I only see my bookkeeper in person once or twice a year, so when I stop by her office for an annual review, I make sure to bring a good cabernet and fun cocktail napkins. Peggy looks fantastic. She’s got new energy and a bounce in her step when she comes to meet me in the main show room of minimalist design steel and glass.
“How the f—are ya?” she asks while trotting back up the stairs where she rents office space. Peggy talks like sailor, a non-issue while living in the culture of hot guys who race snowmobiles and take awesome photos of snow dust and big trucks. Her building mates fabricate amazing photography and huge scale graphics and advertising wraps for billboards and vehicles.
I like that her office is “Montana practical,” but with pretty girl touches too: a bright teal cabinet, photos of her hubby and dogs, a cute love seat with throw pillows and beaded tassels. I park my handbag and dripping coat on the floor before taking a seat in an office chair by the desk.
She pulls out wine glasses and a cork screw and deftly opens the bottle with a pop and a sniff of the cork, “Nice.” Her husband is a chef and she appreciates a fine vintage. She sets the bottle aside to breathe while she brings up spreadsheets on a computer screen the size of my dining room table.
While we chat and laugh, Peggy who is my saving grace when it comes to all things payroll and numbers (!) not-to-mention a multi-tasking extraordinaire, pours us 2 ounces each and we get busy telling about life and work, her brilliant strategy for softening my nerves about accounting details and tax percentages I can never quite keep straight.
Peggy and her husband just got back from a week of camping with their dog in the desert sun, which is absolute paradise for Montanans in the month of April. The winter’s been long and deep, and colder than a witch’s you know what…in you know where. I glance out at the large second story office window where a line of monster trucks with fancy detailing and big wheels are parked outside in a new industrial maze of steel buildings. Today all I see is total white out, a blizzard of all thirty forms of precipitation bulleting out of the sky at steep and swirling eastward angles. This after what must be 30 some straight weeks of ice block living.
Peggy’s telling me how when her phone first lost reception out in their desert oasis, she felt a little panic. That was just before settling in and opening her mind and chest to the deep aaaahhh of no distractions. Bright sunshine, red sands, wide blue sky. “Eighty degrees of pure bliss. We were just getting getting the hang of the quiet when it was time to come home.” She pushes my completed tax forms for first quarter with addressed envelopes across the desk. “Sign here, and here. Send a check with this one.” I want to kiss her.
She seamlessly continues her story, “The crazy thing is that when we got home I realized I’d not missed my phone or watching the news, which I watch daily.” She took a sip of wine. “I get all up in that shit. It makes me bat-crap crazy. Angry, anxious. Can’t sleep.”
Peggy tells how she decided to continue her news fast. She’s young, but already this side of cancer. Among other decisions such as healthy eating, doing yoga, and working out, she’s decided a brief scan of a written news brief that is delivered in hard copy to her building is more than enough. “Yeah, I skim it quick while walking between the mail box and Dave’s office next door. It’s pretty balanced in perspective and doesn’t get me all riled up. It’s good. I’m sleeping and I’ve even started dreaming again.”
—
I was thinking about how long I’ve gone without watching the news… pretty much my whole life. Truth is, I’ve worried about my resident apathy and negativity, but I’m also acutely aware of the sensationalism and the emotional manipulation that those who watch a steady diet of the nightly news endure, and consequently seem relatively unaware of its effects on their daily wellbeing. And, commercials. Mercy sakes. For a kid who never watched television, commercials are a total brain suck. Do you ever wonder how the media gods determine the content with which to pummel a particular viewing audience? Over and over and over in one episode of Survivor we have headaches, depression meds, high blood pressure… The message is clear: you only get to watch realty show adventures because you are already half dead.
Political wrangling, the president’s tweets, and bombings in the middle east do effect my life. They involve human beings I care about. But what truly impacts my life today, in this moment? Friends. Family. Jesus. Hormones. Calories. Weather. Airlines. Caffeine. Our neighbors. Public Education. Bookstores.
My top three have nothing to do with our leader, world events or the economy. So why would I let the news ruin my life? Like Peggy, I get the highlights. I ask my husband for the big ones, and pray as I can.
It’s the only way I know to carry sunshine, and blue sky through months like April.