In the dream, the group plans to trade one friend for the money to finance a holdiay blowout. Her life insurance will pay for presents, treats, wrapping paper, tinsel. She watches benignly as they collect their temporary treasures around them. Why? I ask. Everyone looks away
In the mirror this morning, I ask my reflection: what life am I trading? And for what?
At daybreak, I climb the hill on 20th Street. A buzzard rides on the updrafts, circling. A mouse lies dead on the pavement's edge. Today, I will trade for nothing that will not bring me joy. My son and I hokey-pokey down the hill, even as he protests. I choose these: long walks with children, dogs, and my life's love; the promise of new friends and places; the comfort of those who have shared my highs and lows; and the never-ending pleasure of words. What trinkets could compare?