Doing Something Else

I've got a boat load of stories.

It's a cargo ship filled with them neatly packed in containers ready to be stored away unless I want one for some reason or another.

Sometimes I tell them because something's happened to remind me of one or they're useful as an analogy to something I feel at the moment.

In the catalogue of things I share they are by far the minority because I'm very focused on the things happening around me.

I mean life's pretty rich with Sarah, three little girls, older kids with their own families, Goddess, a Little Gay Dog, a gender confused cat, a drunk-chain-smoking-anorexic Guardian Angel, a neighbor who collects feral cats and the overall chaos of characters living on Tybee Island!

There's plenty of material to keep me current.

Besides Sarah doesn't care for the old stories.

"They're the past," she says. "Let's make new ones!"

And we are which is reflected in most of what I share.

Besides since 1987 when my first book was published right up until yesterday's blog, I've already shared most of the old stories.

Occasionally a new one is raised from the dead or I like one so much I'm compelled to share it again from today's perspective ... but for the most part it's about what's happening now.

I've been around a long time now ... been to lots of places ... met tons of people ... done lots of things.

They've been good days and bad days and going-half-mad days.

Sometimes they pop into my head to make me laugh or cry but ... to paraphrase my son Jeremy ... I've already written it out of me.

It really is great to not carry the burdens of the past around because I've already given them away and shared them with the world.

I certainly like NOW better than THEN ... in fact I LOVE THE NOW!

But there are some old stories that I like every once in a while too.

Though I don't want to do them again ... I've already done them once ... I'd rather do something else now.

Questions

"Is that a real Polaroid?" Maddie, the 13 year old asks, as Sarah and I look at pictures.

"It is," I reply.

"Can I hold it?"

"Sure."

Taking it an ancient artifact she examines it like Holy Relic before saying, "Wow."

Then she returns to her Smart Phone, takes pictures of herself to send to boys she's interested in.

__________

"Will you wait and me get into one of the front seats on the bus?" Laurel, the 11 year old asks at 6 a.m. because the Savannah Chatham School System believes families should be punished before their children come to School.

"What's so great about the front seat of the bus?" I ask desperately needing coffee.

"Only the older kids sit in those seats. I'm supposed to sit on the back of the bus and I ain't doing it today."

At that moment the bus pulls to a stop, opens the door, Laurel kisses me, tells me she loves me, and confidently strolls across the street ... climbs the three steps ... and takes a seat by the window on the third row ... and waves at me.

It's been a long time since I've that proud!

________

"Mike?" she mouths, tapping the glass of the sliding glass doors, wrapped in her "Blankie", hair askew from the pillow and half open eyes.

Rising from my desk on the Beloved Back Deck, I open the doors, pick Cassidy the 8 year old,  up and she lays her head on my shoulder.

"Are the Cinnamon Rolls ready?"

Her breath smells like a Dragon but throwing her arms around my neck ... it's pure love.

"Almost," I say carrying her back to her bed and her I-Pad.

"I'll let you know when they're ready," I say.

"Okay," she answers in a sweetness only made in Heaven causing me to melt a little.

____________

"Hey! How are you?" Sarah asks causing me to lose my thoughts in the middle of whatever it is I'm doing.

"Good," I strongly reply, "How are you?"

"Good," she says.

My wife is very clear on phone protocol ... this is the way you call someone ... "Hello?" ... "How are you?"

"Kicking Ass," is how I want to respond ... but she just wants to know everything's good.

Once I say "Good" ... then says "Good" ... then everything's "Good" ... regardless of how bad things may be at the moment.

________________

"Daddy are y'all coming?"

It's Kristen who's having a Pool Party with her fellow new Nurses having just graduated.

Sarah's sitting across the table from me answers, "Of course we are."

I'm uncertain why I bothered to answer the phone.

_______________

"Why did you write that?" my Mom says.

"What?" I reply.

"Don't write about me," she scolds.

"It happened that way," I remind her.

"Well you don't go telling everybody," she snaps.

_________________

"Dad, did the tickets come yet," Chelsea text me.

She's asking about UGA Season Tickets.

I take a picture of them and send it to her.

"WOOOO!" she replies.

A 30n year family tradition continues.

"When can we go?" Maddie immediately asks.

"Soon," I tell her.

___________________

"When can we talk?" Jeremy asks.

"Not soon enough," is what I think but he's busy with his girls and I'm busy with mine but we'll keep at it until we do.

___________________

Which leads to the question that George Harrison brilliantly asked ... "What is Life?"

"This is George," I respond. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

The Suck Ass Bar Church Band

"The Suck Ass Band is here," I say hauling the equipment into the Nursing Home.

"I see," he smirks. "I'll be there."

It gives me pause.

He hates us and doesn't mind saying so.

"Your music sucks," he snarls from his Wheelchair. "Do you know any Def Leppard?"

Representing Bar Church we mostly do Hymns, Rock with Religion and occasionally things like "Dead Skunk In The Middle of the Road" which the inmates love.

If you don't believe residents of Nursing Homes consider themselves "Inmates" ... just ask them.

It's a crazy show because the Nurses who believe they can sing ... which they can't ... take over the microphones to screech in the name of Jesus ... beat the Hell out of the Tambourines we brought ...and further torture the Inmates.

Lona and I sit back holding our guitar, wishing we could sing instead of the uniformed guards performing for Jesus when we watch him wheel back in to hand me an envelope.

"You suck," he says to the singing Nurses.

Opening the envelop, it's a Polaroid of "Woodstock".

Kneeling down during the screeching for Jesus, I ask, "You were there?"

"I took the picture," he replies, "that's why I'm not in it."

"That sucks," I say in marvel.

"You damn right it does" he snaps.

"What was your favorite part," I ask.

"Getting on the stage," he smiles.

"NO WAY," I challenge in disbelief.

"I could have stolen a lot of stuff," he wistfully says.

"Can I take a picture of your picture?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says proudly.

"Can I post it on the Internet?"

"Hell yeah," he says.

I take a picture of his picture.

"I gotta go," he says turning his Wheelchair and grabbing the envelope. "They suck."

"They do," I agree.

He winks and says, "See you next week."

And that's an example of the ministry of Bar Church.

AAARRRGGG-MEN!

Tybee Island's Newest Phallic Symbol

Tybee Island, where we live, has a new Phallic Symbol.

You'd think the Lighthouse is enough but not on this crazy island where elected officials decide to spend taxpayer money to NOT fix problems.

Instead we have raised another flag.

Politicians raise flags when can't get anything else up.

This is not a gender specific statement and refers to both local and national elected officials.

The truth is we already have lots of flags on island.

There's the "Park of the Seven Flags" which isn't really a park ... it's more like a quaint sitting area surrounded by a heavily congested traffic circle with an Arby's, abandoned building, abandoned art gallery, a new High End Asian carry out and a Convenient Store.

But it does have seven flags ... one of which ... is the American one.

Making your way North on Butler Ave., the main drag, you see a large American flag flying atop the "Hotel Tybee" ... another at "Stingrays Seafood" ... and one across the street at the Pakistani owned hotel.

Down the road in front of the infamous Youman-Solomoms Gymnasium ... named after Tybee Elected Officials honored by other Elected Officials  because nobody except Elected Officials honor Elected Officials ... is the World War II Monument with ... yep ... an American Flag.

Honestly the island almost already has as many American Flags as it does Stop Signs.

Tybee Island has more Stop Signs per square inch than any place in known Universe ... including New York, Beijing, Hong Kong and Los Angelis.

Rather than having a plan for most anything ... such as parking, the overabundance of yellow curbs established by previous lack-of-leaderships, a Nazi like Police Department, more Life Guards patrolling the beach at lighting speed in gasoline powered engines than ... anywhere! ... local Government decides such minor issues are best handled by ... raising another flag.

This one flies just as you cross the Lazaretto Creek Bridge onto the island.

 Whereas once ... you're overwhelmed by the place as God created it ... lush green marsh to the right ... the ocean to the left ... Tybee's Lighthouse straight ahead ... now obstructed by another flag because politicians wants to leave something behind as a testimony ... to themselves.

Obviously it irks me.

Primarily because there's already an American Flag greeting every visitor to the island.

The Government's not involved.

Someone wades into the marsh on the Tybee Road every year to raise an American Flag affixed to a Cyprus Tree.

They pay for it themselves.

They do all the work.

It's a far better expression of love for our country ... and a much better display of it ... than the sanctimony of Government.

But on this crazy clump of sand our Elected Officials believe they can do better.

Returning From Cuba

What's the first thing you do after you've been busted?

I got a Hot Dog with mustard and raw onion and a Heineken.

In the Nassau, Bahamas Airport I'm returning from a week of "Missionary Work" in Cuba ... which is easy to get into without official permission from the United States ... returning to my country is an entirely different matter.

High on Rum and smelling of cigars from the plane ride on Cuban Air I make my way to American Airlines where I have to pass through Customs.

It's a lite travel day so I scan the Agents settling on a little old lady with white hair, thick spectacles and a sweet smile ... reminding me of my Grandmother.

Casually strolling to her station I hand over my Passport and Immigration form.

"Oh," she exclaims, "you live on Tybee Island! I love it there! My family's goes as often as we can."

Smiling, my confidence grows and I think this going to Cuba stuff without official U.S. permission is easy.

"Well," she smiles back, "what have you been doing since you've been in the Bahamas?"

"Oh," I smile again, "just bumming around and enjoying it here."

"YOU'RE LYING!" she yells slapping her hands on the desk. "YOU WENT TO CUBA!"

It's best to be honest when caught red handed so I meekly say, "I did."

Her smile returns as she says, "Don't you feel better telling the truth?"

"Yes mam," I reply.

"Boys," she says over her shoulders.

Two giant guards with guns storm over grabbing me by the arms and carry me to an interrogation office.

"What were you doing in Cuba?" one asks invading my personal space.

"Missionary work," I tell him.

He writes it down with a red felt tip pen before asking, "Do you have a letter from the Treasury Department giving you permission to enter Cuba?"

"No I don't but I'm certain my friend Bill Berry has one for me."

He writes it down in red ink.

"Where is this Bill Berry?" he asks.

"I don't know," I answer. "He left Cuba yesterday. I suppose he's back home in Richmond."

He writes it down in red ink.

"Oh, let him go," the little old Customs Agent says pouring herself a cup of coffee. "He lives on Tybee ... I like it there."

So they let me go.

Ordering a beer and a Hot Dog, I call Bill Berry ... not the former drummer for REM but the other one.

"Billy," I say taking a swig, "is there a letter I'm supposed to have permitting me to go to Cuba?"

"Ah damn," he says, "I knew I forgot to give you something. Hold on ... wait ... yep! ... I have it right here."

"Thanks," I say hanging up.

Today I'm very glad I visited Cuba during the stupid Embargo the United States maintained to simply hurt people because of political ideologies.

When Sarah, the girls and I go it'll be legal ... but a decade and a half ago I'm proud I ignored a stupid foreign policy to meet wonderful people just like you and me.

Sometimes in life you have to do what's right and not what Government tells you is right.    

Illegal Salsa

"You want to go to Cuba with me?"

"Yeah," I reply into the phone.

And that's how it all started.

I should have known better but it's Bill Berry, not the former drummer for REM but the other one, and we've had many excellent adventures and I've always wanted to visit Cuba so "Why Not?"

"Okay," Bill says, "Meet me there on Tuesday. I'll pick you up at the airport."

If you don't bother obtaining official permission from the United States, getting into Cuba is easy.

Flying into Nassau, Bahamas I stroll over to Cuban Air and buy a ticket.

In no time we're in the air and I'm enjoying drinks from the Rum Cart and smoking a big one from the Cigar Cart (I am not making this up or taking any poetic license whatsoever).

Landing in Havana, I have to pee because there's no bathroom on Cuban Air but as the lone American on the plane, Immigration saves me for last so I'm hopping up and down on one foot, grabbing my crotch as the agent asks, "What is the purpose of your visit?"

"Missionary work," I answer.

He stamps my passport and I sprint to the bathroom where you have to tip before you use so I waste another precious few seconds finding coins in my pockets before ripping my zipper down and experiencing Nirvana.

True to his word, Bill Berry stands outside waiting with a car and a beer.

There are lots of stories to tell about this trip but our friend Dicky Trotter brought one to mind which I'll share.

I don't recall how or why but ... Bill and I are with a group of students in their classroom late one night in the University of Havana when they ask if we like to Salsa.

Loving to dance I say, "You damn right we do!"

Bill Berry shakes his head from side to side.

Ten or so students lead us down side streets to one's house where his Mother waits. It's close to midnight but once he explains "Salsa" she lights up and helps us move all the furniture from the tiny living room into the yard ... making a dance floor ... and hitting the Boom Box ... we begin.

As I say I love to dance but ... the Salsa is orchestrated sex without actually touching ... and I couldn't do it.

I tried until 5 in the morning when Mom commands us to bring the furniture back inside.

The students walk us back to our hotel because they're afraid we'll be harassed as Americans.

I have nothing but kind things to say about Cuba and am extremely happy the stupid foreign policy the United States had for 50 years is finally coming to an end.

When Sarah, the girls and I talk about where to go next I forever answer "Cuba."

It's about time!

Plus I'm pretty convinced Sarah can help me with my Salsa ... though I do think occasional touching will be involved.

A Sign From God

I think it's pretty obvious I do my best to live a transparent life.

Transparency means operating in a way so it's easy for others to see what you're doing because ... it's just easier.

I believe in easy.

People propping up false pretenses ... portraying themselves as someone besides who they really are ... working at a job they hate ... living with someone they don't love ... going along with whatever the majority believe ... sucking up to stay ahead ... making yourself do things you really don't want to ... to the same thing until they ... die.

I don't know but it strikes me as a lot of extra work!

I'd rather just be me and go ahead and let everybody else know who me is.

You'd be surprised at how much trouble you can in for simply being yourself!

Believe me ... I've been in lots of trouble ... but when all's said and done it's worth it.

I think we get ourselves in trouble for excellent reasons ... primarily we want to get away from whoever it is getting us in trouble.

I believe it's easier to simply live as you really are and surround yourself with those who don't mind.

If you're as lucky as me, you're surrounded by those who love you in spite of yourself.

Sitting here naked on the Beloved Back Deck listening to the "Top 100 from 1972" ... I watch an Eagle land on the wooden fence separating our yard from our neighbors.

We have new neighbors and while we've waved ... we haven't had an actual conversation.

I've tried to start a few but ... they're busy living their lives.

When the Eagle shits in their yard before flying off ... I think he's saying something to me ... and leaving a message for our new neighbors.

I take a picture and text it to Sarah.

I also take it as a sign from God.

We're doing something right.

And I wouldn't want to be in their yard right now.

Stealing from Children on Tybee

The thing about having young children again after surviving it already ... are the similarities.

Maddie the 13 year old had track practice at 8:30 a.m. after staying out last night at the High School football game which is utterly irrelevant to the fact Sarah had to get her at 11 while I wake her at 7:15 to take her.

Her social calendar is fine.

Ours would be a train wreck if we had one ... which we don't.

Laurel sings in the Savannah Children's Choir which practices every night most days of the week ... of course IN SAVANNAH which is half-an-hour from Tybee Island where there is NOT A CHILDREN'S CHOIR because Tybee only does things for old people!

There are old people choirs.

Either Sarah or I make the drive almost every night so the child has something to do.

Cassidy is in two different dance classes which is a royal pain in the ass as they are off island too so Sarah and I have a wonderful marriage solely predicated on waving to each other coming or going from Tybee Island.

On Tybee the old adults believe every good child goes to the beach and enjoys it without ever wanting to do anything else.

Tybee is a wonderful Heaven for old people and perilously close to a living Hell for kids wanting to experience the world.

When Jeremy, Kristen and Chelsea grew up the beach was the main draw of course but old people cared about children then.

There was an amusement park with a Merry-Go-Round, a water slide, the Arcade, shooting gallery and Christy's with the best corn dogs, fries and a juke box with everything on it.

Now old people hate such things.

They've forgotten what it's like to be a child ... the wonderment of a mud puddle (they might break a hip) ... the thrill of a kiss at the top of the Ferris Wheel when it stops (they may throw up) ... Daring each other to Jump off the Pier into the ocean (it's a $350 fine if you're in 50 feet of it) ... Dune Diving (also a $300 fine if you step on a Mountain of Sand and play).

But they say we're safer ... unless you're pulled over by the Island Police who personally welcome you to the Highway to Hell and Tybee Court.

Let me confess ... I now qualify as "OLD" ... 59 and counting ... well Sarah's counting ... I don't give it much thought.

But I still enjoy mud puddles ... making love in the Sand Dunes without getting caught ... distributing "Clothing Optional" stickers on the island ... and teaching our girls how to spit for distance and accuracy from the top of the Light House.

But I'm blessed living in a house full of children who make me wonder just WHAT IN THE HELL are we doing to kids these days?

Old people feel safer when children are seen and not heard ... on a beach ... or on a "family friendly" island.

Take away the things for kids to do and eventually the children and teenagers disappear too.

I don't know about you but I plan to stay young until I die.

If you don't agree ... it's fine ... I see a mud muddle with your name written all over it.

Jesus in the Night

Peacefully sleeping cuddled with my wife my eyes pop open when the sharp pain shoots through my ear.

"JESUS," I pray in agony sticking my index finger inside the hole on the right side of my face.

It feels moist, pops and everything seems fine.

Resuming the cuddling position I immediately fall back asleep.

"HOLY JESUS!" I cry out 37 minutes later as the pain returns and something's leaking out of my head.

Sticking my index finger back in my ear the pain subsides.

Un-cuddling again I stumble in the bathroom and, not wanting to wake Sarah, search in the dark for Q-Tips, knocking over numerous unknown items in the cabinet until I find them.

Ripping the box open in the dark, I stick one in my ear, twirl it around for a bit and pull out half my brain.

"JESUS CHRIST," I say in horror, examining the grey matter in the moonlight.

Grabbing a second Q-TIP, I stick it in my ear pulling out equal size chunks of what has to be brains.

"JESUS H. CHRIST!" I mutter now on the forth Q-Tip.

'Hmmmmm," Sarah sensually moans from our bed.

Sitting on the toilet I collect what's left of my thought process.

"CHRIST," I mutter wondering what in the Hell is happening now that there's constant ringing in my ear.

Fumbling around again I find the Peroxide, dip another Q-Tip in it, and stick it in my ear ... which immediately bubbles and gets hot as the Hell I'm wondering about.

"HOLY JESUS MOTHER OF GOD," I say pulling out a glowing Q-Tip.

"Hmmmmm," Sarah moans again.

There are moments in life when you have to decide.

Take care of yourself or sacrifice for others?

Opting for the later I crawl back in bed, resume the cuddling position and start kissing on my wife who moans, "Hmmmmm."

"Thank you JESUS," I whisper.

Though when I woke up this morning my finger was in my ear.

It doesn't get any better!

Our son, Jeremy Elliott, got his Ph.D. yesterday ... check.

Kristen took her Boards to be a Nurse and anxiously waits on the results ... check.

Chelsea graduates with her Masters and has started work at Emory University teaching Art Therapy to Autistic children ... check.

Maddie is a freshman at St. Vincent's Academy and working hard to make the Cross Country team ... check.

Laurel started Stem Academy, has no textbooks or homework, because of the I-Pad she's given as a student and the child wakes in the middle of the night ready to go to school ... check.

Cassidy excels at Mindcraft ... actually she's a straight A third grade student ... and though she still watches the Disney Network ... check.

You want so much for your kids it hurts.

When they deliver and actualize those wants ...well ... you're proud as Hell ... and if you're like me ... you cry like a baby.

Many years ago, Terry Ball and I sit on the back deck talking about work and things ... and I say, "I just want to get my kids through school ... and give them their lives."

Terry always thinks before he answers.

It's a long moment of silence ... on a warm night ... a billion stars in a black sky ... waves crashing the shore ... Channel markers blinking in the distance.

"You will," he finally says.

In an intense moment of doubt, with little money and lots of obligations, I've never forgotten his assurance.

Today I'm pretty damn happy about it all.

We've successfully given three their lives which they're making their own ... and now working hard on the next three.

The thing I've learned is ... it's their lives to live.

Not mine.

They'll do with it what they will.

Our job is to hope for the best, make the investments we can ... mostly love I think ... and watch what they do. 

But when the return on the investment hits ... and you see what they've done ... you know you're leaving the world a better place than you found.

It doesn't get any better than that.

The 5 Most Important Things Every Great Leader Needs To Do Today ... Dammit!

I've been meaning to write an article for LinkedIn.

You know LinkedIn?

It's the business version of Facebook where everyone makes themselves look better than they really are for the sole purpose of being hired because ... they're not ... or they're seriously underemployed ... or have diagnosable grandiose visions of themselves.

The biggest rushes about LinkedIn are (1) How many people endorse you; and, (3) Who's looked at your profile.

Otherwise it's pretty boring.

I've maxed out in endorsements for "Leadership" and "Public Speaking" but also have a few for "Successful Farting in meetings" and "Manipulating Employees for Personal Gain" ... it's 99+ on the first two and only 2 on the later.

Anyway ... my LinkedIn page is incredible!

People love me though their endorsements ... which are nothing more than "Pop Ups" asking ... "Do you endorse Micheal for "Naked Writing on the Back Deck?" or "Public Praying."

Of course you do!

Lately though I notice everyone on LinkedIn is writing articles to draw more attention to themselves.

It's primarily because nobody gives a shit about them but ... God Bless their little hearts ... they think people still care.

People could care less.

Just check the number of people who've checked your page.

Yep ... those really are crickets chirping.

So ... the most important thing YOU ... as a great Leader ... on LinkedIn ... needs to do today ... is something for yourself.

1. Skip work and love your spouse for hours until they beg you to stop.

2. Go to the Beach and Skinny Dip.

3. Elude the Police.

4. Listen to good music.

5. Tell someone to "Go to Hell."

If you do these things, you're leading your own life.

Living doesn't get any better than that!

What Would Jesus Do Bill?

"Hey, can you pick me up? Kathy's got the car," asks Bill Berry, not the former drummer for REM but the other one.

"When?" I ask into the phone.

"Don't we have class in like 15 minutes," he says.

"Sure," I respond then immediately say, "Hold On! Someone else is calling."

Call waiting is in it's infancy and everyone's enthralled.

"Hello," I say placing Bill on hold.

"Well Hell-Ohhhh," she responds.

"Yes," I reply in my Preacher's voice.

Bill and I are in Seminary, working in the Inner City of Louisville, Kentucky, a couple of blocks from the Porn District where they love us because we take the love of Christ straight to where they work.

"Rev," Naughty Nita says, "I need condoms. I'm out and I have to go to work."

"Now?" I answer, "Bill and I have class in 15 minutes and he needs me to pick him up because his wife has the car."

"There's a convention in town," she pleas.

It's when you ask "What would Jesus do?"

The Church sits in poverty, Prostitution and drugs drive the economy so we offer A.A., counseling and free condoms.

"Hold on," I tell Naughty Nita.

"Bill," I say flipping to the original call," we may be a couple of minutes late."

"Alright," he answers hanging up.

"Nita," I instruct, "Be standing on the corner because we're in a hurry."

"Aw thanks Rev," she coos, "you're a life saver."

"Probably," I say hanging up.

Twenty minutes later I pull into Bills drive way and he's sitting on his tiny little porch drinking a beer.

Seeing me he holds up another so I park, climb out the car and take a seat next to him.

"We've already missed class," he explains taking a swig. "May as well enjoy it."

"Yeah," I say taking a swig of my own, "let me ask you this ... you think Jesus would have gone to class or would he have helped Nita?"

"Oh he would have helped Nita," Bill fires.

"Yeah," I concur.

We sit in silence.

"How much beer you got?" I ask breaking the solitude.

"This is it," he says. "We're poor ... drink slow."

"Well, Nita owes us a six pack," I reply.

"Jesus wouldn't think so," Bill says draining his beer.

Upside Down Living

Sarah's full of nervous energy, darting around the house, taking care of the kids, offering constructive criticism of things I've written and preparing herself for a potentially big day.

She's got a lot on her mind.

I remember those days.

Every waking moment ... including those that come in the middle of the night ... concentrates on the things at hand.

The day begins and every body demands everything at the same time as I do my best to remain focused on what's being accomplished, who's a distraction and focusing on the new possibilities or opportunities.

I do it well for a long time.

Then it's time for other things though change is never easy and I certainly went through a lot to get from then to now.

Today starts incredibly early because of the school system's transportation schedules so Sarah's up before me taking total responsibility for three other lives while also managing her own and keeping me focused.

I do my best to help or stay out the way when I'm not needed or wanted.

For decades I was the boss ... a mostly benevolent dictator ... profitably taking care of hundreds ... though I've abdicated the position and now my wife is clearly in charge of most everything.

Back in the day people line up asking me for lots of things ... most humbly so but some arrogant as Hell ... with impossible demands or needing easy solutions ... the vast majority immediately disappearing when they got what they want though a small handful linger in my life.

Now I'm the one approaching Sarah with requests ... "Can we do this?" ... "Why don't we go there?"

She lets me know.

Now, I mostly think ... write ... tell stories ... serve as a "parental advisor" to the girls ... occasionally give advice to our kids ... play guitar ... and pray.

I think I do them well.

She lets me know.

In many ways I'm everything I've always been ... smart, capable, fast, direct, articulate, creative and outside of the box ... though I'm no longer in a hurry, understand people don't always do what they say they will, nor remain a part of life but come and go and am far more appreciative of what I have and who's stuck with me.

"Are you sad?" Laurel the 9 year old asks as we lounge in the pool.

"No," I reply.

"You seem sad," she says giving me a kiss floating beside me.

Perhaps I do but it's more of a quiet, contemplative, acceptance of my current realities ... often punctuated by brilliant sarcastic humor.

Occasionally Sarah actually laughs.

I'm very proud of all the things I've done ... sure there are some I would change if given the chance but it is what it is ... and it's been the long, strange trip to NOW ... and I really like NOW ... and don't want to have to get here again.

After being so big, my world is tiny now but whereas before it was filled with demands ... NOW it's mostly love ... with minor distractions.

"Love turns you upside down," according to Grey's Anatomy and the Bible.

Sitting here looking at my life today, it's definitely upside down.

But ... as our daughter Kristen once magnificently demonstrated when we're Scuba Diving 60 feet deep and she floats by upside down ... legs crossed, her arms folded ... seemingly deep in thought.

"Why were you floating upside down?" I ask back on the boat.

"It's more interesting that way," she matter of factly responds.

It's taken me all these years to understand and appreciate what she was saying.

Sunday Morning Delights

The choirs of Cicada have returned and loudly sing their Hymns of Praise.

Purple clouds dot blue skies.

The Ocean sings in the distance ... waves giving sloppy kisses to the shore.

Birds
 chirp in Palm Trees.

Everything is green and lush.

The slightest hint of coolness hangs in the salt air.

The Sea Breeze has gone elsewhere.

Our home is full of sleeping girls and Goddess tip toes behind me as I prepare the Cinnamon Rolls for them.

Winston, The Little Gay Dog, lay curled in a tiny ball beside Sarah.

Gypsy, the formerly gender confused cat, lay at the foot of Laurel's bed watching her sleep.

Cassidy taps the sliding glass doors to get my attention as I sit on the Beloved Back Deck experiencing my life.

Sliding the door open she wants me to carry her to the sofa where she'll wait for her Sunday morning delights.

She gets up first so she eat more Cinnamon rolls than her sisters.

I used to try to keep things even but have given up and now believe ... if you're up first ... you win!

Of course to get up at all these days is winning.

It's a day to give thanks and I'm in that moment.

It won't last.

"Why did she get so more Cinnamon rolls than me?" Maddie will demand.

The sun bursts through the Palm Tree with the oyster eyes, coconut bra and grass skirt and I retrieve my sunglasses.

"Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty!" the Cat Lady next door screeches.

Cassidy taps the glass door.

"Are they ready?"

"No," I reply and she storms off to cut on the Disney Channel which I immediately turn off because everyone else is sleeping.

"That's not fair," she sulks.

"I know," I say brushing the hair from her face. "It's why we have Sundays ... to try to make things right again ... we got a long way to go."

She lays down and Goddess and I leave her to check on the Cinnamon Rolls.

Our Family On Speed

"Mr. Elliott!," the exasperated teacher yells, "Why are you taking so long to answer the question?"

My Uncle Bobby stands there, shrugs his shoulders, pushes his glasses up his nose and sticks his hands in his pockets.

"Well?" she demands.

 He studies his shoes, shrugs his shoulders again and finally replies, "Well ... it gives me time to think about what I'm going to say before I say it."

The irritated teacher stares at him for as long as it took Bobby to answer before smiling and saying, "That is a good answer Bobby Elliott! We'll move on now to the next question for the next student."

It's a famous family story.

I'm uncertain where Uncle Bobby learned to take his time but he seems to have passed some of it on.

"Why are you walking so slow?" Sarah asks after re-routing herself two blocks because I've fallen behind.

"Are we in a hurry?" I ask.

"Well no," she explains, "you're just slow."

I've decided for Christmas I'm buying Sarah and the girls colorful foot shackles with four links of chain so they have to take little tiny baby steps every time we go anywhere.

That way ... they can slow down and appreciate things instead of always being in a hurry.

Plus the five of us can walk together as a family.

Now what makes this funny is I am a morning person ... they are not.

Leaping out of bed in a single bound into my black running shorts, UGA tee shirt and flip flops, I'm off to "The Breakfast Club" for coffee and back before Sarah rolls over and knows I'm gone.

In that time, I've had an outdoor shower, given the dogs and cat treats, taken out the trash, peered inside the neighbors house to see what's on television and updated everything on Facebook, LinkedIn, Google +, gmail, the Bar Church page and other things I'm working on.

Nevertheless I am the slow one.

Unless I take one of the girls shopping.

Oh I don't know ... say Cassidy, the 9 year old!

She's got $20 burning a hole in her blouse so I take her to Walmart ... having lost my mind because I love her ... and she takes me to the "Make-Up" section.

Holy Shit!

Who knew there was so much Make-Up ... little girls take so damn long looking at it ... Super Walmart's have worse customer service than the original box store ... and I decide ... it's a good thing I walk slow because Cassidy is taking a frigging life time to pick out the right Lip Gloss.

Super Walmart has cut a deal with Visa so the automated check out stands only take that particular credit card!

Cassidy has cash.

We stand in a line as long as the one Moses led out of Egypt.

Taking baby steps towards the cashier it strikes me ... in the South ... women wait until they're presented the bill to look inside their pocketbooks ... for their billfolds ... to find the credit card ... to slide through the machine ... to learn it now has a chip ... that you leave in the machine ... adding 37 minutes to Damn check out process.

"Did you find everything you need?" the cashier asks as Cassidy and I finally arrive at the Promised Land.

"Bitch," I say greeting her.

"Micheal," Cassidy scolds, takes me by the hand leading me to car at lightning speed.

So I don't get this whole speed thing with Sarah and the girls.

It's mandatory one minute and utterly appalling the next.

Either way I seem to be out of step.

I could use some Uncle Bobby words of wisdom right now.

Political Prayers

"We want you to come deliver the opening prayer for Congress," one of Congressman Kingston's staff tells me.

"Absolutely not," I immediately respond already on the defensive. "I hate 'em all!"

A moment of awkward silence follows.

I hear muffled noises through the phone when he says, "Trish wants to talk to you."

Trish DePriest runs the Congressman, his office, services his entire constituency, can get a Passport in a nanosecond and is funny as Hell!

"Micheal," she says in her long Southern drawl, "you can't say no."

"I already did," I reply.

She laughs this delightful musical rain of joy into the phone.

Trish laughs better than anyone I've ever known.

We have a great relationship!

The Congressman makes promises he cannot keep so Trish is employed to see what she can do to clean up his messes.

She calls me to house a mentally ill person with AIDS who just tried to kill his mother because ... he votes Republican.

On the other hand, I call Trish when I'm out of the country and my passport's expiring and I'm not ready to return.

"Micheal," she says in her long Southern drawl, "there's no nice way to say this. Get your ass home now. I'll get you a new passport when you come to see me. It'll cost $75 extra for processing."

"Well," she laughs, "why can't you pray before Congress and what am I supposed to tell Jack."

"You've been to Congress right?"

Laughter rains again before she asks, "What am I supposed to say?"

"I don't know," I fire. "Tell him the Rapture's occurred and y'all are left behind."

A thunderstorm of laughter burst through the phone which makes me laugh because Trish DePriest knows how to make people feel better.

"He's going to be mad at you," she giggles.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," I answer.

So I didn't pray standing in front of Congress though God knows they need prayer.

So I tell you that to tell you this.

I've been asked to ask the City of Tybee Island if I can pray before a City Council meeting.

I can hear Trish laughing all the way from wherever she is.

At the same time it could be fun.

"Dear Lord, thank you for another pompous gathering of people who believe they are you ..."

Hmmm ... I need to call Trish.

I might do it this time.

Something to Believe in

"Do not let them win," my wife says sitting on the bed full of emotion and determination.

Indignation of "them" immediately wells up inside and I grind my teeth but don't say anything.

Grinding my teeth is a trick I learned in meetings gone bad and I don't want to jump on a table screaming at the idiot across from me or grab the Olympic Torch hanging on the wall and beat the Hell out of them.

Grinding my teeth slowly lets the rage out and keeps my mouth shut.

I'm mellower than I once was, more accepting of what life throws at me because it's thrown me a lot.

"No man could have survived the things you have," Herb McKenzie tells me one day as we're dealing with the next round of bad things.

He's referring to my trusted CFO misappropriating $1.3 Million on purpose, the wife who decides that's the best time to ask for a divorce and leave, a coalition making a move to take me down after a major effort to reform mental health services very publically fails so my own staff deserts me fearful of losing their jobs and I have a man with a major Napoleon complex as the Chairman of the Board.

Talk about shitty times!

"I couldn't have done it," Herb says.

Then he went away too.

Somehow I survive.

I don't know how.

It makes me believe in God.

It makes me believe in Sarah.

Life's a funny thing ... so many things are perfect right now ... so many things are not ... looming doom awaits with the next phone call ... my wife and little girls make my heart wildly jump over rainbows.

So I say these things and others reply ... "I can't believe you say these things ... it's where I am in my life ... who knew your life is just like mine?"

That's good ... I guess.

I tell you this though ... I still believe in the things I believe in.

Bruce is sitting under the stairs drinking a bottle of cheap wine softly singing Merle Haggard's "Momma Tried."

Bopping down the stairs towards the Sanctuary it stops me dead in my tracks.

Not because I care for Merle but ... it's not a typical Church moment.

The Church is three stories low in the inner city of Louisville, Kentucky. The basement's a colorful social hall converted into a hang out for homeless people ... the street level is the Sanctuary and Sunday School rooms ... and the top is apartments and more Sunday School rooms converted into apartments for homeless people.

Two stairwells connect the floors ... one in the front and one in the back of the building.

Sticking my head under the landing, there he sits ... hugging the bottle ... crying ... softly singing, "No would could steer me right but Momma tried."

"What you doing Bruce," I ask squatting next to him.

"About what?" he replies sucking snot up his nose and wiping tears from his face.

Busting into laughter I love his answer and to this day it's how I reply to the question every time it's asked.

Bruce once worked for Jimmy Swaggart but was fired for drinking.

Now he drinks alone and lives with me in the Church converted into apartments because nobody comes to Sunday School anyway.

"Give me a drink," I ask and he hands the bottle.

It's terrible stuff but I like Bruce a lot so we share communion wine.

"You missing your Mom?" I ask as I wipe the purple juice on my Church clothes.

"Yeah," he cries.

"Well, let's call her," I reply grabbing him by the hand.

"What?" he asks.

"It's just a phone call," I explain as he struggles to stand.

Staggering inside the office beside the Sanctuary, he struggles to remember the number but eventually gets it right and she answers on the first ring.

When she does Bruce is horrified thrusting the bottle of wine in my arms and whispers "You can use it for The Lord's Supper."

"Hey Momma," he begins ... "Yes Momma I am in Church" ... "I'm with the Rev" ... "we work together" ... "he's alright but I have to keep him straight" ...

Shaking my head I take the wine, have another swig and make my way inside the Sanctuary to get ready for the service that I believe has already begun.

Riding the Bus ... NOT!

I'm uncertain of when riding the bus to school became so complicated but ... it has.

When I rode the bus we'd walk to Mrs. Dumas' house and get on it as she finished breakfast.

Those were good times!

Listening to transistor radios, dancing down the walkway, telling jokes or slowly waking up it was always fun.

Until Mrs. Dumas got on H.E.R. bus then it was all serious and everyone shut up.

I'm pretty sure Mrs. Dumas was a NAZI in hiding ... a Commandant probably in a Concentration Camp ... at least that's how she ran our bus.

It was as quiet as a cemetery as she climbed the three steps onto H.E.R. bus.

We used the time to do our homework.

She threw me off the bus once as we made our way home from school. I no longer recall the details of the altercation but a girl was involved.

"ELLIOTT GET OFF NOW," Mrs. Dumas pulling H.E.R. bus over to the side of the road several miles away from my stop.

And she threw me off and drove away as all my friends made faces on the large rear window with the biggest seat on H.E.R. bus.

I got home by dinner.

I'll give her this though ... Mrs. Dumas knew how to run H.E.R. bus ... on military precision ... always on time.

Unlike now when Laurel, the 11 year old, wasn't picked up at all today by the bus because ... we have no idea  ... it simply didn't come.

Several hours later the Chatham Savannah Board of Education responds to the situation by telling Laurel to "take the day off. It's on us."

Bus service in Chatham County has gone to hell since Mrs. Dumas was extradited for War Crimes.

In the News we understand the President of the School Board, Jolene Byrne, and the Superintendent, Dr. Thomas Lockamy,  are having public skirmishes over the matter to resolve the matter.

Tell that to Laurel who's missed school today when she really wants to be there ... and the system's response if "take the day off" ... because the people in charge apparently don't know what to do.I'm uncertain of when riding the bus to school became so complicated but ... it has.

When I rode the bus we'd walk to Mrs. Dumas' house and get on it as she finished breakfast.

Those were good times!

Listening to transistor radios, dancing down the walkway, telling jokes or slowly waking up it was always fun.

Until Mrs. Dumas got on H.E.R. bus then it was all serious and everyone shut up.

I'm pretty sure Mrs. Dumas was a NAZI in hiding ... a Commandant probably in a Concentration Camp ... at least that's how she ran our bus.

It was as quiet as a cemetery as she climbed the three steps onto H.E.R. bus.

We used the time to do our homework.

She threw me off the bus once as we made our way home from school. I no longer recall the details of the altercation but a girl was involved.

"ELLIOTT GET OFF NOW," Mrs. Dumas pulling H.E.R. bus over to the side of the road while opening the door at 35 miles/hour several miles away from my stop.

And se threw me off and drove away as all my friends made faces on the large rear window with the biggest seat on H.E.R. bus.

I got home by dinner.

I'll give her this though ... Mrs. Dumas knew how to run H.E.R. bus ... on military precision ... always on time.

Unlike now when Laurel, the 11 year old, wasn't picked up at all today by the bus because ... we have no idea  ... it simply didn't come.

Several hours later the Chatham Savannah Board of Education responds to the situation by telling Laurel to "take the day off. It's on us."

Bus service in Chatham County has gone to hell since Mrs. Dumas was extradited for War Crimes.

In the News we understand the President of the School Board, Jolene Byrne, and the Superintendent, Dr. Thomas Lockamy, are having public skirmishes over the matter to resolve things.

Tell that to Laurel who's missed school today when she really wants to be there ... and the system's response is "take the day off" ... because the people in charge apparently don't know what to do.

That's leadership there folks.

I just hope they aren't left behind.

Like the kids.

The Coming Joy

I actually read the Savannah Morning News  today.

You have to wonder why things work out so magnificently for some people but ... not so much ... for others.

A couple successfully navigates three decades of marriage in spite of difficulties to celebrate while others are wildly happy about their second, third or forth spouse.

Some stay in the same job their entire career safely landing in retirement while others bounce around work ending with no savings and enough social security to keep working well into the later years.

Miraculously a woman bounces back from multiple cancers to live a very fulfilling life while others die the first time around.

Dream homes last forever for many though most become unsustainable burdens constantly in need of repair.

The world is a playground for lots while Disney is the as most most ever see.

"Why did you do this?" my daughter once angrily fires at me.

She's referring to a divorce and starting over again.

"Nobody chooses this baby," I reply.

I mean given our choices everything would always be great.

Marriages made in Heaven remain there ... Jobs become fulfilling careers ... Homes are Castles ... the world is an oyster.

And for those who live life this way ... good for you!

Life's hard enough.

Just don't be haughty, arrogant or boastful that yours is better than ours.

I know you didn't work at it any more than anybody else ... maybe you just had more friends to start with ... or money ... or your Guardian Angel is of a higher caliber than ours.

I don't believe God loves you any more.

In fact, I think God loves us more.

God loves the broken things most and while we have to work harder at it ... we grow stronger at the broken places.

So enjoy your decades of stability, job and financial security, overcoming your bad times, Castles and vacations.

We toast you!

Joyus la vie!

You're having yours now.

But ... and never forget this ... ours is coming.