Investment

 

What do you invest in? Stocks? Bonds? Real Estate? Cyber? Family?

Of course, you invest in family. That is the responsibility associated with procreation.

What about yourself?

Do you invest in the time and effort to stay healthy? Do you invest in all the bling and toys you want but don’t need? How is your circadian rhythm?

What is your Return on Investment?

How long are your relationships? Do you invest the time and effort and possibly money to keep a relationship going before losing interest?

If you have disposable income to invest outside the necessities of life, are you making a profit? It is all a gamble. You can buy a house and do all the tinkering with it only to have it burn down. You can invest in an expensive driving machine only to have it depreciate after leaving the lot. You can invest in a fine fashionable coat only to find out it was constructed in a foreign land with little quality control standards and the pockets fall out. You can invest in a distant vacation only to find you are staying in a room full of bed bugs and eating some kind of foreign food that does not agree with your normal digestion functionality. You can invest in your children only to find they have desires of their own and may follow the temptations of pleasure. You may invest in a fine dining experience only to find it was nothing more than a heat up meal from Casco. You may invest in fine works of art only to find it was an AI duplication with not value.

Do you invest in dreams? Do you tithe to the denomination of your choice? Do you adopt orphans? Do you send donations to scientific research hoping to find the answers of the unknown or cure to death? Do you invest in someone’s else’s faithful disasters or woes hoping to aid without expectations of repayment?

The return of investment is the dopamine rush of being a good person. It won’t make you wealthy or the envy of your neighbors, but it is worth it.

The Gift

 

A gift is usually given from one to another to show a sign of affection. It may be a small trinket or a holiday surprise. It may be valuable or just in a memory.

Look around your house. All those items sitting on tables, stuffed away in closets or cubits are gifts. They may be gifts from someone else or a gift to yourself.

At a certain age, as the end of time approaches, one may divide these gifts to another in a will or last testimony. Others may wind up in an estate or yard sale. Most gifts are not returned to the sender as it shows a lack of appreciation for the effort.

The most cherished and emotionally invaluable gift will become ‘stuff’ that must be hidden, passed on, sold or disposed of. The original intent to be given are long lost history.

When the giver, rewarded in smiles and appreciation to be enjoyed for years, sees someone else pick it up and use it causes pause. When this ‘gift’ was created, it did not know who would purchase it or who it was intended for.

Now it would become someone else’s treasure.

The sons of Jack and Marion

 

A couple of fellas I’d sort of known during high school and some what college. They were friends before I met them and they were friends in the spaces of unknown. They speak the same language. They remember the same history and have interweaved with each other through the years.

The son of Jack was introduced to me by an congregational member of the First Baptist Church. They were school mates who were joining the high school ROTC together. I knew no background or had any previous judgement of this person other than he seemed happy. I did not know he was living in a duplex with a single mom and three siblings. Our true connection was music. He played guitar and I was learning to play the guitar. We tended toward different genres of tunes, but enjoyed singing together through the years.

The son of Marion was in my high school homeroom. He was a friend of the son of Jack through middle school so a group of friends were starting to form. He lived within walking distance in a house, similar to mine, with a father, mother and younger sister. He was fashionably dressed and well mannered. We bonded over music. He was a poet and wrote good lyrics to my attempt to write songs. His family took me camping and to their family’s homes in the county, so I felt adopted.

The son of Marion left to go to an elite college while the son of Jack and I went to an inner-city institute. The three of us kept in contact with close proximity and illicit substances. Our families never met.

The sons of Jack and Marion participated in my first wedding. The son of Jack and I participated in the son of Marion’s wedding. The son of Marion and I attended the son of Jack’s wedding but did not participate.

Employment, houses, children and relocating made our encounters less frequent. Occasional get-to-gatherings were usual noisy chaos clouded in smoke and drink. Whatever meaningful conversations shared earlier in life were not gone. We grew apart.

I’ve tried to keep in contact with the sons of Jack and Marion through letters but the addresses kept changing. Digital media made connections but only a few face-to-face conversations.

The other day the three went to lunch. For an hour and a half, we sat at a familiar site and attempted to catch up. Unfortunately, at this age, our conversations are about family and illnesses. I bring some gifts and donate a 40-year-old t-shirt to the dining establishment, but have little to add to the topics discussed. We have a few laughs over 60-year-old subjects but only depressing news of today. We share no secrets or present surprises but are comfortable with each other.

There were no memorable take aways from the luncheon. As we part ways I ponder if this will be the last time?