There's a certain maple tree along the road to town that flames crimson each autumn long before the rest of the foliage starts to turn. Why it audaciously steals a march on the others is one of those tantalizing mysteries that may never be solved, at least not by me. As soon as that tree calls attention to itself, waving its leafy red flag, I perk up. The October moon (Ducks Fly Moon, in the Chippewa calendar) rose over the cradle at my birth and it invariably makes me think of Grandma. Why? Because, quite literally, the earliest memory I have is of my grandmother welcoming me into the world with open arms. Not my mother, oddly enough, but my grandmother. 

My maternal grandmother was a force to be reckoned with. Underlying her tender nature was steel, and those assets were upholstered with a cushiony layer of righteous opinions, which she freely shared. Being a chip off the old block in that regard, thoughts of Grandma erupted again when a billboard caught my eye on a trip to Madison the other day. The ad was for Mercedes motorcars, and under the picture of a gleaming bit of heavily-chromed German engineering was one word: ENVY. 

It's an appalling ad, really. Imagine advocating one of the Seven Deadly Sins! The major religions,  including the Gospel According to Grandma,  agree that Envy is right up there with Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, and Pride as the  emotions most likely to destroy your soul and your relationships. To covet your neighbor's super expensive gas-guzzler, spouse, dog, station in life, oil, or what have you, is corrosive enough on a personal level, but on a national level -- multiplied by the envy of millions -- it's positively cataclysmic.  Grandma would have said the Mercedes ad pretty much sums up what ails our beloved country today. 

"Gimme some, too!" demands Envy. Envy then drives the old puff guts, Gluttony, which in turn unleashes that bully, Greed, to cause the USA to appropriate for itself a hugely disproportionate amount of the world's  limited resources -- energy, food, clothing, minerals, and other basic raw materials. Conveniently, we forget that those goodies belong to all of us or to none of us. Weirdly, we do our best to force or persuade other nations to become our clones in this headlong consumer race --for "their own good." Unless  my logic is faulty, in order to copy us, they 'll be obliged to undertake world domination like we do, and engage in the  same material over consumption we aspire to and achieve. Now I ask you, does this make a bit of sense? 

Grandma advocated living another way: being satisfied with a small but adequate sufficiency. She thought accumulating lots of stuff was not only unhealthy, but not even necessary for enjoying the good life.  A Bible-thumper, Grandma quoted, "Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also."  I checked my heart the other day. It was still there, but beating slower from the accretions of a long life as a squirrel.  Helping remove peoples' belongings from flooded basements in the past few months enabled me to see how much excess even the most modest households contain -- and their owners often agreed, as they trudged towards dumpsters with sodden things they'd not seen or used for years.  

Well, some have too much, but within our larger brotherhood there's a crazily lopsided distribution of not just abundance but what's minimal for living with dignity.  We're talking widespread poverty, here, with about 1% of the population of this country having far more than they can possibly use or enjoy. You have to ask the millionaire, who ferrets out the loopholes to arrive at zero taxes and flits between six homes, "Fer heavens sake, fella, how much is enough?"  

Ordinary folk are becoming reacquainted with energy conservation because the pinch is on, but there's almost always some fat left to trim. I myself stray occasionally from another of Grandma's frugal dictums, "Waste not, want not", which meant to never throw anything away that wasn't rotten or in absolute tatters. She heaped scorn on planned obsolescence (which, you have to admit, has clearly made novelty junkies of us all.) It wasn't always this way. My last vacuum cleaner lasted three years -- but downstairs is one I inherited that's sixty years old and still functioning well. Grandma's was a generation where the men bought one good black suit to last from their wedding day to their funeral, and  women's sacred duty was to streeeeeetch family resources, making do or doing without. 

As lifelong farmers, my grandparents' existence was more Russian roulette than primrose path, yet I don't recall complaints. Grandma felt rewarded by true wealth -- family, full bellies, her iris beds, one luxury (a little piano), and her connection to a bountiful God.   While Grandma was the mouthpiece,   Grandpa revered and counted on her good sense.  His teasing exhortation, "Marry a woman who can heave a pig over a fence", said it all. 

I sometimes dream about cabinets of grandmothers, to advise heads of state worldwide. I may be kidding myself, but I believe there would be radically different investments (in the human spirit, not war industries) and far better manners, if this were so. I'm not speaking of grandmas hooked on daytime soap operas, or those who have regular appointments with plastic surgeons (although tap dancing grannies with wild hair get my seal of approval.) No, I'm thinking of wise old broads who are the backbone of volunteer organizations in most communities. The ones who dote on every kid in the neighborhood, giving them a sense of belonging through cookie therapy. The ones that hug you at the slightest provocation. The ones who refuse to be irrelevant in a society geared to men and perpetual youth, but who instead notice gaps and sally forth to fill them. Dauntless, versatile women.  

If you're cast away on a desert island, pray that one of these grannies washes ashore to feed you, patch together your rags, soothe your fears,  and keep hope alive with timely instruction 'til the rescue boat arrives.