Buying

My raspberries are ripening, for the third time this summer. The first was the black raspberries - small flavor-packed gems of sweetness. The second round was a single red raspberry bush - larger berries, misted with the haze that tells you they are ripe, but so few I wanted to cry. And now, unexpectedly, the bushes I thought were dormant, male, or just not ready are so heavy with small white and larger pink berries the limbs are weeping toward the grass. I picked about thirty yesterday - not one percent of what's to come - and they were so juicy, so sweet and warm from the sun, those thirty were enough to sate me until the bumper crop comes in.

You can't get raspberries like that except in the summer. Because everything has its season.

My dad taught me to cook out of self-defense. According to the tale, one morning I wanted to cook my parents breakfast in bed. So, as I'd seen them do countless times, I made coffee, bacon, eggs, and toast ... but unlike them, I made it all in the same pan, on high heat, and walked away. (Hey, I was four!) The choking cloud of smoke woke everyone (no detectors back in the stone age) and while Mom soothed my younger siblings, Dad bolted downstairs, opened the window, and threw the whole flaming mess out into the snow. He then found me (in front of the TV) and sat me down with a butter knife, a loaf of bread, and the toaster. My first lesson. The second quickly followed - no matter how hard I cried, I could only eat strawberry jam in the winter, not fresh fruit.

Now, of course, I can buy strawberries any time. But why would I want to? Nothing is as delicious as strawberries in May, stone fruit in July, pears and oranges in October, leeks in November ... just about anything still smelling of the bush, the tree, the earth, or the vine is better straight from its source. Everything - wine, clothing, even meat - everything has its own season, and paying a premium for something that isn't in synch with its own rhythm is not only a waste of money, but of potential. All I need to do is go (right now) and buy a dry, mealy apple to remind me of that.

Investments have their seasons, too. I was bidding on a beautiful pair of gold earrings on Goodwill's auction site. I was hoping no one would quite know what to do with the "585" mark (14K gold, in British). They did. I lost because I wasn't willing to pay what gold is worth today - gold is at a premium right now, so it's out of season. It will be "in" when the economy bounces back, and at its peak when we are. That's when I will start finding better deals on gold jewelry - and when I will add a Precious Metals mutual fund to my IRA portfolio.

Stocks seem to be in season now, especially stable financial institutions that were dragged down by the idiotic practices of some of their brothers. (No, not every lending institution or decided to create sub-prime mortgages for those who weren't "flipping," lose their shirts lending to normal people caught in the crossfire, and have the government bail them out with a mortgage pool - or is that "plan" it?) Anyway, I might buy some shares in a company I have truck with. And I might not. Too many changes afoot.

I think I will add a REIT to my portfolio, though. I can't - no, I won't invest in anything that I cannot pay cash for, and with property values so low ... well, it's a thought. Property, right now, is apparently in season. Sad, but true.

I like food better; I don't feel sorry for the raspberries. But money and cooking are not all that different. And I'm on a quest for smart, ethical money. While I know I can walk into any kitchen on the planet and put together something pretty special, I'm still a novice about investments. There are so many out there, so many different flavors and textures and recipes to play with. I can imagine how a raspberry tastes with balsamic vinegar (reduce it to focus the sugar, don't just sprinkle) but I cannot picture how to blend and meld the perfect retirement. Not yet. I will cost average, for sure - spend a fixed amount every month for everything I own - but I will also do my best to spend windfalls on things that seem to be ripe. I probably won't get it perfect - some of my berries yesterday were a bit tart, some a bit tipsy - but I know for a fact that things tend to find their own balance, and that a little pinch of this and a tad of that can fix just about anything that doesn't.

I've had forty-five years of practice in the kitchen. I'll figure this out, too - and without setting the house afire.

The world, maybe, but not the house.