While I was growing up, I had my own savings account and my own special dog-eared savings deposit book at what I think was called the County Trust Bank. I imagined all my dollar bills sitting safely in a long slot, like a post office box, waiting for me to come take them out again if I needed something special, like the bike I bought with my own money. And it seemed like an amazing bonus that the bank actually paid me to keep my money there.
That didn’t make too much sense to me until my mother explained that my money wasn’t really in its safe little box – that other people were using it, and they paid the bank money for letting them use my money, and then the bank paid me part of that money…
This was a frightening thought. What if they never gave my money back?
Time is money, they say, and so today I have the same sort of paranoid thinking about the hour we’ve lost. Where is it? Who is doing what with it, and what if it never comes back?
Next fall, unless Bernie Madoff gets involved, we’ll get it back. By then we’ll know what happened to healthcare reform, and whether the House and Senate were returned to the Republicans, and whether we had a lot of hurricanes, and whether all the things we’re hoping for and worrying about now came to pass, or not.