They talked about Libya, Israel, Egypt, the military, and how many jobs they would both create (which has nothing to do with the topic but they didn't seem to care).
The most interesting thing was when Mitt Romney said we get the American economy going again by opening up trade relationships with Central America. He claims its as big a market as China and jobs will get created if we open up those markets.
Now I know America has a lot of shit people in Central America want. Blue jeans, cars, I-pads, Bose speaker systems for the cars, X Boxes, videos of Glee and boxes of Animal Crackers. Who doesn't want that stuff?
But what does Central America have to trade in order to get these things?
Mitt Romney knows ... Opium!
It's their biggest crop and I heard Mitt saying last night that Poppy is apparently good for the American economy.
I didn't like him before and I've actually met him once but I started warming up to him during the debate.
Let's be honest we haven't had a great President since Bill Clinton. Bill knew how to have a good time in the White House! The man can multitask! Balance the budget, create a surplus, smoke a cigar and make oral sex popular ALL AT THE SAME TIME! We haven't had enough Presidents who know how to have a good time. I think we have a new possibility.
Mitt Romney may be on to something after all with this Central American thing. Let's keep being honest. We have terrible relationships with the Middle East. It's like going to supper with a family of people who hate each other.
The Euro continues to kick the dollar's butt, we really don't really care about Africa and China spends all of its time counting the interest of how much we owe them.
With the opium market opened in America, we wouldn't care. AND TO MAKE IT EVEN BETTER, Romney wouldn't tax like Obama would!
Does it get any better?
I'd sworn off politics but am suddenly interested again. Regardless of the elections outcome, I'm going to call Mayor Buelterman on Tybee Island where I live and ask him what our foreign policies are? We're surrounded by the ocean thereby exposed to possible attack by other countries. We must have a foreign policy. Most of the people who work in hotels here are from other countries!
But I'm especially interested in what is Tybee Island's relationship with Central American countries. It could be good for the island.
Really good!
It would be a great high for every American regardless of political persuasion.
Monday, October 22, 2012
My Story
"I still tell your stories," Ann Christiano told me as we chatted before she delivers a keynote address at a recent gathering in Memphis.
Ann is the Communications Professor at the University of Florida's College of Journalism and Communications.
I have no idea which stories she was referring to we haven't seen one another in years. Back in the day we would be in Washington D.C. working Capitol Hill with the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation.
Several days later on LinkedIn Phillippa Moss sent me a private message. It's been years since I've seen her too. Back then she was with the Georgia Department of Community Affairs and we did a lot of work together. It was a great relationship. She gave me money and I spent it! Does it get any better?
Anyway, she wrote that she speaks of me often in her work in Hall County government. She tells my stories.
Stories last when people don't.
More than anything else, people remember stories.
I recall the first time I tried to write a story. It was in college and I was doing a paper for history class and tried to describe a battle so I used a lot of adjectives. I got an "A".
In Seminary I learned to preach and good preaching is storytelling. (There's a lot of bad preaching out there because too many Preachers have forgotten how to tell stories!).
Then I started writing the stories down and they became books.
I hit the road and told stories in churches, Rotary Clubs, on radio and television shows, at Congress and Chambers of Commerce.
These days I write my stories and post them on Facebook, Blogspot, Twitter and LinkedIn. They go all over the world and people from around the globe write me privately or post publicly.
The world has changed. It's at your fingertips now. Communication happens whenever you want and with whoever you want. You don't have to travel or try to make appointments. We text rather than call, stream video instead of paint pictures and post photographs instead of using words.
Still ... it's the stories that people remember.
These days I work with a great group of friends to use all of the above to help tell their stories. Check it out at www.letustellit.com
It is fun and gratifying work to see others gain customers, increase sales or simply get their point across.
It's funny to me that Goddess has her own fan base and when we're out people will ask, "Is that Goddess? Oh My God, it's Goddess. Take a picture!"
Winston, the little gay dog, is extremely popular every time I write about him.
My next door neighbor ... The Cat Lady ... screeching "HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY!" in her bathrobe and blue towel on her head is somehow beloved and people wait on me to tell what she's doing now.
Sarah and I take the girls out for pizza and people walk up to say, "So this is the family!" They know all about them.
Jeremy and Marie, Kristen, Chelsea and Sam all have to live with the question, "That's your Dad?"
If I don't have the stories posted on Facebook or Blogspot by 9ish, my computer and phone start buzzing while people ask, "What in the hell are you doing this morning? Dammit I'm having coffee and want my story! What's happened now? Has Goddess bitten the Cat Lady? Did Winston, the little gay dog, pee on the bed again? How does Sarah put up with you?"
So it's all about the story.
The other thing is it's good for me to tell all of these stories. They are meant to be shared and confession really is good for the soul. What begins as me processing and reflecting over the things that happen somehow end up being enjoyed or helping others. As you give so shall you receive.
So ... that's my story ... and I'm sticking to it.
Ann is the Communications Professor at the University of Florida's College of Journalism and Communications.
I have no idea which stories she was referring to we haven't seen one another in years. Back in the day we would be in Washington D.C. working Capitol Hill with the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation.
Several days later on LinkedIn Phillippa Moss sent me a private message. It's been years since I've seen her too. Back then she was with the Georgia Department of Community Affairs and we did a lot of work together. It was a great relationship. She gave me money and I spent it! Does it get any better?
Anyway, she wrote that she speaks of me often in her work in Hall County government. She tells my stories.
Stories last when people don't.
More than anything else, people remember stories.
I recall the first time I tried to write a story. It was in college and I was doing a paper for history class and tried to describe a battle so I used a lot of adjectives. I got an "A".
In Seminary I learned to preach and good preaching is storytelling. (There's a lot of bad preaching out there because too many Preachers have forgotten how to tell stories!).
Then I started writing the stories down and they became books.
I hit the road and told stories in churches, Rotary Clubs, on radio and television shows, at Congress and Chambers of Commerce.
These days I write my stories and post them on Facebook, Blogspot, Twitter and LinkedIn. They go all over the world and people from around the globe write me privately or post publicly.
The world has changed. It's at your fingertips now. Communication happens whenever you want and with whoever you want. You don't have to travel or try to make appointments. We text rather than call, stream video instead of paint pictures and post photographs instead of using words.
Still ... it's the stories that people remember.
These days I work with a great group of friends to use all of the above to help tell their stories. Check it out at www.letustellit.com
It is fun and gratifying work to see others gain customers, increase sales or simply get their point across.
It's funny to me that Goddess has her own fan base and when we're out people will ask, "Is that Goddess? Oh My God, it's Goddess. Take a picture!"
Winston, the little gay dog, is extremely popular every time I write about him.
My next door neighbor ... The Cat Lady ... screeching "HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY!" in her bathrobe and blue towel on her head is somehow beloved and people wait on me to tell what she's doing now.
Sarah and I take the girls out for pizza and people walk up to say, "So this is the family!" They know all about them.
Jeremy and Marie, Kristen, Chelsea and Sam all have to live with the question, "That's your Dad?"
If I don't have the stories posted on Facebook or Blogspot by 9ish, my computer and phone start buzzing while people ask, "What in the hell are you doing this morning? Dammit I'm having coffee and want my story! What's happened now? Has Goddess bitten the Cat Lady? Did Winston, the little gay dog, pee on the bed again? How does Sarah put up with you?"
So it's all about the story.
The other thing is it's good for me to tell all of these stories. They are meant to be shared and confession really is good for the soul. What begins as me processing and reflecting over the things that happen somehow end up being enjoyed or helping others. As you give so shall you receive.
So ... that's my story ... and I'm sticking to it.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Hung Over on Sunday
It's best to be honest about it.
I'm hungover.
"It's not my fault", to quote Madison Lingenfelter.
I think it's Dani Sadowski's ... I mean Wesoloski. I married them last night. Afterwards, alcohol was a factor but it wasn't the only one.
Sarah and I danced a lot and that's always intoxicating.
The Beloved Dawgs of Georgia won but barely (though looking at the score this morning ... we kicked their asses!).
The other dogs ... Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog, were busted again yesterday.
The police showed up and gave us a summons to go court ... again.
Apparently they have big parties whenever Sarah and I take a walk around the block or go off island. They don't bark while we're here but evidently raise holy hell when we're gone. So the Tybee Island Police Department launched a major investigation dedicating four different officers to the case. All I can say is that it's very difficult harboring criminals who are so sly they only bark when we're gone.
Goddess doesn't seem to give a shit. Winston, the little gay dog, is already planning what he's going to wear to court.
I saw the Tybee Coyote this morning. He was strolling down 13th Street as I was driving home from The Breakfast Club. It's confusing to me because I didn't think he existed but he evidently does. I suppose the Tybee Island Police Department has officers dedicated to the case.
On the upside, Jenny O approached Sarah and I about going to Key West for Christmas. It was funny because Sarah and I were talking about that earlier in the day. Such things make you believe in God.
I gotta go.
The towel on my head is cold and I need to put hot water on it.
The sun has come up and my sun glasses don't seem to be working as good as they did in the dark.
I'm afraid Sarah's dead in bed and need to go check on her.
I just have one question ... which leg do I move first ... and how?
I'm hungover.
"It's not my fault", to quote Madison Lingenfelter.
I think it's Dani Sadowski's ... I mean Wesoloski. I married them last night. Afterwards, alcohol was a factor but it wasn't the only one.
Sarah and I danced a lot and that's always intoxicating.
The Beloved Dawgs of Georgia won but barely (though looking at the score this morning ... we kicked their asses!).
The other dogs ... Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog, were busted again yesterday.
The police showed up and gave us a summons to go court ... again.
Apparently they have big parties whenever Sarah and I take a walk around the block or go off island. They don't bark while we're here but evidently raise holy hell when we're gone. So the Tybee Island Police Department launched a major investigation dedicating four different officers to the case. All I can say is that it's very difficult harboring criminals who are so sly they only bark when we're gone.
Goddess doesn't seem to give a shit. Winston, the little gay dog, is already planning what he's going to wear to court.
I saw the Tybee Coyote this morning. He was strolling down 13th Street as I was driving home from The Breakfast Club. It's confusing to me because I didn't think he existed but he evidently does. I suppose the Tybee Island Police Department has officers dedicated to the case.
On the upside, Jenny O approached Sarah and I about going to Key West for Christmas. It was funny because Sarah and I were talking about that earlier in the day. Such things make you believe in God.
I gotta go.
The towel on my head is cold and I need to put hot water on it.
The sun has come up and my sun glasses don't seem to be working as good as they did in the dark.
I'm afraid Sarah's dead in bed and need to go check on her.
I just have one question ... which leg do I move first ... and how?
Saturday, October 20, 2012
Elmo Weeks ... a hero of mine.
"It's Micheal Elliott," she said not bothering to cover the receiver as she announced my call to her husband.
"Oh!," I heard Elmo exclaim. "Yes, I want to talk to him," and I heard the shoving of a chair across a floor as the 92 year old man made his way to the phone.
"Micheal," his vibrant voice exploded into my ear.
"Hey Elmo," I said smiling.
He is a special man, the second representative of a third generation family funeral business.
Back in the days when AIDS was exploding and I was working to house people everyone else was shunning, I learned to love Elmo. Fathers would shun their sons and leave them to die alone because they were ashamed of boys growing up to be themselves and then literally dying because of it! At the time, funeral homes wouldn't take their bodies because they were afraid they would catch AIDS.
I was sitting with the body of such a boy one day and didn't know what to do. His family didn't want him. So I called Elmo.
"Of course," he said. "I'll have someone right over."
And he did.
For the next several years ... when there was no one else to call, I'd call Elmo. He always had the same response ... "Of course."
"How are you Micheal?" he asked as I stood barefoot on the beloved back deck. "I told your Mother that I need to talk to you. I just want to see how you're doing."
It's been three years since I've seen him. My eyes grew moist as memories flooded through my heart.
I don't know how many people Elmo buried for me but it was a lot. He never charged anything. He only said, "Of course."
I told him I was good. I told him about Sarah. He asked about the kids. He told me about a his recent hospital stay. He told me he was good for someone so old.
His voice was that of a young man. Love and warmth poured into my ear as he spoke. We didn't speak of the funerals but there is a sense ... a shared bond that no one else will ever understand ... of the things that we did together.
Today is a special day of joy. Dani Sadowski is getting married and I'm performing the ceremony. Dani has been part of my life since she was a baby. I can't imagine what my life would have been like without her and her brother Ryan and my kids. We all grew up together.
Later today, she and Peter will be toasted and I really look forward to that.
But I'll take a moment to raise my glass to Elmo Weeks ... an unassuming hero who was always there when nobody else wanted to be ... when fathers abandoned their sons ... and death was a way of life.
I am sure I will cry.
Then I will grab Sarah's hand and we will dance.
"Oh!," I heard Elmo exclaim. "Yes, I want to talk to him," and I heard the shoving of a chair across a floor as the 92 year old man made his way to the phone.
"Micheal," his vibrant voice exploded into my ear.
"Hey Elmo," I said smiling.
He is a special man, the second representative of a third generation family funeral business.
Back in the days when AIDS was exploding and I was working to house people everyone else was shunning, I learned to love Elmo. Fathers would shun their sons and leave them to die alone because they were ashamed of boys growing up to be themselves and then literally dying because of it! At the time, funeral homes wouldn't take their bodies because they were afraid they would catch AIDS.
I was sitting with the body of such a boy one day and didn't know what to do. His family didn't want him. So I called Elmo.
"Of course," he said. "I'll have someone right over."
And he did.
For the next several years ... when there was no one else to call, I'd call Elmo. He always had the same response ... "Of course."
"How are you Micheal?" he asked as I stood barefoot on the beloved back deck. "I told your Mother that I need to talk to you. I just want to see how you're doing."
It's been three years since I've seen him. My eyes grew moist as memories flooded through my heart.
I don't know how many people Elmo buried for me but it was a lot. He never charged anything. He only said, "Of course."
I told him I was good. I told him about Sarah. He asked about the kids. He told me about a his recent hospital stay. He told me he was good for someone so old.
His voice was that of a young man. Love and warmth poured into my ear as he spoke. We didn't speak of the funerals but there is a sense ... a shared bond that no one else will ever understand ... of the things that we did together.
Today is a special day of joy. Dani Sadowski is getting married and I'm performing the ceremony. Dani has been part of my life since she was a baby. I can't imagine what my life would have been like without her and her brother Ryan and my kids. We all grew up together.
Later today, she and Peter will be toasted and I really look forward to that.
But I'll take a moment to raise my glass to Elmo Weeks ... an unassuming hero who was always there when nobody else wanted to be ... when fathers abandoned their sons ... and death was a way of life.
I am sure I will cry.
Then I will grab Sarah's hand and we will dance.
Friday, October 19, 2012
Church Lust
It's finally Friday. There's a lot to do today but this evening I have the possibility of a date with my wife. The kids are scattered to and fro on the face of the earth and the girls are gone for the weekend. It's hard to not get excited.
You work to date.
At least that's my philosophy.
Regardless of marital status, dating is a key component to life. I prefer to date my wife because we almost always have a wonderful time.
Before we were married I dated some other people and, while they were all nice, it just doesn't come close to going out with Sarah.
Yesterday we went to the funeral of a dear friend. It was a Catholic Mass and one of the things I noticed was the use of the words "Dear Friend" in the Liturgy. That's probably where I picked up my use of the words. I call a lot of people my "dear friend" and it likely got ingrained in my head when I did the Scripture readings at the St. Martin of Tours Catholic Church in Louisville, Kentucky.
My dear friend Vernon Robertson was the Priest. I was a Southern Baptist minister. He was old. I was young. We were an unlikely pair. I did the readings during noonday Mass and he would come preach during the Wednesday night service.
Consequently I learned the Liturgy and when I miss organized religion I really like a good Catholic Mass. While it happens, it takes talent for a Priest to screw up the Liturgy.
The celebration of dear friends is part of good worship. I try to live my worship.
After the funeral my car wouldn't start. I'm not good at that stuff so I just kept trying to crank it while hitting the gas peddle. Sarah said, "Let me do it and take your foot of the peddle."
It immediately cranked.
That's life right? We all stall from time to time while we're trying to do more significant things. The holy is always in tandem with the humerous.
During the funeral Sarah and I were holding hands on the back pew in the choir loft. She was wearing a short black dress and I was looking at her leg. Church lust is the best lust!
Yesterday and last night were full of stalls, disruptions, alien interference and Satanic movements. Thank God that's over!
It's Friday and work is almost done.
Then I plan on asking my wife to go out on a date.
And if everything goes right, Church lust will come true.
That's the dearest of the dear.
You work to date.
At least that's my philosophy.
Regardless of marital status, dating is a key component to life. I prefer to date my wife because we almost always have a wonderful time.
Before we were married I dated some other people and, while they were all nice, it just doesn't come close to going out with Sarah.
Yesterday we went to the funeral of a dear friend. It was a Catholic Mass and one of the things I noticed was the use of the words "Dear Friend" in the Liturgy. That's probably where I picked up my use of the words. I call a lot of people my "dear friend" and it likely got ingrained in my head when I did the Scripture readings at the St. Martin of Tours Catholic Church in Louisville, Kentucky.
My dear friend Vernon Robertson was the Priest. I was a Southern Baptist minister. He was old. I was young. We were an unlikely pair. I did the readings during noonday Mass and he would come preach during the Wednesday night service.
Consequently I learned the Liturgy and when I miss organized religion I really like a good Catholic Mass. While it happens, it takes talent for a Priest to screw up the Liturgy.
The celebration of dear friends is part of good worship. I try to live my worship.
After the funeral my car wouldn't start. I'm not good at that stuff so I just kept trying to crank it while hitting the gas peddle. Sarah said, "Let me do it and take your foot of the peddle."
It immediately cranked.
That's life right? We all stall from time to time while we're trying to do more significant things. The holy is always in tandem with the humerous.
During the funeral Sarah and I were holding hands on the back pew in the choir loft. She was wearing a short black dress and I was looking at her leg. Church lust is the best lust!
Yesterday and last night were full of stalls, disruptions, alien interference and Satanic movements. Thank God that's over!
It's Friday and work is almost done.
Then I plan on asking my wife to go out on a date.
And if everything goes right, Church lust will come true.
That's the dearest of the dear.
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Qutting and Politics
For decades I knocked around Savannah City Hall, the County Courthouse, the Georgia State Capitol, Congress and every single Department of the U.S. Government (H.U.D. is by far the worst damn place to visit in America while the Library of Congress is pretty sweet!).
I love Savannah, tolerate Atlanta and really like hanging around the Mall in Washington D.C.
If you do politics you're always hurrying up to wait. So my ass has occupied chairs waiting on Mayors, Councilpersons, Legislators, Congressmen and Senators. I've been with three Presidents and Congressman Jack Kingston once chewed me out in front of Mitt Romney who may or may not be President.
It was in Atlanta and Jack was endorsing Mitt for something or another as I was making my to occupy another chair waiting on one of the chosen members of the Elect.
"Elliott," Kingston bellowed, "I need to talk to you."
"Shit," I muttered because I knew what it was about. Nevertheless I made my way to Jack and the man who may or may not be President.
"Elliott, it is proper protocol that if Congress is going to give you money you should at least ASK THE CONGRESSMAN!"."
"I knew you busy," I replied. "I didn't want to bother you."
"My office orchestrated giving you quarter-of-a-million dollars and I read about it in the bill that HAS ALREADY BEEN AUTHORIZED!"
"You have a great staff," I said. "They handled it so you could concentrate on more important things."
Romney watched this exchange.
"I gotta go Jack," I told him. "I'm late for somebody whose going to make me wait," and I took off losing myself in the crowd.
The $250,000 was money for mentally ill people in Savannah.
In politics you win or lose battles in a war that never ends.
I agree with Bob Dylan who was agreeing with Samuel Johnson ... "Politics is the last refuge to which a scoundrel clings."
I know that's cynical. I have lots of friends who are into politics and have been elected to something.
Shirley Sessions is one of my dearest friends!
The last time I saw Jack I was tailgating at a University of Georgia football game and he walked up.
"Hey Mike," he said obviously wanting to take a break from the crowd he was working.
"Hey Jack," I said shaking his hand. "You want a beer?"
He shook his head. "I'm working."
"Bummer," I answered putting the beer back in the cooler.
He went back to shaking hands and kissing ass as I took another swig of Michelob.
My son and friend Jeremy was sitting beside me. At the time I was pretty fragile having left the work, dealing with a marriage that had left me engulfed in a weariness that I didn't how to handle.
"You miss it Dad?" I remember him asking.
Holding the Michelob to my lips I watched Jack working the crowd at a football game because he believes he's making a difference. Sometimes he does. Most times he doesn't. He refuses to quit though.
I looked at my son and, "Sometimes."
I love Savannah, tolerate Atlanta and really like hanging around the Mall in Washington D.C.
If you do politics you're always hurrying up to wait. So my ass has occupied chairs waiting on Mayors, Councilpersons, Legislators, Congressmen and Senators. I've been with three Presidents and Congressman Jack Kingston once chewed me out in front of Mitt Romney who may or may not be President.
It was in Atlanta and Jack was endorsing Mitt for something or another as I was making my to occupy another chair waiting on one of the chosen members of the Elect.
"Elliott," Kingston bellowed, "I need to talk to you."
"Shit," I muttered because I knew what it was about. Nevertheless I made my way to Jack and the man who may or may not be President.
"Elliott, it is proper protocol that if Congress is going to give you money you should at least ASK THE CONGRESSMAN!"."
"I knew you busy," I replied. "I didn't want to bother you."
"My office orchestrated giving you quarter-of-a-million dollars and I read about it in the bill that HAS ALREADY BEEN AUTHORIZED!"
"You have a great staff," I said. "They handled it so you could concentrate on more important things."
Romney watched this exchange.
"I gotta go Jack," I told him. "I'm late for somebody whose going to make me wait," and I took off losing myself in the crowd.
The $250,000 was money for mentally ill people in Savannah.
In politics you win or lose battles in a war that never ends.
I agree with Bob Dylan who was agreeing with Samuel Johnson ... "Politics is the last refuge to which a scoundrel clings."
I know that's cynical. I have lots of friends who are into politics and have been elected to something.
Shirley Sessions is one of my dearest friends!
The last time I saw Jack I was tailgating at a University of Georgia football game and he walked up.
"Hey Mike," he said obviously wanting to take a break from the crowd he was working.
"Hey Jack," I said shaking his hand. "You want a beer?"
He shook his head. "I'm working."
"Bummer," I answered putting the beer back in the cooler.
He went back to shaking hands and kissing ass as I took another swig of Michelob.
My son and friend Jeremy was sitting beside me. At the time I was pretty fragile having left the work, dealing with a marriage that had left me engulfed in a weariness that I didn't how to handle.
"You miss it Dad?" I remember him asking.
Holding the Michelob to my lips I watched Jack working the crowd at a football game because he believes he's making a difference. Sometimes he does. Most times he doesn't. He refuses to quit though.
I looked at my son and, "Sometimes."
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Starting Work
The day begins in the dark as I crawl out of bed trying not to step on the dogs as I grab my towel and toothbrush making my way downstairs. Sneaking into Laurel's room, I wake her and then stumble to the outdoor shower and am baptized in the hot water as I stare at a black sky full of brilliant stars.
At this point I say the first prayer of the day. There are no words ... just feelings about protecting those I love and letting this day be a happy one for all of them ... that it be productive and useful ... I hope I do far more good than bad ... when the sun goes down and stars come out tonight I can look upon the day and along with God say, "It is good."
Climbing up the stars, Laurel is dressed and waiting in the dark. I throw on clothes, kiss the top of Sarah's sleeping head and we head to The Breakfast Club. Laurel likes cheeseburgers for breakfast and I've promised her one a week. We take our stools and she sort of sits on hers while also sitting on me at the same time.
Ryan walks over and pretends to pour coffee in her hot chocolate.
They stare at one another. Laurel smiles but doesn't say anything. Ryan laughingly calls her "Burger Head" and walks away.
Laurel's impatient about her burgers. She keeps asking when it will be done. I tell her when it's finished.
When it's done, she's handed a to-box and we leave money on the counter and leave. Everyone wishes me and "Burger Head" a good day.
The morning's second is a group prayer as words are spoken.
Back home Laurel asks me to cut her burger in half. As I do she takes the lettuce off while pouring more ketchup on.
"Why did you order lettuce if you're not going to eat it?"
Looking at me sheepishly she explains, "I didn't want them to think I was only getting onion and ketchup on it."
Understandingly I nod my head.
Now its time to drive Maddie to school. Maddie is a girly girl and is forever late as she's getting ready. I say out loud that she's going to be late and while this means nothing to her, once Sarah reinforces it Maddie is ready.
She hugs Sarah good-bye and they linger. Then Sarah hugs me and tells me to be careful. Then she and Maddie hug again. These are the morning's third set of prayers and we've moved from feeling to words to hugs in their progression.
The drive to school consist of a blaring radio blasting Hymns by Lady Gaga (if its Maddie's station) or the Greg Kihn Band (if it's mine). Few words are spoken. When we get to school, she opens the door and looks at me and says "Thank you Mike."
The forth prayer of the morning is one of Thanksgiving.
"Thank you Maddie," I say as she shuts the door so she says it again.
The drive home is always delightful on the causeway through the marsh. I am mindful of the changing of the season as the marsh grass turns from green to golden. Things are changing. As I top the Lazaratto Bridge, shrimp boats are to my right and the ocean on my left. I stare at the ocean and it makes me feel small and insignificant in the universe. It's the fifth prayer. I am humbled before the majesty of God.
Back home Cassidy is up having breakfast. She's running behind as she always is. Stuffing strudel in her mouth she wants to play. Sarah sits across from her writing birthday invitations for her upcoming party.
The morning suddenly explodes as Sarah rushes Cass and Laurel to the car. They tell me goodbye and to have a good day at work. I hug Sarah and tell her to be careful and the morning routine has come full circle. The morning's third prayer is repeated by the one who received it.
Now the house is quiet. I take my place on the beloved back deck and fire up the computer. Goddess lays under my dangling feet and Winston, the little gay dog, settles down nearby as I pray the morning's final prayers.
"Hey God! Bring them all back safe. Make my kids feel my love today. I'm scared about the future but pretty certain about today. Let's kick some ass!"
The sun breaks above the house behind ours and brilliant yellow rays battle with clouds to shine down upon me. The war of the children of light and the children of darkness has begun.
Morning prayers are over.
Work has started.
At this point I say the first prayer of the day. There are no words ... just feelings about protecting those I love and letting this day be a happy one for all of them ... that it be productive and useful ... I hope I do far more good than bad ... when the sun goes down and stars come out tonight I can look upon the day and along with God say, "It is good."
Climbing up the stars, Laurel is dressed and waiting in the dark. I throw on clothes, kiss the top of Sarah's sleeping head and we head to The Breakfast Club. Laurel likes cheeseburgers for breakfast and I've promised her one a week. We take our stools and she sort of sits on hers while also sitting on me at the same time.
Ryan walks over and pretends to pour coffee in her hot chocolate.
They stare at one another. Laurel smiles but doesn't say anything. Ryan laughingly calls her "Burger Head" and walks away.
Laurel's impatient about her burgers. She keeps asking when it will be done. I tell her when it's finished.
When it's done, she's handed a to-box and we leave money on the counter and leave. Everyone wishes me and "Burger Head" a good day.
The morning's second is a group prayer as words are spoken.
Back home Laurel asks me to cut her burger in half. As I do she takes the lettuce off while pouring more ketchup on.
"Why did you order lettuce if you're not going to eat it?"
Looking at me sheepishly she explains, "I didn't want them to think I was only getting onion and ketchup on it."
Understandingly I nod my head.
Now its time to drive Maddie to school. Maddie is a girly girl and is forever late as she's getting ready. I say out loud that she's going to be late and while this means nothing to her, once Sarah reinforces it Maddie is ready.
She hugs Sarah good-bye and they linger. Then Sarah hugs me and tells me to be careful. Then she and Maddie hug again. These are the morning's third set of prayers and we've moved from feeling to words to hugs in their progression.
The drive to school consist of a blaring radio blasting Hymns by Lady Gaga (if its Maddie's station) or the Greg Kihn Band (if it's mine). Few words are spoken. When we get to school, she opens the door and looks at me and says "Thank you Mike."
The forth prayer of the morning is one of Thanksgiving.
"Thank you Maddie," I say as she shuts the door so she says it again.
The drive home is always delightful on the causeway through the marsh. I am mindful of the changing of the season as the marsh grass turns from green to golden. Things are changing. As I top the Lazaratto Bridge, shrimp boats are to my right and the ocean on my left. I stare at the ocean and it makes me feel small and insignificant in the universe. It's the fifth prayer. I am humbled before the majesty of God.
Back home Cassidy is up having breakfast. She's running behind as she always is. Stuffing strudel in her mouth she wants to play. Sarah sits across from her writing birthday invitations for her upcoming party.
The morning suddenly explodes as Sarah rushes Cass and Laurel to the car. They tell me goodbye and to have a good day at work. I hug Sarah and tell her to be careful and the morning routine has come full circle. The morning's third prayer is repeated by the one who received it.
Now the house is quiet. I take my place on the beloved back deck and fire up the computer. Goddess lays under my dangling feet and Winston, the little gay dog, settles down nearby as I pray the morning's final prayers.
"Hey God! Bring them all back safe. Make my kids feel my love today. I'm scared about the future but pretty certain about today. Let's kick some ass!"
The sun breaks above the house behind ours and brilliant yellow rays battle with clouds to shine down upon me. The war of the children of light and the children of darkness has begun.
Morning prayers are over.
Work has started.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
The Deleted
Sitting in the bright sunshine on a beautiful Monday morning in the corporate headquarters of Micheal Elliott Enterprises,
I was streaming WKYZ out of Key West and my bare feet were grooving on
the deck. My tee shirt has a bunch of sharks on it with a lone diver
descended between them. The caption reads "Test Your Faith". The black running shorts complete the ensemble meeting the company dress code.
In juxtaposition, I'm pretty intense and focused alternating stares between two I-phones and two different laptops. On one is my contact list and the other is flashing LinkedIn. One I-phone is opened to contacts and the other has messages buzzing pretty consistently.
Our new venture Let Us Tell It ( www.letustellit.com ) has me completely absorbed and it's almost 8:00 in the morning. The rising sun tops the house behind ours and rests in the branches of the Palm Tree with the Oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt. The phone buzzes and someone has re-tweeted my tweet. I'll check it out later.
Wearing less than me, Sarah stumbles into the kitchen which also serves as our smaller conference room, for coffee. Yawning, she blows me a kiss and says "Morning."
After admiring the view, I mumble back and return to the task at hand ... purging and updating my contact list. I haven't done it since I was at Union Mission so there were hundreds of names to go through.
It is a thoughtful exercise.
Some were dead and each gave me pause. I celebrated the lives of most while others I couldn't hit the "delete" button fast enough sending them to wherever they end up.
There were many who used to be friends and colleagues but aren't anymore. The ties that had bound us tightly have long loosened. We no longer hold each other dear having moved on with our lives. They join the dead as I hit the "delete" button.
As I'm doing this, the little red flag on LinkedIn keeps popping up as people ask me "What's Up?", "Where you been?", and "Wanna get together for beers?"
Of course this makes me go back and "un-delete" some of "the deleted." They aren't so bad after all!
I go get my sunglasses and take the "Keep the Faith" tee shirt off. The sunshine is too bright for me to read past the glare of the computer screens. Hitting "Control P" I print out the list of "the deleted" and "the chosen ones."
The first is far larger than the second.
I linger over them both.
Then I throw the first one away.
Then I go back to work.
In juxtaposition, I'm pretty intense and focused alternating stares between two I-phones and two different laptops. On one is my contact list and the other is flashing LinkedIn. One I-phone is opened to contacts and the other has messages buzzing pretty consistently.
Our new venture Let Us Tell It ( www.letustellit.com ) has me completely absorbed and it's almost 8:00 in the morning. The rising sun tops the house behind ours and rests in the branches of the Palm Tree with the Oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt. The phone buzzes and someone has re-tweeted my tweet. I'll check it out later.
Wearing less than me, Sarah stumbles into the kitchen which also serves as our smaller conference room, for coffee. Yawning, she blows me a kiss and says "Morning."
After admiring the view, I mumble back and return to the task at hand ... purging and updating my contact list. I haven't done it since I was at Union Mission so there were hundreds of names to go through.
It is a thoughtful exercise.
Some were dead and each gave me pause. I celebrated the lives of most while others I couldn't hit the "delete" button fast enough sending them to wherever they end up.
There were many who used to be friends and colleagues but aren't anymore. The ties that had bound us tightly have long loosened. We no longer hold each other dear having moved on with our lives. They join the dead as I hit the "delete" button.
As I'm doing this, the little red flag on LinkedIn keeps popping up as people ask me "What's Up?", "Where you been?", and "Wanna get together for beers?"
Of course this makes me go back and "un-delete" some of "the deleted." They aren't so bad after all!
I go get my sunglasses and take the "Keep the Faith" tee shirt off. The sunshine is too bright for me to read past the glare of the computer screens. Hitting "Control P" I print out the list of "the deleted" and "the chosen ones."
The first is far larger than the second.
I linger over them both.
Then I throw the first one away.
Then I go back to work.
Monday, October 15, 2012
Do it again David Ring
Sometimes death comes slowly and you have time to watch it take someone as they slowly slip away. Other times it slaps you hard in the face and kicks you in the stomach. On Sunday, beautiful day that the Lord had made, the Grim Reaper unexpectedly grabbed the throat of an entire island when he took David Ring.
David was larger than life.
Incredibly funny, it seemed as though he'd done everything. "I've got a 21 year old brain in an old man's body," he told me not too long ago.
It's true! He never lost celebrating life even when his body refused to cooperate with his wishes.
"My wife told me to come out from under that bed and fight like a man ," he said one morning at The Breakfast Club.
David brought laughter wherever he went.
Lord the stories that are being remembered!
One year Jennie Orr sponsored a Best Buns on the Beach competition to raise money for diabetes, which David had. So Johnny O, David and I were all corraled to partcipate. Johnny stood there stupidly in his underwear. I ripped off my robe displaying a bikini bathing suit. David stripped down to a pair of lady's leopord thongs. Jumping on a pinic table on the pier he danced and gyrated while people threw money at him for the cause.
Then a testical popped out.
David continued to dance so his wife Diane ran up and poked it back in.
"Did you see that," Johnny O asked.
"Yep. What do you say?"
David shattered the record for raising money for diatetes.
There are countless stories.
"I'll tell you something Micheal," he said a couple of weeks ago. "I've done everything I've ever wanted to do. I loved doing every bit but I have one regret."
"What's that?" I asked.
Cocking his head to one side while raising an eyebrow and flashing a half smile he explained, "I just wish I could do it all again."
Me too David.
I wish you could too.
David was larger than life.
Incredibly funny, it seemed as though he'd done everything. "I've got a 21 year old brain in an old man's body," he told me not too long ago.
It's true! He never lost celebrating life even when his body refused to cooperate with his wishes.
"My wife told me to come out from under that bed and fight like a man ," he said one morning at The Breakfast Club.
David brought laughter wherever he went.
Lord the stories that are being remembered!
One year Jennie Orr sponsored a Best Buns on the Beach competition to raise money for diabetes, which David had. So Johnny O, David and I were all corraled to partcipate. Johnny stood there stupidly in his underwear. I ripped off my robe displaying a bikini bathing suit. David stripped down to a pair of lady's leopord thongs. Jumping on a pinic table on the pier he danced and gyrated while people threw money at him for the cause.
Then a testical popped out.
David continued to dance so his wife Diane ran up and poked it back in.
"Did you see that," Johnny O asked.
"Yep. What do you say?"
David shattered the record for raising money for diatetes.
There are countless stories.
"I'll tell you something Micheal," he said a couple of weeks ago. "I've done everything I've ever wanted to do. I loved doing every bit but I have one regret."
"What's that?" I asked.
Cocking his head to one side while raising an eyebrow and flashing a half smile he explained, "I just wish I could do it all again."
Me too David.
I wish you could too.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Part of the Future
"Hey Mike," John said as he and his wife stumbled into The Breakfast Club this morning. "I haven't seen you in while," he smiled shaking my hand.
He's a commerical realitor and we used to do a lot of business together. I bought a very entrepreneual spirit to homelessness and over the years collected and sold lots of buildings. It was great fun and I liked building or renovating them.
It's one of the things that I miss about what I used to do. I like doing deals. Things that aren't suppose to happen can and its a rush when they do!
Then there's the joy of watching someone who doesn't have a place to live or access to health care move in or get treated for the first time.
It's fun creating something out of nothing ... especially when nobody thinks you have a snowballs chance in hell!
Ted Turner recently said that if you're a betting person, ninety percent of all new ventures fail. So if you bet against them you're going to win ninety percent of the time. It's real easy to be a skeptic about someone else doing something."
Everything I've ever done in life people have lined up to bet against me.
So far they've lost.
So here I go again ... starting something new. I believe in it. I know the people I'm working with are the right people. I believe the wind is in our sails and there's smooth sailing ahead. I understand that God is with us.
Oftentimes, the past gets in your way. For a couple of years, it certainly got in mine.
But I'm a believer in the future. I'm a member of the ten percent who believe that dreams comes true in spite of the things other people say. I don't know how I know but ... I know.
"If you're not part of the future then get out of the way," says John Mellencamp.
To which I add, "Now! Dammit!"
He's a commerical realitor and we used to do a lot of business together. I bought a very entrepreneual spirit to homelessness and over the years collected and sold lots of buildings. It was great fun and I liked building or renovating them.
It's one of the things that I miss about what I used to do. I like doing deals. Things that aren't suppose to happen can and its a rush when they do!
Then there's the joy of watching someone who doesn't have a place to live or access to health care move in or get treated for the first time.
It's fun creating something out of nothing ... especially when nobody thinks you have a snowballs chance in hell!
Ted Turner recently said that if you're a betting person, ninety percent of all new ventures fail. So if you bet against them you're going to win ninety percent of the time. It's real easy to be a skeptic about someone else doing something."
Everything I've ever done in life people have lined up to bet against me.
So far they've lost.
So here I go again ... starting something new. I believe in it. I know the people I'm working with are the right people. I believe the wind is in our sails and there's smooth sailing ahead. I understand that God is with us.
Oftentimes, the past gets in your way. For a couple of years, it certainly got in mine.
But I'm a believer in the future. I'm a member of the ten percent who believe that dreams comes true in spite of the things other people say. I don't know how I know but ... I know.
"If you're not part of the future then get out of the way," says John Mellencamp.
To which I add, "Now! Dammit!"
Saturday, October 13, 2012
Cat Lady
It's best to be honest about it. If I had a gun I would shoot the cat that is screeching and her owner who is also screeching.
"HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY," she yells from her back deck dressed in a faded pink bath robe with cat hair flying around and a blue towel wrapped high on her head.
She looks and sounds like Marge Simpson on meth!
The cat is moaning in the bushes below and obviously not happy that her owner is up and calling for her.
It is a beautiful morning. A northeast ocean breeze blows cool air on a warm day. Leaves dance, choirs of birds sing and a brilliant sun rest in the branches of the Palm Tree with the oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt. Goddess lovingly snores underneath my feet which dangle from the high top chair on the beloved back deck. Winston, the little gay dog, is quiet and preoccupied licking himself. Sarah is asleep and I sit in thoughtfulness thinking deep things.
Then the cat starts moaning seconds before my neighbor the Cat Lady starts screeching as she is apparently unaware of noise ordinance laws on Tybee Island.
Because I do not own a gun and can't take her out now, I contemplate calling the police. That would be easy. You can get arrested for anything on the island now. It's not like the old days when you really had to try!
Now Tybee is a dichotomy of free spirited loving people and Nazis. The church people mostly get along while the politicians take sides spitting venom at one another. The marsh is changing seasons ... from the brilliant greens that I love to a golden brown that almost looks like a wheat field.
Beauty drips everywhere on a morning that God made just for me.
Until the Cat Lady wakes.
Then Hell comes on earth as it is in ... HELL!
Suddenly I believe in violence, the NRA, carrying concealed and not-so-concealed weapons, Satan and Rush Limbaugh.
Cat Lady sees me sitting here. Goddess growls. Winston, the little gay dog, stops licking himself and growls too assuming the position beside his older sister.
"Good morning," Cat Lady screeches.
I nod and shake my head trying to conjure a response but it just won't come.
She turns and walks back inside leaving a swirling cloud of cat hair.
The cat moans again.
Suddenly, Goddess, Winston the little gay dog and I all feel sorry for the cat.
"HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY," she yells from her back deck dressed in a faded pink bath robe with cat hair flying around and a blue towel wrapped high on her head.
She looks and sounds like Marge Simpson on meth!
The cat is moaning in the bushes below and obviously not happy that her owner is up and calling for her.
It is a beautiful morning. A northeast ocean breeze blows cool air on a warm day. Leaves dance, choirs of birds sing and a brilliant sun rest in the branches of the Palm Tree with the oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt. Goddess lovingly snores underneath my feet which dangle from the high top chair on the beloved back deck. Winston, the little gay dog, is quiet and preoccupied licking himself. Sarah is asleep and I sit in thoughtfulness thinking deep things.
Then the cat starts moaning seconds before my neighbor the Cat Lady starts screeching as she is apparently unaware of noise ordinance laws on Tybee Island.
Because I do not own a gun and can't take her out now, I contemplate calling the police. That would be easy. You can get arrested for anything on the island now. It's not like the old days when you really had to try!
Now Tybee is a dichotomy of free spirited loving people and Nazis. The church people mostly get along while the politicians take sides spitting venom at one another. The marsh is changing seasons ... from the brilliant greens that I love to a golden brown that almost looks like a wheat field.
Beauty drips everywhere on a morning that God made just for me.
Until the Cat Lady wakes.
Then Hell comes on earth as it is in ... HELL!
Suddenly I believe in violence, the NRA, carrying concealed and not-so-concealed weapons, Satan and Rush Limbaugh.
Cat Lady sees me sitting here. Goddess growls. Winston, the little gay dog, stops licking himself and growls too assuming the position beside his older sister.
"Good morning," Cat Lady screeches.
I nod and shake my head trying to conjure a response but it just won't come.
She turns and walks back inside leaving a swirling cloud of cat hair.
The cat moans again.
Suddenly, Goddess, Winston the little gay dog and I all feel sorry for the cat.
Friday, October 12, 2012
Let Us Tell It
Up until now I've had three jobs in my career. I fell into the first one when I was in Seminary and became pastor of a church that nobody wanted. In Louisville's inner city, the congregation consisted of three little old ladies who were too tired to go looking for a proper minister so they chose me.
"We want you to be our minister," Buna Wynn told me with a Bible in one hand and a Maxwell House coffee can in the other.
"I don't want to be," I replied wearing blue jeans and a football jersey.
"Tough," she shot back spitting tobacco juice into the can.
"I've never preached a sermon," I protested.
"Can't be any worse than some of the crap we've already had to sit through," she answered while putting one hand on the butcher knife she kept in her apron.
"OK," I said and that's how I became a professional Christian.
Eight years later I left in controversy but the church was strong with hundreds coming every day for something and there was money in the bank.
Then I was the Executive Director of the Louisville Coalition for the Homeless. I hated it. It was mostly administrative and sitting in meetings with government people which is like spending your entire day listening to a Vice-Presidential debate. You're ready to slit wrists!
Rather than resign my son and I got in a terrible wreck in another state and never went back.
After that I was President of Union Mission for a couple of decades. We did a lot of good stuff, became a multi-million dollar company and was widely recognized as the best and most efficient homeless program in the nation.
It was fun until one day it wasn't anymore. I gave it everything I had and they took it so I left ... and went to work on me.
Over the past couple of years, I've piddled in other things. I consulted and got to hang out with all of the other consultants in airports. That was nice.
I spent several months helping the Street Medicine Institute get its act together spending most of my time with the famous Dr. Jim Withers in airports and hotel rooms when we weren't in the woods or under bridges where too many Americans live.
It's one of the reasons I love America. We build bridges so that people can have a roof over their head. We're very economical that way.
Now it's time to get back to what I do best ... helping others help themselves. With great partners we're launching a new company ... Let Us Tell It. Check it out at www.letustellit.com, on Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, Youtube or by staring at the stars at night.
I woke up early today, excited about all of the things I need to get done. Staring at the stars while hot water rained on me in the outdoor shower, I felt good.
And for the first time in a long time ... ready to get to work.
"We want you to be our minister," Buna Wynn told me with a Bible in one hand and a Maxwell House coffee can in the other.
"I don't want to be," I replied wearing blue jeans and a football jersey.
"Tough," she shot back spitting tobacco juice into the can.
"I've never preached a sermon," I protested.
"Can't be any worse than some of the crap we've already had to sit through," she answered while putting one hand on the butcher knife she kept in her apron.
"OK," I said and that's how I became a professional Christian.
Eight years later I left in controversy but the church was strong with hundreds coming every day for something and there was money in the bank.
Then I was the Executive Director of the Louisville Coalition for the Homeless. I hated it. It was mostly administrative and sitting in meetings with government people which is like spending your entire day listening to a Vice-Presidential debate. You're ready to slit wrists!
Rather than resign my son and I got in a terrible wreck in another state and never went back.
After that I was President of Union Mission for a couple of decades. We did a lot of good stuff, became a multi-million dollar company and was widely recognized as the best and most efficient homeless program in the nation.
It was fun until one day it wasn't anymore. I gave it everything I had and they took it so I left ... and went to work on me.
Over the past couple of years, I've piddled in other things. I consulted and got to hang out with all of the other consultants in airports. That was nice.
I spent several months helping the Street Medicine Institute get its act together spending most of my time with the famous Dr. Jim Withers in airports and hotel rooms when we weren't in the woods or under bridges where too many Americans live.
It's one of the reasons I love America. We build bridges so that people can have a roof over their head. We're very economical that way.
Now it's time to get back to what I do best ... helping others help themselves. With great partners we're launching a new company ... Let Us Tell It. Check it out at www.letustellit.com, on Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, Youtube or by staring at the stars at night.
I woke up early today, excited about all of the things I need to get done. Staring at the stars while hot water rained on me in the outdoor shower, I felt good.
And for the first time in a long time ... ready to get to work.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Lost Connections ... Found!
"Sometimes your critics compliment you more than your friends," says my former Professor Glenn Hinson.
It's one of those lines that make you stop and ponder it even though it sits in middle of a paragraph about other things. Then again Glenn has an incredible gift of saying or writing something that grabs you by the throat and doesn't let you go.
I've collected my fair share of critics over the years and they remain an active lot.
I owe them a lot too I suppose.
My first YouTube video was done by Clara Mae Curry during which she rips me a new one. Sitting in Forsyth Park, dressed for Church and sitting as though on a pew, she tells the universe that "Micheal Elliott is not the great I AM. Micheal Elliott is not God. Micheal Elliott is not Jesus and Micheal Elliott couldn't hold the staff of Moses."
There's a lot of other stuff I can't do either.
It's pretty good!
You can YouTube it and see for yourself.
These days though you have to work your way down the list to find Clara's "testimony." There's a bunch of videos of me and they likely wouldn't be there if she hadn't taken the initiative to tell the world what a lousy person I am.
I thanked her once, when she'd called the press and getting mad at them when they refused to interview her. She was carrying a sign outside my office proclaiming, "Micheal Elliott eats well but others don't!"
The reporter stuck a microphone in front of my face when I walked up demanding to know what I had to say to Mrs. Curry?
Clara looked at me with anticipation.
"Well," I said unprepared for the interview. "She's absolutely right. It's hard to argue with that. I do eat better than most of the world. Famine is everywhere. People go hungry. Thank you Clara for bringing this matter to light."
The reporter and Clara looked deflated as I strolled back to my office.
The reporter got in her car and left but Clara, God Bless Her, spent another two hours marching up and down the sidewalk letting the world know what she thought.
That was a decade ago.
Whenever I miss Clara ... or get to thinking too much about myself ... I just YouTube me and she's right there reminding me that I'm not all that.
It's one of those lines that make you stop and ponder it even though it sits in middle of a paragraph about other things. Then again Glenn has an incredible gift of saying or writing something that grabs you by the throat and doesn't let you go.
I've collected my fair share of critics over the years and they remain an active lot.
I owe them a lot too I suppose.
My first YouTube video was done by Clara Mae Curry during which she rips me a new one. Sitting in Forsyth Park, dressed for Church and sitting as though on a pew, she tells the universe that "Micheal Elliott is not the great I AM. Micheal Elliott is not God. Micheal Elliott is not Jesus and Micheal Elliott couldn't hold the staff of Moses."
There's a lot of other stuff I can't do either.
It's pretty good!
You can YouTube it and see for yourself.
These days though you have to work your way down the list to find Clara's "testimony." There's a bunch of videos of me and they likely wouldn't be there if she hadn't taken the initiative to tell the world what a lousy person I am.
I thanked her once, when she'd called the press and getting mad at them when they refused to interview her. She was carrying a sign outside my office proclaiming, "Micheal Elliott eats well but others don't!"
The reporter stuck a microphone in front of my face when I walked up demanding to know what I had to say to Mrs. Curry?
Clara looked at me with anticipation.
"Well," I said unprepared for the interview. "She's absolutely right. It's hard to argue with that. I do eat better than most of the world. Famine is everywhere. People go hungry. Thank you Clara for bringing this matter to light."
The reporter and Clara looked deflated as I strolled back to my office.
The reporter got in her car and left but Clara, God Bless Her, spent another two hours marching up and down the sidewalk letting the world know what she thought.
That was a decade ago.
Whenever I miss Clara ... or get to thinking too much about myself ... I just YouTube me and she's right there reminding me that I'm not all that.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Life's erosion
The tide rolls out having engulfed the beach, sucking in sand, cigarette butts, plastic bottle tops and discarded clothing from last night's lovers in the sand.
The sea will accept these things or it won't.
It cuts both ways.
Sand builds bars while reducing the beach.
Cigarettes are swallowed so fish can eat them, grow sick and die.
Plastic kills most everything it floats near in the water ... in multiple ways and the most gruesome of fashions.
Panties, bras, briefs and boxers roll around the ocean floor collecting sand and living things until the motion wears them down.
Thankfully, the tide also rolls in bringing some of these things back as sand is spit back to the beach.
Cigarette butts are neatly lined at the high water mark for volunteers to pick up or to be swallowed again by the sea.
Bottle caps and plastic are far less common to be washed back as they are eaten, mistaken for common food.
Dirty underwear rests there too, now drying in the sun.
Such is erosion on the beach.
Such is erosion in life ... friendships come and go ... mean unpleasantness is stomached and spit out ... after being discarded by trusted ones you are picked up by the unexpected ... and sooner or later in life, each of our secrets are laid bare for all to see.
Yesterday a friend of mine was treated horribly and called out for help. It was mean and unexpected leaving him hurt and angry. Then his adversary, or Satan in its original language, called and said it was a mistake. He was needed after all. Would he please just pretend it did't happen?
It's funny stuff ... the give and take of life ... what people do to one another ... the constant dance of drunks and thieves with the Holy and Pius ... the haves and the have not's ... Sinners and Saints ... the ascending and the fallen.
I stand with my feet in the ocean a lot. Staring out into the magnificence of the sea, turning my back on all of the things people do to one another so I can keep believing in better things like ... righteousness ... good ... equality ... acceptance ... purity.
Then I turn around and see how far we've fallen.
The sea will accept these things or it won't.
It cuts both ways.
Sand builds bars while reducing the beach.
Cigarettes are swallowed so fish can eat them, grow sick and die.
Plastic kills most everything it floats near in the water ... in multiple ways and the most gruesome of fashions.
Panties, bras, briefs and boxers roll around the ocean floor collecting sand and living things until the motion wears them down.
Thankfully, the tide also rolls in bringing some of these things back as sand is spit back to the beach.
Cigarette butts are neatly lined at the high water mark for volunteers to pick up or to be swallowed again by the sea.
Bottle caps and plastic are far less common to be washed back as they are eaten, mistaken for common food.
Dirty underwear rests there too, now drying in the sun.
Such is erosion on the beach.
Such is erosion in life ... friendships come and go ... mean unpleasantness is stomached and spit out ... after being discarded by trusted ones you are picked up by the unexpected ... and sooner or later in life, each of our secrets are laid bare for all to see.
Yesterday a friend of mine was treated horribly and called out for help. It was mean and unexpected leaving him hurt and angry. Then his adversary, or Satan in its original language, called and said it was a mistake. He was needed after all. Would he please just pretend it did't happen?
It's funny stuff ... the give and take of life ... what people do to one another ... the constant dance of drunks and thieves with the Holy and Pius ... the haves and the have not's ... Sinners and Saints ... the ascending and the fallen.
I stand with my feet in the ocean a lot. Staring out into the magnificence of the sea, turning my back on all of the things people do to one another so I can keep believing in better things like ... righteousness ... good ... equality ... acceptance ... purity.
Then I turn around and see how far we've fallen.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
A Normal Encounter with the Past
Gliding through the produce section of Publix with a bouquet of flowers in the cart, he smiled and called my name a half second before I smiled and called his. Lugging a case of water to where I stood we warmly shook hands and immediately fell into conversation catching each other up.
It's been three years since I was at the Georgia State Capitol for a meeting he was hosting on my behalf. Several Department Heads sat scattered around the heavy oak table. Though they were busy running their various departments none were in a position to decline an invitation from the State's Chief Operations Officer. That's what Jim Lintz did three years ago.
I was still at Union Mission, had taken our key staff to the meeting. It was a debriefing over the failure of a behavioral health collaborative that tried to privatize services for the mentally ill. It ended up being too much change at once for a state bureaucracy and too overwhelming for us to manage.
We were meeting to pick up the pieces while planning for another try.
Jim had been instrumental in it all and there are several things I remember about the meeting. Minutes before I entered the room I got notice that a divorce I didn't ask for was finalized. Talk about taking the steam out of your sails.
But I threw myself into the moment, worked the room like a man on a mission and we walked away with pledges of new commitments and some patched up alliances.
Then I went and got drunk.
It was soon afterwards that my time with Union Mission ended. While I licked my wounds there was no reason for me to log countless hours at the Capitol, visit Jim or spend more nights in Atlanta.
I retreated to the Beach and a tight group of friends and family.
But it was good to see Jim yesterday. He laughed at my ear ring, long hair, Marlin Monroe's tee shirt and black running shorts. I told him he looked as stately as he ever did with a perfect white hair, starched shirt and creased pants.
We talked for fifteen minutes or so, smiled a lot, and congratulated one another on the good things we'd done. Then we slid back into the present ... he as a semi-retired Life Coach and me as a Beach Bum writer with big plans.
"See you on the beach," he said as I rolled my cart towards the check out lane.
"It's better than your office at the Capitol," I replied.
"It is," he said flashing his million dollar smile.
It's been three years since I was at the Georgia State Capitol for a meeting he was hosting on my behalf. Several Department Heads sat scattered around the heavy oak table. Though they were busy running their various departments none were in a position to decline an invitation from the State's Chief Operations Officer. That's what Jim Lintz did three years ago.
I was still at Union Mission, had taken our key staff to the meeting. It was a debriefing over the failure of a behavioral health collaborative that tried to privatize services for the mentally ill. It ended up being too much change at once for a state bureaucracy and too overwhelming for us to manage.
We were meeting to pick up the pieces while planning for another try.
Jim had been instrumental in it all and there are several things I remember about the meeting. Minutes before I entered the room I got notice that a divorce I didn't ask for was finalized. Talk about taking the steam out of your sails.
But I threw myself into the moment, worked the room like a man on a mission and we walked away with pledges of new commitments and some patched up alliances.
Then I went and got drunk.
It was soon afterwards that my time with Union Mission ended. While I licked my wounds there was no reason for me to log countless hours at the Capitol, visit Jim or spend more nights in Atlanta.
I retreated to the Beach and a tight group of friends and family.
But it was good to see Jim yesterday. He laughed at my ear ring, long hair, Marlin Monroe's tee shirt and black running shorts. I told him he looked as stately as he ever did with a perfect white hair, starched shirt and creased pants.
We talked for fifteen minutes or so, smiled a lot, and congratulated one another on the good things we'd done. Then we slid back into the present ... he as a semi-retired Life Coach and me as a Beach Bum writer with big plans.
"See you on the beach," he said as I rolled my cart towards the check out lane.
"It's better than your office at the Capitol," I replied.
"It is," he said flashing his million dollar smile.
Monday, October 8, 2012
I Lost Monday
I do not care for this weather.
The temperature has dropped twenty degrees since yesterday. It is so chilly that I have to wear a Full Moon Party tee shirt and black running shorts as I sit on the Beloved Back Deck. This just sucks!
On the other hand, yesterday was stunningly beautiful! Sarah and I strolled down the beach to Marlin Monroe's to hook up with friends and listen to Michael Moody play good music. Julia-just-Julia was there along with Essie, O Johnny (not to be confused with Johnny O) and of course Roma.
There was even a guest appearance by Sugar Britches who once lost her belly button. But Johnny O found it on his porch so everything turned out alright.
Afterwards, we strolled back down the beach to our house. It was gorgeous! The setting sun sprinkled diamonds on the ocean, families played in the surf and lovers made their way to the sand dunes. At home we had dinner with the doors and windows open and throughout the evening I'd wander out into the night to gaze at the stars and give thanks to the moon. Clothing was optional.
This morning when I stumbled down the stares carrying Winston, the little gay dog, to the outdoor shower, a chilly breeze blew off the ocean. Standing under the hot water raining down upon me, I realized that the Cat Lady has all of her windows shut. No wonder I haven't heard her in a while. She is my next-door-neighbor and collects feral cats for a living. Throughout the day and night she steps onto her deck to screech, "HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY."
She makes you believe in owning a bazooka.
As I stood there waking up, I realized the change in temperature. My first words of the day were "Holy Shit!"
So I figure this is a lost Monday. It's just not worth it when you have to fight off the cold like this.
I know, I know ... a lot of you crazy people like cooler weather. You like to wear clothes and stuff like that. Sweaters are some of your favorite things.
Many of my crazier friends actually choose to live in places where jackets and boots are the norm right now. These are Monday People! They make absolutely no sense and are the main reason the country has gone to hell.
Well, they can have it!
I'm losing this Monday!
Hmmmmm ... Sarah's still in bed.
I love it when a plan comes together.
The temperature has dropped twenty degrees since yesterday. It is so chilly that I have to wear a Full Moon Party tee shirt and black running shorts as I sit on the Beloved Back Deck. This just sucks!
On the other hand, yesterday was stunningly beautiful! Sarah and I strolled down the beach to Marlin Monroe's to hook up with friends and listen to Michael Moody play good music. Julia-just-Julia was there along with Essie, O Johnny (not to be confused with Johnny O) and of course Roma.
There was even a guest appearance by Sugar Britches who once lost her belly button. But Johnny O found it on his porch so everything turned out alright.
Afterwards, we strolled back down the beach to our house. It was gorgeous! The setting sun sprinkled diamonds on the ocean, families played in the surf and lovers made their way to the sand dunes. At home we had dinner with the doors and windows open and throughout the evening I'd wander out into the night to gaze at the stars and give thanks to the moon. Clothing was optional.
This morning when I stumbled down the stares carrying Winston, the little gay dog, to the outdoor shower, a chilly breeze blew off the ocean. Standing under the hot water raining down upon me, I realized that the Cat Lady has all of her windows shut. No wonder I haven't heard her in a while. She is my next-door-neighbor and collects feral cats for a living. Throughout the day and night she steps onto her deck to screech, "HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY."
She makes you believe in owning a bazooka.
As I stood there waking up, I realized the change in temperature. My first words of the day were "Holy Shit!"
So I figure this is a lost Monday. It's just not worth it when you have to fight off the cold like this.
I know, I know ... a lot of you crazy people like cooler weather. You like to wear clothes and stuff like that. Sweaters are some of your favorite things.
Many of my crazier friends actually choose to live in places where jackets and boots are the norm right now. These are Monday People! They make absolutely no sense and are the main reason the country has gone to hell.
Well, they can have it!
I'm losing this Monday!
Hmmmmm ... Sarah's still in bed.
I love it when a plan comes together.
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Reservations for Sunday
"So I'm lying here staring at the ceiling tiles and I'm thinking about what to think about. Just listening and relistening to Smiley Smile and I wonder if this is some kind of creative drought."
Its one of my favorite lines from a song by the Barenaked Ladies. The famous Beach Boy Brian Wilson is lying in bed, when he's not playing in the sand box that he had built in his living room. He' just experienced a nervous breakdown after trying to compete with The Beatles as they released Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. Brian was writing Smile as the follow up to their album Pet Sounds which is considered one of the greatest of all time but he hit a wall and never finished it.
His mental health deteriorated, he withdrew from the public and it took him years to get over it.
I understand.
I've done lots of cool things, been to fantastic places, met incredible people, achieved virtually all of my goals and won many awards.
The cool things are memories now. So are the places. Most of the people are busy with their own lives and we can look one another up on the Internet if we miss the friendship we used to share. The accomplishments are not as important as they once were and the awards are in boxes at my Mother's house.
Well, Cassidy does have this silver plate with my name engraved on it to serve her Barbie dolls food. I got it a few weeks ago in Memphis for stuff I used to do and she asked me if she could have it. She's having more fun with it than I ever will.
I have been to the mountain top ... and it's not all that.
It's mostly occupied by people who believe they're better than anyone else. The live in gated communities and private clubs. I once longed to be one of them and then I was and now I don't care anymore.
As I age certain things are becoming more precious. This wonderful island I live on remains The Promised Land. The Carnival of Friends may as well be The Beloved Community. Sarah is love personified. The kids are the joy of life and the girls are unexpected blessings. The things I believe are not as many as they used to be.
Sometimes I stare at Goddess, the dog who has shared the pleasure and the pain with me, as she sleeps at my feet. I thank God she's still has time with me and I'm already fearful of the day she dies.
Winston, the little gay dog, prances around bringing his own joy of life into our house.
But I know nothing last forever. Goddess will indeed die and my heart will break again and I will sob uncontrollably. I've done that before and as sad as it is, I'll do it again.
In the meantime I'm hugging my dog and friend on this wonderful warm and Sunday morning. Then I'm going to wake Sarah with kisses. And I want to talk to the kids today. Mom's coming home and I want to talk to her too. And the girls are all up to something. And Winston the little gay dog, will make me verbalize his family lineage.
Sunday is reserved for these things.
Its one of my favorite lines from a song by the Barenaked Ladies. The famous Beach Boy Brian Wilson is lying in bed, when he's not playing in the sand box that he had built in his living room. He' just experienced a nervous breakdown after trying to compete with The Beatles as they released Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. Brian was writing Smile as the follow up to their album Pet Sounds which is considered one of the greatest of all time but he hit a wall and never finished it.
His mental health deteriorated, he withdrew from the public and it took him years to get over it.
I understand.
I've done lots of cool things, been to fantastic places, met incredible people, achieved virtually all of my goals and won many awards.
The cool things are memories now. So are the places. Most of the people are busy with their own lives and we can look one another up on the Internet if we miss the friendship we used to share. The accomplishments are not as important as they once were and the awards are in boxes at my Mother's house.
Well, Cassidy does have this silver plate with my name engraved on it to serve her Barbie dolls food. I got it a few weeks ago in Memphis for stuff I used to do and she asked me if she could have it. She's having more fun with it than I ever will.
I have been to the mountain top ... and it's not all that.
It's mostly occupied by people who believe they're better than anyone else. The live in gated communities and private clubs. I once longed to be one of them and then I was and now I don't care anymore.
As I age certain things are becoming more precious. This wonderful island I live on remains The Promised Land. The Carnival of Friends may as well be The Beloved Community. Sarah is love personified. The kids are the joy of life and the girls are unexpected blessings. The things I believe are not as many as they used to be.
Sometimes I stare at Goddess, the dog who has shared the pleasure and the pain with me, as she sleeps at my feet. I thank God she's still has time with me and I'm already fearful of the day she dies.
Winston, the little gay dog, prances around bringing his own joy of life into our house.
But I know nothing last forever. Goddess will indeed die and my heart will break again and I will sob uncontrollably. I've done that before and as sad as it is, I'll do it again.
In the meantime I'm hugging my dog and friend on this wonderful warm and Sunday morning. Then I'm going to wake Sarah with kisses. And I want to talk to the kids today. Mom's coming home and I want to talk to her too. And the girls are all up to something. And Winston the little gay dog, will make me verbalize his family lineage.
Sunday is reserved for these things.
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Dancing through debauchery
Sarah and I danced on the stage oblivious to most everyone else. Stars twinkled above the ocean, an almost full moon slowly rolled across the black night and children played with glow sticks of every color on the beach. The band was rocking, playing Beach Music and friends darted in and out of our personal space. We enjoyed them but we mostly enjoyed each other, copping occasional feels and sharing sensual smiles.
Our bicycles were somewhere on Tybrisa Street, probably getting drunk listening to the Samuel Adams Band, who play really damn good live music on Tybee Island. Later we'll go collect them and get them home.
I hoped and prayed that they hadn't hooked up with Whitley Reynolds' bike because that is one drunk ass bicycle and it often leads others astray!
We were surrounded by Pirates, drinking Grog and most everything else imaginable. Buxom wenches busting out of their clothes, obviously proud of enhancement surgery wandered around with attorneys and account executives dressed as swashbucklers.
Everyone was enjoying debauchery .... except for Erica Backus who was working her ass off. Then again, she is incredible.
No one cared though.
We were really into debauchery!
Tybee does debauchery very well.
I think per capita, we have more on this island than anywhere else in the world. I'll have to ask Joanie Woodcock if this is true.
The fact of the matter is that it was a perfect night on the island. Waves gently kissed the shore. People smiled. Music ascending to heaven. God rained beauty in the stars. Laughter erupted and dolphins smiled.
And Sarah and I just danced.
Our bicycles were somewhere on Tybrisa Street, probably getting drunk listening to the Samuel Adams Band, who play really damn good live music on Tybee Island. Later we'll go collect them and get them home.
I hoped and prayed that they hadn't hooked up with Whitley Reynolds' bike because that is one drunk ass bicycle and it often leads others astray!
We were surrounded by Pirates, drinking Grog and most everything else imaginable. Buxom wenches busting out of their clothes, obviously proud of enhancement surgery wandered around with attorneys and account executives dressed as swashbucklers.
Everyone was enjoying debauchery .... except for Erica Backus who was working her ass off. Then again, she is incredible.
No one cared though.
We were really into debauchery!
Tybee does debauchery very well.
I think per capita, we have more on this island than anywhere else in the world. I'll have to ask Joanie Woodcock if this is true.
The fact of the matter is that it was a perfect night on the island. Waves gently kissed the shore. People smiled. Music ascending to heaven. God rained beauty in the stars. Laughter erupted and dolphins smiled.
And Sarah and I just danced.
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