The Year in Review

It's been a big year at our house!

I got some new "Jesus" magnets for the refrigerator and Sarah decided new pictures were necessary for the magnets to hold in place.

I have to admit she was right because she's always right.

Now our sacrilegious Fridge looks way better than before.

The main reason is because it's a new refrigerator ... we swapped appliances from her house to our house and the ice maker actually works!

It's pretty cool when the ice maker actually works.

~~~

Maddie, Sarah's 13 year old, and Laurel, the 10 year old, both got contact lenses and I didn't recognize either of them for weeks.

I assumed Sarah was keeping her friends kids until one morning Maddie asks me for money and to not mention it her mother.

"YOU'RE MADDIE!" I scream.

She looks at me with really nice eyes like I'm an idiot.

"You look nice ," I say handing her the money.

~~~

Sarah got a job with the American Red Cross so she gets up and leaves the house every day ... leaving me to my own devices ... and while I miss her terribly ... I have a pretty good time ... mostly sitting naked on the Beloved Back Deck ... working on my tan ... and writing.

~~~

We published a new book I wrote ... mostly naked on the Beloved Back Deck ... titled "Sandy Bottoms and Duct Taped Hearts" ... because I feel guilty about Sarah going to work every day ... but we're both pretty pleased ... it shot straight to the bottom of the "The New York Times Best Seller List."

~~~

Inexplicably ... I became the pastor at Bar Church!

I'm pretty sure God didn't have anything to do with it.

But I'm enjoying the Hell out of it!

~~~

Monty Parks got me involved with a group of renegade musicians every Tuesday Night at the Bar formally known as Doc's and we always have a good time ... and occasionally make music.

Well ... except when Gregory L. Bell is there ... and when John Iacovini's groupies overrun the back room where we occasionally play.

And while I still don't know why but I thank Monty Parks for this.

He's an elected official and can't be trusted.

He's up to something.

I just don't know what it is yet.

~~~

Today's my Mom's birthday and I am thankful!

"How old are you Mom?" I ask.

"I have no idea," she replies.

And she really doesn't.

She's late 70-something going on 42.

~~~

Jeremy, Kristen, Chelsea and Sam are all aggressively pursuing happiness.

~~~

Cassidy, the 8 year old, shattered the record of accumulating American Girl dolls.

And we are proud parents!

~~~

The Beloved Dawgs of Georgia had a winning season (though it could have been better).

~~~

Sarah's hotter than Hell!

~~~

It's been a great year!

~~~

Hope yours was!

~~~

And I'm wishing you a better one next year!

Leaving Legacies

"I want to show you something," the old man says rummaging through his briefcase.

He's a professional acquaintance who wants to become my friend.

I am suspicious but need him to get what I want.

Having burned lots of bridges he's a bit desperate to have a friend or two.

He's mostly desperate to influence his legacy because he knows he's already shot his wad and doesn't have much time left.

Leaning upright at the tiny conference room table in my tiny office he spreads out newspapers.

"Look at this," he grins and points at a photograph of his younger self, "Front page!"

It's a story from a decade earlier when he cared about things nobody else cared about and that's News ... if you work it right.

He knew how to work it.

The Savannah Morning News is relatively easy to work.

He also knew how to talk ... Jesus Christ could he talk! ... without ceasing ... when he called I knew hours were immediately lost ... I did my best to avoid his calls ... BUT ... I needed him so I lost time.

I also realize he needs me ... for validation of his life.

He reads each article with pride, especially the ones with his picture.

Sitting there, bored out of my mind, chin resting firmly on cupped hands, he goes on and on and on ... and it strikes me he's justifying his life ... to me.

Who am I to have someone justify themselves to?

That God's job.

Not mine.

My eyes moisten with salt water as he goes on ... and on ... and on.

A few weeks later he died and the tiny Church was half full ... because it's raining.

That was a long time ago.

I told Sarah about him ... I don't know why ... yes I do ... it's because I remember him ... and most don't.

I Googled him just now and found the same stories he showed me with pride, though his photographs are washed out so I can't refresh my memory of what he really looked like.

He desperately wanted to be remembered but ... he's mostly not ... his wife died soon after he did ... the things he worked on were replaced by new things ... his ashes mixed with other ashes ... his dust added to the dust.

I've already lived more than I'm going to ... which is funny because I've got more to live for than I've ever had.

I remember the first time I was published ... in "The Journal of Social Work and Christianity" ... going to the Library at The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary alone ... to see myself ... in print.

I was proud and told myself, "You'll live forever."

What a stupid thing to say ... full of arrogance ... pride ... wishful thinking.

Maybe in a Library somewhere that article still exists ... and perhaps someone's read in the not too distant past.

I don't have a copy.

And I really don't care.

What I do have ... is Sarah  whom I passionately love ... kids who are friends ... 3 little girls I'm really missing right now ... a Church I care about deeply when I haven't cared about Church in forever ... a few good friends ... the roar of the ocean through the open sliding glass doors.

Later, when I pour wine, I'm going to raise a glass or two to Russell Billings.

Because I remember.

You could be such a pain in the ass ... but you made a difference ... and I remember it.

Here's to you Buddy.

Now Shut Up!

Sex on the Beach

I'm back on the Beloved Back Deck today which blows me away.

On December 29, I'm sporting the new black running shorts Sarah and the girls got me for Christmas with one of my spiffy new UGA Tee-shirts.

My bare feet are resting on Goddess who's snoring under the table.

Listening to "The Boat Drunks" ... my new favorite band ... I've conducted an inspection and, for the most part, everything's okay.

Yeah ... what used to be grass is now weeds but ... HEY! They're green weeds!

The orange Hibiscus is still in bloom ... so are the purple Petunias ... and the red whatever-it-is ... and all of the green stuff is still green!

A squirrel has mistaken one of the deck chairs as a lover and ... well ... it was apparently rough sex because the deck chair is ripped to Hell and the squirrel is obviously a scoundrel.

Seagulls are squawking New Year greetings, the ocean roars in the distance, and the Palm Tree with the oyster eyes, coconut bra has ripped off her grass skirt and is flashing me a full frontal.

Sex on the beach ... I thought it was a drink ... or what Sarah and I occasionally do.

Regardless ... it's nice to be outside ... in bare feet ... as the year draws to a close.

Gypsy the formerly gender-confused-cat is trying to get out here with me but it's not going to happen ... so he's doing a pole dance on the sliding glass doors.

Winston, The Little Gay Dog, is ... I have no idea where he is and I don't really care.

It's just a nice day to be here.

You know what I mean?

My Girl(s)

I knew it was a "package deal" but I didn't know everything that means.

Marrying Sarah meant three little girls were thrown into the deal.

I suppose that's a bargain ... four girls for the price of one.

I had no idea.

Head over heals in love with Sarah ... completely out of my mind ... I said "I do" to her ... and "I'll try" to them.

Already completely in love with Jeremy, Kristen and Chelsea ... my kids ... all adults ... living their own lives in other places ... I was content ... maybe complacent.

Regardless I was clueless because Maddie, Laurel and Cassidy have completely stolen my heart.

It's the little things that did it.

Last week Jeremy and Terenca are here and we're all sitting at the table talking when suddenly ... completely unexpectedly ... Maddie throws her arms around me neck, lays her head on my shoulder, and simply listens to what we're saying.

My heart became melted butter.

"Hey Elliott," Laurel says to me.

"What middle Lingenfelter?" I reply.

"I love you," she says ... and I know she does.

She's crazy as a loon, always doing stupid stuff, makes decisions based purely on emotion and doesn't give a continental Damn what anyone else thinks ... but the girl knows how to love.

Cassidy is a lot like Maddie but convinced she's much cuter and that cute is what gets you through life.

She reminds me of Chelsea because Cass is an artist like Chels is an artist ... and Chelsea's cute too.

Cass is also the early riser in the family and rushes out of her bedroom like Kramer on Seinfeld, hair askew from her pillow, Dragon morning breath, clutching her blanket ... so I can pick her up ... and she kisses my cheek as I take her to the sofa ... give her the I-Pad ... and she asks for Cinnamon Rolls.

A long time ago Sarah promised they would love me but I didn't believe her.

They weren't my kids.

But they are now.

I have no idea how it happens but is has.

And I miss them today.

Di it or die!

St. Augustine is where we began this year, with Jeremy and the girls, in a cute little house a few blocks from St. George.

Jeremy's "in transition" which is a nice way of saying "All Hell had broken lose" but it was a wonderful loving, family way to bring in the New Year.

The girls dote on the brother they never had until now and he gives it back in kind.

A month later we're on a cruise ship with stops in Jamaica, Grand Cayman, Coco Cay and Honduras.

With our friends Tim and Jesse, we did crazy stuff ... but the definite highlight is Sarah and Jesse getting photographed playing in the aqua-blue water for a British Naturalist Magazine!

Who gets to do that in life?

Later Sarah and I are in Ireland with a couple of old friends and a bus load of new ones!

It was an incredible experience ... well except for the one day I insist we sit on the front row of the bus to see everything ... because we're really back row people ... but Sarah fixed that the next day and we never did it again.

What we did do was ... stand on the perch of a Lighthouse 40 above the waves crashing into cliffs, feeling more alive than ever ... with every fiber of our body exploding in LIFE!

Later in a Pub, I got to play with Band as people hit on Sarah sitting at the bar!

They are highlight experiences of life ... and I never would have chosen to go Ireland ... it was Sarah's dream ... and I'd go back with her anytime.

Then Sarah came up with an excuse to go to Key West, FL. Claiming it was for the Hemingway Race we actually wanted to hang around Joey Finch and Bill Bray ... well ... when we weren't at "Irish Kevin's.

PLUS...  Martha Cetti and Joe, who went to Ireland with us there, so we had to go and meet them in "Sloppy Joe's" ... and then go hang out with Billy and Joey again.

San Salvador, Bahamas has been a dream destination since I was a little kid ... where Columbus first ran into the Americas ... the outermost island with hardly anything on it ... an a food boat scheduled to arrive weekly though that doesn't always happen.

From a tiny house we climb down rocks to a private beach and on the first day the girls saw a Manta Ray ... later five large sharks swam pass in formation ... crazy trips to the grocery (the food boat arrived the day after we did) ... and because there's no television or Internet, the girls learn how to play "Spades" ... which is now a weekend activity.

They're pretty good and can deal from the bottom ... cheat ... mix the cards ... and reach the ruthlessness necessary for a good game of cards.

We all want to go back to San Sal.

During College football season ... occasionally referred to as Autumn ... Maddie, the 13 year old, and I went to Jacksonville, FL and all of us went to Athens, GA to root for the Beloved DAWGS ... who lost both games ... but we had a Hell of a good time.

Ah ... but what a year we've had!

Sarah got a job ... Laurel, the 10 year old, got into the Savannah Children's Choir ... Chelsea and Sam have kicked ass through their first year of marriage ... Kristen's made straight "A's" for the first time in her life ... and Cassidy, the 8 year old, has numerous "American Girl Dolls" which obviously outshine anything.

It's been a crazy, wonderful, satisfying, frustrating, year.

To bring in the New Year, Sarah and I are going on the Gambling Boat.

And we're already making plans for where to go next year.

Because ... to quote "The Atlanta Rhythm Section" ... Do it or die.

We obviously prefer to do it.

And put off the dying.

I'd rather be warmer

"It's too hot for Christmas," Laurel, Sarah's 10 year old, says.

We're walking the dogs beneath Palm Trees, diamonds glistening on the water of the Back River, breathing in the pungent aroma of the Marsh ... which is the smell of sex in the Tropics.

"It's too hot for Christmas," Laurel, Sarah's 10 year old says, gliding barefoot on her skateboard says.

"What?" I ask stopping in the middle of the road in front of Shirley Sessions house.

"Yeah," my beloved wife agrees with her beloved daughter, "It's too hot. Christmas should be cold."

"There should be snow," Laurel affirms.

I almost pee my pants.

"Who are these people?" I ask myself ... though smart enough to keep my mouth shut.

I like snowy Christmases ... on postcards people send us but that's as close as I want to get.

In the genealogical studies of my past I have no idea where my love of beaches, sunshine, Shag music, clothing optional beaches and seafood come from ... but I am overly infected.

I love Laurel the 10 year old but ... she's 10 ... she doesn't know shit.

I adore Sarah my wife ... especially when she's dripping in salt water for a photo shoot in the Bahamas ... but I think her brain is still thawing out from too many cold Christmases ... in shitty weather ... with a man she didn't love ... and a Mother-in-Law from Hell who thinks she's Heavenly.

In the middle of the street ... in front of Shirley's house ... I just want to hug them ... love them through it ... go home ... plan for where it's warm.

Tybee Island's nice most of the time.

Yeah we hire Nazis for cops and give them authority to do whatever-the-Hell-they-want ... but they're not so bad ... compared to Parking Services ... or the recycling people who throw the trash in the same truck as the garbage ... but the winter's suck!

"You always want to go somewhere," the love of my life asks this morning because I have the heater on and the sliding glass doors open.

Sliding the sliding glass doors shut, I choose warm ... though I love outside.

"Can't you just be happy to be here?" she asks pouring syrup on the Waffle Lenny send her from the Breakfast Club.

"I'm very happy," I explain, "but I'd rather be warmer."

You can never be warm enough ... unless you're in a Nursing Home ... where it's hot as Hell ... because it is.

Turning the corner at the house where Art used to live, the dogs go nuts looking for our dead friend, and Laurel asks, "Are we going to Belize?"

"Now you talking," I say.

Sarah rolls her eyes.

I can't wait!

I love my wife!

Sometimes there really is Joy To the World

"WOW," Maddie the 13 year old mumbles stumbling into the kitchen, "you're actually playing Christmas music."

"I've been playing Christmas music all week," I say turning over sausage frying on the stove.

"Not real Christmas music," she yawns.

It is true that I prefer the rock-and-roll versions of the old carols ... Cheech & Chong's "Santa Claus and his old Lady" ... and Dolly Parton's "Hard Candy Christmas" ... today Gene Autry is singing "Rudolf the Red Nose Reindeer" which Maddie obviously likes.

Cassidy the 8 year old and Laurel the 10 year old stumble in ready for Christmas to begin but I chide them to keep quite because Sarah's still asleep.

Fleeing the kitchen for the bedroom they dive into bed with her and within a nanosecond they're opening presents.

It's a good morning ... gifts ... warmth ... happiness ... love.

No sooner do we settle into the wonderfulness of it ... we have to leave ... and I'm rushing the girls to get ready."

"Oh please," Sarah says, "like you've ever been anywhere on time."

Several minutes later we're piled in and heading to the Nursing Home.

"Nobody ought to be alone on Christmas" by Darlene Love is my favorite Christmas song and here we are ... with wonderful friends from Bar Church ... gifts from Bowie Seafood ... wheeling in beds, wheelchairs, walkers and smiles.

It's eerily similar to men and women ... wise or not so much ... coming into a crowded stinking place bearing gifts ... oppressive regulations and security locks keep everyone in like Roman Centurions ... and out of nowhere there's a light ... perhaps it's a lighter-ness ... to the darkness of living.

And we sing.

And the people who live there are excited they're not alone on Christmas.

Presents a
re given along with hugs.

There is clapping, the shaking of tambourines, dancing and drool ... but for a moment or two anyway ... there is Joy to the World.

So Joy to the world.

Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea.

Joy to you and me.

Happy Christmas Everyone!

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."