Happiness. It's relative.

Tradition.
That’s what my husband said when I asked him for one word to describe me.
Earlier in our walk, I asked him what one word would describe him and he said “sleepy.”
I asked him more about the reason for choosing tradition as my word and he said it was about my respecting work and rules and process. That is all true.
I worked for pay at a very young age and value work so much that I’ve created a post-retirement life that looks and feels like work and that hugs me hello every morning as if I’m the most valuable person on earth.
I make my bed every morning. I fold the laundry. I vote in every election. I pick up pennies on the street.
I want things done in an orderly way. I want there to be quorums and someone taking notes. I want to sit in my assigned seat.
Given the choice of a thousand words to describe me, someone he’s known for forty years, he didn’t say independent or fierce or beautiful or creative. He said “tradition.”
I probably have to take that to heart.
A penny saved (from the street) is a penn earned.
I relate to those feelings. And, I can never step over a penny on the ground. I pick it up ever single time. My nephew used to call pennies “lucky days.” I am sure it was because every time he found a penny on the ground his mom would exclaim, “It’s your lucky day!”
Yes! How can anybody walk past a penny on the ground?