My Guardian Angel

"Are you taking meth?" I asked my Guardian Angel. "You look like shit."

Limp oily black hair hangs in her face covering bloodshot brown eyes. She's much too thin so her robe slipped way over her shoulder almost exposing her right breast. She was pasty white and one of her wings was dirty and broken.

Staring at me she takes a long drag from her cigarette. Blowing smoke halos above my head, she takes a shot of bourbon and chases it with a Pabst Blue Ribbon. She coughs, hacks and spits clearing her throat so she can answer.

"No, I'm not taking meth," said her still angelic voice. "You've done all of this to me."

"Moi?" I asked.

"Vous," she says taking another thoughtful drag of her cigarette. "At this rate I'm going to be in the freakin' Angel Hall of Fame."

"What did I do?" I asked.

"Oh let me count the ways," she said slamming a hand on the bar. "Twice I've had to save you from dying in car wrecks. I made a pistol stuck in your stomach jam when the drunk homeless guy pulled the trigger. You get Bill Berry to throw you over a wall in a Monastery landing on two Monks making them break their vows of silence ..."

"You know Bill's not the former drummer for REM," I begin but she cuts me off.

"I KNOW WHO THE HELL BILL BERRY IS," she shouts. "He's not my problem," she softens taking another sip of beer.

I decide it's best to keep quiet.

"Listen," she says, "twirling a strand of her greasy hair in a finger, "I need a vacation from you. You're going to kill me and that's never happened to an angel before."

I nod feeling very much like I did when I sat in the Principal's office at Groves High School and the Deans office at Seminary.

"So I've cut a deal with Sarah. She's gonna watch after you for the next two weeks. She's already pretty close to getting her wings for marrying you anyway. This should push her to the front of the line," she smashes out her cigarette and immediately lights another.

"Where you going?" I excitedly ask. I love vacations. As soon as one's over I'm already planning the next one.

"None of your damn business," she fires back. "You listen to me," she continues pointing the cigarette at me. "Do not fuck this up! Sarah's got my number and if she has to use it so help me God won't be able to save your ass."

After an awkward moment of silence I say, "Well alrighty then."

She stands and adjusts her robe so that it hangs from both shoulders. The good wing flaps but the broken one just hangs off to one side. Leaning over the smashed out the cigarette, she shakes her hair back and disappears.

"Hmm," I shrug sitting there. "You don't see that every day."

"See what?" the bartender asks.

Eyeing him for a few seconds I ask, "Do you believe in Angels?"

"Oh yeah," he immediately answers. "No way I'd still be here without my Guardian Angel."

"Hmm," I mumble.

"Micheal," I hear  the Angelic voice out of nowhere, "Do not fuck this up!"

Hell No I Ain't Dying

"What the hell are you doing here?" she bellows as I walk into her hospital room.

"Your daughter told me that you're dying and I should come see you," I reply strolling up to the bedside.

"BULLSHIT!" she screams.

"You look pretty good," I say. "Your voice sounds good too."

At that she laughs and puts her snarly, leathery hand on top of mine.

"Hell no I ain't dying," she says. "It would make too many people happy."

She looks thinner than last time I saw her but otherwise it was the same Georgia who once tried to kill me with a rolled up newspaper. That was bad enough but seeing her now in a hospital gown was even worse!

"So you don't need me?" I asked.

"Now what in the hell would I need you for?" she said jerking her hand away.

"Ummm, because I'm the only minister who'll talk to you?" I mockingly said.

That made her laugh again.

Back in the day, we'd have coffee together every morning. She'd have just finished delivering the newspapers on the island and I'd show up at the Breakfast Club for coffee before heading to work. Jake Jacobs, Blind Mike, Mrs. Tommy, Jesse the racist and Johnny O were the other regulars. We were a wonderful, crazy and completely dysfunctional group who loved each other dearly.

"Damn," Georgia mumbled one morning," I can't wait to get home and take this bra off."

"You take your bra off every morning when you leave here?" Jake asked.

"Yep," she said as she slapped my hand as I stole a piece of her bacon.

"Well that explains that," Jake announced.

"What?" she said looking at him.

"Those two thuds I hear every morning at 8:30."

Georgia hit Jake with a rolled up newspaper. She was really good at it making it Ninja like. Ninjas throw little silver stars with incredible precision. Georgia does the same thing with rolled up newspapers.

"Well," she exclaims in the hospital room, "I don't need no damn minister now."

"Fine," I say turning to leave.

"Come back when I'm dead," she says picking up the phone on the institutional bedside table. "I may need you then."

"OK," I reply opening the door. "Later then."

She doesn't answer because she's already talking on the phone.

"I want to see the little Son-of-a-bitch doctor who told my daughter I'm dying. I'm going to kick his little ass."

It's hard not to love Georgia.

The Prodigal Father

"I love you like a son," he'd said in a quivering voice, moisture filling his eyes as he threw his arms around me.

That was several years ago and he's become the Prodigal Father, disappearing from my life, leaving me questioning why and wondering what I did to drive him away. Time passes and I've gotten used to it as best I could though when someone just leaves there's a gnawing, unresolved wonderment.

I marvel at those who can quickly end relationships, moving on, never looking back and not really caring about someone who was once significant. In fact, I've come to believe that this is most people.

But it's not me.

I think the moment you meet someone, you cannot be unchanged. Both the significant ones and the inconsequential leave something of themselves as part of who I am.

Once I was driving down Bay Street in downtown Savannah, Georgia on a beautiful spring day. The sky was blue, it was warm and pleasant and everything was in bloom. The windows were rolled down and I was taking my sweet time getting to wherever I was going determined to enjoy such an incredible day.

For no reason whatsoever I glanced over to the car heading in the opposite direction and saw her. Long brown hair hung forward as she slumped over the steering wheel, forehead resting on it. She held her head up and was sobbing, tearing gushing from her eyes and pouring down her freckled face. Her mouth was open and though I could not hear the crying, I could feel it. Our eyes met for the briefest of seconds and then she was gone.

Though it happened twenty years ago, she is part of me now.

Sometimes when I'm sad, or empathetic to others going through hard times, she comes to me just as alive and hurting as she was then. I can still see her. I can still feel her.

So when I saw the Prodigal Father yesterday as he exited and I entered the Chick-fill-A on Victory Drive in Savannah, I was unprepared for the moment.

He was too.

"Micheal Elliott," he called me by name as if to remind him that I still exist. I called him by name in return and the most awkward of silences filled the moments that slowed to a crawl.

"Take care Herb," I finally said moving forward.

"Yeah. You too Micheal," he replied passing me by.

And our lives go on.

Though I know deep inside of me that the Prodigal Father will never come home again.

Snipers on the High Road

"He's the biggest Son-of-a-bitch I've ever met," I angrily said.

"He says the same thing about you," was the quick reply.

Peter Doliber and I were having lunch, talking about things we'd done and people we'd worked with back when we did a lot of work together. For several years our friendship grew, based on common work and compatible personalities, and we were truly fond of each other. Then Peter moved onto other work and I did too. There's not much of a relationship anymore. Over lunch we were reaching into the past but not making it very far.

Our conversation focused on things that had gone wrong. Though we had accomplished groundbreaking things together in health care, housing and mental health services we both focused on scars we still have, unresolved anger that still eats away.

By nature, I am not an angry person. I rarely get mad figuring the anger is one of the Seven Deadly Sins for a reason. It is true however there are a few people who hurt me beyond my ability to understand why, leaving me wounded. While I can still name them, I choose to not think about them. They no longer merit my energies. I'd rather focus on other, happier, things.

Sometimes at night, these people and the things we did to one another, scurry on the fringes of my dreams but when I awake I dismiss them quickly. There are too many good things I prefer to think about.

I'm a contemplative soul by nature, enjoying sitting on the beloved back deck with my feet propped up on the rail, music in my ear, watching the stars and smelling the ocean. Occasionally the angry people kidnap my prayers and as soon as I am conscious that I'm giving them room in my life, I cast them out like demons.

I write about the past a lot but I certainly don't live in it. That was then. This is now. I delight in my three grown children and live with three little girls. My resume is full of things I'm proud of but I'm much more excited about the things I do now. While I still have scars from old wounds, I've survived them and enjoy my life.  I live with and love my best friend who happens to be incredibly lovely.

These are the things I give myself to now because its where I find joy. It's where love reigns; where laughter falls frequently; where contentment comes easy; and where happiness is achieved.

I know there are bad people in the world and I've met my fair share. They are angry people, snipers on the high roads of life, not giving a damn about anyone other than themselves. It's best to shy away from such people, in person as well as in my thoughts and dreams.

If there is a hell, it's made by the angry people who don't wait to die before going there.

Likewise, I'm not waiting for heaven either.

It's here now for the taking.

Growing Backwards

My Mom has redefined herself ... again.

Now she's into painting a rug on a wooden deck. She was going to get a real rug but decided it would mildew so she decided to paint one. It is something I never would have thought of and I have to admit it looks pretty damn good!

My Mom's been a lot of things in her life. Billy's wife (no small feat!), mother of three adorable and sinless children (well, Angi was a little weird), secretary turned banker and then "Originator of the Year" for 17 consecutive years making men look like gross underachievers, a world traveler, then she got into antiques and finally gardening.

Now she'll likely add "wooden rug painter" to her already impressive resume.

Not that she really cares about things like that.

What she does care about is her Book Club, Canasta Club, Wine, how the yard looks, getting together with her brothers and sisters, keeping up with her grandchildren and she has her own Carnival of Friends who are forever showing up to sit in rocking chairs on the porch or on the back deck with the painted rug.

If that's not enough, she and Betty Geriner talk on the phone and that can take the better part of a day.

Mom is forever coming to Tybee for something or another but she's always too busy to stop by our house. She always lets me know though.

She'll call and explain, "I'm coming to Tybee and staying at Diane Herrin's but don't have time to stop by your house and see you and Sarah. You'll have to come to Diane's if you want to see me."

People ask me, "How's your Mom doing?"

"She's 70-something going on 50," I answer.

I'm pretty convinced soon I'm going to be older than her.

I sent her a card earlier this week and she told me she got it. I hope to catch up with her at some point today but I never know. She's always up to something.

Bob Dylan comes to mind when I think about Mom. "I was so much older then; I'm younger than that now."

That's my Mom.

Happy Mother's Day.

I love you.

Your Eldest Son.

Ten Reasons Not To

1. Last night I went to both 6 year old girl's soccer practice and a 9 year old girl's soccer game which occurred simultaneously, ran into a "Professional Christian" who knew me and wanted to talk before running into political guru Dave Simmons who wanted to talk except he was on the phone the entire time.

2. Yesterday was also Sarah's birthday and she has strep throat and that just sucks! I had the bow strategically affixed in the right place but there was no unwrapping that big boy last night AND THAT REALLY SUCKS!

3.  I ran a 5K run with aforementioned 9 year old this morning at "Girls On the Run" which should have additional categories like (a) Girls on a Walk (b) Girls on a Stroll (c) Girls pushing baby carriages wearing Spandex (d) Girls sitting on sidewalks (e) Girls who walk and talk without ceasing not giving a damn about who is front of them.

4. Afterwards, I went to aforementioned 6 year olds soccer game and while she successfully dribbled the entire length of the field twice, she failed to score.

5. Sarah is still sick and this bow is really becoming something of a nuisance but I remain determined that she will love the present when she takes it off.

6. It is an incredibly glorious day on Tybee Island and we are now home.

7. Ohio Bob is throwing his annual party later today and Randy "Hatman" Smith will be playing and there's a terrific view of the ocean view and most of the island's more ... eccentric characters will be attending.

8. The sign in front of City Hall welcomes thousands of visitors by flashing "PARKING LAWS STRICKLY ENFORCED."

9. I'm planning to get lucky and have the bow taken off later tonight.

10. It's lunch time.

So ... I'm not going to write anything today.

Sarah Smile

"Micheal Elliott," I said in a tired voice into the phone, sitting at my desk and wishing I was somewhere else on a winter's day.

A long second of silence followed before she said, "Sarah Lingenfelter. Is that seriously how you answer the phone?"

It had been ten years since I'd last seen her. Then, she was my Administrative Assistant, killing time until she and her family moved to New York. Ridiculously over-qualified for the position, she impressed everyone. Members of my own Board of Directors tried to hire her away from me but she takes her commitments seriously.

Since then, I'd seen pictures of her three children, knew that she ran a School mentoring program for the State of New York and lived in a place so far out in the wilderness the city prided itself as being sinless.

"Hey Sarah," I said immediately perking up.

"Do you remember," she began, "when you said that I had a job if I ever wanted to come back?"

"Yes," I replied.

And I had. Sitting on the beach one day, instead of being in the office where I was supposed to be, she'd called me. Sarah always had this knack of knowing when I was doing things I wasn't supposed to be doing. Rather than deny what I was doing I answered by asking her, "Now aren't you going to miss this when you're gone?"

And I told her if she ever wanted to return she was hired on the spot.

"I want to come back," she said. "Do you still mean it?"

It took a couple of months but by April she was living in Savannah and working as a Vice-President for the company.

Then God got involved.

I found myself suddenly single. She divorced. I left the company. And on a wonder summer's evening we kissed on the beach.

And that was that!

We've been married for over a year now, happily exploring Beach Bum lifestyles while creating new work together.

And today's her birthday.

So Happy Birthday my love!

As soon as I can figure out where to stick the bow, I'm giving you this present!

The Music We Make

"It's getting better all the time," Paul McCartney sang.

"It couldn't get no worse," John Lennon replied.

They were both right of course. The most popular musicians of modern history, cultural icons and incredibly successful ... they had achieved everything. And felt trapped by it all. It wasn't fun any more. Fame, fortune and success wasn't everything it was cracked up to be.

They were both right.

That's life though right? There is always a duality, ying and yang, lightness and darkness, good and bad. It's how you look at them. It's always a matter of perspective.


 
 
 
It's an absolutely beautiful day. Brilliant blue skies, warm ocean breezes, choirs of birds and people strolling on the beach are all smiling.

And Sarah's sick, laying under the covers in bed as I sit here working and doing my best to keep Winston, the little gay dog, away from her. He'll jump up beside her and keep her awake.

I hate it when she doesn't feel well, is off kilter or things just aren't going right. When you love someone like I love her, you never want things to not be perfect. This is especially true when I'm feeling terrific, loving life and have dancing feet.

There's just something not right about it.

But it's the way life works sometimes.

If I could take her sickness away from her and carry it for her, I would.

Alas, I can't.

It'll be alright. We're like the Beatles in a way. The music we make together is beautiful even when everything else may be slightly off in the world.

A Sad State of Affairs

Regardless of who runs for office, it's always the Government that gets elected.

So said the Major Prophet George Harrison and yesterday South Carolina put lifetime politician Mark Sanford back Congress. As if Congress couldn't get any worse!

Of course in Georgia Sen. Saxby Chambliss has set off a firestorm by announcing he's not running for re-election and proves it by getting a hole-in-one while playing the President. He no longer has to give a damn about protocol.

So Congressman Jack Kinston is running for U. S. Senate so State Senator Buddy Carter can run for Congress so that Congressman Kingston's brother-in-law State Representative Ben Watson can run for the State Senate.

It's all very incestuous.

I spent decades playing the political games of City Hall, the County Commission, the Georgia State Capitol and in the halls of Congress. These are the things that I learned.

• They're all the same. There is no difference between Republicans and Democrats because they share the same ultimate goal which is to be re-elected or to move to a higher office.
• Libertarians are Republicans who smoke pot.
• The Tea Party movement is comprised of pissed off Republicans who believe wacked out stuff as evidenced by Christine O'Donnell from Delaware who said, "It is not enough to be abstinent with other people, you also have to be abstinent alone. The Bible says that lust in your heart is committing adultery. You can't masturbate without lust! ... You're going to be pleasing each other. And if he already knows what pleases him and he can please himself, then why am I in the picture?"

Please take a moment to shake your head while saying, "Do what?" as you try to make sense out of the above quote.

• Bill Clinton is the greatest recent American President because he balanced the budget, left a surplus, dropped one bomb that never hit anybody and made oral sex popular.
• Congress runs like a Baskin-Robbins Ice Cream store. You take a number, wait to be served and then get your ice cream. Then you must go to the back of the line, get a new number and start over if you want more ice cream. This was explained to me one day by an angry Congressman Jack Kingston after the Lobbyist for Memorial Health University Medical Center asked for more money immediately after receiving some.

I could go on but will conclude by saying I think it's good when Politicians sleep with one another in spite of what the Tea Party movement believes. Because if they're sleeping together, they can start doing to each other what they keep doing to us. And I'm tired of my ass hurting.

The Not-so-faithful community

"When I die, I want you to do my funeral," he said.

"I'd prefer you hang around," I replied.

So far ... he's the only one who has.

I run the beach every morning, bandana on my head, I-Pod in my ears, keeping an eye on the ocean. Between songs I hear the crunching of the tiny shells under my feet. The ocean is flat and quiet with waves barely breaking as they kiss the shore. The sand dunes are high layered with green and gold sea oats. The sky is brilliantly blue. Paddle boarders look like a crippled Jesus walking on the water.

As I made my way, I'd see them all.

Otto, wearing white shorts, white tee shirt, white wrist bands and white shoes was tall and skinny. He carried dumb bells and when he saw me would wave one high in the air and shake it at me. His broad grin shooting warmth and happiness my way,

Beside him was his wife Carol limped because of a bad hip, also smiled and waved. It was always funny because Otto was running and she was walking but they were always side-by-side.

Artie, my neighbor, runs towards me and stops to talk in the middle of our run. I jog in place but he stops and we discuss college football or whatever the island gossip happens to be. We only chat a minute because we'll see each other again when I take Goddess for my cool down walk. He give her dog treats and we'll take our time talking as good friends do.

Mr. Moody was a retired college professor and is Muslim. He walks rather than runs and dresses like an Indian. He smiles broadly as I pass and asks if I've seen Artie. I point behind me and continue my way down the beach.

Alan would pretend to be fishing though he was really checking out the girls in bikinis strolling in the surf. In all of those years I never saw him catch a fish.

Every morning, for a few moments anyway, we were a family, checking on each other and growing concerned if someone was missing for more than a day or so.

Once Artie got us all together at his house for oysters and beer. Everyone came and for one hot summer evening we laughed and learned about each other. Otto was an Episcopal Priest. Moody's wife was a college professor too. Alan was retied and told fish stories keeping me in stiches. Artie is an Auburn wife and his wife Wanda is a substitute teacher.

All those years ago when Artie asked me to perform his funeral ... "Actually, I just want you to say a few words to whoever shows up for the one hour open bar I'm going to have. My picture will be on the bar. Say something nice about me and then drink up!" ... neither of us knew that we'd be the only ones left.

Moody died first and then Carol did too. Otto moved away. Alan disappeared.

Now it's just Artie and me though Sarah runs too and is making herself a part of the community of the not-so-faithful. Joe Nettles is out there most mornings. Tourists come and go, joining us for a few days before making their way home again.

Making my way this morning, I found myself thinking about them all.

The dunes are higher now. Sub-Tropical vegetation grows between the dunes. The beach is broader and wider than it's been in years. Tiny crosswalks have been replaced by long ones. Everything else is the same ... the grey white sand, the green grey water, the brilliant blue skies, tanker ships and shrimp boats, seagulls and dolphins.

"Hey God!" I say out loud.

"Bless them all! Thank you for them. Thank you for Sarah. Thank you for all of this."

In the distance I can make out Artie running towards me as a dolphin jumps out of the water letting me know that God heard everything I said.

This Incredible Gift

I've long believed that more significant conversations about God occur in bars than in churches. Last night in Doc's Bar we had one as the guitar player sang at the other end of the room but we were oblivious to his songs. Sitting at a high top table sipping drinks we learned forward as we talked with an intensity uncommon here.

The 8 year old son of a close friend has been diagnosed with Muscular Dystrophy.

"Why would God do that?" was the first question.

'There can't be a God when shit like this happens," was his frustrated and angry conclusion.

What does one say?

My mind raced back to college and Fran Janachec who had beautiful long black hair, olive skin, large brown eyes the size of moons and Muscular Dystrophy.

She carried her tiny lithe body on a bicycle built for two because she couldn't possibly peddle one by herself. If someone brushed her in the hall way she would topple over spilling her books and papers over the floor with grace and beauty as tears welled in her eyes.

I'd find her sitting there, students rushing by and bend over to pick her up, furious no one was helping her. Throwing her arm around my shoulder she would laugh and kiss my check and say, "Why yes. I'd love to dance."

I'd often find her lost in thought, staring at trees as though they held the secret to the universe.

"What'cha doing Fran?" I asked when I found her this way once.

She had this way of moving in slow motion as though she was dragging herself back from one world to another.

"Have  you ever noticed how many shades of green there are?" she finally said in response.

Looking at the cluster of trees I saw them as she did, an incredible array of colors all brilliantly different from each other. In that instant Fran taught me green.

We got shit faced drunk together once because she wanted to do it before she died and nobody would join her because they were afraid of hurting her, or were too Christian or they simply didn't care. We put on a Doobie Brothers album in her dorm room and popped the first beer. By the time the second side was done we were laughing uncontrollably at everything.

The last thing she wanted was to make love before she died. She finally did with this boy she kind of liked and told me all about it one afternoon in Landrum Hall.

"It was wonderful," she said in her beatific, slow motion, dream way.

"You crack me up," was my response.

And then she was gone.

The next semester, she didn't return and when I called her she told me it was for the best though she loved every single second of college, and the hours we'd spent together and the times I'd danced her to class when she fell to floor.

Then she died.

She'd was one of the most incredible gift of life I'd ever experienced and to this day she can make me cry.

Fran was again raised from the dead last night in Doc's in my heart and in my head. And it was her words that came out of my mouth as I replied to his questions.

"Life is this gift. We don't know how long we have it or how many we get to share it with so enjoy the hell out it. It doesn't last forever but God! ... what a thing it is ... when it's ours."

Rainbow Promises

Somewhere over the rainbow way up high there's a land that I heard of once in a lullaby ...

God promised Noah that he would never again engage in terrorist activities like wiping out all of humanity. In Genesis 9 God must be forgetful because he tells Noah, "Whenever I bring clouds over the earth and the rainbow appears in the clouds I will remember my covenant between me and you and all living creatures."

It's a funny beginning for such a beautiful thing.

God needed a reminder to not drown us all in a flood.

It also makes me wonder about tsunamis. A flood is starting and then the rainbow appears reminding God to not do it so its confined to one geographic area?

These things ran through my mind as I raced home through the marshes yesterday and was witness to one of the most spectacular rainbows I've ever seen.

Cars stopped in the middle of the Bull River Bridge to gawk and take pictures. Though I was in a hurry, I didn't mind. It was a stunning sight, stretching from the waters of the Intercostal Waterway on one side and seemingly ending on top of my house on Tybee Island.

I was rushed because the first ever Tybee Gay Days were taking place and I was picking up Sarah to meet the Carnival of Friends at a "White Party," fundraisers for AIDS research.  Everyone wears white because it "stands for purity. White is elegant, non-political, noon-combative and people just look plain beautiful."

Of course on Tybee this reasoning was butchered.

"If it's whites only," Johnny O explained, "I'm not going. That's racist."

"I look terrible in white," Cheryl said.

"I only have white shorts and I'm not wearing them," my son Jeremy confessed.

Nevertheless we were all going and I was driving back from Savannah when the rainbow appeared in

the sky stopping everyone driving to or from Tybee dead in their tracks.

Of course the rainbow flag is the symbol for Gay Pride and I was speeding back to Tybee Gay Days and God decides this is an excellent time to place a rainbow in the sky so stunningly spectacular that people are stopping to take notice.

Long ago it was a reminder that people will survive, regardless of how high the water rises. I couldn't help but believe that God was using it again as a promise that people, regardless of their sexuality, are finally free and their celebration can begin.

And last night that's precisely what we did.

A Day to Celebrate

Trees are dancing violently in the harsh winds blowing onshore. The tides are higher than normal swallowing sand into the sea. The beach is not as broad as it was yesterday. The ocean is a constant series of waves, more white than grey, perpetual motion calling a lone kite surfer to twist and turn wildly in the sky before crashing back into the sea.

It is not cold but I wear a long sleeve anyway as I run. Kermit the Frog is singing me The Rainbow Connection through my I-pod and I'm pretty content. I mean it's Kermit the Frog for God's sake. I love Kermit!

It's "Gay days" on Tybee though the weather is nothing to be happy about.

Normally it's beautiful and "beachy" this time of year but from the inside looking out it's like a Hurricane. Being outside, it looks like one but doesn't feel like it so I lumber along enjoying it all anyway.

What's not to enjoy?

Sarah's in bed and when I get home I'll snuggle her awake.

Jeremy's here and my brilliant daughter-in-law Marie will arrive later today. Tonight we're heading up to the "White Party", a celebration of acceptance. I like celebrations and this one should be fun.

For some reason there is a "Beach Sweep" today and volunteers are combing the beach looking for trash to pick up. Even if there were any, there's no way they could put it in the large black trash bags billowing in the wind over their heads. They'd have to throw the trash up hoping it flies into the bag.

They don't have to worry about it though. God's already swept the beach with all of this wind.

I'm also doing a wedding today so between Sarah, Jeremy and Marie, "Gay Days", Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog, Johnny O being the Big Kahuna for the Beach Bum parade, Cheryl's birthday and tonight's "White Party" it's just a day jam full of celebration.

The lovers, the dreamers and me.

My Robe and me

It was an uncommonly hot day in Louisville and even the large cavernous Cathedral I was sitting in was stagnant with heat. Fans blew from on high but the cool air quickly evaporated before it reached the worshippers. Mostly little old ladies, sleeping homeless men and a few fervent young business types, they genuflected, sleepily saying the words of the Liturgy. Sweat dripped from the nose of the old lady praying on the front row.

It was Wednesday's Noon Day Mass and, as the Southern Baptist Minister in the inner city neighborhood, I was of course present to deliver the readings before the homily. Then the old Priest would arise in his black robe, say a few words, launch into the Mass and end by placing the body of Christ in the hands or the tongues of the believers.

Afterwards, the old Priest and I would go to lunch.

Strolling into the sacristy, Father Vernon Robertson took off his vestments and underneath he wore a red Polo cotton pull over, plaid  Bermuda shorts and black shoes.

And the word of the Lord descended upon me as though God slapped me on the side of the head.

And I said the words out loud, "I Gotta Get Me One Of Those!"

Baptist Ministers, especially of the Southern variety, wear suits.

Suits suck!

I swear to God in Seminary there was a professor who lectured on the importance of keeping your socks pulled up while you're sitting in front of your congregation. (Back me up Michael Ruffin)!

As soon as lunch was over I went back to the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel where I was employed as the "Professional Christian" and tore into the choir room. We didn't have a choir but we had a room. In the closet were twenty black robes hanging there just in case we ever did.

I stole one.

For the last thirty years it has served me well. I conducted weddings, funerals, baptized babies, presided over civil unions and illegal gay marriages WAY BEFORE they were popular.

Underneath my robe, I wore whatever I wanted. Sometimes this meant nothing at all.

My beautiful daughter Chelsea is getting married soon and I'm blessed to perform the ceremony. Knowing how much I love my robe, she came to see us the other day and let Sarah know there was a dress code and I was to adhere to it. Damn the robe!


To make things more complicated, my former roommate Rocky Moore stole the robe that I'd stolen from the Church and made the mistake of washing it. After thirty years of tremendous usage it was paper thin from the salt air, ocean water and pee stains that she spent the better part of the afternoon picking it out of the washer piece by holy piece.

Feeling naked without it, Sarah jumped on the Internet and did a search for "Used Black clerical robe, Out of Business Ministers and People who have been kicked out of Church choirs."

BINGO!

A person kicked out of a Church choir sold us a robe that had only been worn once for $19.

I am back in business!

I'm using it tomorrow for the wedding of a daughter of a friend of a friend.

Just me and my robe.

Ministers should never do weddings of daughters of friends of a friend.

A Hula Girl At Heart

My wife is a Hula Girl at heart.

It's really starting to come out now.

In spite of her course northern vernacular, tough public façade and utter lack of ability to use a Hula Hoop, she's got the spirit and a little more comes out every day.

She's got a great tan and let me tell you she looks damn good when she just wears it!

Tan lines are just a distant unpleasant memory. She no longer has to worry about wearing clothes to cover the white parts and she doesn't have a cotton tail any more.

Her tee shirt collection has grown in direct proportion to her life on this island. She prefers V-necks that cling to her curves often rendering me completely speechless.

The bicycle has emerged as her preferred method of transportation and though hers hasn't gotten drunk yet, it's just a matter of time. Whitley Reynolds' bicycle lives right across the marsh and his bike is just circling hers like a shark waiting for the right moment.

Sarah is a full fledged participating member of the Carnival Of Friends and has proven her worth by conducting bathroom supervision when Rocky Moore has to go, drinking Jodee's special concoctions, assisting in a hostile take over of Dedra's bed when she was away and photographing Judy O'Neill prepare her own special hot dog. Hell! She and Cheryl plan most Carnival activities.

She's led worship in Bar Church, played with the Boys in the Band at Bernie's, been hugged by Roma and Esther Guy loves her. She waded in the water for Trolley Joe's funeral,  sleeps through the Turtle Trot and is hit on by women who visit Doc's Bar.

She brought Winston, the little gay dog, into our home who has become an icon on the island and within one year of his arrival has arranged the first annual Gay Days on Tybee which will take place this weekend. Of course we're all going, he loves Sarah more than anything.

She avoids politics, institutional religion and has developed a severe case of Tybee-itis which is dreaded fear of crossing the Lazaretto Bridge. She prefers being on-island.

She now likes to vacation on other islands, likes cruise ships, is a pretty good roulette player and wants to live next door to Joey Finch in Key West. Conner and Hania love her so she's part of the family. Carlos and Verna do too. And Franklin, who is brown, lusts after her in a way that borders on obsession.

Her birthday is next week and it's also Mother's Day but I'm not worried.

I know exactly what I'm getting her.

A grass skirt!

It's time for you to jump over your fears

I have a friend who surfs.

The thing is, he can't swim.

Another was getting by another year in the 27th unhappy year of her marriage when one day she got in the car and drove to Tybee Island because a friend had made the offer, "You can stay here anytime."

And she spent a year reevaluating herself, her marriage and how she wants to live the rest of her life.

Now she's back home but living on her own terms and even if it doesn't work out right, at least she gave herself the most enjoyable year she's lived so far.

A mother of three small children in upstate New York picked up the phone and called a man she hadn't seen in a decade because he'd once said that she could always come back. So she did. After relocating to the South she's built a new life and the two are very happily married.

Most are scared to do such things. Why in the world would someone who can't swim surf? How does a wife take a year off from her marriage? What possibly motivates a mother of three young children to believe she can successfully have a different life?

After all, we're not supposed to do these kinds of things. They're not acceptable. They are risky. They throw caution to the wind and are outrageous acts of irresponsibility.

The ramifications of taking such steps can be drastic. Parents scold children, Ministers pronounce sins, friends take sides, society pushes you to the outside. You're a black sheep, rebel, outcast or the crazy one in the family. People tell you you're going to hell.

A lot of us want the most out of life. Unfortunately we're too frightened to take the first step, feeling trapped by the choices we've made, the relationships we're in or the jobs we have.

So we never do anything.

I wanted to bungee jump.

Climbing to the top of a massive tower I was strapped in to the cord that would prevent me from crashing onto the ground far below.

"OK," the kid said. "Go for it."

Peering over the edge, the ground was some eighty feet below. The cord was some sixty feet long.

My mouth went dry. A ball of fear suddenly churned in my stomach. My knees shook.

Turning, I looked at a bunch of young girls standing behind me. They were waiting to go next.

"Come on Old Man!" they laughed. "Do it!"

I'm still uncertain what it was. I knew that I wanted to jump believing it would add to my life's experiences. I disliked the girls calling me old and indicating that the foolishness of youth had passed me by. I distained fear taking over my life even for a moment.

So ... like a surfer who can't swim ... an unhappy wife stuck in unhappiness... and a mother of three who wants so much more ... I jumped.

In each case, it's scary as hell and as exhilarating as heaven!

We're all happier and more fulfilled people than we ever could have been without jumping.

Today I'm thinking of all of the people who want to jump from the lives they are living into the one they want so much. But they're scared, feeling stuck and choosing to allow unhappiness and unfulfilled lives to continue.

I want to tell them.

"It's alright. JUMP!"

Jesus's Boat ride

Mark 5:1-10

Micheal Elliott Revised Version

1. They came to the other side of the sea to the land of the Gerasenes for bar-b-que because Israel forbade barb-que joints but the Gerasenes did not.

2. As soon as Jesus hopped out of the boat he ran smack dab into a man who lived in a graveyard and the dude was dirty.

3. The man was wearing broken handcuffs and a chain

4. The Sherriff had arrested the man a lot because he kept breaking public nuisance laws and the public hates nuisances of any kind! The man didn't wear clothes and scared kids and old ladies. He also smelled and hadn't taken a bath in a long time.

5. If that wasn't bad enough, all damn night and all damn day, the dude would just scream bloody murder in the graveyard which really pissed the preachers off when they were doing funerals. As part of the public, they called the Sheriff.

6. When he saw Jesus the dude fell down.

7. And he screamed, "WHAT DO WANT JESUS? DON'T FUCK WITH ME!"

8. At the same time Jesus was saying to the dude, "You got too much going on man. We gotta lighten your load."

9. And Jesus stuck out his hand and said, "My name's Jesus. What's yours?" And the dude said, "Hi Jesus. I'm Lee, which is short for Legion which is a terrible name and I got lots of issues in no small part because my Mama named me that."

10. Then he said, "I don't want to be deported" for he was an illegal immigrant.

11. Now there was a huge pig farm next to the graveyard to supply the bar-b-que joints with plenty of pork because all of the people of Israel would desire bar-b-que sandwiches at the moment the Rabbi said, "Thou Shalt Not Eat Bar-b-gue sandwiches or ribs" and as soon as Temple was over they got in their boats and crossed the sea because there is nothing better than a good bar-b-que sandwich.

12. And Jesus got the idea to put all of Lee's issues in the pigs because it pissed Jesus off that the very wealthy pig farmers didn't give a rat's ass about a naked, messed up illegal immigrant living in the graveyard next door.

13. Verily, Jesus said, "Sooie!" and simultaneously Lee stood up straight and all the pigs stampeded into the sea and drowned putting the pig farm out of business.

14. Horrified, the pig farmers ran to town to get a lynch mob together because bar-b-que sandwiches just got a hell of a lot more expensive.

15. When the pig farmers showed back up with the Sherriff and a crowd, Jesus was sitting there talking to Lee who was looking good all washed up, wearing a white Latitudes 32 Full Moon Party tee shirt, Hook & Tackle shorts and flip flops which scared the shit out of the pig farmers, the Sherriff and the mob who all wore pleated Kaki!

16. Witnesses who had seen the whole thing described what had happened for the News which had a mobile truck on site. The witnesses all lived in a nearby trailer park and were wearing stained whife-beater tee shirts and flowery Moo-Moos.

17. The witnesses, reporters, pig farmers, Sherriff and mob immediately began the process to deport Jesus.

18. Verily Jesus said, "No problem Mon," and started climbing back in the boat when Lee said he wanted to go.

19. And Jesus said, "Naw, go home. They're going to deport you anyway. Tell your people want happened." Then Jesus looked at the whole crazy scene and said, "Lord have mercy" as they sailed out of sight.

20. And Lee told everyone he met that Jesus is one cool dude.

A Career Interlude

It's a muted Monday... not a manic one.

A blanket of clouds holds the warmth of the day and last night's rains washed away the sins of the past. The ocean is calm but there is a restlessness beneath the waters that swell and roll yet never break the surface.

But it is there and I can feel it.

I'm running on the sand as the sun sticks its head out of the blanket of clouds throwing diamonds on the water. The rolling restlessness is accentuated by the glare of the day.

Reaching down I grab a belly full of fat and it is soft in my hand. A few weeks ago it was hard and I wasn't able to do it. I am literally changing. I'd stopped running and it ended up not being a good thing so I'm back at it and all of the positive things are returning. My legs are strong again, the breathing is regular, the sweat is good and the contemplation is healthy. I'm feeling and looking like myself again.

It's as if I'm training for something.

In the movie "The Exorcist" an overweight detective finds a Priest running around a track and stops him.

"Have --- have we met?" asked the Jesuit.

"No Father. No but they said you look like a boxer ..."

That scene has stuck with me through the years.

A Priest is in training for things that Seminary could never prepare him for. Deep inside he knows to train for something, though God only knows what and God's not sharing. So in spite of the comforts of his religion and the safety of his church he has a rolling restlessness inside. There is more to come in his life though he has no idea what, so he prepares himself as best he can.

Laying in bed last night, I listened to the rain fall. The windows were open and I could see the silhouettes of Palm Trees dancing in the wind. It had been a wonderful day, full of love and celebration but I lay in the darkness tossing and turning thinking about work. Professionally I am restless. There is so much more for me to give.

My career is in-between things. After an incredibly successful and endeavors in most everything so far ... I've dabbled in consulting and spent a wonderful year with the International Street Medicine Institute helping build a foundation for it. I've been writing and reconnecting with my spirituality.

Personally, Sarah and I are making a home and weaving new things out of old which has been wonderful. We celebrate daily and look forward to everything we're doing and going to do. The Carnival of Friends are terrific and island life remains holy and happy. The personal side of life is the best its ever been!

Professionally though it feels like an interlude. ACT I of my career was a blast though it's now plainly over. I've been waiting in the wings for ACT II to get started. I am ready! Sarah's ready! Our partners are ready!  Lot's of people are anticipating what's coming!

So I prepare myself as best I can, rolling with the restlessness that's just below the surface of creativity and the joys that come from making the world a better place.

Soon, unexpectedly and before I'm totally ready, it will break free and we're going to surf the wild and wonderful ride of the career ahead of us.

Winston, the little gay dog's, plans

"Who's Winston?" the Dude asked.

"THE LITTLE GAY DOG!" exclaimed the seven people sitting on the porch with him.

It is true that Winston, the little gay dog, has cultivated a following.

Chris from Yates Astro was spraying the house for bugs when he stopped what he was doing, his eyes growing wide and he asked, "Is that Winston, the little gay dog?"

Winston was watching him wearing a pair of dark sunglasses and a black sweater vest with words in white. "Homoland Security! Protecting America from Heterosexuals!"

"Yep," I answer. "That's the little Diva."

Chris went nuts and asked if he could take pictures.

"I guess," I said as he whipped out his phone and snapped several shots.

Shrugging my shoulders, I looked at Goddess who has obtained a prescription to treat Glaucoma with marijuana from the Veterinary Clinic. She's surfing the Web and spends a lot of time at ourweed.com. She's also spending more time in the yard and has learned how to turn on the water hose.

I need to investigate but Winston, the little gay dog, has been working on his autobiography and he's absolutely convinced it will become a major motion picture.

He hasn't let me read it but Sarah says it's pretty good.

He spends more time with her than me and I think she's helping him polish the manuscript before deciding who he wants to use as a publisher. He talks about her being his agent.

I gotta go.

UPS is at the door with a package for Goddess.

Off Island

I'm back on island.

Thank God.

The sun is shinning, the ocean is blowing kisses this way, the flowers on the beloved back deck are blooming and it's all alright by me.

I see no reason to leave.

Besides I'm still recovering from last night when we had to go off island. Going off island just sucks but sometimes you just have to do it so we did.

Now my friend Julia Just Julia once spent the better part of a year never leaving the island. She ordered everything she needed online. Groceries were delivered to her front door by UPS. Household items were easily ordered. She even had cases of toilet paper brought to her. I really admire her commitment to island living.

When we got back we recovered from the experience by stopping at Marlin Monroe's and immediately ran into Michael Moody who plays really good music there at the Sunday Oyster Roast. He explained he was celebrating his birthday, his anniversary and most everything else he could think of celebrating by staying in his condo.

What makes this interesting is that Michael's house is three blocks away from his condo. He was taking a vacation within easy walking distance from where he lives!

Now I live on an island and my vacation destinations all tend to be islands but Michael has taken his love of this particular island to a whole new level!

Doc's Bar was celebrating it's 65 birthday so we made our way to the combat zone to help. Besides the very excellent "Eight Mile Bend" was playing and my cousin Chad Carver is the lead singer. We had a blast meeting new friends who had all rushed to the island to celebrate Tybee's oldest bar!

The island takes its bars very seriously! When word got out that the old Desoto Hotel and Bar was going to be torn down several hundred people held a candlelight prayer vigil in front of City. Apparently God wasn't that big a fan of the Desoto and it was razed anyway.

Besides, the Carnival of Friends has called an emergency meeting later today. We need to rest up for that. Then the sun is going to set and that's always a big deal on an island. We've got to do that.

Then it will be dark and island is dark is different from other dark. Strange and unexpected things happen so you have to always be prepared for the irreparable.

So I'm just going to sit here for a while.

Well, at least until I need to replace this beer.