Captain’s log, Starday Sunday afternoon…

I come to from a three-day migraine, convinced Son’s graduation barbeque and pool party is two weeks away.

“No, D, it’s next Sunday.”

The Twilight Zone theme floats around my head. Full work-week ahead. In-laws arriving Wednesday. Pool not opened. Fifty people coming. Nothing started. I want to EEEEEEKKKK! but can’t: too drained from the migraine.      

More proof that Murphy’s Law rules.  Whine? Roll with it? Whine.

Hubby and Son open the pool. Yuk. Disgusting. I sigh. I go on-line and order a huge fort float. Hoping for the best? No. Locking myself in to getting that water sparkling clean.

I ponder the menu and dash off the first of many to-do lists. I’m exhausted.

Hubby and Son promise they will do whatever I ask, without attitude. Really?

“Your command is like an order!” quips Hubby.

OK then. Forward march. 

THREE PART SECRET JUST REVEALED!!!

Got by you? Here it is, stripped down:

•  Keep a sense of humor.
•  Accept help.
•  Soldier on.

Simple in theory. But tough in the implementation. In other words, it's a spiritual practice. Sigh.

You can stop reading now if you want. That’s the gist.  If you're a glutton for detail, read on.

Has the death of Bin Laden dealt a death blow to terrorism? I think not. It makes no difference whether the cause is just or evil. Eliminating a leader kills only the physical man (or woman), not the function. 

It’s group process. We are pack animals. The biology of pack animals demands an alpha. Contenders will sort each other out, whether peace-ably or murderously, until one emerges as the leader of the pack. 

Nature is not picky. She doesn’t demand the leader be good for the pack. Or even that the alpha be good. 

In fact, to become a leader, it helps to be bad. A concern for other people’s feelings and needs gets in the way

It was freaky cold last weekend (twenty seven below Sunday night). The heat shut down in the house Friday. But we didn’t know that. I piled on the sweaters, but couldn’t warm up, like when the flu felled me. By the time we figured it out, it was too late to do anything more than hunker down under double wool blankets and down comforter, bundled up in double fleece pj’s and double wool socks. 

Saturday morning, I layered on an ankle length down coat and wool scarf, then called Friend Karl, who helps us with house ailments. His phone was down. But I didn’t know that. 

“There’s no yogurt?” I stick out my lower lip in comical exaggeration of disappointment.

Mark, the farmer-owner of the CSA we belong to, looks me in the eye and says, “D, this is why you are a high maintenance member.”

Me?! High maintenance? He must be joking. I telescope onto his blue eyes, which are locked on mine unwaveringly. No. He’s not joking.           

Living With The Budget, Part I

Living With The Budget, Part II 

Mentsch tracht, Gott lacht. (Yiddish)  Man plans, God laughs.

Phase III: The Budget As Compass North 

Just when I’ve settled cozily into complacency, something happens to remind me that not only have I not arrived, I never will. The learning never stops. The Budget, like a lodestone, has guided my way more than once.

The Hank Situation

After two decades of throwing money away on rent, Hubby and I bought an investment property,

Living With The Budget, Part I

Phase II: Locking Yourself Into The Budget And Throwing Away The Key

Detoxing off credit cards and the ATM is not for the faint of heart. Hubby especially, suffered horribly. Thwarted desire and frustration ran rampant, daily.

“What do you mean, I can’t buy a book?” he would snarl in outrage.

It bit, hard, dealing with Hubby. But way less than the fanged snake of the bill, which would be cornering me like a mouse at the end of the month.  If I gave in to him. “It’s not in The Budget. If you have cash, go ahead.”

Of course he didn’t have any,

I wouldn’t wish living with The Budget on my worst enemy, just my nearest and dearest. Though it’s almost an intolerable pain in the patootie at first, financial solvency binds anxiety better than any drug available, no side effects. Plus, there’s the lovely afterglow from having money available to pay for whatever comes up, as it comes up. Without a credit card.

But, at first, it bites.

“In certain trying circumstances, urgent circumstances, desperate circumstances, profanity furnishes a relief denied even to prayer.”   Mark Twain

Son is driving. I am riding shotgun. “Wait for those cars to go by before turn—“ Son abruptly turns left into oncoming traffic.

I tromp on the floor— Where’s the accelerator?!— Ohmygod! I will Son to go faster!Gofaster!Gofaster! Instead, I can’t believe it— he hesitates.

The oncoming car isn’t slowing down.