6-17-02, Side Streets, Kimra Traynor Herb
Dreams Greater than a Budget
By Kimra Traynor Herb
IPS Features
My husband likes to repeatedly remind me, "We're
not rich, you know." He tells me this, I guess, as a sort of grounding as I
drift occasionally towards la-la land...... dreaming dreams that our modest
budget cannot handle.
"I KNOW." I reply, when faced again with the
reminder of our limitations, financially speaking, but oh...... how I wish it
were so. Now
don't give me that look. That: 'some people would be thrilled to have all you
have' look. I know we have a good life. I recognize the fact that two cars, a
nice home, a swimming pool and a large tree-filled yard are the American dream.
However, every once in a while I get a peak at how the OTHER HALF (or rather,
the small percentage at the top) live, and frankly, I covet that lifestyle.
I know you aren't supposed to covet. It is right there
in the Bible, plain as can be, over and over again. It's one of the sins; a bad
one, and admitting I do it doesn't take away the sin. But man, oh man, to
imagine a world where you don't have to balance the checkbook BEFORE going to
the Walmart Super-Center..... well, call me a sinner and pray for me, because I
can't stop wanting the big life.
It always happens to me about this time of the year.
Once a year, after saving for the vacation all
the previous year; our family joins our friends from Ohio and we set off
for the good life. A week- a solid, uninterrupted week at the beach. We rent
furnished condos setting prettily on the snow white sands of the Gulf; complete
with tennis courts, a five star restaurant, pools, jacuzzis and a spa. Then we
sit back and pretend that we live the life. For a week, that is.
Oh, how I love our week at the beach. I love waking in a
posh, decorator-perfect bedroom, stretching and getting my first glimpse of the
surf pounding the shore. I enjoy the smell of sunscreen and chatting with my
friend as we brown our legs under the warm late-spring air. I love watching the
kids play in the waves, jumping over breakers and laughing in the hot tubs. I
love everything about the week- except when it ends. When it is over, I return
home to our perfectly nice suburban home, and notice right off the bat that the
lawn needs a good mowing.
"If I were rich," I announce to the group,
sulkily, "I would have hired someone to mow the lawn while we were
gone." Then I sigh that, 'oh poor me' sigh that seems to come to my lips so
easily following the big beach vacation, and prepare to enter my home. This is
always the reality check. Because, wish as I may that I would clean BEFORE going
on vacation..... it never happens. Instead, the interior of my home accurately
reflects the chaos of our hurried departure, and those dustballs- the ones under
the piano- they have grown BIGGER while I was away. And although I pride myself
as being able to decorate on a shoestring budget- that shoestring looks frayed
when compared to the Better Homes and Garden decorating that the condos feature.
I remember aloud to my husband that as we were loading
our old and battered suitcases into our minivan, a brand new Mercedes SUV pulled
up to the front of the condos and started unloading furniture. "This would
be perfect for the beach place!" I imagined the owners saying, and I
couldn't help, at that moment, feel sorry for the "we're not rich, you
know" status of my life.
My poor husband. I probably put him at his wits' end. He
makes a great living; meets all of our basic needs and beyond, and what do I
give him? Complaints. Lifestyle-envy, and a whining, covetous wife. It's no
wonder so much of his hair has gone gray in the almost 20 years we've been
married.
My need to live the excessively rich lifestyle is
matched by enough intellect to realize that most likely, it will never be so.
Most days, I am fine with scouring through the clearance bins for a deal which
matches our family budget. But someday, when the sun is shining long in the
west, and the white sand is still clinging to all of my bathing suits..... well,
those days I just need my husband to remind me.
"We're not rich, you know."