Sitting in the Past

There I am sitting in the middle of the past.

Ten men on two pews in an old Church at the funeral of a friend.

They look the same ... professional ... nice suits ... talking about the same things ... behaving in the same old Savannah ways ... performing, posturing and perfecting who they want the world to believe they are.

I'm the only one with long hair, an ear ring and not wearing socks.

My realities are two rows behind me ... Sarah, Maddie and my Mom ... yet here I am without them ... sitting in the past.

Five years ago we were all equal cogs in leadership positions excelling in what we did and collectively working to make the City a better place.

A lot's changed since then.

The economy wacked everybody but they still perform, posture and perfect the image nothing's changed.

"Hey," I say, waiting on the funeral to begin," remember that time you and Curtis Lewis call me because I'd written there are three types of statistics ... lies, damn lies and Salvation Army numbers?"

I'm talking to the past President of The Salvation Army.

Talk about taking the steam out of a funeral!

He claims he can't recall.

Shrugging my shoulders I turn to my former Chairman of the Board, "Hey Archie! What was the name of that guy who helped us co-op both Hospital systems into investing millions in homelessness?"

Smiling, Archie says his name.

No one else wants to participate in the conversation.

"How's your brother-in-law?" I ask the man sitting next to me ... a famous developer, former Board member and current architect of homelessness in Savannah.

"Which one?" he asks indignantly.

"The one in Statesboro," I reply.

I watch him remember ... when he and his wife asks me to help her mentally ill, self-medicating brother-in-law get into treatment.

"He's better," is the reply as the bulletin suddenly becomes the Magna Carter he has to read without interruption.

"Well," loudly whispers another former Board Chair, "Ben's having the last word with you."

Ben's the one who gave his life for us to be here.

"He got us all together again and he got you in a coat and tie."

"Oh, I already got him back," I laugh. "I've blogged about him the last two days."

As Ben's funeral commences, they're suddenly uncomfortable and seem out of place.

"He's still got it," Mom whispers to Sarah.

"He does," my wife whispers back. "He's just figuring out what to do with it."

Ben would have loved it.

Funerals Suck!

There's a lot ... I mean A LOT ... to dislike about funerals.

The best parking spots are reserved.

Funeral directors dress like bankers ... which makes sense I suppose because they're depositing the body.

You have to sit in a room with a dead person and that's pretty uncomfortable.

Ministers typically say the same thing at every funeral only changing the names.

Let's be honest ... nobody likes funerals ... especially if it's yours.

Or someone you dearly love.

I've conducted lots of funeral services in my role as a "Semi-Professional" Christian and they all have one thing in common ... they suck!

The few good ones celebrate a life well lived while the bad ones are sad reminders of never really getting what life could have been.

There are far more bad funerals than good ones.

"Micheal," Betty Barns says, "Ben and I have decided that when it's our turn ... we want you to do our funerals."

"Absolutely not," I fire.

They look at each other.

"Look," I explain leaning forward, "I'd be terrible because I'll get all emotional and cry which is embarrassing in a room full of people ... believe me! ... I've done it and I don't want to do it again ... so get your own Preacher to do your funeral."

Ben erupts in laughter.

Betty is not happy.

That was years ago and in that time our lives slowly became less entwined ... visits rarer ... phone conversations diminish ... our worlds change ... moving on without each other ... as lives do.

In the end, we're all gifts to each other ... just like the toys we cherished getting at Christmas didn't last ... we don't either.

It's best to enjoy them while you got them.

You know what I mean?

Ben's Last Words

"That's where my office was," Ben Barnes points as we stand on the second floor of 2 Peachtree Street.

I've been traveling to Atlanta for years but it's my first time with Ben.

2 Peachtree, once the tallest building in the south east, was built in 1966, has 44 stories and was home to First Atlanta Bank ... where Ben presided.

I am mesmerized because I hate the building.

It's now own by the State of Georgia, purchased to keep people working in downtown Atlanta so Government employees are coerced to remain where everyone's moving out to give the appearance of a thriving metropolis.

Elected Officials do not run Government.

Lifelong bureaucrats do.

2 Peachtree Street is full of them and Ben and I are making the rounds to ensure our work with the homeless, the sick, the addicted and the uninsured have what they need to recover, heal and thrive.

We're quite the Mutt and Jeff team, as Ben calls us.

He's drips professional dignity while I look like the bagboy at Kroger.

He is a God in the world of banking and homeless people, those with AIDS and every addiction known comprise mine.

Nevertheless we are wildly successful bringing millions of dollars to those who would never have received the help necessary to live.

Ben was in his 70s when we making the rounds.

Yesterday he died.

"Well," I sigh to Sarah with a crack in my voice, "he was a good friend and we had one Hell of a ride."

And we did.

In his 90s we'd meet for lunch and reminisce about the "old days" until he couldn't anymore so it's been months since we were last together.

"Do you remember when I had the Triple Malt Scotch in my briefcase?" he asks last time over lunch in Marsh Harbor at The Landings.

I showed up wearing a UGA tee shirt so they gave me an awful gold collared shirt to let me in which makes me look fat.

"I do. Terry Ball met us for dinner that night after a grueling day of begging and we were having sips when he arrives."

"Yep," Ben smiles and for the last time ... I see a twinkle in his eyes.

"We kicked some ass," I laugh placing my hand on top of his.

"We did that," he laughs.

Those are the last words he's left me.

Putting it out there!

"Man you really just put it out there," he says flipping through the newest edition of "The Beach Comber".

"Nobody's ever going to hire you," she says, "because you just say it as you see it for all the world to see."

"Please don't write about this," the elected official asks "we'd like to handle the situation quietly."

"Why don't you write more about Winston, The Little Gay Dog?" he snaps over coffee.

"Why write about the past? It's over!" I'm told when I tell old stories.

"Tell Micheal we loved his Father's Day message to his Dad," my Mom shares an email she receives, " Mentions Billy Herrin and Danny Sims! I printed it out to share with all the guys."

"Don't ever write about me again," Mom warns on another occasion.

Every day I receive emails and private messages either expressing gratitude or telling me how happy they are I'm going to Hell!

I'm pretty immune to it all.

I figure I'd had my say and it's someone else's turn.

It's very rare I comment again on whatever it is I've already had my say about.

Every day the words find me or I find them ... new stories are born or old ones come back to life ... real people become characters and imagined characters become people ... I open up my heart and let you walk right in.

It started when I was a "Professional Christian" ... paid to love when I asked everyone else to do it for free ... and apparently took it far too serious ... trying to authentically be me ... not hiding or changing it.

Like everyone else, I've done good and bad ... been a Sinner and a Saint ... created some Miracles and my fair share of disasters ... told Glorious truths and some really excellent lies ... lost love and thankfully now have the best I've ever known.

I try to not hide from any of it.

Sharing is a great way to not hide.

It's a better way of keeping me honest ... with myself.

Word

It's raining and staring out the windows everything drips Tropical.

Green, lush Palm Trees and purple Wisteria are bathed in God's tears.

Seashells decorate the windows I'm staring through.

Salt floats in the air.

Waves kiss the sand in the distance.

Mermaids sleep in the warm dreariness.

Goddess snores on the cool tile floor and my bare feet rub her golden coat.

Wounded deep in battle my guitar stands like a soldier undaunted in the red room.

Beach music plays softly in the background.

Wind Chimes hang quietly with nothing to sing.

"Is it Sunday?" Cassidy asked yesterday.

"No baby," I reply knowing she's ready for our weekly tradition of Cinnamon Rolls to celebrate the Lord's Day and each other.

"Awe," she sighs.

The memory makes me smile as the oven preheats and I prepare sweet delights for the girls who fill me with delight.

The rain stops.

The sun dances in the hair of the Palm Tree with the oyster eyes, coconut bra and grass skirt.

White clouds dot blue skies.

I feel God's love.

I'm too humbled by it all to mumble a word.

"Thanks."

Too much damn fun to leave!

And when I die.

And when I'm gone.

Well ... I'll be dead.

I'll be gone.

I can't imagine not being here but ... it's gonna happen.

Hell it took Sarah and I all this time to finally get together and it scares me it'll end too soon ... which it will ... and that's the greatest bummer of all time!

If Scotty beams me up first my heart will break leaving her behind.

If Sarah's beamed up first ... I'll just die.

Last night we were putting a ladder together and my job's to hold it while she screws a step together.

I get distracted because Laurel's talking ... imagine that ... and one of my hands inexplicably lets a bar of the ladder go ... whacking Sarah in the head.

"Ooops," I say to God.

She is not a happy camper.

Suddenly it's my and Laurel's responsibility to put the ladder together.

We do a good job finishing in record time.

In the meantime Sarah's lost a screw.

We eventually find it because who doesn't like screwing?

Anyway ... we finished what we were doing ... which I can't talk about ... because my wife's instructed me not to ...and even Laurel's keeping her mouth shut.

I want to keep on doing this.

There's no winning in death.

I'm going to avoid it as long as I can.

It's too much damn fun being here.

Channeling Love for Roy

"Oh look!" Roy Swindell exclaims in the middle of his set. "The Elliott's are here and Micheal dressed for the occasion!"

Apparently Roy is underwhelmed by my black running shorts and UGA tee shirt at his concert.

The masterful musician and leader of the grassroots music movement in Savannah laughs, shakes his head and launches into another song.

Every grassroots musician in Savannah has stories about Roy.

After I got involved in Bar Church, Roy's the first musician I invite to participate.

"Call me," he texts.

I do.

"Hey Micheal, I'd love to do it but there's a problem."

"What?" I can't imagine what it is.

"Yeah," he stammers, "I'm not too sure about this whole God thing."

"Are you kidding me?" I yell. "Do you listen to your music? It is full of Spirituality, Hope and Healing. That's pretty God-like."

He laughs and says, "Okay."

A few Sundays later he and Martha arrive for Bar Church and Roy blows the roof off the place letting God descend from Heaven and have a seat.

He is one of the rare ones in life who's impossible to not love.

He and Martha are in the Hospital at the moment.

She's vertical ... he's horizontal.

The Internet and Social Media is transformed into a Prayer Vigil led by God Herself.

I think Prayer has a lot to do with love.

I believe prayer is our attempt to channel love ... slip into its stream ...immerse ourselves in it and go where it takes us.

So Roy and Martha ... there's a lot of us flowing with you on this unwanted journey ... overwhelming the medical world ... and giving you more love than you ever knew you had.

Kicked out of Church

Bar Church was kicked out of the Oceanside Nursing Home today.

Apparently stripping the floors is more important to caring for the inmates than ... oh ... ministry they really enjoy and look forward to ... but it ain't happening today.

Floor wax is more important.

Now to put floor wax down in the Oceanside Nursing Home all the inmates ... who pay to be there ... are vacated the premises.

They are rolled outside in the hot weather with no ocean breeze.

The militant faction refuse to go ... knowing they've paid damn good money to stay cool ... remain inside the Air Conditioner lobby ... looking at us on the other side of the glass doors.

"We want you to play!" we hear their muted voices say from the outside.

I flash the "Peace Sign."

They flash it back and grin.

Being a loving person is hard enough.

Being a ministering loving person, doing it for free is harder.

Love being rejected is hardest of all.

We are one broke Church.

The only thing we have to give is ourselves which is what we do.

Because there's nothing else to give.

But we do it cheerfully and the inmates sing, laugh clap, shake tambourines and ... are crying on the other side of the door as we load up our gear.

"And if any place will not welcome you or listen to you, leave that place and shake the dust off your feet as a testimony against them" (Mark 6:11).

We wish it was that easy.

Love never is.

Leaving the Dead

I'm on bus load of Southern Baptist ministers in Washington D.C.

I'm the only one with long hair.

Honestly I normally wouldn't be caught dead with these people but it's a free trip and the first time I'm in the nation's Capitol.

They all wear three piece suits and, as usual, I sport a dark blue blazer, light blue shirt, sock tie, blue jeans and hiking boots.

I'm the lone inner city Southern Baptist minister on the bus.

It's not to say we don't get along ... well it is to mostly say we don't ... but sometimes we do ...just not often.

We're having breakfast hosted by Congress.

There are twenty of us and a bunch of members of the Kentucky delegation ... Mitch McConnell is one.

He says something but I can't get over how runny the scrambled eggs are!

They're not really cooked at all and lots of yellow juice sobs up the toast and the bacon's not really cooked either limply leaning over in my hand when I pick it up.

It dawns on me why Congress is so messed up ... their breakfast sucks!

They're as limo as the bacon.

On the other hand, Mitch McConnell and the other members of the Kentucky delegation spend lots of time kissing our ass ... proclaiming how much they believe in God ... how important we are to the fabric of society ... and asking us to pray for them in such difficult times.

They're as soft as the scrambled eggs.

I throw up a little in my mouth but swallow it back.

Back on the bus, we're off to the White House for a tour.

"Hey," I wave from the back row, "can you pull over and let me off? I'd rather walk and see some other things."

Dr. Russell Bennett grins happily and orders the driver over.

Making my down 14th towards Park, I'm continuously hit on by Hookers as I look for "Sojourners" ... a community and a magazine the few liberal Southern Baptists who exist read.

"Hey Baby," an old Hooker wearing a dirty white Fur coat asks, "want to buy me a cup of coffee?"

She used to be pretty.

It's freezing cold outside so as I'm walking with determined purpose she's jumping up and down on one leg trying to warm herself.

"Sure," I sigh and she leads me inside a grungy McDonalds.

"What did you do today?" Dr. Bennett asks in the lobby of The Willard Hotel before dinner where Mitch McConnell is joining us to talk more.

"Gospel stuff," I answer making my way to the bar.

"You want some wine?" I ask as I order.

Smiling and shaking his head, Russell walks away leaving me alone.

The Announcement (Sarah doesn't know. Don't tell her.)

I'm seriously considering running for public office.

Okay ... wine's involved ... but I want to start the disclosure process before I even announce which office I'm running for ... because I haven't decided yet.

This is where I'm at right now.

Democrat or Republican?

Who cares?

It doesn't matter.

They're all the same!

"Get elected! Stay elected!" is the motto of both parties.

I've always had a fondness for "Libertarians" ... Republicans who smoke Pot ... but these days Republicans are passing legislation legalizing Pot so ... choosing a party is more confusing than ever.

Bureaucracy and Bloated Government?

Fire everybody and start over!

I've never actually been in Government but I've worked with every level for decades learning several things.

Whenever Government downsizes ... say by combining Departments ... no one loses a job.

How is this possible when eliminating entire Departments?

But it happens every single time Government downsizes!

Ronald Reagan was the best at this ever which is why he remains so revered!

Protocol

Every single thing about Government is scripted.

I believe we should blow up the script.

Every Government meeting ... of any kind ... from a Council person meeting with a City Manager or all of Congress convening ... a mandatory "Group Hug" is had to begin ... and to end ... the meeting.

As a matter of fact when hiring the new Bureaucrats to take the place of the ones we've fired I think we start by hiring "Professional Huggers" to greet every single person who tries to meet with any one elected.

Hugs take all the pressure out of the room and make everyone feel better before we get down to business.

Vacation Time

This is one area where Government excels!

I believe we can do better.

"The more he sleeps," Arlo Guthrie once said of the President, "the safer we are."

I think this is true of every single elected official.

Let's make it public policy.

Either go to sleep ... we'll provide Government subsidized medication and alcohol ... OR ... go on vacation ... also subsidized.

It'll hurt far less from the ways you're screwing us now.

Campaigning

All campaigning should be on social media.

You don't want me knocking on your door and I really don't care who you are.

I just want you to vote for me.

Let's eliminate the discomfort for everybody!

I'll post my position on Facebook.

You slam it with comments, Tweets and photos of me on Instagram.

That way I don't have to raise money to run for office ... completely confusing big business and putting Lobbyists out of business.

It just makes sense.

Taxes

Everybody owes.

It's irrelevant.

Terrorism

The current American political system is the single largest cell in the world.

Elect me ... and I'll start eliminating them ... and I'm not calling you on the phone ... ever ... or stopping by your house to ask you to vote for me.

I promise you that!

And that is a promise I will not break.

All We Got

A lot of things broke at our house this week.

The transformer in the back yard caught on fire, the Tybee Police evict Sarah from bed until Georgia Power cuts the trees around lines killing everything in our meticulously landscaped yard or left hanging 20 feet in the air waiting for the next storm.

Sarah's car is recalled.

The AC in my car stops working.

The tenants in her rental think it's a good idea to leave a large wet rug on the back deck for a couple of months, rotting the wood and claiming it's our fault for putting the deck there in the first place.

The brand new door knob to the porch comes off in our hand.

It rains so much a lake now exists where I park.

I drop my I-phone shattering the glass cover.

But we are so happy to be together it doesn't matter.

I Got You Babe!

All you need is love!

Sarah's folks arrive from New York and on the first night I prepare a feast of slow cooked bar-b-que ribs, homemade au gratin potatoes and "southern" Green beans with lots of salt, bacon fat and my special ingredient.

Early afternoon, I fire up the Grill which is a lot like foreplay.

As the fire burns, I prepare the ribs, crank up the Beach Boys, fix a big drink and get ready for the long ... smoldering ... W.E.T. ... sensual ... sexual act of grilling.

Throwing the ribs on, I take a sip ... do a little dance ... and am suddenly horrified ... to watch one of the legs on my Grill ... ever so slowly ... slide across the deck ... with pork blistering in the heat above the coals.

"Goddess," I say to our dog ... who likes to grill with me, "this is not good."

Goddess is a smart dog who can speak telepathically screams, "SAVE THE MEAT."

Holding my drink in one hand, I quickly throw the ribs on a plate while the other saves the celebratory meal.

My Grill however is no more.

Oh well!

I Got You Babe!

All you need is love!

That's pretty much all we got.

The Greatest Untold Story

"You can't write about this," Sarah admonishes at dinner.

The girls giggle under their breaths, cut their eyes at me but don't say anything.

I stare out of the window and sigh.

What my wife is referring to is a volatile situation we find ourselves in coping with and other people are involved.

My writing about it could make things worse.

I can already see the story in my head, with all of the gory details, lies, deceits and betrayals ... a tale exploring the unanswerable questions ... why do bad things happen to good people ... why don't people do what they say ... where is God when you really need him?

It'll be a great story!

It could make the world a better place if I write it ... generating an honest discussion of such universal issues ... breaking down barriers ... bringing people closer together ... teaching the world to sing in three part harmony.

But ... it ain't gonna happen.

My wife told me not to write about it.

Kisses in the Rain

"Sounds like the Mike I used to know," Skutch writes.

Skutch is a reporter who looks like an actor in a B movie playing a reporter but he's the very best at what he does.

For years he took my calls pitching a story for The Savannah Morning News or would call me demanding, "Elliott what in the Hell is going on?"

We had lots of fun and made lots of News.

I feel obligated to respond to him.

Because I'm not the Mike I used to be.

Thirty years of helping the poor, homeless, people living with AIDS, the sick, addicted and insane take their toll and something inside of me broke one day and I can't put Humpty Dumpty together again.

Jesus only lasted 3 years.

Just like it was the politics of it that crucified him in the end ... that's what did me in.

The biased silliness of the American Political Process ... and the endless demands and conditions of people who give money to help the poor ... the ruthless conniving of the "Helping Community" who take far more than they give ... the hollow promises of the Religious World ... the ceaseless inquiries of family wanting me to take care of their problem when they're perfectly capable of doing it themselves ... they take their toll.

And I broke and everything about that world came to an end and E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G. about my life changed.

Just like Jesus came back in a different way ... I have too.

For me it's a time of healing and receiving love ... enjoying it.

The other night Sarah and I are having drinks and a bite at a bar in Savannah when a torrential rain comes. We have to pick up Maddie, our 13 year old, so I tell my wife I'll run to the car and drive back to get her.

Thankfully, I only wear black running shorts, tee shirts and flip flops these days when clothes are necessary so it's easy to strip down to the shorts and take off into the rain.

A group of homeless people stand under the awning of Junk Shop on Franklin Square where we're parked see me.

"GO ELLIOTT!" a woman yells clapping.

"IT'S THE REV!" a giant black man grins.

Smiling, I blow them kisses in the rain, jump in the car ... get my family ... and go home ... to keep doing what I'm doing.

I'm not the Mike I used to be.

I think I'm a much better one.

Dugger

"What's wrong with him?" I ask as the man shuffles his feet a couple of inches at a time walking across the lobby.

"He's doing the Thorazine Shuffle," I'm told.

Thorazine is used to treat schizophrenia and this dude is obviously heavily medicated with his head down, eyes almost shut, body leaning forward and moving a foot an inch at a time.

"Who is he?"

"Dugger," I'm told. "Part of a prominent Savannah family."

"Why's he homeless?"

"Look at him! Nobody wants to take care of him."

Nodding my head, I take several quick steps and put my arm him. "Hey Mr. Dugger! Welcome!"

His feet stop shuffling and his head turns ever so slightly towards me. Glazed eyes look through me and he grunts something then continues inching forward.

"I like him," I say out loud.

One of the things about working with the poor, homeless, sick, addicted and depressed is you have to have favorites. There are simply too many and you can easily be overwhelmed. I counter this by choosing a few to take special interest in and keep it personal.

Over the next several months ... in flagrant violation of HIPPA code, public safety requirements, political correctness and common sense ... I take Dugger with me most everywhere I go.

Ever so slowly his self awareness returns and we talk.

He begins to dress better, even wearing a tie and combing his thick black hair.

Standing on the corner of 34th and East Broad, we're meeting with a real estate agent because I want to buy ten dilapidated apartments across the street from Phoenix Place, a residential medical program for people living with AIDS. We need to expand.

"What's it gonna take to make this happen?" I ask.

The agent throws out impossible numbers.

Out of nowhere, Dugger steps forward
and machine gun fires questions at the Agent. They go back and forth for half an hour with me occasionally nodding and before I understand ... we've reached a deal, shake hands and make our way back to my car.

"How did you ...?" I ask cranking the engine.

For the only time I ever witness, Dugger smiles, looks me the eyes and answers, "My family knows Real Estate. That's how we made our money."

"You're homeless," I laugh and he shrugs his shoulders.

That was Dugger's shinning moment. He decompensated afterwards, the schizophrenia aggravates, he stops combing his hair and shuffles his feet again.

He disappears.

I was told he was later found in the Casey Canal, a water way beside a Parkway and was heavy a backhoe was necessary to lift him out.

That's the last I heard.

Sarah, Maddie and I zip along the Parkway towards a function and staring at the Canal, I remember Dugger.

It was a long time ago but he's worth remembering and I'm glad I do. 

10 Things I Am Not Thinking About This Weekend!

It's the weekend and though I have to work for no money, I still like the idea of the weekend and want to protect it.

In spite of the fact that my Saturday's shot and Sunday Morning I'm busy being a Semi-Professional Christian at Bar Church ... and on Monday I have to meet with the person who didn't show on Thursday because he owes us money and ... I'd rather think the weekend.

Starting at what I'm N.O.T. thinking about because often it's best to weed out the bad and back into the good.

1. Tybee Island

How do you take God made beauty and screw it up so badly? I know Adam and Eve started the whole the "let's improve on paradise" concept but Jesus Christ ... Tybee is perfecting it.

"Doing the right thing for the wrong reasons" is the modus operandi here.

You'll understand that if you can find parking.

HINT: Don't look on the ocean side of 13th Street because old rich people have a Government approved yellow curb to prevent you from parking and ... people who live here want you leave anyway.

2. Donald Thump

Honestly I think he's funny but I can't get passed his hair. Though I love the fact he made Lindsay Graham look stupider than he already is with the ... "I'll show you Donald by smashing my phone, taking it viral and really believing I'm funny and helping my political career."

It is so stupid it borders on Tybee Island leadership thinking.

3. Buddy Carter

I like the Congressman. We grew up together in Port Wentworth, Georgia but he was hardly ever around because he was on the phone.

I think he's got a phone addiction but those aren't pleasant things to think about or discuss in public.

But Republicans crack me up so it's hard not to laugh ... even when it's a sad addiction.

BRAHAHAHAHAHA!

4. Bills

Not the Congressional, County Commission or City Council kind but people I owe money to who have the audacity to call when I'm off for weekend!

5. Historical Preservation

Jim Klutz, representing the Tybee Island Historical Preservation Society, says, "This is about putting something in an ordinance that would benefit Tybee because it would protect what we have now, "Historic preservation has made Savannah the tourist destination that it is."

Let's talk about what Tybee has now.

Lot's of old people who can afford to live here.

No parking ... just like Savannah.

There's nothing for kids to do on Tybee ... except go to Bars ... the Youmans/Solomon's Gym ... named after famous Tybee Island politicians ...  oh wait! ... It's never open! ... Never mind!

The Tybee Island Historical Preservation Society is doing the same thing with housing on the island.

Can you say "Seaside, Floridia" and even more tourists who can't find a place to park ... because THERE IS NONE!

Nobody plans on island.

We just react.

6. The Tybee Island Police Department

It's damn near impossible because they're everywhere.

Especially Sundae's Café for lunch every single day between 11nish and 1nish.

So if you want to commit a crime ... there's your sign.

Otherwise just wait ... they'll pull you over ... search your car illegally and make your island experience something you'll talk about for the rest of your life.

7. T.D. Jakes and Joel Osteen

I've met T.D. Jakes.

He's alright if you like pompous.

I haven't met Joel Osteen and don't want to.

8. Things for kids to do on Tybee Island

Wait!

There's nothing to think about!

My mistake!

9. Missing the things that used to be on Tybee Island

The diner at Chu's ... Helen rolling her own ... the Amusement Park ... the Water Slide ... Arcade ... Sinbad ... the Belly Flop Competition and David Ring ... the Bums ... Best Buns on the Beach Competition and David Ring ... the Desoto Beach Club and David Ring taking the microphone from Ansel, Strong & Reeves and not giving it back ... Henry Levy's "Clothing Optional" campaign ... when everyone on City Council brought a Styrofoam Cup to the meeting from Spankey's ... Councilman Crawford throwing his Styrofoam Cup on the Council before walking out ... and the dump truck of rocks dumped in front of City Hall.

That's when it was fun!

10.   How much verses How Much

Sell now or sell later?

What we bought is no longer what we get.

It's all run by Adam and Eve any way.

Let's improve on Paradise!

Let's put up a parking lot!

Oh Wait!

We can make more if we don't.

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.