An Open Letter to God

Dear God,

Why are you keeping so quiet?

It's driving lots of us crazy!

Well ...

Not the clergy who like it when you're not saying much because it gives them the opportunity to do all the talking, but the rest of us would rather you speak up more often.

And ...

Politicians could care less what you have to say as they're too busy getting re-elected or, when they're not, opening up consulting businesses.

Though Police Departments don't really want to hear from you either feeling whatever actions they take are already justified.

Aside from Chick-Fill-A, the Business Community don't want to listen to much you have to say because they're too busy making money.

Most Doctors believe they're God and don't want to waste time being challenged that they're not.

Sport stars already make more money than you do, have followers and, while they may tap their heart and point to the sky after they score ... it's all for show.

The Industrial Military Complex stopped listening to you as soon as they got started.

Newspaper columnists already know what you have to say so you don't have to say it.

Hmmmm ...

Come to think of it God, there's only a handful of people interested in anything you have to say.

Sorry about that God.

I know we can do better.

Just give the word and we'll start listening.

Thank you.

Sincerely,

ME

Re-Gifted

Watching a Netflix movie there are 5 of us in various stages of recompose on the large sofa.

Everyone is touching someone.

It's a touching family time ... a Hallmark moment.

We're completely re-gifted.

The girls are Sarah's and Ben's ... Sarah left Ben to find herself ... married me ... I have three children who live elsewhere ... but we are one family.

It's hard to diagram.

Once in Seminary I gave a talk in class titled, "Divorce: A Great Gift from God."

It was a Southern Baptist Seminary so it didn't go over very well.

But it's true.

There is no worse sin than to waste your life with the wrong person.

Yeah, yeah, yeah ... it's selfish  ... good relationships take work ... commitment ... marriage is a permanent relationship ... ordained by God ... never to be broken ... blah, blah, blah.

"For we know," says St. Paul, "that the whole creation groins and travelith in pain together until now"

We do our best.

We screw up ... dust ourselves off ... start over.

It's the way God ... and us ... create life.

50% of the people who get married divorce.

The other 50% die.

Of course the first 50% die too.

We just do the best we can.

I think everybody would be happier if we just accept it.

So last night, as I realize how much I love ... and am enjoying ... the gifts of Divorce ... as we touch one another ... love our family ... miss the Kids ... anticipate Jeremy and Terenca's wedding ... celebrate Chelsea and Sam's ... wonder what Kristen is going to do ... and really don't care what other people think ... because we've groaned for the completion of this happiness.

We know how blessed we are.

If God is love ... and love is God ... and love is all you need ... we got it.

And it was a good movie too.

The Duke Of Earl and Me

Scratching the top of my head I'm struck by two things.

How thin my hair is up there ... and how calloused my fingers have become.

It gives me pause.

My hair's as long as it's ever been and I'm going to enjoy it as long as I have it.

My fingers do things they haven't done in decades, stretching this way and that, hitting the right strings in the right frets, making music.

My voice is deeper with a gravelly quality to it that I like.

It reminds me of "Preaching" when I would drop my voice an octave on a dime ... which is one of the tricks of preaching.

I don't preach anymore though I do tell stories.

Besides there's WAY TOO MUCH Preaching in the world today.

I prefer the later and I think God does too.

I do sing however ... with more regularity and have the daily challenge of finding new ... or rediscovering old ... songs for both secular and religious purposes.

The secular songs are for me ... Monty Park's Tuesday Night Acoustic Jam ... the occasional times I play a set at Benny's Tybee Tavern & Restaurant and my regular weekly gig at the Nursing Home.

The Nursing Home crowd leaves me perplexed because they've demanded I do "The Duke of Earl" next week and I have no idea how to do a solo acoustic version of that song.

But I'll tell you this ... I'm going to try ... and while it may be the "Peasant of Earl" they get ... it'll be a damn good Peasant.

"How's retirement?" I was asked the other day.

"I'm not retired," I shoot back.

"You making any money?" he counters.

"Well no," I confess, 'but I'm having a real good time."

"Really?" he asks with surprised eyes.

"Yeah, I like my life. I'm just figuring out how to finance it."

He hands me his Business Card ... he's a Financial Advisor ... and says he'll take me to lunch ... as if I had any money to advise ... though I do like lunch.

"You look happy," he says as we hug.

"I am," I tell him before asking, "Have you ever heard an acoustic solo version of 'The Duke of Earl'?"

"What?" he says ... and I think he wants his card back.

I don't care.

I'm hanging out with the Duke of Earl.

Caldestine Lunch Dates

"You want to meet for lunch?"

"I'll be home in a little while," she sighs.

"I don't care," I reply. "Let's meet for lunch."

"I don't want to go to Johnny Harris," she replies.

Johnny Harris Restaurant is roughly half way between us but we were just there on Sunday night for the "Singer-Songwriter" Series ... and we meet there about once a week.

That's because we have a "Lunch Date" about once a week.

It's usually completely spontaneous and rarely planned.

"You want to meet for lunch?" one of us asks the other.

We contemplate things needing to be accomplished today... other obligations ... the drive ... calculate the time necessary to stop for gas ... feel guilty about leaving work ... wonder if God punishes people who do what they really want ... and how much tax must be paid to the Government because you want to have fun and God knows the Government is Anti-Fun.

"Sure," Sarah replies.

""Where?" I ask.

"I don't want Asian," she snaps knowing how much I love Asian.

"Well I don't want that lame place besides "Whole Foods" ... it sucks," though somehow  my wife is quite fond of it.

"How about the Cotton Exchange?" I ask.

"That's too far for you," she protests..

"No, I'll meet you there."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Okay."

I love the Cotton Exchange. Gene Prevatt and I ordered beers there a thousand years ago when we were 17 and ... they served us ... I'm sure because we looked and acted older! ... so I've had a special affinity for it ever since ... AND they make the best potato salad ever!

So we meet and Sarah's as lovely as ever when she graces the room ... only to endure the catcalls and whistles of Ben Price and his friend who are also having lunch at the Exchange.

Ben and I go way back ... he was famous then ... I was famous then ... we liked each other anyway ... his Dad was very, very good to me ... and I performed his and Pam's wedding ceremony on a glorious evening in a glorious place.

He and Sarah meet for the first time and ... it's obvious Ben and I like each other so she's forced to like him too ... ON THE SPOT!

"Who was that?" Sarah asks when Ben and his friend leaves.

"He used to be somebody," I answer.

"Like you?" she lovingly asks putting her hand on top on mine.'

"Yeah ... like me,"" I answer kissing her in public.

If you don't think this boring story could get any worse ... you're right ... it doesn't.

Ben emails Sarah and I later inviting us to dinner with Pam and him ... making the assumption he's paying ... so we're pretty damn excited!

And that my friends is why it's important to have lunch dates with your spouse ... lover ... significant other ... clandestine relationship ... Anti-Government endorsed relationship ... or whoever ... or whatever ... you really love.

You might get a free dinner out of it.

Our Christmas Tree fights for life!

"The Christmas Tree's sagging," Sarah says.

"So," I reply as she beautifully walks down the stairs leaving me lustful ...and full of sinful thoughts ... on her way to work.

I love Christmas Trees!

I don't care if they sag.

I don't care if they're brown.

Once in St. Martin, my friend Verna took to the store because I didn't have a car ... it was Christmas Eve and I needed groceries ... and the island was decorated ... with brown Christmas Trees bleached out in the sun ... fully decorated with bright ornaments.

Verna belted Christmas carols the entire trip with the windows rolled down and my bare feet on the dashboard.

"I'm dreaming of a brown Christmas," I sing.

Laughing, she says, "You're so white."

I love that image.

Anyway, Sarah leaves and I sit on the bench and stare at our Christmas Tree.

I think it should remain until Winter is over.

I hate Winter!

I didn't say that with enough passion.

I. HATE. WINTER. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I hate snow ... cold wind ... Nor'easters ... scraping windshields ... multiple blankets ... ice (well ... except in a sweating glass) ... cranking the car to heat it before driving ... coats ... long pants and shoes!

I hate snow Angels.

But I love our Christmas Tree.

I'd leave it up till March if Sarah would let me ... which she won't ... but ... it's warm and nice ... the decorations are wonderful reflections of everything we've been through to get to us ... and ... Goddess likes sleeping under it.

Most Ornaments are homemade by my kids ... her girls ... things she made as a child ... or I made as a child ... my Grandfather's tie ... her parent's ornament.

The presents are long gone ... our children and friends ripped them open a couple of weeks ago.

The only thing left under our Christmas Tree is love.

And I'm basking it in right now.

It's our life and I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Girls Clothing and me

It's one of those "sit and wait" mornings.

Sarah and her girls rushed out a while ago for work and school and now the house is quiet as a mouse.

Well ... except for the Paul Thorn music I have blasting!!!

I'm waiting on inspiration ... which obviously has an appointment somewhere else.

After a great long weekend together they leave ... and I've developed a ritual of meandering into their rooms ... straightening up the messes little girls make ... you know like ... a Fed EX truck full of dresses, designer jeans and underwear EXPLODING in a 12 by 14 room ... clothing is everywhere.

"Which one of your rooms is going to make me curse first?" I sweetly ask before they leave.

"Probably mine," Maddie the 13 year old confesses stuffing another doughnut in her mouth while taking a "Selfie."

I already know without saying anything that she's right.

And she is.

Sarah is a very meticulously, organized, diligent mother, individualizing their laundry in baskets with the girls names on them and asks the girls to put their clothes up.

Cassidy, the 8 year old, does a pretty good job of it ... primarily because there's no room anywhere else due to the "American Girl Dolls," random pieces of art and candy rappers occupying every square inch of floor space.

Laurel, the 10 year old, puts the basket in her closet and shuts the door ... Problem solved.

Maddie ... or "Madaster" as I call her ... because she's quite mad and reminds me of the "Tasmanian Devil" when she's pissed ... twisting through the room like the Twister in "The Wizard of Oz" ... simply dumps her basket on the bed.

I pick up the stray dolls and candy wrappers Cass leaves on the floor.

In Laurel's room, I smile and stay the Hell away from her closet or looking under her bed and tell myself, "Bless her heart! She did good."

Then I go to Maddie's door ... and hit my head against it ... because I know ... this is going to be ugly.

"HOLY SHIT!" I say out loud when I finally walk inside.

She's topped herself again!

But you know what?

They won't be back until Friday and I already miss them.

Preaching and Panhandling

Chester Fawbush, a homeless man, and I are in Mississippi because the "Women's Missionary Union" flew us in to speak at their annual meeting.

It was in a big white Southern Baptist Church ... because Baptists love buildings more than most anything else.

Months earlier I'd talked about Chester at the National Women's Missionary Union Annual meeting and the Mississippi Chapter didn't believe he actually existed so they invited me to prove it.

It was the first time Chester flew on a plane, stayed in a posh hotel (well by Mississippi standards) or gave a speech.

A thousand finely dressed women occupied the pews, sang Hymns, gave awards to one another, made lots of announcements and a gavel was passed as two women hugged and cried to the point of uncomfortableness.

I was introduced and talked about the tiny, rag-tag, inner city congregation in Kentucky and how we are changing the world.

They didn't care.

They wanted to hear Chester.

In his mid-60s, wearing a plaid coat from the Clothes Closet, with most of his teeth, salt-and-pepper hair, the thin little man stood behind the massive Pulpit ... cocked his head towards me and ... winked.

Then he grabs the microphone, storms across the stage, tells his story, cries in ways that puts Jimmy Swaggart to shame and ... gets a massive standing ovation.

Afterwards he got several wedding proposals and opportunities for discreet rendezvous in hotels just out of town.

Alone at the airport I look at Chester, who'd lived for several years in a Landfill, and ask, "Where'd you learn to speak like that?"

Flashing the crooked grin he laughs, "Aw Rev ... Preaching ... Panhandling ... it's all the same."

Erupting in laughter we hug, board the plan and fly home.

I tell you that story to tell you this one.

There's an honesty at Bar Church, I don't see much anymore.

I'm not asking for anything ... not panhandling ... or preaching ... but I was part of a special church before so I recognize special when I see it.

This is special.  

Friends

I seem to have filled my life with a new batch of friends.

It's not that my old friends went away ... we're just not moving in the same circles any more.

We keep up on Facebook, commenting and messaging ... there's the occasional phone call ... and in a few weeks Bill Berry (not the former drummer for REM but the other one) and I are actually getting together for a few days!

My mates from College and I sling arrows at each other almost daily with Mark being the most accurate ... Mitch being the most creative ... Dedra being the most clueless ... and me missing virtually everything they shoot.

Some of my friends from Seminary are speaking to me again ... at this point in their Ministries I suppose they're finally getting around to that "forgiveness" stuff.

Throughout the World homeless people using free computers in Library sending me nice messages ... or ask if I can still help them bypass the system.

My Professional Peers mostly went away ... except for Terry Ball who actually ran homelessness for a long time. We communicate with some regularity... and Sandy Durden who recently gave me a body slam hug in the Cathedral of St. John ... and the very famous Dr. Jim Withers who is shoving health care down the throats of those needing it most while shaming the Hospitals that demand payment at the door.

Angela Barris Bracket, a real "Hottie" when I was growing up, and I keep up with each other ... she's met Sarah and, while I enjoy our encounters, she often questions my sanity.

Shirley Sessions continues to say "Fabulous" when I see though she recently told me she was giving that up.

The "Carnival of Friends" are still constant presences but, while we love each other dearly, we're not constantly doing the things we used to do.

Jenny Orr allowed John Branigin to take control of "Bored Meetings" at "Fannies-on-the-Beach" because Roma has abdicated all control. O Johnny "(not to be confused with Johnny O) changed the time of being Bored so I don't do it much anymore though Essie and Brown seem to be doing just fine.

Besides, Sarah's girls keep me completely amused!

Oh My God, who knew 3 little girls can be like Patton's Army rolling across Germany one second and melt your heart like butter as they're doing it? ... Neither Science or Religion can explain such things.

Plus Chelsea and Sam are married ... Jeremy are and Terenca are getting married ... and Kristen is almost a Nurse ... and I work hard to keep up with their lives.

I've given up keep up with my Mom's life ... she's too busy ... though we occasionally have nice conversations when she has time ... and she's not getting on to me for whatever I wrote.

Oh yeah ... Monty Parks and the Tuesday Night Acoustic Jam consumes increasing amounts of my time! You won't believe this but I actually missed part of the Beloved Dawgs of Georgia football game the other night to show up ... but then again I've always like people who like music ... and don't fit in anywhere else.

Mostly it's my wife's fault.

She's just too damn enjoyable!

AND ... she's my best friend therefore requiring significantly more time, attention, focus, restraint and physical activity.

I'd tell you more but I got to go Bar Church now.

I love my crazy friends who have Church in a Bar!

Oh They Tell Me

It started on a horrific day when Matt was killed driving home from work on I-95 in Washington, D.C.

His wife was notified immediately ... had to tell their 3 children ... then she called my son Jeremy ... Matt's best friend.

Matt Wilkerson was brilliant, funny and passionate about University of Georgia football where he'd gone to school and played in the band.

Jenn, his wife, is equally as brilliant, funny and passionate, went to UGA and fell in love with the boy in the band.

Their life was taking off when Matt's life was taken.

Trying to reconcile the unfairness of life ... and the insistence of death ... Jeremy posted a song as his way coping.

"Oh they tell me of a home where my friends have gone ... oh they tell me of a home far away ... oh they tell me that he smiles on his children there ... and his smile drives their sorrows away."

The version Jeremy posted is by Audra Mae, part of the soundtrack of "Sons of Anarchy" ... who takes the old Hymn and completely transforms it into something else.

"Oh they tell me ..."

It could be true.

It couldn't be true either.

You decide what they tell you.

It's become one of my Hymns and I'm determined to learn it the way in the questioning sort of way.

I'm practicing as Sarah wanders in the room and sings with me until the words ... "they tell me that he smiles on the children there" ...  and she bursts into tears.

Sarah never cries.

Ever!

We have friends from her past that I've yet to meet ... but adore.

They lost baby twins ... Lexi and Teddy ... who gets over that?

They're raising Noah now and life's good ... though something's always missing.

So when Sarah cries ... I cry ... and we stop because we can't  keep on ... Hoping beyond hope that what they tell me is true ... "His smile drives their sorrows away."

Sarah jumps up ... wiping her eyes ... takes a picture to send to our friends Aaron, Nick and Noah ... for Lexi and Teddy too ... of course Matt ... and Jenn and the kids.

I don't know why death is a part of life.

It shouldn't be ... but it is.

It's not right.

But they tell me ... of an uncloudy day.

And for once ... I think they're right.

Bar Church

The thing about being a Semi-Professional Christian again is Sunday never leaves my mind.

As soon as one service is finished I want to talk about it with Sarah and then immediately start thinking of the next one.

The good news ... (HA! Funny Joke!) ... is I never dwell on the past because it's all about the future.

The other good news is I'm at Bar Church ... nothing's perfect ... and there's no expectation of it.

Come as you are ... warts and all.

Bring your sins!

We like 'em!

I'm thinking about including a "Best Sin of the Week" competition as part of the service because ... let's be honest here ... we all got them ... and we all take them to Church with us ... if we go to Church ... which most don't.

It'll be great!

After the opening songs, prayers and announcements ... "OKAY KIDS! Who's got the best sin this week?"

"I stole from the IGA," an old woman confesses and ... sadly it doesn't even rate because everybody steals from Tybee Market.

"I slept with her husband," someone else says ... and everybody shrugs their shoulders.

"I was pulled over by the Tybee Cops last night," a guy admits ... to which I reply "We have a support group for that every Wednesday at 6:00 ... right before Happy Hour at 7:00.

I think it'd be a terrific ... and honest part of Church!

Most Churches are not honest.

Everybody's hiding stuff from one another ... dressing up their sins in suits and nice dresses ... distracting them with musical performances ... allowing everyone to forget them during the Sermon.

We're different at Bar Church.

We accept your sins.

The message is, "Hey, you screwed up this week. I screwed up this week. God loves you anyway and I'm going to try my best to love you too ... because God is love and that's what Church should be."

Then we play "Knocking on Heaven's Door" or "Something to Believe in" ... or "Just as I am."

Afterwards we leave ... do our best ... try not to screw up ... know we're going to ... but have a place to go where we can admit it ... be part of a group of supporters ... and loved anyway. 

Taking the road less traveled

The first thing to know about taking the Road Less Traveled is there are no maps and the GPS doesn't work.

You have no idea whatsoever where you're going ...

who you'll run into ... and who you won't ...

how you're going to survive ...

who's going to bail on you ... and believe me lots of people will bail on you.

Suffice it to say there are lots of unknowns on the road less traveled.

On the Oft-traveled Road there is stability ... 401-K's and retirement plans ... saving for tomorrow ... health insurance ... the same ol' people ... doing the same ol' thing ... familiarly ...  comfort ... even boredom.

On the Road Less Traveled you have no frigging idea!

On the Oft-Traveled Road you have a plan.

On the Road Less Traveled there are glorious highs and pitiful lows ... betrayal and abandonment ... unsuspected heroes ... love from the unlikeliest of people ... hurt tempered by wonderment ... every day is a new adventure.

The Oft-Traveled Road is pretty straight ... the expectations are clear ... no one gets divorced ... everybody works ... funerals are nice ... sex is boring ... Christmas is big.

It's funny that people on The Road Less Traveled sometimes long for the Oft-Traveled Road but refuse to follow a straight line, other people's expectations, get high off the adventures and are determined to see where the road ends.

Those on the Oft-Traveled Road sometimes get mad or drunk, threaten to take the Road Less Traveled, usually make it as far as a Cruise Ship ... once ... then stick with the plan because they know where it's going to end.

The Road Less Traveled is scary as Hell.

The Oft-Traveled one is not.

But as a seasoned and well traveled Pilgrim of the Road Less Traveled, I can guarantee you that each twist and turn leads you to a better and happier place.

I'm not sure if the Oft-Traveled Road leads you anywhere at all.

Happy New Year!

Which way you going?

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.