Compromise. Judicious Compromise.

I was depressed the other day. My non-pharmaceutical approach to relieving depression is to chase the blues by dispensing the green. My bride was otherwise occupied, so my daughter and I took a ride down I-70 and over the top of the beltway to the land of temptation. Guitar Center.

Mmmm. Guitar Center. It's a lust hut, folks. There are so many beautiful guitars there. And if that thrill begins to wear thin, there are electronic toys galore. Need a little more spice? How about this lovely set of turntables? No? Smoke machine? Stage lighting? Sound board? The list of possibilities just goes on and on.

I did okay. For me. I came out spending less than $200. And it was all stuff I needed. Honestly. Bass strings for Toby, a couple of instrument cables, a hard-shell case for the bass pod, and a music stand (because I need to get the notes up high, where my bifocals can go to work).

It just wasn't enough. I'd been hearing for quite some time about an Apple store in Towson, so we went from my kind of place to my daughter's kind of place. The mall. One Auntie Anne's pretzel for me and a chai latte for Pookums and we climbed to the top of the mall--because the stinkin' escalator gave up the ghost mid-ride--in search of computing perfection.

I did it. I bought a Macintosh Mini. It replaces a G3 tower and provides the opportunity to lay down a lot more tracks in GarageBand or Reason. Taking advantage of my daughter's student discount, we picked up a copy of Microsoft Office and some musical notation software as well.

We have reached the dilemma. How was I to share my good fortune with my spouse (especially after I'd essentially just shared my good fortune with Steve Jobs and his Cupertino All-Stars)? My lovely bride had spent the previous day preparing food for a tea attended by 36 people. This very day she had met a friend and set up for the event. Afterward she'd stayed to clean up. Something told me (likely my keenly honed sense of self-preservation) that this would be an inauspicious day to inform her that our computing capabilities had sharply spiked in her absence. So I waited.

My wife is a fairly intelligent woman. She is, after all, MY wife. I don't think we need to chase that rabbit much further now, do we? That being said, there are times when her powers of observation operate somewhat in my favor. So, there's a shiny new box beside the other boxes where all that computer stuff is. It's probably not important. In fact, it may have been there for a while.

Circumstances sometimes converge on one's sneaky affairs like two stiff index fingers cross-checking a zit. I knew the jig was up when I had to load a CD. Mrs. C. saw the disc go in and astutely asked what that particular bit of equipment was. A new disk drive? I was honest. I said, "Yes." One or two awkward moments later I suggested that this particular disk drive might have its own operating system and a few connections for peripherals--a little something extra compared to some disk drives.

Have you ever noticed how chillingly frosty silence can be? Some mornings you can step out on the porch and just hear nothing. Then your nose starts running. Chilling silence. At other times you can look into a gorgeous pair of deep brown eyes and you'd swear there's somebody just behind them firing up an oxy-acetylene torch. In that instant you grasp that it is your own sorry butt that is fixin' to get welded. Such was that very moment of situational honesty for me.

Don't get all "shame on you" over this. It's hardly as if I intended to never tell of this new purchase. It's too cool. I would have burst if I'd had to keep it a secret. Besides, I already hinted that I was looking for the right time. Instead the right time came looking for me. She calmly asked how much it was. I told her. I also told her about the great deal we got on Microsoft Office, which we both rely on at work, so there's no learning curve to use it at home. I did not, however, offer up for conversation the extended warranty. Something told me as I typed that last sentence that she may be asking about it shortly.

The judicious compromise that became the title of this piece was not in the purchase. That was an outright expenditure to meet one or more immediately pressing needs. Anyone who frequents Home Depot or Lowe's understands exactly what I'm talking about here. I was and still am firmly convinced that this purchase will improve our quality of life, enhance my musical efforts, and may provide a cure for life-threatening illnesses and secure a lasting peace for all mankind. The details on those last two items are still a bit sketchy, but it could happen. Nor was the judicious compromise in my sense of timing. As I previously suggested and will now flatly admit, that was fear. Fear can lead to compromise, but the two should never be confused as synonyms.

The compromise was in the payment. I could have used a debit card, but I was far wiser than that, my friends. I used a credit card. Not just any plastic rectangle with a magnetic strip, mind you, but one that pays points for purchases. A card that can turn the cutting blue sparks of malicious inclination to the softly glowing coals of promised pleasure. That's right. I used our Nordstrom card. Mmm-hmm. I AM the man 'cuz Baby knows what to do with them Nordstrom points. She gets tingly all over whenever the latest envelope arrives from the Nordstrom home office. That's free money in that envelope and I, the alpha male of this dwelling and assistant carrier of all bacon brought home, have given her plenty more to play with.

Okay, even I don't see a hint of compromise. But it certainly was Judicious.