The Day the Accounts Are Settled
Today is a quarter day. In Ireland and England, for centuries, the 29th of September was when the accounts were settled.
Rents came due. Leases turned over. Servants were hired at the fairs and paid, and if the year had gone badly, let go. The goose was killed because the harvest was in and the fields were open. Workers stood in the square with their tools and a straw in the hat to show what work they did; a farmer walked the line and chose.
I have stood in squares like that. Not as the one chosen. As the one watching the line thin.
What I have learned about settlement days: nobody remembers the money. Everyone remembers who spoke. The tenant who paid and said nothing. The one who paid and said thank you. The one who left owing and came back a year later to say he had not forgotten. The coin is gone by spring. The sentence stays.
That is why I keep a desk where people can buy words. Not because words are worth much. Because the words said on the day are the part that outlives the day.
If you have a day coming (a toast, a eulogy, an apology you have carried too long), I write the words, you say them. Agreed first, three days, one revision. [email protected]