Things to do today

There are other places I'd like to be today.

Tybee grows tiresome.

It'd be nice to be back in San Salvador, Bahamas where there's one road that's a circle around the island and the food boat arrives weekly to stock the lone grocery. We stopped at the ATM and I left my card in the machine. The next morning a lady and her daughter stroll up to our tiny chalet and returns it.

"How did you know it was mine?" I ask after inviting them inside and offering drinks on a hot morning.

"It couldn't have been anyone else's," she says matter of factly.

We really fell in love with the place.

Key West, Florida is at the top of Sarah's list of other places to be, another island with lots going for it ... accepting tourists as their own, "Irish Kevin's Pub" is continuous fun, Mallory Square sunsets are a hoot and you can get naked in "The Garden of Eden."

Plus Joey and Bill live there and we love Joey and Bill.

The French side of St. Martin will forever hold a special place in my heart with it's beautiful beaches, friendly people, clothing optional life and lots of friends live there. It's become busy and crowded on the Dutch side and Marigot, the capitol of the French side, is a traffic nightmare but ... you just pull over to the side, find a Lo Lo , order a Dutch Coffee and wait for traffic to clear.

Plus Carlos and Verna live there and Sarah and I were honored to be the first to learn of their marriage over dinner at their house ... and Verna makes the best chicken wings E.V.E.R. ... A.N.Y.W.H.E.R.E.

"Chicken Day" in Puerto Limon, Costa Rica is an absolute must on the "Repeat Bucket List." Strolling into the lone Grocery, Sarah makes friends speaking baby Spanish while I take a number and get in line at the counter. People offer me money for my ticket but I shake my head in English.

Finally making it to the front of the crazy line I can purchase as many live chickens as I want.

They only sell the fresh stuff in Grocery Stores in Puerto Limon not like the frozen stuff here.

Cobh, Ireland makes the list in spite of the cold though it is a seaport that's drop dead gorgeous, has Kelly's Bar, really great museums including being the Titanic's last Port-of-Call.  Plus at 12:01 a.m. on her birthday an Irish Band break into "Happy Birthday" for Sarah and it's something you never forget.

Well, those are the things I want to do today.

What about you?

That's terrible we laugh

A key element in my successes ... and a major detriment to many ... is I like to have fun.

Picture this!

Working with homeless people, addicts of all types, the uninsured, people dying with AIDS, the mentally ill and with death happening all around ... you gotta laugh.

It's a key ingredient to getting through life.

I admit mastering Gallows Humor ... joking and laughing at very unpleasant, serious, or painful circumstances ... such as death, war, disease, divorce, crime, and Southern Baptist theology.

Need an example?

Alright.

His name was Norm and he was dead.

He hated me when he was alive because he refused to do anything except sit in a wheelchair and tell me he couldn't do anything.

He could eat ... a lot.

He also amassed a substantial collection of Porn that he kept under his bed ... in the dorm with 49 other homeless men ...so to this day I'm completely uncertain what he did with it ... but he had a lot.

We were painting the homeless shelter and I told him he had to help ... which of course he refused ... saying he couldn't get out of his wheelchair.

"Alright," I say handing him a brush and a bucket of stain, "you paint the Chair guard. It's the perfect height for you."

He did.

Then he died.

Having named me the Executor of his Estate.

Regardless of the Biblical admonition to "Love Thy Neighbor"... I don't even like Norm ... and he didn't like me ... but sitting in the Attorney's office ... wondering how a homeless man in a wheelchair has an estate ... I know the Son-of-a-Bitch got me in the end.

"What are we talking about here Counselor?" I ask the Lawyer.

"He left $45 in a checking account ... two pair of shoes ... a couple of bags of clothes."

I hate Norm.

"You going to close the account?"

"Of course," I reply. "Does it cover your fee?"

"No, no, no," he laughs evilly.

Did I mention I hate Norm.

When I tell my homeless friends back at the shelter what Norm's done they howl with laughter ... which of course ... makes me laugh too ... because it's contagious ... and in the end will get you through most anything.

Oh yeah ...

The Hospital calls asking when I'm claiming Norm's body because it's starting to purge.

"Soon," I laugh. "Soon."

Shutting off the phone my friends grab me as they fall on the floor laughing, wiping tears from their eyes, and slapping each other on the back.

"That's terrible," they laugh.

The phone immediately rings again ... flashing it's the Hospital ... and everyone laughs harder.

Almost Free At Last

I threw out virtually all of my long pants.

Three pair of blue jeans remain for those damn winter days and two pair of Kaki pants in case I have to dress up for a special occasion.

Otherwise if I have to wear clothes it's black running shorts and a tee shirt.

The operative word is "IF."

I used to dress up every day so I looked like all the other people who dress up to (a) impress others with their fancy clothes (b) assimilate and look exactly like everybody else (c) hide the body God gave them.

It's a crazy way to live but that's how they do it in Congress, Church and Chamber of Commerce places.

It boils down to a couple of things.

(1) People like to pretend they're something they're not so they dress to hide this or deflect from that meaning they've got serious issues themselves.

(2) Ever since Adam and Eve ruined religion by inventing clothes to cover themselves and making God mad in the process ... leading to the world's first known "eviction" ... people have been trying to legitimize their decision.

Don't you think denial is a bad justification for religion?

Anyway, I am by no means "Sin Free" ... hence the black running shorts and tee shirts ... but I am making significant progress.

I'm Almost Free At Last!

How about you?

Perception verses MY reality

What a weekend!!

I worked my ass off.

I know ... I know ... a lot of you believe I'm all ass all the time ... and perhaps I am to you ... perception is reality is what I learned in Philosophy class in College.

Okay I actually only occasionally attended Philosophy Class in College because the Professor ... Dr. Marks ... was an ass ... so I skipped a lot.

But one day Guy Sayles, my friend and America's greatest minister, made me attend and I learned, "perception is reality."

If you believe it ... then it's true.

Did I mention Dr. Marks was an ass?

If he believed in Hell ... which he didn't ... he'd be there ... but I digress.

I perceive I'm a Millionaire but ... it's not my reality ... but I have a good time anyway ... though I do not like debt.

I believe I'm a great singer  but ... it's not my reality ... but I have a good time anyway ... and act like Elvis ... but am a better performer than he ever was.

I'm convinced I play guitar as good as Chris Delsa but ... it's not my reality ... but I have a good time anyway ... and normally play well enough to get through the song without making people cry.

I KNOW I am a snappy dresser ... but it's not my reality ... but I have a good time anyway ... if clothes are necessary ... which they are not ... they should be black running shorts and a UGA tee shirt ... which you should take off as quickly as possible.

There is no question I am an incredible love making machine ... this part is my reality ... and I really have a good time ... NO! ... Sarah is not available to take your calls, answer your emails, private messages, Snap Chats or video conferencing.

I think I'm a great friend ... you'll have to ask others if its reality or not ... but I do have a good time ... and have lots of stories that I like to tell ... but Sarah's heard them all multiple times and she'd rather watch "The Bachelorette" if we're not making love.

I'm pretty sure God is cool with me ... She doesn't say a lot so it may or may not be reality ... but I have a good time anyway ... talking to God on the Beloved Back Deck ... interviewing Jesus for "The Rolling Stone" ... getting drunk with my Guardian Angel ... and planning the next Bar Church service.

Anyway ... my reality is I'm home babysitting and Cassidy, the 8 year old, just woke up ... if breakfast over a streaming I-Pad doesn't happen soon ... all Hell's gonna break loose!

That W.A.Y. too real for me.

Damn Dr. Marks who apparently got paid to teach me crap.

But ... I do love my life.

Night Visits

Sure enough my Dad shows up last night in a Golf Cart driven by my Uncle Bobby who refuses to get out because he doesn't want to talk to me.

Dad however is extremely excited about the upcoming University of Georgia football season!

Leaving Uncle Bobby, the sole survivor of his siblings, in the Golf Cart, my Father is ready to catch up on things.

He talks a lot about how Quayvon Hicks is leading us to the National Title this year.

"Dad," I answer, "you want to go on a boat ride?"

The great thing about dreams is anything can happen.

In an instant Dad is captaining us on a pontoon boat in Calibogie Sound.

Sarah shifts in the bed, throws her arm around me and I grab her hand, see the silhouettes of Palm Trees outside our bedroom window and remember.

Dad was so excited.

He and Mom had a place in Hilton Head they share with their best friends and we're visiting.

Somehow Dad has a pontoon boat and we're off looking for Dolphins ... which we find ... and in those days you can feed ... which we did to the delight of the mammals and the joyful screams of Jeremy and Kristen.

My sister Angie's with us and snaps a picture of Dad.

Sarah rolls over so I roll over too and throw my arm around her.

I've come to believe it's Dad's way of keeping up.

He wants to know Sarah ... Maddie, Laurel, and Cass ... keep with Jeremy, Kristen and Chelsea ... give Sam Hell about Georgia Tech and reconnect with Terenca and their girls.

Uncle Bobby is screaming at Dad that it's time to go.

That's what the living get to do for the dead!

Order them around!

"Bye Son," Dad says.

"Bye Dad," I cry as Sarah throws her arm around me again.

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.