Friends and Beer

Looking like a Lumberjack on a bicycle, Monty Parks strolls to a stop in front of Fannie's On The Beach and breaks into a grin.

His smile is infectious transforming the imposing Lumberjack into a friendly Elf.

"How does he do that?" I say out loud sipping my wine.

I'm dressed in a white UGA tee shirt, black running shorts and flip-flops resting on the floor as my feet lay in the window.

He is a multi-talented man ... politician, warehouse manager, elected official but, most importantly, a really fine guitar player and singer.

Monty hosts his own Jam on Tuesday nights in the Bar formally known as "Doc's".

I don't know why it's formally known as "Doc's" but on the plate glass window where it used to say "Doc's" ... well everything that used to be there is there ... expect for "Doc."

I knew Doc and he'd probably turn over in his grave over the whole name thing were he still alive ... which he's not.

I think the names in litigation or something.

But everything's in litigation on Tybee these days.

Most people don't like Lawyers these days ... and there's lots of jokes about them ... like ...

"What do you call a smiling courteous person at a Bar Association Convention ... The caterer."

Or ... "Why did God invent Lawyers? ... so that Real Estate Agents would have someone to look down on."

I checked that last one out with Shirley Sessions.

She says it's true.

Okay ... one more ... "What do you call 25 Skydiving Lawyers? ... Skeet."

Shirley didn't say anything about that one.

Anyway, Monty and I are meeting for beers and friendship ... a pretty good combination.

I have no recollection of anything we discussed and will deny everything when ... not if ... called upon in Tybee Court.

Everybody eventually is summoned to Tybee Court.

I'm denying everything though about Monty and me.

Because that's what friends do for friends.

Which reminds me ... "How many Judges does it take to screw in a light bulb? ... One ... She's convinced the world revolves around her anyway."

Teachers R Us

One of the secrets of a happy life is to forever be re-inventing yourself.

Honestly, half the time you're not in charge of reinvention ... circumstances are ... a love one dies ... maybe your spouse ... your child ... you lose the job ... or the Uncle named Sam makes impossible demands you can't possibly meet ... takes things from you which shouldn't possibly be given.

So your life is reinvented ...

Immediately!

And there's no going back to the life that was.

No matter how much you may want to go back, the only option is moving forward.

Well ... not moving at all is another option but ... that's just choosing to slowly kill yourself ... which isn't much of a choice at all ... but God knows a lot of people live this way.

I'm tallying things up and ... I've been incredibly successful twice in my life ... but ... as Soren Kierkegaard one said ... have had MAGNIFICANT failures!

I've been divorced twice ... but am so very happily married ... successfully raised 3 kids who are successful in their own rites... am now raising 3 more girls ... tried to be in love until I've learned what love really is ... done stupid things and really spectacular ones too ... am "growing older but not up"  ... embrace how easily I cry while struggling to understand how repulsive or silly others find it ... wondering where everyone who used to love me went?

Into their own lives I suppose.

Leaving me incredibly thankful for who loves me now!

Today I took the girls to school ... an incredibly morose and screwed up affair ... not the girls ... the school!

Pulling up to the curb, the girls lavish me with me love ... hugs and kisses ...till I stop, lean over to pull the latch for them to get out ..."

"NO," Laurel yells. "Pull up! A teacher has to open the door. We can't do it."

"What in the Hell are you talking about?" I ask and they move from loving children to very disciplined ones in a nanosecond.

"Good Morning," some teacher says opening the door for the girls to get out.

"Seriously?" I ask.

"You have a good day," she says sounding like a teacher.

"HEY," I yell ... and use a verb followed by a pronoun.

Obviously impressed with my syntax she gives me a wonderful display of single digit dexterity.

All of that to say ... I love my life ... love my wife deeply (and I mean that in every sense of the word) ... intensely proud of my children and loving raising girls who intensely love me ... don't think much about the old lives I've lived because I like this one so much.

Then it strikes me ... Teachers ... they're the problem.

Always have been.

Always will be.

Confessions

In light of NBC News Anchor Brian Williams confession that he really wasn't "under fire" as he'd reported when flying over Iran in 2003 ...

and the ensuing storm of really funny revelations of things Brian Williams didn't do either ...

Like sitting behind Abraham Lincoln in the Ford Theater ...

Holding the ring for Frodo as they cross a bridge ...

Encouraging Pope Francis to "just do it dammit" ...

Helping Bruce Jenner with his "life choices" ...

Grabbing Michelle Obama while saying to the President, "Let me show you how it's done" ...

Writing Sarah Palin's speech in Iowa last week ...

In light of these and other revelations, I have decided to come clean too, clear my conscious and confess a couple of things that I've kept hidden.

It was Mitch Wesley and Mark Wood who fired the gun in the Haunted House that night in college while Dedra Dukes sat in the getaway car ... I had nothing to do with it.

It was Johnny O and Henry Levy who put the "Clothing Optional" stickers on every cross walk leading to the Beach on Tybee Island ... I had nothing to do with it.

It was Jodee who spray painted the white billboard with black letters spelling "Why would Jesus care?" ... I had nothing to do with it.

It was Roma Harper who put the lit dear stolen from the City's Christmas display on Johnny O's care one night ... I had nothing to do with it.

It was Jenny Orr who gave David Ring shots of Crown Royal at the "Best Buns on the Beach" competition that lead to Diane Ring helping her husband while he dances on a picnic table wearing a leopard thong with a wardrobe malfunction ... I had nothing to do with it.

It was my son Jeremy who made the "Yard of the Month Sign" placing it in Bobby Phillips yard with the words "NOT" written on the back ... I had nothing to do with it.

There I feel better.

I'm sure Brian does too.

Crazy Love

Our neighbor who gardens in her underwear died.

A cantankerous woman with wild white hair ... she'd stroll outside in her bra and panties to care for Cherry Tomatoes she was forever growing.

She sang to herself in a sweet low voice.

She was quick to anger and loathed our dogs.

I don't think she was fond of the girls either scowling at them rushing inside or out in the loud flurry only little girls can create.

She called the Police a lot ... for most anything ... and somehow managed to put clothes on before they arrived.

She'd keep the poor officer captive on her stoop of a front porch to the point I'd feel sorry for the guy who never got a word in edgewise.

She made her living as a midwife and would often be gone a month at a time ... lulling us into a false sense of peacefulness ... then returning full of furry ... softly singing while gardening in her underwear.

The last time we spoke she was yelling at me for something ... standing in the middle of the street ... and it made Sarah so mad she came out to yell back.

A few days later the girls and I left pumpkins on the tiny stoop of a porch as gifts of peace.

They are still there.

She died before ever acknowledging them.

Johnny O tells me she was a beauty in her day though I can't see it.

He also tells me she was crazy in her day too and I can see that.

She drove her lover to work naked he tells me ... from Tybee Island to Port Wentworth which is a far drive ... before being pulled over by the Police ... and I'm sure she talked his ears off before he let her go.

As crazy as she was ... and she was crazy ... there's a sense of loss rumbling around inside of me.

It's been a year of death ... Matt Wilkerson inexpiably killed driving home to be with his wife and kids ... my cousin Sherry ... my Mom's dear friend Betty who always made me laugh ... our other neighbor Karen who loved to sit in her yard weeding for hours on end ... my Cousin Sherry's Step-Dad who was the nicest person I've ever met.

"Ob-la-di ... Ob-la-da ... life goes on ..." and it does ... just not in the same way.

I'll miss her craziness ... though God knows there's enough craziness in the world already.

Cars occupy her yard and I suppose her children, family or friends are dividing her possessions and dealing with the headaches and heartbreaks of dying.

I'm glad she was here though and raise a glass to her craziness ... though I won't miss her anger.

But it's good she was here ... birthing babies and loving them to life.

It's a  shame she was so selective about it because ... God knows ... this crazy world could use more love in life.

Hugging Mr. Handsome

I hugged Mr. Handsome.

I couldn't help myself.

It started innocently enough.

Sarah and I are on a date ... as couples should do ... she's hot and I'm proud ...we have a nice dinner where she sits and I stand ... before walking arm in arm to the Civic Center ... for the Harry Connick, Jr. concert.

Once inside, I'm standing in line for wine when ... there's Mr. Handsome.

Robin Wheeler's there too but ... it's Mr. Handsome for God's sake ... and I'm a little overwhelmed.

Leaving the line I rush over and hug Mr. Handsome.

It was great!

I don't know if words were exchanged or not but I'm not washing ever again.

It seems I may have hugged Robin Wheeler ... whom I love ... but I can't recall.

It was over WAY TOO FAST.

I was back in line getting wine.

Sarah is rushing me to get to our seats.

Dedra's sitting in the second row hugging some guy who is definitely not as handsome as Mr. Handsome.

The point being ... it sure is nice when you see people you really like have nice things happen in their lives ... because there's enough shit in life ... so it's a wondrous moment that slips into infinity ... when Sarah and I  ... who are so happy ... see Robin Wheeler and Mr. Handsome ... who look pretty damn themselves ... and for a moment ... we share happiness.

It was a damn good night.

The best part is we all woke up and have the chance to do it again.

Mr. Handsome ... ummmm ... private message me if you want to get together again.

Family

"Thank you for putting it out there," she writes.

"Well," I say out loud to Goddess who is snoring under my bare feet, "you're damned if you do and damned if you don't."

Sighing heavily in agreement our dog immediately returns to slumber.

Sitting alone on a rainy morning, I ponder things.

In an hour I'm playing guitar at the Nursing Home and have no idea whatsoever what songs we're doing.

At the same time my black brother Carlos in St. Martin and I are leaving messages about his daughter Chelsea ... same name as my daughter ... and his daughter and I had many excellent adventures when she was a little girl ... which she is not anymore ... all you have to do is look at the picture.

Once I was babysitting Chelsea and teaching her to snorkel when I pluck a giant conch from the sand, hold it above my head and she snatches it ... runs to the restaurant where Verna, her Mother works and ... lunch is born.

Simultaneously I text Mark, my illegitimate brother ... meaning he grew up in our house but had different biological parents.

His son Nolan ... our nephew ... perhaps not biologically but in every sense of the word ... lay in a hospital bed in Atlanta ... and I need to know the latest.

I have "America" blasting in the background when my brother David ... we are actual biological brothers ... text me informing me he'll do something immediately ... which I know is a lie ... David never does anything immediately.

I still can't believe he has children.

I remember I forgot to tell Maddie, Sarah's 13 year old, something this morning ... when the boys at The Breakfast Club sang, "Girl you're a woman now" and dedicate it to her ... so I text her.

Carlito writes claiming he doesn't worry about Chelsea because she's a strong girl who knows what she wants.

So does our Maddie.

It scares the Hell out of me.

Mark sends me a text he's coming back to Savannah on Monday.

My brother David forgets we're communicating and has dropped out of sight.

"I should do some America songs at the Nursing Home," I say out loud waking Goddess up so she sighs again.

Carlito and I are now instant messaging.

It's been too long since we've talked ... so we make the time NOW ... because that's all you really got.

Sarah and I have a date tonight and I have to think about what to wear.

Carlito messages me so I ask him.

"You're wearing something?" he asks knowing me like my other brothers.

It's been a lovely morning but I have to go to the Nursing Home now but I'm thankful for my family.

Mine is wonderful!

The Garden of Eden ... and then there's Tybee Island

"Here is a place that can never be dark ... I remember that place."

Death seems to be everywhere these days.

On island there've been way too much lately.

I'm sure we're exceeded our quota.

Damn over achieving Tybee Island!

We used to be an island of underachievers ... primarily because nobody cared about anything other than having a good time.

Good times are now seriously regulated on the Tybee Island.

You have to have a permit to have a good time now.

In most cases, City Council has to approve a planned "Good Time."

If you get hammered you will be nailed.

The Ocean used to drive this island but now it's money.

It costs a quarter to park for 15 minutes here.

That's insane.

People are going to burn in Hell for making such a stupid policy.

When financing Government becomes more important than people having a good time ... Hell has seriously broken loose.

We also have more "Stop Signs" per square inch than any place in the world.

You can't pee without having to stop on Tybee Island or you will be fined.

If you want to get married on the Beach, City Hall requires a $50 permit ... which begs a question ... since when did City Hall own and regulate the beach God made for everyone?

Don't get me wrong, it's still a most beautiful ... though terribly over regulated place!

It's killing people ... literally.

Lot's of people on island have died recently and that just doesn't sit well with me.

Far away from the new City Hall chambers ... but never far away from the island revenue generating police department and Judicial system ... pieces of old Tybee remain ... pockets of joy and celebration ... sunsets ... moon rises ... naked tanning and skinny dipping ... toasting everything while doing nothing.

On Tybee such things are treated as terrorist activity ... and will soon be killed ... for the sake of City revenue ... the very over achieving Nazi like Police Department ... a bigger jail ... a nicer venue for Judges to judge.

It just doesn't seem right does it?

But ... I remember that place ... when it wasn't always dark ... or over regulated ... and we'd swim naked in the Ocean ... the way God always intended the Garden of Eden to be.

The Best of Both Worlds

What goes around comes around.

It's the Southern way of explaining "Karma."

I've been thinking about it a lot lately.

Mine's been a crazy life ... full of incredible highs and devastating lows ... all of which I've ... inexplicably survived.

Honestly there's no way I should still be living at all ... car wrecks ... a misfired gun ... divorces ... betrayal ... abandonment.

"I don't know how you've survived," Herb McKenzie said standing in my office after the latest round of betrayals.

On the up side ... I've been everywhere ... done most everything ... didn't worry about money ... became a celebrity ... busted through glass ceilings ... published lots of books ... and met the famous.

It all seems to even out.

What goes around comes around.

These days, I'm quietly content.

Every morning Sarah ... the love of my life ... dresses, kisses me and leaves to conquer the world ... meaning I'm alone with the dogs, the cat and God.

It's a horrific moment but one I find myself looking forward to.

God and I have lots to discuss.

"You've had ... and have," God's tells me this morning, "the best of both worlds."

"Shut Up," I reply pondering house and flood insurance and my agents apparent complete lack of reasoning, credit card bills and private school costs.

"I'm not going to shut up," God thunders as I stare out of the windows.

Everything goes quiet for a while.

"Remember Thomas Merton?" God asks ... and my mind rushes back to when Bill Berry ... not the former drummer for REM but the other one ... and I struck off to break religious rules and find the famous Monk's Hermitage.

"Yeah," I sigh.

"It's like that," God says.

"Hmmm," I muse.

Merton was a crazy dichotomy ... a Trappist Monk ... taking a Vow of silence ... writing immensely popular books ... becoming a rock star in a robe ... his Hermitage visited by Joan Baez and other rock starts ... who died trying to connect with Buddhist Monks ... which just made him more popular than before.

In a moment of clarity, I know exactly what God is saying.

I've given everything to everybody and now it's time for me ... well ... and God.

We have long quiet talks when Sarah leaves for work.

Our house becomes a Hermitage until she comes home after work and the girls are here on the long weekends.

Bill and I never made it to Merton's famous digs.

But God's telling me that I have now.

The Captain's Miracle

"Cross the home of the Seminoles, the alligator and the Gar," I sing in the Nursing Home and I don't know what processes me but something does and I stop in the middle of the song.

"Who knows what a Gar is?" I ask as Lona keeps playing guitar and John still beats the drums.

Our band sounds like a car wreck with a smile.

Then a miracle happens.

We've been playing the Nursing Home for a few months now ... Thursday's at 10 ... Island Standard Time ... half the crowd sing along, beat tambourines, dance, or intensely watch.

The other half sit there ... mostly in wheel chairs ... head down ... drooling ... silent ... half a foot in Heave or Hell and the other stuck there listening to us.

"Who knows what a Gar is?"

And one of the half dead crowd ... sitting in the same spot every Thursday ... in his wheelchair ... wearing a Captains Hat ... with his chin resting on his chest ... yells ... "I DO!"

Everyone stops and stares at him.

I'd certainly never heard him speak before.

Hell I'd never seen him MOVE before.

"IT'S A FISH!" he screams. "LOT'S OF TEETH! YOU DON'T SPEND TIME ON THE WATER LIKE I DID WITHOUT KNOWING GAR!"

The Captain's hat on his head suddenly makes sense.

I burst into tears.

Lona looks from him to me then back at him again.

John sits behind his drums like a Monk with his hands folded, head down as in prayer, appreciating the Holiness of it all.

We've never witnessed a resurrection before.

"Holy Shit," I mutter.

Then the Captain grins ... obviously proud of his knowledge and experience ... his eyes dancing with life ... head upright ... ready for the music.

Another half dead wheelchair imprisoned inmate hits a tambourine breaking the moment of awakening.

We sing again but everything is different.

They beat the Hell out of the tambourines, clapping and yelling and smiling.

Those who can't form words anymore scream in unspoken tongues.

The Captain smiles with his head held high, eyes full of life, shaking his one good hand to the rhythms of the music.

I've always believed in miracles.

But I believe in them more now.

No Hurry At All

A Butterfly is resting on the screen of the window on the first day of February.

While I wish it were 20 degrees warmer, I can't complain.

I'm barefoot, wearing a tee shirt listening to "The Boat Drunks", getting ready for Bar Church ... watching a Butterfly.

The house is full of sleeping girls which makes me happy.

Goddess is laying under the table, snoring with my feet resting on her back.

The sun bubbles out of the ocean and rests in the hair of the Palm Tree with the oyster eyes, coconut bra and grass skirt. Golden rays burst out of the fawns blazing through the sliding glass doors into the kitchen where we sit.

The Butterfly remains content.

I am too.

Earlier this week Bill Berry ... not the former drummer for REM but the other one ... commented, "You've changed. You're not as intense ... not in a hurry ... and you've always been in a hurry ... you always had to be doing something."

"I guess," I cleverly reply.

He's right though.

Sarah tells me I don't have the fire I did years ago and she's right too.

Angry flames are now a slow, smoldering love affair.

Meandering to the window, I tap the glass and the Butterfly holds my stare.

"Let me take your picture," I say out loud, returning to the kitchen, retrieve my phone and laugh as I snap the photo.

"You're in no hurry today," I laugh, returning to my chair.

And I swear to God, I heard the Butterfly say, "It's nice isn't it?" 

Living without Lying

It was at The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, of all places, that I fell in with the Gay Crowd.

It should surprise no on that Gay people attend Seminary ... become Priests ... Firemen ... or Policemen ... get elected to office ... or much anything else for that matter.

"We're everywhere! We're everywhere!" Jack Kersy, a good friend of mine once explained.

In Seminary though, in a study group late one nigh, drinking multiple cups of coffee, wrestling while translating Greek into English, Mary takes a moment to tell us she is a Lesbian.

Everyone seems to take it in stride ... until the next day when Mary's viciously talked about behind her back.

Complicating matters is Mary attends the Church where I'm, inexplicably, the Pastor.

"Hey Mary, you know they're talking about you," I recall saying.

"I can't live a lie," she fires back.

And at that precise moment, one I'll never forget, something moves in my heart, and I know I'm on her side ... no matter what.

So at the Church we let it be known Gay People are welcome and ... believing in God as much as the rest do or don't ... they come.

Then AIDS comes and I find myself in the forefront of a tiny group ... half gay and half straight ... trying to figure out what to do.

People hate us.

We're called lots of names, rotten things are written in the Newspaper, so we meet in secret ... in the back rooms of Gay Bars or the rectory of the Catholic Church.

When the time's right we go public ... in a big way ... announcing housing and services for people with AIDS ... which leads to more people calling us names, new rotten articles in the Newspaper but ... we're out of the closet and not going back inside.

Baptist Corporate Headquarters calls me in for an Inquisition.

"YOU ARE CONDONING HOMOSEXUALITY!" they scream in love.

"I'm part of a group helping people who have AIDS," I remember saying. "You ever die with AIDS? It's horrible."

"YOU ARE CONDOING HOMOSEXUALITY!" they reply in more love.

"I guess," I answer.

My relationship with the Baptists ends shortly afterwards.

The wonderful friendships I have with many Gay and Lesbian friends have grown through the years.

Weekly we have movie night in our house and last night Sarah, the girls and I cuddle together on the sofa and watch "PRIDE" ... about Gay and Lesbians helping striking miners in England in 1984 ... resulting in, among other things, understanding that people are people.

There's lots of discussion during the movie  but most questions were, "Why are they being so mean?"
"Yeah right?" is my explanation, because I still don't understand such things when the Bible's pretty clear that "God is Love."

Why are people so mean to people who are merely trying to live without lying?

I don't know.

But we are.

Maybe admitting it is the first step to overcoming it.

I don't know.

But that's how we're going to live in our house.

Church without a Church

At Bar Church ... yes the Church in a Bar ... the one I'm the Semi-Professional Christian ... inexplicably in charge ... I inherited some funny traditions.

The premise of Church in a bar is you can worship God anywhere ... even in a Bar ... then go to the Beach and worship some more.

So we do.

We're much more comfortable in Benny's than in a multimillion dollar building with stained glass, padded pews, big ass steeples and large parking lots.

Apparently most people are.

Somewhere around 42% of Americans actually attend Church.

Lots of people question if 42% reflects reality as it includes those who only attend on Easter or Christmas ... which really shouldn't count ... because they went out of guilt ... and the actual number of people who faithfully attend Church in America is around 30% ... maybe.

Yet, 97% of Americans believe in God, a Higher Power, One Consciousness or the Power of Community!

They just don't attend regular Churches to fuel their faith.

Jesus never had a Church ... though he command St. Peter to build one ... on his back ... which was broken ... when he was crucified upside down ... which he asked for ... because he didn't feel worthy enough to be nailed to a cross like Jesus ... but this is according to Church people ... with the multimillion dollar buildings, stained glass, padded pews and large parking lots.

At Bar Church we don't get caught up in such things.

Hell half the time we can't even make the sound system work right ... only Davy Cahill can do that ... and he plays drums too.

But I digress.

Bar Church ends when Norm is called to the stage to conclude the service.

Laying his cigarette aside he takes his sweet time walking to the stage ... to address a crowd of really happy people ... because Church in a bar is freaking awesome.

Anyway Norm strolls up, sits on a Bar Stool and says, "Hello Tybee Church!"

"MORNING NORM," the rag tag groups yells.

"We need to pray for," he begins ... then he lists the most horrible things that happened in the world over the past seven days ... beheadings ... Mike Huckabee running for President ... deaths ... and such ... then he leads us in "The Lord's Prayer" ... which we all say out loud.

It's depressing as Hell.

Then the Bar Band ... do not confuse us with a Praise Band ... immediately launches into "Knocking on Heaven's Door" because a perfectly upbeat crowd has been brought immediately down ... or, my personal favorite ... "People pray just a little bit longer, stay just a little bit more."

We crack each other up at Bar Church.

The point being ... we know there's a lot of bad in the world ... and during a celebration of loving God and each other in a Bar ... we're reminded of them ... then we do the "Our Father" ... then we celebrate.

It's a funny Church and I'd swore I'd never do Church again but here I am ...doing Church ... kinda ... without an actual Church ... but a Bar ... and I'm finding it absolutely ... Heavenly.

Dog Enabling

I am an enabler.

I admit it.

I spoil the shit out of Goddess.

Every morning I get up, kiss Sarah, shower, dress and throw Goddess a treat as I leave for coffee at The Breakfast Club.

Returning a short time later for Sarah's breakfast, she readies for work,

Goddess ... and her two brothers ... Winston, The Little Gay Dog  and Gypsy, the formerly gender confused cat ... all go nuts for treats.

Walking into the bathroom first, I kiss my wife as the dogs and the cat do this crazy dance and make lots of noise.

"Alright, alright," I laugh, "Let's go!

The animals follow me into the kitchen, I grab handfuls of dog treats ... open the sliding glass doors ... throw them out ... the dogs run out the Road Runner ... slide the door shut ... feel Gypsy curling around my bare feet ... so I give him treats.

This buys a moments retrieve.

I go to the bathroom.

Exiting ... the dogs are pawing the sliding glass doors.

Sliding the door open, they rush back in wanting more treats.

"Eat your breakfast Winston you beloved little faggot," I say ... and he eats.

I give Goddess another treat.

Gypsy, TFGCC, disappears.

Sarah comes into the kitchen looking like a million bucks for breakfast and I sit with her.

Goddess, Winston TLGD and Gypsy TFGCC all lay in the floor to watch Sarah eat ... waiting for her to throw them something ... which she always does ... but she's an enabler too.

Then Goddess looks at me and ... I give her more treats.

God I love this dog.

I was out of town yesterday and Sarah told me something we already knew ... Goddess knew I was coming home ... she was lethargic when I was away but woke up yesterday full vigor ... somehow knowing I'm on my way.

Goddess and I have lived through lots together ... rescue ... abandonment ... dark days ... a love story unfolding ... to a house full of love, kids, pets and happiness.

She loves the Now.

I love the Now.

I'm going to spoil her rotten until the day I die because she's been through everything with me and has earned it.

As we became us, Sarah sat with Goddess one day ... just the two of them ... and they have a talk ... Sarah asking if it's okay that we become one family ... and Goddess gives her the lick of love and permission and ... HERE WE ARE!

Happiness abounds.

I love Winston TLGD and Gypsy TFGCC too ... but I don't trust them ... they're always trying to get on Sarah's good side ... brown nosing and all.

I trust Goddess.

I cannot for the life of me imagine life without her.

I know it's going to happen ... dog years and all ... which just isn't right ... why is it a dog doesn't get to live too long but still has to die old?

But Goddess ... you can have any Goddamn thing you want whenever the Hell you want it!

I would have never survived with you ... and Sarah and I wouldn't be us without you ... and how do you say thank you for that?

I gotta go.

Love our dog.

Give her whatever the Hell she wants.

The Fire in my heart

My heart was hot within me,

While I was musing the fire burned;

Then I spoke with my tongue: "LORD, make me to know my end ... (and while you're at it) ...And what is the extent of my days; Let me know how transient I am ..."

This is from the Psalms in the Bible.

I remember hearing it read out loud in Seminary ... by Dr. J.J. Owens, a legend in teaching Hebrew ... then he began his interpretation of the words.

Today it would be something like ...

"I'm flush and my heart's beating fast ... I'm thinking deep thoughts and my heart beats faster ... so I say, 'Hey God! How am I going to die? ... How much longer I got? ... How honest am I with myself?"

I don't remember my grade in Hebrew but I do recall Dr. Owens always enjoyed my translations ...  standing there, long and lanky, shaking his head, asking me to explain how I arrived at that particular translation out of that particular word.

Today ... I am flush and my heart's beating fast ... thinking deep thoughts ... wondering how honest I am with myself?

I already know the answer to the other questions.

How am I going to die?

Who knows? ... but it's going to happen.

I have no idea how much time I have left so I'll just concentrate on the NOW ... that's all I really have anyway.

Hopefully I'll die at the right time and not the wrong time ... I have little control over either.

The last part is the most interesting ... "How transient am I?" ... how honest am I? ... with myself? ... with others?

It's a much harder question.

I try to be me ... just as I am ... in the now ... all of the time.

Though I get it wrong sometimes ... sometimes I'm me ... not quite as I really am ... in the moment ... which is not especially transparent.

Or sometimes I'm not me at all ... because the moment calls for something else ... and I want to deliver ... so I sacrifice myself ... becoming someone else.

Other times I'm me ... but not just as I am because I'm lying ... either to myself or to someone else.

But ... my heart is hot with fire within me.

For Sarah ... our girls ... our kids ... the life we're building ... our friends ... the work we're making ... the places we're going ... not so much where we've been but definitely where we're going ... weather as hot as my heart.

"Mr. Elliott," Dr. Owens asks ... holding his glasses in his hand pointing them at me, "Please rise and justify your interpretation that your" ... he put his glasses back on to read what I'd written ... "Your heart is hot as Hell?"

"Yes Sir?" I ask. "Is that a question?"

Pulling his glasses back off, he laughs, points them at me and says, "It is."

Well Sir," I reply, "I think it's pretty obvious."

He burst into laughter ... and the class follows (especially the Rum drinkers ... but that's another story).

And at 58 years of age with my wife ... a shitload of kids ... a few good friends ... finding work ... planning where we're going ... longing to fuel the fires in our hearts ...knowing we only have Now  and there's a time limit on everything.

Well my heart burns hotter than it ever has before!

Doubts about Karma

I'm beginning to have serious doubts about Karma.

Karma is the belief the good things you do contribute to a better universe while bad actions make things worse.

It's up for grabs how long it takes the process to work ... it could happen immediately or it may take several lifetimes before anyone notices anything.

Who knows?

Like many I shortened the whole belief system to "if I do good things then good things will happen to me."

My bad actions lead to things getting worse.

Of course I like idea of the more good I do the better things are for me personally so I really try to mostly do good things.

Most of my career has been doing lots of good things for homeless people, those living with AIDS, the sick, addicted and so forth ... and it did lead to lots of good things.

I was paid well, gained recognition, won awards and was invited to visit lots of cool places.

Simultaneously though I divorced, remarried only for her to divorce me, transition from the career and go through a major bout of depression.

Good Karma was followed by Bad Karma.

Now I'm waiting for Bad Karma to be followed by Good Karma again.

It stuck me last night that it already has ... just not in the ways I had it before ... because I'm so very happily married, doing things I really want to do without much pay (which can definitely bring on Bad Karma as bills mount), happier than I've ever been and so incredibly optimistic about our future.

My children grew up, moved out and are living their own lives but I've been gifted three little girls  to live with who bring me great joy.

There's still Bad Karma in my life ... Sarah's starter died the other day ... the oil light in my car keeps coming on ... our back yard grass has been completely overwhelmed with weeds ... and a squirrel viciously attacked and killed a chair on our Beloved Back Deck!

My world has grown much smaller but I know it so much better because there's not as much know ... so the things and people in it receive far more of my attention.

Perhaps its not Karma at all!

It could be my perspective has merely changed and I don't need everything anymore but I sure know the things I need ... and am very focused on them.

We've got our health though you can never be certain about how long.

So ... I remain convinced Good Karma begets Good things ... and Bad Karma is a flaw in the Universal design.

Now to figure out what to do with that chair on the Beloved Back Deck the Squirrel killed.

Doctor My Eyes

"I have done all that I could to see the evil and the good without hiding ..." and I've learned that it messes you up.

I've certainly seen my fair share of both.

You can never get enough good ... you can have way too much evil ... but the fact of the matter is every life has both.

It's the experiencing the highs and lows of life "without hiding" ... that's the hard part.

We are people who prefer hiding ... scared to death someone else may discover that as much good as we've done ... we did our fair share of evil too.

It may have been as diabolical as murder, rape, hate ... or as easy as wishing for such things ... but the truth of the matter is everyone dabs in evil and some choose to take up full time residence in the dark sides of life.

It's also true everyone dabs in good things ... helping others ... spreading love ... caring for the sick ... visiting the forgotten people in Nursing Homes ... building ... creating ... glorifying.

The bigger truth is we do these things secretly ... in hiding.

The extremists don't hide ... Pope Francis and Martin Luther King, Jr. on the one hand ... Charles Manson and Jeffery Dahmer on the other ... bring the evil and the good to light ... without hiding.

I try to share both as I live my life ... not hiding the good or the bad ... just sharing as I go.

I don't think hiding is a good thing.

It's been a good life so far ... one worth sharing ... certainly full of the evil and the good though I believe it's been far more of the later.

I love now more than I love then.

I'm excited about the future.

I've already seen it all so I'm pretty confident I can cope with whatever happens.

And I won't do in hiding.

This life is too precious for that. 

I know a miracle when I see one

At 4:37 the crack of thunder is so loud I jump upright fearing the worse!

Nuclear explosion ... Hurricane ... Tornado ... Island Police Department SWAT Team ... reconvening Congress ... Today's Country Music ... FOX News ... all the worse things in life run through my mind.

Sarah sleeps right through it.

The power goes off then almost immediately comes back on.

The alarm clock blinks 12:00.

Laying down again I cuddle Sarah who has no idea a storm is in full rage outside ... listening to the rain pelt against the numerous windows in our house from the comfort of our bed.

Winston, The Little Gay Dog, is curled in a ball shivering on the other side of Sarah.

Goddess ... who is sleeping halfway in and halfway out of our bedroom in the doorway ... protecting us from whatever evil may come in the night ... gets up ... yawns ... lumbers to my side of the bed ... collapses on the floor with thud ... sighs heavily ... and falls back asleep.

The Meteorologists got it wrong again as the weather is completely unexpected.

The rain pelts the windows harder.

I wonder if God's saying something so I climb out of bed, careful to not step on Goddess, and make my way through the Living room ... then the kitchen ... to the sliding glass doors leading to the Beloved Back Deck.

Opening the doors, I have visual confirmation of what I already knew ... it's one Hell of a storm!

Standing in the open door way ... feeling the spray of rain on my naked body ... I wonder if I should join God's party?

It would be quite the Baptism.

I take a step ... and sort of halfway do and halfway don't ... join the party.

It makes me laugh.

I love God but hate the cold ... especially wet cold.

"Sorry God," I mutter sliding the glass doors shut, retracing my steps through the kitchen ... then the Living room ... stepping over Goddess ... and re-entwine myself with Sarah.

Then I say a prayer ... really I think a prayer ... something I learned from my Grandma Carver ... whom I adore to this day though she's long dead.

Images of people I care about flood my mind like raindrops pelting windows and I think out loud, "Bless them."

Hours later, it's still raining ... Sarah and I remain entwined and she's still asleep ... Goddess is up and ready for a treat ... the clock continues to blink ... Winston, TLGD, shivers in a ball.

"Thank you," I say out loud.

To God ... to them ... to our bed ... the warmth and the love of our lives ... and to the reality that I'm still here.

How blessed I am.

I know a miracle when I see one.

Love and Ear Wax

I saw my Doctor for the first time in two years.

She hugs me sitting on a table, wearing a paper gown and nothing else.

Placing her hands on her hips she gives me a look of exasperation, "Where have you been?"

"Busy," I reply. "I got married."

"Oh," she excitedly replies and claps her hands. "Tell me about it."

So I do.

I describe Sarah and the girls ... she asks for updates on my kids and I catch her up.

She starts poking me, feeling me up and sticking a light in my ears as I'm talking.

"You got ear wax," she states grabbing what appear to be plastic pliers, "keep talking ... you look real happy. I'd like to meet Sarah."

"Well she tried to be your patient," I say holding my ear open as she excavates, "but you were full so she shopped elsewhere."

That's when she jerks the wax out of my ear ... my ass jumping off the table as both fists clinch and I'm ready to take her out.

"Oh that's a shame," she says, "Other ear."

"How long is this going to take? I got things to do."

Grabbing hold of something inside my ear with the plastic pliers, she scolds, "You haven't been here in over two years ... it's going to take a while."

"I can't help it the American Health Care system is the most dysfunctional of any first world country," I say.

"Where you been getting your prescriptions filled?" she sweetly coos toying with something inside my ear. "Your Blood Pressure and Cholesterol levels are remarkably consistent."

"Canada," I answer. "So much cheaper and easier than drugs in the States. AND ... they deliver."

"Really?" she asks ripping something out of head.

I come out of the gown ready to fight!

"Get back on the table," she commands, "turn on your side and grab your knees to your chest."

"You are not,"  I say as she puts lubricant on a gloved finger.

She did.

"I want to see you again in a month," she says after I calm down.

"Absolutely not," I answer.

"Here are your American prescriptions," she says handing me several hundred pieces of paper.

"Great," I say throwing them on the table as I pull up my jeans.

"Hey Micheal," she says, turning at the door, wearing the white Doctor's coat over a red and blue dress while standing in heals, "you really do look great."

"You would know," I answer ... pulling my UGA tee back on, "you've seen inside of me from one end to the other."

"That's what I mean," she smiles. "On the inside you look perfect."

And I know exactly what she's talking about.

Killing Time

"I'm just killing time," the old man says, "before it kills me."

He's lived a grand life ... had loads of fun ... loved and been loved ... had wonderful success and lost it all ... fought depression and mostly won ... believed in himself but traded that for God these days.

"What do you mean?" I ask sliding into the Bar booth across from him.

"Micheal," he sadly says, "when you're as old as me ... and as frail as me ... you're just waiting for your time to be up."

I have no idea what to say.

For nearly 30 years I've watched him work, laugh, make money, hold women and ... age.

He's got a full head of hair, is perpetually bent forward on his walker and wears a black leather jacket.

Wiping tears from his eyes, he places his hand on mine and says, "It's alright. There's nothing to say."

I couldn't conjure up a word for the life of me ... though I share tears with him.

"Is Sarah coming?" he asks grabbing hold of things he still enjoys, determined to keep making the most of his time.

"Not today," I answer.

"Oh," he says looking off in a distance far, far away. "Well, tell her I miss her. She sings like an Angel."

Nodding my head I place my hand on top of his and he flashes the saddest of smiles.

"I'm glad you're here," I finally say ... and I really am!

"For now," he grins, "until my times up."

I can't find any words.

"You know how I spend my time?" he asks and I am so damn grateful he still has words.

I shake my head from side to side.

"I wait for Church," and he places his hand on top of mine. "And when it's not Church ... which is most of the time ... I watch TV Church."

What does one say?

"Well I guess that's a great way to kill time," I finally answer.

"It is," he states flashing the crooked grin, "though I gotta tell you ... live Church beats the Hell out of TV Church ... but when you got nothing else ... you take what you got."

"Hmmmm," is all I can manage.

Looking directly into my moisture filled eyes, holding my hand very tightly, he smiles ... ... saying everything without saying anything.

"I'm glad you're here," I stammer.

"Me too," he laughs. "For now anyway."

"Yeah," I say giving him a hug.

40 Again ... at 58

Bill Berry ... not the former drummer for REM ... but the other one ... whom I've had countless great adventures with ... sent me mail 18 years late ... yesterday.

He sent me a card for my 40th Birthday which ... he never sent.

All these year later, he's rummaging through old papers, finds my still sealed birthday card and decides to mail it to me.

You can understand why he doesn't play the drums.

He's got no beat whatsoever.

He certainly could never be in a band.

I'm not sure he can beat himself.

Anyway ... it was kind of nice ... I guess.

At 58 ... I was 40 again.

Let's see ... at 40 I was separated ... living with my oldest daughter in an apartment ... trying to make perfect sense of the world ... trying to find my way ... it was a dark lonely time.

Did I say that Bill Berry has an excellent sense of timing?

Did I also say this is the same Bill Berry who "forgot" to give me the Department of Treasury letter giving me Government clearance to enter Cuba?

So I got busted by Immigration when I returned to the U.S.A.

It doesn't matter.

We have Good times!

I get a birthday card for my 40th ... when I passed that Port long time ago ... all my kids are doing quite well ... I'm passionately in love with Sarah ... I have 3 little girls who gift me with doing it all again ... and inexplicably I'm in charge of a Church ... which no one could have guessed was possible.

It's hard to not love Bill Berry.

I have no idea how he's survived to be a year older than me.

But he has.

So .... more Bill Berry stories to come.

Now it's time to set fire to this birthday card, the letter explaining it and the envelope it came in.

I'll toast Bill Berry as I burn it.

I like the Now more.

Through Bill Berry and I still have some more beats left in our hearts that we are sure as Hell enjoying.