Counting My Blessings

 

I have a lot of undertakings to which I give my income.  The shop that I founded, charities to which I donate, gifts for friends.  I used to go to the coast every month, before the shop.  I fly home once a year, renting a car and reserving an AirBnb.  I'm not a saver; I never have been.  I've been expecting to die since 1997, so there didn't seem to be a point.  Never mind that the poor fellow who made that prognosis himself died a year later, and that I have had twenty-seven years to understand his error.  I never learned to save, and that ship has sailed.  Fortunately, I taught my son -- or someone did -- and he will live better for it.

But I have enough, and I know I live a privileged life.  I still work at 69, because I must; but I don't mind the fact of continued employment.  Perhaps it's not ideal.  I grow weary, wearier than a decade ago and more quickly.  I've always been a bit unsteady on my feet, you know; and osteopenia hovers on the edge of my awareness.  Eventually, I will ease my workload, but it suits for now.  

I feel my privilege.  As I filled my salt mills the other day, the news of the day played in the background.  War; the collapse of governments across Europe and the Middle East; the threats to democracy --  all invaded the otherwise easy silence as I poured.  Celtic grey and Himalayan pink.  After I got that done, I decanted two pounds of one of my favorite beans, Mother Lode Coffee.  The counter needed cleaning, so I flicked the water lever and listened while my Precision Temp On-Demand propane water heater activated.  The water heater that my carpenter-builder installed failed after less than two years.  This brand cost ten times as much but has been incredibly reliable.  My small savings took a hit but I have no regrets. 

Christmas approaches.  All of the winter events for which I had responsibility have come and gone with a fair bit of success.  In a week, I will board a plane for Chicago.  I've yet to figure out a winter coat. My usual sources failed me -- Poshmark, ThredUp, the Goodwill in Lodi.  I could have gone to Kohl's while in town, but that's not my jam.  I ordered something semi-warm from Amazon despite its varied reviews.  It might go back; I might instead layer myself in wool until I deplane, and deal with whatever weather I encounter.  I'm sure my son will help me find something decent.  

My son takes me to the best places.  Once we went high above the city; so high, I could barely breathe.  Heights terrify me.  On that same visit, he navigated us to not one but two demonstrations. I watched, and listened, and we talked about the causes which put fire into the belly of his generation.  He grows more fine, more socially aware, more solid every year.  I could not be more proud of what he has made of himself.

  

Only fourteen days remain of this year.  I still have not resolved my website issues, mainly because I haven't had the time or stamina to make the decisions that the web guy outlined.  Time enough for that in the weeks ahead.  In the meantime, I have laundry to do, holiday cards to address, and a pile of scarves to sort through for the donation bag.  I ate a good dinner of gluten-free pasta and a mediocre plant-based sausage made primarily of egg whites and 'natural ingredients'.  I chuckled when I read that.  I suppose it could be arsenic for all I made a point of learning before I tossed them in the pan.  No matter; it charred nicely, and tasted vaguely of what I remember of meat.  I chased the lot down with cold spring water.

As we all head into whatever holiday we each celebrate, I bid joy to each of you.  Whether you believe in some higher power or just credit the universe with any grace that comes your way, I hope you can count your blessings on more than one hand.  As for myself, that goes without saying.

Mugwumpishly tendered,

Corinne Corley

The Missouri Mugwump®