When I was in
college in the 1950s all the wealthy girls, especially those in sororities,
wore cashmere sweaters. Some of the more obnoxious ones would even look at the
labels in other girls’ sweaters to see whether the garments were cashmere. The
cashmere sweaters were in lovely colors, and had that inimitable soft, buttery
texture. I longed to own one, but they
were far beyond my budget. So, I made do with polyester sweaters that soon
pilled annoyingly, or with wool sweaters that sometimes were scratchy.
By the 1960s,
many things seemed more important than wearing cashmere, and I nearly forgot
having once yearned for those sweaters. As the years went on, I have worn various
natural fabrics and a bewildering assortment of polyester materials, but never
cashmere.
Last autumn,
Macy’s had a big sale on cashmere sweaters, and I thought, Why not? I ordered
one in a pretty teal green, and finally had the sweater I had wanted sixty
years earlier. It seemed about time.
Why do we long
for things that others have, or that are too expensive? Seen from my cronish
perspective, envy seems ridiculous. If acquiring things brought contentment,
perhaps it would make sense, but some of the most dissatisfied expressions I
have ever seen were on the faces of obviously wealthy women attending operas or
shopping in expensive stores. Where does getting more stuff end for them?
I thought I’d
seen everything in this regard. Yesterday, though, we stopped at a Walmart
where we were joined by a massive, heavy commercial tractor connected to a
long-bed fifth wheel RV puller, using the extra length of the tractor bed to
haul a Smart car mounted crosswise! Not only that, but there was a large
sleeper cab behind the tractor driver’s seat, and bicycles on the back of the
fifth wheel. (We asked the owners how they could remove the car, and they
showed us: it easily rolled down a portable ramp. They drove off in it to have
lunch at a nearby restaurant.) Only two people were visible; perhaps some pets
shared all that space. What a shocking waste of resources! The owners were
friendly and informative, but they certainly were oblivious to their enormous carbon
footprint.
At this moment I
am at an RV rally, sitting in our little Winnebago View and surrounded by
humungous RVs that surely cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. I have no idea
whether the owners look down on us or envy our maneuverability, and I don’t
care. (To their credit, they are friendly and act unconcerned with possessions.
Maybe the RVs represent all their assets.) I am very contented with the View and with this
life. My life in general is simple and costs little; though like most people I
sometimes worry about medical and other expenses, I certainly do not envy the
wealthy one percent.
Oh, and that cashmere
sweater? It itches. I should have ordered a good nylon one instead. As the old
saying goes, be careful of what you wish for.
