Monday Morning Staff Meeting

The managing partner has a meeting at the other end of Corporate Headquarters and isn't at the staff meeting I've just called to order.

Sitting at the conference table under the umbrella on the Beloved Back deck, I'm taking a moment to collect my thoughts.

To my left is Winston, the little gay dog, in a pink sweater vest that reads, "Closet? What closet?" Wearing sunglasses, he's hyper and wants me to get started because he's got other things to do.

Beside him Goddess is passed out and snores in the chair with empty bags of Doritos littered on the floor. She was here when I arrived, finishing her hourly medical treatment of medicinal marijuana for the glaucoma she swears she has.

At the opposite end of the table is My Guardian Angel who looks terrible, taking long drags off her cigarette followed by sips from a tall boy Pabst Blue Ribbon. She seems distracted and lost in thought. Her white robe is dirty, the blue stole wrinkled, her long black hair hasn't been washed in weeks and hangs limp in her face as she blows halos in the air.

The Cat Lady wears her dingy yellow bath robe with a blue towel wrapped around her head. She looks like Marge Simpson on meth and cat hair falls every time she moves. Smelling like kitty litter, she's looking into her yard smiling at the thirty or so feral cats wandering everywhere. Her buff boyfriend of the week is shaving his chest and legs and keeps winking at her.

On my immediate right is Gypsy, the gender confused cat, obviously wondering why he's here at all. Gypsy normally shies away from most everything because of his paranoid personality disorder. He and Winston, the little gay dog, don't get along and both constantly vie for the managing partner's attention.

"All right," I say, "let's get started."

"Screw you!" my Guardian Angel snaps.

Gypsy darts from the table and runs downstairs causing the Cat Lady to jump up and run after him leaving a blanket of cat hair raining down on us.

Winston, the little gay dog, takes this as a good sign and flashes his evil genius smile while fumbling for nail polish in his man purse.

Startled, Goddess wakes up, yawns and says, "People! Please! Why can't we all just get along?"

"Is there a problem?" I ask.

My Guardian Angel angrily flips me the finger.

"Is everything alright out there?" the managing partner yells from the other end of Corporate Headquarters.

"Yes Dear," I lovingly answer.

The Cat Lady is chasing Gypsy screeching, "HERE KITTY! KITTY! KITTY!"

Goddess rolls another Dobie and Winston, the little gay dog, paints his nails orange ... because the little Son-of-a-bitch (and I mean that literally) knows I hate that color. My Guardian Angel throws another empty beer can in the back yard and another magically appears from nowhere.

I sigh heavily.

It's a Monday," I mutter under my breath.

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Surviving hammers and nails

This is a random progression of thought.

Crosby, Stills & Nash singing "4 + 20" which make me wonder what I was doing 24 years ago.

Not especially good at math, I hit the calculator App on the I-phone and subtract 24 from 57 and it's 33.

That's Jesus age was when he was crucified.


OUCH!

Since that first one, his ass has been nailed to a cross virtually every day somewhere but especially in church and Congress.

On the other hand, I've only been crucified a few times. None were pleasant and I wouldn't recommend it to anybody though it is great when you survive.

The scars don't matter.

The life does.

Sitting here at 57, wishing like hell I could be 33 again because my beautiful wife Sarah would be three years older than me and I would like that.

It would buy us more time.

But it is what it is.

It took her one crucifixion and me two to get us to where we are.

I wouldn't trade it.

I'm pretty sure she wouldn't either though crucifixions make you not take much anything for granted when you survive.

It's been a tough week full of good days and bad days and going half mad days. Lots of people with hammers and nails have been walking around ... mostly corporate leaders, politicians, FOX News and clergy ...  but so far we've skirted them.

We're still alive and kicking!

Hell! We're flat out enjoying!

You are too if you're on the right side of the dirt!

So take the moment and enjoy the hell out of yourself!

You've survived your share of crucifixions just like I have.

It's best to focus on what's next because what was ... hurt like hell.

It's a time of celebration!

I'm starting by proving to Sarah that resurrection has many meanings ... many times ... many ways ... and is repetitive.

Life is good!

Go do good things!

Especially for yourself!
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Looking Back Gets You Nowhere

"Tried to go back as if I could," sings the Major Prophet James Taylor, "all spec house and plywood ... tore up ... tore up good."

And that's the truth about the past.

It's not what it was.

We haven't learned the lesson of Lot's wife in (Genesis 19), who looking back lost everything she has and everything that could have been. God was giving her a chance to start again and she didn't take it ... because she looked backwards instead of where she was going."

Too many lives are lost because too many spend too much time looking over their shoulder.

They miss old homes, the dead, good times and things that might have been. It's like a never ending old movie that replays endlessly in our head.

The trick is to keep growing to become more the person God created us to be. So we change. God likes creation and is always tinkering trying to make things better, meaning you and me.

If we aren't embracing different things, growing into them, being reborn and reincarnated, then we're missing the present, spending our time looking backwards which never gets you anywhere.

The fact is we hold on to the past because we're too damn scared of the present. We're either where we want to be or we're not. If we're not it's just agony!

If we are, then life is sweet!

The bitch about enjoying now is forgetting then. They're nothing but good or bad stories to tell. You may laugh or cry when you tell them but they're just old stories.

They were then.

They aren't now.

Too many people still think I'm a homeless guru, a social problem genius and the Go-to guy when life's curve ball hits someone smack in the face. They still think I have something to do with Union Mission, hospitals or politics. Hardly a day goes by that someone doesn't communicate with me as if I were still that person.

I'm not anymore. My life has moved on.

It's true that I have talents in those other areas, but today I'm a writer, a teacher and a coach. Sarah and I partners in this work. It's all we think about. It consumes us and there's no time left for Union Mission or hospitals or politics. And we love it!

Because I'm damn certain the life I have left is taking me to new heights, better things and excellent adventures.  I'm not looking backwards and risk my life settling to be little more than a pillar of salt blowing away.
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Great Sluts!

The conversation at our house currently centers on great sluts of history.

"What?" you ask, spewing whatever it is you've just taken a sip.

It began over the choice of a Halloween costume.

Have you seen them recently?

When I was a kid, I draped a bath towel around my neck and told everybody I was Superman. This resulted in many compliments and tons of candy.

Once I found an old wig and a trench coat and transformed myself into "Tiny Tim" ... no one complimented me and I didn't get much candy.

It's not that way anymore!

The right Halloween costume is serious stuff and planning begins weeks in advance.

Last year, Sarah was Cat Woman in a tight fitting silky skin suit and a mask. Let you tell you ... the moaning that took place later that night downed out everything the Cat Lady and her feral collection next door has to offer.

Sarah also got shitloads of candy, twenty-two business cards, phone numbers written on paper napkins all thrown into bag made soggy by salivating fathers ... and mothers ... tossing things her way.

Her girls dressed accordingly.

Planning has begun for this year and one of the initial comments made was, "That costume will make you look like a slut. Let your grandmother make you one ... out of wool."

Of course this made me laugh like crazy and wanting to be a good influence, I've offered sound advice.

"Look," I said to the crushed child, "history is full of great sluts. There wouldn't be a Bible if it weren't for the sluts in them. Just tell them you're going to be a Biblical slut. Bathsheba for example. Or Rachel ... if you want to step out of the Bible into other religions you can start with Aphrodite ... if you want great historical sluts you can be Catherine the Great, Coco Channel, Madonna or Bill Clinton."

She stopped crying beginning to understand for the first time the preponderance of great sluts who've made contributions to history.

The great theologian Larkin Rossitter, at the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel when I was employed as the "Professional Christian" explained ... "Look everyone is a whore. The question is whose you're pimp?"

We thought this a brilliant analogy ... which could be part of the reason I became an "Unprofessional Christian."

Regardless, I think it's harder to be a kid these days than when I was young. Today they control the universe through the Internet by the age of five. By 11 or 12, they're navigating the sexual landscape. By the time they're 14, they have defined their identities for life.

I'd rather work through these challenges with them than define the rules. The truth of the matter is we make our own rules anyway. They're made by dictatorial rule or in partnership. I prefer the latter.

When she got out of the car this morning, after spying her friends and immediately screaming, "HEY! Stop the car now! Those are my friends. Please, Please, Please, Please, Please ..."

So I did and she's immediately surrounded by love at that age ... boys and girls displaying affection for one another, obviously looking forward to the day ... the weekend ... Halloween.

"HEY!" I yell and she turns to look with an Angelic beautiful face, "Have slutty weekend."

And she laughs and dives into her friends which is what matters most to any kid.

Driving home, I reflect on last night when she, Sarah and I sat in the living room, flipping channels and talking. Making plans as partners do.
________________________________________________

An eccentric life dotted with eclectic characters pop from the pages of award winning author Micheal Elliott’s newest book Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts. His musings immerse you in a world of headshaking wonder, gut wrenching laughter, heart touched tenderness and empathetic tears.

Order your copy now at http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/newbook/

Good Karma beats the bad stuff

I believe in Karma.

What goes around comes around. We reap what we sow. Violence begets violence but doing good things make things good.

In my life, I've done lot's of good and sure enough lot's of good came my way.

I've also did some bad things and have had my fair share of bad happen that I never want to experience again.

For a while, things got completely out of whack! Apparently, I'd used up all the good I've done because they ran out. Bad things took over.  Lots of bad things!

Every morning I'd get up and try my best to be helpful to the world ... even if it just meant petting Goddess my dog. Yet ... bad things kept right on happening, piling up on me and days got worse.

I couldn't figure it out and asked God, "Hey! What did I do? This isn't right!"

God never said anything back.

Then ... I don't know if God finally took pity on me or if good Karma finally decides to come back ... things started getting better. A small group of good friends replaced thousands of shitty ones. I began to feel better. Sarah came home. A rich life that crashed and burned leaving me empty was suddenly full again!

It's a whole new world!

It's like being reincarnated or born-again or coming back the dead.

Everything's not perfect but ... it's mostly perfect and I now ask myself, "How in the hell did I do that other stuff for so long? That was crazy! This is fuckin' A!"

Imagine my surprise yesterday as I left lunch with good friends at "Spanky's South Side" only to run smack into two of the really bad Karma people in my life. One had just been through an orchestrated dismissal ... meaning she was fired ... while the other continues to slither his way through other people's misfortunes.

"I left something for Sarah," she said which immediately pissed me off."

"Congratulations on your transition," I reply filling with anger.

The snake tries to make lite of it. They're down and I'm up. It's time for revenge and it's starting to taste sweet when a loving arm comes from nowhere and elopes my neck just as I'm catching fire.

"C'mon Pal," my friend Ryan says in his Savannah Irish brogue, "you ain't got time for bullshit!" and he pulls me away from bad Karma.

Outside, its stopped raining and the sun's peaking through clouds though Ryan still has his arm around my neck. Then he burst out laughing which makes me giggle. Slapping me on the back he strolls away and I look back inside at the bad Karma just sitting there.

What goes around has indeed come around.

It almost sucked me in again but ... there are just too many good things in my life right now.

If you're unfortunate enough to be on the down hill ride of the Karma roller coaster, I want you to get ready.

Keep being kind to yourself as best you can. Hold on to the good friends and let the shallow ones go.  Embrace reincarnation and be born again. Fuck the past!

Enjoy the ride back to the top.

Wave when you see me there.
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Hope

"I'm sorry sir," she says as we enter the Club House at "The Landings", "but I can't let you in."

The elderly man and I stop in front of the maître d, smartly dressed in black slacks, vest, starched white shirt with a beatific smile.

"You're wearing a tee shirt," she explains.

Of course I'm wearing a tee shirt. When shirts are necessary, tee shirts are my first option. Today's choice is a formal black cotton with gold embroidery proclaiming to the world that Sarah and I along with Jan and Dick had dined at "Palm Coast" in St. Martin.

My 94 year old companion leans on his cane and waits. We're close friends. He's a mentor and in his twilight years, when most of his friends have died or no longer bother with him, I make the hour long drive every month or so to spend time with him. I owe the man a lot.

"Well then," I say in exaggerated fashion, "what can we do about this travesty?"

Smiling, the maître d tells me she has a collared shirt that I can wear above my kaki shorts with tons of pockets and flip flops. The Club House at "The Landings" is serious about dress codes!

She hands me a God-awful orange, gold-fish colored collared shirt which I slip on in front of everyone already seated in their collared shirts. All stare at me, forks suspended in air, tea glass in hands and the more refined taking quick gulps of white wine.

"Hey!" I say to the maître d, "I look damn good in this God-awful shirt! Will you take our picture?"

Thrusting my I-phone into her hand, she giggles as she snaps our photo. Then we're allowed in the Club.

Earlier in life Ben would have been embarrassed but he no longer cares. Every Club member watches as we're led to a window side table. After we're seated, he laughs.

"You've always love to make an entrance," he says tucking his cloth napkin into his collared shirt.

"I think it's a great tee shirt," I explain. "It matches my shorts and flip flops."

As he giggles, we can't help but notice that every single employee of the place, loves us! We're given the best service by multiple waitresses. They share laughter with us. As soon as we take a sip, our glasses are refilled while the collared people wait for more wine.

We talk as people stare, two old friends who have done a lot together, spend a while looking back. Ben repeats himself several times and I'm not used to it. I don't like thinking about when he's gone.

"What are you doing now?" he suddenly asks and I explain that we sell hope in desperate times.

Greying eyes suddenly burst into the crystal clear baby blues I've always known him to have. Half-an-hour rushes by as we have an intellectual conversation about hope. Lots of people are selling it. Everybody desperately needs it. Most of what's sold isn't meeting people's needs. He questions, challenges, debates and ... is inexplicably young and full of venom and vigor.

At 1:45 I hold up my hand and say "Betty told me to have you back before 1:30. You have a doctors appointment at 2. I think we're in trouble again."

"Screw her!" he yells ... obviously ready for more debate and the entire room is as silent as a church as I burst into laughter.

The next moment takes a thousand years.

Greyness returns to his eyes. He asks if he's paid the bill. His back hunches forward. He searches for his cane. He struggles to stand. He doesn't want to leave.

I drive him home and when we arrive Betty is obviously not pleased.

"You're late," she says with her hands on her hips.

"We were picking up girls," I explain.

Without missing a beat she counters, "I'm the only girl for him. Ben, get in the car."

He does as he's told but as I turn, he winks at me with blazing blue eyes.

And I cry all the way home.
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Winston, the little gay dog, and SpongeBob Squarepants

Winston, the little gay dog, is upset the "SpongeBob SquarePants" movie is being filmed on Tybee Island.

He prances to the Beloved Back Deck wearing a rainbow sweater that reads, "Don't be a square! Round fit holes better", looks at me in disgust, snarls at Goddess whose passed out at my feet and growls at Gypsy, the gender confused cat.

"HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY!" the Cat Lady unfortunately screeches further infuriating Winston, the little gay dog, and he barks in his high pitch voice and I swear it sounds like "BITCH!"

The Cat Lady, wearing her dirty bathrobe and blue towel wrapped around her head, looks like Marge Simpson on Meth, stops sending a flurry of kitty hair falling into her yard like rain.

"Mike," she screeches, "did your dog just call me a bitch."

Suddenly interested, Goddess raises her head to see how I answer.

I shrug my shoulders.

Sometimes there's nothing to say.

Winston, the little gay dog, hikes his leg and pees in her direction.

The Cat Lady returns the gesture in kind.

Goddess, Gypsy and I all gag at the same time.

The problem is Winston, the little gay dog, feels SpongeBob SquarePants is selling out; fame has gone to the cartoon character's head and he's forsaking his natural, God-made self of being gay for continued movie success.

Last night Sarah came outside crying asking if I'd talk to Winston, the little gay dog. I never tell her no (she's from the North you know?) so I meander into our bedroom where he has a lava lamp, orange shag carpet, big screen television and mini-fridge full of frozen Daiquiris under our bed and ask him what's up.

He offers me a Daiquiri and I put down my glass of wine to take it.

"What's up buttercup?" I ask.

Sighing while blinking back tears, Winston, the little gay dog, explains, "SpongeBob SquarePants is gay."

"What?" I exclaim not caring at all.

"His best friend is a Patrick, a pink starfish, and his neighbor Squidward takes bubble baths, listens to classical music, and talks like Paul Lynde! SpongeBob and Patrick hold hands when The Adventures of Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy is on television."

"I LOVE PAUL LYNDE!" I shout.

Winston, the little gay dog, nods understandingly.

"Who didn't love Paul Lynde?" he agrees.

So Winston, the little gay dog, is staging a protest against the whole SpongeBob SquarePants movie being filmed on island.

"It's taken us too long to gain acceptance," the little gay dog explains changing into his nightgown and turning off the lava lamp.

Ours is a blended family.

But I didn't have the heart ... or the guts ... to tell Winston, the little gay dog, that his sisters ... all three of Sarah's girls ... are extras in the movie.

Sometimes there's nothing to say.

Free from Fear

"Even the worst among us are precious. Even the most precious among us bear crosses."

Says Frederick Buechner and I certainly believe it true.

Everyone carries crosses, bears burdens, deals in doubt, struggles with security and you are weighted down by worries.

And everyone keeps them secret.

Living in fear rather than admit our realities, we make things worse, keeping them quiet, holding them dear, sharing them only with God in dark nights of the soul.

Making it worse, God keeps quiet.

The most religious and holy among us hide these things behind their faith.

Corporate leaders hide in towers of steel, wood and glass making themselves impossible to see behind the façades of power. We conclude they are different somehow, smarter, luckier, braver or just blessed.

Politicians promise they're different, having nothing to hide though everyone knows they're lying but we choose to believe the lies.

The rest of us keep our nose to the grindstone, our mouths shut, hearts closed and eyes focused on things we believe will bring relief ... the one true love, the promotion, the big sale, the affirmation of someone else or the winning lottery ticket.

We believe in Heaven because we've already touched Hell and it never goes away.

Not wanting anyone else to know, we keep it to ourselves.

What's funny is most of us have lots of good going on too. Living where we want or at least in comfort, watching healthy children grow, there's groceries in the Fridge and gas in the car. We have friends even though some are bad ones. Another day has been given to us.

These things aren't enough though.

What we really want is to be free from fear.

But fear seems to trump most days.

It's been said the more you love yourself, the less effect fear has on you.

I believe this too.

Today when the cross digs keep into your back, the burdens make you stumble, insecurity washes over you like a flood and worries throw wet blankets over your head and heart ... stop for a second and hug yourself.

If you're lucky enough, hug someone else too.

"There is no fear in love," says the Apostle John, "because love drives out fear because fear has to do with punishment. Those who fear aren't living in love."

That's my plan for today.

What's yours?

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The Excuse

A father and son stand in a green field tossing a football back and forth as they talk.

It's one of those things you see in back yards throughout the country, in parks and empty lots or on a college campus on game day.

Close enough to talk, there's enough distance between them for the ball to zip crisply through the air. Laughter erupts should one drop a pass. They are playing an old game with each other.


There is an easiness between them as they've played together for years and have long mastered the other's deceptions. Their conversation is about everything and nothing. Obviously they're simply having a good time hanging out.

The father is 57.

His son is 35.

Had the girls been with them, a 33 and a 25 year old would be throwing the ball with the same crisp zip and with banter just as easy and laid back.

Friends arrive so the boy and his Dad put the ball down, greeting them warmly and offering morning cocktails. The empty table they'd set up under the tent quickly fills with food and overflows. Handshakes lead to laughter and stories both true and false.

Both the father and the son call their wives to report the success of the morning gathering and implore them to join in next time.

All too soon, the friends say their goodbyes and help the boy and his Dad pack everything away. The air fills with mist and they can smell the coming rain. The two don't care as they make their way to the excuse for being together again.

Time marches on and things change. Sons and daughters start families of their own and move to distant places. Job and obligations get in the way of family traditions which slowly slip away. New things will take their place.

But not quite yet.

For a little while at least I'm a proud young Father again playing ball with the little boy I love so deeply.
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An eccentric life dotted with eclectic characters pop from the pages of award winning author Micheal Elliott’s newest book Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts. His musings immerse you in a world of headshaking wonder, gut wrenching laughter, heart touched tenderness and empathetic tears.
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Never letting the truth stand in the way of a good story, Elliott’s ninth book takes you on a wild journey of “Wow! Really! I can’t believe that!” every day moments. Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts exemplifies his gift of capturing common thoughts and painting them perfectly into words.

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Order yours now at http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/newbook/

The Drive

It's been a while since I drove to Athens alone but it's a pleasant sunny day and the Braves game's on the radio as I sail up Interstate 16 to Highway 441. It's a four hour drive from Tybee Island to College Station Road where my son Jeremy lives so there's lot of time to think.

I miss Skip Carey. The former Braves announcer was caustic and funny. My all time favorite line of his happened as the team was getting pounded and losing badly. "This is as much fun as writing the last alimony check," he explained.

My phone starts buzzing and people inform me of changes occurring where I used to work. In this age of instant communication, I read a newspaper link on my phone. I had an incredible 23 year run and we were able to accomplish things no one else in the nation had before or since. But even the good things come to an end and it was time to do other things.

Radio searches remain as maddening as ever as I try to keep the game on. I'd forgotten how many preachers have their own radio shows spewing condemnation and hell! And I have no appreciation of the number of people who obviously like country music. Luckily, the Braves broadcast blankets the state.

Sarah and I chat on and off during the drive. I remember when talking to my love wouldn't have been possible and the drive would have been simply boring. Hell, I remember when cell phone coverage worked mostly in Savannah and in parts of Athens but nowhere in between. Sarah and I have no problems talking to one another during the drive.

The Dublin bypass is one piece of highway that the Georgia Department of Transportation got right! Unfortunately it is completely offset by the cluster f#$k that is Milledgeville, a large strip mall with a small college. It is traffic at its worse.

The little country towns along the way appear the same as when my Dad drove us to Athens. A lot has changed during the years ... Dad's gone, lots of friends have gone on with him, places we used to go are no more ... but the zipping through the little country towns remain charming ... so long as I don't have to live in any of them.

The Braves rally for 5 runs in the 9th inning just as I reach Athens. Another case of perfect timing!

Athens is a beautiful place and Jeremy is living here for the second time completing his Ph.D. which is great! Making it better is his place is now Sarah and my crash pad! He lives on campus so we get the feel we're back in school again where "all you want to do is learn how to score!"

It was a pleasant enough drive. I wish Sarah was with me but I'm doing the return trip today and we'll reunite on the scoring front tonight.

In the meantime Jeremy and I are having a good time, there's a game to see, and the Braves will be on the radio just as I'm starting the drive home.

The time that's left

"Joanne!' exclaims Johnny O after I flip the page to the Obituaries.

The black and white photo is of a young, blond pretty woman. She loved animals, was divorced, had no children and was adorned by many. Remembrances should go to the Humane Society. A funeral mass will be followed by a private graveside service.

Johnny stairs off in space.

I turn the page.

Half an hour later, Sarah and I stand on the Beloved Back Deck as the sun rises. The sliding glass doors to the kitchen are open and Laurel and Cassidy accuse the other of touching their cinnamon toast. The cicadae are loud, birds sing solos and Sarah is ravenously beautiful with long hair draping her shoulders, tight cut off blue jeans and a tank top.

I fight to concentrate on hearing what she's saying.

"I don't know how much time we have left," she says with hands stuffed in her pockets. "I hope it's forty years. I just know I want to make the most of whatever it is."

The other day she posted something Steve Jobs said. “No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don’t want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life’s change agent ..."

While I know that death certainly has a way of sneaking up on you, it's not something I think about.

Suddenly though, it confronts me.

It's taken two lifetimes for she and I to get together and there's a time limit!

She's lots younger than me and in Vegas the odds are I'm going out first.

You never know because anything and everything in life is unpredictable but the betting people are laying money down on me dying first with her coming in a distant second.

It's sobering start to an absolutely beautiful day standing in front of a stunningly beautiful woman who loves me and wants to make the most out of whatever time we have left.

The older one grows, the more time is measured in immediate increments ... months instead of years ... days rather than hours ... now and not next!

I confess that I'm an utter failure in growing up!

"I believe if I refuse to grow old, I can stay young till I die," sings Granny in the marvelous musical advice she gives to her grandson Pippin."

I'm with Granny on this.

But, I'm smart enough to hedge my bets.

When Sarah takes the girls to school I jump on the phone and rearrange the weekend plans so that we can most make the most out of our time.

Then I do something I was supposed to have done yesterday but didn't, something Sarah started telling me I should do a week ago but life kept getting in the way.

I call a friend in his mid 90s who is winding down. Spending his days sleeping more, it takes several times before we actually talk. Thrilled to hear me, we make plans for lunch. No longer able to drive, I will pick him up 45 minutes away which is a pain-in-the-ass but I owe him a lot so I make the time.

Now I'm waiting on Sarah to get back home. She's at a meeting because the girls want to be in the "Squarepants Spongebob" movie being filmed here. Only on Tybee Island can a cartoon be filmed with real scenery. Go figure.

Sitting here, I count the seconds like an old man until the time that I have left is filled again.

Whatever time is left, I want it to be full!
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October 2013 ♦ Embracing peace in your life! “You are one of the most tormented people I know,” she said. I was at the height of success, living at the beach, working in a beautiful city, having everything I thought I wanted…but she was right. I was miserable and didn’t know why. Then I decided to take a journey inside of myself. Life is too short and I deserved to happily celebrate my life. As much as I wanted to lay the blame at the feet of others, it was my own fault and I needed to know why I prevented myself from enjoying my life. I needed to find peace. And I did. You can find yours.
Sign-up today to participate in the October class by clicking www.meellc.com/onlineclasses

My life as a Writer

Sitting in silence.

I do it a lot.

Of course I do it in my own unique way.

There is always music.

Every day, after kisses, coffee, driving Maddie and her friend Noah to school, returning home to watch Sarah prepare Laurel and Cassidy for their own trip there ... Goddess, Winston, the little gay dog, and I make our way to the Beloved Back Deck where I fire up the computer at the table under the umbrella.

The first thing I do is find the right music.

"I haven't got a song to fit me mood," John Lennon thoughtfully said before launching into "GOD," one of his masterpieces.

Once I find it, right now it's "Deep Cuts" from albums recorded in the 1960s, I take my shirt off and get to work.

The normal routine is to update my Facebook status with a song title, Tweet, check LinkedIn, read the headlines from "The Onion" which make me laugh then "The Atlanta Journal Constitution" which makes me sad and then ... Sarah's rushing Laurel and Cass to the car so I get up to kiss her again, remind her to be "Be safe," tell the girls bye though they don't care because they're in too big a hurry to get this day started.

Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog, wait on my return. They don't bother getting up to say bye to the girls.

Sitting back down, I start "losing laundry" ... meaning more clothes come off.

Resuming my seat ... I sit ... and wait... in silence ... with Jethro Tull's excellent song "Up to Me" blaring away from the computer which I intend to write on ... while I watch the sun rise ... listen to the Cicada sing ... feel the ocean breeze ... watch the leaves dance ... hear the world come to life with the rest of us.

Then something happens.

Inspiration hits. God says something. My fingers take on lives of their own. Whacking away at the keyboard, I lose everything happening around me ... there's no music ... no Cicada ... no ocean breeze ... no dancing leaves ...

I am one with the words.

I whisper them as they come to life ... making them prayer ... transcending everything around me.

An hour or lifetime later, Sarah returns home and I jump up to get another kiss to two ... or more.

Most of the time she's ready to get to work at the quiet end of the house.

She doesn't like my music playing while she works.

Unless she has something to say. Then she says it until she's satisfied I've heard it regardless of whether or not I heard it the first time.

When this happens, I've learned it's best to keep quiet.

Even if I say something like, "Oh, I know Babes," ... that just convinces her I haven't heard a damn thing she's said so she says it all over again ... and again.

When she finishes, she gets to work in silence and I may not see or hear from her again for hours.

I return to the Back Deck where Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog, are waiting and grooving to Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young confess they "Almost Cut my hair. It happened just the other day."

But now the words are waiting ... drawing me back into another world ... where it is silent ... and Godly things spark from my fingertips as I lapse into prayer.

That is my day.

Every day.

Jonah's Whale

The Book of Jonah
Chapter 1
Micheal Elliott Revised Standard Version

1. God said, "Hey Jonah!"

2. "Go to the city. It's a wicked place with bars, strip clubs, football, American Legions, prayer meetings, live music and political parties. Preach against that stuff."

3. Liking virtually everything on the list except the Democrats, Jonah made a run for it. No way in Hell he was going to say bad things about them, so he booked a Carnival Cruise heading for Tarshish, an exotic island filled with bars, strip clubs, football, an American Legion, live music, one Democratic party, two Republican parties, a big Tea Party and a lot of people who could care less about any of them.

4. Then the Lord saith, "Oh Hell No You Don't! Watch this!" And a great wind suddenly blew a violent storm against the Carnival Cruise Ship so that it lost power and there was no air conditioning, flushing toilets, big screen televisions, or working slot machines.

5. All the sailors said, "Oh God" as they puked into the sea ... to lighten the load but ... Jonah was passed out in his cheap cabin with no windows on the bottom deck.

6. The Norwegian Captain was pissed after the crew did the deck drill preparing everybody for the Lifeboats and only one person was missing ... JONAH. He marches down to the bottom deck, shakes the passed out Prophet demanding to know, "How can you sleep through this? Get up! Say something! Anything! God! Whatever! We don't want to die!"

7. Meanwhile the Sailors had figured out you could play roulette, Blackjack and Poker without electricity so they were having at it. But they really wanted to play the slots! "Who in the hell's responsible?" they demanded over warm beer and someone said, "Jonah."

8. And they saith, "Is he Republican, Democrat, Tea Party or a Damn Liberal? He is black or white, gay or straight, man or woman, have work or no? Where's he live? Does he work for the Government? Is he a real American ... white and all? How do you spell his last name?"

9. Now awake, Jonah answers the Captain and the Sailors, "I'm Jewish. I don't have a foreskin. Wanna see?"

10. This scared the living hell out of everybody on the broken down Carnival Cruise Ship and when he whipped it out, they screamed in glee, "What have you done?"

11. The surf was really up now and the Carnival Cruise Ship was rolling from side to side like Jonah's exposed anatomy. "STOP IT!" they yelled, "That thing is whipping the seas up even higher."

12. "Aw, it's my fault," Jonah said pulling up his pants. "Throw me overboard."

13. Instead, the men ... it was a gay Cruise ... wanted to keep Jonah and his foreskin-less self so they tried to row back to shore but they weren't looking at where they were rowing because they were looking at Jonah instead and the ship  got further and further from the land.

14. "Oh God!" they screamed. "We don't want to die and we certainly don't want to throw this fine looking specimen overboard. But you're God and we don't want to be held responsible. What do we do?"

15. God didn't say anything so they grabbed Jonah and threw him overboard.Immediately the sea was calm. "Oh God," they exclaimed on the gay Carnival Cruise ship without electricity, "that's one fine flat ocean."

16. And the men sacrificed all of their clothing and called upon the name of the Lord often.

17. But Jonah was swallowed whole ... and it took three days.

If you don't believe it, read it.

In one of the 16 versions of the King James Version of the Bible.
__________________________________________________________

An eccentric life dotted with eclectic characters pop from the pages of award winning author Micheal Elliott’s newest book Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts. His musings immerse you in a world of headshaking wonder, gut wrenching laughter, heart touched tenderness and empathetic tears.

Never letting the truth stand in the way of a good story, Elliott’s ninth book takes you on a wild journey of “Wow! Really! I can’t believe that!” every day moments. Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts exemplifies his gift of capturing common thoughts and painting them perfectly into words.

Order yours now at http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/newbook/

The End of the Rainbow

What happens when you get to the end of the rainbow?

I seem to find myself here.

A few short years ago, life was lived at a crazy, fast pace, struggle to get everything done on an ever growing list. Every answer begat two questions. Each accomplishment exposed new needs. Satisfaction was measured in seconds. Pressure weighed heavy on my shoulders. Sadness grew in my heart. Somehow, as I was changing the world it was passing me by ... I was just busy to notice.

Now, a cool breeze blows from the north on a warm island day. A canopy of purple clouds hang low over the ocean though directly over my head is deep blue sky with white puffy clouds dancing across it. Sitting here, contemplating the day, I wait on it to unveil itself to me rather than forcing my will on what should come.

A rainbow suddenly appears though there is no hint of rain.

It hangs above Fran's "Thousand Shades of Green" as I stare at it asking unanswerable questions.

"How in the hell is that happening?"

"Is this a sign?"

"God? You talking to me?"

A squirrel darts across the lines in the trees and the sun rises above the Palm Tree with the oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt. The rainbow disappears just as suddenly as it appeared.

Not knowing what to make of it, and since I'm sitting in front of my open laptop, I Google "Rainbow Facts" and read the following ...

"The idea that a pot of gold can be found at the rainbow's end originated somewhere in old Europe. In Silesia, an obscure area of eastern Europe it was said that the Angels put the gold there and that only a nude man could obtain the prize."

Quickly jumping up, I drop the black running shorts I'm wearing and wait in anticipation.

 Nothing happens.

"Shit," I mutter and sit back down.

The sun disappears behind a white puffy cloud as the breeze picks up. A branch falls from the Palm Tree. The squirrel disappears as the choir of cicada burst into Hymns. Swiveling the chair, I prop my feet on the railing of the Beloved Back Deck wondering what all of this means.

The computer burbs beeps of messages, notifications and reminders in stark contrast to life at the rainbow's end.

Then the door opens and Sarah walks in.
______________________________________________

October 2013 ♦ Embracing peace in your life! “You are one of the most tormented people I know,” she said. I was at the height of success, living at the beach, working in a beautiful city, having everything I thought I wanted…but she was right. I was miserable and didn’t know why. Then I decided to take a journey inside of myself. Life is too short and I deserved to happily celebrate my life. As much as I wanted to lay the blame at the feet of others, it was my own fault and I needed to know why I prevented myself from enjoying my life. I needed to find peace. And I did. You can find yours.

Sign-up today to participate in the October class by clicking http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/indepthclasses/

Another Tybee Night

Parties happen spontaneously on this island.

You just never k

now when another good one is going to break out.

Some are planned though they never adhere to one while others explode out of nowhere.

I believe it's a combination of hot weather, salt air, abundance of natural and unnatural lubricants, good live music, ocean breezes, Subtropical vegetation and the fact that less clothing is necessary on Tybee Island.

Throw in the half of the people here are running to something, while the other half run away from something and ... well you just never know whose bumping into who.

Plus nobody's really in charge.

The Clergy and the elected officials pretend they are and the rest of us allow them to believe such foolishness. They condemn half of us to hell or pass yet another ordinance which just makes the rest of us elect another bunch to overturn them whenever the next election rolls around.

The current members of "The Elected" think they're smart because they now stagger their terms so we only throw one-half at a time.

The member of the Populace have come up with our counter move and boy will they be surprised when we pull the trigger! (I really can't say anything at this point other than a dump truck full of white rock, "Clothing Optional" bumper stickers, alcohol, and Jesus are all involved.)

The current configuration of Clergy on the island believe they have it all under control. The rest of us aren't saying anything because it's nice to see them believe in something.

Last night at Julia-Just-Julia's, not to be confused with Julia Pearce who cannot sing nor does she have any rhythm, there was a party.

On a gorgeous summer night next to the marsh with stars dancing overhead we sang, danced, talked, and ... played with a snake. Julia-Just-Julia really knows how to throw a party!

It was for her "Mum" who came from England and her daughter who came from somewhere else.

No one knew about the snake.

Sarah and I had a blast.

I'm worried about her though.

She's still in bed ... and I have no idea where the snake is.

________________________________________________

An eccentric life dotted with eclectic characters pop from the pages of award winning author Micheal Elliott’s newest book Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts. His musings immerse you in a world of headshaking wonder, gut wrenching laughter, heart touched tenderness and empathetic tears.

Never letting the truth stand in the way of a good story, Elliott’s ninth book takes you on a wild journey of “Wow! Really! I can’t believe that!” every day moments. Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts exemplifies his gift of capturing common thoughts and painting them perfectly into words.

Order your copies now at http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/newbook/

Journies with God

Sarah and I sat up late talking, which is rare because I'm not a late night soul, preferring the solitude of the sunrise, light washing away darkness and the joyful celebrations of birds singing as a new day begins.

Yet there we sit in the middle of a deep conversation about religion of all things.

Specifically, it was the Christian religion we discuss.

"I like your Christ," Gandhi said, "I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ."

Right?

Sarah's chronicling an inventory of crazy beliefs, expectations, demands and condemnations from her Christian past that she's working through.

I've done the same thing and am nodding in agreement, asking "Where in the hell does that stuff come from?" while sharing my story of a deep, yet flippant, faith.

There's a magnet on our Fridge.

It's a man in a suit walking with a smile beside Jesus and asking, "Please Jesus me from your followers."

I believe good religion helps us to become who we are created to be.

Bad religion determines and defines who we are.

Good religion is a constant flow of creation in partnership with God.

Bad religion insists there's only one way of doing anything.

Good religion breaks us free from sin.

Bad religion mires us in it, leaving us scared and wounded until something holy happens.

Looking back on my life, I can see God reaching down from time to time, nudging me this way or that, orchestrating a divorce or two, proclaiming after decades of working with the poor, "Well done my good and faithful servant ... Go to the beach. Enjoy yourself! Have one on me!"

Faith, like life, is a journey and not a destination.

Journeys are created with God.

Destinations are often unforgiving dead ends.

It's a shame so many churches demand attendance or we risk condemnation, with destinations of either heaven or hell.

Me? I'm sitting on the back deck, listening to birds sing, watching the sun rise, caressing Sarah's hair as she sleeps and very much in prayerful appreciation that God has given us another day.

I wonder where we're going.
 ______________________________________

Embracing peace in your life! “You are one of the most tormented people I know,” she said. I was at the height of success, living at the beach, working in a beautiful city, having everything I thought I wanted…but she was right. I was miserable and didn’t know why. Then I decided to take a journey inside of myself. Life is too short and I deserved to happily celebrate my life. As much as I wanted to lay the blame at the feet of others, it was my own fault and I needed to know why I prevented myself from enjoying my life. I needed to find peace. And I did. You can find yours.

Sign-up today to participate in the October class by clicking http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/indepthclasses/

A Prayer of thanks

A friend of mine passed away yesterday.

We weren't close friends, rarely spending time alone though we did have several heartfelt conversations over the past decade. He was constantly there while my life went through seismic shifts and I was there in his too from time to time.

I'd stumble off the beach and he'd be sitting at one of the large yellow and blue picnic tables in his restaurant. "Andy and Cheryl's Baywatch" is a fixture on Orient Beach in St. Martin. In the West French West Indies he served up incredible American food with a flair!

His Margarita Shrimp is to die for!

Now he's died.

He was an ornery man, a sloppy dresser and a wonderful chef. I don't think its a coincidence that he died on Friday the 13th. He could be funny as hell or mean as a snake.

You never knew what you were going to get.

Just like the specials in the open air restaurant with sand on the floor.

"Come here Andy," my friend Hugh once said, "let me see what today's special is."

And Hugh stared at the stains on Andy's tee shirt concluding, "Ah! Lasagna!"

Andy expatriated from New Jersey and the United States for life in the Caribbean, built a very popular eatery with an incredibly loyal customer base. And he did it surrounded by exquisite French restaurants by sticking out like a sore thumb.

1960s rock-n-roll blasted from the speakers in Baywatch, a funny staff of islanders made up for his poor management styles while his ex-wife served as hostess. It was such an American contrast to the subtle ways of the French.

Sarah, Conner, Hania and I were there a few months ago and we could tell the place was losing its steam. It was still beautiful and the food was constantly great but the soul of the place was disappearing. It happens ... All Things Must Pass.

But I'm left with mostly fond memories. It was a good place for a long time. Andy was more good than bad and on rare occasions he could be magical. I liked him.

I say a prayer of thanks today for Andy. My mind drifts to the wonderful collection of people who salt my life making it better than what it would have been without them. I check on Sarah to make sure she's still breathing as she sleeps. Goddess lays at my feet and sighs while my heart explodes with love.

______________________________________

An eccentric life dotted with eclectic characters pop from the pages of award winning author Micheal Elliott’s newest book Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts. His musings immerse you in a world of headshaking wonder, gut wrenching laughter, heart touched tenderness and empathetic tears.

Never letting the truth stand in the way of a good story, Elliott’s ninth book takes you on a wild journey of “Wow! Really! I can’t believe that!” every day moments. Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts exemplifies his gift of capturing common thoughts and painting them perfectly into words.

Order it now at http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/newbook/

The nation of outsiders

My career resembles the movie "Animal House" more than anything else.

I was always an outsider working on behalf of the nation of outsiders. Representing homeless people, people with AIDS, the uninsured and addicts of every kind, we were insanely crazy enough to really believe we could win!

And we did.

I've been surrounded with co-workers as nutty as the Deltas in the movie. Sarah, Diane Reel-Fuller, Keller Deal, Kelly McDaniel, Joe Bridges, Gloria Coleman, Alisa Monfalcone ... an endless parade of absurd believers in love conquering hate, justice reigning supreme, the dead constantly being raised and we really can have heaven on earth.

Talk about unorthodox!

We were crazy.

Memorial Hospital kept sending people back to a homeless shelter because they weren't sick enough to be admitted. I'm sure it had nothing to do with their inability to pay because hospitals are sanctuaries ... places of  healing.

So we kept sending the sick people back to the hospital.

The hospital kept sending them back ... in a cab.

There's a wonderful law in this country that if you go to the Emergency Room and say you're having a heart attack, you receive a complete medical examination on the spot.

So one night, 63 homeless people had heart attacks at the same time.

As crazy as it was to orchestrate such a thing ... it worked.

Afterwards, homeless people received the best health care in the city for a long time and national recognitions rained down on each of us who had anything to do with it.

But it started with a pissed off act of rebellion.

I've got lots of stories like that.

They begin in love mixed with anger ... a combination leading to crazy actions ... all hell breaks loose ... which naturally leads to very successful results.

It's backwards from what we're taught, the opposite of societal norms, shocking to the majority and ... as much as people hate it ... they love it.

We all want to be the radical who proves everyone else wrong.

We know we're "the fool on the hill who sees the sun going down and the eyes in his head sees" ... everything.

Everybody wants to rule the world.

But ... we don't.

We're too scared. We might fail and look silly. People we love will disapprove. We'll feel silly. The truth of the matter is we really couldn't stand heaven if it hit us in the face.

Sarah and I are hard at work ... reinventing ourselves ... again. We're not paying much attention to the things expected of us. Starting a company from scratch, blending families, working from home, traveling anyway, investing everything we have in ourselves ... we're crazy!

In the most wonderful ways.

Anais Nin said, "And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."

To hell with the confines of the world! They're too many of them anyway and they just keep things the same. We were sick of the same. So we're making new.

Yeah it's scary.

But dammit it's fun!

What are you doing today?

______________________________________

♦ Embracing peace in your life! “You are one of the most tormented people I know,” she said. I was at the height of success, living at the beach, working in a beautiful city, having everything I thought I wanted…but she was right. I was miserable and didn’t know why. Then I decided to take a journey inside of myself. Life is too short and I deserved to happily celebrate my life. As much as I wanted to lay the blame at the feet of others, it was my own fault and I needed to know why I prevented myself from enjoying my life. I needed to find peace. And I did. You can find yours.

Sign-up today to participate in the October class by clicking http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/indepthclasses/

Wonder Woman

Apparently Sarah is the only mother who isn't a member of the PTA. She received an email explaining she's the lone hold out and the entire school year is in great jeopardy. Her girls are embarrassed and at risk of being shunned by the children of the mothers who are members of the PTA.

"It's at the same time," she tells me, "that I'm coaching 'Girls on the Run', an afterschool program at the school."

I nod without speaking because I'm now smart enough to keep my mouth shut when she's letting off steam.

"After that," she continues, "I've got to rush to Cheerleading practice, horse riding lessons and the modeling class."

I quietly nod lovingly.

"When I'm not driving or coaching, I'm working. Two books and two more classes before the end of the year and I'm squeezing it in while I wait on the girls."

Suddenly she stops and stares straight at me.

"Are you finished with your edits?"

Shaking my head from side to side, I quickly engage in a brilliant diversionary maneuver.

"So you're going to join the PTA?" I sympathetically ask.

"I suppose," she sighs while I exhale.

"Plus they want us to buy a hundred dollars worth of candy bars to sell. That's in addition to the discount cards we're already selling for the school band ..."

"I sold two more at the Breakfast Club today," I proudly announce.

Sarah looks at me as though I am blabbering, drooling and setting my hair on fire.

"Shit!" I think to myself. "I broke the rule! Keep the damn mouth shut!"

She picks up a book bag that must weigh 300 pounds and easily flips it over her shoulder and I know that she can break me anytime she wants as she yells, "ARE YOU READY FOR SCHOOL?"

One girl is spraying several gallons of hair spray on her head while the other is desperately searching for shoes that match. Both freeze for a second and then explode into a frenzied last minute dash to get ready.

Meanwhile Wonder Woman easily lifts another 300 pound book bag and leans forward to kiss me goodbye while simultaneously shepherding both girls to the car.

She shoots out of the drive way as though someone fired the shot to start the Daytona 500.

I blow her a kiss and marvel at her motherhood.

I have no idea how she's going to both coach "Girls on the Run" and attend PTA meetings at the same time but I have no doubt that Sarah will pull it off.

She's simply amazing that way.

Now, I wonder what I did with the book I'm supposed to be editing.

_____________________________________

An eccentric life dotted with eclectic characters pop from the pages of award winning author Micheal Elliott’s newest book Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts. His musings immerse you in a world of headshaking wonder, gut wrenching laughter, heart touched tenderness and empathetic tears.
Never letting the truth stand in the way of a good story, Elliott’s ninth book takes you on a wild journey of “Wow! Really! I can’t believe that!” every day moments. Sandy Bottoms & Duct Taped Hearts exemplifies his gift of capturing common thoughts and painting them perfectly into words.

Order yours at http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/newbook/

My Mortality

"God has put within our lives meanings and possibilities that quite outrun the limits of mortality," said Harry Emerson Fosdick ... a great man and one hell of a preacher!

I believe that.

Life runs out before we do.

Then everything gets really interesting!

Lots of people think once we die ... that's it.

I'm not one of them.

"We disappoint, we disappear, we die but we don't" is the way the great American songwriter Stephen Sonheim sums it up.

The fact is, we linger.

For the second time in my life, I'm blessed to live with three little ones. This time they're all girls. Before I could only handle two out of three being girls. That almost killed me. I think I'm better prepared this time.

Every morning, they get up, sleep walk into the kitchen, explode into sudden states of consciousness over breakfast, then take off like a rocket into the day.

They dart, speak without ceasing, plan, scheme, primp, text, talk on the phone and eat in one blur of motion that leaves me feeling I've been struck by lightening. And they don't stop until they collapse at the end of the day ... or ... when Sarah finally pins them down long enough and they fall asleep.

In the most literal sense, they are full of life!

They're rarely sad. When they get in trouble, it's only for a second and before Sarah finishes explaining why they did something wrong they've already moved on to enjoying the next moment.

I think that's what the afterlife is like.

We finally get to really live it up!

Without a body to hold us back, we go everywhere at once.

Four years ago, we watched as my Dad left his body. He used it to say bye to everyone then he took off and never looked back.

The funny thing is, I'm as close to him now as I ever was when he was literally here.

My sister Angi sits with him to watch UGA games and gives him a beer. He looks over me as I cook reminding me of each of his recipes which I'm determined to perfect and pass on to my son Jeremy. My brother David wears his watch to keep him on time. Unlike before, Dad seems to be everywhere at once.

"My hair is brown and yours is grey," Cass, the six year old, tells me.

"It is not," I shoot back, offended that I'm older than I care to be.

But, it is what it is.

I don't know how much life I've got left but the plan is to use it like the girls do.

Then when that parts over ... to do it like Dad's doing it and be everywhere at once.

That's my mortality ... and my immortality.

I feel pretty good about it!

You?

__________________________________

Embracing peace in your life! “You are one of the most tormented people I know,” she said. I was at the height of success, living at the beach, working in a beautiful city, having everything I thought I wanted…but she was right. I was miserable and didn’t know why. Then I decided to take a journey inside of myself. Life is too short and I deserved to happily celebrate my life. As much as I wanted to lay the blame at the feet of others, it was my own fault and I needed to know why I prevented myself from enjoying my life. I needed to find peace. And I did. You can find yours.

Sign up now at  http://www.meellc.com/wordpress/indepthclasses/