Chest of Drawers

Chest of drawers: (n) a piece of furniture with drawers set into a frame

The reason that ignorance is often bliss is that information does not always enlighten–sometimes it just frightens.

I was twenty years old before I had my own chest of drawers–this being defined as a wooden structure that was all mine and only contained
my clothing.

When I finally had such a gift, while realizing how special it was, I was still not particularly overwhelmed with enthusiasm.

I was raised in a 900-square-foot home with two bedrooms, two parents and four brothers. I did not know we were cramped. I occasionally would nearly pee my pants waiting for the single bathroom, but I assumed that was just part of the game we call life.

There was not enough space in the tiny bungalow to have multiple chests of drawers. So we shared.

It was up to my mother, who did the laundry, to remember which drawer belonged to which kid, and to place the clothes carefully. Some drawers were even divided in half. That meant my underwear often sat side-by-side with Bill’s and Danny’s.

I didn’t give this much thought. It was the advantage I had by being plump–no one was going to accidentally grab a pair of my drawers from my drawer.

Actually, everybody seemed completely satisfied that since the system worked, it was no social catastrophe that we did not possess our own unique chest of drawers.

Matter of fact, to this day, when I’m traveling on the road and find my motel room to have limited storage, I don’t give it much of a thought. For after all, it’s just clothes.

And I never met a pair of shorts that got fussy with my pants.

 

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Antique

dictionary with letter A

Antique: (n) an object such as a piece of furniture or work of art which has a high value due to its considerable age.

For a brief season in my life I had more money than I needed and therefore convinced myself that I needed more money.

It’s amazing how greed does not go away when you find yourself in the black after bills are paid, but rather, settles as a black cloud over your soul, convincing you that if you don’t lay up more treasure, you will be swallowed by some catastrophe in the future, yet unseen.

So even though most of my journey has been spent clapping my hands in glee when the electric bill has been paid and cleared the bank, during this particular odyssey of finance, I became obsessed with a new word.

Investment.

Yes. Everything needed to be an investment.

So I was told my counselors (who were many since they discovered they could siphon off my wealth via giving advice) that houses were a good purchase.

I was told that if I bought a beautiful white grand piano, it would only appreciate over the years.

And of course, it was necessary, since I was now a person of worldly ilk, to go antiquing.

I was supposed to go to little storefronts which were jammed to the gills with fishy deals, and listen to someone explain how “this table was once in the den of Johnny Appleseed,” and had “already trebled in value and would certainly continue to do so.”

Having an untrained eye, to me it looked like a beat-up piece of wood which should have been broken up to fuel a fire years ago.

When I pointed this out to one of the enthusiastic “antiquers,” he stood back in horror and said, “It’s old. So it’s worth more money.”

I explained to him that I was getting older, and no one found me more valuable. He laughed a little (after all, I was still a potential sale).

Here was my discovery:

  • I bought houses and barely broke even on the turnaround.
  • That white grand piano had to be sold for less than half of its original value.
  • And all the antiques I purchased were viewed by garage sale people as worthless clumps of nothing instead of the posterity of Mr. Appleseed.

There is a bliss to poverty.

You don’t have to wonder what you’re going to do with all your money.

Macaroni and cheese still tastes good on Day Three.

And most importantly… you don’t have to deal with antiques.

 

 

 

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Thank you for enjoying Words from Dic(tionary) —  J.R. Practix