But she said something in a comment about another subject entirely, and it made me think:
How do you define “The Good Life?”
I was talking to my beloved Aunt Julie yesterday and the subject turned to all the good things in our lives (it wasn’t as corny as that, but you get the idea) and she joked that flush toilets are nice, aren’t they? And I said, and I meant, that I still get a kick out of turning the hot water spigot and having hot water come out. We were not so poor as all that, but we must have done without hot water enough that it traumatized me. Or something.
You?
It was a Big Thing in our family when we got a washing machine, even though we didn’t have running water and we had to carry buckets of water to fill it. That was around 1948 or so.
Isn’t that amazing? My grandparents had an outhouse and my mother was so thrilled when the town laid a water pipe to their house — and this was within my lifetime. I remember the two-holer — which always struck me as odd…two people using the bathroom at the same time? No, thank you.
(Jay, did that machine have a wringer attached to it, where each piece of laundry would be forced between rollers controlled by a hand-crank in order to squeeze the water out before the laundry would be taken out to the clothesline?)
I have never been rich BY AMERICAN STANDARDS. When I was small my sister and I and our mother lived in a house that my mother co-owned with her mother and sister, and we were always warm and fed and clothed. Still, my mother struggled financially, so things weren’t exactly plush.
As an adult, though, I’ve mostly been firmly in the middle class, and I’m sometimes truly amazed at how lucky I am. I have a small tight house, I’ve been able to replace my well-worn cars with new ones every couple hundred thousand miles for about 25 years, and I haven’t had to worry about food since I was on my own in NYC and making a pittance of a salary (unless of course I’ve been too lazy or distracted to go BUY some).
That seems like a pretty Good Life to me. I’m brought to tears sometimes when I’m reminded that my luck isn’t shared by everyone in this town, this state, this country, this world. Honestly, I’m frequently amazed at how little thought I need to put in to maintain my survival, my comfort. I have friends who are mentally gearing up for the total breakdown of this society, and there are times when that kind of thinking doesn’t seem so absurd to me, but it’s easy to be lulled into obliviousness by our comforts.
Some will say “Well that’s because you live in America where this is possible for anyone to achieve” and some will say “Well that’s because you’ve worked hard for this.” That might be their story, but it might not be mine.
(Those same grandparents with the outhouse had a wringer-washer and washing day was big fun for me as a kid.) I drive up to my house — yeah, it’s a rental, but still — and am still stunned that I live as I do. And I actually like my family, which is cool.
Yes, it was a wringer machine, and we had to crank it by hand.
I remember (where is this coming from?) seeing a magic act in those days, and the magician supposedly put a rabbit between those rollers. It wrecked me.
Oh, no! No smashed bunnies!
Of course not, but try to tell that to a maybe 5-year-old from the generation that didn’t have TV yet, and had barely been to a movie.
Oh my, I can still hear my sister screaming from the day she caught her arm in the wringer up to the elbow and trapped her utill we could diasemble the mechanism! Hummm—I quess we were mini-plutocrats because our wringer washer was electrically driven.
On another note, I am reminded every Tuesday morning of the fragile economic status of so many of our fellow citizens when I volunteer with an organization that assist the “working poor” with food, clothing and mini-loans. The grateful reactions of most of these wonderful people just overwhelms me. They work and they work hard but they just can’t make enough to pay rent, untilities and then buy adequate food for their families. One of the questions that I am required to ask them is if they have any form of health care/insurance and naturally the answer is almost always no. I wonder what most of them would consider the “good life?”
Jerry C.
It’s an eye-opener, isn’t it? One summer I spent weeks and weeks following a mother who lives on state and was trying to keep her family fed even while her health deteriorated. One day, I checked the freezer and she only had ice in there. I drove home that night and my husband had thrown a steak on the grill (he’s a sweetheart) and I. Just. Couldn’t. Eat. It. It’s not like not eating it would help that woman but it just seemed wrong to have so much.
In your journalistic objectivity, were you allowed to help?
GOOD QUESTION.
So many times I thought I knew the answer to that; it was always sometime just out of reach. Over the years, I’ve gotten to know some very wealthy people who have looked to be living “the good life” from the outside. Indoor fountains, indoor racetracks for the kids, elevators, fireman’s pole for fun, kitchens to die for with every gadget imaginable and refrigerators large enough to live in, vacation homes, yachts (big ones), tennis courts, zero depth pools…the list of things goes on and on. As a visitor to their world, I’ve often thought that they must be living the good life. But. Things aren’t always as they appear. One of those families crumbled after the mom, a woman I knew as a kind-hearted soul, fell completely apart in a very public way. Other things have popped up for some that made me realize that they aren’t really living the good life as in the perfect life. Yet, during a recent visit to a homeless shelter for people who are HIV+, a guy stood in the doorway of his small room, with the biggest smile, saying “Look! They gave me a bed. I have my own bed and my own room!” To him, that was the good life.
I grew up living in an average house with a friend living in a converted chicken coop about a half mile to the left. About a half mile to the right, another friend lived in a large house with a barn and lots of land, because Papa raised race horses and ran a restaurant. From the outside, my friend to the left had nothing and my friend to the right had everything and I, in the middle, had things just about right – average. Except it wasn’t true for all three of us.
Living the good life can’t be determined by what you have. I think living the good life, once the basics are met, is enjoying life just where you are in it.
Amazing when you look around and see others with so much less. And yeah, it’s not about stuff, is it?
I don’t think it is. When my husband and I came home from church last Sunday and found that my daughter had decided to surprise us by decorating the house for Christmas and had wrapped packages under a little tree for us already, at that moment, I felt like I was living the good life.
How cool! Does she do others’ houses?
As in YOUR house? You’d have to go off to church some Sunday. :-)
Wow. In order to get my house decorated, I’d have to darken a church door? Wouldn’t it be better if I just went for a long walk? (And good one!)
That is so sweet! Can you send her our way? We drug everything up from the basement but can’t seem to unpack it all. Gotta do it for the kids.
Our Christmas stuff is in storage and I am currently in negotiations with myself whether I’m going to go dig all that out. I think probably no, but I’m not buying all new stuff, either. I’m thinking liberally-applied garlands.
Vegas, if you promise to feed her Christmas cookies, she just might come on over!
I’m taking a break from working my way through the outdoor lights that aren’t working. Damn lights! Now which one is the one that is out. Yesterday, I got halfway done stringing the outdoor lights outside and just as I was swearing at the tangled strands, my neighbor came over and rescued me from becoming permanently entangled and connected to several bushes and trees. I’m about to head out again, if you don’t hear back from me, send out a search party.
Yeah, but you understand that we’ll all probably come with cameras to take photos of you and then release said photos on the web, right? I mean, that’s kind of how we roll here. Good luck!
Thanks, dj. I’m so glad you guys are reliable.
I’m back and the lights are on.
Everybody! Let’s drive by Jac’s house and oooh and aaaah.
Believe me, it’s not worth the trip. When I went out earlier I noticed half a strand of lights were out and had to whack it a few times to get the things to turn on again.
I am hanging lights this weekend. Pray for me. It’s just two lil’ pine trees, but still.
The good life? I just want emotional peace. Since my parents’ separation in 94, stuff has just been falling apart. I’ve never had time to breathe since I was 4 years old. Just pain after pain after pain…
I’ve been rich, poor and in between. I’ve lived in expensive Manhattan and endured months with no electricity in Nigeria. Now, living by myself, I’ve found the perfect middle (though I’m still incredibly frugal). And I’m content.
Wow. Since ’94? That’s a long, long time to fall apart. I’m glad you’re finding contentment, though.
I think emotional peace can be a tough one. For me, it comes in moments and hours and if I’m lucky, days. Sometimes that’s good enough and sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough. Hang in there, neu.
I sometimes wake up feeling that way, at peace, and then I remember…something…
I think we are there. Even though we still have some stress, some debt, some bills that have to wait sometimes…we don’t struggle the way most of the people around us do. We don’t struggle the way our parents and siblings do and we don’t struggle the way we used to. It’s just enough that we are still kept on our toes. When we returned from NC with $40 and an empty fridge I was grateful to be reminded of what I could do with $30 at the grocery store! And when our electricity was turned off a couple weeks ago I was just relieved that we had the money up front to have it restored. Sure, we’d love to have a little more, pay off the debt, get a place that’s just a smidge bigger…but this is it. This is good.
Awesome, Vegas. Gratitude for what you have is such a powerful thing. I’m working on getting better at that. It’s so easy for me to see what’s wrong, but there is sooo much that’s just right. I think I could use daily reminders to “snap out of it” and be grateful.
And stay out of holiday-lit hedges, too. Don’t forget that.
I love you, Vegas. There. I said it.
I can make myself look pretty darned awesome.
With very little effort, I suspect. I bet looking awesome comes naturally for you.