The greatest wealth is to live content with little.
I went to the Dollar Store yesterday and was reminded, immediately, of the many reasons why I don’t go to the Dollar Store. I haven’t been there since this time last year when I was hunting for a cryptogram puzzle book with my granddaughter. Once a year is more than enough.
It’s a crowded place filled with stuff I neither need nor want. The shelves are close together and high; venturing down one of the aisles brings on a sense of claustrophobia as I—quickly as possible—navigate my way around people while scanning the shelves with my eyes.
Yesterday I was searching for a roll of plain brown Kraft paper. I didn’t find any and gave up before I checked every aisle (and, as usual, refused to ask a clerk if they had any). I just couldn’t stand it any longer.
Later, from the comfort of my wing chair, next to the non-traditional tree, I found—via Google—a store that carries the paper. I’ll make a quick and stressless stop today and pick some up.
What is the Kraft paper for? Well, in addition to the simple and non-traditional tree this year, I’m doing some simple and non-traditional Christmas gift wrapping.
Simple happy. Just not at the Dollar Store.
# # #
In other news, I’m honoured and delighted to have one of my essays included in this new anthology, Inside and Out: Women’s Truths, Women’s Stories, featuring the work of Story Circle Network members.
In her foreward, SCN president, Susan Wittig Albert says:
[These are] the real, true stories of real women who write about the ordinary events of their ordinary lives. Stories about seeing with new eyes, connecting with the heart, remembering the past, reveling in the present, waking up to a new future. Stories about acting, nurturing, growing. Losing and mourning. Finding and celebrating. Life—ordinary and extraordinary—seen from a woman’s point of view, told in a woman’s voice.
But while these stories are grounded in the daily realities of individual lives, they tell us a communal story. A story about women’s courage in the face of disaster, of stubborn refusal to accept the status quo, of remembering the past so vividly that it becomes present. Her story, yes—the story of the individual writer. But our stories. Our collective, communal stories.