By now if there's anything we don't need to be reminded of it's that economic times are tough. On top of that, whenever we begin to experience a little more confidence analysts' reports seem to somehow relish with bad tidings like “Don't expect gasoline pump prices to remain low for long,” or “The job outlook for new college grads is worse than dismal.”  Wow.  Should we all throw in the towel and give up. Is it me, or do most of these prognosticators live to see the glass half full?

It's a difficult thing to lose something important or dear to you.  Many of us have lost loved ones; we've lost opportunities; we've lost jobs.  Over the past several months I have heard echoes of the past, especially of the Great Depression, during which time both my parents were young children, and about which they could never forget how much they did without.  

They might learn something from my good friend, Jerry.  You see Jerry has seven kids.  He's done well.  After putting himself through college, then law school, he landed a terrific job at a local company as a legal advisor, the kind of job that allowed his wife to remain home and devote her days to being a hard-working mom.  All their kids attended or currently attend parochial schools.  Even with Jerry's income level, seven kids in private schools leaves little by way of disposable income at the end of the month.  Bottom line is Jerry and his wife have done their best to care and raise their family.

There's a short story by Ernest Hemingway called “In Another Country,”  where in it Hemingway writes of a harsh, enigmatic Major who toward the end stares, trancelike, out the window.  The reader later understands that the major had not long before lost his wife.  His pensiveness now becomes grounded and the backstory provides newfound depth and empathy to the scene, and humanizes the major.  In the end, though, we'll never really know what he is thinking, staring out that window.

Last month Jerry came over to my house for a cup of coffee.  He was quieter than normal.  Then he told me his company was letting him go.  He said the only excuse administrators could provide was that his job was part of a litany of positions targeted for elimination due to shrinking profits, rising costs, and too many “non-essential” employees that adversely affect the bottom line.  In the midst of my sympathy for Jerry's situation, and as much as I tried to muster something useful to say. I did not have a magic wand, or the cure-all phrase to offer Jerry.  But I think Jerry did not come to my house for that.  It may have been for just a cup of coffee with a friend that he was looking for, not conversation, but simply being with a friend ,and moments of comfortable silence.  From the corner of our table he stared out the window where in the distance my kids played in the leaves.  I didn't speak,  I let Jerry's eyes rest with his thoughts. 

Even though I could guess what he was thinking while he stared out that window, I will never really know.