ArcaMax

A guy I know, another writer, read one of my columns not long ago, and had a little advice.

"You shouldn't say how old you are," he said, giving me the worried/wisdom look.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because editors are gonna think you're writing a senior citizen column," he said. "Pretty soon, your stuff's going to be running next to the ad for the kind of term life insurance that doesn't require a physical."

"I have that life insurance," I said. "It's cheap. My premiums are guaranteed never to increase, and if they actually pay off, my wife can buy a five-year-old Nissan the week after I die."

He's not married, so he doesn't know what it's like to love a woman with a used car intensity.

Also, he's not going to like being my age when he gets here, not if he thinks a writer has to speak quietly about his/her age.

In addition, the guy doesn't understand the nature of joy.

When I was younger, all of my joy came from work, money or women, and those three things didn't come around that much. Most of the time, I just burned myself up on overtime, worry, bills and insufficient sleep.

Things are different now. The joys are smaller, but they're here all the time.

First of all, I'm married, 16 years now. Being married is like that feeling you get in fall, when you put on a warmer jacket you haven't worn since last year, and there's a $20 bill in the pocket. You haven't even left the house, and you're $20 up for the day. Every day.

Let me tell you a few more of those semi-retired guy joys.

It was our anniversary last month. My wife, who knows me like a farmer knows his land, gave me a few presents. One of them was a Dunkin' Donuts gift card. I eat breakfast at Dunkin' once a week, on the same day I write this column. I get the $5 meal deal, so the gift card is gonna last a while. I know that, at this point, her money is my money, and my money is her money, but I feel like it's a free breakfast, and that's a joyful moment.

Two weeks after I got the gift card, a buddy tried a new brand of Irish whiskey. He didn't like it, so he gave me a nearly full bottle. I drink two shots of Irish whiskey every Saturday night. At that rate of consumption, I'm going to be drinking free whiskey for quite a few weeks.

There were two book sales in my area last week. One was at a Methodist church; the other was at a Quaker meeting house. I came away with a three-volume history of the Civil War, a book about the Dust Bowl, and a biography of Jesse James. The total cost was $7.

So, you ask, are all the small joys about money? That's what you ask.

No. Not all the joys. There's that whole marriage joy, and you can't buy that for cash.

Not enough, you say. The big stuff is better.

Yeah. Sure. Marriage is so big, it's like having the pyramids on your front lawn.

As for the free whiskey, the free breakfast and the cheap secondhand books, sure that's all small stuff, but let me ask you something.

Did you get a big raise this week? Did you get a big promotion? Did you get the job of your dreams?

Maybe. But probably not. It's tough out in America right now. The jobs are shaky. The overtime is either gone or forced, and the people in charge keep telling you you're a crybaby because you don't like being poor and getting shoved around all the time.

Get used to the small stuff. It's almost all that's left.

To find out more about Marc Dion, and read words by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit www.creators.com. Dion's latest book, a collection of his best columns, is called "Mean Old Liberal." It is available in paperback from Amazon.com, and for Nook, Kindle and iBooks.