Money For Nothing: The Week In Review

During this week's wrap-up I'm in a Thanksgiving weekend paradise.

Sitting in the recliner, feet up.

Championship high school football on the television.

Christmas decorations festooning the living room, notably the tastefully lit tree in the corner and the stockings dangling from the hope chest.

Unseasonably warm breezes floating in through the open window.

Pine-scented candles richly blanketing the air.

The good times keep coming.

I saw a lot of basketball this week. The varsity had three games, the sophomores had three, and I scouted a game 90 miles away in Galesburg that resulted in my watching three more.

Dena accompanied me to the Galesburg scouting expedition. She got to do some shopping while I was filming... but the point is that she gave up part of her Thanksgiving weekend to support a basketball road trip. When you marry someone you know how certain things will transpire about your life, and others are unknown. I didn't know that Dena would be an enthusiastic coach's wife, or be the one in our home who buys sports movies on DVD. I'm just blessed.

Dena's bank's Christmas party was last weekend. I was sitting next to a gent whom I'd never met before. He seemed kindly in a rugged farmer sort of way, but I had to give up after twice asking what he did for a living and gathering that it sort of had something to do with fuel tanks. After a minute I knew his name, and that he was a bank board member. Trying to keep the conversation afloat, I asked what was new and exciting on the board. His paraphrased reply was "It's getting harder all the time, with all this bull---- regulation." Keeping my eyebrows from denting the ceiling was my great self-control maneuver of the week.

Speaking of eyebrows, I noticed a couple of rogue eyebrow hairs that were protruding straight out from my face. As in, birds might land there and start nesting. I know men get hairier in some places as they age, and I'm getting used to shaving my ears from time to time. But I was not expecting to turn into a Muppet.

You know what? When it starts raining we don't fret about how to "fix" it, do we? Storms blow over. The sun's right behind it. I saw a dust-up between two people and my instinct was to try to intervene, get them to talk it out. Instead I waited. A week later these two people were laughing tears from their eyes together. Another lesson learned in the value of shutting up sometimes.

With all the driving to hoops games and Mom's house I needed a fill-up. Pulled into the station. Nozzle into the gas tank. Swiped my card to pre-pay for fuel. "Cannot read card," it displayed. Re-holstered the nozzle. Walked in and pre-paid $30. Walked back to my car. Drove off.

Notice a key step missing in there?

An hour later I realized my mistake. Fortunately, I still had some gas. Unfortunately, Dena married a man whose head makes an echoing sound when you tap it.

Here's the thing though. My first instinct was to seek revenge on the gas station. If their card reader had worked this would never have happened! Darn station. This is the third time it's not worked, at three different pumps, and this time I'd lost $30. Maybe I'll just take my business somewhere else from now on, where the card readers work. That's what I'll do, since I have to refuel anyway.

Then a rebellious thought elbowed its way into the delirium. Suppose I just drive to the original station and ask them if I can get the gas I already paid for? Upside: $30 saved. Downside: "No, you can't," and back where I was.

I asked. They agreed. In fact they were happy to agree, since my little misadventure was going to mess up their books when they tried to reconcile.

It's amazing what good can come of calm, rational thought instead of riled, emotional thought.

An amusing note. In order to repair my situation, the attendant had to close out the original transaction by refunding me $30. He handed me the cash. Then he asked me how much gas I wanted. "Um, $30," I said, handing him the bills right back.

Life is so much better when we realize that very few setbacks are truly tragic, lasting, or unsolvable.