and things went downhill from there

We had a very modest dinner this evening (a small, frozen pizza split between us) and I was in the mood for dessert. I suggested walking up to the corner shop for sundaes, but the other half of "we" in the equation was not interested.

I considered moping about it for awhile, but decided to be more productive and make myself a dessert instead. I've made those microwaved, coffee mug brownies in the past with good success, and that seemed like just the right amount to sate my dessert cravings.

It was a smashing success, right up to the point where the microwave oven died about 1/4 of a second after I hit the power button. At first I assumed I had blown the breaker, but further investigation narrows it down to the microwave oven itself.

I've had this oven for almost thirty years, so it really doesn't owe me anything. I guess we'll be shopping around for a new one this weekend (unless we discover that it's just a blown fuse in the microwave itself - we'll pull it out for a look on the weekend before we start spending money on a new one).

I never did get around to using the meat probe that came with it, though I will admit that the thought of cooking a roast in the microwave oven never crossed my mind in all this time.

In work-related news, my company released a notice to the press that they have signed a one-year contract with the T&E and Teamsters that will take them through to the end of 2018. The plus side for me is that it relieves a bit of the pressure off the company to cram as many people through their awful management conductor/engineer training program to have them in place for strike work next year.

This does not mean that I won't get forced into the program again once my ankle is finally fixed, but it increases the odds that by the time they push me back into it, I'll be so close to retirement as to make it pointless for both of us.

I was chatting with a co-worker last week who is in the management conductor pool, and he mentioned a curiosity that he has noticed on the list of people on call for it. He said, "It's weird, but for all the people the are cramming through the program, the number of people in the call pool is not getting any larger."

Actually, it's not that weird at all. Most of the people they are forcing into the program are older employees who they consider less of a flight risk; that is, people who have enough time invested in their career that they will deal with the hardship rather than throw away 20+ years of pensionable service. The problem is that these are mostly people like me, who have been working sedentary desk jobs for decades. Also, the way they treat qualified people in these positions is abominable, often sending them off to remote locations on same-day notice.

"Hey, pack your bags and fly out tonight for ten days in Cousinlove Saskatchewan, where you get to work in a stressful situation with people who resent you."

"Sure thing. The dog and kids can take care of themselves."

Anyway, it turns out that for everyone who qualifies, another one either gets injured, gets medically disqualified (arthritis flared up, heart condition, bad back - you know, the kinds of things that can happen to older, sedentary people who are suddenly thrust into outdoor manual labour around heavy equipment), goes on stress leave because of the awful conditions, retires, or quits.

An odd thought occurred to me yesterday morning as I was shaving.

I recently bought a new shaving product at Lush, and as I was rubbing it on my whiskered face, I noted wryly that it did not "lather slightly" as the girl at the store had suggested it might in the presence of a bit of water. On the other hand, it does its job very well, and after about a week of using it, I have decided that I will probably buy more once this runs out. It is not as classy as using shaving soap and a brush, but it is quicker and more convenient. Also, it smells nice.

Then again, I would hope that this stuff would work well, as was not inexpensive. I could probably have bought 2-3 cans of shaving foam for the price of this little jar of shaving cream.

That's when the odd thought struck me: we've made it.

We are not rich, but we've reached the point where we can indulge ourselves with minor luxuries without having to debate over it. I glanced around the bathroom, and while it is not exactly a den of modern luxury (in fact ripping it out and replacing it entirely is in my long-range plans), we have a few premium products here and there.

When I first bought this house, I would keep an eye open for bargains. I would save money by buying things like soap when it was marked 2:1, or I would make my own shampoo with ingredients like dish detergent, glycerine and vinegar. My kitchen was stocked with mostly no-name products. When atara quit her job and went back to school, we crimped down even harder. We cut out essentially all dining out, and we limited ourselves personal spending allowances of $20 a week. We tried to keep our grocery bills under $60 by living on things like beans with rice.

I did a quick, mental inventory of some of the premium items we had in our bathroom while I was standing by the sink with a razor in my hand. We have an assortment of things from Lush, which is not entirely renown for their low prices. Our boutique bath soap is hand-made locally from goats' milk. We could have bought a 6-pack of soap at a bargain store for the price of a single bar of this soap, yet we grabbed four of them on the last day of the farmers' market because it is very nice soap. It does not get us any cleaner than the bargain store soap, but it is more pleasant to use. I mulled over the fact that just a few years ago, I'd have considered what we spent on the soap to be an unseemly amount, but the extent of our debate when we bought it was limited to whether we should get three or four bars.

So I dare say I had my, "we've made it" moment.

atara told me about one of the authors she follows who had a similar observation. He was driving through an unfamiliar town when he needed gas. He stopped at a gas station, filled the tank, swiped his card and was on the road again when it occurred to him that he had no idea what the station had been charging for gas. He noted that if he had reached a point in his life where the cost of gas was no longer even worthy of thought to him, then he had reached financial success.

I don't think we are quite there yet. We don't stand in line for the latest electronic toys, and we still consider the second-hand thrift shop to be a perfectly good place to buy our clothes. We keep tabs on the price of gas. Still, it is nice when we have reached the point where we can spend far too much money on goat soap without stressing over it.

So we may not be rich, but we are clean, and we smell pretty.

Good enough, I say.