By By Richard Reiss

Copyright berkshireeagle

A dollar for an ear of corn. Two dollars for a peach. Fifteen cents for a piece of gum. Ten dollars for a watermelon.

If I wasn’t as old as I am, it might not feel like the cost of everything has gotten out of control. Two dollars for a bagel with nothing on it. Twenty-five dollars for a sushi roll. (Okay, I’d pay anything for good sushi.) Eighty-five dollars to park my car overnight in New York City.

I could go on, but I won’t. Life is hard enough without obsessing that the cost of nearly everything is forcing nearly everyone to obsess.

Instead, I’ll look to the future. I like to paraphrase Ed Koch: “How are we doing?” Never mind. That was a bad idea. As another famous New Yorker put it, “The future ain’t what it used to be.”

There is some good news out there. I know this because I Googled “What good news happened today.” In return I got this: Researchers are on the verge of a world-first breakthrough with plans to vaccinate koalas against a deadly form of chlamydia. At least someone is getting vaccinated. Amen!

I want to be happy and secure, but I’m a wreck and uncharacteristically so. I’m the guy who doesn’t worry. I’m solid like Sears. Whatever happened to Sears? Am I emotionally bankrupt? I’m not. I’m more like emotionally confused because for the first time in my life I can’t decide what to do with the money I so diligently saved for the 18 and a half years (according to actuarial tables) I have left to live. And despite how delicious they are, the two-dollar peach isn’t helping. Neither is a root canal that costs $2,200, nor is an uncertain job market for my progeny who can barely afford to pay their rent.

I’m not a student of history, but I’ve read enough to know that the 1920s led to the 1930s and the Great Depression. Will the 2020s take us down the same road? The similarities are frightening, yet the two people who make money from my money by telling me what to do with my money are telling me not to worry. What, me worry? I’m terrified.

Don’t let that scare you. After all, money can’t buy you love, and without love we are empty vessels. It can, however, buy you some new teeth that might come in handy if the two-dollar peach you bought wasn’t ripe. You know what else it buys? Peace of mind.

A piece of my mind is gnawing at the rest of my brain. It’s telling me to find a really big mattress where I can put all my money, where it will neither grow nor disappear — at least not until the woods around my house catch fire and burn everything down.

I’m catastrophizing. Everyone I know takes Lexapro for anxiety. Maybe it’s time I joined the club. Worrying isn’t fun. My latest worry (maybe you noticed) is that I worry too much.

The stock market rose 35 percent percent in 1925 and maintained that pace until the crash of 1929 sent the country reeling. All I’m saying is that it would be nice to get ahead of historical uncertainly before the peach hits three dollars. Can someone please direct me to a mattress sale?

On the upside of life, the weather in these parts has been truly spectacular. And now that most of the summer visitors have headed home, it’s safer to be on the road on my bike. Blue skies, green hills, eagles, bears, bobcats, foxes, mountain streams and gray-haired cyclists are among the few things that joyfully suppress my worries.

I also read that while most things continue to get more expensive, the cost of shoes has gone down by 0.06 percent. Thank God for small blessings. An extra pair of shoes will come in handy as I’m running away from the bill collector, the tax collector and the guy around the corner who found out I’m stealing peaches from his orchard.

These are not normal times, and I’m not acting normally. High prices and mass uncertainly have drastically changed my outlook on the world. I need a healthy obsession. Someone suggested binge-watching the TV series “Breaking Bad.” They said I would learn some great coping skills from Walter White. I heard he was a man with many mattresses.

Is there hope on the horizon? I don’t know. The other day I was having lunch with my son. When the check arrived, he uncharacteristically offered to pay for it. If my son can fork over 40 bucks, then surely I can muster the strength to get through whatever is coming.

After lunch, we stopped by a roadside fruit stand. I bought two large, delicious peaches, one for each of us. The smile on his face after taking his first bite was more than enough for me to realize that you can’t put a price on joy.