Buy the Blue Duck

I have one of those garden windows over my kitchen sink; it provides a nest for a trio of wooden ducks. You’ve seen them before: Target? Smith & Hawken? Anyway, last June in Rockport, my sister and I were strolling along a row of shops when I spotted a blue wooden duck in a window. At the time, my trio was only a pair: I had a tall orange duck, and a short green duck. The blue duck was of middling size, and given that my kitchen included orange, sage, and blue, and, in the duck category, so to speak, blue was the missing link—again, so to speak—well, you get the idea.

Except the duck cost thirty dollars. Now, people are oft-possessed of the idea that published writers are rolling in loot, but when you think of me, think more along the lines of rolling in pocket lint. Thirty dollars isn’t a huge chunk, but it’s a chunk. (Not to mention, I come from a long line of practical Swedes. My mother would not have approved.)

But my sister nudged me into it. “Sometimes,” she said. “You have to buy the blue duck.”

So I did. And I love it. And if that thirty dollars caused a squeeze somewhere else, I didn’t notice.

My sister is right. Life’s short. Buy the blue duck.