So I sat myself down, did some quick calculating, crunched the numbers and, voilá, I’m reasonably confident I’ll make it to lunch. The shocker is, I’m okay with that. A lavish lifestyle as a geezer isn’t appealing, it seems a little silly, really. Who needs fancy and luxurious? I prefer the freedom of small and simple. That, I think, is the beauty of getting old; you don’t need much to be contented. ¹ A sunny day. A trip to the library. Fluffy socks. Music. A good bakery. Time.
See? I have all that and more. As a result, I consider myself a very rich woman. And that’s what I’m thankful for this Thanksgiving season, knowing what’s of value. It isn’t money, although cash is pretty darn handy. It isn’t power. It isn’t standing or position or status. It’s the very real wonder of everyday life. It still exists all around us.
Well, as long as we ignore the daffy old white guys who insist the world is out to get us. Let’s lock ‘em in a basement where they can go about their nefarious business — corruption and collusion and deceit — in the furtive secrecy they crave. And we’ll all go back to enjoying ourselves. What do you say?
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