The Audiorium

If I were a rich man…

If I were a rich man…

Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum.

Remember those lines? I do…

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I’d build a big tall house with rooms by the dozen,

Right in the middle of the town.

A fine tin roof with real wooden floors below.

There would be one long staircase just going up,

And one even longer coming down,

And one more leading nowhere, just for show.

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A story, in comparison, far more compelling than a recession for sure…

Remember the story… When the weight of the world became overwhelming (and in the story that was often), Tevye had long conversations with God. He never answered, but God did listen, and that was more than the milkman’s wife Golde, who constantly demonstrated to him the flaws of his logic.

These days I’m trying to lighten the load. After years of owning homes, I live in (what I affectionately call my place, a small) condo. I’m downsizing storage and cleaning out closets and going through boxes that have survived so many moves over the years I’ve lost track. Most of them, including this one, are all now in the ‘miscellaneous’ category. Yes, it says kitchen (on one end), music (on the top, crossed out), misc. computer parts (on the other end), and books (scribbled on the side). A true testament to life’s travels, changes, economies, and past relationships.

This box contains none of the above.

It’s a treasure hunt of sorts, a bunch of sentimental little souvenirs, a kaleidoscope of memorabilia with a street value of $0.00. Yet, they survived somehow for years and decades. I ponder that for a moment and feel, “I am so totally weird, hopeless, and helpless.” I hope my time is not running out to realize my dreams.

“Of all things I no longer have, how did these things survive?” I wonder…

I rummage though the brick-a-brack and come across a program for the musical Fiddler on the Roof.

It’s from college back in the very early 70’s and it’s autographed by everyone in the production. I played guitar in the orchestra. Those were magical times, I’ve never forgotten. It’s part of my myth, my mantra for life, it’s totally integrated into my personal philosophy. I put the program in the box, close the lid, say goodbye to the past one more time and back into the closet it goes.

Not today. I’ll deal with you another day.

Okay, so you went down memory lane, and today you believe essentially as you always have. The cornerstone of the American Dream is owning a home, not a house, but a home. It’s not an investment like a commodity, it’s my abode. You’ll find me here. This is my castle. I live here. I’ve changed poopy diapers, rocked out, cried, laughed, had BBQ’s, made music, loved and danced.

Equity can be calculated in numerous ways, but exactly by the dollar to be made is never the way.

There are other avenues of investment, like one’s own life. I feel like a whimp sometimes when I think of my grandparents and great grandparents. I’ve checked the dates. Media would have told you then that you couldn’t have picked a worse time to buy. But they did it anyway, they bought it and/or built it. They wanted the dream and they went for it. They gambled, they made it happen. 

Those are the places of my youth and most fond memories, the wellspring of my strength. They demonstrated that dreams have more power than any economy.

If I were a rich man…

Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum.

July 27, 2010 (originally published on ActiverRain)