Missing Boxing day

For years I would cook a large southern breakfast for a family of Canadians in St. Martin. After waking up, likely hung over from Christmas, I'd sleepily stumble to the pristine acqua-blue water of Orient Bay and fall face forward to wake up. Then I'd make my way to the Villa where I was to cook.

They were all still asleep as I made myself at home in the kitchen. Sausage gravy and biscuits, eggs and cheese grits were simply "Delics" as they put it! Once I had to make my own sausage which is a pain but I pulled it off (Thank you Jodee Sadowsky for all of those years watching you make it!).

Then we'd fix "Boat Drinks" and return to the beach.

I learned about Boxing Day from my Canadian friends. Those who had to work on Christmas, mostly servants, were given the next day off. Employers gave them boxes of left over food or perhaps a present for another year of service.

Over the years I prepared breakfast on Boxing Day in St. Martin, it was sometimes a lavish affair ... once there were almost twenty of us and Conner tried to play ping-pong ... and the last time, three years ago, it was just me and my Canadian friends. The day reeked of sadness and alcohol. My wife refused to go, remaining in bed, knowing that Christmas was over and she'd had begun the leaving process which would later stun me.

But I remember that day. I happily cooked for a family who dearly love one another. Over the years they were very gracious to me. I visited them in Canada and they came to Tybee Island. I wonder what they're doing today. We had many long dinners together. We danced often. I miss them. And I miss St. Martin.

But Christmas and Boxing Day have become entwined for me. The joyous celebration of the first slides into a subdued leftover. Joy hangs over though the reason has passed. I raise my glass to my Canadian friends ... to left-overs and left-behinds and the left-out.

The Christmas Tree is brightly lit though Christmas has passed. Were it up to me I'd leave it up until it's brown and needles litter the floor in an attempt to squeeze every single bit of Christmas out of it and stretch it throughout the year.

Happy Boxing Day.

And thank you Koster family.

A Beach Bum Christmas

A grey fog hangs in the air shading Fran's thousand shades of green on a warm Christmas morning. There is no ocean breeze so the leaves hang as though still sleeping. My bare feet dangle from the high top chair on the beloved back deck tenderly rubbing Goddess' hair. The Hibiscus blooms are closed but still look like ornaments on a tree.

I contemplate building a fire but there is no chill.

Squirrels dart along the wires hanging overhead. A woodpecker is drilling wood. The ocean sings in the distance. The pungent aroma of the marsh smells like sex in the tropics.

I've gotten what I wanted for Christmas. I'm a beach bum. For years this has been my aspiration but I could never quite figure out how to finance it so I worked and the work always came first. I was a beach bum in my spare time.

No more.

It's the other way around now. I am a full time beach bum who works hard when I'm working but takes time every day appreciate the things going on around me.

I celebrate my friends who either sustained me or keep raising themselves from the dead bring tidings of comfort and joy. A Carnival keeps breaking out for no apparent reason scattering smiles and laughter.

Sarah is sleeping as quiet as a mouse.

So it's just Goddess and me for the moment.

It makes me think back for a moment. I've gotten everything I've asked for this Christmas. Sure there are other things I need but I've got the things I want. Healthy and happy children. The wife I love is sleeping peacefully. I love where I live and the people who live near me. I'm doing the things I really want to do.

I'm having myself a merry little Christmas.

Well ... at least until the girls get home in a few hours then all holy hell will break loose.

Happy Christmas all.

An Unexpected Christmas Jounney

Three years ago today I was happily married to an unhappy woman who already knew she was leaving after the New Year but was keeping it to herself through the Holidays. We were in St. Martin and I was full of joy, cheer and plans for the future. It had been a difficult few years at work and it had taken its toil but I was rebounding and excited about what was coming.

Two years ago I was back in St. Martin ... alone. Fulfilling a promise to herself she had left sending me into a baptism of loneliness, depression and self-pity. As Christmas approached I went back to the place I love because I refuse to let her take that away from me too. Fortunately I was blessed with good friends who made sure I had company and I smiled that day.

Last year I remained home on Tybee Island for Christmas for the first time in years. A Carnival of friends held me close and also for the first time in a decade I watched children wake to open presents and spread Christmas cheer as only kids can do. I was becoming part of a couple.

Today I'm happily married to a happy woman. We're in Key West on a beautiful Christmas Eve though tonight will reunite with the Carnival of friends on Tybee. Tomorrow I'll again watch children open presents under our tree. My children will all dart in and out over the next several days. We'll be home.

It's a long way to come in a short period of time. So much is between the lines that it would take forever to understand just how treacherous the journey was. A lot of things could have happened so that the ending wasn't so happy. Guardian Angels, good Karma, God's love or good luck ... maybe all of them ... got me here today.

There is joy this Christmas and while there may not be peace on earth there is peace in my heart. I'm no longer who I was, unexpected journeys will do that to you, but have a contentment that is hard to describe. I don't know what the future holds but it doesn't frighten me. I am surrounded by love.

So as I kiss the hand beside me, I'm thankful this Christmas. I hope you are too.

The Setting Sun

The setting sun glistened off the aqua waters of the Gulf of Mexico. Standing under a juggler sitting on a ten feet tall unicycle, we listened to a dark skinned Hispanic guitar player crucifying Jimmy Buffett. To our back a guy wrapped in a straight jacket, then in chains, balanced himself on a board resting on top of a barrel screaming at the crowd to watch him and not the impending sunset.

There's nothing quite like the nightly celebration on Mallory Square in Key West.

Several hundred of us were gathered, representing most every nationality, religion, political persuasion and sexual orientation. It felt like what Church should be rather than what it is.

"Excuse me," the plumb woman said as she tapped me on the shoulder.

We were already squeezed tightly together where Sarah and I stood surrounded by Asian and Latino families with their feet dangling off the concrete pier.

"Sure," I signed twisting to one side so she could pass.

Her hand hand was held behind her plump ass holding onto a boy, perhaps fourteen, wearing a helmet, mouth agape with drool. His white spiny leg difficultly lifted itself onto the pier as he moved in slow motion.

His mother beamed with excitement as she hurriedly described the miracle of a setting sun. Sitting down on his knees, his dull brown eyes looked at the Latino families eating Oreo's while shooting words shot out of their mouths as though they were machine guns. He yawned.

His mother waved in our direction asking that her husband join them. He stood behind us with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans looking tired.

"It's warmer here," I said and he laughed for the briefest of moments and remained with us.

The performers stopped performing as the bottom of the sun hit the top of the ocean. The crowd applauded and holding its collective breath as the ancient order of the day's ending leads to the birth of a night.

The excited mother clapped as she described everything to the boy. He looked at it for the briefest of moments then covered his eyes as mine grew moist.

The ocean swallowed the sun and the crowd cheered.

"IT'S OVER!" the performers all yelled. "WATCH ME!"

And I lost him in the crowd.

"Did you see ..." Sarah began to ask but then she saw the ocean in my eyes and knew that I had.

Thank God another Winter Solstice is over

The good news is that Winter Solstice is over.

As much as Bill Berry (not the former drummer for REM but the other one who went to Seminary with me) will hate me saying this, the days are starting to grow longer now. Warmer days will follow! Daylight will begin to linger. The Tides will carry out the dead brown Marsh grass so that green sprouts will grow tall. Northeast winds will cease so that warm southern breezes can blow.

I know ... I know ... we still have the dead of winter to get through. There's little pleasant about January and February. March is schizophrenic. Plus it snows in a lot of places and while it's pretty to look at and for an hour or two ... I hate it.

Bill Berry, on the other hand, absolutely loves it! He likes to actually go outside and get in snow. He rolls around in it and says its invigorating. He and I were actually hit by a bus once on the way to class in Seminary and I don't think he's ever recovered. He loves winter.

I hate it and am ready for it to end. It can't happen soon enough as far as I'm concerned. I hate darkness that falls at 5:30 in the afternoon! Has anything good ever come out of Northeastern winds? Snow turns to sludge. Simply put, cold sucks!

Sarah and I are sitting outside having breakfast in Key West. It is sunny and bright and relatively calm after another boisterous night. It's as Christmas should be except there is a wind blowing out of the north bringing a chill that has sweatshirts with stupid things written on them being the top seller for the Cruise Ship people.

Still ... it's twenty degrees warmer here than at home, I'm wearing black running shorts and a long sleeve University of Georgia tee shirt. The people who work here are all dressed like Eskimos.

Tomorrow's supposed to be near eighty degrees and that's alright with me.

Thank God another Winter Solstice is over.

Reality is a Drag

Let me preface this by saying that I've known a lot of Drag Queens most of my life. It started in Seminary where some students, after lying on their admissions forms, got better paying jobs than the rest of us in the Clubs downtown.

Louisville had a really large and thriving Porn Industry conveniently located in the middle of downtown. Because the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary admonished students to not drink, they filled their free time in other ways.

It was there that I noticed Drag Queens who looked familiar. It didn't take me long to figure out why. When she sat next to me in New Testament studies, she was he! Isn't it miraculous what God can do? Changing a persons sex in the course of a day and then back again is a testimony to the wonderment of it all. I was proud to be in Seminary!

You may be asking what I was doing in the Porn District. I actually lived next door in the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel where I was the Professional Christian. As such Hookers, addicts, homeless people and, yes, Drag Queens sought me out for help so, I was doing it for God. It made me proud to be a Southern Baptist Minister!

Years later Lady Chablis, a very famous Drag Queen, offered to do a show at the conclusion of an AIDS Walk For Life we were sponsoring. I immediately thanked her and everything was arranged. Almost 300 people marched the streets of Savannah  in support of those living with and fighting the disease.

The walk ended at Club One Jefferson where we were all treated to hamburgers, hotdogs and a show by Lady Chablis and her friends!

About half the walkers were children and I've never seen mothers move so fast to cover the eyes of the kids and drag them outside. It's a shame they missed the end of the show which was terrific. It made me proud to be a sponsor of the Walk!

But last night Sarah made me go to the worst group of Drag Queens I've ever seen perform. They were attractive enough, wearing really nice gowns and make up. The place was great and the service super. The crowd was really into the show.

BUT ... I couldn't help but notice when one was singing her mouth wasn't in sync with the song. It was like one of those old Japanese movies where the mouth opened and closed just out of time with the words being said.

Which of course got me tickled.

I laughed my ass off much to the chagrin of Sarah and everyone else inside, especially the performing Drag Queens.

I couldn't help it though. It was one of those times when once you start laughing you just can't stop even if its the same thing over and over again that's making you laugh.

Eventually we left but I continued to giggle. I knew the world was suppose to end today and what better way to prepare for it than to laugh.

So he we are today anyway. The world didn't end.

I'm still giggling as I wonder what we're going to do today.

Gimmie an awkward morning!

It's was the kind of day you pray for but rarely get. The hardest part was dropping Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog, off for boarding but even that turned out great. We found a new Vet just a few blocks from the house! By the time we left the island they'd been treated for everything and are well.

Cheryl Sadowsky showed up and drove us to the airport and we laughed and had a blast as the best of friends do.

Going through security at the Savannah/Hilton Head International Airport (an oxymoron), Sarah helped a woman with two children and a double stroller through X-Ray because the TSA didn't give a damn the Mom was dragging one child while carrying another. I would have helped but TSA was  doing a thorough inspection of my pony tail band.

Seriously, the dude was fingering my band which was still in my hair while making me hold my arms out and spreading my legs!

But the flights were on time, we were given free cocktails and landed in Key West a few minutes early! The weather was sunny, bright and warm ... perfect to kick off Christmas!

Through the miracle of Facebook, I've reconnected with Joey Finch whom I haven't seen since Groves High School almost forty years ago. He graciously was standing there as we entered the Key West International Airport (which is NOT an oxymoron) to greet us and drive us to our Inn.

Years melted away as he drove to the Lighthouse Inn across the street from the Hemingway House. We have a stand alone bungalow with a lighthouse on one side and a swimming pool on the other. It's perfect!

Joey picked us up again and drove us to dinner at a Cuban restaurant where we renewed the celebration of our reunion over whole fried fist, chicken stewed bar-b-q, yellow rice and beans and a pitcher of Sangria!

It's funny how the world is as big, or as small, as we make it. The dead continue to come back to life for me. A couple of years ago it was college mates who reconnected. Now it's people I haven't seen since I was that other person long, long ago in High School. No amount of words can adequately convey witnessing and participating in the miracle of  old things becoming new again. Joey gave us that gift last night.

Afterwards we were on Duval Street where a large crowd was gathered outside of Jimmy Buffett's Margaritaville because Kenny Chesney was playing. The guy at the door took one look at Sarah and let us into the hottest ticket on Key West. It was too crowded to dance but we sand and toasted our good fortune.

When it ended we stumbled outside only to be kidnapped by two incredible musicians making their own music. We dove into the celebration. "Gimme an awkward morning over any lonely night" was the mantra of the place and Sarah and I sand and celebrated before walking arm in arm to our bungalow.

I woke to the sound of roosters crowing.

It's not something you hear on Tybee Island. I laid there for the longest time wondering what it was.

After a while I got up and stumbled outside and fell face first in the pool and floated mooning anyone who cared to be up.

A rooster crowed.

Nobody else seemed to care.

And so the day begins.

Time Off (A critical part of work)!

I JUST HATE WORKING FOR THE MAN!

The problem is I'm the man.

I work for myself and have three partners as we help others help themselves be better companies. They will be the first to tell you that I also continue to give too much of myself away for free. We work from home, when we're not traveling to meetings, and this is far more difficult than I could have ever imagined. There are so many distractions like a beautiful sunny day throws glare on the computer screen so I may as well lose the laundry and work on my tan.

Who can work under such conditions?

Plus there's beer in the fridge.

Sarah also brought three little girls to live with us and they have the unabashed audacity to ask me to play with them when I'm working. What do you do? I never knew I was so good at putting a bow in a doll's hair.

To make it all worse, customers are wanting stuff all of the time. While they are critical to our success, they can be such a nuisance, always wanting something when they want it! Don't they know I'm sitting naked on the back deck trying to get the bows just right in the doll's hair before the girls get home from school and I have to put clothes on again?

The good news is I'm pretty lenient with myself. The company has a pretty loose dress code policy, the commute is nice and we're a pet friendly office. Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog, go to work with me every day.

Sarah works in the office a few doors down from mine and we really enjoy mandated employee break time at 10:00.

Sean and Wen's offices are a short bike ride away.

But it's the pressure of the holiday season and I'm about to snap! There have been too many deadlines in a row, more proposals to write, new justifications to the bank because we haven't made a deposit in three months and I got the wrong damn colored bow in the friggen doll's hair.

Besides I've been in the corporate world. I know that half of everybody working is already off for Christmas and those who aren't off hate those who are. They are holding grudges and not doing a damn thing in the office!

So we're closing the office for a few days before Christmas and going to Key West. I know ... I know ... you're saying, "Let me get this straight. You live on an island. You work on an island. You're going to another island to get away from your island?"

To which I say, "DUH."

I'll tell you one more thing!

The only doll I'm taking with me is Sarah.

Working A Room

I worked rooms for years. Entering I'd go a quick glance over of who was present, prioritize them in my head in terms of must connect with, would be good to connect with, and if I get to them it'd be nice though its not critical.

Of course the same time that I'm doing this so is everyone else in the room there to work and not party. It's easy to tell who is who. The party people are drinking, eating, dancing and laughing. The working people are doing these things too except in a more subdued and calculated manner. We have one eye always searching for who we're going to talk with next.

The biggest and best of such events is the Savannah Chamber of Commerce's annual Savannah Day In Atlanta kicking off the beginning of the Georgia Legislative Assembly. A thousand people, mostly the city's business elite, wanna-be's, State Officials and a handful that I could never figure out why in the hell they were there crowded inside.

Beer, wine and cocktails flow freely. The crowd feasts on oyster, boiled shrimp, pork bar-b-que and Low Country Boil. (If you don't know what a Low Country is then you haven't completely experienced life and will die unfulfilled).

I'd show up a few minutes early, grab a glass of wine and dive into the crowd as though off a diving board into the deep end of the pool. Back and forth the long cavernous room I'd go, talking to this person or that. I rarely got around to eating and by the time things were winding down I was starving, soaked in sweat and ... satisfied.

I'd connected with who I needed and was walking away with either a commitment or the promise of a follow up meeting.

To celebrate, we'd find a quiet restaurant, order a bottle and meticulously review everything that had happened. Who would be followed up first? Who did we miss? What were the surprises and disappointments?

Later I'd go to the hotel bar and sit quietly with my thoughts, often satisfied by sometimes not. Late at night I'd stumble to my room and fall asleep so that I could get up and do it again the next morning.

This was a large part of my job for decades. I've worked rooms across the country and in Europe but the epicenters were always Washington, D.C. (once I kidnapped UGA, the mascot for the beloved University of Georgia and was the most popular person in the room. Sometimes you have to do whatever it takes to get noticed), Atlanta (once I grabbed Governor Zell Miller by the arm and pulled him away from whoever he was talking to saying, "We need to talk. This is important." He had no idea who I was but he did get my elevator speech. Every time I saw him afterwards he told this story.) and Savannah (I once was sneaked into the State GOP meeting by carrying a case of Scotch with a homeless waitress friend. "What the hell are you doing here?" Mayor Susan Weiner yelled, "You're a liberal! I was escorted out by security.).

It was all intense and exhausting fun.

I was good at it.

The other night Sarah and I went on a date to the Holiday Hoedown, a bunch of bands we like were raising money for the needy. Three hundred people gathered in a cavernous hall. Beer, wine and cocktails flowed. Bar-b-que was served. Local celebrities wandered in.

And I didn't do anything. We stood in the back and enjoyed the music. A couple of friends sought us out. I saw one I wanted to say hello to so we did.

It was a nice night in such a setting and it makes me wonder about how much I've missed because of how hard I worked.

But I figure it will get easier. I can still work a room with the best of them if I have to. The thing is, at least for now, I don't have to. 

A Hole In My Heart

Sitting in the auditorium of the newly finished Behavioral Health Center I witnessed a miracle. On stage were thirty mentally ill men and women singing Christmas songs, reading poems or performing dance. When the Center opened in August many of them shuffled their feet into group rooms for therapy or screamed loudly for their medicine. Unorganized chaos had been transformed into Holiday Pageantry.

A pretty long haired blond girl read a letter she'd written. She did so in a low voice unaccustomed to addressing an audience of 200 who collectively leaned forward in our seats to capture her every word. It was the first time she had spoken out loud since arriving.

I cried like a baby in wonderment.

Afterwards a Superior Court Judge with tears in her eyes told me that it was the most wonderful thing she had ever witnessed.

"Next year, I'm bringing all of the Judges. This is amazing."

There was never a next year.

A state-of-the-art treatment center, the first in Georgia in decades, shut down because of bureaucratic Government oversight, personal jealousy, and an angry group of Judges who mandated treatment instead of jail and were frustrated when it created more demand for services than we could possibly deliver.  

When all was said and done, I was left holding an empty bag ... in this case a brand new but empty building ... with lots of egg on my face. It was front page news of course and my two decade track record of delivering one successful program after another crashed into a wall and burned around me.

At the Christmas party the following year, almost one-hundred employees who had lost their jobs thanked me for trying. Most were going back to work at the way it used to be.

I cried then too.

I didn't know it then but it was my last Christmas doing that work after three decades of giving it everything I had ... wives, time, money, compassion and lots of sanity.

Today, three years later, I am mostly recovered though there is a tremendous hole in my heart that was ripped away when it all fell apart. When love collapses it leaves scars and holes that are never fully repaired.

Over the past several days Sarah and I have mourned with the rest of the world at what happened at Sandy Hook Elementary School. Twenty babies, seven school teachers and one mentally ill person are all dead.

If I were there I know I'd be crying. In addition to the slaughter of innocents I'd also weep for what the United States does to mentally ill people which isn't much. Treatment is under funded, often in horrible conditions, uncovered by insurance and weighted down by bureaucrats who really don't give a shit. The mentally ill are mostly left to their own devices, abused and raped by those hired to "care" for them, under-treated, under-medicated and un-cared for by society.

Sure, there are a few bright exceptions but exceptions never make the rule.

Looking back on it, I am proud that I tried yet still coping with failing.

Over the past few months, I've run into some of the players from the failure. Jim Lientz and B. J. Walker said they are proud we tried and helped the people we did. Peter Doliber told me over breakfast that we were just ahead of our time and I was too caustic and polarizing. He said Mark Baggett tells everyone I'm a Son-of-a-bitch and I'm more than happy to oblige him. Frank Barker isn't worth talking about.

The Bible teaches we're to care for the least of these, our brothers and sisters. I know first hand that the mentally ill are un-cared for or under-cared for if treatment is available. The United States believes prison is the answer so it's one of our biggest industries. Lock them away! If you hide the problem then it doesn't exist.

Until a sick person gets a gun leaving us all wounded and wondering.

Christmas in Saran Wrap

"What is going on?" Sam Sahr exclaimed as she wandered up the stairs, toting Eggnog that she'd made herself but was delivering for Dedra who had lost both her keys and her driver's license and was obviously lost herself.  She wasn't at the party.

Sam Sahr stood there staring at us with a most perplexed face.

I suppose it is true that you don't see a group of people dressed in Saran Wrap every day but there we stood wearing plastic hats, ties, dresses, headbands and shorts. Most anyone can throw a Christmas party but we opted for a more creative option and I must say that the Carnival of Friends were indeed creative.

I strolled over to Sam Sahr wearing a red Christmas fig leaf under my Saran Wrap, some tinsel held by Saran Wrap around my chest and a Saran Wrap headband. I was quite dashing.

When I hugged her her body tensed and she felt like concrete.

She didn't stay long.

However, the rest of us had a grand time!

There is a lot of sad and serious stuff going on in the world. The economy still works for those who have a lot but leaves the rest pleading for recovery every day. Degrees from the Government have been issued saying that taxes are going up and we all better register so we can pay up. War is declared on innocent children and the media makes killers rock stars. Poor Joe's are hauling their pregnant wives in search of shelter and there seems to be no room in the Inns.

So we did something about it.  We bought everybody Saran Wrap and told them to get creative. Do something the world doesn't expect you to do. Make it different and fun. Christmas is a time to celebrate but sometimes the weight of the world makes it as plastic and as fake as yard ornaments.

So that's what we did.

Sam Sahr is a witness (though she may be requesting assistance from the relocation program this morning ... or praying for us at Bar Church this morning.)

But in a gloomy world, filled with bad and nasty things, where dreams are often bad nor do they come true like they used to ... we laughed.

Somewhere in the laughter, the hugs, the jokes, the music and the unexpected is the reason for the season. Peace on earth was here for a few hours. Angels sang on high but were drowned out by the noise we were making. Love was here as though it rests in a manger in the living room.

The Massacre of the Innocents

"A voice is heard in Ramah, weeping and great mourning, Rachel is crying for her children and there is no one to comfort her because they are no more."

Sadly, it's part of the Christmas story.

As Jesus was born the Government ordered the massacre of children so as not to disrupt things.  Babies were slaughtered just because one had been born. A rumor spread by three Orientals who came looking for the new King who was just born started it all.

The guys got wise and left before all hell broke loose.

Joseph had a dream to get the hell out of there too. So he packed his family up again and hawed ass.

Then babies were killed. Government enabled it to happen.

This Christmas it's all happened again. Sadly this time there is nothing apocryphal about babies being slaughtered. There are no wise men to prevent it from happening. No dreams from God warned parents to flee.

Government policy allows for anyone to own an automatic weapon and funding for people with mental disorders has been slashed to hell. (NOTE: This is applicable to killers who happen to be white. Obviously white killers have a mental disorder. Black killers are just killers.)

Just like then, the search for Jesus yields no results. There is only weeping and great morning. Mothers and Fathers are crying for their children and there is no one to comfort them.

Perhaps this year's Christmas story will end like the first one did. New children were born and Jesus came home. Life went on. The years passed quickly and the next thing you know Jesus is twelve. Then in the blink of an eye, he's thirty. Three short years later, he's slaughtered too.

This Christmas has the eerie beginning of the first Christmas. A great deal happened after the innocents were slaughtered. Some of it was holy ... a great deal wasn't.

Today I pray that we've learned a lot in 2000 years but right now I'm not so sure.

Really Nice Hair

I couldn't take my eyes of Mick Jagger's hair. Sarah and I were sitting on the sofa watching the Concert for Sandy Benefit in New York and the Rolling Stones were on the stage. For the most part they looked like they're supposed to. 

Drummer Charlie Watts appeared to be dead.

Guitarist Ron Wood looked like Keith Richards.

Keith Richards looked like pirate Santa Claus on crack.

But Mick was sporting new hair. It was the hair of a twenty year old and was damned perfect for a super rock star. It didn't quite fit on the 70 year old man prancing around the stage, ripping his shirt open and screaming instead of singing, "Jumping Jack Flash is a gas, gas, gas."

The Stones are kicking off their fiftieth anniversary concert tour and to promote their new album "GRRR."

"What do you want to call the new record?" the producer likely asked.

"GRRR," drooled out of one of the Stones mouth and that was that.

In preparing for the tour, I wonder if Mick picked up the phone and called Elton John.

"Elton, where did you buy your hair?"

I figure Mick went to the same store. It's probably an exclusive place designed for aging Rock Stars though I really have no idea.

"I may be old but I got to see all the cool bands," reads a magnet on our refrigerator and it's true I think.

I've seen Clapton, Emerson, Lake & Palmer, the James Gang, George Harrison, Elton John, Jimmy Buffett, Grand Funk Railroad, Bruce Springsteen and the Carpenters. There were several other big name bands that I can no longer recall.

All of them had regular hair.

Then again Mick Jagger's always been a trail blazer (though most of us could never quite figure out the trail he was blazing). Perhaps he's doing it again trying to teach a new generation the difference between playing the drums and listening to a drum machine.

I don't know.

He's got really nice hair though.

GRRR!



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Who says you can't?

"Who says you can't go home again?"

Thomas Wolfe says you can't.

Bon Jovi asks, "Who says?"

I'm with Bon Jovi on this one though I appreciate what Thomas Wolfe said.

"You can't go back home to your family, back home to your childhood ...  back home to a young man's dreams of glory and fame, back home to the old forms and systems of things which once seemed so everlasting but which are changing all the time ... back home to the escapes of time and memory."

The response is, "It doesn't matter where you are, it doesn't matter where you go; If it's a million miles away or just a mile up the road, take it in, take it with you when you go. Who says you can't go home?"

I came home.

After High School, with some nudging from my Mom, I went to college a mile up the road and then to Seminary a million miles away. Everything about me changed in those places. I earned degrees, gained experiences, had success and had babies.

Then one day I wanted to go back ... so I did.

It went well for the longest time. Every time my name was in the Savannah Morning News it was followed with, "a Savannah native." It still means something here though I didn't care much about it.

I live where I want, on a clump of sand, outside of the city. I achieved success where no one obtains it, having one hell-of-a-ride that took me around the world. Honors, books, prestige, and broken glass ceilings rained down upon me.

I gave it everything I had. 

And they took it.

Then home didn't want me anymore.

So I went around the world but adamantly refused to give up the clump of sand, the smell of the marsh, the smell of the sea. A group of co-conspirators rallied around me and transformed themselves into a Carnival of Friends.

When home kicks you out ... you're  supposed to leave. They want you gone, meaning you may as well be dead as far as they're concerned. You're not supposed to come back.

That's the story of Jesus right? They nailed his ass to a cross then buried the body behind a large rock so it would never be seen again.

"To hell with this," Jesus said laying there in the dark. In spite of what everyone else wanted he decided to come back out. That's when all hell really broke lose.

It's hard to not like Jesus when he did stuff like that!

Last night I was with my family ... childhood friends and cousins surrounded me, back to where my dreams of fame and glory were birthed, where the old forms and systems I've long broken away from still reign supreme, where time and memory are as alive as I am sitting here.

"I'm not dead yet," the Black Knight says to King Arthur in Monty Python's "In Search of the Holy Grail."

"Tis but a scratch."

He says this even though both arms have been severed as has his legs and his blood is spewing everywhere. He refuses to give up.

If you're going to ever go home again ... then that's the spirit!

So to all of my Homies in Port Wentworth, behind the closed gates of the Landings, in Savannah's historic district, in the Baptist Church that kills spirits while preaching resurrection, in the pompous halls of Government where I once roamed ...

I don't care what you say. I'm home and I'm not leaving in spite of your wishes. As a matter of face I have two words for you ... one is a verb ... the other is a pronoun.

Who says you can't go home?

I have.

The World has changed (and that's good)!

Sitting at a large table in Spankey's South side, the group was finishing up lunch when one pulled out a stack of square, white envelopes.

"I've got a present for y'all," he said handing each of us one.

He is the second generation of a three generation family business with locations in Georgia and Florida. Nearing the end career, his son is positioned to take over. My table mates opened their envelope and pulled out a calendar. Embossed on it is the name of his company. Flipping through the pages it was filled with stock photographs depicting whichever month. His business card was also included.

When I got to the car, I threw the calendar on the seat and hit my I-phone. The calendar app reminded me where I was due next. I checked the instant messages, emails, Facebook, LinkedIn and Twitter before I put the car in reverse. It only took a minute.

I send a text to Sarah to see if she needed anything, Tweeted to let followers know what I thought about things and checked out a video that my friend Mitch had posted. This only took another minute.

Then I put the car in reverse and was on my way to pick up the girls after school.

As I drove my I-phone buzzed with phone calls, beeped with email notifications, dinged as a text message came and sounded like a rattle snake when Sarah communicated. (Before you go jumping to any conclusions, she chose this sound to let me know it was her. I had nothing to do with it! So there!)

The calendar remained quiet and I noticed no activity.

I had an hour to kill so I opened my Netbook and connected to the world and was productive working on proposals customers want as I checked the six open screens. Rhapsody played more of the music Mitch had sent. Facebook noted I had twelve action items, LinkedIn and Twitter had too much activity for me to pay attention to at the moment, Google was open in case I needed to look something up and I'm writing a blog for our company (www.letustellit.com).

The calendar lay there with empty white spaces and colorful displays of somewhere else.

When the girls arrived I shut the Netbook off though the I-phone kept me connected to everything I'd been doing.

Turning up the old fashioned car radio I heard what other people wanted me to hear rather than everything I have at my disposal. After flipping through each channel searching for something I liked, I turned it off, opened Rhapsody on my I-phone and listed to Laura Nyro until the girls arrived. Then the girls turned the radio back on so we could enjoy the crap that's played on Top 40 radio these days.

The world has changed. You don't have to actually go anywhere to travel the world. Our business serves customers across the country and we deliver on the spot. My office is the table under the umbrella on the back deck. My partners have offices five blocks away with a terrific ocean view but our communication is instant and constant. We actually see each other about once a week.

Once home the girls need help with homework. I haven't done school homework since my kids were in school ... I rarely ever did it when I was in school. I Google every question they ask. They think I'm a genius.

Cooking dinner, I can't remember how the sauce is made. Grabbing the I-phone I remind myself.

As night falls I light a fire in the outdoor office and think about everything that was accomplished today. It was actually a lot though not nearly as much as I intended. Grabbing the phone which softly plays music, I typed notes to myself about tomorrow's agenda.

Cleaning up before heading to bed, I see the calendar laying there. I only felt guilt for a moment as I throw it away.

When Life Gets In The Way

Only two blocks into my three mile run, I wasn't loose yet and probably looked like a Lumberjack stomping down the road. Grooving to the tunes streaming into my ears, I'm still getting into it. Typically it takes the first mile before I start feeling good and by then I'm on the beach where everything is better anyway.

The route I take leads me the entire length of the street we live on and its only five blocks long. If I miss the turn, I get wet!

I like our street. Walking out the house, if I look to the right the Marsh is half-a-block away. Looking the other way I see a canopy of trees hanging over the road. In the mornings that's the direction I head.

More than half of the homes are vacant most occupied in the summer. I know everyone who lives here year round. There's the crazy woman who gardens in her underwear, the Cat Lady next door, and the old man who walks his tiny dog twice each day. A couple has two large dogs that walk them every day, a young couple flies a Clemson flag from his front porch and at the very end of the street lives my friend Frank who lost his wife a couple of years ago and has never recovered.

Lumbering away listening to Pearl Jam, I notice a house that was there yesterday is gone today. It's still there ... just no longer put together and lays in a pile on the ground. A bulldozer is resting beside the heap still exhausted from tearing it down. I see pictures are still nailed to pieces of walls. In the distance I see the back of a house I've never seen before.

I keep running but am surprised that a perfectly good house is gone. It was built of cedar which is uncommon but I liked its rustic beach look. It had a garage apartment that stood alone next to it but it's no longer there either.

I reach the beach where everything remains the same yet changes a little bit every day. Eddy's run that weren't there. Sand dunes have grown or have been reduced in size. Horseshoe crabs litter litter the beach dead from a mad dash to float out with the tides. The shrimp boats have disappeared. Yet the ocean remains is ever constant.

It makes for a pensive run. I'm loose now, organizing the day in my head knowing full well that I won't get half of it done. Life will get in the way ... which is as it should be.

I'm not opposed to change and have had my fair share. I asked for some of it and the rest just dropped on me. It's all right. Things have a way of working out so long as you believe they will. If you don't believe they will ... well ... you're screwing yourself.

On Twelfth Street I top the cross walk and make my way home again. I hope it's still there. It was when I left. I hope Sarah hasn't regained her sanity and fled. I'm pretty sure Goddess would still wait on me but I have no confidence in Winston, the little gay dog.

Turning on the street, I breath a sigh of relief that the house is still there. Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog are too. Sarah's car is gone but she left me a note saying she loves me still. I breath a prayer of Thanksgiving. For one more day at least, it all remains the same.

A Service of One

First my cousin Ricky Hinley died. He was just two months younger than me. Then my cousin Rick Donelly passed on and he was born just four weeks after me. Over the weekend the Grim Reaper claimed Ricky's baby sister Sherry Baker.

It makes you wonder.

I don't see how it helps any Divine Plan though certainly people will quickly tell me it will be revealed when God is ready. I don't find this comforting at all. It's more like passing the buck.

We're taught that God is love but I find little of it when motherless children are left behind or an already wounded Grandmother suddenly has new kids to raise.

This is when religion has its best chance to demonstrate its validity. Family, friends and believers can all come together offering love, tears and community. Hopefully, this is what happens though I've seen my fair share of really shitty funerals where love is fake, conversation is the prize and everybody just prays for it to be over.

You can never be certain which religion is going to show up.

Beside me is a towel Dad gave me before he died. He passed on his love of cooking to me, especially on the grill, and he used the towel to wipe the sweat away. It's white with a green strip down the middle and stained and worn. I use it a lot. It's a nice way to keep him close to my heart as I cook, clean or wipe the sweat away while I tan.

There are no tangible testimonies to my cousins other than memories stored in my heart. Ricky and I drank beers on the Pier the last time we were together. He was hurting and a biter about some things but we laughed a lot and promised to do it again. Alas, we never got the chance.

It was also on Tybee the last time I was with Rick. He and my Aunt Becky were visiting so I went to visit them. On a beautiful summer day we watched the tanker ships float into the mouth of the river. We laughed and told stories and promised to do it again on the next visit. It never came.

Sherry too was on Tybee and ran up to me as I was shooting pool with the members of the Bored. I lost the game but my cousin and I talked for an hour or so. Her companion arrived and took her away to ... I'm not certain where they went ... and that was the last time I saw her.

I believe life is a gift that none of us asked for yet each of us share. None of us have any idea how long this gift of life is going to last. A gift's a gift. Some are different than others. They can be short and fast or long and drawn out. You can be born in the greatest of circumstances or the absolute worst. You may be double gifted and have affection in your life ... or not.

Taking my Dad's rag, I wipe my face and touch it to my lips.

The first thing Jesus did after he came back from the dead was cook breakfast on the beach. His friends were all fishing which you may as well do after a funeral. Building a fire in the sand, he grilled fish and called for them to come eat. They did and life went on.

My friend Will D. Campbell once told me, "Mike when someone dies and I go to visit I take my Bible, a bottle of Jack Daniels and potato salad. One of the three ... possibly all three ... will prove to be useful, comforting and holy."

I'm having a service of one this morning. Remembering my cousins I say thanks for their lives but bitch they ended too soon. I think God can take the bitching being God and all.

I thank God for my own life. In spite of its flaws I remain surrounded by affection, love and joyful surprises.

So that's it. There is no day but today. It's the most basic gift that we have though some of us are lucky enough to have other people, adornments and things to make the ride more lovely.

You may as well celebrate it because if you don't you've already started dying.

Christmas in the sand

"Oh bells will be ringing this sad, sad news ..."

Sure enough they really are ringing on a foggy but warm Tybee morning.

The bells sound cold and make me think of winter and snow and other things I don't like. I've been left out in the cold, blown away by people I loved and heard promises of good tidings and joy only to miss them somehow.

I know the Catholic Church has bells but this is the first time I've ever heard them ring on a Sunday morning. I wonder what in the world has the Catholics in a tizzy today?

It can't be the Methodists ... they're not up yet. The Episcopalians, former Southern Baptists who converted to social drinkers, are preparing for shots at morning Communion. The Baptists pretty much keep to themselves.

Sam Adams, who plays damn good live music on weekends, is setting up at Bennie's for Bar Church. People will create a congregation by stopping in on their way home from last night or stumble in after they wake up wherever they happen to wake up ... and with whoever they happen to wake up beside.

Winston, the little gay dog, wearing an obnoxious red sweater is shivering under my dangling bare feet on the beloved back deck. Goddess is passed out under the Chiminea. The breeze is ever so slight, not enough to push Fran's thousand shades of green around. Waves sing morning Hymns in the distance.

It's a muted morning.

"This is the day that the Lord has made ... let us rejoice and be glad in it."

To which I add, "Hell Yeah!"

"You look naughty but I'm sure you're nice," could be a Tybee mantra.

It must be holy because the damn bells are still ringing!

Who wants sad when they can have happy?

Christmas in the sand beats the hell out of anything else.

And Tybee does Christmas pretty good!

The sun suddenly explodes out of the fog. The bells stop ringing as the waves crashing into the shore get louder. It's hard not to believe in God when it all happens at once.

Christmas is coming ... and its best when in comes in the sand.

Funky Christmas Beginnings on Tybee Island

The lighting of the Christmas Tree was wonderful last night. We gathered around a tree that looks like a big old bush decorated with beach balls and counted down in unison ... 5 ... 4 ... 3 ... 2 ... 1!

Nothing.

It remained as dark as the night.

Kids moaned. Adults took another sip.

"Do it again!" Billy ordered everyone. He was wearing a red sweater and a Santa hat and appeared to be the closest thing to an authority figure present. The Tybee Island Police Department were all busy inspecting the crowd making certain that Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog, weren't present as they've had skirmishes with the law.

Because Billy was wearing red and looked like Santa after a couple too many ... plus he taught choir to most of the kids on the island ... everybody did it again.

5 ... 4 ... 3 ... 2 ... 1!

And someone plugged the bush with the balls beating on it in the breeze and ... it was right out of a Frankenstein movie ... the lights blinked on and off ... the crowd held our breath ... would it work? ... would it not? ... the only sound was the psssffftt of the lights blinking on followed by the psssfffttt of the lights going off.

While this was happening I sneaked into Doc's Bar where Frank Shuman's birthday was being held to refill my wine. Frank died a few months ago but the island loves him still and just because he can't be here is no reason to not celebrate the fact that he was here ... it's kind of like Christmas.

There was a swell party going on but I didn't want Sarah to know I'd left at all while she and the girls, D-Luv, Sean and Wen, Glen and Vickie, Johnny O and Judy O, Jodee and Cheryl were all standing there breathing in and out with the lights ....

psssffft ..... psssffftt ... blink on ... blink off ...

No one noticed I'd gone to celebrate Frank's birthday.

I took a sip and half the lights came on and stayed on. That was enough excitement for the crowd. They all cheered and walked away while Wanda proclaimed that she was sorry that the Mayor couldn't be there and she had to be.

For the most part nobody showed up for the funky Christmas beginnings on Tybee Island. The Tybee Island Police Department was out in force, blocking the road off in both directions, feverishly searching for Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog. Jodee was wailing the blues, Johnny was beating his drum, and Cheryl was flipping the finger.

The girls were getting their faces painted.

The Tybee Island Police Department gave up their search for Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog, and opened up traffic on the street. It was immediately worse than any Orange Crush (my personal favorite Tybee parade) I've ever witnessed.

So that's how a funky Christmas begins on this island.

It continues today a parade.

I wonder if Frank's party is still happening?

I wonder what Johnny O is beating off now?

There's a rumor that Jenny O shot somebody at Fannie's on the Beach last night.

Who knows?

Ho Ho Ho.

Jonesing for St. Martin

I'm missing St. Martin right now.

It's natural I suppose because I've spent so much time down there over the past several years. There was a pattern that I'd grown accustomed to where I was going down four times each year. Up until last year I'd spent the previous six Christmas' in the Caribbean and five of the past New Year's (be sure to check the expiration date on your passport BEFORE you leave the country!).

There's the anticipation of course and even on my darkest and loneliest days there was an excitement about being there again. It's an early morning flight out of Savannah so one of the kids would drop me off at the airport for the flight to Atlanta where I'd enjoy the Crown Room before making the four hour flight to the island.

I was flying a lot in those days so I'd amassed a zillion Frequent Flyer Miles and was bumped to first class which was great when you're suddenly single. I'd watch the latest movies for free and drink a lot of wine. When we landed at Princess Juliana airport though I'm as excited as a kid on Christmas morning!

Clearing customs fast and not having to wait on luggage (which takes forever) I'd grab a couple of Dutch Coffee's for the ride to the French side. Either Luis or his wife Daisey ... or my dear friends Carlos or Verna would pick me up. I'd lost the laundry pretty quickly because it's never under 80 degrees there and sip on the Heineken while we climb the mountain through the middle region.

Verna takes the longest to get me there because she loved driving a white man with his bear feet on her dash so she'd ride by all of her friends houses laughing and saying, "Oh My God," in her lovely St. Kitts accent.

Checking in I would be kissed on both cheeks by Karima and Annette then I'd walk to the store and Mimi treats me with endearing indifference. Making my way to the tiny studio I'd unpack my groceries and my tub full of stuff which I leave down there.

Then it's straight to Orient Bay where ... the Kingdom comes on earth as it is in heaven.

During the first walk by the crystal clear, aqua water I learned who was there. Mary and Denise? Jack and Loraine? Hooker Man and Levy? John Bob Jovi and Skank? I already know when Conner and Hania, Hugh and Patty and the Kosters are arriving.

Afterwards its to Papgayo to meet up with Nancy, Karine, Kenny, Patu and some guy named Ambrosia. On the way I'd hug Matina, Angela, Ana and that bitch Nathalie. I'd have dinner and hook up with more friends before dancing breaks out and I get my work out done.

The next day I'd do it all again.

Unless Carlos talked me into doing something ... which he often does ... like the time he took me to the Lingerie one Sunday afternoon.

Then Conner and Hania and Hugh and Patty would arrive and things really started to happen. I don't happen to recall any of them at this time and have absolutely no idea who drove me home from Papagyo's which is about forty feet from my studio.

Last year Sarah got to go for the first time and we collided with all of the above and lets just say that it was quite fun.

Anyway Christmas and New Year's is coming around and nothing puts me in the Spirit more than the Caribbean!

I've had a blessing of a year. I have no idea how it all worked out but it all seems to be working out. It reaffirms faith in God, who I believe actually lives on a House Boat right between St. Martin and Saba. I keep meaning to swim out there and say hey but all of the aforementioned friends seem to prevent me.

"Honey, I'm writing everybody about us all hooking back up in St. Martin," Sarah says in passing and my heart starts doing flips.

The Christmas Spirit followed by the New Year's Spirit which is then followed by an actual New Year!

This has been a really great one but I find myself really exited about the next one!