An Estate Sale

Sad people carry things in and out of the tiny purple house across the street from ours.

A sad little green sign announces it's an "Estate Sale."

I suppose the really good stuff's already been picked through but if you need the same spoon the deceased used ... well you're in luck.

The deceased was a nutty woman forever locking herself out of her own house.

"Can you help me?" she asks and I wander around until I find a window that's not locked and climb through to let her back inside.

She'd giggle at my ass hanging half way in and halfway out of her window.

Once, for the fun of it, she pulled down my black running shorts just cause she could and I scream bloody murder while she laughs.

She also pushed her lawnmower over because she couldn't crank it herself ... because she forgot to prime it by pushing the little black bubble under the gas tank.

"Oh," she signs full of embarrassment, quickly pushing the mower into her yard without saying thanks.

She was forever frustrated with Sarah, the girls and me because ... I have no idea why ... she was nuts.

We carve pumpkins for Halloween and she wanders into our yard asking if she can have them when we they're no longer yard decorations.

"I'll make you pumpkin pie," she grins.

A few weeks later the pumpkins have melted in the sun and black flies surround them as I use a shovel to scoop them into the trash.

"YOU TOLD ME I CAN HAVE THEM!" she yells.

"They're disgusting!" I say.

She storms off and later has a confrontation with Sarah in the middle of the street which  is never a good idea but greatly entertains all of our neighbors who spend weeks talking about it.

Last Halloween ... Laurel, the 11 year old, and I secretly leave fresh pumpkins on her front porch.

She was dead then but no one knew ... locked up alone inside of her house ... for God knows how long?

The pumpkins sat there for the longest time without rotting ... until one day they were gone.

Like her.

Like you and me one day.

Whenever that day comes, I hope I've already given everything away ... so there's no Estate Sale.

In the end, I'm pretty sure hoarding gets you nowhere.

I still believe in giving though sometimes I'm uncertain if it takes you to nowhere too.  

Avoiding Justice

"Can we go to the Mall?" she asks as we learn it's date day between the precious little 9 year old and me.

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR F'ING MIND?" I sweetly reply.

Who goes to the Mall any more?

More importantly ... why?

I recently read more car jacking's occur in Mall Parking lots than anywhere else so why go?

Cassidy, the alleged 9 year old, likes to shop at "Justice" ... which is chock full of that colorful crap you try to pick up with a metal arm for a quarter a try in Amusement Parks and other Churches across America.

I went to "Justice" once.

I was proving my love for Sarah by going to the Mall and win over the girls to the "salty side."

It did not work.

Well it did in the sense that Sarah and I are happily married but the girls remain "iffy" about everything ... except "Justice."

Oh they love me but given the choice of spending quality time with me or going to "Justice" I am "Dust in the Wind."

It's important to understand where you rank in life.

"Let's go to the beach Cass," I tell her. "We'll have lunch on the Pier."

Rolling her eyes, she grabs the I-Pad and storms into her room which is, of course, decorated by "Justice."

The good news is she's still asleep.

I'm having a great morning, alone on the Beloved Back Deck, listening to good music and wondering if Cass will sleep throughout the day so I can continue avoiding "Justice."

It makes me wonder what's happened to Tybee Island.

It's gone to shit.

There used to be one of those machines with the "Justice" crap in the bottom that you could pick up with a metal hand for a quarter at "Chu's Department Store."

It's not there anymore ... I'm sure because of some code violation ... and I sure wish it was like the old days ... when Tybee was an old beach town ... and there was lots for kids to do.

Keep Flushing!

Even when everything is going right, something's going wrong.

It's one of the laws of the Universe.

Part of God's Divine Plan.

There have been times when everything looked great from the outside looking in!

I made lots of money, was a public darling in the Press, my counsel was sought by many, I weighed exactly what I should, was in great shape and hair completely covered my head.

At the same time, I was very unhappily married (as was she), learning money doesn't buy everything, the Press never stops wanting more, neither do people's demands, working out was just a way of managing stress and I had a mullet.

It's Ying and Yang right?

Now everything's flipped.

I am so happily married, don't have any money, the Press doesn't call anymore, not as many people want things, I'm out of shape and I like the hair I have left.

Plus our children are healthy, apparently happy, pay on two houses when most only have one and lots have none, have health insurance, and the grass in the yard is really green.

But ... a storm blew last night ripping the Umbrella on the Beloved Back Deck to Hell, splitting a tree in the yard so half of it's laying on the roof, someone stole my ladder, I don't own a chain saw and we're out of bread.

What do you do?

We watch a movie, eat popcorn and munch on M&M's.

It was a good movie and Sarah, Maddie and I lay on the couch and poke fun at each other truly loving the family we are, eat too much and completely lose ourselves in somebody's else's world.

Then we go to sleep.

Well ... Sarah and I didn't immediately go to sleep but we did immediately go to bed.

It was great.

Then we wake up this morning, grab our phones and learn more shit happened while we watched the movie, ate the popcorn and M & M's, loved who we are and got lost in another world.

Then this morning we wake up grab our phones and learn more shit has happened.

Not the world's shit like Bill Cosby and Congress but our shit ... like the toilet won't flush.

I mean it flushes but it won't go down which causes the water bill to go up because what do you do besides keep flushing until everything's finally right?

Nice Dreams

Sometimes I just want to sleep.

I'm tired of worrying and fears come at me as though fired from a relentless machine gun and it's just too much to handle.

"Please God, let me have nice dreams," I think or mutter.

Sometimes I do.

Sarah and I dance on sandy beaches where it's never winter.

Our kids do crazy things in fascinating combinations which make me laugh.

Someone sticks fried chicken in the inside pockets of my blazer which I pull out during a presentation before Congress and munch on.

Mayor Floyd Adams and I pee on Congressman Jack Kingston in the Crystal Beer Parlor receiving a standing ovation from a huge crowd.

People I care about who are long dead arrive reminding me of things we did or show me things we meant to do but didn't ... so we work it out because they refuse to die until we do.

My Dad still asks, "How 'Bout them Dawgs?"

Grandma Carver continues to rub her fingers through my hair as I lay in her lap while she sings "The Old Rugged Cross."

It's wonderful nutty stuff that kicks reality's ass!

On the nights I don't dream ... it pisses me off.

I like dreaming.

Then I wake and hold Sarah tight and lay there separating fiction from fact ... grabbing what's real ... staring at the Palm Trees through the windows towards a rising sun ... I am thankful for another day of reality.

The love of my life swats my arm away from her belly.

The dogs and the cat jump on the bed anticipating her waking.

She stops swatting me and swats them.

It's too intense so I crawl out of bed and stumble to the outdoor shower to start daydreaming.

Because I am a believer.

Every little things gonna be alright.

Reclaiming the Garden of Eden

It's "National Nude Day" one of my favorite holidays.

The overwhelming majority of people spend less than 10 minutes a day naked.

Most of that time is in the shower ... hiding behind a curtain.

The next amount of naked time is spent having sex which is now a speed competition.

On the days people have sex there's a marginal bump in the national average of time spent naked to about 10 minutes and 47 seconds.

I don't know about you but 47 seconds allowed for naked sex isn't especially impressive.

I confess I don't know the average time spent on "clothed" sex but I'm sure it's huge.

But to each their own.

On the other hand I celebrate National Nude Day every day, far exceeding the 10 minute national average.

I know ... I know ... there're a lot of Puritans out there who believe in covering everything up all of the time.

But God made us without clothes and for some reason we've been trying to improve upon that.

It started when Adam and Eve thought it was a good idea to listen to a snake.

What a stupid idea!

Who listens to snakes?

Why were they talking to one in the first place?

Whatever!

The world's been going to Hell since they grabbed fig leafs and made the first clothes.

It pissed God off so bad he kicked them out of the Garden of Eden.

NATIONAL NUDE DAY is for those us determined to reclaim the Garden of Eden.

You have to start somewhere and that means downsizing and losing the laundry.

After all clothing is a horrible contribution to the world's issues.

People buy them because they believe "clothes make the man" which is a silly concept because you can dress up what you got all day long but inside the cloth you are who you are and always will be.

We believe you "dress for success" but there are boatloads of unsuccessful ... and underachieving ... dressed people in the world ... mostly in Congress.

Then there is the clergy who dress in suits, put a robe over it AND STAND BEHIND A PULPIT so nobody can see them as they truly are.

N.A.K.E.D.

Plus we overstuff our closets ... pass clothes on to others who don't want them ... give them to Goodwill when we don't know what else to do ... Goodwill sells them or turns them into rags ... they eventually get thrown away ... occupying the nation's landfills.

National Nude Day is against such atrocities.

If  YOU want to keep sabotaging the way God intended things to be ... get dressed.

If you want to celebrate with God ... get naked.

Those are your options.

There are no others.

Who Can Say?

"What is truth?" Pilate asks Jesus who doesn't reply.

"I can't say anymore," The Moody Blues offer centuries later.

I'm with the Blues on this one ... it's hard to say which is perhaps why Jesus didn't.

Earlier to his friends he did say "I am the way, the truth and the life" so it's funny that Jesus doesn't repeat it when asked by Government Authority.

Then again Government knows very little about truth which is likely why Pilate's asking in the first place ... Like most elected or appointed officials he has no clue.

Nevertheless I can see Pilate standing there acting like he knows because one of the rules of Government is you only ask questions you already know the answers to ... or at least think you know.

For Pilate the truth of the matter is he can go along with the majority opinion and kill the poor guy or do what he thinks is right.

Like most politicians, Pilate chooses to agree with what the Polls say and Jesus is crucified in a grand way drawing huge crowds.

The whole thing got great reviews.

Again The Moody Blues offer an explanation as to why they can't say what truth is ... "Cause I love you."

I like that.

Love biases me in the same way public opinion and majority rule biases politicians.

Then again Jesus talked an awful lot about love ... even saying that's what God is ... pure, unadulterated L.O.V.E.

I like that too.

The best I ever feel is when love is pouring out all over the place and it's Holy, Righteous, Cleansing and fun as Hell!

The most defiled I ever feel is when politicians answer their own questions or prostitute themselves for the majority opinion.

This is one of the tricks I admire  most about politicians ... sometimes they vote against the majority opinion but it's only because they've counted the numbers know what's going to happen before it does.

I once watched a State Representative make a passionate plea before his colleagues just to show me he cares about what I care about  but ... when he finished and shook the hands of his fellow politicians ... they unanimously voted him down.

After all I had contributed to his campaign.

But it was all for show.

So I think that Jesus knew there was no point in answering.

Politicians and Appointed Officials are pretty easy to figure out ... they want to get re-elected, re-appointed and keep everything they've got.

Because they love it.

Not because they love us.

Certainly not because they know God is love.

My Dawning Day

Stumbling down the stairs, stepping over Goddess sleeping on the landing, I make my way through the Man-Cave porch out the door ending at the outdoor shower.

Turning the water on I stand and stare at the sliver of white moon in black blue sky.

The choirs of cicada have returned loudly singing Hymns of Praise.

Everything I need is in the outdoor shower so I brush my teeth, bath, shave under the fading stars.

The Cat Lady next door has a light on but isn't making any noise.

Our neighbors across the street have a security light which is on blazing in my direction so I  pull the door shut just enough to deflect.

No one's walking their dogs or jogging on our street yet so I'm not compelled to completely shut the shower door.

I take my time because it's such a great and Holy way to start a day.

Shutting the water off, I grab the towel and wander across the deck back inside the Man-Cave porch, up the stairs, across Goddess and inside our bedroom.

Throwing on black running shorts and a UGA tee shirt, I pause to kiss my sleeping wife on the top of her head.

Creeping through the living room I notice for the first time that Laurel, the 11 year old, and Cassidy, the 8 year old, are asleep on the sofa.

They are not sleeping in a good way but have arms and legs thrown in every possible direction as though a bomb exploded between them.

They are the epitome of sweet beauty.

In the kitchen I swallow the blood pressure and cloistral medicine, grab dog treats, throw them at our animals and tip toe outside where I slide into my flip-flops.

It's time for coffee and community so I drive 110/MPH down backstreets to The Breakfast Club meandering in the door marked "Exit/Only."

Johnny O greets me with a verb followed by a pronoun.

"Any time you want," I answer pouring myself a cup and sliding on the stool across from his.

Sometimes we're quiet but often it's a laugh fest as the cooks finish prepping and need some relief before all Hell breaks loose with relentless customers.

 They won't stop moving until they close ... then they still have to move some more.

Just as they open, we leave and I make my way back home.

Tip toeing inside, I grab more treats for the animals who follow me to the Beloved Back Deck where I open my computer to watch the world.

Grabbing my I-Phone, hitting play, "The Boat Drunks" drown out the choirs of cicada as the sun rises into the Palm Tree with the oyster eyes, coconut bra and grass skirt.

By now I am completely lost in thought ... about people I love ... prayers ... perplexity over how shitty things are ... hopefulness of what today will bring.

Occasionally I tip toe inside to see if Sarah's still sleeping.

If she is, I tip toe back outside.

If she's not ... it's morning kisses.

And that's how the day begins.

Wondering

Getting my News on Facebook it seems most believe God is getting ready to kick some royal ass because things are really bad and He's pissed.

Scrolling down though I learn about "10 Actresses who got their start in Racy Films" which strikes me as much more interesting than Armageddon.

Hitting the down button I learn that apparently there is a movement to built little tiny houses that look really cool but makes me wonder how I would pace in the winter time.

The slide continues and Donald Trump is everywhere so I keep scrolling.

Thankfully I find my friend Guy Sayles. Guy used to be America's greatest Pastor but he quit. Now he writes a blog "From the Intersection" ( https://www.facebook.com/fromtheintersection?pnref=story) so I assume he's stuck in traffic and texting. He writes the best stuff and I'm a Groupie so I read it and feel better.

Next I find "The Stone Stairs of Death" and am thankful for "real News" in Savannah, Georgia where today's headline is "I just quit smoking ... So, if you thought I was an asshole before, you really haven't seen shit yet."

It makes me wonder if he's been hanging around the Armageddon people?

Next I find "15 Photos that keep me up at Night" so, of course, I have to look to see if they do.

They won't.

Then I see apparently things have happened at Subway, in South Carolina and Congress which are places I don't frequent so ... I don't care.

For some reason, the Census Bureau is conducting an online census in 2015 which is five years before they're supposed to do the next one which leaves me wondering why?

It's followed by "Frosty the Frozen Kitten" which makes absolutely no sense to me because the cat is obviously not frozen and eating pancakes this morning.

My friend Mitch Wesley still likes Dan Fogelberg posting one of his songs so I have to listen.

OOOPPPS ... there's Donald Trump again.

The News is getting boring so I wonder what my wife's doing and click over to her page.

Hmmmm.

I didn't know this but apparently when she leaves the house she parks her clean car somewhere nearby, climbs in an invisible jet and is Wonder Woman all day.

I can verify for her being Wonder Woman at night.

Then again I'm not really sure what she does at work anyway.

The Best Birthday Ever

Sitting in St. Martin having poured myself a stiff one, I open my tiny lap top and maneuver until it catches the satellite and opens the World Wide Web.

I'm alone, recently divorced, currently unemployed and perpetually reeling from so many changes in a short period of time.

The sun bubbles above the crystal clear aqua blue waters of Orient Bay and the long leave Palm Trees dance in the Trade Winds.

It's 8 in the morning but I've got a midnight buzz loudly speaking to my neighbors making their way to the boutique selling fresh croissants.

"Happy Birthday," Conner says appearing from the tiny studio next door.

"Thanks Buddy," I reply putting my sunglasses on.

"Happy Birthday Honey," his wife Hania says sitting beside me and gives me a kiss.

"You want to walk with us to the boutique?"

"No thanks," I answer because I'm spending virtually every waking moment with them and they can use a break.

"We're bringing you a surprise," Hania says standing.

They leave, I open Facebook and am stunned at the number of people wishing me Happy Birthday from everywhere.

By the time I finish reading them all, the sun is high, Conner and Hania have left croissants on my table without me knowing and my friend Martina is cleaning my room and wanting to talk.

"Why you crying Mon?" she asks sitting beside me and gives me a hug.

All in all ... aside from being in a beautiful place ... surrounded by the set of friends still doing everything to show I remain loved ... what I remember are all the people who wish me Happy Birthday, sent private messages, recall good times and plead for me to come home.

Fast forward five years.

I'm home for my birthday, in a house full of love, doing things I want to do, no longer reeling but wondering about our next adventures.

It's because of Sarah.

She was one of the messages that day and God obviously favors us because all Hell broke loose to get us together and on this birthday she's the core of the celebration.

But I again cry on the Beloved Back Deck reading wishes and messages from hundreds of people who care enough to say so.

I'm completely blown away and incredibly humbled by it all ... friends from St. Martin included as I'm no longer there.

I thank everyone with everything in me.

When it rains love on a home filled with love ... well ... that's the best birthday ever.

And I had the best birthday ever.

Thank you all.

A Birthday Letter

Dear Sarah,

I know I just wrote you and you're not expecting to hear from me but, it's my birthday and I'll do what I want and I want to write you.

You are a celebrator of birthdays!

There is cake, wrapped presents, thoughtful cards and a theological belief system predicated upon the entire Universe stopping for a day ... with every single Angel in Heaven singing "The Beatles" ..."They say it's your birthday! It's my birthday too ... We're gonna have a good time!"

You were raised to believe birthdays are every bit as important as Christmas and if Jesus gets his day then we should have ours too.

I wasn't raised that way.

There were 3 kids plus two adults and we could only afford three birthday cakes each year.

Every third or fourth year we celebrated mine.

My sister Angie seemed to have one every year ... the rest of us rotated.

So it was never that big a deal ... except for Angie.

Plus I'm pretty self-depreciating and enjoy watching and helping others have fun more than me ... though I do enjoy myself and am as content as I've ever been ... primarily because I've never EVER been content ... until you.

The best part of my birthday is we didn't start it on time.

We stayed in bed, sleepily loving our togetherness.

I'm uncertain who gifted me the girls not being home right now, and I sure miss them, but it was a damn nice way to start a birthday.

By 9 though life gets in the way and I'm making phone calls for possible work and your fingers are flying on the keypad and ... it's just another day.

There was this moment though, you're sitting in the chair working and I kneel in front of you to say "Thank You" for the best present I've ever received.

You.

Let's uh ... find ourselves some sand tonight ... and celebrate.

Okay?

ME

More Important Things

"Hey if you don't mind, would you give an hour or so of your time to lend your expertise on homelessness and the things you did to end it for so many?"

It's Lon, a health care leader in the Northeast.

We were on a national leadership team and it's been four years since I've seen or talked to him.

People normally only communicate when they want something.

Reading his email fills me with an exhaustion that still hasn't quite gone away though it's been five years since I worked directly with homeless people.

Thirty years is a long time.

In those decades I've seen everything people can do to each other ... the Glorious and the Gut Wrenching.

The funny thing is he should be asking them and not me.

Whatever success we achieved is because my primary job was to listen.

"Hey Rev," a sick man wrapped in bandages asks as we sit in the courtyard of the homeless shelter, "can we have our own hospital?"

"Why?" you just got back from the hospital and you seem to be doing alright.

"They treat us like shit there," he fires. "I've got prescriptions but no way of filling them."

"I see what you mean."

It's true ... Hospitals treat you like shit if you can't pay.

So we built a hospital for people perfectly capable of understanding what they need to not be homeless.

Even the mentally ill know they need treatment and medication but it's damn near impossible in a country that blames the individual for whatever it is that's wrong.

"Damn you Lon," I mutter at my Laptop.

It's a rain kissed summer morning, a choir of birds sing as the sun blazes through the Palm Tree with the oyster face, coconut bra and grass skirt.

"He wants it for free too," I say out loud startling Squirrels playing in the trees.

Few understand the costs.

Everything costs!

Some are willing to pay the price though most are not.

I gave them my all ... and they took it.

At precisely the right time Sarah wakes and I delight in giving her morning kisses so Lon is saved for later.

I'm too anal to not write him back but at the moment other things are just more important.

__________________

The photograph is of our dear friend Dr. Jim Withers of Pittsburgh but really of the world who takes the Hospital to the Homeless because he understands they're incapable of getting their by themselves.

The Kicked Out of the Bar Church Band

"We getting the band back together," Sean McNally explains.

"Yeah! The Kicked out of the Bar Church Band ... Band," I add.

Through no one else laughs, Sean and I crack up.

Sarah, the girls and I strolled to Sean and his beautiful wife Wen's house on Friday night for hot dogs before watching fireworks explode over the ocean.

It's a great party with an extremely diverse gathering which is typical of Sean and Wen who took the island by storm several years ago and never gave it back!

Sometimes it seems like Sean and Wen are omnipresent.

"THEY'RE EVERYWHERE! THEY'RE EVERYWHERE!"

Wen photographing weddings, Magazine covers and incredible ocean views ... Sean videotaping, fixing cars or playing wicked mandolin in his band In for a Penny (imagine a drunk Irish Jimi Hendrix on Speed ... it sounds like that!)

They fell into our lives one day on the sidewalk in front of Fannies-On-the-Beach when they relocated to Tybee because ... they were sick of where they were ... said "Screw It!" ... sold everything they own ... packed their five kids and became Beach Bums.

Now I consider myself a great Beach Bum but Sean and Wen are kicking my salty ass.

Anyway, for the first time in years, Sean and I sing into the same microphone while the other members of the "Kicked Out of Bar Church Band ... Band" play along.

We're not together that often anymore because ... I have no idea why ... we're just not ... but we love each other fiercely and would drop everything to do anything for one another.

And yesterday at Bar Church, Sean and I stepped back a couple of years, smiling and singing, praising God in our Beach Bum ways, like we used to back then ... before we were kicked out of the band.
__________________

Okay I know it's not a picture of Sean and me singing. Nobody took one yesterday. Sarah didn't come. Wen didn't either. BUT ... this is a picture of part of the original "Kicked Out of the Bar Church Band."

I'm An Unprofessional Christian

Like Pastors across the country I'm getting my game face on.

Most are "Professional Christians" getting paid for what they ask others to do for free whereas I lose money on the whole thing.

I suppose that makes me a Semiprofessional Christian.

Plus I don't wear a robe ... a suit ... a tie ... pants ... or shoes.

Definitely I'm an Unprofessional Christian.

I don't preach either.

There's W.A.Y. too much preaching in the world already and I refuse to be a contributor.

Preaching often leads to Judgment and there's W.A.Y. too much of that too.

Besides it's not a Pastors job to Judge.

That's in God's job description ... not ours.

Then again lots of Pastors think they are God ... Can you say Joel Olsteen? ... or T.D. Jakes ... or Oral Roberts?

Which reminds me of a joke ... Oral Roberts started his own record company but had to close it ... the hole in the middle of the disk kept healing over.

HAHAHAHA!

I just love that.

But I digress.

I don't preach but I do tell stories.

And we play lots of music.

"Every service," our friend Derick explained a few weeks ago, "should start with a Bob Dylan song."

That's pretty good advice more Pastors should hear.

Now don't get me wrong!

I don't know how but Holiness happens at our Church ... it's could be the Dylan music or the Potluck breakfast spread out on the Pool Tables ... but it's probably the people who attend.

They're nuts!

In the best sense of the word!

A few dress up but most are flip floppers.

Alright!

I'm psyched up and ready to ... not be in charge.

That's not in my job description.

It's in God's.

But first I've got to make Cinnamon Rolls for the girls.

Priorities.

Our Independence Day

Dearest Sarah,

As everyone else celebrates devotion to a nation I want to take a moment to celebrate mine to you and yours to me.

Ours is a great love story!

Meeting all those years ago, working together and getting married to different people at the same time.

Thankfully neither of those marriages worked out.

Sometimes Divorce is a great gift from God as we grow and learn that people come and go in life.

In the Bible everyone's always on a pilgrimage ... to find the Holy Land, be tempted in the Desert for 40 days or to find a rock where you can build a church ... so I don't know why anyone thinks living our life is any different.

"Micheal Elliott" I sadly say into the receiver.

"Seriously," you reply laughingly in your very understated humor, "that's how you answer the phone?"

You moved back, we worked together again a little while, God granted our Divorces, we went on an emotional roller coaster ride landing in each other's laps.

Today, while everyone celebrates America, I'm celebrating you.

You took a washed up Beach Bum and love me in ways deeper than any Ocean.

Doubling the number of children in my life, I love the crazy, always unexpected expressions of love from our children.

Last night at the fireworks on the Pier, I comforted one who's scared shitless of booms in the sky while you celebrated with another and the third was trying to make fireworks of her own in the sand below.

In the sand is where we had our start and not a day passes that I don't remember ... the walk ... holding hands in the dark ... the roar of the Ocean ... the pull into an embrace ... falling ... Sandy Kisses.

Leaving the Beach yesterday, my headphones in my ears endlessly supplying music that keeps me sane, you turn and say, "I have sand in my mouth."

Instantly I want to have our first kiss again.

We're still on a crazy emotional roller coaster ride but the ups and downs are about other things ... money, taxes, unrelenting demands from others ... not about us.

Thank God for the Independence we needed to have to find each other.

Thank God for you!

And Babes ... I'm packing a little sand for you.

Got it right here.

God Blessed America

As a kid I heard Kate Smith sing, "God Bless America" during the original "Night In Old Savannah" in Johnson Square.

She was old then with white hair but belted God's Blessing on America like all Hell was breaking loose.

Full of joyful pride, the patriotism of her performance sent shivers down the spines of the all white crowd and I can still see her in a chiffon gown, arms spread wide with a glistening mouth full of pearly teeth.

At the time it was still what people believed.

Later I learned Woody Guthrie's "This Land is Your Land", originally titled "God Blessed America", as a protest response to Kate Smith's song.

Kate Smith proclaims God blesses everyone in America.

Woody Guthrie admonishes everyone's not blessed ... people are poor, unemployed, without insurance ... people "wondering if this Land was made for you and me?"

There are fireworks on island tonight as thousands celebrate Kate Smith's America even if they can't afford it.

Others will watch the painting of the sky with prayer whispers to God that "things please get better."

And the Hero Worshippers will also be in force glorifying every decision the United States has ever made ... including the stupid ones that costs mostly poor kids trying to get out of poverty their lives to keep America strong.

Last year we were out of the country for the 4th of July.

It's my preference these days because in addition to my distain of the crowds, police control, orange cones, the screech of sirens and bombs bursting in air ... or elsewhere ... I'd rather get away from it.

Patriotism borders on demagogy ... blinded devotion to the Military ... Storm Trooper Law Enforcement maintaining order at all costs ... and the mindless blending of religion with politics ... leave me wondering.

I do believe God blessed America once ... and then left it to us to keep Holy and we haven't done a very good job.

In fact I think we've done a really bad one.

I also believe this land was made for you and me ... but it's not anymore.

It's made for the rich and not the poor and the elected officials side with the rich and the status quo so the rich get richer and poor get poorer.

I find little to celebrate in such things.

"Love it or leave it," someone's bound to say.

Maybe we will leave. Sarah and I certainly talk about it.

But we love it too much to ignore the bad and exclusively focus on the good.

Exclusively focusing on the good is blind love which always leads to bad things.

Maybe that's why we shoot fireworks into a dark sky to remind ourselves to shed a little light on who we really are ... and who we're not.

The Dawning of the Age of Aquarius

"Where did you get that?" I ask Winston, The Little Gay Dog.

Prancing out on the Beloved Back Deck, he's wearing a black wife beater tee shirt with fuzzy pink letters reading, "This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius: DEAL WITH IT HOMOPHOBES!" over a Confederate Flag.

It's hard not to love Winston, TLGD.

"Where do you get all of these shirts?" I ask

Winston, TLGD, is known for his shirts, all vigorously promoting acceptance of love in whatever form it comes.

My favorite shirts of his say, "Better Gay than Grumpy," ... "Closets are for clothes" ... and "Fundamentalists have different view of Gay Sex because it's on their computer."

He gets a lot of requests from people wanting the WTLGD line of clothing though he doesn't seem interested in commerce.

"I have to say," I continue when he doesn't answer, "I like that one."

Winston, TLGD, flashes a smile jumping in the chair next to the one I'm sitting in naked, basking in the sunshine, smelling the salt in the air, listening to Bob Dylan & The Band LIVE sing "Blowing in the Wind" and typing on my laptop.

He proceeds to lick himself down there.

"What do you want?" I ask perturbed because I'd just figured out what I want to write about.

Jumping in my lap he licks my face right after he'd licked himself and says, "Thanks for being my Daddy."

Wiping my face clean, I give him a squeeze and say, "I'm very proud of you. You've been put through a lot but you never stopped believing in you. And now you're as equal as anybody else."

Winston, TLGD, wants to lick my face again but I throw him on the Deck.

"Why don't you go celebrate with Mommy and the Girls?" I suggest.

Goddess opens the sliding glass doors letting her brother prance inside.

Propping my bare feet on the railing I think, "I love my family."

And I love America ... well ... today anyway.

Happy Hippy Moments

My Dad wanted me to be a football player.

I wanted to be a Hippy.

As you may imagine, conflict ensued.

I did play football but also had long hair, wore jeans with holes in the knees and learned to play guitar.

Dad spent the better part of two years shaking his head without speaking every time he saw me.

Fast forward four decades.

I love football, have long hair, have forsaken jeans for black running (only when necessary) and still play guitar.

On Tuesday nights I go to Monty Park's Acoustic Jam at Doc's Bar and play with old Hippies, Hippy want-a-be's, and people who missed out on being a Hippy and are trying to make up for it.

It's a lot of fun though a suspiciously large number of players are stuck in the 70s, poring their hearts out with James Taylor, Simon & Garfunkel and Meryl Haggard when he was at his most un-cool-ness.

Anyway, last night our friend Lona sang a song by Melanie who played at the original Woodstock qualifying her for a lifetime Hippy Achievement Award.

Lona did a great job and everybody sings along to a song that really has nothing to do with roller skates.

"Hey," I say after she finishes, "y'all heard Melanie and Miley Cyrus? It's great!"

A chorus of old Hippies, Hippy wanna-be's and people who missed out on being a Hippy exclaim in unison, "YOU LISTEN to MILEY CYRUS?" ... like I'm scum or a Hippy who doesn't bathe in a dirty, plastic bag filled ocean.

Now in addition to being a musician, shamelessly promoting his own band by wearing his new and very cool "Marsh Puppies Band" tee shirt, Monty Parks is an elected official experienced in making up truth when there none to be found.

"Of course he does," Monty says. "He lives with 3 little girls."

"Damn," I mutter to Greg who was definitely not a Hippy and never will be, "Monty's right."

"I'll be damn," Greg mutters back in military precision.

Chris Desa breaks into an incredible performance of "Here Comes the Sun" by the Beatles shutting everyone up because none of us can play it and it pisses us off.

But it was another great night of a little over two hours of peace and music at Monty Parks Acoustic Jam.

Well ... until Jim Simmons answers his phone in the middle of a song so his wife Sherri can tell him she's not coming.

"What the Hell?" has gone to Hell

Sarah and I are showing our friends Tim and Jess around Savannah and making our way to the historic steps from the original bluff occupied by Indians have been replaced by City Hall and posh hotels down to River Street where the water flows.

"People were more vertical then," I quip to Tim because the stone steps of death are a full two feet from each other ... obviously no longer fitting "Code."

At that moment we see the sign, "Historic Steps: Use at your own risk."

"No way," I mutter in disbelief.

"Sign! Sign! Everywhere a sign," is how Government exonerates itself from potential lawsuits these days.

Over the last few weeks on Tybee Island we have new signs too!

"Watch your step!" signs are now affixed at the beginning of every cross walk leading to the beach.

Let me ask a very logical question ... How can you watch your step if you're reading a sign?

Some Lawyer is going to make lots of money off the City when he proves in court that, in fact, one cannot watch his or her step while reading a Government Sign distracting someone from actually watching his or her step!

Somebody's gonna face plant and it's going to be the sign's fault.

It's just a matter of time.

Sarah, Jess, Tim and I successfully make it down the stone stairs of death and enjoy a nice lunch at the Cotton Exchange where Jean is still the bartender.

Jean and I go W.A.Y. back to when she served Gene Prevatt and I beers knowing full well it wasn't our pictures on the Driver's Licenses but we're good kids so "What the Hell?"

Four decades later I remain devoted to Jean.

A "What the Hell?" philosophy has gone to Hell in the not-so-United-States of America.

"What the Hell?" used to be a way of life and an adventure that became lifetime memories and great political advancements of courage.

Now it's a sign.

"Do this! Don't do that! Everywhere a sign!"

We could use a lot more "What the Hell?" in our decision making processes.

Sarah and I just did.

"You want to go to Mexico?"

"We can't afford it."

"What the Hell?"

Damn we had a good time.

You only live once!

What the Hell?

I figure once we get the Hell out ... we reach Heaven.

The Week in Review

This is Micheal Elliott reporting for FOX NEWS ... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA ... I can't even do that without laughing.

It should be me reporting for conservative right wing Propaganda on FOX ... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA ... I can't even do that!

This is Micheal Elliott on the Whitley Reynolds network.

Anyway here's the week in review.

The President did stuff. You may not like the stuff he did but he did stuff and had a killer week in accomplishments.

Congress did nothing again this week. Actually I'm pretty convinced Mitch McConnell is dead but nobody's told him. I'm pretty convinced all of Congress is actually dead and it's their staff cashing the payroll checks ... well ... except for Buddy Carter who's busy making phone calls.

The Supreme Court is the nations tie-breaker. With a President who does stuff and a Congress who does nothing, there has to be a tie-breaker. In the not-so-United-States that's the Supreme Court who ... completely defying logic ... have a tendency to get it right more than they get it wrong.

Those wacky Baptists continue their funny ways!  A Baptist Minister from Texas sets himself on fire to protest the Supreme Court's ruling on equal marriage for everybody then claims it was an accident! Baptists crack me up!

Donald Trump continues to make money saying stupid things. Did you watch the Press Conference announcing his run for President? There's really nothing else to say.

As much as the President did this week, and he did a lot, the man cannot sing. I thought it was pretty cool he broke into "Amazing Grace" at a funeral and got everybody on their feet but he can't carry a tune in a bucket which is why the piano player tried to save the day but couldn't because the President thinks he's Marvin Gaye.

The national dread of Jon Steward no longer delivering real News is reaching epidemic proportions! Seriously ... he's the only one who really delivers the News and gets it right.

The guys who broke out of prison in New York continue to amaze every one! Having shattered the record for escape ... one is killed by 375 police officers while the other eludes capture ... 375 to 2 and 1 escapes ... the escapes have a stolen shot gun they don't use ... the 375 cops are armed with everything from Uzis to tanks ... very similar to our Island's Police Department ... but let one get away ... kind of like alleged Rapist by the Beach.

Well that's the "Week In Review" for this week.

Next week, we'll shift to local news.

Thanks and have a great day!

Forever Love

It was at Groves High School in Garden City, Georgia in the early 1970s that a friend told me he's gay but he didn't want anybody to know.

"Why not?" I stupidly asked.

"It's tough being beaten up," he replies.

Immediately I understand.

A few years earlier I'd danced with a black girl at a dance at Mercer Middle School and the next day I was beaten up only to be momentarily saved by friend Gene Prevatt who was then beaten up too.

"Elliott," Gene says holding a bag of ice on his head as we recover in the school infirmary, "Don't ever do that again."

I did.

Something was born inside of me as a result of these experiences.

The Gospel came alive.

"Beloved if God so loves us we should love ..."

It's the funniest play of words in the Bible.

Most follow it logically through and finish the sentence with "God."

"Beloved if God so loves us we should love God" ... and that's certainly how most live their lives ... from ISIS to Southern Baptists and everything in between.

But that's not what it says.

"Beloved if God so loves us we should love one another" (1 John 4:11).

"About damn time," I say learning of the Supreme Court decision to allow marriage for all.

Then it's with horror I read the Christian responses.

Just as I'm getting angry, our beautiful daughter Terenca writes ...

"Being a former divorcée, I know how hard it is to find forever love. The kind of love where they love you for everything you are and everything you're not. Same sex marriage... or interracial marriage... or marriages with significant age differences don't make me feel threatened as a Christian. I'm called to love and serve. Until my last breath, I will. Congrats to my family and friends on your victory today. 💋  "

Immediately I calm down.

Damn I'm glad she's our daughter!

My friend from High School got "illegally" married a while ago.

Sarah and I are completely overjoyed his marriage is now as recognized and precious as ours.

Love is hard enough to come by and hold onto so, when you find it, do your best to hold onto it forever.

You may never get another chance.