The Heart of Odd

I live amongst odd people. Oddities. The un-normal. The avant. (and the savant, let’s be real about that). It’s not just my bohemian neighborhood either. It’s the people I choose to associate with, those I exchange thoughts, considerations, confidences. They are all odd and eccentric. I like nothing more than the dizzyingly abnormal. There’s my husband, who looks remarkably like a midwestern Republican, but who is very much a spiritual free-spirit with a fascination with mystics. There’s my sister, who foreswears shoes and lives a very loose interpretation of a hippy life, who also happens to be the most analytical person I know. My dearest friend is a stay at home mom who bakes cookies and fights her impulse to push over people who walk with canes.

Even my neighborhood, which is filled with re-purposed old buildings, graffiti, Victorian houses, meandering crack-heads, Civil War monuments, and junky little shops is actually a vibrant community with all the amenities of the suburbs with the heart and soul still intact. We have bike rallies, cookouts, scout troops, our own basketball and baseball leagues, garden tours, etc. Only, with a twist of punchy and irreverent. That’s how I like it: sunny with a chance of raining sarcasm.