I just got back from Wal-Mart (oh the horror) and our local, crazy, homeless man, Wendigo was there - stealing socks and singing operatic love songs to a head of lettuce. It was an event. He used to haunt the library and bark like a rabid dog until Megan (librarian) told him that dogs weren't allowed in the library on days ending in "Y" and that seemed to work for him - no more barking...

But anyway - the guy is really harmless just mad as a hatter. To say his cheese slid off the proverbial cracker is an understatement. We have had him here for dinner before because he followed me home from the library one night. We all had to eat on the floor using only the blue plates and spoons... Try eating pork chops with spoons!!!

But I see a lot of people with their sideways glances and pity in their eyes. Mothers running away with their children (which in all honesty, I probably would too). But I envy him to some degree. He is not unhappy. Homeless, yes. But he doesn't care. We all feed him and kind of keep an eye on and out for him. Make sure he has places to stay when it gets cold (he sleeps at the park usually in the summertime). But in his own bizarre way he is so much more free than any of us. He lives in his own self induced reality and thrives - in his own way.

I think often times we all feel sorry for those that we view as "less fortunate" when really we may be missing the point entirely - and completely missing out on something truly extraordinary.

Or do I - with one foot in the looney bin - just have a romanticized vision of the whack job that looms just on the other side of the mirror?


What are you thoughts?