Cold Toes and other Atrocities

I had to get out of the house so I went outside and there's so much fog it feels like I'm still inside.

I can't see ten feet in front of my face.

But it's not cold.

The only thing I truly hate in life, according to my wife, is cold and, as always, she's right. I passionately, ruthlessly and demonically hate cold.

I pull for Hitler against cold.

It's just fog though so I make my way to the Beach and ... I can hear it but I can't see it ... so I stumble through the sand ... ten toes having ten simultaneous orgasms.

I jump because I stumble on a Seagull who has built a fort.

It's not something you see every day so I pause to lean over through the fog and appreciate her craftsmanship.

It's quite the fort, blocking the wind ... it's got a thatched roof and a huge Yule Tide log inside.

"This is mighty impressive," I say to the Seagull who ignores me.

The wind is blowing from the north, the ocean is roaring and the fog's like walking in soup.

"Well," I say standing up, "you got a nice place. Who knew Seagulls are capable of building projects? The Board of Education could use somebody like you."

Blindly I continue towards the crashing waves and before I know my orgasmic toes are cooling down.

"This feels nice," I say out loud to no one, "but I can hardly see the Sea."

My friend Dave Postle pops in my head and I wish he were standing beside me. Dave's blind but recognizes lots of things the rest of us miss. It would be cool to share this experience with him.

But he's not here.

I'm sure he feeling his way around orbs ... or his wife Sandi.

"Okay," I spit. "It's cold," and I turn making my way towards home.

Passing the Seagull's house, she's still standing there, admiring her cleverness ... maybe planning what to serve at the party that night.

Back home my toes are spent.

Not a damn one of them has an orgasm left in him.

So I turn on the hot water in the bath tub, sit on the side and drown the little bastards.

Because if there's one thing I've learned in life is ... your toes should never be cold.

Rearranging Life

Staring out of the window, I'm thinking about what to think about.

An American flag flaps in the wind surrounded by Palms, Banyans and Banana Trees.

Scott is wandering around his yard as though he's lost and doesn't know what to do.

Wearing a heavy grey sweatshirt with GEORGIA spelled in bright red and blue pajama bottoms, he drops to his knees and digs in the dirt.

His hair is long, grey and unwashed draping his shoulders.

He's wearing bedroom slippers.

Scott has terminal cancer but damn if he isn't out planting something!

Out of death comes life.

His cat follows him religiously.

Many mornings the cat disappears and Scott feebly wanders out and whistles until they reunite.

Grabbing a shovel he digs up banana plants and replants them... rearranging his yard ... rearranging his life ... or what's left of it.

Our neighbors claim he's crazy as a loon but I've always liked him and we sometimes have pleasant conversations about nothing.

He has to stop and repeatedly pull up the pajama bottoms but he's determined.

He's living longer than the projections and I marvel he's outside ... pruning.

I have no idea how much life I have left but I already know it's not enough.

Hell Sarah and I just arrived and I'm in no hurry to leave her.

Who knows?

I could drop dead before finishing this sentence.

Whew!

I didn't.

Thank God.

The wind picks up.

The American flag flaps.

Scott wipes dirt on his face and laughs.

Ashes to Ashes.

He's getting ready.

But he's not done yet.

Perfectly placed Banana plants are the most important thing in the Universe right now.

I have to go tell him how good everything looks.

Standing, he hugs the flagpole, pulls his pajama bottoms up and I burst into tears.

My Christmas Letter

Dear Santa,

A lot of people don't believe in you and every single one is a damn idiot.

You were born in Turkey, went to Church, became a "Professional Christian," gave lots of gifts to the poor and was an original signer of the "Nicene Creed" (which is like the religious Declaration of Independence).

You were made a Saint because of the gift giving part of your ministry.

St. Nicholas morphed into Santa Claus because wealthier people couldn't stand the thought of poor people getting all of the gifts.

A complete makeover took place culminating in the 1920s when Coca-Cola used you in an advertising campaign, making you a fat, jolly, smoker who prefers the color red.

They made you cute.

You were anything but cute.

You were deadly serious ... about your faith ... helping the poor ... fasting on Wednesdays and Fridays ... and putting all your spare change in the shoes of poor people who came to your Church.

So Santa, I still believe ... though I prefer to call you Nick.

So Nick ... here's my Christmas list.

It's not much ... primarily because I'm not an asker.

But I'd really like more time.

It took Sarah and I a lifetime and multiple divorces to get to us and we've got lots of life to enjoy ... making up for all of that life we didn't have together.

I know that you know what I'm talking about.

Whatever you have to give our kids would be great too but it's up to them to have a relationship with you ... or no (as Sarah and the girls say).

That's pretty much it.

Thanks Nick.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas!

While everybody else is buying stuff, I have no doubt whatsoever, you'll still be slipping your spare change inside the shoes of poor people looking for God.

Toasty Forgiveness

Tired and worn out ... burned out ... I tie the lases on my running shoes when the phone rings at 7:00 in the morning.

"I want to meet you for breakfast," he says.

"I've already left the Breakfast Club," I reply with a sigh.

"It's not open yet," he snarls.

"Yeah, well, I've already been."

After an eternal moment of silence he snaps, "We need to meet. What time can you be there? I'm already coming out to the island for this."

"I'll see you in an hour," I say hanging up, petting Goddess and go for a run on the beach.

I'm off but the Chairman of the Board doesn't care ... he wants what he wants when he wants it ... and I'm heading out of town to meet my kids in Athens and the last thing I want is more work ... with him.

Strolling inside the Club wearing black running shorts, a UGA tee shirt and flip flops ... he's impatiently waiting ... wearing a blue suit, white shirt and orange tie ... everyone who works there yells "REV!" as I slide into the booth across from him.

"I'm ready to order," he says.

"Go for it," I reply.

"What are you having?"

Caroline slides water with lemon in front of me and explains, "He's already had coffee."

"You're not going to eat," he asks.

"No."

He orders bacon and eggs, grits and toast and more coffee.

"I need to know ..." he begins when a piece of toast hits the side of his head.

"What the ..." he begins surprised.

"You're being a little aggressive," I explain. "These are my friends. They will not stand for that."

Sitting back he stares at Val who is working toast and has another piece in her hand ready to fling it with Ninja precession should he get too aggressive again.

"You  have crazy friends," he says wiping the crumbs from his suit with a napkin.

"I do," I confess.

He proceeds to rip me a new one.

After a quarter-of-a-century of doing everything right, it's all suddenly wrong.

When he raises his voice ... another piece of toast hits the side of his head.

"You shouldn't be so loud," I tell him.

Angrily, he looks at Val who's holding another piece of toast while grinning as though to say, "Do it again Blue Suit."

"You wanted to come here," I shrug.

"I want to meet you on your turf," he snaps.

Caroline misses his cup as she refills his coffee and it spills in his lap.

"Ooops," she says walking away.

He stares at me with eyes full of hate.

"You know," I say, "I look inside to make sense of the world. It doesn't make sense if you look at it any other way."

"What?' he shoots.

"You are here to embarrass me on my home turf," I reply. "You want to show your dominion over the world ... beginning with me."

"I am doing my job," he says slapping his hand on the table.

A piece of toast hits the side of his head and he cusses out loud.

"You picked the wrong spot," I shrug.

"I want you gone," he says standing to leave.

"I've gotta go anyway," I say standing but before I can walk out before him ... Caroline and Val leave what they're doing and hug me ... blocking his exit ... while everybody else working yells "REV!"

As funny as it is ... it's not a pleasant memory.

Well ... Val throwing toast and Caroline missing his c
up is pretty funny ... but it was a horrible time and I'm thankful it's over.

This morning I stayed in bed with Sarah rather than go to the Breakfast Club when I normally go because ... it's Sarah.

I'm perilously close to forgiving the former Board Chair but ... not quite yet ... because he's a mean SOB and we've all got too many of those in our lives.

Making it worse, he hurt Sarah too.

But to this day, I can't have a piece of toast without enjoying the Hell out of it.

Delma Presley

It's funny how someone you spend a relatively short period of time with can alter everything about your life.

Delma Presley is one.

God I love the man!

In College I took "The Bible As Literature" looking like a Hippy, long hair, sex crazed, rock-n-roller because I was raised Southern Baptist and was therefore incredibly confused.

In contrast, Dr. Presley was square but hip at the same time.

I'd never seen that before and it blew me away.

He was understated in an overwhelming sort of way.

Though I'd won a thousand "Sword Drills," Del taught me how to read ... and how to think ... and want to be hip with the slightest air of "square-ness" about me so I could throw everyone else off.

I'd often wander into his office, find him sitting in a recliner reading ancient texts surrounded by four walls of books and he'd smile ... put away his thoughts ... lay down his book ... and say how delighted he is that I came to see him.

Once Fran ... of the thousand shades of green ... went with me but her feeble little legs wouldn't make it up the stairs so I carried her and Del ... upon seeing our arrival ... jumped up, jerked her from my arms and tenderly placed her in his recliner.

That was a thousand years ago.

So last night, when I read Del's message to me to Sarah ... about his Parkinson's Disease ... his body's not quite as well as it used to be but his mind remains sharp as a tact ... how he loved me as a student when I wasn't really a good one ... how proud he is of me ... I sob.

"Are you crying," Sarah asks?

"Of course," I answer.

She crawls in my lap and hugs me.

I am incredibly thankful I had the balls to say thank you to Dr. Delma Presley and he cares enough to answer ... most people don't do things like this ... which is really what the Bible's all about.

Most people don't have the balls to take the Bible seriously.

It's why religion is so screwed up.

Ah but Delma Presley taught the Bible ... as Literature ... and I've never been the same since.

So Del!

After Sarah loveingly crawled out of my lap, I raised a glass to you ... and thanked you once again ... for everything.

A Baby?

"Do you want to have a baby?"

"We got six," I reply.

"No ... one of our own," she clarifies.

Contemplating, I remain quiet.

At 58 working hard on what to work on, most wouldn't consider me an ideal candidte.

Of course most people thought I'd lost my mine when Sarah and I married and she brought three little girls into my life after I'd already survived raising three into adulthood.

Melding families is hard work and, while we certainly not finished, I find myself very happy and mostly delight in the crazy things little girls do.

"Judy O thinks we should have a baby," Sarah continues.

"Really?"

"Someone who is ours ... to leave behind in the world ... to share as long as we're together ... cause chances are you're going to go first."

I think of my friend Dan Sheehan who faced the same question years ago and he and Carolyn brought Eamon into the world. While Dan's gone, Carolyns still on Tybee Island and Eamon's happily married in Hollywood trying to make it as a star.

Once Dan and I played in a Father/Son basketball game with Eamon and my son Jeremy. Dan was older but out there giving it his sweaty best and I was in my physical prime. We didn't take it as serious as the boys, laughed a lot and actually won the game.

"I only have a few more years to consider it," Sarah concludes.

The dinner that night was a joyus celebration with Sarah's girls, Jeremy and his fiancee Terencia, who has two little girls of her own. They face the same question under almost identical circumstances.

"Everybody put a dollar on the table," I say, "and lets start a pool ... Who's going to have the first baby in the family? ... Terencia and Jeremy ... Sarah and me ... my daughter Chelsea and her husband Sam ... my daughter Kristen who is single ... or 13 year old Maddie?"

There's time for you to get in on this pool if you want but ... not a lot of time.

Except hopefully in Maddie's case.

The Music is snoring

I'm sipping coffee.

He's snoring.

The Hotel lobby is festive, a full breakfast bar steams, soft music plays as employees cheerfully wish everyone "Good Morning."

He is balled up in a chair in an alcove behind a column where no on can see him.

No one except me.

Leaving a room full of sleeping girls, I grab my lap top and head for the coffee.

After years of travel I established routines I still maintain; rising early, head to the common area for coffee and time to collect my thoughts, pray and write. To do this I find a corner of the room, away from the televisions, loud families, bleary eyed partiers and laughing business people.

I'm lost in thought and suddenly find myself wondering why the music is snoring?

It takes me a full minute longer to start looking around and ... there he is.

The lobby is filling up and is getting loud covering up his noisey slumber.

From his vantage point, no one can see him unless they walk between my table and him.

It is cold outside.

Certain the cheerful employees will be horrified if he's discovered, I pull my chair ... and the table slowly towards him so that whoever comes this way must encounter me first.

The Holiday season is upon us and I can at least give this poor guy a warm place to sleep for a little while.

Athens Weekend

We're heading to Athens today.

Sarah and I are taking off in a bit, rendezvousing with her girls in Dublin where we'll lunch, then head on up 441 sliding into the Classic City.

After being there every weekend during football season for 2 decades, I've become a slacker and this is my first time there all year.

Life got in the way.

Laurel, Sarah's 10 year old, is in the Savannah Children's Choir and for some inexplicable they perform on Saturday's during football season.

Plus we enjoy hanging out together on the weekends.

Sarah's girls are with their Dad during the week and home with us on the weekends so it's a big deal!

The girls recognize football Saturdays are special and wean UGA garb ... meaning they steal mine ... and Maddie even watches the game with me, learning players names and asking to go to games.

We'll hook up with my son Jeremy and Terenca tonight and will tailgate together along with dozens of friends.

The girls are excited.

I'm about to explode.

We don't have tickets yet ... my brother's using them this year ... but we're unconcerned ... Sarah's working on it but ... it'll work out.

Kristen and Chelsea, my daughters, want to join us but one has to work and the other's spending time with her husband ... an alumni of the North Avenue Trade School who refuses to return to Athens.

His loss! ... and I mean that literally.

Regardless, it's a time with family, friends, tradition and making new memories ... the things Thanksgiving's all about.

Happy weekend everyone!

Jury Duty

"Juror #36," the young Attorney with pimples in a blue suit asks, "you've been a victim of a crime?"

"I have," I answer ... sitting on the third row of the Courtroom gallery with 40 others desperate to not serve as a member of the Jury.

It's a criminal case expected to last a couple of days ... starting the day before Thanksgiving!

I have lots of friends who are Lawyers but I swear if  you put a black robe on one and sit her or him higher than anybody else ... they suddenly think they're God! ... and schedule trials any damn time they want.

"Can you tell us about it?" Pimples in a tie presses.

"Sure," I reply. "Which one?"

Peering over his horn rimmed glasses he asks, "You've been the victim of more than one crime?"

"About 30 or so," I give him the honest truth.

Pimples seems taken aback.

"What were those crimes?" he asks after studying his notes.

"Well, pretty much everything," I confess. "Breaking and entering ... theft ... larceny ... assault ... battery ... I'm sure I'm forgetting some."

The other would-be Jurors sitting on the bench beside me lean forward and take a look at me.

I smile and shrug my shoulders.

"Were the nature of these crimes associated with your business or were they personal?" Pimples inquires.

"Yes," I respond ... and I swear one his Pimples pops without provocation.

 He looks across the room at his co-Counselor who shrugs his shoulders.

"Would these crimes prevent you from rendering a fair and unbiased hearing of this case?" he asks as though throwing out a trump card.

"Well," I say sitting straighter in my seat, "I'd bring my wealth of experience with me but ... it helps me be a better Judge of people."

I think this offends the Judge.

Pimples moves on to question Juror #41.

Everyone on my row continues to staring until, finally, the woman sitting next to me asks, "What do you do?"

How does one answer when I've done a lot?

"Well, I used to run Union Mission ..." I start but she immediately cuts me off.

"You're Micheal Elliott," she says. "I used to work at SCAD and met you every Christmas when we brought toys for the kids.

"Y'all were great," I tell her.

Pimples and the other attorneys go through the "Striking Process" and I think I came in #1.

So I got thrown off the Jury ... sprinted out of the Court House ... calling my baby on Speed dial ... 'cause I got $10 burning a hole in my pocket ... and we're going to have some fun tonight!!

Christmas ... Not Soon Enough

"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas," Cassidy softly sings, sitting in the floor putting on her shoes getting ready for school.

Her voice is sweet and low ... her face angelic ... a child's heart already full of the Season.

At the same time, shots are fired in Ferguson ... dozens of vehicles are ablaze ... businesses are destroyed and looted.

The words spoken are all bad ... INJUSTUCE ... RACIST ... VIOLENCE ... DESTROY ... KILL!

The 8 year old skips out of her bedroom which looks like a TOY R US truck had a major collision with her bed leaving toys scattered everywhere.

Grabbing her doll, she hugs it tight.

"This ain't Iraq! This is the United States!" someone screams at a line of policemen.

At the same time, someone throws a rock hitting a reporter on the head ... making things very Iraq-like.

"Come on," Sarah says to Cass, "we're going to be late."

"Okay," the 8 year old sings in response ... sounding like a choir of Angels.

The Ferguson Fire Department is refusing to leave their barracks because of the gunshots and the looting taking place.

Hell has come on earth ... as it is in Hell.

I've never been one to get into the increasingly early celebrations of Christmas but these days Sarah sings along with carols on the radio while sipping morning coffee and I love when
she sings.

Her girls are already beaming with anticipation of celebrating the birth of Christ by singing Yuletide songs and being gifted for it.

Hip-Hop Artist J. Cole has a "heartaching, tearful song called 'Be Free'" inspired by Michael Brown's death.

Public Enemy's Chuck D, one of rap's most powerful voices, says "These people have actually stood up ... and that has to be saluted" ... for rioting and standing up to the Police.

Sarah and Cass leave for school and work.

I sigh.

I have Jury Duty today ... money to find ... bills to juggle ... and a car with the "Check Engine" light on.

"Oh well, it's not as bad as Ferguson," I say out loud in the quiet house, "or Savannah where far more people are regularly killed."

The childlike sweetness of Cass's voice singing rings in my head.

"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas."

Not soon enough.

And certainly not everywhere.

Hell's Breaking Loose

It strikes me I'm doing the exact same thing today I was doing 34 years ago.

Standing on stage at Bar Church ... yep it's Church in a Bar ... playing guitar ... as the "Unprofessional Christian" ... is the exact same thing I was doing on a Sunday 34 years ago.

Then ... I was asked to go a church in the inner city of Louisville, Kentucky because there was no one to play the piano or organ ... so I went ... and it changed my life.

I was enrolled in Seminary but only to figure some things out about God.

There were no intentions whatsoever to become a Minister.

Ministers are crazy people!

Yet there I was ... standing in the Pulpit with a guitar slung over my shoulder, singing "I Saw the Light."

The tiny congregation consisting of five little old ladies ... a few homeless people getting out of the cold for a while ... and thirty guys in jail who came for the service accompanied by two officers with rifles ... asked me to come back.

So I did ... becoming a regular with ... the music.

One Sunday, the Crazy ass Minister resigned and after the service the little old ladies asked if I'd take over for him.

It was the last thing I wanted to do ... I was meant to a Rock Star ... not a member of the Clergy!

But I couldn't tell them "No."

That Church went on to do many  great things but was eventually kicked out by the Southern Baptist Convention for breaking too many Commandments ... like ordaining women ... taking care of people with AIDS  ...turning unused Sunday School rooms into apartments for the homeless.

I was called to Baptist Corporate Headquarters in Nashville to explain these things.

"Where does it say a penis is mandatory equipment to be a Minister?" I asked ... starting with broken Commandment #1.

The conversation went downhill from there ... quickly followed by my career as a "Professional Christian."

I left organized religion but continued advocating for women, taking care of people with AIDS, housing the homeless ... somehow staying in trouble through it all.

Like all things, it eventually came to an end and I bounced around doing various things ... International Street Medicine ... social media content development ... consulting ... but most importantly being found by the love of my life.

These days, I find myself in front of a tiny congregation with a guitar slung over my shoulder ... there's food for the hungry ... fellowship for the lonely ... a place to be warm when there's no place to go.

It's Deja vu all over again.

What ensued the first time was one Hell of a ride and lots of people being better off!

"This all feels very familiar," I say to myself as Sarah makes announcements.

I've got this feeling ... a Hell of a ride is starting slow but ... I know better.

I've been here before.

All Hell's getting ready to break loose of lots of people's lives.

Everything's going according to plan

"God's got a special plan for you."

I've heard that a lot the past several days.

Of course I have no real idea of what the plan is.

God's keeping pretty mum about it.

It must be a secret plan.

"Everything happens in God's time."

I've also been told repeatedly.

I have a hard time believing God has a calendar ... or a watch.

Nor do I believe in "predestination" ... it reminds me of a joke.

A man fell down the stairs, broke his arm and said "Thank God that's over!" ... meaning it was according to God's plan that he fall down the stairs on that particular day at that exact moment.

And I don't think God works with military precision, making plans and launching campaigns that involve bad things happening to people.

I think Santa Claus has to do that kind of planning to take everything to everybody in one night but ... not God.

"God will not give you more than you can bear," is another thing I've been told.

It doesn't say that in the Bible.

Somebody made it up.

And I've certainly witnessed people completely succumb to things they could not handle.

It does say in the bible that "He will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear" (I Corinthians 10:13).

I'm not certain about that because I've certainly been tempted WAY BEYOND what I could bear and the results were not pretty.

Things do get unbearable sometimes and while we may live through them it doesn't mean we're not crushed leaving broken hearts, ruptured faith, a dimmer sense of hope and a fear of the future.

"God is love," nobody has said lately.

I do believe this.

I got more love in my life than I've ever had.

I work very hard to appreciate, enjoy and accept it.

It's hard work.

But when I get it right ... occasionally ... I do love that a plan's come together ... at this stage in my life ... making unknown things bearable ... healing my hurts ... giving me hope.

Quite the Gift

It is quiet aside from the soft music I have streaming on the Laptop in front of me.

Our home is full of sleeping girls in bedrooms with curtains drawn to keep them dark.

Well ... not our bedroom where Sarah sleeps bathed in light through windows.

Sitting in the kitchen bright sunshine floods through sliding glass doors that lead to the Beloved Back Deck.

The chill in the air and the brisk breeze prevent me from sitting outside where I prefer to think, pray and write.

Goddess meanders from her bed to lay in the floor and stare at me intensely.

Pancake batter sits on the counter for the girls and I enjoy cooking them.

I am full of Thanksgiving though it's days away.

There's food in the fridge, wine on the shelf, comfort in the furniture and a coziness here in spite of cabinets in desperate need of paint and a light that doesn't work.

The only agenda today are multiple birthday parties and to simply enjoy spending time together.

Sarah and I have to practice for Bar Church tomorrow but we delight in making music as we make fun of each other.

Winston The Little Gay Dog prances into the kitchen wanting to be let outside.

That means Sarah's awake so I quickly slide the glass door open and shut then make my way to her for a kiss to start this day.

Everything is not perfect in our life ... we've got our fair share of worries and major concerns ... but there are times like this when it feels pretty damn perfect.

So I'm going to enjoy it because it's quite the gift to just be here right now.

I've been on bottom mostly feeling on top

I've been on some rocks and I've certainly been on some rolls.

Hitting the rocks means you survey the damage, see what's salvable and wait ... for the Tide to come in, some one to throw you a rope or for God to answer your prayers.

Divorces, the loss of loved ones, job changes, terrible accidents ... each rock left me ... asking "How bad is it?" ... "What have I lost and what do I still have?" ... Admitting I could use some help ... and waiting in fearful silence that nobody's going to be here for me ... God's silence is deafening when I really need to hear.

But we get incredible rolls too ... riding the wave perfectly, thrilled by what we're doing, lavishing in the attention, having the Midas Touch and marveling at how blessed we are!

Terrific kids, wonderful friends, professional accomplishments, travels to exotic places, awards and public recognitions ... each roll leaves me shaking  my head, full of wonderment ... yelling "GOD THIS IS GOOD! I WANT MORE!" ... "I am Happy!" ... "I've got the best friends!" ... "God is good!"

As the Minor Prophet Dan Fogelberg proclaimed ... "I've seen the bottom and I've been on top but mostly I've been in-between."

Who can argue with that?

I'm in between right now.

On the one hand, I'm incredibly happy ... for the first time in my life ... I adore Sarah ... her kids make me laugh ... my kids give me tremendous satisfaction ... my circle of friends is small but fiercely loving ... we live at the Beach and clothing is optional.

It's an utterly satisfying blessing!

On the other hand, work stuff is not working out ... it's driving me crazy ... leaving me sullen ... not giving my best to Sarah and the children ... spending too much time alone ... and questioning God.

Put them both together and ... I see the bottom ... but I'm on top too ... so I guess that leaves me in-between.

Then again as the Minor Prophet says ... "Lessons learned are like bridges burned ... you only have to cross them once ... is the pleasure worth the price of the pain?"

HELL YEAH!

As crazy as it is ... and it's crazy ... I wouldn't trade it for everything or anything I've ever had in my life.

It makes no sense whatsoever.

It doesn't feel in-between.

Though I can see the bottom ... I am on top!

American Airlines and Delta Suck!

It's a crazy world but we live here.

I'd move if I knew where to go ... but I don't.

The Moon's not colonized yet ... Mars doesn't have a beach ... and no one's heard from that Comet since we landed on it.

I have a gazillion Airline Miles but can't use them because neither American Airlines or Delta Airlines ... say I have enough.

Honestly they say I have enough to get there ... but not back.

When I explain I want to take Sarah with me ... they laughed.

American Airlines demands we change our lives to accommodate their schedule and Delta only cares about the constant business traveler.

They're both crazy ... about profits.

I guess we're staying in the craziness of the world ... until we get enough miles to go somewhere else ... wherever that is.

We'd like to move to Belize.

I know it's still in the world but it seems far enough away ... plus we really liked it when we Honeymooned there.

We're tired of murders in Savannah ... the Island Police Department ... FOX News ... anybody elected to public office ... the way the Atlanta Falcons are playing ... Meteorologists ... Wall Street ... Pharmaceutical Companies ... Southern Baptists ...  Jerry Rainey ... parades on Tybee ... Miley Cyrus ... and the positions Missionaries take.

At the very least we'd like to visit Joey Finch and Billy Bray in Key West to check out their new place.

It looks nice ... and Bill's got this guitar that I want to steal when they're showing Sarah the view from the bedroom.

BUT ... American Airlines and Delta suck!

Which means we're stuck.

But we're determined!

And we love each other!

It's just a matter of time before we escape this crazy world.

God's touch

An absolutely great day went to absolute shit when I got the email I'd never conceived getting.

I'm not wanted.

I don't understand that.

I'm pretty good ... done lots of cool things ...been everywhere ... am incredibly successful ... and married to the most wonderful person ever born (except for those times when she's mad at me for something I obviously had little to do with).

Everything was rocking and rolling ... then I got the email.

"No Thanks," they said to everything I have to offer.

There's that moment when you stand there alone ... in disbelief ... wondering how ... searching for logic ... getting angry ... filled with frustration.

Goddess comes out of her slumber to lick me.

"How do you know?" I ask our beloved Golden Retriever with a bit of Border Collie in her.

Winston ... The Little Gay Dog ... prances in and licks me too.

And they make me cry so I slide into the kitchen floor and they just love me.

I call Sarah and tell her.

Fierce love and protection explodes in my ear.

Finishing, I tell myself, "I got to get out of here."

I go to my other home ... The Breakfast Club.

"HEY!" everyone yells because I'm never there at noon.

"I've had the shitiest day," I say plopping on my seat at the counter.

Every single person who's employed at the Club stops what they're doing ... looks at me ... washes me in love.

I order then can't eat.

I just want to go home.

When I leave... Caroline of all people ... and Denise ... hug me at the same time and tell me they love me.

"Are you Micheal Elliott?" someone I don't know asks tapping me on the shoulder.

Caroline and Denise are immediately on the defense and ready to take him down.

"I am," l say.

"Stacy Jennings told to read your blog and I do every day."

Caroline and Denise release the intense grip they have on my arm and return to delivering food, pouring coffee, wiping tables and waiting on customers.

"That's nice," I reply ... really needing nice ... at that moment.

"I love what you do man," he says hugging me.

I just cry.

Caroline ... of all people ... caustic, profanely wonderful, recently married and pregnant ... places her hand on top of mine for a slight second.

And the world stands still.

"I got this" she says pouring coffee.

She's been there for me before ... storming out into the middle of Butler Avenue ... crossing her arms into an "X" ... screaming "That Bitch is not wanted in here!"

"What are you and Sarah going to do?' she whispers.

"I don't know," I answer.

She just nods ... but it's a nod completely full of love.

And if that doesn't make you believe in God ... then there's no God.

Savannah ... Fare thee well!

"Why'd you write that?" Philip Solomon asks. "It was disgusting."

He was talking about my Savannah book ... "Tour of Homes" ... in a scene where a black maid spits in the food on the plate she'll serve her employer ... a wealthy "Old Savannah" family in their mansion on Taylor Street.

"It's fiction Philip," I reply. "I made it up."

"I know those people," he snaps.

Sitting back at my desk I study the intensity on his face and he's obviously angry.

"Sure," I say breaking the heavy silence, "characters in the book are based on real people but ... they're made up. They're not those people."

"It's all too close to home," he shoots back.

"Well good," I reply. "Then I got Savannah right."

"You got it terribly wrong," he says storming out, taking his anger with him and sucking all the air out of the room.

I sigh heavily.

You can't please everybody.

There have been times in my life when I can't please anybody.

I try real hard because it's my nature to please people ... make them feel better ... do my part to make the world a better place ... one person at a time ... only to discover making one person feel better often makes another feel worse.

Actually, that's what "Tour of Homes" is about ... for every good there is an evil.

No matter how much religion you wrap around it ... people do bad things to others ... just as others do wonderful things for people.

Last night Sarah and I went out for pizza and there's no one on the island this time of year so we were the only customers ... sitting alone for the first time in days because her girls were here and "Girls Rule" when they're home ... plus we've been busy making plans ... so it was nice to simply be alone ... and to just be "us".

Our conversation was intense though ... very lovingly we fought to understand each other.

Two hours later, holding hands we stroll to our car with stomachs and souls completely filled.

During the night, snuggled to my wife, an old memory comes in a dream and there's nothing "made up" about it.

I wrote a book that hit my city with a THUD ... thoroughly angering "Old Savannah" ... even those I love.

"I can't believe you wrote that," Rev. Benny Mitchell told me several days later. "You wrote what we all think and do ... but never say."

Benny was the African-American pastor of Conner's Temple Baptist Church in Savannah.

"What?" I ask grinning. "I didn't get it right."

"I wouldn't want to be you," he laughs. "You've made lots of people angry ... but you've made lots of us happy."

I don't have a response as he hugs me.

"You love everybody," Sarah sighs at dinner.

"Well I try," I answer ... but the truth is I don't and we talk about that too.

And certainly everybody doesn't love me ... and I can name names.

But I sure loved Sarah this morning as she manages her morning routine.

A love for Philip remains somewhere in a corner of my heart though we have no relationship these days.

And there's a spot for the woman who owns the house on Taylor Street "the character" was based upon.

They are not part of my life anymore ... though I remember them ... with more fondness than not ... but I'm wired that way ... Sarah tells me most aren't ... people come and they go.

What's real is the love I have for Sarah ... her girls ... my kids ... and the life we live.

It cost a lot people to get here.

They were worth it.

This is better.

Much better.

I'm not making that up.

Anything you want

I want to go Alice's Restaurant.

I want to take Sarah and the girls.

I want my kids to meet us there.

I want the Carnival of Friends to go too.

I wouldn't mind you coming either.

Because we all deserve everything we want.

We're just not getting it and Thanksgiving's coming on so it's time to start thinking about such things.

Rumor is we "can get anything we want at Alice's Restaurant" and ... DAMMIT! ... it's about time we get anything we want!

Because we're not.

I know ... I know ... "you can't always get what you want."

BULLSHIT!

I believe you can.

I think we do.

Of course it's never enough.

Every single time we get what we want ... we want more!

I do.

That's why I want to take Sarah ... her girls ... my kids ... their lovers ... the O'Neill's ... Sadowsky's ... members of the Bored ... Shirley and Sandy ... Monty Parks and the Tuesday Night Jam ... Roy and Martha Swindelle ... all my Facebook friends ... and everybody that goes to Bar Church.

My Mom of course!

And I think it will be fun if "Brown Boy" comes from "The Breakfast Club" so long as he brings his brother TJ because ... TJ's funny ... Brown Boy's just brown.

Then we can get anything we want.

Through ... honestly ... I can't believe everything I already have.

The most incredible wife ... her wonderful girls ... the best children ever ... a Carnival of Friends ... a Church that feels like home ...

I think I want it more for them than I do for me.

Because I owe them all so much.

Sitting here thinking about it ... I've already got everything I want.

I hope you do too.

But if you don't ... I'm ready for a road trip.

We'll go where you can get anything you want.

Because we all deserve that.

A Letter to my Wife

Dear Sarah,

I never knew how much joy can be stuffed into my chest until you.

Watching you sleep fills me with happiness because ... you love to sleep ... and I love you getting what you want.

Anticipating what you're going to wear every day is insanity that always leaves me completely satisfied ... and full of sinful lust.

You have the most delightful way of mocking me when you're blowing me off which always leaves me unaware you're blowing me off because of how much delight I get in the ways you mock me.

I never mind when you're angry ... unless it's at me ... because you hold nothing inside, which is a pretty healthy way of dealing with anger ... and I sit watching you harness dark clouds in your eyes and black feelings in your heart KNOWING the expressions of love that will soon follow.

You mystify me in the way you devour books ... reminding me of me and the way I used to devour books.

When I cry ... which is often ... it always makes you stop dead in your tracks ... and you either take great delight in poking fun at me ... or you throw your arms around me and share whatever it is I'm crying about.

Sometimes I catch fleeting glimpses of you watching me with your girls ... as I play with them, poke fun at them, laugh with them and remind them they're perfectly capable of picking up their own damn stuff ... and I know that you know that I love them.

I love the way you love my children ... always including them in everything.

Your writing is something you don't do enough and world deserves your writing.

Our travels will soon be legends because God we have fun when we go anywhere ... except for that one time at Disney World when you refused to leave ... because it was your first time and as sleepy as I was it made  me happy to see you so happy.

The struggle you have over my complete adoration of UGA football used to confuse me until you started wearing the red UGA panties on game day ... which remind me of how much I love the way you dress.

Mornings you are so focused on work and I'm regulated to pouring your juice, making your coffee and fixing your breakfast (yes I'm Southern ... and fix breakfast!) then we have short minutes to sit together before you head out and conquer another day.

Goddess, Winston The Little Gay Dog and I can't wait to go outside and wait on you every day to come back and make this house a home again.

The touch of my leg on yours when we go to sleep at night makes me know it really is a beautiful world.

I could go ... and am already crying ... but it's time for Bar Church ... and I'm preaching and need to think about what I can possibly say on God's behalf ... whatever it is will be rooted in love ... because I've never known love like you.

ME

Don't Test Me

Recently I took several tests for a job possibility.

Two psychological examinations, a logic test and a personality profile proved interesting as it's been several decades since I was required to take a test.

By the time I completed my academic career I'd mastered test taking.

At Seminary the Baptists requires all incoming students to take a battery of test to weed out women, gay people,  those with scientific tendencies and intellectuals of any kind.

Since I'm not any of these I was allowed in ... only to be thrown out later because of theology.

Afterwards I was forced to go take tests administered by "Christian" psychologists employed by the Home Mission Board of the Southern Baptist Convention.

Sitting in the waiting room with other potential "Professional Christians" I watched husbands comforting their crying wives.

"Everything okay?" I ask flipping through the "Rolling Stone" I'd brought with me to pass time waiting to be called ... (Get it? That's a great joke!)

"It was horrible," the wife explains. "He asked very intimate questions about our sex life."

"Really?" I ask completely intrigued dropping the magazine to the floor.

At that precise moment I'm called inside and the "Christian" psychologist asks me to describe myself.

"Aren't you going to ask me about my sex life?" I retort.

Leaning back with a frown he intertwines his fingers in front of face like Mr. Spock on "Star Trek" flipping open my very thick file.

"You have two children," he says staring at the large brown file. "I assume you've mastered sex."

"You shouldn't make assumptions," I remind him. "They can make an "Ass" out of "U" and "ME."

"Get out," he yells.

I have no idea what I made on that particular test but I passed and became a "Professional Christian" until I was thrown out several years later.

I hadn't remembered these things until I took the 4 tests the other day.

THEN ... on Face book I get countless invitations from friends wanting me to take  a test ... "Which Rock Star am I?" ... "Which President would I be?" ... "What book is the real you?" ... "Which Michael Jackson body parts would he grab that mostly represents you?"

I haven't taken any of them.

I already know who I am.

Sarah's husband ... the Father of my children ... One of the best friends her girls will ever have ... a believer in others ... a encourager ... a writer ... a man with many talents who really who really wants to be a Rock Star.

Oh ... and someone who apparently has mastered Sex.

According to the tests.