Amy watched with an embarrassed grin as I opened her birthday gift to me, held within a paper cup covered and tied with wrapping paper. It was a used watch with one of the straps missing, probably one of her old ones. I was happy to discover that it still worked. I don't think Amy meant disrespect with the gift, she knows that I often buy two dollar watches at the drug store. I have explained to her that they work fine and sometimes even last a year or two. And I do not feel a great loss when I lose one or when one goes through the washer. They are perfectly practical, cheap yet functional, just like the old car I drive and the old boots I wear.
Other people can make themselves happy by buying expensive things; that is not for me. The common, the practical, the basic, the ordinary, suits me fine. Because I have learned that without a doubt the best things cannot be bought with money.
Being told that I am a fool to think like I do just strengthens my resolve. Instead I will listen to other wisdom, to truth that I can rely on.
Tommorrow I will get up and walk and watch the clouds for sunrise color, examine the different yellows and browns and reds of the dried meadow grasses, watch the geese in graceful flight over the lakes, and stand among the dense trees on the ridge, listening to their silent testimony of the beauty that another day brings, a witness to the gift of more time.