“Hetty” Green (November 21, 1834 – July 3, 1916), was the richest woman in America during the Gilded Age. She was a single woman working a fortune amidst a sea of men – her nickname, Witch of Wall Street.
Why can’t I be more like Hetty. When it comes to money, I never have enough. For that reason, anger stirs in the pit of my stomach when I think about the sugary green stuff. Like a sweet layer of whip cream on a strawberry torte, it teases at me only to land on my hips, leaving me nothing except an empty bowl and a decreased bank account after I am forced to purchase the latest diet products and exercise DVDs. After reading Demi Stevens’s blog this morning, I believe my disdain is misdirected.
I was born in the middle and unlike my two sisters I have buttery fingers. Enticed by the iced confections in life, I have no patience. The oven takes too long to preheat, all while I am standing in the crumb-infested kitchen with the oozing batter dripping from my spoon and the thick aroma of vanilla and sprinkles dancing in the air. Not to mention, the left over Cool Whip lingering on my lip because I stole a lick. I break, to hell with watching the delicacy rise and swirl. I drive straight to the bakery, tossing my hard work into the yard for the birds.
This recipe for money I have followed for fifty-years. The sweet confections suck me in. I have enjoyed life; vacations, scuba lessons, horses, knitting, spinning, farming, and a host of critters – not to mention I am self-employed (a sure way to devour the money.) This desire has left a bad taste. I am back in the kitchen-my bun in the oven taking twice as long to plump up again.
Somehow, God always takes care of me. I am healthy and can work, able to do extra baking and kneading. Unfortunately, this burns me up, I’m over-cooked and my cookie jar always short of that perfect dozen.
Can I be more like Hetty? Hetty, it is said, was a miser; never turning on the heat and wearing the same black outfits. Whether true or not, the fact is I don’t respect how hard I worked for the ingredients. The sweetness calls me. I have no willpower. I let go before the jar is full. It’s not the money that angers me, but the calories living on my hips – the bills in my basket, the cost of my impatience. I need to be more creative, more patient. Build my cupboards before its too late. Because had I been a little less sugar- dependent, I would be living a sweeter life today.