One of my personal vulnerabilities is fear of financial insecurity. I can attribute this to a number of causes: being the child of parents who came of age in the Depression, growing up having to be mindful of every penny, alternations of having enough and scraping by...or just a view that money resources are fragile and unreliable. I wrestle with the fears, beat them back with reality checks (I've never been homeless, I've always had work) and affirmations and such. Occasionally, life in the form of friends hands me a reason to laugh at myself.
Not too many years ago, I found myself a single working mom, scrambling to make ends meet between a day job, spousal support, and writing income. I bought my clothes at thrift shops, my food at discount groceries, and nursed my 200,000 mile car along. When I was exhausted, I would worry about the future. Pointless, really, but a measure of weariness of spirit.
A dear friend, also a writer, listened to my woes and then proposed that if we ever found ourselves with nothing but Social Security to live on, we would find a couple of simpatico spirits in similar conditions, pool our resources, and rent a big old house. We'd be The Lady Writers' Commune, complete with echoes of impoverished but joyful student days. I still laugh whenever I think of a houseful of white-haired, dodderly old ladies (in purple, of course!), chattering away over tea and scones about whatever they're writing. The house is filled with books and cats and comfy chairs...and laughter.
We all get by with a little help from our friends.
Not too many years ago, I found myself a single working mom, scrambling to make ends meet between a day job, spousal support, and writing income. I bought my clothes at thrift shops, my food at discount groceries, and nursed my 200,000 mile car along. When I was exhausted, I would worry about the future. Pointless, really, but a measure of weariness of spirit.
A dear friend, also a writer, listened to my woes and then proposed that if we ever found ourselves with nothing but Social Security to live on, we would find a couple of simpatico spirits in similar conditions, pool our resources, and rent a big old house. We'd be The Lady Writers' Commune, complete with echoes of impoverished but joyful student days. I still laugh whenever I think of a houseful of white-haired, dodderly old ladies (in purple, of course!), chattering away over tea and scones about whatever they're writing. The house is filled with books and cats and comfy chairs...and laughter.
We all get by with a little help from our friends.
I think this is a delightful prospect for a future. Would I have to be a writer?
ReplyDelete@ Nancy, The Lady Writers' Commune concept is freely offered to all kindred spirits. Let the revolution begin!
ReplyDeleteI suspect that if you aren't a writer or artist when you join, you will be shortly infected with the creativity virus and it will manifest in strange and delightful ways!