Kids

My world is full of kids right now.

All of mine will be in the same place at the same time and I'll be there too which is nothing short of a modern day miracle. Friends of Chelsea are throwing her an oyster roast tonight and who doesn't like an oyster roast? The weather is perfect! Jeremy's here for it and the ever illusive Kristen is even attending.

As I age, I'm ever grateful for my kids and the fact that we really do enjoy each other.

There's the girls of course. I went from living alone to having a wife and her three daughters move in with me. Talk about culture shock! Plus Goddess is female, a real bitch! And then Winston, the little gay dog, moved in with us too. It's often overwhelming though I am learning a lot.  I never knew how much toilet paper is actually used in the course of a day. It makes me feel sorry for trees.

It doesn't end there.

There are these other kids.

Ryan and Dani Sadowski have been part of my life their entire lives. I don't know what I would do without them. I don't know what they would do without me. Yesterday I took Ryan a bag of socks. Somehow he's grown up without understanding people need socks. I admire this about him but there are times when socks are necessary.

Last night Mandy Sayles and I were going back and forth on Facebook. I've known Mandy her entire life. She lives and performs in New York City and cracks me up. She's one of the funniest people I know. Her Mother and Father kidnapped me once and forced me to attend Seminary. Years later they realized this was a tragic mistake and have spent the rest of their lives doing penitence.

Mandy has brother named Eliot. Coincidence? I think not though Guy denies I had anything to do with it.

On the other hand, Mandy has claimed that she must be my daughter because we're so much alike to which I say, "I never had relations with that woman."

Hold on, I'm lighting a cigar.

Then there's Micah Berry, son of Bill Berry (not the former drummer for REM but the other one). I love Micah deeply. He is a famous musician and we share that soul though he got all of the talent. He's also funny as hell though when we have long talks he reminds me a lot of his father and Bill and I are so close that it's not funny.

His sister Amber actually moved to Savannah for a while and though we only saw each other occasionally, it was wonderful to have her near. She's on my mind a lot these days as she's embarked on an unexpected journey and her father has turned into a Hobbit and there's a picture Micah took to prove it.

I love them all.

They enrich my life, make me laugh and keep me young. I gain tremendous joy watching them become them.

Then Micah marries Mary Catherine and Dani marries Peter and the number of kids in my life grows.

Now Chelsea is finally getting around to marrying Sam and ...

it just doesn't get any better.

I love my kids.

It All Works Out

Everything has a way of working out. 

I don't profess to understand "why" and I certainly can't comprehend the "how" but it all works out somehow.

I've got a lot to do today and sitting here contemplating how to get it all done before all hell breaks lose this afternoon. 

In case you don't know, hell breaking lose transpires in the following order: (1) The girls come from school. (2) Jeremy comes from home from Athens and we plan on having fun. (3) Sarah's parents show up tonight and we have terrific mutual relationship --- I don't say much to them and they don't say much to me. (4) Chelsea and Sam show up and there's a party. (5) Someone turned the wind on so drinking on the back is no longer an attractive option.

If that isn't enough I'm scheduled lunch at The Landings, an exclusive gated community that's an hour drive from here. It was with someone I couldn't say no to ... so I' staring out the window contemplating how to get through everything.

The phone rings and it's the person I can't say no to. He has to cancel. Suddenly I'm gifted four hours back.

Hanging up, I whisper a prayer to no one in particular ... "Thank you."

Strolling to the sliding glass doors in the kitchen I stare outside. Bright sunshine glows through the wind is bitterly cold and Fran's thousand shades of green violently dance as though processed by Satan. Large flower pots lay on their sides. I hate it.

Goddess though seems to be in heaven. Her golden coat blows in the wind as she lays there contently, the sole proprietorial owner of the deck.

My mind takes me back to school, illness, marriages, awful times and grand accomplishments. I think of my friends and the things they've been through and their current struggles. People I've known who are no longer on earth lead me to others who are here now though their time is short. Everything I've done, everyone I've known and all that I am now hits me all at once.

"It all works out," I say out loud.

If you believe that ... then it really does.

If you don't ... then hell is always breaking lose. 

Memories ... rot the corners of my mind

My brother David has gone nuts! He spends all of his time scanning pictures that he stole from my mother's house and is plastering them on Facebook.

I have not signed a letter of consent and am contemplating a lawsuit.

To my knowledge, Angi hasn't signed one either and I know for a fact she sure as hell is gonna explode when she sees the picture of her pageboy haircut, looking like a goof as she sits in a wagon between David and me.

My Mom got so irritated at (a) David's photographic kleptomania (b) the pictures he keeps posting we all hate (c) she's still mad he never made up his bed a single day of his life, and (d) the time he wrecked Dad's truck, didn't know what to do so he went home and went to sleep in his unmade bed. When they woke him up asking, "Where's the truck?" he claimed to have been in bed the whole time (in his case this is a very plausible defense) ... she called him.

"Stop putting bad pictures of me on Facebook," she scolded.

"They're precious memories," he replied.

I think Mom answered with mostly verbs followed by pronouns.

Honestly, I don't care if David posts them but stop tagging me. (I don't care if you tag Angi and he's got a lot of making up with Mom to do.) In fact, I actually like the one when Gene Prevatt and I got a group together at "Root Beer Drive In" for the only meeting of the Groves High School Greasers Appreciation Society." I look good in that one.

But ... I'm not big on the past. It was mostly great but it had terrible times too. My typical response is "Thank God that's over! What you wanna do now?"

The funny thing is we're always making memories. Some are great. Others are awful. Most are completely forgotten. I prefer to think about the next great memory and to make a mountain of them one at a time.

David likes to remember the past which is great too! It's why The Cracker Barrel exists.

But I find myself thinking about Costa Rica. We haven't been there yet. It'll make a great memory!

I'll send David pictures.

He can post them.

Before my funeral

Life is a gift none of us asked for yet each of us share.

Some of us were planned though a lot of us weren't. The fortunate had good parents, a nice place to live, enjoyable friends and a lot of nurturing. More likely had one good parent, a place, friends and there were some good times. Way too many didn't even have these.

Many lives are long while others are tragically short. It's one of the funny things about life ... you never have any certainty whatsoever how long its going to last.

Make the most of it while you've got it. Enjoy the hell out of those you share it with because they're a changing cast of characters.  Other people's lives drop in and out of yours. Some only make camio apperances.

You only get it once so do your best to take advantage of it!

I'm fond of saying these things at funerals.

Funerals are reminders that all good things come to an end. Bad things come to an end too. Nothing last forever and when the funeral is over its best to get on with your life ... and what's left of it.

There is no funeral today.

Sitting on the beloved back deck on an unusually warm mid-January day, my bare feet dangle from the chair at the table under the umbrella. Sarah's inside on the phone. Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog, are inside with her. This weekend all of my kids will be in the same at the same time. Sarah's girls are begging me to both take them and pick them up from school because all of their friends think I'm cool. I have a lunch date with friends later. Tonight, I'm grilling dinner because the weather supposed to turn cooler tomorrow so ... I only have today.

We all only have today.

We'll do good things and bad things and things that cannot possibly be explained. We'll get it done or we won't. If we're lucky, we'll laugh a little, cry a little or at least find something to hold onto.

The truth of the matter is I have no clue how ... or why ... I'm still here. Death has kissed me three times in my life though I walked away each time.

There's a reason though.

I'm very grateful today of everything and every one I have in my life. Friends I love, children's laughter, kids who talk to me most every day, and a wife and best friend who I get to spend more time with anyone. I don't deserve it though I can sure as hell make a case that I do.

But I don't.

Life is gift that I didn't ask for and I get to share with an incredible family and wonderful friends.

Before I attend my funeral, I hope to understand why.

Today's News

It's been a couple of years since I've been in the Newspaper. For over twenty years I was mentioned in it almost weekly. They always used old photographs though which is why I never minded doing television interviews because they at least accurately portrayed what I looked like that day.

But today I'm in the newspaper again. I wrote a letter to the editor. It's far easier than it used to be. Back then I'd actually send a letter, a week later someone would call to verify it was me who'd submitted it and a  week later it would be published as "Old News."

Last week, I had lunch with Shirley Sessions (who actually runs most of Chatham County) and Skutch (who is a reporter who looks like an actor in a B-movie playing a reporter). They'd been after me for months to get off the island so I finally relented and met them at the Crystal Beer Parlor. We laughed a lot as we ate.

Sometime during the conversation, Skutch mentioned two articles on homelessness coming out. That used to be my life so I listened as he explained that no one seems able to explain why things are such a mess. Everybody says they're doing the best they can but it's all gotten worse.

On Sunday and Monday, I read his articles and quickly learned I had no idea how worse things have gotten. No one's in charge and it's tough to have a war on homelessness if nobody's in charge.

It's as my friend Father Vernon Robertson once told me.

"Mike, every successful organization needs one Son-of-a-bitch. That's why the Catholic Church has the Pope! He says all of the things we can't do and keeps us in line."

"Uh-huh," replied.

"The problem with you Southern Baptist is that there a hundred thousand Sons-of-bitches all believing they're the one."

That's how it is in Savannah's reactions to homelessness these days.

It broke my heart which has been broken several times over. Nobody remembers the things that worked. Fewer are keeping up with things working elsewhere. People merely seem to be chasing money. I've tried to stay away from it all but felt moved to do something so I wrote a letter.

Letters to the Editor are far easier now. I e-mailed it. The next day it's published. (The online version of the Savannah Morning News sucks! If you stay with it though, you can read the letter if you want at http://savannahnow.com/opinion/2013-01-14/letters-editor-tuesday#.UPVigR083_M )

Skutch did call to verify it was me who had sent it.

Beginning with a Noun followed by a verb he said, "Why don't you tell it like it is son ...?"

I thought he was going to keep going with the Son part but he stopped.

"I did," I answered.

There was silence followed by muffled laughter.

"Yeah," he said drawing the conversation to a conclusion. "We miss that."

Sunday Postludes

There we were sitting and standing in Doc's Bar, commonly known as "The Geriatric Ward" on the island, listening to the "Savannah Singer/Songwriter Series."  Four talented musicians told stories, played and sang their songs which is a wonderful way for a Sunday to draw to a close.

I like Sunday nights when they're done right. Too many of mine were wasted getting ready for Monday morning. For year's I dreaded Mondays through this came after decades of loving them. Both perspectives define what your Sunday evenings are like.

If you love your work and what you do, Sunday evenings are enjoyable preludes building up to a crescendo of action, intensity, comradeship and fulfillment.

If you don't love what you do, Sunday evenings become dreadful reminders that you're getting ready to give up the things you love as you sacrifice yourself again for the almighty dollar, working for the Man or simply trying to stay half a step ahead of the wolves snapping at your heals.

I've lived both and much prefer the former to the later.

Throw in Sunday night Cheeseburgers and it just gets better!

Way back in college we would go home for the weekends and return late on Sundays. The Western Sizzlin in Statesboro came up with clever promotion of 99 cent Cheeseburgers for returning students so we'll hook up there before hauling the clean laundry back to the dirty Dorms where we lived.

Those were great celebrations! We'd share what our weekends had been like as we basically had a party to conclude the end of another weekend while sliding into another Monday.

That's what we did last night.

After the music ended we strolled down the sidewalk to The Rock House ordered cheeseburgers and acted like we were still in college. We laughed, made fun of each other, challenged things and acted like kids.

"I believe if I refuse to grow I can stay young till I die," is one of my favorite lines from the musical "Pippin".

I do too.

Music, cheeseburgers, beers and friends on a Sunday night is the best Postlude to a worshipful day.

Before falling asleep I kissed Sarah, thanked my lucky stars, and said "Amen."

Oh ... and Monday!

Kiss my ass!

Party On Dudes

First we had a Toga party and sure enough everyone showed up wearing one! The last couple to arrive were non-Tybee people and were not dressed in Togas so they felt naked and uncomfortable. The rest of us felt sorry for how silly they looked in long pants and sweaters.

Then we had a Saran Wrap party. Everyone had to wear Saran Wrap though it could be in any way or fashion they chose. Mine had a Christmas theme though Sarah's took the cake.

We've been talking about what to do next.

We went to "Drag Queen Bingo" in Key West so there's the possibility of a replicating such an event at our house. The guys will come dressed as girls and the girls dressed as guys. Johnny O and Judy O have already been trailblazers in this so it would be pretty easy to pull off. The rest of us could simply follow their lead.

Sarah normally comes up with the theme and while she hasn't asked my opinion I normally give it to her anyway. I have a couple of ideas.

I think an "Anything But Clothes" party would be a huge hit. Attendees could wear a box, wrap themselves in feathers, or glue pages from books on them. If they're in a hurry they can merely show up al' natural and still have a good time.

You can see why she doesn't ask my opinion I still give it to her.

Should you all wish to start a write-in campaign for the idea then I encourage you to let her know your support of the A-B-C's or simply click yes to this so I can show her the overwhelming world-wide support for us to host this party.

Though we ran out of time we contemplated hosting a "Burning of the Grievances" party. Everyone would write down the hurts, injustices and bad things that happened to them on a piece of paper. Then we'd all gather, have cocktails and food before burning our grievances in the Chimenia on the beloved back deck.

Then I wrote my list of grievances and it was thirty-seven pages long. The Board Chair who chooses to remain anonymous (Jerry Rainy) is the world's biggest grievance I can think of and it got me to wondering if needed stakes rather than the Chimenia.

This got me to thinking about how long everyone else's list would be. Such a party would have to be hosted by Jodee and Cheryl as they have one of the world's largest fire pits in their backyard. The heat from our collective fire could heat the entire island and the light it would cast would likely draw Wise Men from the East.

It's an inconsistent concept though. It's easy to connect the dots between Togas, Saran Wrap and "Anything But Clothes". There's simply no place for grievances in such parties.

Neither is there in life.

Party on Dudes!

Experiencing God

"Write your heart," she told me after I asked what I should write about.

I normally do.

One of the nicest gifts I received over the holidays was a Facebook message from my friend Jan who lives in Austin, Texas. It's one of those things that I keep and read every so often because it hasn't lost its luster and still surprises me when I read it.

"Micheal, I don't know how it is but I'm sure many people feel as I do ... that knowing you a little bit means knowing your quite well. You are so good at opening your heart and your soul --- whether it be by your mischievous smile, your wicked laughter or your heartfelt writings that could move a mountain --- that knowing you a little means knowing you well."

She goes on expressing the happiness that Sarah brings to me and then "I take hope there are more in the world who can make the rest of us sing at a whim, even though off key most of the time."

Finally, she explains that should I ever a New Year's that isn't quite happy again, she and her husband will be there for me just like they know, I'll be there for them."

I was, and remain, blown away.

I'm really good at giving affirmation, encouragement and love. I love recognizing others and celebrating their accomplishments. I really like to give someone an award.

On the other hand, I'm not so great accepting these things. I get choked up easy when affection's thrown my way. I try to deflect recognition to others. I thank everyone who should have received the award other than me.

So when Jan sent me her Christmas message directly aimed at me, I immediately understood how special such things are. I stumbled inside and read it to Sarah. It takes a lot for anyone to speak directly to another and say, "I love you." It's even more radical when they explain why.

When it happens though, the veil in the Temple hiding the Holy of Holies is ripped asunder. The skies in your heart grow dark and thunder explodes and lightening flashes, singling the Presence of God. Then the heart is warmed. The sun explodes out of the sea. A still small voice explains, "It is good."

Another Day at work

It is a beautiful January day! Sitting in shorts and a tee shirt with bare feet dangling from the high chair at the table under the umbrella on the beloved back deck, I am trying to work.

It is hard!

Waves crash into the shore continuing an opera they began yesterday. It is mesmerizing music accompanied by a choir of birds sitting in Fran's thousand shades of green.

A couple of red Hibiscus blooms are hanging on but the green leaves have turned yellow. Two marsh hens are wandering around the front yard. The sun is burning a hole through light fog throwing enough glare that I'm wearing sunglasses.

Who in the hell can work under these conditions?

I search for "Beach Music" on Rhapsody and the Beach Boys inform me that "I can hear music! Sweet, sweet music."

Staring at the screen I read an email from someone in China named Lin JianFa informing me that his company wishes to use the domain that I own. I dash off a quick two word reply utilizing only a verb and a pronoun.

The Palm Tree with the oyster shell face, coconut bra and grass skirt smiles as I do so. Behind her are signs I've hung on the wooden fence. One says "Fish Naked."

Beside it is another. "It's 5 o'clock somewhere."

I google what time it is in China and it's 10:30 at night.

"Damn," I say to Goddess. "I've missed 5:00!" as I turn off the computer and close down the office for the day.

One of those nights

The waves crash onto the shore sounding like an opera.

Fire burns in the Chimenia casting shadows on the wall.

Ocean breezes blow lightly.

Fran's thousand shades of green dance in the dark.

My bare feet dance on the wooden planks of the beloved back deck.

Winston, the little gay dog, prances around my feet.

Goddess snores underneath the fire.

Orion shoots an arrow overhead in a pitch black sky though it is diamonds he is shooting.

Sarah is chasing girls, hair askew, exhausted and ready for bed.

I've just hung up the phone with Jeremy, now back in Athens missing his wife Marie who is in Valdosta so he needed a touch of home.

I'm saying prayers for Bill Berry, not the former drummer for REM but the other one ... the one who has been so instrumental in me turning into me.

Taking a break from reading my friend Nanci Hartland's book "True Confessions of a Reluctant Giraffe", I ponder a few of the lines.

An old woman tells her, "Nanci dear, when you are old and your mind has quite forgotten the details, the troubles, the pain and even the soup burning on the stove, your heart will always remember love, if you have opened your heart. What has your heart forgotten? What is it you want? Open your heart to it."

I like that.

Sitting down, I prop my feet on the railing and try to take notice of the things God is up to tonight.

It's extremely warm for January and the forecast calls for it to continue for days.

I sip the wine I'm drinking now wondering what Orion is shooting.

Turning, I look inside the house through the sliding glass doors and Sarah blows me kiss as she falls on the sofa.

My open heart catches it and I turn back to God's holy night for a bit more prayer as Winston, the little gay dog, prances, Goddess snores, the fire glows and the ocean sings an opera.

The Continuing Saga of Criminal Dogs on Tybee

The dogs got off again.

The dog catcher called in sick.

I'm certain it's a paid "called in sick.

So Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog, got yet another continuance. Goddess doesn't seem to give a damn. She's asleep after eating a bunch of brownies all afternoon.

Winston, the little gay dog, is scared shitless though.

Aside from being traumatized by the Tybee Island Police Department, it's Judicial System, a political system that only loves feral cats and hates coyotes, the poor little thing had his balls whacked off last week.

 I have them in a baggie.

They are "Exhibit A" for Judge Harry S (wasn't he a porn star in the 1980s?) who made it perfectly clear last time we were in court that he sides with tattoo covered officers and will not tolerate barking gay dogs.

(I don't remember a Harry S in the 1980's porn movies doing gay stuff but there is a lot of the 80's I don't remember.)

So I have Winston's, the little gay dog, balls in a baggie to demonstrate we've done everything possible to keep him quiet.

If that doesn't get Judge Harry S off, I don't know what will.

Anyway, I walked inside the Tybee Courtroom which is inside a large garage, to be greeted by a small tattooed, skin head officer demanding I empty my pockets so he could wave his wand at me. Throwing my keys, phone, money, Winston's, the little gay dog, balls in a  baggie in the dish, he had his way with me and then I was allowed inside the court ... which was packed.

Then Goddess and Winston's, the little gay dog's, attorney informed me that I'd have to come back in two weeks.

It's Tybee. It's an island. What do you do?


The Tybee Judicial system is slow. For the third time because Harry S demands it, a uniformed, wand waving tattooed Skin head with a badge gets to do me again.

Winston, the little gay dog, remains traumatized for another two weeks because of the anti-gay profiling that takes place on this island.

I'm not sure how Goddess feels about it all. She's passed out and snoring though there is one brownie left.

I'm thinking about calling a puppy psychiatrist because I don't think Winston, the little gay dog, can continue to cope under this pressure. He shakes, refuses to go outside alone, sleeps under the bed, has lost weight and the frequency of licking himself has significantly increased.

Besides I'm worried that the girls might mistake Winston's, the little gay dog, balls in a baggie for Fireballs. Sarah would go nuts if she walked in and the girls had a jaw poking out on one side and found an empty baggie on the floor.

I guess we'll find out how this ends in another two weeks.

Telling My Story

"MIKE! Did you do it?"

"No' mam," I replied.

That's probably how my story telling career actually began though I don't recall the specific incident. It could have been a lot of things.

"Did you steal all of the American flags out of the school?

"Did you steal all of the fire extinguishers out of the Mill over the Viaduct?"

"Did you and Gene Prevatt hitchhike to Tybee and go to Doc's Bar?"

"Were you caught in the Baptismal Pool at Church with a girl?"

"Did you and Gene Prevatt start a riot at Groves yesterday?"

"You want to tell me why the Police picked you up at Softball practice and brought you home?"

The answer was always, "No'mam."

Later when I went to Seminary, I learned to use adverbs and lots of adjectives which have proven to be significant additions to my story telling capabilities.

"Mike did you just hurl your Greek book outside of the second story window and almost hit Guy Sayles as you did it?"

"Hell no, Professor Olmanson. I know not of which you speak. I was studying my Sunday School lesson."

After I graduated I spent a great deal of time at the state Capitol in Atlanta and in Congress where the art of story telling has been perfected. These places taught me that you never need the whole truth when you speak. Half-a-truth will do. AND! ... if you wear a suit when you tell your story more people will believe what you're telling them.

PLUS! ... I live on Tybee Island where Police lie, bicycles get drunk but not their riders, and the Baptist Church proclaims that they "really do love everybody! Honest! We do love those filthy, rotten sinners who go to Fannie-on-the-beach and Doc's Bar!"

Each of these have taught me one of life's most valuable lessons. Never let the truth stand in the way of a good story.

It should come as no surprise then that I now work for a company called "Let Us Tell It." Our tag line is "You have a story. Let Us Tell it!"

Pretty good huh?

We have a code of ethics though. If you get caught in bed with several people other than your spouse then no matter how many stories we tell, it's not going to help. We're not going to take you on as a client. Pretty much anything else goes though.

Anyway, I appreciate you taking the time to review my experience and credentials for our company.

Have a great day!

Even you Baptists who frequent Fannies-on-the-beach and Doc's Bar!

Creating New Things

Three years ago today was my last major accomplishment at Union Mission. Dutch Town Villas, a forty something unit apartment complex was Savannah's initial Housing First program taking people directly from the streets and moving them into their own homes.

I posted a Tweet that I was "off to the opening of the Dutch Town development, a home for the homeless. Not a shelter. Shelters are not the answer!" A home is.


The brand new construction sits on five acres on the city's south side and is beautiful. Hundreds of people showed up for the opening. The Mayor, County Commission Chair, state legislators, were present. Pastor Ricky Temple of Overcoming Faith Church delivered the invocation. The Board Chair who chooses to remain anonymous (Jerry Rainy) was the Master of Ceremonies.

I sat on the second row, off to the right beside a wife who had already made up her mind to leave me for something better. The next time I would see her she'd inform me of our impending divorce.

Also unbeknownst to me was that my trusted Chief Financial Officer was misappropriating hundreds of thousands of dollars. It would be another few weeks before I found that out.

Nor did I know that members of the staff were formulating complaints against me primarily because I was making significant changes to the way the company was running.

A behavioral health collaborative I'd been instrumental in starting had begun to unravel because people were resistant to change, entrenched in politics and greedy to keep things the same. It would soon blow up and be front page news leaving me the bearer of the blame.

I didn't know any of these things sitting there proud of the million dollar development. It was the latest, and last, in a series of grand developments we'd orchestrated. A million dollar hospital for homeless and poor people, a behavioral health center costing the same and now Dutch Town.

I was riding high.

So when all of these things happened in pretty quick succession, my fall was far and fast.

When the air cleared, I walked away from it all. Truth be told, lots of people wanted me to, praying for it and doing anything they could to make it so. At the end, the door slammed shut behind me.

If you've never spent time wandering in the wilderness, it's quite the experience. I bounced between Tybee Island and St. Martin, maintained relationships with a very small group of friends, did some work throughout the country with the International Street Medicine Institute but mostly spent time hurt and wounded on the beloved back deck of my house.

The world I'd happily lived in was no more and I was overwhelmed by the loss.

Today I can still feel some of the feelings. The sudden loss of love, the brutal act of betrayal and the abandonment of people you believed in are things you never completely get over. All of the scars are on the inside.

I got through it though. Actually a lot of little things that got me through it. A tiny collection of friends formed themselves into my personal church, believing in me when I no longer believed in  myself. They strung together little acts of kindness and my healing began to happen. I am forever indebted to them.

Looking at it today in the rear view mirror, I'm proud of it all. Great things are never accomplished without controversy. Some grow to hate if you're more successful than them. Though there is only the slightest tinge of regret, I can't think of much I would have done differently. I gave it all my best.

Today my eyes are ahead, no longer looking back. "It's time to create new things," I used to tell people I worked with, "so go! Create!"

If anyone cares, that's what I've been doing. New love has been born. My family is bigger than it was.The routines are all different. It's a slower life though no less intense. I've held on to places and things I love but they're all different now too. I'm not the same. I've been reborn.

"No one puts new wine in old wine skins ... new wine calls for new" ... things. I'm focused on creating new things, a new me, a better one because "old things are passed away, behold, all things become new."

I like new.

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.