My Christmas Blessings

"Why are you wearing black running shorts on Christmas Eve?"

"Why are you here?" I reply.

"I'm bringing you a Christmas Present," she explains spitting a logy down the kitchen sink ... it's a long slow drip of phlegm that has a glow to it and smells like incense.

"What present? I fire with suspicion.

"It's on Sarah's car. I don't trust you with it."

Cassidy, Sarah's 8 year old, rushes out like Kramer on Seinfeld, wrapped in a pink blanket, hair askew from her pillow, wanting me to pick her up.

My Guardian Angel disappears.

I pick Cass up, she kisses my cheek, wants her Mom's I-Pad and for me to carry her back to her bed ... which I do.

"That was sweet," my Angel says taking a long drag from her cigarette ... then does a shot of bourbon ... followed by a long draw from her Tall Boy Pabst Blue Ribbon.

"You look terrible," I reply.

She does ... stained white robe ... tattered blue stole ... oily black hair ... skin as white as paste ... dirt under her fingernails ... right breast almost falling out of her covering ...

Tipping the PBR my way she burbs in response.

"STOP THAT!" I admonish, "you're going to wake the others up."

Flashing her Angelic grin she explains, "I got the girls covered."

"Gimmie a beer," I demand and one magically appears in my hand.

"What do you really want?" I ask while taking a sip.

"You need to be a little more thankful," she belches.

"What are you talking about?"

Scratching her stomach with one hand while pointing her lit cigarette towards me with the other, she answers, "You've had a good year. Look at everything you got. For Christ's sake you got Sarah, the girls, the kids, your Mom and" ... she burbs again ... "PLUS you haven't fucked up Bar Church yet."

"Touché," I say and we tap Tall Boy PBR's together.

"Anyway," she says pulling the dirty robe over her shoulders, "Merry Christmas!"

"Aw," I answer, "that is so sweet."

"God told me to tell you," she snaps. "I'm ready for vacation in the Caribbean ... I wouldn't be working today except ... well ... nobody's quit as an Angel since Satan ... and he's gone to Hell."

"That is so sweet," I lie and give her a hug.

"Sarah will find yawl's present," she slurs drowning the last of the PBR.

There's that awkward moment when nobody knows what to say ... and as a people pleaser ... maybe I'm really an Angel pleaser ... I say, "Hey Kristen's coming for Christmas Eve dinner. Why don't you join us?"

"Are you kidding," she jerks while throwing the empty on the kitchen floor, "I still gotta go to Jimmy Cochran's house."

Then she's gone.

"What's for breakfast Micheal?" Cass asks, suddenly making a Kramer like Epiphany still wrapped in the pink blanket with hair askew from her pillow.

"Whatever you want," I smile ...counting my Christmas blessings.

Far Away Eyes

Feeling a hand softly touching my back I stand upright over the meat counter at Tybee Market and see an old friend ... one of the first people I met when I moved on-island decades ago.

"Hey," I say and we hug as friends do.

Except she's frail and broken.

"How are you?" I ask putting the Hamburger Meat down.

Salt water wells in her eyes as she stares somewhere far beyond me.

Her voice cracks as she replies, "I miss him."

He died during the summer.

A regular at "Fannies-on-the-Beach," that's where we had his funeral.

Lot's of people toasted him while telling stories and his life was celebrated with laughter.

Now, a few days before Christmas, the laughter's died and the emptiness has set in.

Sometimes there are no words.

I hug her again.

"How's Sarah?" she asks wiping tears from her face.

"She's good," I answer. "Working hard and too much ... The girls are out in the car ... we've been at the Movies and I stopped to get stuff to make Chili."

The far away stare returns as ahe smiles and says, "That's nice."

"I just to thank you for everything you did," she announces staring straight at me.

"I haven't done shit," I answer. "What did I do?"

"You were his friend," she says in a voice that's soft and warm.

"You and Sarah gave us that van," she continues.

"No we didn't," I chide ... because we didn't ... we sold it to them for a dollar.

A sad, crooked smile cracks her face.

Then the words are all gone.

She has none.

I have none.

We embrace for a third time.

I rush outside to a car full of little girls excited to get home, knowing their Mother will soon be there, but as I pay I glance back at her.

She takes her time, looking at things she won't buy ... some of his favorite things I suspect ... because she's in no hurry to return to the silence of an empty home.

The first day of Christmas Break

On a rainy, gloomy day, I'm listening to melancholy Christmas music, while Sarah's girls slumber on their first day off from school.

The plans are to meet Sarah for lunch because she's working then we're going to Movies.

The weekend was crazily filled with family, Christmas celebrations, Bar Church and obligations to be elsewhere so today ... everyone's tired.

Don't get me wrong ... there were some wonderful moments ... but so much agenda was packed into the hours ... they were easy to miss and enjoy to their fullest.

Too much stuff ... too many commitments ... too many people to keep happy ... easily lead to frustration.

"You can always say 'No'", Sarah tells me and she's right though my nature is be positive, please people and move on to whatever's next.

Throw in my proclivity to not share things which I deem unimportant or insignificant and the frustration's fostered.

Cassidy, Sarah's 8 year old, stumbles out wrapped in her blanket, hair askew from her pillow and waits for me to pick her up.

She kisses my cheek, lays her head on my shoulder and asks for Mom's I-Pad ... which I give her and take her back to bed.

Downstairs I hear Laurel, the 10 year old, watching a movie on her phone while laying in bed.

The plumbing rumbles and I know that Maddie, the 13 year old, is taking a shower.

Gypsy the cat watches me intensely from his spot in the window sill.

Goddess is asleep beside the Christmas Tree.

Winston, The Little Gay Dog, is curled up in the spot on the sofa where Sarah sits ... missing his Mama.

I focus very hard on each of these things ... very determined to enjoy the most out of each and every moment of this wonderful life I'm living.

There's No Planning for God

"The pain that often lingers in your fingertips ..." sang George Harrison.

Rubbing my thumb over the fingertips on my left hand, I completely understand what he was talking about.

The house is dark and quiet.

Goddess and I are the only ones up and I'm getting myself ready for Bar Church.

Never in a million years did I think I'd be "preaching" again ... or playing guitar on a stage ... in a band.

Yet here I am!

No one plans such things.

But things don't just happen.

I haven't had much to do with "organized" religion in decades ... preferring as my friend Bob Fulton sings, "Disorganized" Religion.

Bar Church is pretty disorganized.

Yet things happen.

Ministers are notorious "control freaks" but there's no controlling what happens in Bar Church so I've given up trying.

Things just happen.

And somehow ... I don't know how ... Holiness hits.

People bring food and lay it on a Pool Table ... in dreary world full of bad news there are smiles ... congregants sing, dance or sit ... eat ... wander in and out ... smoke ... make cups of coffee for one another ... fill out prayer requests and drop them in a bucket ... shake their heads because something's always NOT working ... cry ... clap ... and lift their hands towards Heaven

It's crazy!

People who wouldn't be caught dead together are together!

And it's special in a way that words can't describe.

"Let go and Let God," is an old saying.

To which I say, "Yep" ... because there's no planning for God.

In spite of what all those Bulletins say today.

An Epifany from Samuel Adams

Samuel Adams stopped by the house.

YEP!

That Sam Adams!

The one who started Bar Church ... with Gordo ... and Davy ... "Harmonicas for Hope" ... Pirate Worship ... Wenches sing Hymns ... orchestrated a "hostile takeover" of the Easter Sunrise Service on the Pier from the other Churches ... successfully conducted a ministry by making himself totally unavailable ... never answers his phone ... and was the coolest Dude on the island.

I'm talking "Big Lebowski" cool Dude.

"You look like a Republican," I say.

Petting Winston, The Little Gay dog, Sam smiles rubbing his fingers through his short Republican haircut.

He's still charismatic as Hell, flashing his Million dollar grin, looking as painfully happy as ever.

"God told me getting Sarah and you to take over Bar Church is the right thing," he grins.

"Let me ask you this," I say leaning forward, "why is it that God's always telling you stuff but hasn't said anything to Sarah or me?"

The One Million dollar grin becomes a Two Million dollar one.

"I gotta go," he says standing up.

"Of course you do," I answer standing up with him.

And we hug.

I love Sam.

I could kill him half-the-time but I sure as Hell love him.

He conducted Sarah and I getting married on the beach ... and when he wasn't obsessed with the sound system ... he did a great job ... except he was constantly obsessed with the sound system.

Thankfully Chuck Courtenay was there and took care of the sound.

Johnny O was there too but was pretty useless because ... somebody slipped him a "Mikey."

Then Sam left.

He's always an Epiphany.

BUT ... to steal a line from Jimmy Cochran ... sometimes people enter your life at just the right time ... for the just the amount of right time ... then they leave ... though you're forever changed ... because they were there.

Yep.

That's a truth of life.

Samuel wants to come back one day ... I'm pretty sure God told him but hasn't told us yet ... it'll work out the way it's supposed to ... Sam will let us know.

Calling in Gone

It started when I started calling in sick.

"I can't come in today," I explain. "I'm sick," sucking snot up my nose and coughing to the best of my ability.

"Even though I'm close to dying," I continue explaining on the phone, "call me if you need me."

"Feel better!" was the response, "We need you!"

"Thanks," I'd weepily reply hanging up.

Then I pet Goddess, pick up the cooler of beer and make my way to the beach.

There's no better place to get well, heal, process or pray than sticking your ass in the sand ... yep ... cold beer in your hand ... toes in the sand ... all that is true.

Then one day when I was gone, I got a call and standing on Orient Bay in St. Martin, I called in gone.

The years following have been crazy though I've mostly remained gone ... from people, public view, politics and preaching.

Sarah was the first person to call me after I'd called in gone and, while I suspect we were already in love, it took a couple of years to uncover it ... which we magnificently did one night on the beach!

Then God had to get involved.

I didn't go asking, God just came calling.

The first thing that happened is I became a parent again. Already a survivor of raising 3 children to adulthood, the last thing I wanted was to do it again! BUT ... little girls can steal your heart and mine's gone ... just like I was when I used to call in ... I sitting here now so damn excited they're coming home today!

The second thing that happened is Monty Parks, a member of "The Elected," one of life's most likeable guys and can damn finger pick a guitar asked me to come.  Monty lost his mind and invited me to the "Tuesday Night Acoustic Jam" ... probably because nobody else was coming ... so it was down to me ...  but I picked up my guitar again ... let me be honest ... Elvis died at the right time ... The Beatles broke up at the right time ... cause I'm back!  ... AND Sarah's part of the band ... AND we have a drummer!

Sarah doesn't always want to be in the band but is a good sport and Davy plays drums a Hell-of-a-lots better when she's standing in front.

THEN, Samuel Adams left Bar Church ... it was Deja Vu all over again ... a woman with a butcher knife called me to be a preacher the first time ... then the Bar Church congregation
conducted a "hostile takeover" of Sarah and me ... and I'm a Simi-Professional Christian ... again.

You can't plan this stuff.

And I sure as Hell wouldn't change any of it.

So ... after calling in gone ... I am married to the love of my life ... have 6 children ...3 of whom are little girls ... am in a band with a drummer ... and am Semi-Professionally working as a Christian again ... at my age.

God I love my life!

Satisfaction

I got a big Gig today.

I'm playing the Nursing Home.

Last time I was at the Nursing Home, my dear friend Chuck Courtenay was headlining.

Sarah and I took the girls.

Chuck's an amazing musician, charismatic performer and somebody you just like being with.

Chuck's playing 60's rock-n-roll and people held captive by wheelchairs throw away their chains and dance.

Sarah, the girls and I all grab somebody and twirl around the room.

"Where's the cake?" the woman I'm dancing with asks. "They told me there'd be cake."

"I don't know," I reply twisting her around.

"I hope it's Red Velvet," she signs.

"Me too," I agree ... though I really don't like Red Velvet Cake.

Chuck's not going to be there today.

Neither are Sarah and the girls.

It's just me ... headlining.

Unlike Chuck who has an incredible ministry performing in Nursing Homes ... bringing the dead back to life ... I've inherited a job abandoned by others.

I wish Chuck was here to guide me ... be a friend I'd lean on ... but it's just me ... or nobody.

I'm nervous and apprehensive ... and have spent more than my fair share of time visiting people in Nursing Homes ... and they suck!

But I'm stealing a page from Chuck Courtenay today.

The first song is "I Can't Get no Satisfaction."

Because there is no better truth spoken in a Nursing Home.

BUT ... if I can just have a moment emulating my friend Chuck ... 0somebody gets out of a wheelchair ... or asks for cake ... well then ... all Hell's breaking loose.

And there's nothing better than all Hell breaking loose.

A 3 Mile Stare

I've got a 3 Mile Stare.

My chin rests firmly in the palm of my hand as I look out the windows though I'm not seeing much anything out there.

When my mind slows down enough to register Scott's American Flag is as limp as Congress, his Banana Trees look good and the woman chasing her dog down the street has no chance of catching it whatsoever ... I don't care.

Going back to the 3 mile stare, I'm completely lost in thought.

The things I'm looking at are far away.

It's what I think prayer is supposed to be ... "In the latter days ... your sons and daughters will prophesy, your young men will see visions, your old men will dream dreams." 

I still can't tell if I'm a young man having a vision or an old man dreaming a dream.

It's all runs together in my head.

I require Divine Intervention to make sense of it all.

The other day I wrote about life at our house ... how Sarah's girls share with us when they get home ... their loves and hates ... adolescent love ... the joys and pains of growing up.

I love these times!

They remind me of my kids growing up and love those days to this day ... because I love my kids!

And I'm so incredibly blessed to get to do it again ... and it makes me happy ... so I share it with the world ... because who wants to deny love and happiness?

Because I love Sarah and the girls!

BUT ... there's always an asshole wanting to mess things up.

I don't want to name names or anything but ... her name is Char ... and I'm sure she's reading this ... and will report it to Virgin Mary's and other authorities on high.

Well ... to Hell with them and to Hell with that.

What's important is ... this is one happy home!

It's open and free ... we talk about everything and examine anything ... get on to each other ... cheat at cards ... and laugh a Hell of a lot!

We mostly give love.

It's what happens when your visions, dreams and prophesies all run together.

That's how you know you're blessed by God.

You can't even look out the window without seeing Heaven.

The Middle of the Heart

From the time I arrive at Bar Church, things are a blur.

Davy and I set up his drums on the stage, get the sound system going, plug in computers to broadcast the Scripture and song lyrics, plug in my guitar, welcome our visiting musicians, do sound checks and a run through of the songs.

John Iacovini shuffles in with his drums as do members of "The Church" ready to talk, eat or just listen to us make things ready.

Everyone shows at the same time ... on island time ... so we're already behind schedule ... but nobody cares ... as they fill a plate at Potluck on the Pool Table ... pour coffee from the Urn Cupcake made ... remind me of all the things I've forgotten to do ... or stop for a hug.

Ten minutes or so after we're supposed to start ... we start ... though Church began half-an-hour ago.

Davy, John and I take the stage and sing, "We going up, up, up, cause the view's a little nicer" as the rag-tag Congregation sit on Bar Stools, plates in laps, lifting their hands to Heaven every time we sing "UP, UP, UP."

Rick strolls in ... grinning a shit-eating grin ... eyes dancing in delight.

I haven't seen him in 30 years.

Back in the day, we were the answer to Elvis's death and the break up of The Beatles.

We made it as far as Juanita's Mexican Restaurant  where we were hired as the Band!

It was a big night as we killed the crowd ... until the guy dropped money in the Jukebox in the middle of one of our songs ... and played "Misty."

We were crushed.

On the other hand Juanita was pissed, jerked the plug out of the wall and threw him out.

The glories of being a Rock Star!

Anyway, Rick walks in after several decades and I can hardly finish the song for grinning.

As the service unfolds, I ask him to sing.

He does.

"You have the same guitar," he says in astonishment picking it up.

And ... as only Rick can do ... he proceeded to slay the crowd in the Holy Spirit with one of his songs.

I watched as 30 years melted away when we argued ... Do you want to be The Beatles or the Rolling Stones?

Here's the Church part.

Sometimes in life, people who were so instrumental into you becoming you, come back ... even if just for a second ... and if you're lucky ... you recognize it.

That was my gift at Bar Church yesterday.

You just never know what you're going to get at Bar Church!

"Sarah," I explain, "you're not gonna believe what happened, and I rush to tell her."

Jesus ... I'm glad I go to Bar Church ... I just never know what Holiness is going to happen ... but it always does ... hitting me right in the middle of my heart.

Tears of Joy

In spite of itself, Savannah remains a beautiful city.

There's no real political leadership, it's a branch community with virtually every company's corporate headquarters located elsewhere, racism is rampant, the Police Department is corrupt and in disarray, the religious community is anything but and our "murder rate" puts bigger cities to shame.

Savannah copes with these things by pretending none of them are true.

The philosophy is "you don't really have a problem if you ignore it."

Yet ... Moss drapes the Oaks, the pungent aroma of the Marsh is everywhere, its Squares are delightful, the architecture stunning, live music is expected, there are very intriguing people, everyone seems to know everyone and it's a very giving place (though not an especially forgiving one).

After decades as part of Savannah's infrastructure, I took great pride trying to make it a better place and I believe we did.

These days, I hardly ever go ... a 20 minute ride may as well be 2000 miles ... it's a place where "if you give them everything, they'll take it."

Yesterday though, Laurel, Sarah's 10 year old, sang with the  Savannah Children's Choir accompanied by the Savannah Philharmonic Symphony in The Cathedral of St. John.

My Mom met Sarah, Maddie, Cassidy and I and we enter the packed Church.

Old friends and acquaintances are everywhere so there are hugs and hand waves ... Mom chats away with someone she hasn't seen in years.

It's a stunningly beautiful experience!

The best Savannah has to give itself is there.

I am with my family, see old friends, feel wonderful music in a magical environment that occasionally boarders on Holiness.

And I cry.

Maddie, the 12 year old laughs at me ... Sarah shakes her head with a smile ... Mom's too busy talking to notice ... and Cassidy's fallen asleep.

But every now and then in this world ... the Kingdom really does come on earth like it is in Heaven ... and if that doesn't give you tears of joy ... then nothing will.
   

Girl Drama

The girls got home last night bringing LOTS of drama with them!

I was a little shell-shocked because every time I think I've figured out living with 3 little girls ... they raise the bar.

Blowing in from school desperate for food, just like always, they rummage through every cabinet in the kitchen without shutting any of the doors ... including the refrigerator!

Stuffing their mouths with gobs of artificially induced sweetness, they share their tales of woe.

Of course both are talking at the same time so I can't make sense of anything.

"HUSH," Maddie the 13 year old screams. "I GO FIRST!"

She is so loud the cabinet doors shut themselves.

Laurel, Sarah's 10 year old, is suddenly overwhelmed with emotion, lays her head on the kitchen table and tears up.

Taking no notice of her sister whatsoever, Maddie tells her story.

She has a stalker who is threatening her saying, "I have all this stuff on you and am going to get you suspended from school."

Maddie believes him, sends a text to her Mom to get her out of the hostile environment immediately ... which, of course, is exactly what happens though Sarah first conducts her own hostile takeover of the Principal's office ... reducing the poor educator to a stunned, silent, administrator.

This all started when Maddie used to like the boy but then didn't anymore and he has rejection issues.

"Is it my turn yet?" Laurel whimpers from with her head still on the table.

"Wait," I say holding up my hand as traffic cop preventing protestors in Ferguson from advancing any further.

"You ripped her a new one?" I ask Sarah.

My sweet wife smiles as she answers, "Let's just say we understand each other."

Maddie stuffs more of whatever she's stuffing into her mouth celebrating her liberation from the Chatham County Educational System.

"Go," I say to Laurel.

Lifting her head, she explains, "The love of my life has a new girlfriend."

"Wasn't he at your house yesterday, showing off his Christmas present to you and describing how he can't think about you without touching himself?" I inquire.

"He walked somebody else home from school today," she sighs.

"He's an idiot," I say.

"I know," she weeps, "but I miss him."

"We can't play cards tonight," Maddie mumbles with a mouth full of ... I have no idea what it's full of but it's full, "We're too upset."

So we watched a movie together ... "Tammy" ... which is remarkably similar to the girls day.

Afterwards they immediately go to bed.

So Sarah and I go bed too.

"Hello big boy," my wife says after we're under the covers.

I love it when the girls are home.

There's nothing boring about them!

Hate Winter ... or No?

Conner was in town so, naturally, I got nothing done yesterday and am having a tough time getting going this morning.

Conner, his wife Hania and I met on a sail boat in St. Martin many years ago and it was love at first sight.

I don't know what it is about us but we spontaneously combust into laughter when we're put together.

They're from the North and he ends every question with a negative ... "You want to go with me or no?" ...  which utterly confuses a Southerner like me.

Nevertheless we shared many excellent adventures!

One of life's ironies is Sarah is from the same neck of the woods as Conner and also ends every question with a negative ... "Do you love me or no?"

"I've never loved anything more than you ... why are you asking?" I answer.

The last time we were together was two years ago in the San Juan Islands on a boat looking for whales which was high on my "Bucket List."

The four of us shared the experience and now it's another great one in the catalogue of stories.

We didn't have much time as they spent one night with us ... making their way from Florida to upstate New York for Christmas ... which strikes me as completely backwards ... and Sarah couldn't join us until after supper ... but good friends immediately fall into the spontaneity of love as soon as they're together.

My life's been a crazy roller coaster ride of exhilarating "highs" and crashing "lows" with hardly any straight lines.

I feel so incredibly blessed to have friends who've shared parts of the ride, either laughing or cussing right along with me.

We have no secrets and love each other anyway.

We can spend lots of time together or hardly any and enjoy each precious second.

The only problem is ... they want Sarah and I to visit them in New York ... IN THE WINTER!

I love Conner and Hania.

But I hate winter more!

Then again, I want to see where Sarah once lived which is down the road from where Conner and Hania live now.

It's a tough position in which I find myself.

Hate Winter? ... or no?

Dog Profiling

"You can't write about Tybee if you live on Tybee," my Mother scolds. "They'll come after you."

"Like when they did the dogs," I ask?

"Exactly!" she says with irritation.

It's true whenever I'd write about the Island Police Department our dogs are ticketed for barking, we have to go to court, hire Bobby Phillips as our attorney and spend lots of money in fines.

Tybee Island is a leader in dog profiling.

Dog's haven't been shot on the island yet but last year someone practiced on Coyotes.

I figure it's just a matter of time before unaccompanied dogs are shot ... which will lead to dogs on leashes taken out by the Tybee S.W.A.T.

I know it's crazy but the mentally ill are already tased on island for eating a hamburger on the curb of a street.

"Stop writing about those things," my Mother insists. "It's just going to get you in trouble."

"I just wrote about a pool referendum," I say.

"Well your wife didn't help," Mom sighs.

"ALRIGHT!" I'm thinking to myself, "It's not just me this time. Sarah's at fault too."

"She just wants the girls to have a pool," I explain, "without driving 20 minutes to the YMCA on Wilmington when we already pay dues to YMCA on Tybee."

"Hmm," Mom replies.

"Right?" I think, "There's nothing Christian about it!"

"Well you're just going to get in trouble," she concludes. "I gotta go."

Hanging up, I am beside myself in glee that Sarah is finally in trouble with my Mom ... like I've been all these years!

"Alright Pups," I excitedly say, "let's go outside and wait on the Police."

The Tybee Pool

I'm getting lots of unwanted mail from "Tybee Pool."

I've never met the guy but damn he sends out a lot of mail.

I don't think he works ... he's what Rush Limbaugh calls a "community agitator."

Nevertheless Mr. Pool keeps inviting me to "make a splash at the City Council meeting" ... which is the most benign statement ever.

Nobody makes splashes at Tybee Island City Council meetings anymore!

They're very controlled, scripted and civil ... as benign as Congress.

A decade or so ago, Tybee Island City Council meetings were surfing the never ending big waves!

My favorites were ... Counilman Walter Crawford getting so upset during a meeting that he threw his drink in the Styrofoam cup he'd brought from Spankey's across the street on a fellow council member before throwing a mountain of papers in the air and walking out ... NOW THAT's GOVERNMENT IN ACTION!

Councilman Jack Youmans, who served longer than FDR, addressing the issue of "alleged Prostitution" on Tybee Island, explaining, "There's no Prostitutes on Tybee. You can get it for free!"

Mayor Pat Locklear apologizing for forgetting to tell anybody he'd given permission to the U.S. Army to conduct training maneuvers on the island ... so while people are tanning on the beach ... paratroopers are jumping out of helicopters hovering above the ocean and solders with flame throwers attacked Mallory Pearce's house ... "Yeah, I forgot," the Mayor explained.

NOW THOSE WERE CITY COUNIL MEETINGS!

Mr. Pool wants to make a splash when he couldn't raise a ripple.

Besides the City Council dealt with the Pool issue 15 or so years ago when it had it's first opportunity to not raise taxes by stuffing a "Special Option Sales Tax (SPLOST) down our throats, dealt with the issue.

Should Tybee Island have a Pool for the kids (lets be honest ... Tybee doesn't do anything for kids ... the goal was to have aquatic exercise for the elderly) ... or a Gymnasium so it could be named after aforementioned Councilman Youmans who wanted a place to get it all for free.

Fast forward to now and we have a Gym ... The Youmans-Solomon Gymnasium ... built backwards so that as you drive down the main drag you'd never know it's a Gym ... I've come to believe it's Jack's Yomans legacy in monument to forever "moon the island."

I've been.

It's a nice Gym if you can find the front door.

Now the elderly who are still alive and wanted a pool back then instead of Gym so they can do aquatic exercises ... WANT THEIR DAMN POOL!

City Council has put it out as a referendum to the voters ... because they don't have the balls to make a decision by themselves about tax dollars.

What they're saying through such a political maneuver is ... "We're not paying for it! If you want it ... you pay for it! ... we're using all of our money to hire more policemen, buy Stop Signs and have some dude from the Water Department check out your meter then spending an hour in his truck writing a report on his laptop."

I have no doubt Mr. Pool and his cohorts will co-opt City Council to not make a decision by justifying it's the people's choice.

I just hope that when the Tybee pool is built ... it's facing upwards and can hold water ... isn't built backwards like the Gymnasium ... and isn't political asses mooning us again. 

A Goddess' Birthday

Goddess is a little crazy today.

She's growling ... slamming her butt into my leg demanding rubs ... demanding to go outside only to immediately paw the sliding glass doors to be let back in ... wanting treat after  treat ... then take a nap under the Christmas Tree.

She is such a girl.

PLUS ... it's her Birthday ... and like all girls ... SHE KNOWS IT.

Sarah gave her bacon and pancakes this morning to celebrate.

Winston, The Little Gay Dog, seems to understand this and is deferring to our Golden Retriever today when the little Son-of-a-bitch (and I mean that literally) never defers to anything.

Gypsy, the formally Gender-confused-cat, also seems to be wishing Goddess a "Happy Birthday" by laying low and not acting like a cat at all.

Today is Goddess' day!

"What are you going to do when Goddess dies," Laurel, Sarah's 10 year old, who spends lots of time with our dog, asked.

"Cry," I reply.

I can't imagine life without Goddess ... though I know it's coming.

She and I have had quite the adventure together.

She was deserted on a roadside and I was deserted at home but we had each other.

We had friends too ... my Mom, the kids, the Carnival of Friends, Rocky, Dedra, Shirley ... but mostly Sarah ... who sat and had talks with Goddess about the future ... when everyone else was talking about the past.

Goddess loves our present!

She loves when the kids or the girls are at home and celebrates in utter joy ... wagging her tail, slamming love into their leg, letting them know how much they're missed.

Goddess has taking to sleeping at the foot of our bed ... watching over us by night ... as though an Angel.

She knows our timing and will lick my hand at 6 when it's time to get up.

When Sarah wakes later ... ALL HELL BREAKS LOSE ... and Goddess slams herself into the bed waiting for the hand that wishes her "Good Morning."

In the mornings, as Sarah and I sit in the kitchen, Goddess, Winston TLGD and Gypsy literally swarm under our feet making sure we know ... as if we couldn't ... how much a part of the family they are.

When Sarah leaves for work, Goddess lays on the landing trying to block her way ... wanting us to all stay together ... for as long as we can.

Happy Birthday Goddess!

We wouldn't be here without you!

A Smaller but Happier World

"My world keeps getting smaller ... it's down to the chosen few," sings the Minor Prophet Paul Thorn.

{Yes John Branigin ... damn good Minor Prophet ... working on Major ... and I believe he's making it there ... and I know you do too!}

Paul must be stalking me because this pretty much hits it on the head.

My world keeps getting smaller.

I used to be the "Center of Universe" to use Tom Wolfe's line from "The Bonfire of Vanities" ... a really great book if you've never read it ... though the movie was so-so.

Nevertheless I lived for decades in an egotistical world that I believed revolved around me and what I do.

What a load of crap!

But I was seduced by it all ... spent forever time in Washington D.C., Atlanta Georgia, and half-the-world really ... and like anybody ever elected to public office ... or gets rich ... it screws you up!

You think you're the center of the Universe.

Not like these days when a trip to Savannah for Laurel's, Sarah's 10 year old, choir concert is MAJOR!

Old habits die hard though and there I sat beside my lovely wife on one side, Maddie her 13 year old on the other with Cassidy, her 8 year old beside her ... two wonderful gay friends in front of us ... and another casualty from Union Mission days behind ... when I spy Howard Morrison and Jim Klutz having a very serious conversation standing in the front row.

"I have to go say Hey," I explain to Sarah standing up to rush off ... except I really didn't say that ... what I actually say to is "I have to go "VERB + PRONOUN" with them."

So I did.

It was great!

Boys being boys and such.

Apparently I'm still occasionally discussed.

The Savannah Children's Choir put on a great concert hitting most notes perfectly!

Sailing home through the sun kissed golden Marsh, I marvel at the day.

Sarah and I had orchestrated  Church and I think the Lord was pleased ... I participated in a Memorial Service on the Beach for people I love ... munched with others I love ... before hearing Laurel's choir of little Angels sing ... before the pompousness that is Savannah.

I'm glad my world is smaller.

I can still VERB + PRONOUN with the best of them ... but teaching Sarah's girls the appropriate use of cuss words (which they knew WAY before I met them but had no clue as to their effective utilization) is a major focus in my life ... as is rubbing Sarah's feet with lotion at night ... planning suppers nobody wants ... forever suggesting we go somewhere they've never been ... and changing the sheets on little girls beds ... that's pretty much my world.

It's a Hell of a lot better than that bigger one I used to live.

Joyful Noises

One of my forgotten joys of life is listening to children sing Christmas Carols.

I fondly recall Jeremy, Kristen and Chelsea as kids happily singing along with "Santa Claus is coming to town" or "Silent Night."

But they grew up and moved out and I mostly celebrated the Holidays alone, not really hearing the music as I often struggled to just get through the damn Season.

"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas," Cassidy, Sarah's 8 year old, softly sings sitting in her bedroom floor, putting her shoes on, looking like a tiny Angel with a thoughtful glow on her face.

She stops me dead in my tracks by the sheer beauty of her innocence and hope.

A wall crumbles in my mind and I vividly recall the same beauty in my children when they were small.

My heart shakes in a way that it hasn't in years.

Laurel, Sarah's 10 year old, enters a room like Kramer on "Seinfeld," loudly singing "Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer" and while there's little Angelic about it, she is a ball of utter joy!

Maddie, the 13 year old who already knows everything while being clueless about anything, quietly sings "Away in Manger" as though it's a prayer, ignoring the rest of us, intensely focusing on the song.

Rushing to ready herself for work, Sarah's very Angelic voice warms the kitchen asking "Mary do you know?" as she pours the last of the coffee down the drain and rushes to find the right shoes for work.

I find myself delighting in their sounds of the season.

When did I become cynical enough to lose the joys of Christmas Carols?

I understand why it happened ... loss of loved ones, work that never ended, exhaustion, money to make and bills to pay ... being alone at Christmas even if someone else was with me.

As I write this, Cassidy stumbles into the kitchen, hair askew from her pillow, wearing a shirt her Daddy gave her, stretching out her arms for me to pick her up.

"Will you help me find Chester?" she asks already full of anticipation.

Chester is the little Elf who hides in a different place every morning so the girls can find him.

I've been given the gift of doing it all again.

It's hard to repeat most anything in life but here I am ... listening to children singing Christmas songs ... reminding me of the ghosts of Christmas past ... the joy of Christmas present ... and the hope of many Christmases to come.

Angel Sexism

"Hey," she spits ... literally in the kitchen sink ... a big long logy that takes 30 seconds to drip all the way from her mouth down the drain.

Wiping her mouth with the dirty blue stole, she takes a shot of bourbon and chases it with a tall boy Pabst Blue Ribbon.

"What," I ask sitting at the kitchen table while Sarah and the girls sleep.

"You're not supposed to tell everybody by business," she snaps, black oily hair draped over one shoulder and her dirty white robe dropping over the other almost exposing her breast.

"You're my Guardian Angel," I reply. "I'm proud I got one! Who wouldn't want to share such a thing."

"It's a secret thing," she snaps then thoughtfully adjust the one broken wing so it's semi-symmetrical with the one that works.

"Well, I'm glad you're my Guardian Angel," I sigh.

"Jesus Christ," she says in exasperation, "between you and Jimmy Cochran ..."

"Hey somebody sent me a picture of you the other day," I interrupt.

"Really," she asks suddenly interested.

"It's not a good one," I confess. "On the up side though, you got a lot of 'Groupies'."

"Angels aren't supposed to have 'Groupies,'" she says taking a long draw from her cigarette and blowing a Halo over her head.

"Well you have quite the following," I tell her.

"Let me see the picture," she demands.

Opening my Laptop, I go to the saved pictures and open one as she leans over my shoulder smelling like Bourbon Street late at night.

"I don't look like that," she explodes taking another shot of bourbon.

"I know," I agree ... because she really doesn't. The picture is of an old white haired lady Angel smoking a cigarette and my Angel looks like Olive Oil on meth.

"Besides there are famous Angels," I remind her. "Gabriel and Michael ..."

"Both sexists," she snaps.

"I'm just saying you may be breaking the glass ceiling of Angel Sexism."

"Hmmm," she murmurs ... blowing more Halos.

"I am a little surprised there's Sexism in Heaven," I say sipping coffee.

"Thank you Eve," she shoots.

"Well, Jimmy and I love you," I sigh. "And you got Groupies!"

Staring out of the window, she processes what I've said before replying, "I've got to go to the Liquor Store," then disappears.

"What was that all about?" I ask Goddess who sighs heavily and goes back to sleep.

"Oh well," I say pouring my coffee in the sink to wash her logy away, "Jimmy Cochran's coming on island today. Maybe he knows something about it."

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.