I spent money in January, partly because income tax means I take my annual “required minimum distribution” from my retirement account, in a lump sum. My savings account suddenly expands, and I can contemplate a few indulgences. Therefore, in the last three weeks or so, I got a new furnace installed, ordered a recliner, and bought three more fountain pens, several bottles of ink, and a beautiful hundred-year-old mechanical pencil.

The furnace was the only thing that felt frivolous. I know a furnace makes more sense, by conventional wisdom. But I could have gone on a while without buying a furnace. The recliner and the writing supplies, on the other hand, were necessities. You can’t really plan how you age (my acquaintance’s stroke yesterday made that clear) but you can make it more pleasant. And pens, ink, pencils, and comfortable furniture do the trick.

The recliner is necessary, because at my age, comfort is no longer optional. Everything hurts a little already. I can’t nap in my current armchair because I wake up in pain. It is made of thick chocolate leather, and it’s sumptuous. The fountain pens, ink, and antique pencil are also necessities; I’m with William Morris: “Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful.” And boy, those pens are beautiful, and they are also useful. Now I can sit in my house and write my thoughts about getting older, and make my little plans, with an absolutely stunning striped pen, in a lovely blue ink.

But the furnace? I wasn’t planning to replace that just yet. It’s useful, I’ll give it that. but it sure isn’t beautiful.