The Annual Shareholder Meeting

It was the week between Christmas and New Year’s when nobody was entirely sure what day it was, and cookies had become an acceptable breakfast food.

Both kids were home. Doug had brought enough clothes to suggest he was staying until March. Barb was visiting for a couple of days and had to get back to work in Minneapolis.

The house was full again, which Dudley liked. He also liked the last week of December because it was time for the annual shareholder meeting.

Dudley had prepared. There was the one-pager, obviously. Behind it were investment reports, spending summaries, tax estimates, insurance information and several pages of supporting material.

There were charts.

Betty came into the kitchen with her coffee and looked at the stack.

“Are we being audited?”

“Annual review.”

“I thought that’s what the one-pager was for.”

“It is.”

She pointed underneath it.

“Then what’s that?”

“Supporting documentation.”

“Of course it is.”

Borris was already in attendance, occupying a kitchen chair as though his presence had been requested. Jingo watched from the bookcase in the next room.

Dudley turned over the one-pager.

At the top were the three questions they had spent the year learning to answer.

What do we have?

What do we need to spend for the life we want?

How long will it last?

That was the whole thing.

They went through the numbers. They had enough, spent about what they expected and continued buying things Dudley did not remember approving. The plan still worked.

Betty looked at him.

“That’s it?”

Dudley checked the clock.

Eleven minutes.

“Well.”

He looked through his notes.

“Basically.”

“You seem disappointed.”

“I prepared.”

“I can see that.”

“I thought there might be more discussion.”

“About what?”

Dudley wasn’t sure.

Barb wandered into the kitchen.

“What are you doing?”

“Annual shareholder meeting.”

She opened the refrigerator.

“Sounds awful.”

Doug appeared behind her.

“Are we rich?”

Dudley turned the one-pager facedown.

“Depends on what you mean by ‘we.’”

“I’m your son.”

“You are not a shareholder.”

“What am I?”

“A long-term liability,” Barb said.

Doug looked offended.

“I’m an investment.”

“Investments are supposed to appreciate.”

“I haven’t graduated yet.”

“Exactly.”

Betty laughed.

The kids lingered long enough to make sure their parents were not headed toward financial ruin. That was apparently sufficient due diligence for the next generation.

Dudley had thirty-seven pages of supporting material available. Nobody asked to see them.

Dudley wasn’t ready to adjourn.

There was one item left.

“What do we want to do next year?”

Betty thought about it.

“Cancun.”

Dudley nodded. He had already modeled Cancun. Of course he had.

“What else?”

“I don’t know.”

“No big house projects?”

“No.”

“Cars?”

“No.”

“Anything you’ve been waiting to do?”

Betty looked around the kitchen.

“No.”

Dudley had built an entire financial operating system to help them make decisions. Surely somebody needed a scenario.

“What are we trying to fix?” Betty asked.

Dudley looked at the one-pager. For most of his adult life there had always been something next. A promotion, a loan, college, retirement, some number they were trying to reach. There was always another hill.

Now Dudley had a spreadsheet designed to identify the hill.

There wasn’t one.

Barb came back through the kitchen.

Dudley looked up.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Next year.”

She shrugged.

“Same thing, probably.”

“How’s work?”

“It sucks.”

“Ah.”

“But it’s a paycheck.”

“That is one of its traditional advantages.”

“Maybe I’ll start looking next summer.”

Dudley wanted to offer seventeen minutes of career advice. He managed not to.

“Sounds reasonable.”

Barb looked suspicious.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Wow. Retirement really has changed you.”

Doug walked back in.

“What about me?”

“How’s school?”

“Great.”

Doug was doing well, liked what he was studying and had already developed ambitious plans for the salary he did not yet earn, mostly involving apartments, travel and restaurants.

“I’ll be making good money,” he said.

“You currently make no money,” Barb said.

“I’m talking about after graduation.”

“So am I.”

“I have a plan.”

“You’re fantasy shopping.”

“I am budgeting.”

The conversation wandered through jobs, school, summer, Cancun and people they wanted to see.

For once, nobody seemed to be in a hurry.

Dudley looked around the kitchen. Nothing desperately needed to be bought, fixed, solved or achieved. He looked at the one-pager again. For once, all three questions seemed to have the same answer. Enough.

Maybe that was all the financial system was supposed to do. Not become their life. Make room for it.

Betty got another cup of coffee. Dudley pushed the papers aside.

Christmas wasn’t quite over. There were still people they wanted to see. Ray and Bonnie. Friends. Family. People they always meant to call. Some were getting older. So were they.

Money could make room for dinners, afternoons around the pool and coffee at the kitchen table. But money wasn’t any of those things. Betty started making a list of people they still wanted to see over the holidays. Dudley reached for a pen.

There were a lot of people they loved.

They needed to make sure those people knew it.

The supporting materials could wait.

The annual shareholder meeting was adjourned.