Wealth Is a State of Mind

Two stories are coverging in my head today: Michael Jackson's premature death and Imelda Marcos's recent declaration that she is virtually penniless.

It appears that Michael Jackson really was penniless, though he didn't recognize it. He owed half a billion dollars, but remained a legendary shopaholic to the end, apparently oblivious to the reality of his situation. In his mind, if he liked it, he should own it, but due to that philosophy he actually owned nothing, because if he had lived long enough, he would likely have seen all of his purchases liquidated over time and his credit cards rejected. (I don't mean to blame MJ or even to criticize him. I see him as a tragic figure, a moonwalking, talking cautionary tale. Not quite a man, not quite a woman, not quite an adult, not quite a child...)

We all remember Imelda Marcos as the woman who owned 1220 pairs of shoes. Her husband, Ferdinand, ruled the Philippines for 20 years and plundered the treasury to the tune of billions of dollars while his people lived in extreme poverty. Of course they lost all of that and were exiled to Hawaii. A few years after Ferdinand's death, Imelda was allowed to return to her native Philippines, but she could no longer live in the Presidential Palace and many of her jewels were auctioned off by the state. Some of her remaining jewels are about to be sold to replenish the treasury, including a 150 carat diamond pendant that is as large as a human thumb.

But what I found most interesting about the AP story published this week is that Imelda regards herself as poor. She is now drawing from her husband's meager war pension while still wearing a 22-carat diamond ring. The most amazing quotes in the article are these two, both by Imelda: "Here I am, at 80, still struggling to look presentable" and "Filipinos are brainwashed to be beautiful. We're allergic to ugliness."

So wealth is a state of mind, and poverty is a state of mind, and money really has very little to do with happiness. Ordinary people who don't own extravagant homes all over the world or caches of jewels have to be reminded of this from time to time.

No More Backtracking

I've said it before on this blog - the first thought I have in the morning is usually the best (most original or insightful) thought I have all day. I don't know why, but it seems to be true.

Yesterday morning (Father's Day), I woke up thinking that I should slice the bread in half for French toast because it so often gets soggy in the middle, so I made French toast for Scott and it was much better that way. More crunchy surface, less sog.

Today's first thought was 'no backtracking.' I knew immediately what this first thought meant because I backtrack all the time, meaning that I skip something because I don't feel like doing it right now only to return later to do it anyway. So I spend my day backtracking and looping instead of steadily moving forward.

Today, for example, I didn't feel like making my bed immediately, but I did. I didn't feel like showering before eating breakfast, but I did. I didn't feel like lacing up my tennis shoes before eating breakfast, but I did. I didn't feel like going to the post office right after the grocery store, but I did. And I think my day has gone much better as a result.

Back from Oregon

We've gotten a little rusty about road trips over the past year. Since our oldest son left on his mission, we've only ventured out of state to attend one family wedding, then we hurried quickly home again.

But last week we took off to attend my best friend's daughter's wedding in Seattle. On the way home, we made a loop along the northern coast of Oregon and through Portland, an area I had not visited since I was five and barely remembered at all.

And we tried to let ourselves have fun without our chief navigator in the backseat. For the most part, we succeeded. It was a great trip. (We did send Taylor a total of six postcards -- he was never far from our thoughts.)

Now that I've been home for almost two days, I find that I am reflecting back on the unfamiliar areas we traveled through. Here are some of my impressions of the Oregon part of our trip:

* I had expected coastal Oregon to be as modern and sophisticated as coastal California. It wasn't. It's an area unspoiled by chain stores, which gives it an almost primitive feel -- 1974ish -- like it hadn't really changed all that much since my previous visit in 1969. There were no storefronts putting on airs along the coast, no malls, no fancy boardwalks or elegant restaurants or ritzy hotels. It was all woods and ocean. The buildings along Highway 1 were coated in perpetually pealing paint. The boats we saw were weathered, too, and the people were regular people, susrprisingly friendly (given Oregon's reputation) and unpretentious.

So I liked the coast of northern Oregon. It was charming and natural and stunningly beautiful, but I wasn't quite at home there. (When we travel, aren't we subconsciously looking for new places to call home?)

* The buzz on Portland is how progressive it is (i.e., how environmentally sensitive it is.) It still has a bit of a hippie feel. (By the end of our visit, we had abbreviated the local bumper sticker to three initials: KPW for "Keep Portland Weird.") It was green and beautiful and very modern. We enjoyed three things in Portland: the rose garden (where most of the hundreds of visitors had their noses in flowers, prompting my husband to remark that we were behaving like bees); Powell's Book Store (the largest independently owned book store in the world; the sheer size of the place gave me renewed courage that maybe I could publish a book -- apparently millions of people already have!), and the incomparable Japanese Garden (the finest in the world outside of Japan.)

We passed several waterfalls and the Columbia River Gorge driving home, and it was all beautiful and awe-inspiring.

But deep inside I am still a girl from Kansas, and like Dorothy, the most famous girl from Kansas, I have to agree: There's no place like home! There's no place like home!

And that's true no matter where home is or what it looks like. (No matter how long the grass has grown or how high the laundry pile is or how dry and barren the landscape....)

It's good to be home!

Just a quick quote note...

On Mother's Day I heard a talk with an elongated version of a quote I had long since memorized from John Ruskin (1819-1900). I liked the more complete quote and thought I would share it here:

This is the true nature of home — it is the place of Peace; the shelter, not only from all injury, but from all terror, doubt, and division. In so far as it is not this, it is not home; so far as the anxieties of the outer life penetrate into it, and the inconsistently-minded, unknown, unloved, or hostile society of the outer world is allowed by either husband or wife to cross the threshold, it ceases to be home; it is then only a part of that outer world which you have roofed over, and lighted fire in. But so far as it is a sacred place, a vestal temple, a temple of the hearth watched over by Household Gods, before whose faces none may come but those whom they can receive with love, — so far as it is this, and roof and fire are types only of a nobler shade and light, — shade as of the rock in a weary land, and light as of the Pharos in the stormy sea; — so far it vindicates the name, and fulfills the praise, of home. – John Ruskin