Don’t worry, by the way. The poem is short: only 14 words, including the title.
A New Normal and a North Window
Me, in 2021.
Normally — or, rather, what used to be normally — I’d be spending most of the day at my desk, looking stuff up, reading, writing, or thinking about what I’d been reading, writing, or looking up.
Then, in April, a sore on my shin wouldn’t heal.
As a result, I got to know the folks who come to town each week for a Wound Care Clinic, and spent most of the summer’s days keeping my feet as high as practical.
The good news, some of it, was that the household already had an easy chair by the north window.
The open sore wasn’t open any more by the time summer ended. But now I’ve got a new “normal”: spending a fair fraction of each day in the easy chair by the north window. Often with a cup of coffee, always with something to read.
The new routine keeps my feet up more than before, which is supposed to help with blood circulation: and did strongly correlate with getting that sore healed.
My webcam’s view, around noon, October 22, 2025.
It’s a nice view out the north window: basically the same as my webcam’s, but from a different angle.
Webcam: Sauk Centre MN “…my corner of small town America, deep in the heart of darkest Minnesota….”
Lately, I’ve been enjoying watching the leaves turn to their autumn colors. And that reminded me of something my father did.
“Autumn Yard Work” and Rejoicing
“Autumn Yard Work (II)”, Bernard I. Gill.
My father didn’t write much, but he did have a way with words. That’s something I inherited from him, along with a habit of thinking about life, the universe, and all that.
Autumn Yard Work (II) Life passing Leaves falling Birds flying Clouds floating I’m watching Rejoicing (Bernard I. Gill)
I can’t, offhand, point to any one example, but I very strongly suspect I learned my habit of paying attention to the wonders and beauties surrounding us from my father.
Or maybe it’s something hardwired: an inherited predisposition to notice where I am, and think about what’s there. If so, that’s a pleasant counterpoint to other very-likely-inherited glitches.
In any case, I think rejoicing is a good idea. Even when — particularly when — everything isn’t copacetic, the snail’s eyebrows, and the bee’s knees: and I don’t have ‘beautiful feelings’.
“…Oh, what a beautiful Mornin’ Oh, what a beautiful day. I’ve got a beautiful feelin’ Everything’s goin’ my way….” (“Oh, What a Beautiful Morning” , from “Oklahoma!” (1943) via allmusicals.com)
Bottom line, rejoicing is a good idea, no matter how I’m feeling. It’s also possible at any time, although sometimes it’s more of an intellectual exercise than a rush of emotion.
This might be a good time to stop writing.
Besides, I’ve talked about life, perceptions, and making sense before, more or less:
Our part of Sauk Centre has been getting new paving, sidewalks, and utilities. Or, rather, the old ones are being replaced.
The folks doing it have been working in stages, so no one address had their street access cut off for more than a few days to a week or so. Except for Our Lady of the Angels, the parish church for this household.
When the street and sidewalk on the church’s north side was torn up, we’d been told that the job would be done and we could use the church again by the end of summer.
So we shifted our schedules around — and so did St. Paul’s, the other parish in town. There’s a story behind a town this size having two parishes, but that’ll wait for another day.
I like St. Paul’s just fine, but by the end of summer was looking forward to getting back into “our” church.
Then, around mid-September, we learned that the concrete in the new Our Lady of the Angels sidewalk had to be re-poured. It had failed a stress test, and the slope between the doors and the street to the east exceeded insurance limits.
No worries, though. We’d been told that the concrete would get replaced. Perhaps some time next year. The contractor, apparently, was booked solid and wasn’t at all sure when we could be squeezed in.
The local priest talked with city authorities, indicating that this was not acceptable. For the first time in years, decades, I sent an email saying basically the same thing. My guess is that I wasn’t the only one indicating that, no kidding, we really do use that building.
Time passed.
This morning, on my way to St. Paul’s, I noticed cars parked outside Our Lady of the Angels, and lights on inside. Turning the corner, I saw through an entry-area window that someone was INSIDE the church.
As I said, this was an unusually good Sunday morning for me. We can start using our parish church again.
Somehow, part of the sidewalk we use was re-poured. And, I hope, this time passed tests.
The too-steep incline issue has been solved by putting stair-steps where the slope was.
What looks like a wooden railing has been installed, too. I haven’t gotten close enough to verify that the wood-colored, rather rectilinear, railings actually are wood. Wood isn’t the structural material I’d choose for railings in this climate: but the things are there, and we can use them, so I’m a happy camper.
This is very good news: and a far better outcome than I’d expected.
Now, instead of related stuff, I’ve picked links to stuff that isn’t necessarily related:
“I’ve been poor and I’ve been rich. Rich is better!” (Attr. Beatrice Bakrow Kaufman; from Leonard Lyons’ column, The Washington Post (May 12, 1937) … via Wikiquote)
Whoever said that first, I think the one-liner makes sense.
This week I’m talking about a new book, “The Art of Spending Money”.
Instead of rehashing the usual budget advice, Morgan Housel shows how you can make yourself miserable by thinking about money the wrong ways. That actually makes sense, since knowing what’s daft helps you avoid ‘what everybody knows’ about money and life.
Bottom line, I think there’s considerable good sense in Mr. Housel’s book.
But something he said about treating money and religion — gave me an opportunity to look at curiosity from a Catholic viewpoint.
Victor Dubreuil’s “Money to Burn”, oil on canvas. (1893)
I’ve never been at either end of the socioeconomic spectrum, but I’ve slid back and forth a considerable bit.
My parents didn’t have a big income, but they weren’t big spenders either. Experiencing the Great Depression as adults probably helped.
Having enough to pay this month’s bills, and reason to think there’ll be enough next month: that definitely feels better than the alternative.
My personal wealth, the part I could pay bills with, went down to the low single digits for a few days when I lived in San Francisco. But a job and a paycheck turned that around. It’s an experience I’d prefer not repeating.
Over the decades we’ve been married, my wife and I have done a bit better.
We’ve never gone without food, but we did qualify for — and take — government handouts.
The first time was when we lived in Fargo, North Dakota. Some agency was distributing bricks of surplus cheese. Then, here in Sauk Centre, we had enough kids and a low enough income to qualify for school lunch freebies.
I’m not overwhelmed with shame and guilt for keeping my family fed by accepting what was available at various times. And we’re doing pretty well. We’ve got more than enough food under the roof to see us through a week: and own the roof. Many get by with less.
On the other hand, I’d have preferred having had more income, so that we needn’t have been so creative about keeping ourselves fed, clothed, and housed.
It certainly helped that my wife is intensely practical, and I acquired an intellectual appreciation for alternative lifestyles during the Sixties.
But enough about me.
“…Simple Choices for a Richer Life”: Money and Making Sense
Morgan Housel’s “The Art of Spending Money”. (2025)
A tip of the hat to Morgan Housel, for writing “The Art of Spending Money”: a common-sense look at rethinking how many of us relate to our money.
Happiness in life can be elusive, but misery often follows clear patterns.
Chasing status, wealth, or others’ approval with your money almost always undermines independence and contentment.
Treating money as your identity or a social scorecard also leads to regret, while using it as a tool to create freedom has the opposite effect.
“An important fact of life is that it’s often difficult to know what will make you happy, but quite easy to identify what will make you miserable….”
I haven’t read, and won’t be reading, the book: mainly because it costs more than the household can afford. It’s not overpriced, but we’re not buying luxuries like that.
Happiness is NOT Having Just a Little More
Investor.gov’s “Building Wealth: A Roadmap for Students”.
Besides, after reading Big Think’s excerpt, my guess is that I’ve long since learned the book’s lessons.
No great virtue there: I never did see a point in buying stuff I don’t need, with money I don’t have, to impress people I don’t like.
Don’t get me wrong.
I like buying stuff I don’t need.
It’s the ‘to impress people I don’t like’ part that lacks appeal.
And I’m none too fond of being in debt.
Now, an excerpt from Morgan Housel’s “The Art of Spending Money” —
“…So let me offer you a brief guide on how to be miserable with your money.
“Direct your gaze at the socioeconomic group just above you, assuming that within it you will find a level of durable happiness. Tell yourself that you’ll be satisfied once you make just a little more money, have a little bit nicer home, … Ignore the fact that the group you’re in now used to be a dream that you thought would bring you contentment and happiness….” (“If you want to be miserable, then spend your money like this” , Morgan Housel, Books, Big Think (October 9, 2025))
Somewhere along the way, while youth was merging into adulthood, I heard someone say that “enough” money was about 20 percent more than you’ve got. I’ve tried tracking down that claim’s source, but with no success.
Anyway, the point Housel was making is that imagining I’d be “happy” if only I had more, bigger, or shinier stuff — would be an exercise in futility.
Money’s Okay: Loving the Stuff, Not So Much
Great Choice Audio Video’s “The Ultimate Home Theater Room”. (2025)
Brobdignagian bowling shoes in Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. (2020)
I lean towards Tevye’s view of wealth:
Perchik: “Money is the world’s curse.” Tevye: “May the Lord smite me with it! And may I never recover!” (“Fiddler on the Roof” (film), (1971))
I don’t daydream about owning gigantic mobile bowling shoes, or the other stuff featured in Macy’s annual Thanksgiving Day Parade.
I’ll admit that I would enjoy having one of those high-end home theaters: complete with overstuffed easy chairs, a scintillating fiber optic ceiling — but even if this household had the resources, there are a great many other items with higher priority.
And I know that, although some of my my problems involve money, not being in the top five percent isn’t their cause.
Time for another excerpt —
“…Fantasize that having more money is the solution to all your problems. Tell yourself that you’d wake up every morning with a smile on your face if you had just a little more money. … Believe that none of your current fears, anxieties, doubts, and confusions in life would exist if only you had more money than you do now.
“Assume money can solve none of your problems, and that it is the root of evil and ego. This can be just as dangerous as the previous point. Money is a remarkable tool, … How tragic it is to live in a world where you believe the accumulated efforts of the 100 billion people who came before you have produced nothing worthy of your time and attention….” (“If you want to be miserable, …” , Morgan Housel, Books, Big Think (October 9, 2025))
Wrapping this bit up, money is NOT “the root of all evils”. It’s a disordered attraction to the stuff that’s a problem.
“For the love of money is the root of all evils, and some people in their desire for it have strayed from the faith and have pierced themselves with many pains.” (1 Timothy 6:10) [emphasis mine]
Hogarth, Escher, Me, and Extreme Recycling — a Digressive Detour
William Hogarth’s engraving: “The Rake’s Progress — The Heir”. (1735)
Folks can get crazy about money in quite a few ways.
One of my problems has been spending too much on stuff I don’t need.
Being on a tight financial leash most of my life helped keep that from becoming a big problem, but the potential was and is there.
M. C. Escher’s “Day and Night”. (1938)
I’m a fan of M. C. Escher, and even have a few of his works: posters, the sort of thing you could buy for a few dollars.
When I was in San Francisco, I went to an art gallery that had, among other things, an actual Escher print.
It cost more than I could ever justify spending on art, but seeing it helped me appreciate why folks with such resources don’t settle for posters. The paper, even the ink, had rich colors and textures that simply don’t photograph well.
These days, if I could get either an Escher print, or one of Hogarth’s, I’d take the Escher: and that’s another topic.
Budget-Consciousness Above and Beyond the Call of Reason
Detail, William Hogarth’s engraving: “The Rake’s Progress — The Heir”. (1735)
Although it’s been years since I heard or read about misers, I’m guessing that some folks still take a good idea — not overspending — and run with it straight off the edge of reason.
An extreme and fictional example is the budget-conscious father of Tom Rakewell — I’ll say this for Hogarth, he wasn’t overly subtle — who recycled a Bible’s leather cover to resole his shoe.
That sort of bonkers budget-consciousness apparently isn’t all that big a problem in today’s America. When folks who had endured the Great Depression got in the habit of stuffing their mattresses with paper currency: that’s yet another topic.
(Mis-)Measuring Men, Merit, and Money
“…You don’t have to talk. This large person is making socialists faster than you can make them!” (1911)
I think there’s a correlation between virtue and wealth, particularly wealth that someone has earned. A person who lacks focus and self-control isn’t likely to either gain wealth or keep it.
But I think ethics and attitudes are only part of the equation, and I certainly don’t think that a public image of affluence reflects someone’s worth.
Here’s what Housel said about another way to let money make you miserable —
“…Associate net worth with self-worth (for you and others). Think of money as the ultimate scorecard for how well people have done in life — and, worse, assume that their material appearance is an accurate indication of how much money they actually have….” (“If you want to be miserable, then spend your money like this” , Morgan Housel, Books, Big Think (October 9, 2025))
I’ve said this before. Life happens: wealth and poverty, sickness and health. None of it’s a sure sign of virtue or sin. What I do with what I’ve got: that’s what matters. (1 Timothy 6:10; Hebrews 13:5; Catechism 828, 1509, 2211, 2288-2291, 2292-2296, 2448, 2540, 2544)
Is Curiosity Good, or Bad? — Yes!
Seeking knowledge for a wrong reason: Bill Amend’s “Math King”. Foxtrot (September 28, 2025)
That Foxtrot strip doesn’t have much to do with personal finance, but Jason Fox wanting “to lord it over my classmates as math king” connects with something I’ll mention.
After wrapping up my look at “The Art of Spending Money”.
Carl Hassmann’s “The Almightier” illustration for Puck. (May 15, 1907)
The excerpt from Morgan Housel’s book ends with another example of how you can make yourself miserable with whatever money you have.
“…Assume you have all the right answers. Try nothing new. Reject the mystery of life, and fight against all inclinations you have to grow, adapt, and change your mind. Be curious of no alternative viewpoints. Assume that what you know about money is all there is to know, and argue fiercely when you discover information that might go against your current beliefs. Treat money as you might treat religion, with devotion above curiosity and orthodoxy above exploration.
“Do this, and you will, I guarantee, be on your way to misery.” (“If you want to be miserable, …” , Morgan Housel, on Books, Big Think (October 9, 2025))
If the rest of Morgan Housel’s book is like this, I’d say it’s among the better ‘how to use your money’ books I’ve run across.
Each item in the Big Think excerpt identifies and discusses a common-sense approach, giving advice by presenting and explaining the opposite of good ideas.
It’s the approach C. S. Lewis used in his “The Screwtape Letters”. I’ve no idea whether “The Art of Spending Money” will be as well-known in the early 22nd century as Lewis’ book is now, and I’m drifting off-topic again.
The point is that what I see in the Big Think excerpt is common sense, clearly and entertainingly presented.
Since the ‘how [not] to think about your money’ message is somewhat counter-cultural, I see this as a useful guide for anyone wondering whether ‘what everybody knows’ about money really makes sense.
Asking Questions, Seeking Answers
Wiley Miller’s Non Sequitur: I might be offended, but that’s not how my faith works.
The only problem — and it wasn’t much of a one — I had with this extract from “The Art of Spending Money” was in the second-to-last paragraph.
“…Treat money as you might treat religion, with devotion above curiosity and orthodoxy above exploration.…” (“If you want to be miserable, …” , Morgan Housel, Books, Big Think (October 9, 2025) [emphasis mine])
Another tip of the hat to Morgan Housel for saying “as you might treat religion”. This is far from the sweeping generalities about ‘those religious people’ I’ve seen in mainstream articles and op-eds.
The notion that religion, particularly Christianity, regards curiosity as a vice keeps popping up. So I figure this’d be a good time to glance at why I don’t think using my brain is wrong.
Curiosity as a Vice —
St. Thomas Aquinas, Gentile da Fabriano. (ca. 1400)
Pious people looking askance at those who flagrantly display curiosity is nothing new.
About seven and a half centuries back, St. Thomas Aquinas discussed “the vice of curiosity” in “Summa Theologica”.
There’s a lot there: St. Thomas Aquinas was a very chatty writer. But it’s not fluff: there’s a very great deal packed into each sentence.
Anyway, St. Thomas talks about the “vice of curiosity” from (at least) two angles: “intellective knowledge” and “sensitive knowledge”.
About intellective knowledge, which I take to mean what my culture calls “book knowledge”, it can be a problem:
“…for instance those who study to know the truth that they may take pride in their knowledge. Hence Augustine says (De Morib. Eccl. 21): ‘Some there are who forsaking virtue, and ignorant of what God is, and of the majesty of that nature which ever remains the same, imagine they are doing something great, if with surpassing curiosity and keenness they explore the whole mass of this body which we call the world. So great a pride is thus begotten, that one would think they dwelt in the very heavens about which they argue.’…” (“Summa Theologica,” Second Part of the Second Part, Question 167; St. Thomas Aquinas (13th century) Trans. Fathers of the English Dominican Province (1920) via NewAdvent [emphasis mine])
I could summarize that as “curiosity is bad”, but a bit later in Question 167 there’s this:
“…Although … the knowledge of truth is good in itself, this does not prevent a man from misusing the knowledge of truth for an evil purpose, or from desiring the knowledge of truth inordinately, since even the desire for good should be regulated in due manner.…” (“Summa Theologica,” Second Part of the Second Part, Question 167; St. Thomas Aquinas (13th century) Trans. Fathers of the English Dominican Province (1920) via NewAdvent [emphasis mine])
What I get out of that part of “Summa Theologica” is that curiosity is good or bad, depending on why I use it.
If I’m trying to “lord it over” folks who haven’t dived down as many rabbit holes as I have, acting as if God comes to me for advice: that would be self-defeating, and a very bad idea.
No matter how well-informed I get, most folk have built-in baloney detectors that go off when someone spouts off about The Meaning of Everything.
And some folks don’t, which may be why End Times Bible Prophecies often get traction before fizzling. That’s yet again another topic.
Basically, being curious isn’t a problem. Why I use that facet of my human nature: that may or may not be a problem.
Intent, my motive or motives for doing something, makes a difference in whether a particular act is good or bad, right or wrong. So do the circumstances I’m experiencing. But “I meant well” isn’t an excuse for doing something that’s bad. It’s complicated. (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 1750-1754, for starters)
— AND a Virtue
Lilac blossoms: spring, 2021.
Then there’s “sensitive knowledge”, the sort of information we take in through our senses. That can be a problem, too:
“…to employ study for the purpose of knowing sensible things may be sinful in two ways. First, when the sensitive knowledge is not directed to something useful, but turns man away from some useful consideration. Hence Augustine says (Confess. x, 35), ‘I go no more to see a dog coursing a hare in the circus; but in the open country, if I happen to be passing, that coursing haply will distract me from some weighty thought, and draw me after it . . . and unless Thou, having made me see my weakness, didst speedily admonish me, I become foolishly dull.’ Secondly, when the knowledge of sensible things is directed to something harmful, as looking on a woman is directed to lust: even so the busy inquiry into other people’s actions is directed to detraction….” (“Summa Theologica,” Second Part of the Second Part, Question 167; St. Thomas Aquinas (13th century) Trans. Fathers of the English Dominican Province (1920) via NewAdvent [emphasis mine])
But paying attention to the beauties and wonders surrounding us isn’t basically wrong. It can be a good idea.
“…On the other hand, if one be ordinatelyintent on the knowledge of sensible things by reason of the necessity of sustaining nature, or for the sake of the study of intelligible truth, this studiousness about the knowledge of sensible things is virtuous.…” (“Summa Theologica,” Second Part of the Second Part, Question 167; St. Thomas Aquinas (13th century) Trans. Fathers of the English Dominican Province (1920) via NewAdvent [emphasis mine])
Mr. Squibbs, in “Small Problems”: Studio Foglio (illustrator C. Baldwin, colors by C. Wright)
If some of this sounds familiar, it should. I’ve talked about curiosity, religion, being human, and all, that before:
Scenes at McStash Mills, near Hillsboro, North Dakota.
I’m embarrassed.
Three weeks ago I talked about a fire that one of our daughters and son-in-law kept from getting out of hand. What I said then was mostly accurate, but left out the parts that made it a good story.
As I said, embarrassed.
Particularly since I’d asked our daughter to look it over and correct any mistakes or omissions: which she did.
But somehow I didn’t notice her contributions.
So this week I’ve pared back what I said — and added what our daughter had to say [with a couple of my notes] about a small fire that stayed small.
A Hot Day, High Wind, and Kindling-Dry Corn Leaves
Scenic, no. Good farmland, yes. Red River Valley, near the Goose River, looking south.
There’s an old Red River Valley joke where a newcomer asks “does it always blow this way?” and the local replies, “no: sometimes it blows the other way”.
This particular day — our daughter describes it better than I would:
They had decided to plow the field with 70 mile an hour wind. It was thick with corn leaves and it was almost 100 degrees. We’ve never seen anything like it. The corn leaves … piled up against anything that stopped the wind.
Corn leaves — dry corn leaves — had been accumulating on the mill’s waste pile. That’s where the fire started.
The situation could have been much worse. Our son-in-law had dug a holding pond, kept it full of water, had pumps and hoses on hand: and everyone there knows how to react.
Now, back to our daughter’s account:
“I NEED YOU”
…I had been finishing up making lunch and had called Aaron to find out when he’d be in. The noise on the other end was horrible, but I just could make out the word “fire”.
As soon as I asked what’s on fire, [our daughter] was out the door like a rocket to go help.
I asked if he needed me, I could hear him say it was under control, but I stayed on the line while getting my shoes, work gloves, and N-95 mask on [a filter designed to stop 95% of small airborne particles] just in case….
…I was just getting out the door when his tone changed I could make out “I NEED YOU” and I got on my bike and made a bee line for the back. The fire had jumped the berm we’d built up the previous year and had caught a sawdust bin on fire.
Thankfully, sawdust doesn’t burn terribly impressively when it’s been left out for a few years, but it does burn nearly forever if you don’t stop it; and with the wind, the danger was it traveling across the road and into the woods.
If it did that, well, that would be that. Even the fire department wouldn’t be able to stop it. Aaron already had the hose dousing the thing, but the pump was on the other side of the holding pond. I helped move the pump (it still wasn’t as long a hose as we would need to be truly effective).
They called Hillsboro’s fire department. It would be some time before the trucks could get there, but I doubt that they’d have dawdled.
What with making themselves heard over the wind and all: at the other end, it probably sounded like the desperate distress call in a corny action thriller.
By the time an older Hillsboro police officer arrived, our son-in-law was hosing down the waste pile while our daughter was handling smaller fires elsewhere, using a sturdy hoe she’d picked up.
She’s the same height as her mother, five-foot-nothing, with shoulders she inherited from both of us. She’s not by any reasonable standard overweight: but slender and delicate she is not.
Anyway, conversation ensued. The police officer saw a doused main fire and householders at work, putting out hot spots.
So he said something like ‘looks like you’ve got this under control. Should I call off the fire department?’ Her response:
… “We do have it approximately 98% contained, but if it goes bad, we won’t be able to stop it.” It was precautionary….
Just then, our daughter spotted a smouldering wood beam that’d been discarded. It wasn’t good enough for a customer, but it wasn’t bad enough to throw away. The beam wasn’t much over four inches across, and maybe a dozen feet long.
…It had been dropped just north of the berm and would have been used for some future project, since we hate throwing away and burning anything that could be useful.
The annoying thing about it was that it was burning from underneath. No way for Aaron to douse the thing from a distance and it was out of reach of the hose. The only way to put it out would be to turn the fool thing over.
As she headed toward it, hoe on shoulder, the police officer said —
…”Don’t you think you should wait for the…..”
THWACK! I caught it on the far side, gave two quick tugs, and yanked it completely over. I then yelled for Aaron to send a stream of water over the berm toward me and he hit it right where I needed it.
I then heard the officer say under his breathe “Stronger than I am” .
As I said last month, folks from the fire department showed up, the last problematic hot spot got hosed, a small fire hadn’t become a big one, and nobody got hurt.
For that, I’m glad and grateful.
It wasn’t, I gather, the first fire they’d handled, and it’ll likely not be their last. Fires, and fire weather watches, happen in that part of the world.
Come winter, they’ll be dealing with other situations: including but not limited to shoveling out after blizzards and keeping the access road open.
Finally, the usual links: my earlier effort at describing that windy day, and times I’ve talked about why family matters and using our brains is a good idea.
Something new each Saturday.
Life, the universe and my circumstances permitting. I'm focusing on 'family stories' at the moment. ("A Change of Pace: Family Stories" (11/23/2024))
I was born in 1951. I'm a husband, father and grandfather. One of the kids graduated from college in December, 2008, and is helping her husband run businesses and raise my granddaughter; another is a cartoonist and artist; #3 daughter is a writer; my son is developing a digital game with #3 and #1 daughters. I'm also a writer and artist.
I live in Minnesota, in America's Central Time Zone. This blog is on UTC/Greenwich time.
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Blog - David Torkington
Spiritual theologian, author and speaker, specializing in prayer, Christian spirituality and mystical theology [the kind that makes sense-BHG]
