Statistical Anomaly

Who voted for Obama in Pennsylvania? Well not enough of the everybodys, but a lot of somebodys.

The analysis is always a hoot. Hillary gets the white women, the working class, the less educated, the poor. Obama gets the black vote, the educated, the urban voter.

And yet...

Some of us somebodys just don't fit the profile. Nobody told us we weren't welcome there, so we joined the party anyhow.

Like me. White. Working class? Eight years formal schooling. Guy. Obamaniac. Well not quite, but in the camp.

There's only so much you can do with statistics. Only so many useful ways you can group groups of people. And then you realize, each one is still one. In a category of one. And each one can vote. In the ballot box, with their dollars, with their time.

We are a nation of statistical anomalies.

2nd Grade Crush

"You'll be 50 this year, won't you?"

Smiling eyes from a pretty face danced in amusement at my surprise. She was off by a year (49), and I'm usually guessed low 40s.

"We were in the same class at Park Elementary." My jaw must have dropped. She's talking grade school, and tonight we're parents transforming the high school for our kids' prom.

I chuckled. "Yeah, I was there for (I counted on my fingers) four months." Maybe she thought I was someone else.

She laughed. "Yeah I remember you. You lived out by Northport." I knew her face from around town, I just had no idea of her name. "I'm Debbie Allison*. Well, used to be Milton.

Dang. Cute as she was, I could make no mental connection. And she was enjoying it. Knowing me, while I didn't know her.

Being remembered rocks. Maybe I should look up Ginger. Make her smile.

*Names may or may not have been changed to confuse the inquisitive.

Butterfly's Gift

From the poet's dusty shelf...

Butterfly

I had a little butterfly I did
It flittered and it fluttered
In, around, about my head
Never rested never stopped
At my fingertips it danced
...Behind my eyes
...Inside my soul

Thought I caught it one fine day
Wrapped it up inside a box
Shiny paper, shiny ribbon
Gave it to my bestest friend
She unwrapped it, opened up
...It was plastic
...It was dead

Saw the butterfly the next day
Floating like the rainbow sun
Held my hand out let it flutter
Over under and around
Never grasping merely waiting
...Flash of color
...Blink-it’s gone

Now this butterfly it has me
Or I have it-either way
Though I see it no one else does
Only to my eyes it shows
All its colors, all my colors
...In my eyes
...Through my soul

Jueves de Gracias

Things that make my life better:

* Skinny black arms that retrieve keys from impossible places. And the gentle souls to which they're attached.

* Smiling cousins who sit with you for refuge. And warm their cold hands on your neck.

* Magnums of wine.

* El Sol. Sun. Sunlight. Sunshine. Sunbeam.

* People who buy houses. And the banks who help them.

* J/O, who refuses to let you settle.

* My truck. It works, it plays. Smile.

* Red. The color. It warms my heart.

Dream a Little Dream

What makes you think you can change the direction of your life? Who do you think you are anyway?

Well, J/O is at it again. There's a theme, of course.

Ask for something impossible.

Have an overflow mentality.

Unlock the gift within.

The underlying theme is an unshakeable conviction is the untapped, immeasurable potential for greatness in every person. There is an inherent, unique potential for being amazing, for doing the impossible. Dignus Res, was the old scholar's joke. The fire within.

And then, the faith of God. Not in. Of. It's like He has faith for me.

So if He put a dream in me, He still has faith that I can make the dream happen.

How do I know when that's happening? When I have a faith, but I don't know where it came from. When something in me tells me I can do something, even though my brain knows better.

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.