If it weren't for a computer glitch at the title company we'd be up at the bank signing papers to refinance our mortgage so we can pay less per month and pay it off faster at the same time--in about 5 years. Wasn't that a brilliant idea Durwood had? He's very smart about money and investments. I'm the grasshopper in this relationship and he's the ant. I'm convinced that if you have money, you can spend it and the future will take care of itself. Evidently that isn't the case. He tells me if a person doesn't save money or invest it, there won't be any when they (me, for instance) get old and gray and feeble. When I told him that I don't intend to get feeble so I'll be okay, he scoffed. Yes, gentle readers, he scoffed, telling me that if I didn't save or invest my pennies I'd be a non-feeble little old lady standing on street corners rattling nickels in a tin cup try to sell pencils. Do you think he's right? You do, don't you? I can tell by the look on your face. You too think I need to save my money so that I won't be a broke and cranky, non-feeble, gray haired old lady. Well, okay. I'll be putting my spare nickels in a sock tout suite, but I won't like it and you can't make me. There has to be an old, lonely millionaire out there I can be nice to so he'll leave me his fortune because I'm swell. Somewhere there is, I'm sure of it. (Yep, that's about as likely as Mom winning the Publisher's Clearing House millions because she ordered a blue-million magazines from them. Oh well, I'm keeping the fantasy handy just in case.) We'll be getting a call from the bank-lady, Sandipa, sometime today and toddling back up to the bank to sign. That means that I'll be heading back downstairs to reorganize the canned foods and make room for the boxes of wraps and bags on shelves instead of having them crammed into a box in the way as soon as I'm done posting this.
January 16--Salvador Dali, The Accommodations of Desire. He was so purposeful, so calculatedly eccentric that I felt as though he was a shadow behind his persona gauging our perceptions. There was that conscious gleam in his eyes when he knew he was being watched. So many of his works were made to stir up protest among the collectors. A regular spotlight hog, that crazy Spaniard.
Grr. That was another re-issue of art. I can't help it that I remember what's been in the previous year's calendar and it distracts me to the point that I can barely write about them. Get over it, Barbara, for pity's sake. Is it snowing where you are? It sure is here. *sigh* I suppose it's to be expected in January.