The Hat Trick

As a kid sitting in the back seat as Dad pulls into the driveway of Robert Dicky's house off Highway 21 or South Coastal Highway depending on who you believe, a car full waits.

We're picking up David Dicky who's 7 or 8.

I'm a mature 12 or 13 sitting in the back seat beside my incredibly immature brother David who's 11 or 12.

Mom's in the front passenger seat holding our enfant and immature sister Angie who mostly cries demanding all attention be focused squarely on her.

It's a hot day and the windows are rolled down.

To keep us quiet Dad's changed the radio station to WSGA's Jerry Rogers and rock-n-roll, sacrificing his beloved country music, so David and I will shut up.

I'm trying to grow my hair over my ears which Dad absolutely hates so he and I are entering the struggling years.

When little David Dicky comes out to climb in the car with us, his father tells him, "I love you" and kisses him squarely on the lips.

Watching in the hot, airless car I'm appalled ... a father kissing his son on the lips is foreign to me.

Afterwards, I swear Mr. Dicky cries and David throws his arm around his Dad and ... in all my maturity ... I recognize love.

That was a long time ago.

I just finished talking to my 35 year old son who's now living in Huntsville, Alabama with his beautiful wife Terenca and wonderful daughters Ava and Nina.

Jeremy and I always enjoy each other ... and have been together through bad times too.

"I love you Son," I say with moist eyes as we hang up.

"I love you Dad," he rushes to say, "we'll text and talk over the weekend."

Hanging up, the long forgotten memory of Mr. Dicky kissing his son, and the ensuing battle to let him go ... comes back to me.

I know exactly how he felt.

I'm a blessed man.

My kids are doing okay and we're quick to say "I love you."

I have little girls who roll their eyes at me, rub my growing belly, ask me to take them to McDonalds or for advice and tell me they love me.

It reminds me of Mr. Dicky trying with everything in him to let his child go ... and it's a lot harder done than said.

But it's quite the miracle when ... in spite of time and distance ... you still feel it ... and say, "I love you " ... especially when the aftermath is a lingering happiness and appreciation ... and longing.

Sarah and I watched a great movie about a couple losing their children who're moving on to live their own lives.

That's the way life is.

But the Hat Trick is still loving each other once everyone's moved.

In my Dreams

They took me out of homelessn

ess but they didn't take the homelessness out of me.

After 30 years of living in, and off,  the worlds of poverty I needed to stop.

There was nothing left to give and, it wasn't the homeless and poor who took everything, but the politicians and pious who did.

Five years have passed and they still come to me ... in my dreams.

It's funny because throughout my life I've never had vivid dreams ... sleeping like a rock until I woke at 2:30 in the morning thinking about work and tossing and turning until it was time to go.

These days dreams come often and I welcome them.

They're strange ... bizarre and unexplainable ... faithful documentaries of things that actually happened with fictional twists ... erotic craziness ... or visits from Angels and Assholes long dead but alive as ever as I sleep.

At first I'm shocked at their "weirdness" but now treat them like crossword puzzles ... "What was that about?" I ask myself, rolling over and hugging Sarah.

Laying there, I spend half awake moments pondering, "Where did that come from?"

It's becoming a discipline ... and I try very hard to remember the dreams to consider in the morning light ... to ask "Why that?"

My friend Michael Ruffin often reports on Facebook ... "In last night's dream my Father visited me and we had a good time" ... or ... "My childhood friend and I were in the woods when my Good Wife showed up."

Michael takes dreams matter-of-factly whereas I ask, "What The Hell?"

"Indeed God speaks once or twice, yet no one notices. In a dream, a vision of the night, when sound sleep falls on people, while they slumber in their beds, then he opens their ears and seals their instruction …" says the prophet Isaiah in the Bible.

They didn't teach any of this at the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary where I paid damn good money to learn such things.

It pisses me off.

I'm having to learn to listen in a whole new way.

And am finding it most fascinating ... compelling ... as interesting as anything I've done ... and am learning lots about myself.

Though I do confess ... Thank God ... Sarah slumbers there beside me ... letting me throw my arms this way and that ... snore or talk ... and whatever it is I do in the night.

It suddenly strikes ... she's the reason I'm finally talking to my dreams ... or made it contextually real that I'm in a place to hear them ... and converse with them ... which may very well be ... dialoguing with God.

Unteachable Moments

I'm babysitting today.

It's because the Savannah-Chatham School System know it's best for the children to follow a 3 day holiday weekend with another ... because the teachers need a work day.

The kids have the day off ... again ... this Monday.

A Teacher's Work Day means they go to work without students ...


Am I wrong or is it the job of teachers to TEACH!

I'm pretty convinced this is an Administrative decision having little to do with teaching because teachers went into the profession to TEACH!

Public School Administrators who created teacher work days went into the business to ... ADMINISTRATE!

This means they establish schedules ...

make trainings mandatory to remind teachers that "Super Hero" costumes like Wonder Woman are not tolerated because they incite violence (seriously this is a policy in our School System) ...

remind teachers that because of budget constraints there's not enough pencils, glue, paper, chalk, erasers, overtime pay or mileage reimbursement because ... WE HAVE PAY TO FOR PUBLIC SCHOOL ADMINISTRATORS!

According to said Administrators WHO DON'T TEACH ... Teacher Days are necessary so Teachers can grade papers, prepare report cards, prepare lesson plans and ... talk with one another about which students are bad or good ... and which ones to stay the Hell away from.

Certainly other important topics are covered like ... "How to look for a gun while your back is turned to the students?" ...

"Effective retorts to student questions regarding your sexual orientation, practices and if you're available for extra-curricular activities?" ...

"Effective tax loops for deductions for your own money spent to purchase pencils, glue, paper, chalk, erasers, overtime pay or mileage" ...

I'll tell you what I think ... not that you asked ... but I'll tell you why in a second.

I think the Public School Administration is now just another form of Government ... no different from Congress, the State Legislatures, County Commissions, City Councils and Police forces throughout the United States.

We believe in Government more than anything else so we keep growing it.

Doesn't matter if you love Regan or Obama ... Government grew equally under both.

God knows that's where the money is so why wouldn't the Savannah Chatham School System follow demonstrative success?

In the meantime, this is what our girls are doing on a day full of teachable moments ... yep ... sleeping.

Finding Funny

Lately I've become increasingly concerned people don't like to be funny anymore.

It's too politically incorrect!

It's against the Law to be too funny.

The religious community is against funny!

So I decided to do some research on where to find funny these days.

Starting with myself, I Google "Funny Micheal Elliott"  and am delighted to find yesterday's Blog pops up first in the search engine.

That's a good start because it means that I, at least, am still funny.

Next I Google "Funny Sarah Elliott" and ... I'm not making this up "Funny Blond Jokes" pops up first.

My wife is not blond but I die laughing so she falls into the funny category too.

It's Sunday so I Google "Funniest Churches in America" and am very disappointed to learn there are none.

The first thing popping up in the search engine is "2013's Top Churches to watch in America" ... not only are Churches not funny ... they're not current either.

Deciding to check out where we live I Google "Funniest things on Tybee Island" and the disappointment continues as "10 Things to do on Tybee" written by www.tybeeisland.com pops up.

It's either a Chamber of Commerce piece or from the Tybee Tourism Council ... neither of which has ever been accused of being funny.

"Funniest things about the Tybee Island Police Department" is my next search and I'm initially hopeful because the background page is a 1930s photograph of a policeman measuring how long the bathing suit is on a woman and I smirk a little ... there's hope!

Scrolling down hope is lost.

 They basically promote themselves as fun loving people ... when they're not making arrests ... I conclude they're perpetrating a fault.

I think John O'Neill is my funniest friend so I search "Funniest things about John O'Neill" ... he doesn't even pop up on the search engine.

Now I'm completely convinced I'm sadly right ... people aren't as funny anymore.

If you don't believe me ... Google it.

Start with yourself.

Quirky Issues

I was asked to set up a meeting between two men who'd never met but are interested in the same thing ... politics.

Having served my political time ... a 30 year sentence ... I care little for the topic but like the guys ... so on a lovely hot summer afternoon ... we have beers under an umbrella ... on a deck surrounded by oak trees and the aroma of Pizza mixed with salt air.

We rarely go to Huck-A-Poos ... at a mile and a half from where we live ... it's too far ... nevertheless here I sit with two friends who passionately care about something I care less about.

"The island's losing it's quirkiness," one says.

I nod.

"I find it humorous," the other later replies, "he says there's a decline in odd individuals, quirky Tybee, when he was meeting with me, a poet who left a good manufacturing job for politics and song.  And you, a minister choosing poverty and a beautiful family.  We sat in the sun, in the afternoon, draft beer, and we are losing quirky?"

I nod.

Is the present as quirky as the past?

That's the question!

Rather than pursue this fascinating topic, they talk politics.

I yawn and order another one.

They're both right on the quirky issue.

There's some great stuff in the past ... outrageous and righteous things that we'd be arrested for now ... so they've become stories to tell ... and things that'll never be done again ... because they're no longer allowed.

Yet here we sit in a funny place ... at a funny time ... casually dressed (meaning barely) ... drinking beers ... envisioning what the future of the island should be ... or recapture what it was.

Having my own quirky issues, I leave it to them.

I am the lone man in a home full of girls ... and a gay dog.

They'll all have their periods at the same time and I'm left to cope!

That's as quirky as it gets!

Top that boys!

Though I have to admit ... the quirkiness of the present far eclipses that of the past.

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.