I ordinarily don�t like to touch on the subjects of the greenbacks that seem to all too often cause heartache and arguments. I am a person with a lot of opinions about money. I am often quoted as stating that money is the root to all evil. And more often than not, I believe it. But I am not a fool to think that without it, we�d have gotten as far as we have today. We have to have some way to barter for the things we want and or need, this I know. But I also understand that whether we use money in the form as we know it, coconuts, clams or any other object you can think of, then that other means of payment would then in fact be in the same predicament as money. And we all have our views about money� I�m going to tell you about mine.

Today, I woke up, feeling the urge to cook. Perhaps it�s because this past week I slid by on a diet of take-out and microwaveable meals and I hungered for something home cooked. Perhaps it�s because my latest series of books by Diane Mott Davidson are of a culinary mystery genre. They are about a woman caterer who happens to do amateur sleuthing on the side. The books even include some of the recipes the caterer of the books, Goldy, uses to feed her clients. But whatever the cause, I was not sure what it was that I hungered for. I took stock in my freezers and the fridge before settling on breakfast for dinner. A cuisine that is one of Shawn�s favorites. We don�t eat breakfast, so when we hunger for anything breakfasty, we settle for a dinner meal of eggs, sausage, toast the works. And when I mentioned it to him, he seemed quite happt with my choice.

While I got up and started my dinner prep, he ran into the city to hit Best Buy for some items he�d been coveting and had the means to buy thanks to my Dad�s Christmas gift of a gift card to the store Shawn would live in given the chance. And when he left, he took the dogs with him, leaving me the entire house. And to my joy, a kitchen where I could cook and prepare dinner without the intrusions of two dogs who absolutely must have a sample of everything you�re making.

He got home half way through the process, and happily hugged ad kissed me before making his way to our computer room to assemble his newly purchased computer gadgets. And in that time, I had decided, simple meal or not- I was gonna make us a candle lit dinner.

I made a festive spread with scrambled eggs and various shredded cheeses melted into them, pork sausage, fried hashbrowns and biscuits smothered in sausage gravy. It was a delightful meal. And as I finished putting everything on the table and lighting the candles, I thought: �Some candle lit meal.� And I giggled. There were no cloth napkins, no table cloth even. No filet mignon but instead, scrambled eggs. Not that he�d have eaten filet mignon anyway. But I thought simple food for simple people. And it suited us.

He seemed quite touched when he came out to dinner. He�d had no clue what I was up to. And he got a chuckle in. He even thanked me by lovingly calling me a dork, and a fucking retard. Ahhh, that�s my man. So saccharine sweet� in his off beat kind of way.

After dinner, he went back to assembling the newest parts to his computer and I cleared the table. I sat smoking my after dinner cigarette and I had another chuckle. The whole thing really was kind of silly. But would I have traded tonight�s dinner for the likes of filet mignon and baked potatoes? A fancy bottle of wine? Linen tablecloths and napkins? I can honestly say, not on your life.

And that�s when I started to think about money. Both Shawn and I have the same background. We share the same history. We grew up together living in the �white people projects� as some of the parents called it back then. A low income subsidized housing complex called South Colony Place. To the uneducated eye, it was probably a gorgeous place with its brick and yellow-sided townhouses all lined in their rows. Each subdivision broken down into smaller ones, with sidewalks linking them all. There was a �community pool� for residents, a park, a clubhouse and later the pool was heated and an exercise room added to the clubhouse. Not a bad place to live thinking back, but back then, as I grew up there, I hated it. My Mom hated it. She called it her prison. South Colony Place could be one of two things, 1) A prison you only dreamed to escape or 2) A stepping stone. For my family, it was a prison. Or so my Mom made it known to us. We grew up poor. But we were surrounded by other poor families, so you didn�t know anything else really. We made do with what we had and made the best of it.

Growing up, I often dreamt of my parents winning the lottery. Or that I would get myself a career that made me tons of money, and I would be able to afford new homes, cars and lush luxuries for my family. For so long, my life and my attitude centered around money- or the lack thereof. And when I�d voice my dreams and aspirations to become rich at any cost, I was often told time and time again that �Money doen�t buy happiness.� You could have fooled me back then.

But that was then. And now? I�m not as money hungry as I was back then. Money doesn�t stir the longings in me it once did. In a sense, I guess you could say it lost it�s luster in some ways. But I�m not a fool enough to think that I don�t need it, or that being broke is fin. Oh boy, it�s not. Not by any means. But I can�t help but think that if my dreams had come true, and by some mystery we had come into money� things would never have been the same.

Hell, maybe then my Dad�s wife, my Mother, would have stayed with the family and not left in search of a �better life.� Maybe she�d have actually been a Mom to us growing up. But in all reality, I don�t think it�d have worked. You see, I don�t think my Mom will ever be satisfied. And I don�t think she has it in her to be a Mom. A friend, yes. I think she got jilted on the mother�s intuition though. And if she had stayed, maybe we wouldn�t have had the closeness we found in our Dad. He�d have been too busy chasing the moon for our Mom. Trying unfalteringly to please her and never succeeding.

If we had come into money, maybe we wouldn�t have learned to appreciate it as we have. We wouldn�t have learned to work hard for what we get, to take care of it, and treasure it because the items of our obsessions were purchased through our sweat and labors. We probably wouldn�t have the respect for money that we now have.

And above all, we wouldn�t have had the patience that comes from struggling, plotting, planning and working for what we want and or need. We wouldn�t have learned to be grateful for what we have. Like tonight�s candle lit meal of simple scrambled eggs. Maybe were I rich, that wouldn�t be anything but a petty excuse for a meal.

Looking back, we may not have had name brand clothes, the latest technologically advanced toys, or the money to take fancy trips to Disney World or the Bahamas. But through our poverty, when we are able to afford rare treats, we can savor them. Memorize every moment, make the most of every second. And we learned to rely on each other.

So we didn�t have Atari. But we did have the old soup can that lasted many summer months through endless games of kick the can. So we didn�t have Jordache or Calvin Klein. We had K-Mart Blue Light Specials. But that�s just fine as we were able to play freely and not worry about ruining a 100 dollar pair of jeans.

We were then and are now, simple folk. And you know, I kind of like it that way. Sure, I still entertain dreams of winning that 100 million dollar lotto jackpot and all the things I could do with the money. And were it ever to happen, I won�t say I wouldn�t be tickled pink to get it, nor would I turn it away.

Money, in my oh so humble opinion, doesn�t buy happiness. But it sure does making the search for happiness a little easier. But is that monetary comfort worth missing out on the best days and moments of my life?

No way, Jose. Not on your life. Not even on my worst financially strapped day.

Scrambled eggs by candle light anyone?

Simply,

Sara