Although we were both profligate spenders when we were single, something happened to Jonny and me when we got married: we became frugal . We actually find it a little tough to make major- and even not-so-major - purchases. Somewhat coincidentally, we have also tended to earn less money than when we were single. Which leads me to ponder the metaphysical adage that warns: if you hold on too tightly to what you have, it's as if you've closed a window, preventing money from coming in as well as going out.

I don't know if that's strictly true. There are, after all, plenty of obscenely wealthy people who are tightfisted with their money, collecting huge returns on their capital while tipping the maid only $5 at Christmas. Still, something about the concept has a certain ring of truth to me, especially lately - because we've been trying to put a little cash into circulation, and have found the window pretty balky. Perhaps, like the woman in this month's Sabian Symbol image who is airing an old bag out her open window, we have some "dust" - flotsam or jetsam accumulated over our years together - that needs to be released in order to make room for new things. And like when passengers attempt to get off an elevator at the same time as people are trying to push their way on, the result has been something of a logjam.

A couple of weeks ago, when my venerable 1986 Corolla broke down yet again, we reluctantly considered letting it go rather than doing one more round of repairs. We browsed the internet for a replacement, looking at modest, used Camrys, but none of them seemed quite right. We phoned about a cute little vintage BMW 2002 we'd seen for sale in the neighborhood, but the owner never called us back. There we were, with the money for another car burning a hole in our bank account, and we couldn't give it away. In the end, we managed to part with a little of it: the universe allowed us to buy the parts for Jonny to repair the Corolla.

Next, I tried to buy a new laptop computer, a major purchase that makes sense for all kinds of reasons but which we'd been putting off for a couple of years. I went on a reconnaissance mission to the local electronics store one afternoon and lost my heart to a cute little Compaq, and later that evening I brought Jonny to the store to have a look. A salesman hustled to our sides and answered our questions, and we walked away to discuss it. By the time we returned, ready to write a check, our helpful salesman - in fact, all the salesmen - had mysteriously evaporated. Unable to get anyone to help us part with a rather sizable hunk of money, we eventually left. Thwarted in the pursuit of my beloved toy, and with some residual frustration from the car fiasco, I raged all the way home. "We never want to buy anything," I hollered, all but shaking my fist at an uncaring universe, "and then when we decide we want to, nothing works out!"

I railed on for at least an hour; I aired the dust out, but good. And then, after a good night's sleep, we returned to the store to give it another try. This time, we managed to hook up with a salesman, pointed out our machine of choice, and... "All we have left is the floor model. I'll have to ask my manager if we can sell it to you." Oh, for... I dug in my heels and assumed a pig-eyed expression. Clouds gathered. Sensing another tantrum brewing, Jonny advised the salesman in no uncertain terms that if he wanted to make this sale, he'd better - and I quote - "move your ass."

We left with the floor model. At a discount.

So it is with a sense of hard-won victory that I'm writing this on my new, snazzy, gorgeous laptop computer. It appears that we managed to pry open the window just enough, at least, to let a little money fly out. It remains to be seen whether opening our pursestrings will work as a kind of metaphysical boomerang, mysteriously replenishing our coffers. Anyway, the laptop is nice.

Taurus symbolizes all that is sympathetic with our desire to maintain the status quo, to hold on to situations and possessions that are "ours" and that lend us a sense of security. But during this Taurus season, with the Sun and Moon squaring Neptune, we are encouraged - nay, ordered - to let some of it flow, both in and out. And not just the situations and possessions, but our illusions about the nature of security are also in question. For instance, two men close to me have lost jobs in the past couple of weeks.. Fortunately, both of them have all-but-guaranteed sources of income waiting in the wings; but nevertheless, it's a bit of a blow to one's sense of security to lose a job, or a relationship, or the value of a stock portfolio. Brings you a little closer than you'd like to the specters of homelessness and destitution. Makes you want to close the window up, tight, and hoard bits of dust in an old bag. But, "Be not afraid," Neptune whispers. "Keep the window open, and let the winds of change blow through."

No worries there. My winning streak of parting with cash continued yesterday, when I rented a cozy office space a couple of blocks from the house. It's a quiet haven in a mellow old church, a place to do my daily writing away from the cats, the laundry, and all the happy distractions of home. My little garret room has been used as a storage unit for years, and there's a lot of work to be done before I can move in. The custodian needs to remove some junk; I need to figure out how to open the single, small window that's been battened shut with some odd little anti-burglary gizmo. And the whole place needs a good coat of paint and a few cheery pieces of furniture.

Which, of course, means a shopping trip. First things first: I'd better get that window open.

© 2005 April Elliott Kent.
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