Downsizing Life

I think the longer you live the lonelier you get.

Not lonely in the sense of depression or destitute of companionship ... but in the gradual elimination of clutter in your life and the slow process of being comfortable with yourself.

It's not to say I'm antisocial, enjoy the company of others or being the focus of everyone's attention because I do relish and delight in these things.

It is to say I don't need as much to be happy anymore.

Don't get me wrong, I wish I had more money, a house on an island that never gets cold and my football team always win ... but I don't need them to be happy.

What I do need these days is the love of my wife, the joy of our home, the conviction I'm making a positive difference, a few good friends, and venues to give my talents to those who need them.

I know the things I enjoy ... the ocean, the smell of the Marsh, sunny skies and warm weather, good music, fun times, the pride of the kids accomplishments, the girls laughter, and when Sarah and I share the magic only she can give.

And I know the things that only bring me frustration ... meaningless crowds, grandstanding of any kind, arrogant people, divisiveness and those who take more than they give.

The longer I live the more I seem to be downsizing.

Honestly I find it enjoyable because there's not as much to keep up with leaving me to focus on the more important things in life.

I'm glad I've done the things I've done in life ... been to the places I've been, met the people I've met and have lots of stories to tell about the good and the bad of my life.

But I'm more into doing my best to celebrate and enjoy now and only dredge up the past if it's useful to the present.

It's a dreary, damp, chilly, rainy day ...the kind I don't like but I find myself happily anticipating the joy of the girls coming home tonight ... our family visiting this week ... cleaning the stairs ... and the surprise combined with horror on Sarah's face when she finds I've made  frozen Lasagna for dinner!

Life just doesn't get any better than that! 

One thing to do today

It's a drop dead gorgeous summer's day in early November.

No ocean breeze, the warm salt air sticks to my brown skin as I stare at the deep lush green foliage and the purple, yellow and red blooms bursting from flower pots or in the back yard.

Black berries fall from the Palm Trees, Squirrels dart on the wooden fence tops and choirs of birds sing in praise.

The pungent aroma of sex in the tropics wafts from the low tides of the Marsh.

After days of grey skies the sun blazes while colored leafs slowly fall from trees.

Bare feet rest on the railing of the Beloved Back Deck as I sip Pellegrino laced with multiple limes.

It's a perfect day to watch football outside, throw something on the grill for dinner,  much on boiled peanuts as it cooks and get the blender out for Margaritas.

For the first time in forever, there are no plans for today.

Sarah has nowhere to be. Two girls are away for the weekend and the teenager is locked in her room like every other teenager at home ... until she comes up with a far fetched plan to screw up the weekend ... which we'll take under consideration and get back to her later.

In the meantime, it's just a day to enjoy.

That's the plan.

There is no other plan.

Unfiltered Love

Holding my guitar I wait to be let into the Nursing Home watching several heads stick out of the office before a huge Orderly I've never seen strolls menacingly towards the door.

Buzzing me in, he blocks my path saying, "Can I have a moment?"

"Sure," I answer, readjusting the things I'm lugging inside for our weekly concert.

"Hmm," he begins looking pass me, not in the eye, "There are auditors and supervisors here and ... umm ... we'd like for you to ... er ... filter the show."

I burst out laughing and he keeps looking pass me.

"You mean you don't want me to cuss?"

"Yes," he quickly says. "For today can you just filter it?"

"Sure," I agree heading into the Dining Room where they wait.

As a representative of Bar Church, I don't cuss a lot at the Nursing Home but there is a song we do with the line "Kiss My Ass" in it and the inmates love it!

"Y'all ready to break out of this dump?" I ask. "You ready Captain?" I say to the old sailor who smirks in response then we break into song.

"If I had a boat, I'd go out on the ocean ..."

It's a wish every single person in the audience share. They hate being there. They don't care for their caregivers. So I call them "inmates" and they appreciate the honesty.

And when we sing the song, they sing ... and when the line comes around , they giggle and smirk and direct the words to the people who keep them locked inside.

A group of us perform several songs and there's a great energy in the room. The inmates are genuinely happy we're there while numerous Nurses and Administrators hover nearby to see if we're "filtering."

We start the song and sing it as it should be. The inmates are happy and ready for their favorite part which starts, "But Tonto he was smarter and one day said, 'Kemo Sabee' kiss ..."

I stop singing at that moment to explain we're being filtered.

"We're doing the single version today with the line beeped out. You can get the word on the album version. Anyway, I think Tonto just wanted to give him a kiss or something ... What do y'all think?"

They laugh, calling out suggestions on things to be kissed when an old lady in her wheelchair in the back mutters, "Kiss my ass!"

Immediately we break into the chorus and everyone sings along ... except the Nurses, Auditors and the Administrators who are writing things down.

Monty Parks who's playing with us decides it's a great time to do one last song and get away as quickly as possible.

We break into old Gospel songs and the inmates sing, clap, shake shakers and beat tambourines.

"Alright," I say at the end. "We'll see you next week! Y'all be good, follow the rules and do everything they tell you."

The inmates stare in stony silence.

"JUST KIDDING!" I laugh. "Break the rules! Have a good time!"

And the joy of the past hour quickly evaporates as a weary dreariness fills the room. The television is turned on and "Wheel of Fortune" blares.

"Are you coming back?" they ask in desperation, holding onto us.

"Next week," we assure.

Afterwards I'm exhausted and want a drink. It takes a lot out of you to give so much.

Because there is absolutely filtered about the love we share with the inmates.

A Magic Moment

It's common that the longer you live somewhere the more you take it for granted.

I've always appreciated Savannah and living on Tybee but too often don't enjoy it the way I should. Life gets in the way. Worries preoccupy my thoughts and I miss the joyful and the beauty surrounding me.

But moments sometimes occur when the magic of the moments take over and the happiness of simply living fills who I am.

Last night was one of those moments.

Sarah and I made our downtown, found a primo parking spot literally across the street from our destination and set out on a warm evening.

We were early so made out way to "The Rail" and meet friends for drinks! More friends arrive and some combination of a homecoming and a party broke.

Everyone seemed truly happy for this particular collection of people to randomly come together.

It was joyous as we laugh, drink and share stories.

As a group, we walk to "The Ships of the Sea" museum and it's wonderful outdoor amphitheater to hear the "Paul Thorn Band" perform a free concert!

We find seats in a window sill and enjoy the witty stories and really great music.

Afterwards, Sarah and I hold hands as we return to the car and the drive to the island.

It's a happy drive because we're happy ... in love ... basking in the glow of a good time with friends ... the gift of tremendous entertainment for the price of a short drive.

Too often I don't appreciate ... really enjoy ... what I've been given but that's not today.

I'm very thankful and want to acknowledge it and pray with everything in me that we make it the way we always live.   

Look Who's Still Here!

"No matter who you vote for, the Government always gets in," meaning nothing changes.

Well intentioned good people run for office with a passion to change things, make things better, friendlier ... fix what's broken ... make right what's wrong.

They get elected and nothing changes.

Government is bigger than any one individual.

I've seen it a thousand times. I have a friend who was so angry at the way the Police Department treated people he ran for office to fix it. He won and the Police are more arrogantly intrusive now than ever before.

It's not his fault.

Only fools equate change with getting elected.

The good news is elections are free ... it's in the results where we eventually pay.

Sure little things happen. Small nudges to the left or right. For the most part everything remains the same ... except for one thing.

Government continues to grow, feasting on everyone who votes, cannibalizing each elected soul and only associating with other Governments who they secretly desire to steal and make it part of itself.

Government is bloated, self-righteous, uncaring in spite of the well intentioned good people who make it up.

Institutions exist to perpetuate themselves ... be they business, Churches, Societies, Clubs or Government.

These days, businesses consolidate ... Churches are diminishing ... Societies shrink ... and Clubs keep to themselves.

Only Government continues to grow.

Regardless of Republicans or Democrats the untarnished growth continues.

1984 came and went but "Big Brother" remains and is doing quite well.

It's a shame it's at our expense.

The News According to ME

In today's News ...

It's Election Day and the expected results of today's vote is ... NOTHING. Probably everybody who's already elected will stay in office and it'll be the same ol' same ol'! The campaigns were funnier this year than in previous ones because there's so much depth in the incompetence pool for candidates. But you can expect mostly more of the same.

In local News I cut the tip of my middle finger cooking Beef Stew last night and there is a great deal of hopeful expectation I won't play the guitar at tonight's Jam at Doc's Bar. Asking myself for a quote in response to the desires of masses, I said, "What? We don't listen to each other anyway because everybody's already planning what they're going play later at Social."

Monty Parks, the Jam's organizer could not be reached for comment.

Taking a look at the Weather ... it sucks! At least it's warm but it's raining, damp and depressing. Perfect for Election Day!

Back to the News ...

In an effort to reduce violent crime the Savannah/Chatham Metro Police Force raided several gun shops finding multiple weapons. "We don't know if there's a coloration or not," Chief Lumpkin explained, "I have to ask the City Manager."

In other Police news, Chef Lumpkin explained that the regularly scheduled murder on E. Gwinnett Street occurred on time and "the victim was alive hours before he died."

Famous and over zealous Attorney Jamie Casino accidently sued himself yesterday. "I can't guarantee how much I'm going to get yet but it should be six figures or enough to pay for this year's Super Bowl Commercial." 

Savannah Mayor Edna Jackson met with a group of homeless people living under the Truman Parkway and strongly encouraged them to go home. In response those living outside looked at each other in bewilderment. City Spokesperson Brett Bell explained he had no idea what Mayor Jackson means.

Taking a look at Traffic, Meteorologist Pat Prokof reports, "The slow downs on Highway 21 and Interstate 16 continue to accelerate ... and Bay Street is at a stand still because a condom truck tipped losing it's load."

Turning to Sports, Tiger Woods continues to drop his balls in the wrong holes ... Tom Brady says his balls are perfect.

And that's today's News!

We hope you survived it!

The Battle Overhead

The sun is putting up a gallant fight with the Army of clouds trying to cover the day with a wet darkness. A battalion of dark grey and purple clouds occupy the sky when suddenly the sun blazes through sending them in retreat where they plan another attack.

Left overs from last night's rain drips heavily from the lush green foliage on the trees.

Birds sing in praise or defiance of the battle in the sky, squirrels dash through the yard carrying nuts to store for the coming occupation and yellow leaves slowly commit suicide.

While the majestic dance of nature is taking place, a blond woman walks her dog apparently unaware of the war surrounding her.

A bicycle carries our neighbor coasts to a stop in front of the yellow house across the street where Scott is dying. Ray stops by every day to check on things and seems to be on a mission darting quickly inside.

Goddess snores on the floor. Winston slumbers on the back of the sofa. Gypsy sits in the window sill watching the woman walk her dog.

Covering the fire pit on the Beloved Back Deck, I clean up the remnants from last night's roasting of S'mores in honor of Cassidy's birthday on a warm black night.

Cass was full from the huge dinner Sarah had cooked and stopped after one, while her sisters ate like only kids with incredible metabolism can and I even joined in for one.

A soft rain begins to fall and the girls rush inside to protect their electronics and Sarah and I are left alone for a moment.

Sitting before the fire, baptized in warm soft rain under a bright moon, words aren't necessary. We share the silence of the moment.

The rain intensifies and we join the girls inside.

Thick white smoke rises from the now smoldering fire wafting through the open windows inside with us.

It was a nice night.

Now Sarah's at work, the girls at school and I'm left alone to witness the battle in Heaven pulling for the Sun with everything inside.

"It's a good place to be," I say out loud, waking Goddess, perturbing Winston as Gypsy jumps from the window to walk under my dangling bare feet.

While the battle rages overhead, I count my blessings.  

Ghost

Finding ourselves without any of the girls on Halloween neither Sarah or I had the foggiest notion of what to do, how to act or where to go.

It simply never happens that at least one of the girls isn't with us or one of us isn't driving somewhere to drop children off or pick them up!

It's completely foreign to have an afternoon, evening night and morning completely to ourselves!

We end up doing things we keep meaning to do but never seem to get around to.

Picking up our friends Tim and Jess we leave the islands and head to downtown Savannah where we're utterly surprised at the Mardis Gras taking place! Everyone in City Market and the surrounding area are dressed in elaborate costumes of friendly people and the celebration is on!

Grabbing drinks and dinner in a Pup full of aliens, cartoon characters and Nurses obviously employed at a SEX Clinic we eat, talk and people watch.

Afterwards we stroll through moss draped cobblestone streets on a warm summery night to the Sorrell-Weed House, site of three suicides and numerous soldiers killed during the Battle of Savannah.

Yep, we're looking for ghosts.

The Sorrell-Weed house is one of the city's many mansions and this one is as magnificent as it is scary.

Making our way through Sarah and Jess ask, "Are you there?" while looking at their hand held energy mapping tools and sure enough ... the presence of ghosts register.

I don't know if you believe in ghost or not but it's certainly worth checking out because this is one of the funniest evenings we've in Savannah!

Making our way back to the island, a billion stars blaze in a black sky on a still night. Salt hangs in the air and the lights from the other islands and distant cars on the causeway give the appearance of stars on the water.

Tybee is quiet and feels desolate as we make our way home where we close out Halloween falling asleep in each other's arms.

Now the question is ... what do we do with the girls next year?

I'll Fly away

"If you had a wish ... what would it be?"

I point at one of the inmates who offers a lopsided grin from her wheelchair before saying, "Away from here."

"What about you Jim?" I ask the old man in his wheelchair.

"To not be here!" he forcefully replies.

"You?" I point at an old woman sitting in a chair.

"To be with my family," she sighs. "Not here."

To the person, each and every member of the audience wishes to be somewhere besides the Nursing Home we play music at as a ministry of Bar Church.

We break into "I'll Fly Away" and they wistfully clap, shake tambourines and sing along ... wishing they could.

Lona, another member of the band, breaks into several happier songs, trying to bring everyone up and make them feel better.

My songs center around sailing away or telling the staff to kiss off ... "The mystery masked man was smart, he got himself a Tonto cause Tonto's do the dirty work for free ... but Tonto he was smarter, and one day said Ke-mo Sabee, kiss my ass I bought a boat and I'm going out to Sea!"

The inmates love it and laugh as they sing the line.

"Hey," I proclaim as we near the end, "I got a call from a company wanting to sponsor us here. They'll pay for stuff and maybe help with a Christmas party or something."

They appear delighted and clap.

"It's a Hospice," I tell them.

"We don't want 'em," they yell which makes me laugh.

We finish up the show singing "Knocking on Heaven's Door" and they are ... but I'm convinced they really want to be.

Wishing I had a Wish

Sitting here on a nice warm day, the windows are open, the sun shines brightly, there is no breeze and it's as pleasant a morning as you can get on Tybee Island.

Music and News streams from St. Martin on my laptop so I don't have to listen to American Politics being discussed.

I'm in a funk for several reasons.

The time changes this weekend and there is no joy in darkness at 5 in the afternoon and impending cold weather which I hate with everything in me.

All three girls have off island activities throughout the weekend so like parents of kids on Tybee we'll spend most of our time in the car leaving the pseudo-family friendly Tybee.

I'm disgusted by the elections, watch the News in Savannah in absolute disbelief at the political incompetence and the tolerance of murder on the streets.

I'm sick of racism ... it's glorification in today's popular music ... the emerging melding with violence ... and intolerance as a way of life.

Sigh ...

If I had one wish it'd be to leave all this for an island in the smaller latitudes so Sarah and I'd raise the girls there and the kids would have a permanent vacation destination.

It's not a reality at this point in my life so I'm left wishing.

I wish I had a wish.

That's how far away I am.

It's not all bad. We have lots of good times, do many cool things and, while like everyone else we want more than we have, we don't go without.

A friend wrote yesterday saying he's worried about my sadness and it's true that, like everyone, I have my share.

Unlike many though, I embrace it when it comes and, more often than not, we end up in a joyous dance.

That's what I'm doing today.

And it's a good and healthy thing to do.

$1000 a plate for runny eggs

I'm staring at a plate of $1000 eggs.

They are runny.

The bacon isn't crispy ... it's barely cooked.

The toast looks done but it's cold.

The butter's pretty warm though.

Diced potatoes, onions and green peppers round out this ostentatious meal.

It's being served in one of Washington D.C.'s finest restaurant, which doesn't actually open to the pubic until 11 but we're sitting in a oak paneled private dinning room with lots of mirrors.

The waiters wear starched white shirts, black trousers and vests and red bow ties.

There are 25 of us seated at a long oak table, dressed in coats and ties, having paid $1000 each for the privilege of a "private" breakfast with a Senator.

I'm present because Hurt, Norton & Associates, a powerful lobbying group, is hosting the meal and are nice enough to take me on as a charity case. Everyone else ... bankers, energy companies, manufactures and such ... paid their own way.

It's not my first "private" meal with an elected official but I've never seen a $1000 bucks for runny eggs before.

Of course it's not the meal people pay for ... it's the opportunity to get Senator Isakson to do something for us because we're doing something for him ... contributing to his reelection.

Since he knows I didn't pay, he spends a lot of time talking about the good work we do. So much so, there's little time left for the paying customers to ask him to do this or that for them.

I thought that was pretty brilliant!

Though they'll all make appointments to see him in his office and some aid will remind him of their presence at the breakfast.

It's just how it works.

A few weeks later, Senator Isakson made his way to Savannah, tours our work and holds a press conference proclaiming his enthusiastic endorsement. It got lots of play across the State helping him appear a compassionate and down to earth, hard working champion of the poor.

We never received any of the money we were him asking for ... we were pretty broke ... too much demand and not enough supply ... so we found another way.

The last weeks before local elections remind me of breakfast with the Senator. Incumbents are desperate to hold on to what they have. Challengers are determined to take a seat at the table. Behind-the-scenes Kingmakers orchestrate indentures.

I still vote.

There are people running I'd really like to believe in.

But in all honesty, my hearts just not in it anymore.

Government does not equal Fun

The entire time I worked in Savannah, commuting the 20 minute drive from Tybee, I never recall High Tides preventing me from getting on or off the island.

Sure there were times salt water covered part or all of the road but it was never officially closed as a public safety issue.

If people wanted to go to work or get home they merely drive through it.

Those not wishing to work or go home call in explaining the road's impassable and stay in bed, go to a bar or continue sleeping with whoever they're sleeping with.

It's no longer a matter of personal choice.

Now we receive text messages and automated phone calls from local Government informing us the tide is high, Police block the road leading on and off the island, Emergency Medical Transport is on standby, Helicopters fly overhead taking photographs posting them on the Internet and the entire island is placed on "Lock down."

As a kid I fondly recall when the High Tide slams into the Sea Wall on the South end of the beach and waves of salt water splash high into the air and over the parking lot. Kids run though each passing wave that slams into the parking lot. Teenagers drove their cars under the splashing waves laughing and showing off for one another. Crowds of locals and vacationers collect to watch and laugh.

A few naysayers say, "That salt water's gonna ruin that paint job."

Otherwise a good time is had by all.

There were no Police, Ambulances, Media frenzy and if a fool kids wants to drive his car under a wave of salt wave splashing into the parking lot it's his own damn business.

Now we're a protected society functioning under the assumption that Government knows best! The vast majority are forced to comply with rules to protect the few who aren't capable of crossing the street without a flashing sign telling them when it's safe to walk and when it's not.

It's exacerbated of course by those who shoot guns in public places or drive cars into crowds during parades.

Today the Tybee Road is impassable and I'm not suggesting people go plowing through the High Tides just because they can.

I'm just remembering a simpler, more enjoyable island where kids play on Monkey Bars, Skateboard down the middle of Butler Avenue, jump off balconies into Hotel swimming pools and jump off Ft. Screven into the Sand Dunes ... when adults toss water balloons in the Beach Bum Parade, skinny dip in the Ocean and have hot dog roasts of the Beach.

These things are prohibited now because they're matters of Public Safety ... and ever encroaching Government which is always justifying it's growth and power.

It's a shame.

Then again, no one's ever confused Government with having fun.

Listening to the Wind

"Hey God! You there?"

A gust of chilly wind blows through the Palm Trees outside the open windows.

"Fine!" I snap, "You're here! No reason to blow cold!"

The wind subsides and the Palm Trees stand at attention.

"Thank you," I sarcastically say.

A puff of wind blows out one of the candles lit on the table.

"Jesus Christ," I mutter, relighting the wick, reminding me being in the Auschwitz and found two candles under a Jewish Prayer stone on a cold winter day. One was lit ... the other wasn't. The only people in the entire Concentration Camp was Bill Berry (not the former drummer for REM but the other one) and he was nowhere around. I took the lit candle and shared its flame with the other ... and at that moment a cold wind blue out the first while the second blazed.

It was a pretty Holy moment in my life.

"What did you bring that up for?" I ask God. "I wanted to ask you something else."

The house is deadly silent.  The dogs and cat are asleep. The sun is covered with a blanket of clouds so it's muted and subdued. Outside the wind picks up again and large Banana leafs dance wildly.

"I wish you're talk out loud a little more," I complain taking my seat again at the table.

The wind dies again.

"Aren't you funny?" I say taking a sip of my drink.

All remains calm though all is certainly bright.

"Listen," I press, "why does everything have to be so hard? We're busting our asses here trying to make things work, in no small part for you, but Holy Mother of God, we just seem to fall further behind."

The response is as loud as the Pork Chops I have thawing on the kitchen counter.

"Hmmm," I sigh.

A bird chirps outside.

"That's it?" I laugh.

Then I spy my neighbor Al stop his bicycle for his daily visit to our neighbor Scott who is dying. Hospice is a regular visitor as is "Meals on Wheels" but every morning Al checks on Scott, staying for 10 minutes or so.

What's funny is Al's an Atheist.

"Wait!" I suddenly snap back to God. "What are you saying? Just keep on keeping on?"

The wind blows ... the Palm Trees and Banana leafs wildly dance ... as do the flames on the candles.

Great Defining Quotes of my Life!

"Hell is portable. You take it with you wherever you go" (Dr. Guy Sayles).

We were in College and it was cold. I was ready to move to Florida and get away from grey skies, cold wind and the necessity for layers of clothing when Guy looks at me and utters these words. It's such truth, I've never forgotten them and use them often. Guy went on to become America's greatest Pastor and I'm still wanting to move much further south.
_________________

"Everybody's a whore. The question is who is your Pimp?" (Dr. Larkin Rossiter).

"If your Pimp's not Jesus, then you're in trouble," Larkin goes on to say. He's preaching at the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel where I'm employed as the "Professional Christian" and regularly take advantage of the large number of Seminary students who attend. Larkin is preaching away when he utters these words.  The five little old ladies in the Church are aghast but everyone else thinks it's hilarious! And it's true, every one's a whore for something.
________________

Professor Kingsfield: "Mr. Hart, here is a dime. Take it, call your mother, and tell her there is serious doubt about you ever becoming a lawyer."

James T. Hart: [pause, as he is leaving the room] "You... are a son of a bitch, Kingfield!

Professor Kingsfield: "Mr. Hart! That is the most intelligent thing you've said today. You may take your seat."

It's from the movie "The Paper Chase" which had a profound impact on my view of academic institutions and learning to tell good teachers from bad teachers. By the time I got to Seminary, I figured it was best to start each class by calling the Professor a son of a bitch! If I was allowed to remain in my seat I learned a lot. If I was kicked out, it was probably wasn't worth learning.
_______________

"No matter where you go, there you are" (Buckaroo Banzai).

It doesn't get much truer that! Regardless of wherever I went, I found myself there. Still do.
_______________

"You weren't ready for me then" (Sarah Elliott).

Describing why it us so long to fall in love, marry and live this wonderful life. We've known each other a long time but were married to different people then. Now that things are so good I often wish we would have started sooner. My wife then explains why it didn't happen that way.
_______________

"And in the end, the love you make is equal to the love you make" (The Beatles).

It's so profound and simple. I think it's so true too and it's how I try to live. You should too.

You can quote me.

The Magic of Marcie

I'm pressure washing the house and am mystified by the immediate cleansing of grey Stucco walls suddenly becoming white again, green mildew magically evaporating from wooden beams and Aluminum Siding and oil and grime flush from concrete.

If only it were this easy in life.

The longer we live the more tarnished our lives seem to become.

Hurts inflicted on us, disappointments of wishes that never came true, lies we foolishly believed, love that really wasn't, betrayals from those we believed in and the sad realization we're not capable of everything we thought we were ... are things that each of us share in life.

They leave us different ... sadder, cynical, grieving, disappointed, less hopeful and more doubtful.

Such is the grime of life each of us share and wear.

Last night we were at the celebration of the new life of Marcie, a bright and happy baby who is as pure as each of us once were.

It's funny ... as each of us took turns holding Marcie, something of the child we once were suddenly springs to life!

We speak "Baby-talk", make funny faces and noises, recapturing who we really are underneath the grime we've become so accustomed to wearing ... to being.

As I watch the magic of Marcie cut through the grime like a pressure washer, I see my friends as they really are and not who we pretend to be.

For a little while anyway, a little baby enables a group of crusty adults to become children again.

We're who we were before the hurts, disappointments, lies, unrealized love, betrayals ... when we still believed everything is possible if we just believe.

It makes me wish in every meeting of Congress, Corporate Board room and political function, everyone's given a baby to hold as business is conducted.

The cynical grime and greed might be washed away and we could be ourselves as we were really meant to be as we make the important decisions in life.

I know it'll never happen but celebrating Marcie last night left me believing Babies are born to remind us of what each of us are capable of being ... again.

The Story I Can't Find

There's a story I want to tell at Bar Church this week so I went looking for it.

We don't preach at Bar Church. There's far too much preaching in the world already! Do this ... don't do that ... most preaching today is a bad sign. So we stay away from it. We do tell stories though and I have a particular one in mind for this Sunday.

Confidently I stroll to the book shelve and retrieve a book full of stories I'd written over two decades ago. Flipping through it, the story isn't there!

Lots of other stories are ... people, places and experiences I've completely forgotten so I linger reintroducing myself to episodes once significant enough for me to include in a book.

But the story I want isn't there.

I grab the book after that one and flip through it, repeating the experience, reintroducing myself to people and things long forgotten and not finding the story I'm want.

Perplexed, I stare out of the window, recalling writing the story ... "At 5:30 on a Sunday afternoon, after being away all weekend, the phone won't stop ringing when all I want to do is rest, so I angrily answer," is how it starts.

I remember writing that.

"It must have been for a Newsletter," I tell myself. For two and a half decades, I wrote stories each month for Union Mission's Newsletter to raise money. A return envelope was included in the 8 page epistle and several thousand dollars came back to us inside.

I kept every Newsletter we ever published in black notebooks but I lost them in the divorce so Union Mission still has a boatload of MY STORIES.

Strolling to the Beloved Back deck to bask in the sunshine I fight to recall what's next.

"Rev. Elliott, Mr. Von Schramm has died and you need to make arrangements for the body," someone explains when I answer the phone.

"Who's Mr. Von Schramm?" I ask.

"You should know," a Hospital Social Worker says, "he's listed you as next of kin."

"I don't know anybody named Von Schramm," I snap and much to her dismay hang up.

Then in the middle of the night, perhaps because of a dream, I wake and sit up bolt right in bed and remember ...

That's how the story I can't find begins.

"Well," I say to myself, "I'm just going to have to conjure the rest back to life."

And I make myself remember.

It's funny. I've got boatloads of stories written in books and blogs but the one I want is a lost one, likely sitting in a dusty notebook I no longer own, if it hasn't been thrown out with the rest of the past.

I don't know why it popped into my head, thinking about Bar Church and how it's a good story, one that may be useful to others, had obviously been helpful to me and refuses to die ... even if I can't find it.

It brings itself back to life, appearing out of nowhere, demanding to be told ... to raise Mr. Von Schramm from the dead and now very much part of me again.

I'm not sure why yet.

Maybe I'll find out at Bar Church this week.

Can we do it again?

Rushing through the Publix parking lot early in the morning Carlos climbs out of his car, looks my way, begins his stride toward the market and snaps his head back towards me.

"Micheal!" he exclaims changing direction flashing a blazing white smile on a perfect black face.

We embrace.

We worked together for years. He started with me but when the Homeless Authority was created we encouraged him to apply as a case manager. He was hired and been an excellent addition to this community ever since.

"When you coming back?" he asks in his self demeaning manner, sly smile as his glance goes towards our shoes.

"To what?" I laugh.

"You know ...," he fumbles in an "Awe Shucks" sort of way, "you know ... um ... to our work ... there was nobody like you ... we don't have that any more."

I can't think of anything to say.

His wide brown eyes steal at glance and he seems embarrassed.

"You look great!" I tell him. "You look happy."

"Oh yeah," he smiles. "I am."

"Good," I say hugging him again. "Me too."

I climb in the car, start the engine, back out of the space and in the rear view mirror I see Carlos standing at the door of the Supermarket staring at me wistfully.

Those were good times. Incredibly productive times. We were comrades taking on the evils of the world and winning. Satan himself couldn't figure it out as people overcame the ills of society by finding themselves. The whole world took notice.

Like most things it ended abruptly and while many stayed in place, I left in large part because I wasn't wanted anymore.

But I've moved on, found new happiness, growing in areas I'd sacrificed then, overcoming the psychological wounds either self inflicted or otherwise, learning to appreciate then while relishing now.

Carlos is still staring as I turn out of sight.

At first, I wonder if I'm missed. Do people still care about the things we did? It doesn't seem so though from time to time I run into old mates like Carlos who ask "Can we do it again?"

Sadly, the answer's "No."

But it was one Hell of a ride while it lasted and there are some things people never forget.

Deju Vu

It's Deja Vu, being part of a family with younger children.

Last night at dinner, one wanted nothing to do with what had been cooked, little to do with us but had very definite opinions about me.

She prepares her own meal while Sarah and I eat, joins us when we're done, and pans my approach to several things.

After a futile attempt at dialogue I give up and sit silently with the growing realization that "I've been here before."

It's a place I never dreamed I'd be again, though here I sit.

Each of my kids uncomfortably passed through adolescence, raging out of control hormones, unchecked emotions, discovering themselves at the expense of others, rebelling at any and all authority while squeezing pimples and mastering pubic hair.

Most parents survive their kids adolescence and swear to never do again ... opting to wait on grandchildren who they may enjoy when they're pleasant and leave when they're not.

Something inside of us helps us forget the pains of growing up and remember the good times.

Though last night, many of the unpleasant memories of raising my kids flooded back sitting at the table trying to enjoy the tension.

The good news is I'm experienced and a proven survivor of overseeing adolescence. Making it better, now I'm primarily an advisor and occasional participant in the actual oversight of teen angst.

The things I do out of love go largely unnoticed or are simply expected. Words I speak or advice I offer are easily dismissed or construed as criticism. Being in the same room is often little more than sharing space. Love seems to be a one way street.

I've been here before and this time don't take it as personal.

Yet there are moments ... she lays her head on my shoulder ... she HAS to talk to me and not any one else ... she tells me I give the best advice ... we share things that only the two of us share ... Super Nova moments of love making it all worthwhile somehow.

In the end I know she'll grow up great ... and I'll survive again ... and everything will be alright.

It's Deja Vu ... literally ... all over again.

The Island With No Winter

I keep breaking the same vow I've repeatedly made and here I am doing it again.

A chilled wind from the Northeast blows outside in a clear blue sky, under a bright while sun blazing off the lush Subtropical vegetation.

From the inside looking out it could be summer with a strong Ocean Breeze but from the outside looking in it is cold.

Sarah and the girls love it. Providing them the opportunity to wear more clothes, furry boots, hats and gloves, they delight in the fashions of colder weather. They wish for snow, ice staking, making S'mores over a fire washed down with steaming cups of hot coco.

While I'm amused at their passion, other than making them happy I want little to do with these things.

I passionately hate winter!

I already detest the weather now and it's only going to get worse until sometime in March. Thankfully the temperature will bounce up and down for the next several weeks so while it's cold today it'll be 80 by Thursday. I'll hold on to the warm days while cursing the cold ones.

Years ago I swore I'd never endure another winter and move somewhere in littler latitudes yet here I sit at 32 degrees ...again this year.

It's sobering.

But I've postponed my promise for nine more years until our youngest graduates from school and I'll take a home full of happiness and rely on it to get me through the goddamned cold days and dreary nights when darkness comes too soon. My heart is here with them though it means another winter.

In the meantime I focus on the hot times we've had in San Salvador and Mexico, stream live music from St. Martin while continuing to plan for the island with no winter that we'll eventually call home.

Never too late

My cell phone buzzes and it's "Bitch boy" so I answer, "What's up?"

"What are you doing?" Johnny O inquires.

"Watching football," I answer.

"I have a strange requests."

Johnny O and I have a rich friendship and a long tradition of doing out of the ordinary things together and in larger groups so I'm not especially suspicious.

"Can you do an illegal wedding?"

"What does that mean?"

"They don't have a license but have to get married," he explains.

Johnny works at "The Hotel Tybee" and I naturally assume, this being Tybee and all, some Dude met the love of his life last night at Benny's, are getting married today before they return to their respective homes tomorrow.

"Why not?" I tell him. "I'll even cut my fee in half because no paper work's involved."

"GREAT!" he says hanging up.

At 3:00 I arrive at the Hotel carrying my Black Robe to wear over my UGA tee shirt and black running shorts.

Then it gets magically strange and wonderful.

The Groom sits in a wheelchair with half open eyes, a mouth where only one side works and white fingers made of wax. He is dying and his bucket list included one last trip to Tybee and to marry the woman who's been with him for years.

The Bride is nervous and flutters about, handing her daughter the rings and straightening her dress.

"Dearly Beloved," I begin, stranding there in my robe, one hand of blessing in the air, and I ask them if they freely and totally commit themselves to each other as companions for whatever amount of life they have left.

A long pregnant pause follows.

"I will," he softly slurs.

She cries tenderly placing the ring on his finger made of wax.

"You may kiss ..." and I trail off because he's incapable of moving.

But she kisses him and they cry ... and he says, "I should have done this 17 years ago."

"Well you're doing it now," she tells him and Husband and Wife continue their consummation as I made my way out of the room.

Outside in the bright sunshine, robe slung over my shoulder, leaning against the car, I wipe the salt water from my eyes and take a deep breath.

Sometimes if you're lucky, you have the opportunity to participate in the Holiest of things and it never leaves you when you do. Seventeen years is a long time to put off what you always meant to do but, for whatever reason, didn't. Even at the last minute ... it's never too late.

Heading home, I find myself resolved to let Sarah and our kids know how much I love them now. I don't want to put it off.