Almost Dead but ...

What's it like to almost die?

And then not.

It happened to our friend Roy Swindell just several weeks ago. A little pain leads to a lot so Martha takes him to the Hospital and all Hell breaks loose!

Things go from bad to worse when they get to the Emergency Room ... he remembers talking to his doctor at 1 in the morning  on a Thursday ... the next thing he recalls is the following Tuesday.

What happened in-between?

During those five days, the Internet explodes with love for Martha and Roy!

If you believe in prayer, good Karma or the power of positive thinking ... Martha and Roy got a lot!

Almost like the world stopped spinning for a lot of people cause some things merit the world to stop for a second or two.

Roy wakes and realizes at some level that he's still alive.

During those five days Martha's managed the love ... her for him ... us for them ... and from wherever it is that love comes from.

A week later it starts dawning on Roy how many it is who really care that ... he might die ... and he didn't.

He admits its been overwhelming to learn how many of us there are who care ... and are opinionated ... that his time isn't over yet.

Somehow it's grounded in the love he and Martha share ... though he went away for a while ... she never did ...  and while he can't explain it ... they never left each other.

He's learned life is short.

Tell the people you love that you love them.

And he and Martha?

Obviously it changed everything.

They fill in each other's blanks.

They take nothing for granted anymore.

They're grateful for the love of so many.

"What's it like to almost die?" I ask.

"I am still running that one in my head. I don't remember anything so it is something I am still coming to terms with."

But ... Martha was somehow there the whole time.

So was lots of love from lots of others.

And here you are!

Reminding us to not take love for granted.

There's more to this story.

Thankfully, we have Roy ... and Martha ... together at Bar Church on Sunday ... to celebrate LIFE!

That's Sick!

My Dad was a bit of a hypochondriac ... if he saw a disease on television ... he was pretty sure he had the symptoms.

"Mike," he'd say, "have you seen that commercial for PBA ... Pseudobulbar ... it causes uncontrollable laughing and crying for no apparent reason? I think I have it."

It is true that Dad laughed a lot ... and he didn't mind crying ... and on occasion he couldn't control either but ...

"I think you're okay Dad," I replied.

"You think so Son?"

"Yeah, I think so Dad."

He'd be okay until he saw the next commercial.

It's been a week of sickness at our house.

Sarah went down first ... part exhaustion both physical and emotional ... led her to virtually collapse while ... continuing to go ... because the kids need this ... work needs that ... everybody wants something ... so she'd crash then fly ... then do it again.

She continues to amaze me and I'm beginning to believe she really may be Wonder Woman after all.

Then when she gets well, I get sick ... with exploding sinuses, ringing in my ear and a sudden exhaustion ... and like my wife ... I keep going ... working deals ... playing at the Nursing Home ... trying to raise money for things I believe in ... until I collapse last night on the sofa and sleep for almost 12 hours.

This morning I feel like a truck's run over me.

Sipping coffee I turn the television on and it's a Cialis commercial ... for erectile dysfunction.

The side effects are headaches, body aches and pains, upset stomach, mild dizziness, blurry vision, CONJESTION AND A RUNNY NOSE.

"Aw Shit," I say out loud and turn the television off.

Alters of Love

She's been through a lot and looks it today.

Her eyes are crossed.

Her red bathing suit top is showing some wear.

Her grass skirt's been lifted so many times she may as not be wearing anything.

But she's my friend and I love her.

We've spent lots of time alone with me doing most of the talking.

She listens and never stops smiling.

Our friend Art made her face and it's hard to walk the dogs without missing him ... the dogs sure do, tugging and pulling ... wanting the treats he always gave as we pass his house ... and I miss the way he called Sarah "Mrs. Blue Eyes" ... and the way we gave each other shit about College Football ... he was a good friend and her face reminds me of him on a daily basis.

Her coconut bra used to belong to my wife but Sarah gave it to her.

Our girls decide it needs to be red so we paint it and hang it back up and now I can't look at it without being reminded of the joys little girls bring to a tired life.

Sarah bought her dress and has extras downstairs but I like her worn and weathered look so we haven't changed her clothes yet. We will but ... she's given us a lot ... and looks tired ... so I'm respecting her feelings.

When Sarah and Maddie leave every morning ... or when Laurel and Cass sleep in on the weekends ... Goddess and I meander outside on the Beloved Back Deck and wish her a good morning.

She always smiles.

Sometimes she winks.

I love her dearly and she's as much a part of our family as Winston, The Little Gay Dog ... the choir of cicada that sing morning and night ... the wind chimes the girls hung when we became a home and not a house ... the salt hanging in the air and on my skin ... the waves kissing the shore in the distance.

"Every home needs 'Alters of Love'", my friend Dan Sheehan once explained, "the more the better."

Yep.

She's certainly part of ours.

The Bane of My Existence

At our house ... Sarah's sick but's gone to work anyway.

Maddie, the 14 year old, is pretty exhausted and would like nothing more than to sleep except for the mountain of homework she now has in High School.

I'm not 100% with a ringing in my ear and a sore throat.

Goddess is aging gracefully but spends more time sleeping than she used to.

Winston, The Little Gay Dog, is battling with anger issues over the whole Kim Davis thing and the announced candidates for Tybee City Council.

Gypsy, the formerly Gender confused cat, has taken to marking everything his territory. I figure he's calculated the odds and believes he's going to out live everyone and everything will be his.

To top it off though, yesterday our lawn mower died.

It's a brand new lawn mower!

A month ago Sarah purchased it from Home Depot and I've cut the grass with it a total of 3 times!

Lawn mowers have always been one of the banes of my existence!

I've been cursed with an overabundance of bad lawn mowers and shouldn't be surprised this one's any different from the other POS's I've bought.

I believed since Sarah was the actual purchaser of this one ... she always does everything perfectly ... and the woman is always right ... she'd buy a lawn mower that would never die.

It could have been she was already getting sick and wasn't on her "A" game.

Perhaps it's Satan continuing to torment me with a freaking 2 cycle engine!

If I was a gun owner ... which I am not ... I'd shoot the Son-of-a-bitch ... multiple times ... in rage ... with a smile ... get arrested for firing arms in the back yard ... happily go to jail ... then Court ... where Home Depot is the first witness because of their shitty lawn mower!

Judge Sheer would have a more insidious experience than normal with Home Depot on the torture stand!

Oh well ... a perfect summer day is when the sun's shinning, an ocean breeze blows, the choir of cicada sing and the lawn mowers broke.

I just really want my girls to get better soon ... including Winston, TLGD ... so we can enjoy watching the grass grow together.

Hmmmm.

Maybe I'm blessed after all.

Real Good For Free

"He played real good for free ..."

It seems to be my life these days.

I write for free and give it away every day knowing it helps me and maybe you too.

I tell stories for free ... I don't preach because there's WAY too much preaching in the world already ... but I try to make uplifting points at Bar Church on Sundays at 10nish.

I actually do play music for free at Bar Church on Sundays at 10nish though I do my best to invite better musicians than me so there is a realistic possibility people will come back (that's you Roy Swindell).

I give away far too much free advice.

The vast majority of phone calls, private messages, texts and "Can I talk to you for a moment?" conversations in public places are people asking me for free advice.

I'm too nice a guy and give it away for free.

I've done lots of weddings for free.

Lots of funerals too.

I give away lots of time ... my own time ... or mine and Sarah's ... and the kids too ... to listen to somebody simply needing someone to talk with.

It's completely contrary to the way the world works.

Society expects me to make a buck ... put myself first ... get rewarded now ... ensure whatever I give away is far outweighed by what I get.

I've learned though that if you give people something ... they keep wanting more until you stop.

If you give them everything ... they will take it.

And it doesn't pay well ... monetarily or emotionally.

It's funny.

Everybody wants to be handsomely paid while asking things for nothing in return.

I suppose it really is true that "Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose."

The truth of the matter is I've got lots to lose if I don't redo this math.

I hate math but ... it is what it is ... and if you give away way more than you're receiving ... it's your own damn fault.

Sun Showers

It's pouring rain in the bright sunshine.

The Devil's beating his wife.

It's a sun shower.

Rain falls heavily from the sky, the Palm Trees drip with wetness and I can work on my tan but need sunglasses because the wetness glares off the lush tropical vegetation blinding me.

I'm making toast

Not regular toast but the kind little girls like ... cut off the crust, barely melt some butter on the bread, sprinkle I heavily with Cinnamon and Sugar.

It reminds me of Chelsea when she was little and accompanied me to "The Breakfast Club" every morning to order a piece of bacon and a grilled cheese with the rind cut off.

The first time she says that Bruce falls over the counter laughing and creates "The Chelsea Special" ... grilled cheese with the rind cut off and a piece of bacon ... and my daughter finishes eating she wipes her hands on my shirt sleeves so I smell like butter and bacon at work all day.

Cass, the 9 year old, with her friend Emily like their toast made the same way

They make me laugh and I try to keep them quiet because Sarah, Maddie and Laurel are still sleeping.

"You make the best toast EVER," Emily says.

"I told you," Cass says.

What's not to enjoy?

Getting praised for my culinary skills while having a wonderful memory is a pretty good way to start a day.

The girls gobble their toast down and ask for more.

I remember when I could eat like that.

I miss those days.

"Hey Lu!" I say to the Devil ... choosing to call him by his name ... Lucifer as it is used in the South ... "What you so pissed off about? Give your wife a break!"

The sun shower continues as I take the second round of toast out of the oven.

"Fine Lu," I say handing the girls what is obviously turning into a progressive breakfast, "turn your back on this beautiful day that God's made."

"I'm going to enjoy it."

_________________

Backstory ... The photo is Cassidy waiting on Emily to arrive for their night ... it's hard to not love such sweetness.

The Nicest Place

Seven blocks from where I sit is a very crowded beach, filled with Holiday revelers, Lifeguards and Cops.

The Pier's a happening place and "The Swinging Medallions" play tonight for free followed by fireworks over the Ocean.

Half-a-block in the other direction is the Marsh, brilliantly lush greens, a great view of the Lighthouse and the pungent aroma of "Sex in the Tropics."

Another block from there is the Back River with spectacular sunsets, choirs of mussels "ticking and popping" in the mud, Egrets resting in trees looking like white Christmas lights and lots of friendly bikers, walkers and strollers. 

There are great restaurants and bars in every direction, each a short walk or ride, mostly seafood with lots of alcohol.

Aside from walking the dogs to the Marsh and strolling pass the Back River, it's rare that Sarah and I have much to do with any of it.

We stay home.

It's a house filled with little girls, two dogs and a cat, lots of love and little things that need fixing ... like the door knob that pops off in my hand whenever I use it.

It's a touching quirk of the house ... we'll charge extra for it when we sell the place.

Anyone can buy a house where all the doorknobs stay in place!

Why be like everyone else?

We mostly stay home these days.

If people want us they're welcome to come here but ... it's awful risky if we're expected to go somewhere else.

I believe the last place Sarah and I actually went together on the island was Dicky Trotter's boat where his cat attacked me but ... in his defense ... we came by unannounced.

It could have been "Whine and Cheese" at Johnny O and Judy O house. We like to go there though honestly we're not venturing out much.

But it's a big day ... the girls have other girls coming over to spend the night ... Sarah keeps threatening we'll walk them to the Pier for the free concert and then force me to stay for the fireworks.

I've been lots of places ... met lots of people ... done lots of things.

I like being home these days.

It's the nicest place I've ever been.

Happy FIrst Day!

Hey Dad!

Happy First Day of College Football Season!

You know what I mean ... GO DAWGS!

Technically the season started on Thursday and Sam drug Chelsea to Bobby Dodd Stadium and forced her to watch Georgia Tech slaughter some Junior High Team from some place called Alcorn.

But the first day of the season starts today at noon when the Beloved DAWGS of Georgia take on a High School team from Louisiana.

For as long as I can remember this is one of life's most special days.

You instilled in us.

Saturdays in the fall meant we went to Athens as a family or gathered in the living room and nothing else in the known Universe mattered for four hours.

We were together and ... win or lose ... God we love the Beloved DAWGS of Georgia ... and each other.

I was lucky enough to have a Dad like you who hung around long enough to pass it on to Jeremy, Kristen and Chelsea and ... oh the stories we can tell!

You'd be proud to know Maddie's become quite the fan too ... so even though you're no longer here physically ... you sure as Hell are in other ways.

I miss our phone calls the day before Kickoff when we'd analyze everything!

And I miss our Sunday talks when we analyzed everything again.

I love the fact that Angie still opens a beer and sets it beside your ashes in the chair you always sat in to watch the game.

Well ... I'm crying ... and it's one of our family's highest Holy days ... but I can't let it pass without thanking you for it.

And God Dammit I miss you.

So work some magic today from where you are and tip the ball our way once or twice.

Pour a little something in your coke that you snuck into Heaven just like you used to in Sanford Stadium.

I will too.

GO DAWGS!

Thanks Dad.

Maddie and ME

"God it is such a bitch to love you!"

I'm talking to Maddie, the 13 year old, who wants to go to Starbucks, which I don't care for and it's 15 minutes out of the way and I want to go home.

"Thanks," she replies without looking at me because she's texting ... which is what she always does.

Ten minutes later she's slurping a Frappe in one hand while continuing to text with the other as we fight over who owns the radio.

She likes CRAP!

I like music!

"There's not a live musician on that song," I exclaim as she makes me listen to "Worth It" ... a lame piece of lyric about a girl wanting to get laid.

"There is too," she replies while continuing to slurp and text.

When the excuse for a song mercifully ends, I hit the button and listen to the band "Stories" sing "Louie, Louie, Louie, Lou-I" blasts from the speakers.

"What is that about?" Maddie asks loudly drowning out the music with her slurps.

"Seriously?" I ask, almost driving into the Marsh. "For Christ's sake Mad it's about an interracial love affair in the middle of integration."

"What's integration?" she slurps while texting.

"Do you listen to the words of the songs you listen to?"

"Why?"

'Enough said," I sigh.

She hits the button as I turn onto Jones Avenue and am forced to endure the sounds of Nicki Minaj.

"What's this about"" I ask as she sings along no longer texting.

"I dunno," she answers.

Screeching into the driveway at 45 miles/hour I cut the radio off as quickly as humanely possible.

Maddie meanders inside leaving me to unload two weeks worth of groceries.

When I finish she's spread out on the sofa, texting and watching the Disney Channel which I hate almost as much as Nicki Minaj.

"Did I tell you it's bitch to love you?" I ask over the loudness of the canned laugh tracks.

"Yeah," she says without looking up ... "I love you too."

And I just melt.

Just A Matter of Time

I'm watching him die.

Every morning HOSPICE arrives and spends a few minutes giving him whatever infusion he requires to not feel any pain.

Around lunch time a volunteer from MEALS ON WHEELS rushes inside to leave a container of hot food which he may, or may not, eat.

Mid-afternoon our neighbor Ray shows up on his bicycle and stands in the yard taking inventory of the yellow house with the Banana Plants and a limp American Flag.

He then wanders inside for ten or fifteen minutes before coming out to again conduct the same inventory of the house before climbing on his bike to peddle home.

At dusk comes the Cat Lady screeches, "HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY!"

She's looking for Smoky ... his cat ... who eats at her house ... because she feeds cats.

The last time Scott and I talked, he looks like "The Great Lebowski" ... wearing boxer shorts ... a dirty open bath robe ... long hair askew falling into hallow eyes ... holding a cup in his hand ... searching for Smokey.

The way Scott searches is to walk into the Cat Lady's yard and whistles "Dixie" of all things.

I'm trolling our yard searching for our cat Gypsy who loves to escape and wander to the Cat Lady's house too.

He whistles "Dixie."

"Hey man," I say.

"Rev," he softly replies in an almost inaudible voice.

"You doing okay?"

Shrugging his shoulders he whistles "Dixie" and Smokey meanders to him.

Lovingly he bends over exposing dry pasty white skin and hugs Smoky.

"Be good Rev," he says and slowly shuffles his feet across the street, under the limp American flag, through the Banana Trees, inside his house to the bed room in the back.

"Yeah," I mumble ... "You too."

I haven't seen him since.

HOSPICE sees him ... the nice man from MEALS ON WHEELS sees him ... Ray does too every single day ... as does the Cat Lady when she's home.

It's just a matter of time.

I tell myself I should do something so I make my way to his place just as Ray glides in on his bicycle.

"What are you doing Micheal?"

"I was going to say 'Hey'."

Ray has a great smile ... full of understanding and sympathy.

"Yeah," he says climbing off his bike and dropping it on the grass, "I'll tell him for you."

"Yeah," I say ... understanding.

Returning home I stare out of the windows on a dearie rainy day and watch until Ray picks up his bike, takes a last inventory and peddles himself back home.

It's funny.

Ray doesn't believe in God.

Neither does the Cat Lady.

I have no idea if Scott does or not.

But I know Holiness when I see it.

I saw it today.

Beaten

It's another boring day in Seminary.

Everyone's praying and acting Holy, looking like they've never committed a sin or slept with their wives, dressed to the nines with perfect hair, carrying Scofield Reference Bibles with everything Jesus ever said written in red and saying "Bless you" when they pass me in the hall.

Replying with a different verb but the same pronoun, wearing jeans with holes in the knees, a UGA sweat shirt, hair to my shoulders and the "Revised Standard Version" of the Bible Dr. Delma Pressley ... A GREAT TEACHER! ... made me buy for four times it's real value in College ... I make my way to debate class.

It's early.

I'm sleepy.

I was out playing guitar in a bar last night.

Dr. J. J. Owens ... another truly great Professor ... is overseeing the class.

I'm uncertain why debating theology is required ... other than the fact it's a Southern Baptist Seminary  ... and Southern Baptists all believe they'll be the only ones in Heaven anyway.

I'll be honest ... I slept through the first part of the first debate.

I have no idea what they're debating.

The first guy ... with really nice hair and a three piece suit ... is really loud and keeps waking me up.

Resting my chin in both hands I watch ... trying to keep my eyes open.

The guy is prepared for the ministry and ripping the heart out of his opponent ... who's dressed remarkably like me ... jeans with holes in the knees ... a Grateful Dead tee-shirt ... AND ... BIRKENTOCKS!

I've never seen Birkenstocks before!

Are those the same sandals Jesus wore?

WWJW ... or What Would Jesus Wear?

The minister with the nice hair and suit ... hits his chest twice when he concludes ... kisses his fingers and points them at the ceiling ... like he just scores the winning touchdown in the Championship game.

"GLORY!" somebody says.

"Son," Dr. Owens nods to the Deadhead.

"Yeah man," he says, scratching the back of his head, letting the long hair fall before feeling his unshaven face ... "Thanks! I mean it! ... Thanks! That was great and you really taught me something!"

Nice hair in a suit doesn't know what to say so he says nothing.

"Seriously Dude," the theological Deadhead continues, "just like it says in the Bible ... Joshua 15:16 ... I've been beaten by the jawbone of an Ass ... and you're one great Ass!"

"That's not fair!" nice hair in a suit exclaims looking at Dr. Owens who is grinning.

"Sit down son," he says, "you're the one who's been beaten."

Working from Home with Girls

I work from home ...meaning I'm always looking for work at home.

If you're not a Salmon swimming upstream you're a dead fish.

I write, do marketing for small businesses, fundraising for good causes, consulting for others and give away too much stuff for free.

My wife works outside the house, has a traditional office, hours and the responsibilities of office politics.

I have none of that and my work environment is great when I'm alone.

When Sarah and our girls are home however ... it's another story.

"Can we go do a photo shoot in Park?" they ask as I work on fundraising for a Church in a Bar and none of the successful tricks from the past are working so I'm failing measurably.

"It's raining," I mumble hoping they go away.

"Exactly," they gleefully scream, grabbing me by the hand, pulling me away from the computer.

It's been raining for five days. Our yard is underwater ... the parks are underwater ... the roads are underwater ... and it's still raining.

"This is stupid," I announce.

"It's my idea," my wife replies with that smile.

"Let's go," I sigh.

So we do.

Driving to the park, the girls find the deepest water, grab some floats and proceed to have one Hell of a good time splashing, floating, laughing, taking lots of pictures and turning a really crappy day into something making me laugh.

This is why you work.

Returning home, drying off, the girls take showers that last forever, I resume the work but ... the fire's been redirected and I can't concentrate.

The girls pop popcorn, make milkshakes and turn on the Godforsaken crap that is the Disney Channel.

"What the Hell!" I mumble.

Leaving the work I meander in, grab a handful of popcorn, slide at their feet in the floor to watch the stupidest of television ... so I can invest in things with better returns.

Because in the end ... it's all about return on investment.

Is Seeing Believing?

One of the things I do ... actually I inherited after Bar Church fell in my lap ... or God placed it there ... or I was simply stupid enough to say "Yes" when they had no one else to turn to ... is playing music at the Oceanside Nursing Home every Thursday.

It's like everything ... sometimes magical ... sometimes mundane ... sometimes stealing my morning from things I'd rather be doing.

We've been remarkably consistent over the past year and haven't missed a single Thursday though the lineup changes weekly.

"HELLO KIDS!" I yell strolling in at the last minute with my guitar as Lona finishes the sound check and John patiently waits behind his drums.

"Check, Check, Check," Lona yells into the microphones to make certain everyone can hear.

Waiting in Wheelchairs, sleeping with chins drooling on their chests or clapping full of enthusiasm ... the vibe's always they same ... they're happy we're there ... they're happy anybody's there.

Over time it's gotten to where old ladies kiss me, old men shake my hand, the Administrator rolls his eyes and the Nursing staff are obviously glad for a reprieve.

We start with the music though I have a tendency to fly off on tangents which ... have become Holy moments of our time spent with the inmates.

"Hey," I ask in the middle of "Clouds" ... the Bar Church signature song ... after some fat Nurse pushing the Drug Cart in the middle of our performance makes them take medicine, "do y'all ever raid the drug cart at night?"

Our audience falls immediately silent ... then a couple laugh ... and one guy in a Wheelchair smiles and raises his hand.

I die laughing and Lona, John and I have to start the song over again.

Singing "Amazing Grace" I notice there's a padlock on the ice machine that wasn't there last week.

"Hey," I scream through all our troubles, toils and snares, "have y'all been breaking into the ice machine at night? Is that why it's got a new lock?"

Immediately falling silent ... they grin ... a couple laugh ... and the guy in the Wheelchair raises his hand.

A Nurse sticks her head in to see why everyone's laughing so when we sing "AMAZING GRACE, HOW SWEET THE SOUND" they do too ... and the Nurse smiles and leaves.

Playing the Nursing Home for Bar Church is a lot like being in High School again.

Sometimes special things happen.

An old woman with white hair grabs me as I'm hauling gear out after the show, breaks into tears as she repeatedly kisses my hand and cries, "Please come back."

"YOU DAMN RIGHT WE'RE COMING BACK!" I announce to everybody and ... for a moment anyway ... everyone is happy at the thought.

Or when Paul ... who hates everything that's happened to him in life ... being in a Nursing Home ... living in a Wheelchair with one leg ... rolls to me in the middle of Lona singing "Brand New Key" to hand me an envelope.

Lona and John continue as I kneel to open it and find a picture from the fields of "Woodstock."

"Seriously," I ask. "You were there?"

"I took the picture," he answers with a half assed grin reaching across his past to share in our present.

It's a nutty frustrating thing to do every week.

Nobody pays for it though it costs us plenty.

The Administrators act like they're doing us a favor letting us in to do something for the inmates they're paid to care for.

Occasionally a family member of an inmate sits, smiling glad he's getting what he's paying for ... which he's not paying for anything we're doing ... but he believes he is ... and seeing is believing.

In the past year, I've concluded it's as satisfying as it sucks!
_______________________

You can help the Bar Church ministry to the Oceanside Nursing Home by sending a tithe to Tybee Bar Church at P.O. Box 1511 Tybee Island, GA 31328 ... or online at www.gofundme.com/tybeebarchurch ... or by simply throwing something in the bucket on the Pool Table during service on Sunday.

Only So Much Life To Spend

Lately I've been thinking about rock stars who are still out there touring long after the flame's faded.

My illegitimate brother Mark Berry calls me several years ago from Las Vegas so I can listen to "Three Dog Night" sing live.

Only one of the dogs remain in the band.

The others left a long time ago but the one guy is still on the road giving it everything 's he's got to recapture a glory long gone.

There are some exceptions ... the biggest stars who always fill stadiums ... but for the vast majority ... their run at the top only lasts for a little while.

You read about their lifestyle and how most do themselves in with sex, drugs and rock and roll.

It makes me wonder about Keith Richards of the Rolling Stones.

His aunt once famously said, "I picture nuclear war with only two things surviving ... cockroaches and Keith."

You can only ask God ... "How?"

I've had several great runs at the top ... as a "Professional Christian" of all things at the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel ... as a C.E.O. of a diverse empire heretofore unmatched in the non-profit world ... as the author of ten books, one award winning.

These days I'm the Semi-Professional Christian guy running Bar Church ... no longer desirable in the corporate world ... and a writer who mostly writes for himself.

"I'm worried about you," Sarah says last night.

I understand her concerns.

I don't seem to be accomplishing much ... at least not when compared to things I've done before.

But I'm no longer willing ... perhaps I no longer have the drive ... or the ability ... to be everything for everyone.

You can only spend your life once and I don't have as much capital as I once did.

What I am doing is loving where I am right now in deeper ways than I've loved before ... cautious when others make demands ... having long talks with God ... and simply appreciating everything I have because ... unlike Keith Richards and cockroaches ... either it's not going to last or I'm not.

Chances are it'll be me.

So I'm awful slow right now ... enjoying ... or trying to anyway ... everything.

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.