Nothing is Impossible

What in your world do you define as impossible, that you wish weren't? To make a living as a painter? To run your own business? To travel 100 million light years to another galaxy?

Don’t believe it. Nothing is impossible…nothing.

Let me define “impossible” as I see it. If someone tells me an act or idea is impossible, I take that to mean impossible altogether, that there is no chance it will ever happen, from now until the universe collapses in on itself. I can’t buy that line of thinking. Nothing is impossible altogether, only impossible at a given moment in time and space. It’s a much different idea to say something is impossible altogether than to say it’s not doable at this moment, or this particular spot on earth where we stand right now.

If I asked strangers on the street, “Is it possible

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An Empty Space

I never thought about the old man until I’d see him on my way home. If the weather was good, he’d be there, sitting on his porch at the intersection of Lake Brandt and Lawndale where an endless line of cars made left turns in front of his house. He always waved. Not only to me, but at everyone making a left there. It wasn’t your ordinary, run-of-the-mill wave either. No. His wave had gusto. He’d perfected his own unique brand, perhaps from years of waving from that porch. As cars crossed left before him, both hands would shoot out, palms facing the road, fingers pointed toward the sky. All four fingers on each hand would snap down twice then open back up like a magician showing you he has nothing up his sleeves. A big smile always punctuated the double wave.

The drivers and passengers in the cars, including me, always waved back. You couldn’t help it. Something in his wave made you smile, made you feel good, a great cap to the end of your work day. My boys loved seeing him if they happened to be with me. They always turned in their seats to continue waving at the old man even after we’d passed. After the boys grew older and begin to lose interest in some of the simpler things of youth, they still loved to see the old man on his porch, and they always waved back.

Then one day

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No "L"

It looked as if a forest had exploded. Green pine needles littered our carpet with a trail of them scattered throughout our foyer. This was the beginning of the New Year, and the mess came from carrying our gigantic Christmas tree outside to the curb. The tree had been netted coming in, so no problem there. But going out was a different scene: I had to forcefully shove the dried thing out the doorway, leaving a bulk of needles behind in the house.

“We need to seriously consider an artificial tree next year,” I told Susan as we cleaned up. “They’ve come a long way in how realistic they look.”

It took some convincing, but when we found an extremely nice one on sale after Christmas, we took the plunge. Susan even bought a strong scented pine spray to add to the illusion of a real tree.

The next Christmas, I unpacked the artificial tree from its box, spreading out the pieces. The groups of branches that randomly came out were labeled with inconspicuous letters. I pulled out a group of “M”s and set them aside, then a group “X”s and placed them in a separate pile. I continued this way until the box emptied.

Connecting the main trunk was easy. Next came the task of inserting the individual branches.

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