The Next One

Sitting on the beloved back deck working on my all over tan my beautiful wife Sarah puts her arms around me and lustfully whispers in my ear ... "I want you to write a book about Winton."

"WHAT?" I yell standing up dangling in front of her.

Kissing me on the cheek, she smiles, turns around and sings as she opens the sliding glass doors, "Let me know when it's done."

Winston is our dog.

He is gay.

Everyone who meets him immediately says, "He is gay."

He is who he is ... which is who God created him to be ... and we love him though he's a Diva ... and I personally call him "The Little Son of a Bitch" which I mean literally ... and he adores Sarah with everything he is.

"How in the Hell am I supposed to write a book about a gay dog?"

Then I get to thinking ... I've never seen a book about a gay dog ... it'd be nice to be the first ... there's bound to be lots of Gay dog lovers and ... lots of dogs who love their Gay parents.

Once again Sarah is right!

It takes a while to find the story but once I do it comes out quickly.

It's a children's book.

Goddess, my mostly Golden Retriever, and I live alone ... then Sarah and three little girls move in and we become a family ... and Sarah brings Winston home one day in her Perce.

Winston is a puppy, just starting his formative years and while he and Goddess are boarded at the Kennel ... he learns who he really is when he falls in love with Butch ... the German Shepard.

I can't give away the rest of the story because the books not out yet.

It's a dog lover's book though because ... it's entirely from Goddess' perspective.

It's a God-loves-people book too because ... it's entirely about how God loves people as they are.

It's also a blended family book because ... it's more than half of us.

The book's been brilliantly illustrated by Eddie Woods and has gotten rave reviews from both our Gay, Straight and Blended Family Friends.

In today's publishing world we're looking for "backers" to bring it life so everyone can hold it in their hands.

In the meantime ... Winston, The Little Gay Dog grows impatient.

There is nothing worse than an impatient Diva.

Happiness

Nine years come and go.

A lot happens.

By 2006 I'm  writing a daily blog covering whatever's happening in my life. Beginning as a work blog about solving homelessness and other social problems in America the higher ups at work hate it.

I often delve into the personal costs of being "Savior" but many Board of Directors are increasingly corporate, anti-technological, private and uncomfortable with the open sharing of "blogging."

The personal costs of being a "Savior" has mounted into divorce, loneliness, anger, burnout and bitterness.

Then ... as briefly as Jesus dies on the cross ... that whole piece of my life is killed too.

And just as a little while later Jesus says "I'M BAACCKK," ... I am too but no longer with the burden of keeping anyone happy for a living.

I write with reckless abandon ... for me ... and am pleased to learn that others resonate with the daily blog.

My life settles into new routines that Sarah completely disrupts when I fall hopelessly in love with her, we marry and suddenly I am "the parental advisor" and loving friend to three little girls.

Without the work my life becomes full again.

"It's time for you to write a book," Sarah informs me as I blissfully sit naked on the beloved back deck working on my tan.

"Do I have to?" I sigh.

"It'll be good for you," she insists.

"I don't want to," I protest.

"Please," she whispers in a hug. "Do it for me."

That's how "Sandy Bottoms & Duct Tapped Hearts" is born.

It's really a love story of how a sad, broken man becomes full again.

Sarah and I do the book together as she's the Publisher and I'm the writer ... meaning she overrides my decisions and deletes several things I wrote but ... she's right and holding it in my hands ... I feel joy dripping from it's pages.

I'd never written a "Happy" book before.

It feels good to hold happiness in your hand.

Everyone deserves that.
 

The Best Things

Like most great ideas this one started stupidly.

Natalie Jayroe has money she can't figure out how to spend so she approaches me suggesting we start a culinary arts program in a homeless shelter.

It's not the kind of idea you hear every day ... so I'm in!

Some food company I can't recall has given her $10 Grand to teach the hungry to feed themselves and time's running out because whoever it was wants their money back if she doesn't deliver.

A couple of weeks later homeless people in a homeless shelter kitchen learn to become culinary experts under the supervision of Chef Mike ... a culinary instructor at Savannah Technical College AND ... a Catholic Priest ... you don't see that combination very often either.

Everybody graduates the class and ... totally shocking all involved ... every single one is immediately hired.

CNN shows up to do a story which repeatedly runs over a holiday weekend and suddenly we're all rock stars.

We continue repeating the class and homeless people continue to get jobs!

What does one do with such a successful beginning other than lose their minds and decide to open a restaurant?

Which is how "The Starfish Café" came to be born.

It's a wickedly wonderful showcase of teaching, helping the poor by eating a great meal, in a tremendous ambiance with rotating funky art.

The TODAY Show does live broadcasts.

What do we do after opening a successful restaurant other than lose our collective minds and decide to publish a cookbook?

Which is how "The Starfish Café Cookbook" was published.

It's my idea because I've learned cookbooks outsell every other genre except the Bible.

The students and Chefs come up with recipes, I write stories about the students, John Zeuli takes pictures and we pay a boatload of money we don't have to be published.

Immediately "The Tabasco Company" gives it an award for being the most innovative cookbook ever.

THEN ... nobody buys it.

I mean it really tanks and we're using it to stick one under the short leg of the kitchen table to keep it level or to throw at feral cats who come too close.

THEN ... the story gets even better!

I was the first owner of "The Starfish Café" ... my wife Sarah was the last ... well I think there was somebody else after her but they just shut it down.

The Starfish Café is a wonderful idea that has a great run but ... nothing last forever.

The building remains, looking remarkably as it did then but ... it's just a shell of things which no longer exists.

Sarah and Chef Paul are having lunch today ... Paul was the last great instructor of "The Starfish Café" and the two remain very close as everyone's moved on to other things.

Though Sarah and I do have a copy of this award winning cookbook that nobody bought to remind us that the best things ... like us ... often come out of the worse circumstances.

Charlie the Christmas Coral

Laying in the dark, going through a divorce, living in a borrowed house, my six year old daughter and I make up bed time stories.

I say a sentence.

She says a sentence.

We repeat until the story is complete and fall asleep loving one another deeply.

Living at and loving the Beach our stories tend to be nautical in nature.

"Charlie the coral wanted to be a Christmas Tree," the story begins.

"He'd seen one once on a boat passing over his head," it unfolds.

There's a back story to Charlie.

My Brother-in-law Michael Thompson and I are snorkeling off Cemetery Beach in Grand Cayman Island and I see a lump of coral on the bottom of the ocean that's shaped like a Christmas Tree.

More impressively small blue, green and purple fish are feeding off of it looking like brightly colored ornaments.

"Did you see that?" I ask Michael when we surface.

"See what?" he replies.

Sometimes in life you just have to believe in what you know you saw in spite of doubt.

Years later, Chelsea and I ... laying in the bleakness of dark times ... bring Charlie to life ... one sentence at a time.

It's a story about finding yourself ... believing in who you want to be ... not listening to the naysayers ... discovering who your friends are ... and making the leap of faith.

All that takes place in four pages.

That Christmas I had little money ... so I type out the stories Chelsea and I had made up. She drew some illustrations and I got some help on some others and made a book with a limited run of copies.

Chelsea loved it and it's a reminder of a little girl's love through really tough times.

So Charlie the Coral has a very special place in my heart.

And whenever I need the Spirit of Christmas I have a detailed description of the gloriousness of the underwater Tree Charlie is today.

The Most Hated One

"Tour of Homes"... takes readers on a fascinating, disturbing, and yet often hilarious journey across the political landscape of a town trying to deal with the economic reality of too many sick people, not enough services for them, and health care struggling for survival. Elliott exposes the administrative travails of health-care management."

That's pretty good!

After "Out from Under the Rock" I'm really into honest writing and "fiction" is the best way to honestly write so "Tour of Homes" is a novel.

It's a big novel ... meaning a large book ... 368 pages!

I'm really into Pat Conroy novels at the time ... and Conroy writes really big novels about himself ... so I decide I want to do that ... so I do.

It's my sex/drugs/rock-and-roll book and there's lots of all three.

It's a fictional look at my life up to that point with the names slightly changed so I can say whatever-the-Hell I want ... meaning the truth as I understand it.

A "professional reader" in Los Angeles is hired to read it first because ... I'm friends with the wife of the Publisher ... so he can't trust me ... and pays for an objective opinion.

The "reader" loves it so ... in spite of the Publisher's misgivings ... a book is born.

The people of Savannah, where it's set, hate it.

"Why did you write that?" everyone seems to ask at the same time ... but the Mayor really rakes me over the coals one day in his office.

"You didn't say much nice about Savannah," he lectures. "Too many people are killed unnecessarily in your book."

"Well," I answer, "too many people are killed
 unnecessarily in Savannah!"

"Well I hate it," he says standing up.

"Yeah me too," I reply talking about something else entirely.

It's hard to live an honest life which is why fiction exists.

The other day I met with some friends of some friends on Tybee Island who want me to perform their wedding ceremony.

Afterwards we're talking and the friends say, "So when we were thinking about moving here ... we read Tour of Homes and were introduced to the dark sides of Savannah and Tybee ... it really helped us understand what living here is really like ... and what to expect ... thanks."

I tell Sarah when I get home ... still stunned by the words.

The other thing I remember about "Tour of Homes" is how many people tell me they hate me for writing it.

Lots of people I believed were friends tell me where to go as they walk away from my life.

I learn a lot.

And it's a long time before another book comes along.

A Completely Honest Book

The thing about raising money is you can never stop.

Money ends up taking far more than it gives.

I didn't write another book for five years because I'm so into the work ... giving it all away ... burning through relationships and sanity.

Then the budget stops balancing ... people don't have money to donate anymore ... times are tough ... but it costs to care and it's my job to fix it.

So I write a book and give it to Union Mission, Inc. in Savannah who gladly take it.

We self publish to save money ... send it to everyone on our mailing list ... don't ask for anything but include a return envelope.

Tens of thousands of dollars flood in and the Board and the Bank are happy.

"Out From Under the Rock" is my first completely "honest" book.

I'm sad, hurting and tired and it's on every page.

I love the title ... "Upon this Rock I will build my church," Jesus says to Peter ... it killed them both ... thank God I was trying to figure out how to get out from underneath such burdens before they killed me.

"You give everything away without thinking about yourself," Sarah tells me and she's right.

Holding "Rock" in my hand reinforces Sarah's truth that I failed to grasp then.

I gave it all away for others keeping nothing for myself.

It's beautiful writing that will make you cry if you like sad things.

Sometimes life is sad.

Mine was then.

While I desperately try to work my way out ... others do their best to keep you under the rock.

I should have never given that book away ... the Board takes advantage of it ... the ex-wife who it's dedicated to hates it ... nobody cares ... except for the bank ... which loves the money ... and the people who are in it ... who all want everything I have to give without giving much back.

Regardless more than 10,000 copies were printed because people kept asking for it.

It struck a chord with those who know all about living under a rock and who desperately want to get out.

The Controversial One

"Can you write a religious book this time?" Scott Nash my Publisher asks.

Scott is with Smyth & Hewlys, a new religious Publishing company, who produced "Running with the Dolphins," my book about Tybee Island which was a stretch because there was little religious about it.

"Of course I can," I assure Scott.

So I wrote "Playing Hide & Seek: A non-Church Goers Path to Finding God."

"Seriously?" Scott asks after I submit the manuscript.

It's Guy Sayles fault. He suggests we write a book together with the title "Called In/Called Out" ... about how he works for the church as a "Professional Christian" (well on his way to becoming America's greatest minister) and I have nothing to do with the Church as a very unprofessional Christian.

I wrote my part.

Guy never wrote his.

That's how "Hide & Seek" was born.

"We can't find anybody to endorse the book," Scott Nash informs me. "Nobody will write an introduction or even give you a blurb for the cover."

"Who have you asked?"

"Well ... everybody," he explains. "The best response is from Tony Compolo" ...(the famous sociologist, pastor, author, public speaker and spiritual advisor to U.S. Presidents).

"What did Tony say?"

"He takes issue with your statement that "No Savior will ever sleep in the White House" because ... he apparently sleeps in the White House."

"So you're telling me he's putting himself in the "Savior" category?

A few days later I receive a letter from Tony explaining what a terrible book I've written.

I didn't write him back and I didn't send him a Christmas Card either.

"What'cha gonna do?" I ask Scott.

"It's too damn good so we're going to publish it anyway," he explains.

Sure enough when "Hide & Seek" comes out the first page reads,  "... none of the publically known church leaders we contacted would endorse this book. Most, however, encouraged us to publish it ..."

Or, as my friend Rev. Benny Mitchell said, "Elliott, why did you do that? You said everything we think but don't say. You outted us!"

The reviews were great! My favorite was ... "At the beginning of the second Chapter I threw the book against the wall but later picked it up and kept reading ..."

It's the kind of book people ask be put in a brown paper bag before they stick it under their arms and dash out of the Book Store ... sort of like religious Porn.

It still makes me proud today because it's about how God and you can have a perfectly fine relationship with or without a Church.

It really is about just you and God.

Behind the Words

My biggest seller is also the saddest book I've written though you'd never know it unless you looked under the words.

Scott Nash calls from Smyth & Hewlys, a new religious Publishing company because "Why the Homeless Don't have Homes and what to do about it"  won a national award so I'm riding high and am in demand.

"We want to publish your next book," Scott says.

"It's about Tybee Island," I answer.

"Is it religious?"

"Well," I explain, "in the sense that God's name is used a lot on island."

"Close enough," he concludes.

"Running with the Dolphins" came about when I realized no one had written a book about Tybee Island yet though ... Lord knows ... there's plenty of material.

"That's quite the book," my friend Robin who runs a nearby book store tells me on the phone. "It's got a really nice cover."

"You have it?" I ask. "How did you get it? I don't have it yet."

Damn new publishing company!

After a quick 120 Mile-per-hour drive she hands me a copy and I have to admit I really like the cover.

"I've already read it," she says, "and really ... you call it Mayberry on Acid?"

"How else would you describe Tybee?" I reply.

"Touché," she laughs.

Great fanfare follows as "Dolphins" takes off ... selling lots of copies, going through four printings in less than a year.

That's when the "Hate Mail" starts arriving.

The first is signed by 22 people representing the "Coastal Child Advocacy Center" detailing how offended they are because I endorse child abuse so they demand lots of things like burning all the copies, a public apology and strongly recommend that I move out of the country.

The main story in the book, "The Church of the Breakfast Club" centers on a man accused of child abuse which is an indefensible crime ... people are "guilty as charged" ... even if a Court finds them innocent later ... their reputation's already ruined.

The episode also focuses on a small island community struggling to not take sides because everybody knows everybody.

Things can go horribly wrong even in Paradise.

Letters follow mostly condemning me to Hell because I don't care about children ... though my own small children are prominently featured throughout the book.

Simultaneously, the reviews are terrific, the publicity positive and people make plans to visit Tybee for the first time".

Then people moan, "Why did you write that book? We don't need more people on this island! It's perfect the way it is and you're single handedly making it worse!"

They too tell me I can go where it's warmer ... much warmer!

Holding it in my hands today, I think it's a sweet reminder of an innocent time and place that no longer exists.

Today the island is crazy, crowded, over-regulated, WAY over-enforced and a great chasm exists between islanders and tourists that borders on hate.

Plus there's no place to park.

Yet ... the beauty of the island remains ... the pungent aroma of the marsh is intoxicating ... the beauty of the beach ... sunrises, sunsets, jumping Dolphins and diving Pelicans ... and small pockets of people who remain accepting ... nonjudgmental ... welcoming ... and willing to share it with others.

Who knows how much longer we'll have these things?

It's looking worse and worse when signs are posted reading, "Island is Full! Turn Around and Leave!"

Ahem

"Hey! You won!" Richard Brown says.

"That's great!" I yell into the phone.

After a few moments of awkward silence I ask, "What did I win?"

"Um," he ponders as though I'm an idiot, "Book of the Year."

"Really?"

There's another long moment of uncomfortable silence before Richard asks, "Aren't you excited?"

Sitting in my office with my feet on my desk and a hundred people outside waiting to see me, I inquire, "Who's 'Book of the Year'?"

"Well it's actually 'Paperback of the Year,'" he boldly proclaims, "awarded to US last night by the Mid-America Book Achievement Awards in Chicago."

"Why wasn't I invited?" I ask.

"Aren't you excited?" he counters. "After all you are now ... ahem ... an award winning author."

I will never forget the ... "ahem."

Seriously Richard set it up that way because they were too cheap to fly me to Chicago for the awards ceremony and put me up for the night ... because he and Marg Pon went ... and are calling me the next day to tell me how great WE DID!

The only reason the book exists at all is because Terry Ball, Deputy Director of the Georgia Department of Community Affairs orders me to write it at Fannie's-On-the-Beach one day.

"You need to write a book about solving homelessness in America," he says over shrimp burgers.

"Why?" I mumble with a mouthful.

"Because I won't give any more money if you don't," he grins.

It is not politicians who run Government but the people who work for Politicians who run Government.

That's how "Why the Homeless Don't Have Homes and What to do About it" came to be.

I needed the money.

And the book got famous for a while.

Terry Ball was pleased and we got more money.

"Hey," Michael Stoops of the National Coalition for the Homeless asks me over beers at another awards ceremony in New York City, "you need to write another book about the homeless."

"I've got nothing else to give to them right now. I mean a Life is enough isn't it."

'Hmm," he mumbles as he sips his beer. "So what's next?"

"A book about Tybee Island where I live ... and where you've stayed ... it's almost done."

"Ahem," Michael says as we sip our beers.

"Ahem," I reply as we toast.

The Back Story

It's Sarah's fault.

Sitting down to collect my thoughts and write she has my books sitting on the table and each has a life of its own which I'm remembering after not thinking about them for years.

"I want you to write a book called 'Partners in Grace'," the successful Savannah businessman Frank Stanton orders after storming into my office.

This is the same Frank Stanton who doesn't believe I wrote "The Society of Salty Saints" and tells me so to my face though it's plainly my name on the cover.

"Do a better one this time," he continues. "The last one was depressing. Write something more uplifting like the first one."

"Right," I sigh.

Bill Thompson, the former manager of the Seminary Book Store, and my Publisher has been fired when Meyer Stone Publishing was bought by "The Pilgrim Press" whom I call to see if they're interested in publishing a new book I haven't written yet.

"Will it be like the first one?" Richard Stone, my new best friend, asks."

"Of course it will," I lie.

Richard flies from Cleveland, Ohio to Savannah, Georgia to see if I'm telling the truth and takes me to a nice lunch at "The Windows" in the Hyatt overlooking the river.

I write a book that reads like "Salty Saints" but isn't about them at all! It's about rich people who are often the poorest of us all ... in Spirit anyway.

When it's released Richard and his rich friends in Cleveland throw a big party at the exclusive "First City Club" in Savannah though none of them actually attend.

The book does very well.

Rich people love it because I make them look Holy.

Richard flies back to Savannah to explain he wants me to write another book because ... since "The Pilgrim Press" is making lots of money off "P.I.G." ... I am not ... so the least they can do is offer me another book deal.

Frank storms back in my office and says, "I like this one."

"That's because you're in it," I answer.

"No really," he protests," holding up his hand in his fine suit, "really it's a good book."
_________________

Here's a back story.

Sarah and I worked together then and she's just excellent in everything she does.

Frank Stanton storms in my office to inform me, "I'm hiring Sarah. I just want to let you know first."

"She won't go," I reply.

"I've got way more money than you can pay," he insists.

"Aren't you a member of my Board of Directors committed to taking care of the homeless, people with AIDS, the sick and suffering?" I counter.

"It's got nothing to do with that," he snaps. "It's just business."

"Fine," I say not knowing what else to say.

Franks offers Sarah the job.

She turns him down because she cares about the homeless, people with AIDS, the sick and the suffering ... like me and my kind of people.

That was a good day!

Oh! ... You're the one!

"Hey Mike, you want to write another book?" Bill Thompson, the former Seminary Book Store manager turned publisher asks.

"The Society of Salty Saints" made the Publishing Company lots of money so they want more.

It is slowly dawning on me that I'm not making all that much but ... they want another book which strokes my ego so, of course, I say "YES!"

It's a problem from the beginning.

They want another "Salty Saints" as my writing grows less sweet ... they don't like my title so they changed it to one I didn't like ... and when it's released ... it's a major flop!

"The Community of the Abandoned" ... isn't that a suck ass title? ... I wanted to call it "Embracing the Exile" but somebody else had already named a book something like that so I'm overruled.

Yet I have a fondness for it because ... it's dedicated to my family and when I walk in Grandma Carver's house to give her a copy ... she's napping on the sofa ... but immediately comes to life ... hugs the book ... hugs me ... tells me she loves me ... then to leave her alone so can read it.

I'll never forget that.

The other thing about "Community of the Abandoned" is Dr. Henlee Barnette comes to see me ... thanks me for writing it ... tells me stories about Clarence Jordan, the only Prophet Southern Baptists ever produced ... and teaches me writing is not about money ... it's about sharing.

Henlee Barnet taught ethics at the Seminary I attended ... hosted Martin Luther King, Jr. on campus and marched with him in other places ... and was the first pastor of the rag-tag inner city congregation I was inexplicable in charge of ... the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel.

"It's a good book," he tells me with his feet propped on my desk "but it's not a popular one."

"Oh," I sigh.

"It's okay," he laughs. "I like it ... I'm the one."

And to this day if someone tells me they like something I've written I say, "Oh ... you're the one?"

"Move those books back to the table," Sarah orders today.

She's doing stuff with them and I'd placed them out of the way but she's not finished with whatever-it-is-she's-doing so they're back on the table ... so I pick it up and flip through it ... and have a nice visit with my Grandma Carver and then Dr. Barnett decides to show ... and he brings Clarence Jordan who is one of my heroes.

Laughing, I place the book back in Sarah's pile ... pet the dogs ... make the beds ... and marvel at how blessed I am.

A Relic of the Past

"The Society of Salty Saints," my first book, is the story of a rag-tag inner city congregation where I was inexplicably the minister.

Comprised of five little old ladies, homeless men, Prostitutes, Prisoners with a guard, kids from the Projects and the radical fringe of the Seminary we somehow brought hope to a hopeless world.

The great radical Will D. Campbell wrote the preface and he was riding high with his National Book Award finalist, "Brother to a Dragonfly" so his name on the cover sold a lot of copies.

"Salty Saints" was different from most books the Baptists were producing because it focuses on the very poor, how gallant they are and why God loves them so.

It came about by Divine Accident ... or Providence ... depending on your point of view.

My friend Bill Thompson was leaving his job as manager of the Seminary Book Store to work for a small publishing company and he asks if I did any writing.

I'd taken to "journaling" ... jotting down stories, prayers and descriptions of life as I saw it ... living and working in the "Hood" ... fascinated by the dire poverty of the inner city where we lived and the vast wealth of the Seminary I attended.

"Well," I answer Bill, "I've got these notebooks ..."

He asked to see them, advised I put the stories in some kind of order and give him a manuscript.

I did ... he liked it ... Meyer Stone published it and ... that's how I became a writer.

The book has had a fascinating life!

It was republished multiple times ... got incredible reviews nationwide ... made Meyer Stone lots of money ... made me hardly any ... but got me invited to lots of places to talk about the book.

Frank Stanton once stormed into my office with the book demanding to know who wrote it?

"Hmmm, that's my name on the cover," I point out the obvious.

"You couldn't have written this," he forcefully explains. "Look at you!"

I didn't know how to answer.

Sarah pulled the books out the other day, places them in order and starts taking pictures of them so we can have a sale.

One of the things about being a writer is you can end up with lots of copies of your books ... or ... can't find one for the life of you ...depending on how things are going.

For the first time in a decade or so, I picked up "Salty Saints" flip through it and ... the dead are raised ... the smell of the Louisville Stockyard on a hot summer night wafts from the pages ... the indignity of Seminary wrestles with the Holiness of the Gospel ... and an idealistic, completely unrealistic young man is still here somehow.

It's a relic of the past ... the Baptists kicked the Church out of it's Convention ... and virtually everyone in the book are dead  ... but for a time anyway ... Holiness happened in a big way and it makes me happy to hold something in my hands to prove that it did.

The Right Mix

I may be more Chemist than I am Christian.

For years I've been mixing the precise correct formula of sin and salvation.

There have been times when I got the formula completely wrong ... too much sin and ... wake up thanking God I somehow survived.

Or too much salvation when I came across as a sanctimonious ass ... till somebody put me in my place.

Reality is we need the precise chemical mix of salvation and sin in our lives.

Honestly you cannot have one without the other.

It's like Ying and Yang.

Like Light and Dark.

Like Democrat and Republican.

Like Real News and FOX News.

Like Honest Police Officers and the money generating thugs in uniform on Tybee Island ... and in St. Louis ... Atlanta ... Ferguson ... Port Wentworth.

Like stolen orange cones on one end of Lewis Avenue but not the other because ... HOLD ON TO YOURSELF ... BLACK PEOPLE ARE ON ISLAND!!!

Anyway ... Sarah's in bed ... naked under the covers ... and I'm strongly searching for the precisely right mix of S.I.N. and S.A.L.V.A.T.I.O.N!

That's all.

I hope you find the right mix today!

Enjoy!

Heaven's Planning Committee

"Well you know everybody," Sarah says getting dressed.

"I knew Dick because of my folks," I reply making up the bed.

Dick Smith died yesterday and I've known him for so long I have a hard time pinpointing a time when I didn't know him.

He was funny in debonair sort of way.

Classy humor with an undercut of lazier focused satire!

"Are you out of your frigging mind?" I asked him once in the Tybee Post Office.

Dick had announced he was running for City Council.

"I wish I would have done this a long time ago," he replies ... then grins and agrees, "Yes I've lost my freaking mind."

He won ... then he lost ... but he never stopped sharing his freaking mind.

We were rarely together but there was a great fondness we shared when we were.

Today's the Beach Bum Parade which somehow seems fitting as a send off for Dick. Have a good time but keep it clean! Wash you sins away while laughing. Make fun at Government control.

A parade of people are marching before me ... lining up to greet Dick in Heaven ... Roma is of course at the front of the line though David Ring is jostling for position with her as they laugh ... Steve Hendricks is flashing his sly grin and shaking his head ... Dean's holding a beer to hand over ... Dirty Dan is going to pop out of a cake wearing a thong ... Chicago Bob is crooning ... Trolley Joe is sitting in the driver's seat ready to take everybody to God ... and Bruce Bohme is saying to Dean, "PLA-EEE-ZZZ-EEE! You didn't bring enough beer."

My Dad's standing there too greeting his old friend.

Here's to you my friend Dick Smith!

Enjoy our other friends!

We're all going to have one Hell of a party when we're together again.

Now you're part of the planning committee. 

After A Resurrection

"Hey Mr. Demery," I speak into the phone. "It's Micheal."

"Who?" his shaky voice asks.

"Micheal Elliott," I clarify.

"Micheal?" he asks as remembering who I am.

Bob Demery and I met because of Frank Stanton ... both incredibly compassionate Savannah businessmen who cared about the dark sides of their city ... homelessness ... AIDS ... addictions ... and such.

At the time my world is full of homelessness ... AIDS ... addictions ... and such and sitting in my office one day, Mr. Demery says, "Mike, if you ever find yourself in a hard spot and need a check ... just call me."

He's that kind of guy.

Mr. Demery did lots of things in Savannah ... inherited a successful business and made it better ... passing it on to his son ... started Savannah Country Day, based on a boarding school model for those who can afford it ... and lots more.

"Hey Mr. Demery," I continue, "you remember that time you told me if I ever needed a check I should just call you?"

We really needed the check.

Caring for people always takes more than you have to give ... monetarily and emotionally.

There was a long pause.

"Micheal," he finally says as though he realizes it's really me he's talking to.

"Yes Sir, it's me."

"Micheal," he repeats before blurting, "I have Alzheimer's."

I am speechless.

What does one say?

"Hey Robert," I finally stammer, "I just wanted to say 'Hey.' I hope you're doing okay. Can I do anything for you?"

And I hear him cry.

"Thank you Micheal," he finally says hanging up.

That was a long time ago but last night Sarah and I are watching an excellent movie about what it's like to have Alzheimer's and ... Mr. Demery decides to show up ... and full of emotion of his kindness and his lost-ness  ... I tell my wife the story ... and I just cry ... and she just holds me tight.

I do believe in the Resurrection.

Mr. Demery did it last night.

Hell he's doing it again this morning.

Now the question is ... what does one do after a resurrection?

Catholic Prejudicial Dance Judging

For years, we have believed that the annual "Father/Daughter Dance" at St. Vincent's Academy was rigged so only Catholics won.

Kristen and I blew their socks off only to lose to a senior with two left feet.

Chelsea and I were so hot lights melted and Sister Pat grew flush ... but we lost to a Catholic Dad wearing a suit.

Who wears a suit to a Father/Daughter Dance?

Now I love to dance and really throw myself and ... Sarah ... into it!

Dancing is good the heart ... the soul ... the mind ... throwing caution to the wind ... finding your rhythms ... showing love ... just having fun!

I don't believe in that formal Ball Room dancing stuff ... though I can fake it ... I like the wildly abandoned leave-it-all-on-the-floor stuff.

Over the past few years I've been teaching the girls to dance like me.

Honestly, whenever we're out ... they love to dance with me and we have a good time.

Today though it strikes me that because Maddie, the 13 year old, has enrolled in St. Vincent's Academy  for High School ... there is the opportunity for me to participate in more "Father/Daughter Dances" and break the Catholic prejudicial judgment system once and for all.

They finally ran Sister Pat off which saddens me because I still want to watch her cry when I win with my daughter.

Which reminds me that the Judges at the St. Vincent's father/Daughter Dance are all Nuns!

I've seen a singing Nun but never a dancing one!

What do Nuns know about judging a Dance?

I tell you the whole thing is rigged at St. Vincent's Academy!

BUT ... I have a chance to take 'em down again!

It's not all that easy because Maddie may take her actual Father to the Dance but I've got time to work on that.

Maddie and I already practice our dancing.

We need to get an online "Confirmation" Certificate and I think we're ready to take them down!



 

The Wrong Side of Judgment

"People either love you or they hate you," I'm often told, "and those who love you really love you but those who hate you seriously hate you!"

It's true regardless of what you do ... even if it's good.

Back in my corporate days I hired lots of women ... of all colors ... gay or straight ... because they were smarter, more ambitious and willing to do go above and beyond. Consequently less than a quarter of our workforce were male

I thought it was a good thing.

Then people posted on the Savannah Morning News webpage that it's "all about Micheal Elliott and his Harem" ... how I take advantage of women ... I'm a swinger ... and what a rotten person I am.

Shaking my head as I read these things I marvel ... not only that people believed such things but publically pass their judgments on for all to see.

I'm not saying I'm perfect ... I already confessed to breaking the majority of the 10 Commandments and a few of the 7 Deadly Sins ... but the things they said simply weren't true ... or certainly not as true as they said them.

I am not one to judge often going overboard giving others the benefit of the doubt.

Waiting on a meeting to start, talking to some guys, one says, "Did you hear about Rob? He's separated and living in an apartment ... seems he can't keep his pants zipped up."

Immediately I feel a sympathy for Rob and his wife, Susan, a peer at work, and walk away from the conversation.

Who knows what happening to Rob and Susan ... though obviously they're going through tough times.

Shortly afterwards I find myself with Rob who's standing in a corner of a room either being shunned or too wounded to talk.

Making a beeline, I give him a hug and ask, "How you doing man?"

Though far taller than me, Rob shrinks a bit but we chat until the meeting starts and he seems grateful as his sad eyes keep darting to me.

In the end Rob and Susan work through whatever it was and are happily married as they now slide into retirement.

Perhaps he couldn't keep his pants zipped up or maybe Susan keep her skirt pulled down or ... who knows except them ... and who should really care?

We love to judge, condemn, put on trial and execute before asking.

I've been on the wrong side of Judgment in my life and hope I've learned from it.

I'm certainly not one to rush towards Judgment.

There's already far too much in the world.

Blending without a Blender

I went from being a single father of three adult children ... meaning I lived alone if other people weren't here ... with a semblance of a plan ... but no real focus ... to blessedly becoming Sarah's husband ... and "parental advisor" to her 3 little girls ... and do my best to introduce a little fun in their lives.

Like yesterday ... we are at Laurel's, the 10 year old, concert ... apparently because the people who run the Savannah Children's Choir planned to get a big crowd of Mothers to pay $10/head to get in to see their kids perform ... ON DAMN MOTHER'S DAY!

Talk about perfectly executed kidnapping and extortion ... the Savannah Children's Choir has it down!

The Choir administrators took our money ... Mothers attended having to cancel seeing their Mother's on Mother's Day ... or as my Mother put it ... "I love Laurel and know she will do well but there is no way in Hell I'm coming to downtown Savannah at 3:00 on a Sunday afternoon!"

Of course, we live on Tybee so if we leave the Island there is always the realistic increasing reality we will be stuck in traffic for hours getting home ... and ticketed several times by the Police force.

Now I understand there will be 25 new Lifeguards who will probably stop traffic too for new ... and heretofore unimagined ticketed offenses ... like sticking a toe in the sand without a permit.

But I digress.

During the cursed timed ... yet wonderfully performed ... Savannah Children's Choir performance ... this is what I did:

1. Lusted Sarah who wore a blue jean miniskirt and a tank top that almost covers everything.

2. Executed a perfect practical joke on Maddie, the 13 year old, which left her angry for the rest of the night!

3. Took Cassidy, the 8 year, to the bathroom twice because ... I don't know ... she's a big fan of singing ... but that got pretty boring so ... using a credit card we opened the door to the "Elvis Room" at the Savannah Arts Academy ... where we took pictures waiting on the concert to end.

4. Texted Kristen, our adult child, who wants us to stop at her place for swimming and grilling to celebrate "Mother's Day" and Sarah's birthday at her place but ... of course ... we can't because of the damn Savannah Children's Choir planners!

5. Jeremy and I text and I learn he and Terenca and their girls have almost finished moving from Athens to Gainsville, Georgia before they move again to Alabama.

6. See that Chelsea and her husband Sam are at a concert in Atlanta and though we don't communicate, we sent them love and wishes for a good time.

Ours is a blending family and like many it's a crazy emotional ride  that ... on the one hand makes you perfectly understand the concept of "if we weren't all crazy we'd all go insane!" ... and on the other ... feel love again as deeply as ever.

We all gave up lots to get here though we're gaining more every single day!

Our investments are yielding significant results.

Lots of people scratch their heads at us ... but we don't care.

We love our family and all the crazy insanity that makes us ... US!

And if you have issues with the more than 50% of families like us ... I suggest you get a blender!

Toast us ... or ... be us!

A Double Whammy Day

Today is Sarah's birthday and Mother's Day ... meaning it is a cluster at our house.

Three years ago she was sick with Strep Throat and I was in charge of the girls which was unfortunate because I'd completely forgotten the parental skill set necessary to supervise three small girls at one time.

When Sarah finally recovered our house looked like Berlin in April 1945 after the Allies had blown it to Hell.

Last year Sarah and I were in Ireland without the girls and it was a wonderful lifetime experience.

Today I've learned I still haven't mastered adult supervision of three little girls as there are four very distinct plans for celebrating Sarah's birthday and Mother's day.

Of course none of the plans overlap in any way, shape, form or matter.

Whatever ends up taking place is going to be interesting.

Very interesting.

With an affinity for Wonder Woman, Sarah is something of a Super Heroine, seemingly doing pretty much everything at once while looking very good!

Rarely does she "lose it" over much anything, is forever pushing the girls to be everything they're capable of and forever plots about what's best for all six kids.

She sends lots of little gifts and notes to her friends, not expecting anything in return but celebrating friendship ... an increasingly rare commodity in the world.

She is practical, personable, passionate, pastoral and patient.

She deserves a "Double Whammy" day!

Happy Mother's Day my love.

Happy Birthday too!

You make me smile.

Water on Tybee Island

"Isn't that's what's happening to us?" Maddie the 13 year old exclaims while laying on the sofa staring at her phone and texting without ceasing.

Stunned to discover she can still actually talk Sarah and I look at her ... confused.

"What?" we both ask.

Pointing at the television with one hand while continuing to text with the other and never taking her eyes off the phone she says, "That."

We're watching the News and the story's on Credit Card Companies inappropriately charging people for Medical Insurance and rectifying their systems by reimbursing customers for gross overcharging.

Sarah and I comprehend the story on the television ... stare at each other for a moment ... look at Maddie who hasn't moved anything except her thumbs ... and wonder, "Who is this child and what has she done with Maddie?

"Water bills on Tybee Island," she says while still working on an unending text exchange.

"MY GOD," I say to Sarah, "the child can multi-task!"

"WHO KNEW?" we both exclaim at the same time.

Maddie rolls over to stare at us before rolling her eyes and saying, "Isn't Tybee Island scamming us?"

"Well yeah," we reply still dazed she knows anything about ... oh ... anything!

"It's not right," she says throwing her leg back over the sofa, resume texting and the soft light from the cell phone illuminates the beauty of her face.

"No it's not," I say, "but they've promised to work it out."

"Who?" she asks without moving anything other than her thumbs.

"The Mayor ... our Councilman ..." I explain.

The News shifts to a story about the school system in Atlanta and if it's better since educational administrators and teachers were convicted of "fixing" test scores and are now imprisoned.

Everyone's quiet.

"Okay," Maddie says standing up and heads off to bed.

Sarah and I look at one another ... shrug our shoulders at her ... just like we do the City of Tybee Island amidst all this water that surrounds us.