We got our Christmas Wish...

The flight on Saturday morning was canceled due to a big snow storm on Friday night and another big storm was due on Sunday. So they grabbed a flight south to Philidelphia, missed their connect, talked their way onto a flight to Charlotte, missed their connect again and finally picked up a flight into Jacksonville arriving at 11:45. Of course their luggage ended up in South Dakota. No worries...


The last few days have been lots of fun touring the Island, fishing on East Beach, meeting Brenda & Dan, Steve, Mimi, Jay, Gail and Rose, lunch with Jo Anna, walking the dunes, taking in a children's Christmas pagent at church, visiting the bookstore, shopping in the village, driving the golf cart around, basically just vegging out... Sam and Lu are thrilled. So is Connie... (and me too!)




So Merry Christmas all. Sending our love.

An Impatient Letter From God by Bo Lozoff

An Impatient Letter From God
by Bo Lozoff

Bo wrote the following article for the Human Kindness Foundation newsletter at Christmas-time, 1989. It was then included in his 1990 book Just Another Spiritual Book.

Since then, the essay has been widely circulated, though almost always uncredited. Radio commentator Paul Harvey included the piece in his radio program on two occasions, apparently receiving a deluge of calls, mail, and faxes (we hope mostly positive). Now this piece can be found at numerous websites, often edited, and usually listed as, "author unknown." The following is the original letter.

Date: Eternity

From: GOD

To: My Children on Earth

re: Idiotic religious rivalries

My Dear Children (and believe me, that's all of you),

I consider myself a pretty patient Guy. I mean, look at the Grand Canyon. It took millions of years to get it right. And how about evolution? Boy, nothing is slower than designing that whole Darwinian thing to take place, cell by cell and gene by gene. I've even been patient through your fashions, civilizations, wars and schemes, and the countless ways you take Me for granted until you get yourselves into big trouble again and again.

But on this occasion of My Son's birthday, I want to let you know about some things that are starting to tick me off.

First of all, your religious rivalries are driving Me up a wall. Enough already! Let's get one thing straight: These are your religions, not Mine. I'm the Whole Enchilada; I'm beyond them all. Every one of your religions claims there's only one of Me (which, by the way, is absolutely true). But in the very next breath, each religion claims it's My favorite one. And each claims its bible was written personally by me, and that all the other bibles are man-made. Oh, Me. How do I even begin to put a stop to such complicated nonsense?

Okay, listen up now: I'm your Father and Mother, and I don't play favorites among My Children. Also, I hate to break it to you, but I don't write. My longhand is awful, and I've always been more of a "doer" anyway. So all your books, including the bibles, were written by men and women. They were inspired, remarkable people, but they also made mistakes here and there. I made sure of that, so that you would never trust a written word more than your own living Heart.

You see, one Human Being to me -- even a Bum on the street -- is worth more than all the holy books in the world. That's just the kind of Guy I Am. My Spirit is not an historical thing, It's alive right here, right now, as fresh as your next breath.

Holy books and religious rites are sacred and powerful, but not more so than the least of You. They were only meant to steer you in the right direction, not to keep you arguing with each other, and certainly not to keep you from trusting your own personal connection with Me.

Which brings Me to My next point about your nonsense: You act like I need you and your religions to stick up for Me or "win souls" for My Sake. Please, don't do Me any favors. I can stand quite well on my own, thank you. I don't need you to defend Me, and I don't need constant credit. I just want you to be good to each other.

And another thing: I don't get all worked up over money or politics, so stop dragging My name into your dramas. For example, I swear to Me that I never threatened Oral Roberts. I never rode in any of Rajneesh's Rolls Royces. I never told Pat Robertson to run for president, and I've never ever had a conversation with Jim Bakker, Jerry Falwell, or Jimmy Swaggart! Of course, come Judgement Day, I certainly intend to...

The thing is, I want you to stop thinking of religion as some sort of loyalty pledge to Me. The true purpose of your religions is so that you can become more aware of Me, not the other way around. Believe Me, I know you already. I know what's in each of your hearts, and I love you with no strings attached. Lighten up and enjoy Me. That's what religion is best for.

What you seem to forget is how mysterious I Am. You look at the petty little differences in your scriptures and say, "Well, if this is the Truth, then that can't be!" But instead of trying to figure out My Paradoxes and Unfathomable Nature -- which, by the way, you never will -- why not open your hearts to the simple common threads in every religion?

You know what I'm talking about: Love and respect everyone. Be kind. Even when life is scary or confusing, take courage and be of good cheer, for I Am always with you. Learn how to be quiet, so you can hear My Still, Small Voice (I don't like to shout). Leave the world a better place by living your life with dignity and gracefulness, for you are My Own Child. Hold back nothing from life, for the parts of you that can die will surely die, and the parts that can't, won't. So don't worry, be happy (I stole that last line from Bobby McFerrin, but he stole it from Meher Baba in the first place.)

Simple stuff. Why do you keep making it so complicated? It's like you're always looking for an excuse to be upset. And I'm very tired of being your main excuse. Do you think I care whether you call me Yahweh, Jehovah, Allah, Wakantonka, Brahma, Father, Mother, or even The Void or Nirvana? Do you think I care which of My Special Children you feel closest to -- Jesus, Mary, Buddha, Krishna, Mohammed or any of the others? You can call Me and My Special Ones any name you choose, if only you would go about My business of loving one another as I love you. How can you keep neglecting something so simple?

I'm not telling you to abandon your religions. Enjoy your religions, honor them, learn from them, just as you should enjoy, honor, and learn from your parents. But do you walk around telling everyone that your parents are better than theirs? Your religion, like your parents, may always have the most special place in your heart; I don't mind that at all. And I don't want you to combine all the Great Traditions into One Big Mess. Each religion is unique for a reason. Each has a unique style so that people can find the best path for themselves.

But My Special Children -- the ones your religions revolve around -- all live in the same place (My Heart) and they get along perfectly, I assure you. The clergy must stop creating a myth of sibling rivalry where there is none.

My Blessed Children of Earth, the world has grown too small for your pervasive religious bigotry and confusion. The whole planet is connected by air travel, satellite dishes, telephones, fax machines, rock concerts, diseases, and mutual needs and concerns. Get with the program! If you really want to help Me celebrate the birthday of My Son Jesus, then commit yourselves to figuring out how to feed your hungry, clothe your naked, protect your abused, and shelter your poor. And just as importantly, make your own everyday life a shining example of kindness and good humor. I've given you all the resources you need, if only you abandon your fear of each other and begin living, loving, and laughing together.

Finally, My Children everywhere, remember whose birth is honored on December 25th, and the fearlessness with which He chose to live and die. As I love Him, so do I love each one of you. I'm not really ticked off, I just wanted to grab your attention because I hate to see you suffer. But I gave you Free Will, so what can I do now other than to try to influence you through reason, persuasion, and a little old-fashioned guilt and manipulation? After all, I Am the original Jewish Mother. I just want you to be happy, and I'll sit in The Dark. I really Am, indeed, I swear, with you always. Always. Trust In Me.

Your One and Only,

GOD

Back Home Contact Us

Human Kindness Foundation, PO Box 61619, Durham, NC 27715; (919) 383-5160

Sunset off the SSI Pier

Pampass Grass on the waterfront

Look close on the horizon for the two towers of the Jeckyll Island Bridge

Fishing for crab...

No Ice Storm Here...

Having lived through the Great Ice Storm of 1998 and 11 days without power or heat, complete with frozen pipes and burned out well pump, we so sympathize with those living through the same in the Northeast. Somehow Mother Nature didn't get the memo about global warming.


But here on SSI, the weather is usually a comfortable 60 degrees, just right for walking the beach without those pesky sand gnats. These little critters, smaller than a black fly, deposit a drop of acid instead of biting in order to liquefy the skin so they can feast. It burns like... well, acid. When they are really thick, you can't breath without sucking them into your mouth and nose.

We have been working at a local shop and getting some retail experience. Something new and interesting. The owners are Charlotte and Troy Hull, nice folks. It's a neat shop, 3000 sq ft, specializing in clothing and art from 3rd world countries. The company buys direct from artisans in Indonesia, South America, Mexico and Africa, compensating them at a much higher level than if dealing with a middle man. We are there to keep the store open while they are on their annual mission to Peru, working with the poorest of the poor. Glad we can help.

Here are some pics of some of their wares...




Talked to Katie this morning. She is just back from a business trip of 1o days in Turkey, Bulgaria and the Ukraine. She slept for 13 hours last night!! 6 days to Ryan, Katie and Julianna's visit. YAY!!!

December 8th

The Other Side

Eric's Cabin

December 8th has become a profoundly significant and confusing date for our family. It is significant because it is the date that our son Eric died in an accident in New Zealand in 1999. It is confusing because we don't know how to feel about the commemoration of his loss. We commemorate birthdays, wedding anniversaries, the comimg of each new year, but commemorating the day of a loved one's death does not hold the celebration of a joyous event. Instead, this day brings a vivid memory of the pain of Eric's loss. But it also brings us the hope of something more. A hope that we believe was somehow sent to us from Eric... from the other side. Here is the story for those who might wish to read it.

One of my great joys has been in being a dad. Our children, Eric, Ryan and Katie loved bedtime stories and by the time Kate came along my story telling skills had improved to the point where I actually developed a continuing story line. It was called "The Other Side".

The setting was in our backyard on Country Way and it always began the same way. Kate had come upon a tarnished silver toy horn in her play and had discovered it held mysterious powers. She would walk down the path with her treasure, through the woods to the giant pine tree where the boys had built one of their many cabins and treehouses. Here she climbed down into the cool shade of the old cellar hole under the cabin. When she blew the horn, (which I always imitated with a "ta-ta-da" sound…a favorite and often imitated part.), an invisible door would open in the sheer ledge rockface and she would enter into The Other Side for countless adventures with castles, kings and queens, friendly giants, little people and talking animals. And at the end of each story, "Princess" Katie would come back through the door and up the path to the security of her loving home. Mom would always ask, "Katie, what have you been up to?" and Katie would always smile and say, "Oh, nothing…". Kate loved these stories and often at bedtime, the boys would lay on the floor and listen in.

December 8, 2001. Two years had passed since the day we can never forget. I stayed home from work and awoke before first light. In bed, listening to the sounds of the sleeping house, I simply prayed, "Son, let me know today that you're ok." I don't remember much about the day except that we spent it sitting with our books and our music and with each other. Friends and family called or briefly stopped by. A sad and quiet day.

It was around 5:00 PM when one of the boy's childhood friends, walked through the door. Dan had been away at college so we did not expect to see him. He had come home for something he had to do and had, that day, inadvertantly come upon a photograph which he had no recollection of having taken some ten years before. He and the boys were 10 or 11 at the time and had been playing in the woods. It was a picture of Eric and I thanked him for it as he went out the door and back to school. It wasn't until later that evening when I looked closely at the picture that I realized that my prayer had been answered.

I am a pragmatist by nature. My college degrees are in sciences and I look at the world the way many with my background do. We attempt to understand the Universe and mentally assign a probability to unexplained phenomena. So my reaction was typical. I asked myself;
"What is the probability that this young man, whom we had not seen in over a year, would walk into our home on December 8th and present me with a photograph, lost and forgotten for a decade, of Eric, smiling at me from the precise location of the bedtime storyline doorway to "The Other Side"?"

Our inescapable conclusion was, and is, that this was not a random event. The odds are too huge.

So thank you Eric, for helping us along the path, for opening our eyes to the many gifts, there for each of us if we are awake to receive them… and for the smile.

Love you, son.

December 2nd Updates

Thanksgiving is over and the leaves are turning on Saint Simons Island. Bright sun and a forecast for 70 degree weather over the next couple days. It's in the 40's this morning just like back home.

We've picked up a little work for December and January at a local shop down by the pier. The owners are headed to South America on a buying trip and we will be holding down the fort while they are gone. It's a Christian oriented art and clothing store called Go Fish that buys direct from 3rd world artisans and retails at several locations throughout the South. Should be interesting and will generate some "cash flow" with this scary economy. The timing works well and doesn't interfere with Ryan, Kate and Juliana's visit over Christmas week. We are so looking forward to that.

The Producers from the Oprah Show have contacted us to say that the Broken Open show will now air on January 14th. That was a unique experience and, though we are glad we did it, we are glad it's over. We're hopeful that some good will come of it and some already has.

This blog has been a great way to stay connected to family and friends. We have received over 10,000 visits and lots of great feedback. Visits from all over the globe... every continent except Antarctica. What an incredible communication tool.

Writing has become a real creative outlet. Everyone has one and writing has become mine. Here's a story I've been working on. Hope you enjoy it.

Shadow Boxes

Life seldom unfolds according to “plan”. Certainly no one would plan to lose their mind…

My wife’s mother is elderly and infirmed. She has many issues; mobility, self care, instability. But she has thankfully retained her mental sharpness. The nursing home system is extremely complex and she has progressed from hospital care to skilled care to nursing home care. To the extent possible, the family engaged in the process, but did not foresee the turn of events which resulted in her placement in an Alzheimer unit.

She does not belong in this unit and the family is working to transfer her to more suitable care. We expect that she will soon be transferred to a nursing home that will allow her to engage in a faith-filled community, something which is so important to her. In the meantime, she is receiving excellent care in a lock down dementia unit. Her attitude is very positive. Recently she remarked, “Perhaps I have been placed here to pray for these poor people…” Prayers notwithstanding, it has been an eye opener for us.

To enter the Alzheimer wing, access codes are punched onto a security keypad unlocking the heavy doors. Often there are patients standing inside the door peering out through the two small windows… trying to find a way out. Some, who appear otherwise healthy, will insist they are staff or visitors in an attempt to make their way through those doors, back into the world. All 50 patients behind those doors are severely impacted by mental disease… except my mother-in-law.

Men and women dressed in casual clothes, tee shirts, sneakers and sweat suits, roam up and down the long hallways along the highly polished floors. Some hold dolls or stuffed animals. Some talk to themselves. Others, like loveable little Lizzy, always seem to have a roll or a handful of bread to munch as she walked. Lizzy is small and painfully thin with short gray hair, her age somewhere between perhaps 70 and 80. She was the first person I met coming through the locked door.

Lizzy shuffled up beside me. Her speech is unintelligible, stuttered. But she spoke passionately, with a tight smile on her face and an urgent expectation in her eyes. “Aba aba chh chh buh…” she uttered between clenched teeth. She took my hand and I followed as we wandered aimlessly and silently down the hall to the activity room, There, several dozen people sat at tables or randomly wandered about the room. They took no notice of me and I stood still to take in the scene.

Some people were sitting silently within themselves, rocking, seemingly not focusing on anything or anyone. Others were animated, jabbering away about snippets of thoughts that ran through their ravaged minds. “I need to go home.”… “Has my meal been paid for?”...“Get them away from me. Leave me alone!”... “My mother is coming for me today”… Others were speaking nonsense, words without meaning, without ceasing. Lizzy released my hand and wandered away.

I walked among them and most seemed not to see me, few responding to my smile or words of greeting. So foreign. So disturbing. A thought… how might they react to my gentle, little white dogs who were sitting outside in the van? Previously, we had brought them into hospitals and nursing homes with good results. I asked permission from the head nurse and got the OK. I was apprehensive that some of the residents might be afraid of them or that others might hurt the dogs so decided to carry them in order to control their introduction. I was not prepared for the response.

We (Sampson and Lulu, 2 eight pound Maltese and me) rounded the corner from the long hallway into the activity room. Many people broke into broad smiles. Eyes, which had been expressionless, were alive. Hands were outstretched. I quickly learned to approach each patient cautiously before bringing the dogs close enough to be petted.

Ken, a baseball capped 84 year old former logger, toothless and confined to his wheelchair, howled at me, “GET THOSE SONS OF WHORES AWAY FROM ME…” Later he scratched their ears and told me about how he would take his old hound dog for a ride on his skidder.

But most of patients, some of whom had appeared catatonic moments earlier, smiled, stroked their fur, spoke to them softly and with love. One woman repeated over and over, ‘Look at those beautiful babies… look at those beautiful babies”.Another woman jabbered away excitedly about pie and walked over to me presumably to pet the dogs, The nurses broke into gales of laughter when instead she put her hands inside my shirt and began to pet me.

I moved from table to table, offering each person an opportunity to pet the dogs or, in some cases, to hold them. They were gentle, loving. There were those who were unable to respond in any way. Others who responded with fear. For those who could respond, it was an extraordinary glimpse of the person they had once been, if only for a moment.

The next weekend when we again visited, there was Lizzy walking the halls. She gave no indication that she in any way remembered our walk down the hall together, an event burned into my memory. Her expression this day was anxious, upset. She seemed about to cry. But later in the day she approached me in the hall, jabbered excitedly, reached up and gently stroked my face. “ Moh moh shibbabababa…” she said and laughed as if she had made a joke. Her eyes and her attention wandered and she moved away. Did she remember me?

How insidious this disease. Late one night, after everyone was in bed, I walked the halls and read the “shadow boxes’ secured on the walls at the entryway to each room. Locked wooden boxes with plexi-glass covers. Names printed on tags, pictures of smiling people now silenced, of grandchildren and children, husbands and wives, of lives now gone forever, the owners but shadows of their former selves. It touched me deeply.

The following week we arrived on Friday and accompanied my mother-in -law to dinner. I arrived ten minutes after my wife and her mother were seated at a table with 3 other women to find one of the women verbally terrorizing the table. My wife looked at me anxiously. The woman’s name was Martha.

“God damn you. Don’t look at me like that. You sons of bitches. Talk, talk, talk. That’s all you do. Just shut up! Shut up!” She glared at everyone and especially me, the only man at the table. I attempted to speak with her and she cut me off.”Talk, talk, talk” she taunted and began to knock food onto the floor and put silverware into her glass of milk. We ignored her misbehavior and soon she sat, sullen and withdrawn.

After dinner, while my wife was helping her mother prepare for bed, I wandered down to the community room and found Martha sitting with another resident. She was cruelly berating him as he sat happily, pulling on his suspenders. He, in response, was laughing foolishly, smiling broadly and making train noises. I decided to join the conversation.

Pulling another rocking chair close to them, I asked if I might sit there and getting no response, began to quietly rock away, not making eye contact. Soon she began to rant. ‘HE wants it HIS way… always HIS way. HE thinks because he works he can have it that way… and I suppose he can... Peculiar… I call it Peculiar.” I began repeating her words back to her. “Yes, he wants it that way.”… “I suppose he can.”… “Yes. Peculiar.”…

“Choo-Chooo” said Suspenders, complete with arm pull. I replied “Choo-Choo”. He grinned. She rocked and ranted. “I like these rocking chairs” I said to no one.

We rocked for 30 minutes. Several times Martha got up from the chair and each time that she did, I stood in the presence of a lady as my mother had always taught me to do. And when she sat, so did I. And we rocked some more.

Finally she rose and walked stiffly down the hall, muttering. I resumed the conversation with Suspenders. He railed about “working and working and I told them they can’t do that. That’s not right…. not right.” as his face clouded up at some distant grievance yet traversing the wrecked synapses of his brain.

When Martha reentered the room, I stood and she walked directly to me, but avoided my gaze.

“ It needs to stay here. Right here.” she instructed as she handed me her blue knit sweater. I hung it on the back of her rocking chair and smoothed it down gently. “It will be right here for you”, I said.

She continued to mumble about her room and how she wanted to “just get back”. “Can I walk with you to find your room?” I asked. Remarkably, she took my arm.

“Good night” I said to Suspenders. “Woo-Wooo”, he replied

Martha rambled as we walked until we met Lizzy who decided she was going to hold my other arm. Martha raised her voice and cussed her away. As we walked by the activity room, the big, friendly nurse smiled and said, “You found a friend Martha?” She gripped my arm tighter.

At the far end of the hall, I spied her shadowbox. Pictures from before, when she was whole. She was not smiling in any of the pictures. Hard, stern expressions. Life had not been easy for her.

She seemed relieved when she recognized her surroundings and announced, “My room… see, my rocking chair… and my bed.” She released my arm and sat on the side of the bed. And then she looked up and locked eyes with me, her eyes softened, looked wounded. The hair on the back of my neck stood up as she spoke directly to me. “This… has been wonderful. I can’t tell you how much I have enjoyed it. Just wonderful….” She lay back on the bed and closed her eyes.

Her moment of lucidity hammered my world view. How remarkable that she was able to surge through her disease, if but for an instant, to connect with compassion and warmth, to overcome the raging fear and anger within her crippled mind. An aberration I wondered?

I walked down the now dark and quiet hallways, past the shadow boxes and the shadow people, lost from the world, damaged, just waiting. I felt a mixture of emotions, an odd sense of awe and a profound sorrow. Lizzy wandered down the hall toward me, solitary, mouse-like, munching on a biscuit and leaving a trail of crumbs behind her as if to mark her trail back to sanity.

I felt badly that she had been driven away earlier by Martha’s bitterness and so I smiled and reached to hold her withered hands in mine. She smiled vacantly, food dribbling out the corners of her lips as she chewed with open mouth. I whispered in her ear, “Lizzy, you are my favorite,”

She whispered back…“Thank you…” and drifted into the shadows.

Happy Thanksgiving Ya'll!

To quote Frank, "We forgot the damned peas..." . We especially give thanks today for our wonderful family and friends. We miss you and love you all.

New traditions: Sweet Potatoes, Cornbread Stuffing and a handful of Craisins.

' Can we have some turkey NOW?!'

You meet the nicest people

Saint Simons Island has a lot going for it. The weather is mild (70 degrees the last couple days), the beaches are great for walking and it's dog friendly. But undoubtedly, one of it's best attributes is that we meet the nicest people.

Last weekend we were invited to an oyster bake at Scott and Diane's home. Jay and Mimi were there and we met some new folks; Chuck and Gayle, David Ray and Rosemary, Mathew and Gail. All really fine people, gracious and engaging. They are a bit concerned with us as most of them know Dan and Brenda (another couple Mainiacs as they call us) and they fear we are just the beginning of a wave of Yankees from Maine soon to overrun the Island. They're talking about quotas...

Yesterday, as we were walking through the neighborhood, coming back from the beach, we came upon a tall, baseball caped guy standing in his yard, but near the road. He had one foot up on a post just looking at his house. Connie said hello and he responded by pointing his thumb at his house over his shoulder and said with a Georgia drawl, " Money Pit." We talked with Bo for 15 minutes, were joined by Ann, his better half, and we talked for 30 more.

We shared stories of travels and adventures, talked about our kids and aging parents, about careers and mutual friends ( an MIT classmate from 1986... small world). We laughed a lot, learned about each others passions and heart work and and, later on, agreed to get together for breakfast this morning at the Frederica Cafe.

What a great way to start the day. Bo and Ann, we're looking forward to seeing you again.

You meet the nicest people...

Alaskans!!

No, it's not Sarah Palin...

Gordie and Dalonna swung by on their "Southern Tour 2008". It was great to see them and hear about their explorations... fellow travelers looking for life... post-kids. They are sailors and have checked out the British Virgin Islands, Belize and the West Coast. Now they are looking for land based adventures with their new motor home (the one we stayed in in Palm Springs for a month).

Gordie, Bob and Glen were (are) fraternity brothers from the 70's. It's shocking that brain function declines after 40. We didn't have that much to start...

Gordie and Dalonna explored Jekyll Island on bicycles and collected many beautiful shells. Now off to the Gulf Coast of Florida to swim with Manatee... those crazy Alaskans! Thanks ever so for the visit, friends. Now Bob and Judy, it's your turn! Come on down, ya'll!

Photos from Sue in Maine

Sue M. has a photographer's eye for nature. Thanks for permission to post these extraordinary shots... keep 'em coming!



*Newport, Maine

The Joys of Travel

We had eaten breakfast in our room at the hotel and, well, you know us frugal Mainers...there were little bottles of jelly and ketchup we hadn't opened so I put them in Connie's bag to take home.

So, we were going through security in Chicago for the flight back to Jacksonville. The bag x-ray machine begins beeping. The security guard pulls Connie's bag aside and starts digging into it. Another guard comes over and the two of them pull out this little bottle of ketchup. Connie says, "What is that? That's not mine!" You would have thought they had pulled out a pound of heroin. A very stern 60 year old female security supervisor walks over and takes the bottle. Now there are 3 security people looking at the ketchup and us.

They talk among themselves. It's less than 2.2 ounces... The seal is intact...They can have this... if it is sealed in a plastic bag...

Connie says "I don't want that. I don't know where it came from." She is rattled.

I said, "I want it...'"All four women wheel around and stare at me...

Connie is beginning to sense that I am responsible for this situation so her voice goes up... shrill..."Why on earth would you want that!"

I said, "I like ketchup". I said..." Besides, your birthday is coming up."

The look of disgust that flashed across the faces of the security guards... This idiot is going to give his wife a mini bottle of ketchup for her birthday? The Security Supervisor gave me that look that you see from mothers that says "You are a moron and I am going to punish you..." She raised her voice and called to the big barrel chested male security guard across the aisle " Get that lock down room ready... I've got one for you..." Connie starts screaming at me... "I can't believe you!! Honest to God!! WHY do you do these things!!"

I could not stop laughing... still can't.

(No, they didn't lock me up though Connie now wishes they had... who has more fun than people.)

Where do we begin...

I guess the best place to begin is at the beginning. This blog is much longer than normal (normal? what an odd concept at this point...) and probably more than you want to read, but we have so much to remember and this is our way of recollecting this truly remarkable week. 

It began on October 22, my mother's birthday. We pay attention to everyday things. Connie, especially, sees the interconnectedness of things. So when a giant dragonfly showed up on the screen inside the beautiful, new front porch that Dan and Brenda have built onto their Saint Simons home, she got excited. The screen door was closed so how did it get inside? She got very excited. I have learned not to dismiss her intuitions so I didn't say, "It's just a bug..."

After the "dragonfly photo shoot" and releasing it back to the outside, I walked into the computer and noticed an email from someone at Harpo.com. Spam, I thought, but the writer wrote that she was a producer with the Oprah Show and wanted to speak with us. Before I deleted it I showed it to Connie. "What the heck is Harpo. It's gotta be a joke." Connie knew immediately that Harpo is Oprah spelled backwards and is the name of her production company. The next day, October 23, was my birthday. 

We were just walking in circles waiting for the phone to ring, anxious and wondering what this was all about. We thought it might be about a story I wrote for the Broken Open book but it had been 4 years since that had been published. We thought it might be the blog and our exciting new life, on the road and untethered. I thought they wanted to sell us a subscription to "O Magazine". When the call came we talked for an hour and a half about Broken Open. 

Oprah had found Elizabeth Lesser's book and they were working on the show. We were just one of 30 stories they were exploring to include in the show. They called back and spoke with Connie for another hour. We were exhausted. 

The next day, October 24th, was the birthday of little cousin Kilie who stayed on this earth for such a short time. She was the daughter of my cousin Stephanie and her husband Eric and the sister of little 5 year old Nathan who live in Chicago and where we stayed for a night after the show was taped. We felt very priviledged to have an opportunity to talk with Stephanie about everything that had happened in her life over the past year. She is such a wonderful mother to Nathan. 

The producers called and asked if they could send a production crew to Saint Simons on Sunday to shoot some footage. Our minds were now truly whirling. Dan and Brenda gave us permission to do the videoing in their home (Thanks guys... for everything) and we accepted the offer. We spent Saturday raking the yard, deciding what to wear, buying a new shirt, talking about what we were willing to talk about... and where we would not go. We changed our minds at least 10 times. back and forth, and finally sat down and talked it through. We decided that we would accept this opportunity in order to achieve two goals. 

The first was to honor Eric's life, something we do daily, but this was so unique and on such a larger scale. The second was to grasp it as an opportunity to help others who were broken by Life's events. We decided that if we could help even one family who were "in the fire" then we should do it as well as we could. We wanted people to know than you have to take it one day at a time, to be gentle with yourself and to reach out for help that is available from such wondeful organizations as Hospice Volunteers. We had learned that being broken open was about living life differently, fearlessly and just trying to stay out of our own way as the Universe unfolds. It is all about choice. And so we decided to embrace this very fearful thing for us. 

We revisited this decision 100 times over the next 5 days. On Sunday, October 26th, Scott, the Producer from Chicago and a 3 man film crew from Jacksonville showed up at 7:50 AM. They videoed us for 10 hours; drinking coffee in the kitchen, sitting on the front porch, walking on the beach, driving around in the van and at a beautiful park under the Live Oaks dripping with Spanish Moss. Scott asked very personal questions and after the first shoot, we took Scott aside and explained very pointedly (as only a former paper mill worker can speak) that we were not going to be exploited or sensationalized. I leaned in close to him, looked straight into his eyes and said "Scott, We have agreed to do this, but this is our life. It is our story and we share it often in our Hospice work. But we will not be exploited. I know your name. And I know where you live. Do you understand?" He did. He gave us his guarantee that they would not publish anything that we could not accept. And we believed him. He's a fine young man. 

On Monday they called and asked us to come on the show. The rest of that day and Tuesday are a blur. We emailed our friends and family and asked for your wise counsel and prayers. Your encouagement and prayers have been such a blessing. There are no words to thank you. While all this was happening, they contacted Katie and Ryan. Kate has been working 12 hour days in her new job and was emotionally and physically spent. Wisely, she decided to forego the trip and the ordeal. She is wise beyond her years and we are so proud of her ability to set boundaries. Some wise dude once said "Know thyself." Ryan agreed to come to the show and speak from his unique perspective as Eric's identical twin brother. We are equally proud of his courage in being willing to engage. Both of our children have been incredibly supportive of this thing that we had decided to do. 

Mimi, our friend on the island, called and offered to take care of Sampson and Delilah. So much for Connie's excuse to stay behind and take care of the dogs... Thank you Mimi, Sue, who we look forward to meeting, and Jay who helped with the dog care after she flew in from Prague. Steve came over and brought some cold beers to help us process what we were going into. We sat by his fire and talked it all through. Thank you Steve... and also for your help with that damned garage door opener. Persistency and tenacity buddy... and when that doesn't work, read the instructions. Right?

On Wednesday, the Lincoln Town car showed up at 9:30. Sam and Lu ran out the front door and jumped into the drivers seat. We put them back in the house. Not this trip, puppies. The flight was smooth and we arrived in Chicago, met by Carey from the show, and were limo'ed to the Omni Hotel where we had a $100 lunch of crab cakes and club sandwiches. Wow, talk about being outside our comfort zone.

We spent the rest of the day waiting for Ryan to arrive. Connie's friend Jan and her daughter Laura drove down from Wisconsin. Scott shuttled back and forth with photos and video tapes. Ryan made it in and by the time we hit the pillow at 11:30, we were really rethinking the whole thing, wondering why we were here and if we should just grab a cab and make our escape. But we were just too tired to get out of bed.

October 30th, my father's birthday, 5:00 came early, but we had been laying awake fretting for a long time. Our prayer was " Hey Eric, help us through this one buddy. We don't know what we are doing here. We're just gonna flip on our backs and float. The current is too strong to fight." We met Ryan in the lobby and the stretch limo pulled up at 7:00 AM sharp. A young, nice looking chauffeur greeted us at the curb. Connie said, "Are you our driver?" He said "Yes ma'am, I am." . She smiled, extended her hand and said, " Hello, my name is Connie.". He said "Good morning. My name is Eric." She beamed, grabbed him with both hands and said "Well isn't that just PERFECT. So nice to meet you Eric."We drove through the darkness to the studio as the sun was dawning onto an incredible day.

We arrived at the same time as Elizabeth Lesser, our friend and the author of Broken Open, and enjoyed a curbside, heartfelt hug. Next, we were met on the sidewalk by 3 Producers. Scott, Leigh and Veronica. Impressive young people, so enthusiastic and professional. Leigh is Ryan's age and Veronica is 8 months pregnant. They walked us through security where we had to provide ID and give up our cameras and cell phones. Through the door and down the hall with pictures of Oprah with every celebrity you could ever imagine on the walls from floor to ceiling, from Tom Cruise to Tom Hanks, from Maya Angelou to John Travolta. Just a LITTLE intimidating...

They shepherded us into the "Green Room" that was appointed with comfortable chairs, a coffee service, danish, a meeting table, and separate rooms for hair and makeup. That's when things began to happen very quickly. They took Connie into makeup, wired me for sound and preped Ryan for questions and then we all rotated. I heard snippets of conversations. Ryan was telling Veronice "I'm a sax player so I'm comfortable being in front of crowds. But my dad hates this..." Connie was chatting with the makeup woman about airbrushing and hair products. A Latino woman in a mini skirt was doing my hair. "Don't cover up the grays. I earned those...". Finally we sat around the table and the producers briefed us as to what questions we might expect, always with the disclaimer that Oprah might take the conversation in any direction.

They left us alone for the next 10 minutes and I wore holes in the carpet pacing back and forth. Connie was nervous. Ryan was trying to calm us both down. Finally it was time. We walked down the hall and through the metal door into a long, high ceilinged corridor. People were standing on either side watching us walk like gladiators entering the Colloseum ( ... or was it like Christians to the Lions?). We walked through a control center and shook hands with the Director. (I couldn't identify him today in a line up if my life depended on it. ) We were like deer in the headlights. 

We passed through a final set of doors, down a long tunnel and onto the floor in the back of the studio, surrounded by 300 people. It was surreal. They told us to stand there for a bit and I scanned the audience anxiously looking for familiar faces. There was Jannie and Laura, smiling and waving, trying to give us courage from across the room. I looked back at Connie and she was frozen in place with an odd expression on her face. I grabbed her and we whispered back and forth to each other, telling each other to breath and reminding ourselves why we were there. They walked us down front and onto the lower stage and sat us on a couch.

One of the Producers was warming up the crowd, asking questions and preparing them for the show. Finally Elizabeth was seated and Oprah came into the studio. They seated her next to Elizabeth, about 8 feet from us, and a flurry of hair stylists, make-up artists, sound people and producers surrounded her. They took off her slippers and put on high heels with red soles. They staged her teleprompter and answered her questions. She was very much in control. A real professional. All the while, she was speaking with us, engaging with the audience... and grieving. Her cocker spaniel, Solomon, like one of her children, had very recently died. Loss comes in so many forms. 

I spied my cousin Stephanie in the audience. She smiled at me, pointed to her eyes with two fingers of her right hand and then made at fist. She was saying, " I'm here. I'm with you. Have couage." I thought the message was, "I'm watching you and I'm gonna kick your butt if you don't do good." Made me laugh and lighten up a bit. Finally the show started.

We learned that there are 8 segments to a show. Oprah and Elizabeth opened the show in segments 1 and 2. We were the only other guests. After segment 2 they moved us up onto the main stage and opened segment 3 with film from our interviews and pictures of our family. Oprah interviewed Connie and me during segments 3 and 4. Ryan joined us for segment 5 and they wrapped it up in segment 6 and 7. We are looking forward to seeing what we said because we frankly don't remember it all. We do remember being pleased with the honor given to Eric and speaking the words of hope and encouragement for others suffering loss. 

We are so proud of Ryan's words so eloquently describing our loss and for his words of gratitude for our support during those dark times. He talked about a pivotal moment for him when he had dropped out of school and was working shoveling bait... dead fish... for my cousin Craig and his wife Denny on the docks of Portland in their lobster business. He said he realized while standing up to his knees in smelly fish that he felt happy... and that if he could feel happiness there, he would be happy again. Later, when talking about our travels, Oprah asked if I planned to work again. I said " Yes... but probably not shoveling fish." Then again, it doesn't sound so bad. I've done alot worse jobs. 

After the last segment, we stayed and spoke with the audience for an hour answering questions and talking about loss and hope. The show ended quickly. Connie embraced Oprah and expressed her condolences for the loss of her pet and we were ushered back to the Green Room. The Producers were very pleased. They gave us gift bags with Oprah hats, tee shirts and coffee cups and shuttled us back into the stretch limo. Jannie, Laura and Stephanie joined us and we went back to the hotel for lunch. That Bloody Mary never tasted so good. 

We said good bye to Jannie and Lauren and the limo took us to Stephanie's beautiful apartment on the 15 floor of a building on North Shore Drive overlooking Lake Michigan and the city. We played Star Wars action figures with Nathan and Ryan took a nap before his flight back to Maine at 6:00. That night we ate ribs with Eric and Steph, enjoyed a nice bottle of wine and hit the sack at 8:30, entirely spent.

I have already blogged about the call that came from Ryan at midnight. I repeat it here as part of the entire amazing story.

As I wrote, we had only two heartfelt goals in agreeing to participate with this program. One was to honor Eric and we think the show does it well. The other was to help people who might be in "griefs fire" even if it was only one family.

Ryan awoke us with his call at around midnight. He had a story he had to tell us. On the flight back to Maine he zoned out until shortly before they landed in Portland and then chatted with his seat mate. 'Where are you from', 'Where do you work', 'What do you do'... we have all had these conversations 100 times. And the last question 'Why were you in Chicago?'. Ryan told the story. The man began to weep. His 19 year old son had been killed in a fire in February 2008. Ryan offered our family. We will be speaking soon.

Guess we got everything we had hoped for. The Universe doesn't drag it's feet...

Connie and I got up just in time for sunrise over the lake. Amazing. As was the french toast breakfast and our walk through Linclon Park and the Zoo that afternoon before our limo showed up at 4:30. 

I will blog about some of the events of the flight back later. This blog has gone on much too long... but there is truly no other way to tell the whole remarkable story. 

We arrived back on the island at midnight, picked up the puppies (Mimi had tears in her eyes and wanted to keep them.. such a good girl...). By 2:00AM we were stumbling over each other, but unable to stop our minds. Sleep came mercifully and today has been spent talking with friends and family, watching the Georgia Florida football game and writing this story.

And that is our story. We could never have imagined this in a million years. The show is scheduled to air on January 14. We'll let you know if things change. It has been a whirlwind and we will need some time to recover. In the mean time, stay tuned and pay attention. You truly never know what's coming down the road. What a life...

OH LOOK!! A BUTTERFLY!!! Love to all. Glen & Connie