Tomorrow's Prayer Today

In our house are three framed postcards of old Tybee. The first is a painting of sand dunes, Palm Trees, sea oats and wisps of white clouds in a blue sky. It is not a photograph, looking more like a painting and has a surreal aspect to it.

Below it is the "Hotel Tybee", a grand wooden structure, four stories tall with a pale green paint and numerous white columns. Ladies in long flowing gowns stand on the porch and in the yard. In 1906 it was purchased by A.M., whoever that is, and sent to Mr. John Martin at 9112 May Avenue, S.E. in Cleveland, Ohio. There is no zip code in the lead pencil script.

"Hello John how would you like to be in the excellent hotel on Tybee from A.M." all in one sentence.

The last is of the ocean between the old Tybee Boardwalk and Pavilion and hundreds of men in black tank top bathing suits wade in the low tide. None appear very happy and for the life of me I can't find a woman in the picture. In 1923 it was mailed to a Ross McFerres in Medina New York.

Whoever wrote it mailed it from Augusta, Georgia on March 26, 1923, a Saturday morning.

"Arrived here ... hot at Florida ... hope to find cooler weather soon as we've suffered from the heat yesterday. Car running fine."

I assumed whoever wrote the unsigned card was in a hurry to get away from the heat.

My Mom had them all framed and presented to me when I returned from Louisville for home on Tybee. I've gone through lots of things though this remains one of my favorites. It's a funny reminder of things that used to be.

Long before me, people came to Tybee Island finding either excellence or insufferable heat. Everyone here is either running to, or running from, something. It's beauty with a beastly side, a salty serenity sprinkled with wet wisdom, all aglow in bubbling sunrises and blazing sunsets.

Of course A.M., John and Ross are long dead now though evidence of their pictures, postcards, platitudes and problems remain. I wonder if they ever made it back to the island and feel bad for them if they never did. But at least they were here the once.

This is my 26th year as a full time resident of this clump of sand though I've been coming here all of my life. While I never saw the Hotel Tybee, I did go to the Pavilion before it burned down in 1967. It seems that half of my life has been spent with my toes dug deep in the sand, in the sun or in the sea.

I don't know how long I get to keep living here, doing the things I do, enjoying where the river meets the sea. There's something holy about the place though. It hits you like Scripture and once you've been baptized in Holy Water, you just pray to God every single day that you can do it again tomorrow.

Touching Heaven

"Time crumbles things; everything grows old under the power of Time and is forgotten through the lapse of time."

So said Aristotle.

"To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven," says whoever wrote Ecclesiastes.

George Harrison said it better. "All things must pass. None of life's strings can last. So, I must be on my way and face another day."

Over the past several days The Savannah Morning News has reported on the crumbling of the Chatham-Savannah Authority for the Homeless of which I helped conceive and found spending a decade of my life helping to build it into the nations most effective and prestigious community response to homelessness.

Then it started slipping and has now dissolved into a dysfunctional mess.

I spent the better part of twenty-five years helping build Union Mission into the nation's most effective organization. By attacking the root causes in a compassionate yet firm way, people overcame their homelessness. We were the first to embark on such an approach and were emulated throughout the world. When all was said and done we had solved more than half the problem, more than anybody else has accomplished.

Union Mission is now a shell of what it used to be.

It runs in my life I suppose. When I left the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel in Louisville where I was the "Professional Christian" in charge, the Southern Baptist kicked the church out literally onto the street.

Throw in my failed marriages and I'm really looking good.

You know what?

I wouldn't change it. I've been blessed to be part of incredible things. I've been to mountain tops and, though I was either kicked off or fell, I got to see it all. I've touched heaven a few times and wouldn't trade those experiences for anything. I've also seen hell ... it's not all that.

On one hand it's sad to watch glorious things you were part of crumble. I suppose its because the right people are no longer in the right place nor is it the right time.

Yet I've been blessed because on multiple occasions to have been with the right people doing the right things in the right place at the right time.

It's a lot like sex ... you want it again.

These days I stand with a tiny group of friends on a beach and look at the burning cities and the ominous clouds throwing lightening on the mountain tops. The sea is calm, the Palm Trees smile, choirs of mussels sing and things still bloom. After years of battling in the darkness it's nice to be quiet in the light.

But I'll tell you one more thing.

There's another mountain or two for me to climb.

And you can bet your ass I'm touching heaven again.

Happinesss

"Are you as happy as you seem or do you find happiness in what's dealt?"

The question came out of the blue and caused me pause. Staring out of the window of McDonald's, waiting on Sarah to pick me up, I watched hungry people order at the Drive-In window being impatient, digging for change and appearing as they really needed coffee.

"I think it's both," I finally typed into my Netbook.

There was time to kill as I'd drop one girl off at school and then my car at the repair shop. Sarah would arrive an hour later after she'd dropped the other two girls off.

"I tend to take the 'find' Avenue," came the response.

"I am very happy," I wrote, "but I also seek it in what I have in my life right now ... I think if you stop looking then you stop finding but that has to be balanced with appreciating what you've got when you've got it."

That was pretty much the conversation.

She wrote that she wished there was an APP on her computer so she could push it and I'd be thumped on the head because of things I write,

I'm glad there's no such APP. My head would be blue on black from the constant thumping people want to give me.

Like everyone, "I've had good days and bad days and going half mad days."  Happy days far exceed hopeless ones. I try to learn from the bad days and just do my best to get through the going half mad times.

I count my blessings a lot. I try to find joy in the people I'm with, in our home and on the clump of sand we live on. Daily I celebrate Palm Trees, ocean breezes, the smell of the Marsh and the choirs of birds. Sometimes I can't comprehend why I deserve this or even how I'm still here but its a gift I worry about losing but can't stop appreciating.

I pray Thanksgiving for the love in my life, the opportunities that remain and the fact that most people still take my phone calls. Sometimes they want to meet for lunch or a drink and its always nice to be wanted. I try to enjoy these times.

Happiness is a lot of little things, I think, and in some ways its like holding sand. If you're not always replenishing it, pretty soon you're only left with a minuscule amount. Afterwards there's just the memories and the desire for more.

I woke up happy today in spite of the happiness I've lost but am determine to celebrate that which I do have and then my best to grow it like the Hibiscus plants on the beloved back deck. And I'll keep looking for more because if you stop renewing it ... then it's gone. 

Happy Day Everyone!

Bouncy, bouncy will not always come bouncing back to you

This blog contains graphic material and is of sexual orientation. Children under 17 require accompanying parent or guardian. Ministers, Republicans and member of the NRA should grab hold of themselves if they choose to read.

Winston, the little gay dog , got whacked yesterday.

There's no easy way to say it.

It hurts.

His load is not as heavy, he's lighter on his feet, his eyes are bigger than they were, he's walking a little slower though his ass is a bit higher than it was this morning.

His tail is between his legs.

He looks scared.

Goddess seems concerned but keeps going outside and returning smelling like medical marijuana. She loves her little gay brother and hurts for him.

We all do.

He has brought so much happiness to our blended family by blending us even more. He loves the girls and he adores Sarah. He sleeps under her side of the bed every night. She dresses him every day in his cute little dogie sweaters with cute little sayings like  ... "I can't even think straight" ... and he loves to sit in her lap.

Through, the gay little son-of-a-bitch (and I mean that literally) runs from me and for the life me I don't know why. I give him treats along with Goddess. I take Goddess for walks and then come home to take him for his prance. He licks me when I get out of the shower in the morning.

Anyway, the Health Department and other manners of Government are happy now because Winston has been nurtured.

Like a rolling stone, they are gone.

The great balls of fire have been extinguished.

His AC DC has experienced a ball breaker.

The ball and chain have been severed.

Rubber ball is not coming bouncing back to you (bouncy, bouncy, bouncy).

But it had to be done. He's been traumatized by the Tybee Island Police Department for weeks. They've accused him of every crime on the island, blamed him for bring his hoodlum Coyote friends and now say that two Great White Sharks hang around the beach waiting on him.

So I'm pleaded with you to say a little prayer for Winston, the little gay dog, today. The poor guy is hurting and I feel really bad for him.

Click like so he can see that you care.

I'm going to pet him now so I have to stop typing with one hand as I'm protecting myself with the other.

Poor little guy.

A Political Prayer for Congress

If you've never been to Congress to actually see how pompous our legislators are, you haven't missed much.

They're all terrible!

I know many of you think your particular Senator or Congressperson is the exception to the rule and is honest and helps when you call. Individually they are probably nice people. Collectively they are arrogant investors into themselves and their reelection. It's all they really care about.

I've spent lots of time in Congress rushing past the permanently placed News stations so that every damn one of them can get on television to explain why they know what's best.

I've sat in their tiny waiting room, staffed by interns, and learned the place is really like Baskin Robbins. You take your number, wait your turn and the benevolent member of the Elect bestows upon you your request. Then ... you go to the back of the line. (A Congressman actually explained it to me this way!)

I've sat at $500 a plate breakfast meeting (mine was paid by someone else) for bacon and eggs and the privilege of being one of twenty to have audience with the Senator as he briefed us on what's wrong with the opposing party and how he knows best.

I was invited to their "Faith Based Summits" which is a grandiose philandering of votes and endorsements of religious leaders who gladly prostitute themselves in the name of the Lord and political favors.

Like the rest of us, I've spent the past several days watching them create a fiscal cliff (there was no such thing a few short months ago), broker deals to break them, and position themselves as Saviors on crosses they built themselves.

It's just disgusting.

Those people we keep electing are disgusting.

After almost thirty years of regularly playing on Capitol Hill, the last few have been spent on more important things ... love, children, celebrating with friends who really are good, music and simple prayers.

The biggest political controversy on Tybee Island are some coyotes running around. Half the island thinks they're cute and the other really doesn't care.

But right after Joe, Mitch and John finished screwing each other behind close doors and then gleefully announcing they'd saved us yet again, it switched to the local news.

And there was local Councilman Bill talking about how dangerous the coyote problem has become and how they city is going to address the issue.

Turning the television off, there's was nothing to do but one more prayer and go to bed.

"God, my ass hurts. Please make them stop."

Better days

I'm not big on New Year's resolutions.

You do the best you can.

If you're not doing the best you can then shame on you. You're just screwing yourself. If you are doing the best you can, then you're doing alright.

Sarah and I ended last year enjoying one another, hooking up with the Carnival of Friends, listening to Sam Adams, who plays damn good live music on Tybee Island, but coming home early to rest in each others arms.

It's been a long few years.

Lots of things happened ... not all of them good ... some of them were really bad ... but we start this year together ... and good things are happening ... good friends surround us ... life is different ... and life is damn good.

Sure (Sarah's favorite word), I don't have a clue about a lot of things but I'm doing the best I can ... and that's alright with me.

We were sitting at the Tybee Island Social Club last night, listening to a blond haired dregs singer, talking about the things that are coming.

"I haven't been this excited ..." I excitedly told her, clutching her hand, eyes dancing with glee, a broad smile painted on my face and my heart pumping with enthusiasm.

That's how this year begins.

Last year has sailed away. It's just a boat load of memories anyway.

But ... I'm looking just the horizon. To moonbeams, sunsets, zebras and butterflies. To better days.

The things next year is built upon

The biggest thing that happened this year is I married my best friend and beautiful woman Sarah, under a full moon on the beach, surrounded by our kids and friends who have stuck with us. There was a lot of laughter afterwards at Marlin Monroe's where Jenny O threw us one hell of a party! Every month there is a full moon and we take it to celebrate our love and our marriage.

Then Dedra drove us to the Savannah/Hilton Head International Airport (an oxymoron) so we could fly to Atlanta so we could then fly to Belize. Standing to make a connection in the Belize City International Airport, my phone buzzed and it was Johnny O.

"I am so sorry," he said.

"For what?" I asked.

"I have no idea," he explained.

Sarah climbed in the cockpit of the little plane and we flew to the peninsular and the honeymoon was on.

We visited a lot of places this year. Atlanta (I thought it was a good idea at the time), Daytona Beach, Athens (Go Dawgs!), St. Martin of course, the Bahamas, Memphis, Seattle and the San Juan Islands and Key West. Each is now a catalog of memories that we share in our hearts.   They are stories to tell.

There was the Carnival of Friends and our first cruise. Mark, Mitch and Dedra remain risen from the dead so we had reunions. Joey Finch came out of nowhere and we are both so thankful he's enriched our lives. The members of the Bored continued to gather and Sam Adams, who plays damn good live music on the island, kept at it in Bar Church.

Sean and Wen McNally just picked up and came to Tybee as though they were manna sprinkled down from heaven. Glenn and Vicky Arnold thought it was such a good idea they sprinkled themselves in too.

We had a Toga party, a saran wrap party, tapas party, birthday parties, and other festive gatherings for no apparent reason.

The year was not without controversy. The Tybee Island Police Department started profiling Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog. There's already been one court appearance and they'll be another next year.

It's been a year of changes, transitions and discovery. There were bad things but it was mostly good (though Sarah is simply great!). The kids are all great! Dani got married and I got to officiate (Welcome to the family Pete!). The beach remains beautiful, the marsh smells pungent (like the aroma of sex in the Tropics) and Shirley's sad little holy dock is the holy of Holy's.

The Bicycle didn't get drunk much. The Palm Tree with the oyster face, coconut bra and grass still makes me smile. A fire burns in the Chiminea this time of year. Fran is still alive and beautiful in her thousand different ways.

And people have written or called, many of whom I thought were dead or irrelevant  and said the nicest things to warm my heart.

These are the things that next year is built upon.

If it's good enough for Jesus ...

"Why do you love this so much," Sarah asked as we strolled down Caroline Street in Key West.

It took me a moment to collect myself before answering. It was such a crazy, random, inexplicable question. It's like asking "Do you believe in God?" or "Is there a single sane person in Congress?"

On a sunny, warm December morning, we were strolling hand in hand, wearing shorts and tee shirts with plans to work on our tans all afternoon ... sans the clothes ... before closing it out again at "Irish Kevin's" on Duval Street. Somewhere in there, we would work in "Drag Queen Bingo", a weekly fund raiser on the island.

How can you not love it?

If such things don't put you in the holiday spirit there is simply something wrong with you.

The previous night we'd bumped into Santa Claus himself on Duval Street and he copped a feel when Sarah had her picture taken with him.

I think she said "Joy to the world" or something like that.

The first time it hit me was sitting in the back seat as Dad and Mom drove as round the big curve on Tybee Island, before there was a guard rail or a landscaped clump of sand, and I excitedly stared at the sun throwing diamonds on the ocean. God casts a line and threw a hook in my heart and reeled me in.

Salt water flows in my veins. Pirates are preferable to Priests. Sand is never confused with dirt. Under the Boardwalk is holier than inside of any Church building. Bar food is bountiful. The sun bubbles out of the sea every morning and bubbles under it every night. Romance is everywhere as the sea kisses the sand throughout the day and night.

"Well," I finally thought, "this is my temperament zone! Besides ... clothes confine. Darkness can dominate. Mountains are murderous. The country is confining. Cities confuse."

Tightening my grip around her waist we strolled under the Mango Trees.

After Jesus rose himself from the dead, the first thing he did was go to the beach to hang out with his friends. They grilled fish ... probably checked out girls wearing bikinis ... went surfing.

"If it's good enough for Jesus," I finally said, "it's good enough for me."

God I love islands.

Winston, the little gay dog, is a criminal.

Winston, the little gay dog, suddenly has aggression issues. He'll be tenderly laying there with his paws limped over beside Sarah, seemingly sound asleep, when he starts growling and then menacingly barking at Goddess.

I think the little fellow is showing signs of stress because of his impending court date. He's got a lawyer, there have been no additional complaints, and the Tybee Island Police Department actually seem to be fighting crime (when they're not  eating at the Breakfast Club or Sundae Cafe where they don't have pay full price).

The neighbor across the street who normally gardens in her underwear, which caused the dogs to bark violently, has taken to wearing sweatpants while gardening in the rain.

The other neighbor who complained, the one who rarely comes outside, hasn't been seen in days. (There is suspicion she runs a Meth Lab on the island but the Tybee Island Police Department have too busy to investigate because of Marlin Monroe's annual Christmas Oyster Roast Police payoff dinners they've been attending over the past few weeks.)

Still, Winston, the little gay dog, is traumatized by the entire episode.

On the other hand, Goddess doesn't seem to care, laying there with empty pipe bowls clutched in her yellow tip stained paws.

Sarah is sick about the entire thing and now refuses to get out of bed.

The other day, I couldn't take Winston, the little gay dog's, growling any more so I slapped him.

"Act like a man," I said.

"Meow," he replied.

Goddess stumbled outside shaking her head, apparently retrieving her stash.

"Don't hit him," Sarah whimpered from her bed ... so I put his new Christmas sweater on him ... it says "I shit rainbows" ... and put him outside with Goddess in hopes that she would mellow him out a little.

I don't know what else to do. Crime is big on Tybee and the Tybee Island Police Department is convinced that Winston, the little gay dog, and Goddess are the root of it all.

"Please", said our friend Jen the other night. "The Tybee Island Police Department came to my house, banged on my door and informed me they were giving me a citation because of my barking dog."

We stared at her in disbelief that another family was experiencing the profiling we are.

"You mean the one that died of a heart attack in my lap three months ago," she asked?

"Yes," the Tybee Island Police Department answered as they handed her the citation.

One thing I'll say about living on Tybee Island ... somebody is always on top of things.

Miracles of Grace

"Long years have taught me that most of us will experience more than one type of calling," says E. Glenn Hinson, my former and still beloved Seminary professor in his excellent autobiography "A MIRACLE OF GRACE."

Were I still in his class, I'd be sitting there nodding my head while raising my hand to ask, "Dr. Hinson why did God have to change mine with so many severe cases of whiplash?"

The powerful little man, strong at so many broken places, would flash that smirk he has when he's devilish, and likely say something like, "Mike it's because you always seem to be going in the wrong direction. God is merely trying to keep you on track."

Then he would move on with the lecture but let his eyes catch mine to let me know he enjoyed the question.

I took a lot of classes under Glenn, most dealing in the spiritual side of faith, the contemplative side, the place where prayer is the language and God is experienced. His ear always cocked to one side so he could hear, his jagged way of speaking, left me in wonder of the eminent power of a broken little man with the humblest of beginnings could so move me? 

He led me to the great classics of seekers after mature faiths and he laughed when I wrote a paper claiming that Bruce Springsteen was one.

Reading of his life now, I find myself connecting with him again in so many different ways and he again makes me think. I've been called in and out of too many marriages (never a good thing for a minister), work as a Professional Christian, then decades spent with the sick and the poor, as an author, into a very public life, all leaving me ... standing on the beach as a seeker.

Great teachers never stop and their lessons remain in your heart, not so deeply buried. In spite of my jagged little journey, the things I learned from Glenn have served me well.

His life really has been A MIRACLE OF GRACE. Years ago I wrote a book, PARTNERS IN GRACE, and all these years later ... long after its publication and much longer since Seminary ... this miracle of a man still touches me so deeply reminding me that whiplash is merely one of God's many mysterious ways of working in my life, as a partner.

Dancing Ghosts

"The game of life is hard to play, I'm going to lose it anyway. The losing card I'll someday lay; that is all I have to say."

Ghosts danced under the Christmas Tree. Laying there in a fidgety night, eyes opened as much as closed, I watch them parade through the dark spaces under the bright lights. Some I can call by name while others are unresolved feelings and emotions. My body achs for sleep but my mind remains focused so I dose to dream of past things that were never real and wake to ponder a future that isn't completely certain.

"Mike's watching an elderly show," Cassidy explained to her father on the phone earlier in the evening.

I suppose it's true that M*A*S*H is now that but to this day when I'm flipping channels and come across Hawkeye, B.J. Hot Lips, Radar, Col. Potter and the others, I stop and watch. Episodes I've seen a hundred times still speak to me. I continue to deeply care about each character though their lives have been been canceled.

And I love the song. "The sword of time will pierce our skins, it doesn't hurt when it begins, but as it works its way on in, the pain grows stronger watch it grin ..."

It's funny because the show is about surviving and doing your best to help others live in the darkest of places. The song with the haunting melody focuses on the hopelessness of survival. No matter how much you live, one day you're going to die.

Over Christmas I found myself drawn to the Gospel of Mark, my favorite, and one of the two that doesn't mention the birth of Jesus. Mark jumps right to the important stuff. John the Baptist dips Jesus in the river and the shit starts hitting the fan. Things rock-and-roll quickly and Jesus is crucified.

The following Sabbath his mother, girlfriend and another friend go to pay their respects to the dead Savior. When they arrive, the stone is rolled away and the tomb is empty. And that's where the story ends in the original version.

"The only way to win is cheat and lay it down before I'm beat ..." which seems to be the point of Mark. Jesus refused to take it laying down and there was an empty tomb. Mark never explains what happened next, just that there was no body as sunshine poured into the cave.

Tired of watching the ghosts dance, I look again at the lights of the tree before sleeping in heavenly peace.

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.