Things were simple

   Things were simple.  Like work.  And money.  You had an old, simple bicycle with no gears, which looked like what it was – a bike that no one else wanted anymore.  The bike you wanted was the silver, 10-speed with the racing handlebars and dual handbrakes that sparkled in the pages at the back end of the Sears Roebuck catalog.  That bike was fantastic, and it cost a fantastic $110.  But you had saved the $5 bills that your grandmother had tucked into birthday cards, and you could make $2 each time you mowed old Mrs. DeGroff’s yard across the street.  Even the math was easy.  You mowed Mrs. DeGroff’s yard five times in a month and that was another ten dollars toward the bike. 

   You had a savings account at the Vermont National Bank uptown, and every now and then, when you had some cash or maybe a check that you wanted to deposit, you got your little passbook from the drawer where you kept it in your bedroom and you got on your bike and you rode it to the bank, where you left your bike outside, unlocked, and walked in to see one of the tellers, who would take your money and your passbook, write in the amount of your deposit by hand, then calculate the amount of interest you had earned on your account since the last time you were in, and then write that down in your passbook, too, and hand it back to you.  And you rode home feeling very good about the extra dollars that you had in the bank that you didn’t have there before.  

   And so it went for a while, and then your parents pitched in what they could contribute toward the bike, and then you ordered it from Sears and after another little while the bike came delivered in a big cardboard box, and then that was the bike – the fantastically better bike – that you rode to play tennis at the town courts, which were free and never crowded, or to the town pool which cost ten cents and was always crowded, or to go fishing or just for a bike ride.  “I’m going for a bike ride,” you would say, and you just went.  And when the summertime was over, and fall was over, too, you hung your silver bike up in the barn for the winter. 

   And now?

   No one in these suburbs seems able to ride a bike without donning a full uniform of high performance bike racing gear, including a “camelback” to hold the water that is now required to remain hydrated at all times.  Your finances are complicated beyond understanding.  You find yourself a partner in a law firm that has offices – and thus you have taxable income – in nine different states plus London and Hong Kong.  You sign forms allowing someone you have never met to file composite, non-resident tax returns on your behalf.  You get memos from someone else you have never met, providing information for participants in the firm’s pension plan, which you could swear you had decided not to participate in.  You get memos from someone else you haven’t met about your 401(k) selections, which don’t look right either.  But you can’t stand the thought of trying to figure it out.

   And so you don’t.

   Even the simple things aren’t simple.  I go up to the cafeteria for a cup of tea in the morning when I get to work, and realize that I have left in my office the big ceramic mug that I am supposed to use because paper cups kill trees and take energy to produce and occupy landfills, and worse than that, the hot water is so hot that you need to double-cup in order not to burn your hands, although you can re-use the outside cup that didn’t get dirty and that seems like a small virtue.  But I have left my ceramic mug in my office, and anyways if I use the mug, then after a day or so I need to wash it, which requires hot water that takes energy to produce, and detergent that gets sent into the water cycle, and paper towels to dry the mug, which – like paper cups – kill trees and take energy to produce and occupy landfills. 

    I’m still not sure what the right choice is in general.  I am able, barely, to decide that this particular time, I am not taking the elevator back downstairs to get my ceramic mug and wash it.  I’m using the paper cups this time and just go ahead and say whatever you want to say about it.  Okay?  Okay with you?

   Okay then.