He looks better than Genocidal Jackson*, don't ya think?

My garbage and recycling are collected on Friday mornings. They arrive at 6AM, so I can usually bring in the bins as I head off to work.

Last Friday in the dim, pre-daytime savings dawn, I went to the curb and noticed something in the gutter next to the garbage can. It was a soggy $20 bill, folded in half and nestled in a pile of leaves. Picking it up I found it was actually $40. I put the money in my pocket, put away the bins and headed to work.

I kept thinking about the money and who lost it. Was it the garbage collection guy? Someone collecting bottles and cans from the recycling bin for the deposit money? As an absent-minded kid and a disorganized adult, losing money was something of which I have extensive experience and felt sympathy for whoever was cursing themselves, frantically pawing through every bag, pocket, sofa cushion, book, drawer and wallet they can find hoping to find their misplaced money.

I did check Craig's list and found no notices of missing money. By the next day I wasn't feeling as concerned and broke one of the bills at Ikea. I know, I know, of all places! At least it wasn't Starbuck's.

Tonight, Monday, it was a battle getting home. The evening was very dark and very rainy. There were power outages all over the east side rendering traffic lights useless. It took forever to even get close to my neighborhood. After getting a partial ride from a coworker, I managed to catch a bus the rest of the way and arrived home- wet, tired, hungry and oh-so-thankful to be in my cozy, comfortable house. Before I even took off my coat, the doorbell rang. Arrrgh. 

At the door were two high-school aged girls collecting bottles and cans for the Portland Rescue Mission, an organization that provides food and shelter to the homeless in Portland. On this evening these smiling, wholesome teenagers were going door to door collecting 5-cents a piece containers for the most desperate and under-served members of our community. Such a contrast to me- a grumpy, middle-aged frump concerned only with what I would have for dinner that night.

I told them I had nothing and that since our garbage collection was only 2 days ago, they might not find much in our neighborhood. They thanked me "so much for explaining that!", wished me "a terrific evening!" and went to the next house.

In an irrational, superstitious moment of illogical thinking, I made a quick deal with the universe, or God, whatever you want to call it. I felt that if I gave $20 to these kids, Barack Obama would win the election. I grabbed the bill and dashed back out into the rain and caught up with the girls.

They were a little astonished and I felt too embarrassed to give the impression that I was actually so generous, so I- maybe a little too emphatically- made it clear that I had found the money.

We all make deals. Promising, wheeling and dealing, thinking we can control the outcome of some event that was set into motion a fraction of a second before it careened completely out of our control. That's when most of us start praying. 

There are a lot of prayers being said these days. You can almost hear it every time you read a newspaper, watch the news and go to work, attend church. It is being chanted by those who have lost their jobs, their homes, their money, their freedom and their country.

Anne Lamott wrote that there are just two prayers in the world: "Help me, help me, help me..." and "Thank you, thank you, thank you...".

Hopefully, after tomorrow's election, most of us will be saying the second.

*Andrew Jackson is my second least-favorite president, after you-know-who. (Millard Fillmore was such a douche bag)  Sarah Vowell brilliantly describes Jackson's brutal slaughter of the Demoratic Cherokee Nation on This American Life.