I weigh in on the ecomony

I know: Everyone has been waiting for this.

Let's start with the banking crisis. 

I am gravely concerned when I hear that the meetings yesterday did not work out so well and that last night as soon as everyone had finished their dinner, our legislators were going BACK IN TO MORE MEETINGS. Gadzooks—hadn't they already been in meetings ALL DAY? 

Here's why I'm worried: When I have been in a department staff meeting for over an hour, I will agree to absolutely anything if I think it will cause the meeting to end. After an hour, I have finished my coffee, eaten my cookie, wrapped up my grocery shopping list, and contributed all the reasonable discussion I have in me. Change our policy on punctuation following a font change? FINE! Agree to do the acquisitions department's photocopying for them? WHY THE HELL NOT? You can see the problem. This morning I awoke to news that (surprise) they're going into more meetings. Troubling.

Moving on to how this is effecting things at the Fig house. 

Husband came home other other night bereft after visiting his bank (he actually goes to a bank to deposit checks, just like an old lady) and discovering that an investment fund into which he had deposited a fairly sizable amount of money had (you won't believe this) decreased in value! Well, no shit. He had failed to follow my instructions, which were not to look at balances when the markets are in the crapper. The money is invested for the long term, and it's not worth getting all worked up about on a daily basis. (It's fine, of course, to take a peek when things are looking up just to give yourself a little boost. See, that's how I'm a glass-half-full type of gal.)

So anywhoo, Husband announces that he is DEPRESSED. His money is SHRINKING! Right: It's invested in a MARKET, which sometimes goes up and sometimes goes down. He would be better off putting his money in a SHOEBOX. Well, except for that inflation problem. Thank goodness I manage, with the help of Charles Schwab, the major investments for our family. When will he be able to RETIRE? Hard not to laugh at that one.

As someone who has fought their way back from several clinical depressions (none since having Sophie—I don't have time), I resist getting too concerned about Husband's usual one-they're-here-the-next-day-they're-gone depressive episodes. And sure enough, the following day, he came home reporting that he felt "much better!" Did it have anything to do with the markets? No, he had gone to his favorite YOGA class. 

So there, friends, may be the answer to the credit crunch/mortgage meltdown/banking collapse: Yoga. I'm off to write my representatives.