Plan B...C...Z?

When I was in college, I used to wear a denim jacket with buttons all over it from various rock concerts I'd been to, along with my prominent "Born to Run" replica album cover button (yes, total Springsteen fan here) and various other buttons with clever sayings on them that I liked. One of those said, "I spend my life in Plan B."

I came across this button again in 90's, when Bobby and I were cleaning and purging, getting ready to move into our first house. He liked the button, too, and after that we often joked that we were living our lives in Plan B, while Plan A consisted of us being independently wealthy, perpetually thin (well, that was my Plan A...Bobby already was perpetually thin) and cruising the world on our yacht with servants, a cook and absolutely nothing to do all day but enjoy each other's company and a couple of margaritas every afternoon.

Well, becoming a widow was certainly not Plan B. It isn't Plan C, D or E, either. Truthfully, it's not even on the spectrum, but if I had to give it a letter, it would have to be Plan Z. I miss the life I had before, and in retrospect, it was much more Plan A then Plan B. I guess this is where that old Yiddish proverb comes from: Man makes plans, God laughs.