Your Life. Re-imagined

Where's the line between imagination and reality? Heh! Wherever I wanna put it.

If it's true that anything we do or have, we imagined first, then imagination is Act I of reality's show.

So then. You find yourself in the middle of Act II, and you think you see where the story is going. You know the good guy, the bad guy, and the girl. And you realize, the good guy is boring, and you're rooting for the bad guy. Even worse, the girl's best friend, the one that's just there to help the girl get the guy is way more fun than anyone. Follow me so far?

Now what?

Halfway through the Italian Job, Wahlberg & Co. had all their carefully laid plans yanked sideways faster than a Mini changes lanes. What saved them? Imagination. They took what they had, where they were, and re-imagined it. The result was pure genius.

And what sunk the bad guy? Yeah, no imagination. Oh he tried. But he couldn't think beyond what had already been done. He couldn't even come up with a way to spend the money. Just stole others' ideas.

So back to our story. We have a bad guy we like. And a funky, fun chick. Let's write our own story. Act II ends with a whiplash twist. Act III has you on the edge of your seat.

The ending? One thing at a time, bucky. We don't even know what happens in Act IV.

Impedimenta Liberata

"I've also learned that paring down possessions means a lot more room in your life as well as in your house." Donna Freedman

Post-acquisitive, I like to call it. Having grown past the stage in my life of needing, wanting, to get more just to have more. Because there are many possessions that tend to turn the tables on you.

First you have the stuff. Then the stuff has you.

Like me and my house. Well, our house, I should say. Her house, really. When CSW fell in love with this property, it set us on a course of having more than we need, more than we can afford, and more than I want.

And we don't have it. It has me. All my money goes to pay for and maintain it. All my time goes to earn the money, or maintain the property. Mowing the grass, doing home fixup things isn't bad. I just don't like when it takes over my life. My summer outdoor activity is mowing, trimming, raking, etc. Not by choice. By coercion.

By stark contrast, I get a thrill out of eliminating the unnecessary in my life. Something I don't use, when I can give, sell, or throw it away, is as much fun as buying something new.

It makes room in my life, and in my house. Room in my life for what I want to be.

They say...

Jose is back. The guy I used to hang out with, he's back. So they say. I haven't seen him, But everybody swears it's really him. Who's Jose? You had to ask, didn't you? Ok.

See, first I met him at a party. Cool and all, Jose always had a crowd around him, seems like. Great story teller. So I listened.

At first it just seemed like the typical self-help kinda stuff. You know, think good thoughts, have a good attitude. Plus a little bit of community spirit, like help your neighbor, feed the hungry. Jose even led an outdoor soup kitchen once.

Then it got more ethereal. What you give out comes back to you. You are what you think. Hmm, I think I'm a dark chocolate chunk.

But he kinda lost me when he tried to get political. No, he didn't run for office. He just started talking trash about corruption in the system, political, religious, social. You get a lot of enemies that way in a hurry.

The last straw though, was when Jose seemed to get a Messiah complex. I mean, you could interpret it different ways, but it sounded like he was comparing himself to God. Almost like he thought he was divine. Hmm.

Yeah, that pretty well did it. The corrupt religious right got together with crooked politicians, and accused him of working against the government. In my middle east country, that gets you executed. Quickly.

Well, it was good while it lasted. I thought. Guy took himself way too seriously.

Except.

They said he's back. Wait-- wasn't Jose dead?

Oh yeah, and it wasn't Jose, it was his son.

Jesus

Jueves de Gracias

Today, I am grateful for...

* The unmatched gloriousness of a woman's voice in song. Billie. Isabel. Christina.

* High School choir teachers. Work the miracle on some days. Watch the miracle on others.

* The community audience. At little league games. High school musicals. Church plays. The event is special because you're there. And you're there because the kids are special. And the kids are special because of who you are.

* Friends who brag on you as if you'd already achieved. A tip o' the hat, to Marlin.

* Men who care about men who care about women. It's more than a game. It's love. You help us find it.

* Maple Pecan Crunch. 7a or 11p, it's great.

* Chocolate Hardcore. Sweet. Hot. Dark. Smooth. Sexy. If hot chocolate were Budweiser, this would be Jim Beam.

* Music in my soul. Moves my body, when I let it. Lifts my spirit. It's like letting my soul breathe.

Jump on, have fun

The wise young lad stood resolutely in the middle of the playground, ignoring the hubbub around him.

"Whatcha doin?" yelled a girl as she raced past him.

"Plotting my course to the top of the jungle gym." Thoughtfully he studied his target.

"Why not jump on and play?" I hollered as I raced after the girl.

For the next ten minutes we managed to use every bar, pole, swing, rope and gadget on that structure. We each fell at least once. I pulled her hair to slow her down. She punched my arm and made me fall. But we made it to the top, together. Stood up there balancing on the two main support posts twelve feet off the ground.

We held hands and yelled, "We're the king of the mountain!"

You don't plot a course to the top of the monkey bars. You jump on, have fun, and climb. Most likely, you'll get to the top.

Jueves de Gracias

In no particular order, gracias por...

* The vicarious thrill of helping a friend shop for a Mini Cooper.

* My daughter’s hugs. They’re life-giving.

* Red’s red head. Will we ever see eye-to-eye?

* Holly’s igloo. When it snows, girl will be girl.

* Hand-me-downs. Ah, the joys of having your son outgrow you.

* Cavuto on Fox. For 5 minutes, he looked at the sane majority.

* Bifocals. Heh. I’m fortytegih. It’s good to see.

* Spiritual fog lights. Otherwise the road would disappear.