Hi Darling Ones,

Over the weekend I finished reading Astor: The Rise and Fall of an American Fortune by Anderson Cooper and Katherine Howe. It was a total snooze. I do not recommend. I stuck with it because one of my favorite genres is “when bad things happen to rich people.” Give me a murder mystery set in some English hoity-toity boarding school and I’m happy.

The best thing about “Astor” is it kept reminding me of an argument we had during Rock & Roll Bookclub Dirty Santa this year.

We were playing some kind of “Would you rather” game someone won earlier in the night. One of the questions was Would you rather be rich in the olden days or poor now?

“Rich olden times,” I shouted without a moment’s hesitation.

Most of the room scoffed derisively and chose poor now. I shook my head at their foolishness.

I don’t know if it was Wolfdogg or my brother-in-law pointed out there would be no rock & roll or internet.

“That’s fine,” I said, “I’d make a kick ass Harriet Oleson, running the Mercantile, judging Caroline’s eggs.”

That’s right, the richest, old-timey person my white-trash, tv-rotted brain could come up with was Harriet Oleson from “Little House on the Prairie.” I didn’t think of the Astors or the Vanderbilts or the Gettys or the Morgans or any of the other bazillionaires who took advantage of the working class in the olden days.

I went right to Mrs. Oleson, and I stand by that.

“Okay, transatlantic slave trade,” Wolfdogg said.
“Harriet employed the only black lady in Walnut Grove,” I argued.

Eventually, I did win Sister #2 to my side. The rest of the group still think I’m full of shit, and for that I’m not gonna let them buy anything on credit from the Mercantile. I might even under price their stupid eggs.

Jodi

P.S. This is the one thing my brain seems to be dwelling on. To be fair, most of it has turned to mush after spending 2.5 hours getting my social security disability application started. Plus, you know, current events continue to be unprecedented.