Once again, I must note that this is no longer a blog about frugality, but a personal site for my musings about this and that. Older posts on frugality remain. Frugality is timeless!
From Roy Strong, "A Country Life": "The classification of a private library ought to reflect the structure of the owner's mind, and that inevitably changes over the years" (147).
That explains why this book (by the great scholar of Elizabethan portraiture among other things) is in a stack with Ferrante's "The Story of the Lost Child" (I cried to finish this series, but am also angry/annoyed at the cruelty of the ending--to readers?--and the cruelty shown by the narrator to her friend), Laurie Colwin's "Home Cooking" (comfort reading/comfort cooking in these stressful times), library copies of BOTH Marie Kondo books (which are spiritual at core), plus a bunch of others that have now fallen on the floor.
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Showing posts with label Personal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Personal. Show all posts
Saturday, March 18, 2017
Saturday, August 29, 2015
Hurricane Katrina: The Lite Version
Ten Year Anniversary. Visits from Commanders-in-Chief Present and Past.
Across Lake Pontchartrain from New Orleans, we experienced a lite version of Katrina. We were with a few neighbors in the library of a Catholic High School a few blocks away. The then mayor was upstairs in the language lab with her Spanish teacher husband.
We were there for two (three?) days. The plumbing went out after the first day.
Several members of our group walked through streets filled with downed trees and downed wires to report back on the condition of everyone's houses. The whole area smelled like gas for a few days. No power, no phone service, and even after the streets were cleared, no gas.
Within a few days, the Red Cross came with food. We lent our neighbor, who owned a generator, a window ac unit, and he let us sit in an air-conditioned space for an hour or two a day.
The second pic is the during, the view from the library; the rest are afters. The elegant woman in the orange windbreaker is our neighbor, Ha, now 95. She still looks like a model on all occasions. The car with the doll is the work of our wealthy neighbors. And that's our house! Luckily, it is an old house, very strong, so the trees only made a hole and did not destroy the entire house.
Across Lake Pontchartrain from New Orleans, we experienced a lite version of Katrina. We were with a few neighbors in the library of a Catholic High School a few blocks away. The then mayor was upstairs in the language lab with her Spanish teacher husband.
Several members of our group walked through streets filled with downed trees and downed wires to report back on the condition of everyone's houses. The whole area smelled like gas for a few days. No power, no phone service, and even after the streets were cleared, no gas.
Within a few days, the Red Cross came with food. We lent our neighbor, who owned a generator, a window ac unit, and he let us sit in an air-conditioned space for an hour or two a day.
The second pic is the during, the view from the library; the rest are afters. The elegant woman in the orange windbreaker is our neighbor, Ha, now 95. She still looks like a model on all occasions. The car with the doll is the work of our wealthy neighbors. And that's our house! Luckily, it is an old house, very strong, so the trees only made a hole and did not destroy the entire house.
Sunday, September 21, 2014
In a Belgrade Cemetery
Two summers ago, Mr FS and I went to Vienna, where my mother was born in 1930. Last summer, we went to Belgrade, where my mother and her parents (and other family members) stayed (1938) before emigrating to the United States.
A most moving part of our journey: a visit to a cemetery in Belgrade.
Image courtesy of my daughter. See her Tumblr for more travel illustrations or her website for more.
A most moving part of our journey: a visit to a cemetery in Belgrade.
Image courtesy of my daughter. See her Tumblr for more travel illustrations or her website for more.
Friday, August 8, 2014
Reality Show Opportunity: Not Keeping Up with the Kardashians
Backstory: We bought a house in New Orleans in Spring 2013, using a small inheritance from Mr FS's parents. The house is a rental, occupied by Frugal Son (in the tiny room with no closet) and two other fellows, one of whom does occasional work in the tv biz.
New Story: Roommate with occasional work in tv biz meets someone who does reality show featuring Amish carpenters. That someone's interest is piqued by three 20-something fellows with a big screened porch. They are thinking of building a bar on it.
Of course, I would prefer a bathroom remodel (the house needs it). Or how about....oh, zillions of things.
Frugal Son and his roomies seem a bit interested. They would hang out with the carpenters and that would be filmed too.
If an offer comes through, should Mr FS and I say OK if the fellows want to do it? Or are there a million unforeseen bad consequences I'm not thinking of?
New Story: Roommate with occasional work in tv biz meets someone who does reality show featuring Amish carpenters. That someone's interest is piqued by three 20-something fellows with a big screened porch. They are thinking of building a bar on it.
Of course, I would prefer a bathroom remodel (the house needs it). Or how about....oh, zillions of things.
Frugal Son and his roomies seem a bit interested. They would hang out with the carpenters and that would be filmed too.
If an offer comes through, should Mr FS and I say OK if the fellows want to do it? Or are there a million unforeseen bad consequences I'm not thinking of?
Thursday, August 7, 2014
Remember my cookbook?
Back again from our final trip of the summer to the beautiful Berkshires where I reconnected with childhood places and happy memories of my now-gone relatives from Vienna. I continued some of the questioning I began in the Balkans and got more specifics on the dangerous journey undertaken by my grandparents, mother, and others as they escaped Vienna in the late 1930s. Truly, my very existence is a miracle.
I may depart from my blog's original purpose--to spread the gospel of frugality--and turn to more personal matters as I attempt to wrest information from the very few surviving relatives--who themselves remember very little and were greeted with silence about those terrible times.
For the moment though, I am back to frugality. After all, if we weren't frugal we couldn't go to the Balkans to ask questions of Ildi, my mother's cousin's widow. Since I am interested in a return visit, I am once again checking the food ads and making lists of necessary items to search for in thrift stores.
And it is time to make yet another pitch for the cookbook Frugal Son and i put together from Miss Em a few years ago, when she went off with a scholarship that provided a dorm room but not a board card. How to cook with limited resources, no car, a small fridge, and NO STOVE?
Thus was born our little cookbook. I have not really made an effort to market it, but copies sell now and again. And now--after all these years--a review! A good one!
Seriously, get your college student a rice cooker (very cheap), some rice (ditto) and a few other things. This will be a much-appreciated gift. I and my post-college kids (and their friends) use the book all the time. Not just for the stove-free.
I may depart from my blog's original purpose--to spread the gospel of frugality--and turn to more personal matters as I attempt to wrest information from the very few surviving relatives--who themselves remember very little and were greeted with silence about those terrible times.
For the moment though, I am back to frugality. After all, if we weren't frugal we couldn't go to the Balkans to ask questions of Ildi, my mother's cousin's widow. Since I am interested in a return visit, I am once again checking the food ads and making lists of necessary items to search for in thrift stores.
And it is time to make yet another pitch for the cookbook Frugal Son and i put together from Miss Em a few years ago, when she went off with a scholarship that provided a dorm room but not a board card. How to cook with limited resources, no car, a small fridge, and NO STOVE?
Thus was born our little cookbook. I have not really made an effort to market it, but copies sell now and again. And now--after all these years--a review! A good one!
Seriously, get your college student a rice cooker (very cheap), some rice (ditto) and a few other things. This will be a much-appreciated gift. I and my post-college kids (and their friends) use the book all the time. Not just for the stove-free.
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Sunday, July 20, 2014
In case anyone is wondering
I am back from a most amazing journey. Beginning in Brussels and Paris, then on to the Balkans: Serbia, Croatia, Bosnia. I can hardly begin to process what I experienced there.
And--while overcoming the jet lag from a 30 hour return trip--I finished the final volume of Proust. That too has been a journey--more than a year of reading, more than 4000 pages.
Thanks for commenting on the posts that appeared in my absence. Much appreciated, though I could only respond in my head.
One of the places we visited...
And--while overcoming the jet lag from a 30 hour return trip--I finished the final volume of Proust. That too has been a journey--more than a year of reading, more than 4000 pages.
Thanks for commenting on the posts that appeared in my absence. Much appreciated, though I could only respond in my head.
One of the places we visited...
Monday, June 9, 2014
Where are the pickers of yesteryear: Naomi
Ah, mixed feelings here. I met Naomi at a yard sale in Bloomington. I arrived on foot (since I had no car), started chatting with Naomi, a woman about 15 years my senior. She ended up giving me a ride home. In fact, she started taking me to sales with her on weekends.
It says something about me that I still remember two things I bought at that sale: a large woven bedspread and some fabric to cover the seat of a Queen Anne-style chair. I have both even now.
Naomi was radical politically. She had many left-wing bumper stickers plastered on her car, eliciting honks, wild hand gestures, and sometimes near collisions from the conservative drivers of the area. She was an eccentric personally. She was divorced. Her former husband was Greek and had taught in the law school. When democracy was restored in Greece, he returned to a government post. Even though he no longer had a legal obligation, he sent Naomi a check every month. Their kids were gone: the son was in college and the daughter was a dancer in Europe.
She also got money from her family. Her father had been a rather prominent architect in New York City. Her widowed mother was in poor health and lived in a big apartment on the Upper West Side. Her mother gave her extravagant gifts: a small Rembrandt etching, beautiful jewelry, and many objets. She would occasionally drag something to an antique dealer when she needed money.
She lived in a beautiful old house, decorated with remnants of her former life (elegant Danish modern furniture) and funked up with eccentric finds. As I recall, the living room was shiny black and red. She said "I only like junk now." She had a fabulous eye and was an excellent artist.
Her live-in boyfriend, Jim, was about my age. He was getting a PhD in astronomy. He slept all day and worked on his thesis all night. Occasionally, he would come greet us when we returned from a yard sale. He would always wear a brocade robe supplied by Naomi.
Well, Naomi was a little crazy at times and became totally obsessive about finding things to resell (which she learned about from yours truly). So obsessive was she that instead of consigning at the Eye of Osiris (where she also started working), she opened her own store. She did almost no business because she priced everything too high. She also befriended a waif, who repaid her kindness by robbing the store.
One day she turned to me in the car. She said, "All the women in my family are self-destructive. Don't be like me. You need to finish your thesis."
She was right. She was--with great kindness and perhaps even with some love--telling me to end my relationship with her. She knew I was easily distracted from my work. Our weekend jaunts ended. I got a teaching job. I never saw her again after I left that summer. I am so grateful to her: she pushed me to my true vocation.
It says something about me that I still remember two things I bought at that sale: a large woven bedspread and some fabric to cover the seat of a Queen Anne-style chair. I have both even now.
Naomi was radical politically. She had many left-wing bumper stickers plastered on her car, eliciting honks, wild hand gestures, and sometimes near collisions from the conservative drivers of the area. She was an eccentric personally. She was divorced. Her former husband was Greek and had taught in the law school. When democracy was restored in Greece, he returned to a government post. Even though he no longer had a legal obligation, he sent Naomi a check every month. Their kids were gone: the son was in college and the daughter was a dancer in Europe.
She also got money from her family. Her father had been a rather prominent architect in New York City. Her widowed mother was in poor health and lived in a big apartment on the Upper West Side. Her mother gave her extravagant gifts: a small Rembrandt etching, beautiful jewelry, and many objets. She would occasionally drag something to an antique dealer when she needed money.
She lived in a beautiful old house, decorated with remnants of her former life (elegant Danish modern furniture) and funked up with eccentric finds. As I recall, the living room was shiny black and red. She said "I only like junk now." She had a fabulous eye and was an excellent artist.
Her live-in boyfriend, Jim, was about my age. He was getting a PhD in astronomy. He slept all day and worked on his thesis all night. Occasionally, he would come greet us when we returned from a yard sale. He would always wear a brocade robe supplied by Naomi.
Well, Naomi was a little crazy at times and became totally obsessive about finding things to resell (which she learned about from yours truly). So obsessive was she that instead of consigning at the Eye of Osiris (where she also started working), she opened her own store. She did almost no business because she priced everything too high. She also befriended a waif, who repaid her kindness by robbing the store.
One day she turned to me in the car. She said, "All the women in my family are self-destructive. Don't be like me. You need to finish your thesis."
She was right. She was--with great kindness and perhaps even with some love--telling me to end my relationship with her. She knew I was easily distracted from my work. Our weekend jaunts ended. I got a teaching job. I never saw her again after I left that summer. I am so grateful to her: she pushed me to my true vocation.
Sunday, June 8, 2014
Pickers of Yesteryear: Enemies Part 2
The other person who treated me with enmity was ER. She owned a small vintage shop with an art studio behind. I'm not sure if she produced much art.
Like PM, she was a bitter person, though perhaps happier now. I think her husband was rather countercultural and ER was a conflicted countercultural. Her relative poverty beat her down. Her husband didn't make much money and I don't think her shop did very well, since it was quite expensive compared to the Eye. It was also upstairs in a downtown building and not as well situated.
When I went into a thrift store, ER would say to her young daughter, "Uh oh. We have to hurry before SHE gets the good stuff!" I thought this was a joke, till I talked to my friend Charlotte. Charlotte's beautiful daughter Kate (for whom I babysat) was friendly with ER's daughter Emma. Charlotte said, "ER asked me why you always try to talk to her." Oh. How humiliating. I hadn't realized my very chats were unwelcome. So--in a mean-spirited way--I never spoke to her again. Not a single word.
Watching these unhappy people made me realize--though it took a while--that picking was not a permanent career for me, fun as it was. ER--in one of our few chats before I learned how much she disliked me--said "I went to the Art Institute of Chicago! I have a BFA! I'm an artist! I should be a curator! I shouldn't be doing this!"
I had to do something with my OTHER talents. Naomi pushed me back to my vocation.
Like PM, she was a bitter person, though perhaps happier now. I think her husband was rather countercultural and ER was a conflicted countercultural. Her relative poverty beat her down. Her husband didn't make much money and I don't think her shop did very well, since it was quite expensive compared to the Eye. It was also upstairs in a downtown building and not as well situated.
When I went into a thrift store, ER would say to her young daughter, "Uh oh. We have to hurry before SHE gets the good stuff!" I thought this was a joke, till I talked to my friend Charlotte. Charlotte's beautiful daughter Kate (for whom I babysat) was friendly with ER's daughter Emma. Charlotte said, "ER asked me why you always try to talk to her." Oh. How humiliating. I hadn't realized my very chats were unwelcome. So--in a mean-spirited way--I never spoke to her again. Not a single word.
Watching these unhappy people made me realize--though it took a while--that picking was not a permanent career for me, fun as it was. ER--in one of our few chats before I learned how much she disliked me--said "I went to the Art Institute of Chicago! I have a BFA! I'm an artist! I should be a curator! I shouldn't be doing this!"
I had to do something with my OTHER talents. Naomi pushed me back to my vocation.
Friday, June 6, 2014
Thrift Store Treasures: Reality Check
The wonderful Hostess of the Humble Bungalow made a visit to my blog (so honored to have her). She left a comment to the effect that I must have the best thrift stores in the whole wide world. Time for a reality check.
Interestingly (and I think related, so bear with my rambling), Hostess was hit with a blog comment of the nasty kind, jeering at the lovely life she chronicles in her blog. According to the anonymous commenter, Hostess had things so easy blahblahblah. Hostess, of course, responded with the truth: that a blog leaves a lot of stuff out. In her case, she chooses to feature the beauty in everyday life. She omits a lot. The blog is not one's WHOLE life.
In a similar vein--though not, thankfully, responding to nasty comments--I have to say that the thrift store treasures I mention now and then are the highlights of many, many hours of mostly fruitless wandering. It is a wandering I find pleasurable, though I would probably go a lot less if I didn't find a lot of things needed by family and friends. Most of what I find is very workaday stuff (potholders for Frugal Son's new abode, for instance).
So here is an incomplete accounting.
I started going to thrift stores around 1980 in Bloomington, first to clothe myself and then to make a bit of money to replace my TA income. I then moved to Houston, where the thrift stores were too far from where I--carless--lived. There were incredible yard sales (I lived in a prosperous area), but Houston is full of very poor people, so the competition was tremendous. I then moved to a small town in Michigan, with a little college in the midst of a town decimated by factory closings. The thrift store was--not surprisingly--incredibly depressing. Then I moved to a small town in Indiana, with a surprisingly good thrift store (though it was the most disgusting thrift store I have ever seen). One summer, I was in a seminar in Evanston, which had probably the best thrift stores I have ever frequented (combo of extremely affluent college students--transient population--and extremely affluent residents). And now I'm near New Orleans.
Here are the high points of my acquisition, in no particular order:
--the recent cache of Italian stuff (Pucci, Dolce, Leger, Missoni)
--a Chloe dress which amazingly fits my daughter (featured on blog a while back)
--2 vintage Gucci bags (little fabric GG ones, with stripes)
--1 alligator Mark Cross vintage bag (WHERE IS IT???)
--Hermes scarf (Feux de route)
--Hermes cashmere sweater
--Dries van Noten blazer and cashmere sweater
--numerous lesser cashmere sweaters
--a Missoni sweater that my daughter wears (she looks good in orange)
--brown Chanel loafers
--maybe 5 Hermes ties and 5 Ferragamo ties
OK, that's perhaps 40 super-amazing items. In 34 years. One-point-something PER YEAR.
Interestingly (and I think related, so bear with my rambling), Hostess was hit with a blog comment of the nasty kind, jeering at the lovely life she chronicles in her blog. According to the anonymous commenter, Hostess had things so easy blahblahblah. Hostess, of course, responded with the truth: that a blog leaves a lot of stuff out. In her case, she chooses to feature the beauty in everyday life. She omits a lot. The blog is not one's WHOLE life.
In a similar vein--though not, thankfully, responding to nasty comments--I have to say that the thrift store treasures I mention now and then are the highlights of many, many hours of mostly fruitless wandering. It is a wandering I find pleasurable, though I would probably go a lot less if I didn't find a lot of things needed by family and friends. Most of what I find is very workaday stuff (potholders for Frugal Son's new abode, for instance).
So here is an incomplete accounting.
I started going to thrift stores around 1980 in Bloomington, first to clothe myself and then to make a bit of money to replace my TA income. I then moved to Houston, where the thrift stores were too far from where I--carless--lived. There were incredible yard sales (I lived in a prosperous area), but Houston is full of very poor people, so the competition was tremendous. I then moved to a small town in Michigan, with a little college in the midst of a town decimated by factory closings. The thrift store was--not surprisingly--incredibly depressing. Then I moved to a small town in Indiana, with a surprisingly good thrift store (though it was the most disgusting thrift store I have ever seen). One summer, I was in a seminar in Evanston, which had probably the best thrift stores I have ever frequented (combo of extremely affluent college students--transient population--and extremely affluent residents). And now I'm near New Orleans.
Here are the high points of my acquisition, in no particular order:
--the recent cache of Italian stuff (Pucci, Dolce, Leger, Missoni)
--a Chloe dress which amazingly fits my daughter (featured on blog a while back)
--2 vintage Gucci bags (little fabric GG ones, with stripes)
--1 alligator Mark Cross vintage bag (WHERE IS IT???)
--Hermes scarf (Feux de route)
--Hermes cashmere sweater
--Dries van Noten blazer and cashmere sweater
--numerous lesser cashmere sweaters
--a Missoni sweater that my daughter wears (she looks good in orange)
--brown Chanel loafers
--maybe 5 Hermes ties and 5 Ferragamo ties
OK, that's perhaps 40 super-amazing items. In 34 years. One-point-something PER YEAR.
Sunday, May 25, 2014
Pickers of Yesteryear: Enemies Part 1
Not all is rosy in the world of pickers. I remember seeing two women at my local Goodwill: each had hold of one end of a vintage child's rocker. They stood and stared at each other for several LONG minutes, hissing insulting comments. Finally, one let go.
So too back in Bloomington, Indiana, in the 70s and 80s. Unlike Karen and Sioux, remembered in my last post, I did not have a car and my effort was limited to the two thrift stores within walking distance. Also, unlike them, I did not have another job. Mr FS was living on his grad student teaching stipend of $300/month and, though he was willing to share with me, it was really not enough.
Off I went to hone my newfound talent (see tale of my 25 cent jacket which turned to $12 before my amazed eyes). It hardly required any investment and I started making money right away.
Two people, who no doubt have long forgotten me, were very hostile. There is enough for everyone at thrift stores, but treasures like beaded cashmere sweaters and the like are not available in abundance. So my entry into the market was, I soon realized, not welcomed by those who were already doing it.
One of the people who disliked me was PM, an older woman (if the person by her name is the one I knew, she is now 87 years old). We all thought she was crazy. Several of the women who ran the Eye of Osiris were writers and we often plotted out a mystery novel based in the vintage biz with PM either as victim or as murderer. PM was--by gossip--the ex-wife of a professor. She had had a gig as secretary in an academic department and had lost her job when she tattled on a faculty member for some misdeed. (It's hard enough now to go against the patriarchy. Imagine then!)
PM was desperately poor or so she said. She had obviously really come down in the world and lost her status--and how to get it back in Bloomington when everyone has a PhD and is competing for the same low-end jobs? Especially then. Some said she had a son from whom she was not in frequent contact. She had a close relationship with her daughter MM. In fact, the two together reminded me of Miss Havisham and Estella from Great Expectations.
Eventually, PM got a job in a museum or agency. She had some security again, so she quit her picking activities. Even though she was quite hateful, I do hope she found some happiness. (Pic below from UK Telegraph)
So too back in Bloomington, Indiana, in the 70s and 80s. Unlike Karen and Sioux, remembered in my last post, I did not have a car and my effort was limited to the two thrift stores within walking distance. Also, unlike them, I did not have another job. Mr FS was living on his grad student teaching stipend of $300/month and, though he was willing to share with me, it was really not enough.
Off I went to hone my newfound talent (see tale of my 25 cent jacket which turned to $12 before my amazed eyes). It hardly required any investment and I started making money right away.
Two people, who no doubt have long forgotten me, were very hostile. There is enough for everyone at thrift stores, but treasures like beaded cashmere sweaters and the like are not available in abundance. So my entry into the market was, I soon realized, not welcomed by those who were already doing it.
One of the people who disliked me was PM, an older woman (if the person by her name is the one I knew, she is now 87 years old). We all thought she was crazy. Several of the women who ran the Eye of Osiris were writers and we often plotted out a mystery novel based in the vintage biz with PM either as victim or as murderer. PM was--by gossip--the ex-wife of a professor. She had had a gig as secretary in an academic department and had lost her job when she tattled on a faculty member for some misdeed. (It's hard enough now to go against the patriarchy. Imagine then!)
PM was desperately poor or so she said. She had obviously really come down in the world and lost her status--and how to get it back in Bloomington when everyone has a PhD and is competing for the same low-end jobs? Especially then. Some said she had a son from whom she was not in frequent contact. She had a close relationship with her daughter MM. In fact, the two together reminded me of Miss Havisham and Estella from Great Expectations.
Eventually, PM got a job in a museum or agency. She had some security again, so she quit her picking activities. Even though she was quite hateful, I do hope she found some happiness. (Pic below from UK Telegraph)
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Dismantling a Household: Advice Needed
Though I wrote a bit on the happy event of Frugal Son getting a job and setting up a mini-household in a tiny New Orleans apartment, I did not write about a sad event. The death--not unexpected, but devastating nonetheless--of my much-loved and esteemed father-in-law.
He lived in northern California, near his daughter, in a house full of memories and mementoes of 45 years in a big house in Pasadena. Now, in addition to the emotional issues, we have to face the issues both emotional and pragmatic of what we will take. The other children--in the same town and in Seattle--have already taken their chosen objects.
Nothing is valuable in a monetary sense. But my in-laws were great makers and collectors of objects: handmade crafts of my mother-in-law (some of whose sweaters I posted in the early days of this blog), furniture built by my father-in-law, plus collections of bells, glassware, etc etc.
And the books! My father-in-law, an English professor, had, I would say, one of the most beautiful minds I have ever encountered. He also had a house full of books: poetry, music theory, and Roman history make up the bulk of it. Do I need to mention that Mr FS shares his father's profession and love of the first two categories.
Mr FS will have to go through the process of deciding what to take and what to leave behind. Does anyone have any advice--even a reference to some good books on the topic--of how to deal with the pragmatics of moving many small and a few largish objects?
Any words of experience would be much appreciated.
He lived in northern California, near his daughter, in a house full of memories and mementoes of 45 years in a big house in Pasadena. Now, in addition to the emotional issues, we have to face the issues both emotional and pragmatic of what we will take. The other children--in the same town and in Seattle--have already taken their chosen objects.
Nothing is valuable in a monetary sense. But my in-laws were great makers and collectors of objects: handmade crafts of my mother-in-law (some of whose sweaters I posted in the early days of this blog), furniture built by my father-in-law, plus collections of bells, glassware, etc etc.
And the books! My father-in-law, an English professor, had, I would say, one of the most beautiful minds I have ever encountered. He also had a house full of books: poetry, music theory, and Roman history make up the bulk of it. Do I need to mention that Mr FS shares his father's profession and love of the first two categories.
Mr FS will have to go through the process of deciding what to take and what to leave behind. Does anyone have any advice--even a reference to some good books on the topic--of how to deal with the pragmatics of moving many small and a few largish objects?
Any words of experience would be much appreciated.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Reuse, Recycle: Preservation and Aesthetics
Usually, I write about my little adventures: the canned tomatoes that were cheap at Big Lots, the neat sweater I got at Goodwill. I do think there's an aesthetic, as well as a financial, dimension to frugality, but that's a point that is sometimes hard to explain.
Here is an instance of frugality on that larger scale (too large to be practiced by the likes of me) in my very hometown. I still sometimes feel like an alien here even after 20 years. Yet I would never have seen such beautiful buildings and such a beautiful landscape had I not moved here with Mr. FS so many years ago.
Check out the pictures. Beautiful!
Are there any old buildings like this where you live?
Here is an instance of frugality on that larger scale (too large to be practiced by the likes of me) in my very hometown. I still sometimes feel like an alien here even after 20 years. Yet I would never have seen such beautiful buildings and such a beautiful landscape had I not moved here with Mr. FS so many years ago.
Check out the pictures. Beautiful!
Are there any old buildings like this where you live?
Monday, February 21, 2011
No Posts: A Multiple Choice Exam and a Beautiful Sentence
Why no posts? In 25plus years of teaching, I have never given a multiple choice exam. Here goes. My first.
a. Because I was in California visiting my father-in-law.
b. Because there's no internet access.
c. Except at the public library.
d. The weather was cold and stormy.
e. I was VERRRRRY sick the whole time.
f. With various weird--and I hope unrelated--symptoms.
g. I could go on.
The answer, as so often on such exams, is ALL OF THE ABOVE.
Since I didn't go anywhere, I didn't spend any money. Oh, by request, we bought Miss Em several giant chocolate bars from Trader Joe's.
As always, the best things in life are free: we saw a rainbow and my father-in-law, a very brainy guy still at 92, uttered the following sentence:
I like the Prokofiev piece even though it lacks the structural transparency and integrity of the Beethoven
Is it not worth a plane ticket and several days to hear a sentence like that one?
a. Because I was in California visiting my father-in-law.
b. Because there's no internet access.
c. Except at the public library.
d. The weather was cold and stormy.
e. I was VERRRRRY sick the whole time.
f. With various weird--and I hope unrelated--symptoms.
g. I could go on.
The answer, as so often on such exams, is ALL OF THE ABOVE.
Since I didn't go anywhere, I didn't spend any money. Oh, by request, we bought Miss Em several giant chocolate bars from Trader Joe's.
As always, the best things in life are free: we saw a rainbow and my father-in-law, a very brainy guy still at 92, uttered the following sentence:
I like the Prokofiev piece even though it lacks the structural transparency and integrity of the Beethoven
Is it not worth a plane ticket and several days to hear a sentence like that one?
Monday, August 9, 2010
One Degree of Separation: WSJ and Fabric Flowers
Probably no one would be interested in this but me. Scooting through the Wall Street Journal, I saw an article on a business that made fabric flowers. I thought, "I remember a family two blocks away, where the Dad ran a company that made fabric flowers." He was silent and full of anger. This was explained to us: "He was in a concentration camp. He has numbers tattooed on his arm." I never saw them, because I never got that close.
Anyway, the company is now owned by his two children, both a little younger than I am.
Perhaps this should remind us to honor these old businesses that make things the old way.
RIP Harold Brand.
Anyway, the company is now owned by his two children, both a little younger than I am.
Perhaps this should remind us to honor these old businesses that make things the old way.
RIP Harold Brand.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Scary Nightmare: A Glimpse into the Psyche of the Pathologically Frugal
I will resume my kitchen "series" (!!!) later. Now, for something different, I will recount my nightmare. A bonafide frugal dream. A glimpse into pathology.
Mr. FS and I were going to graduate school. (In real life, we met in college and re-met in grad school.) I had decided to go to U of Illinois (fictional), a public institution where I had a tuition waiver. Mr. FS had decided to go the U of Chicago,a private institution, with a half tuition waiver (also fictional; we went to a different school).
Frugal Scholar shrieking in dream: "But the tuition at Chicago is almost $50,000/year! You will have to take out loans for $25,000/year! For at least 4 years!"
Mr. FS: "I didn't realize that." (looks downcast)
FS: "We can both go to Illinois!"
Mr. FS: "I forgot to apply!"
FS: "I just want to be middle-class!"
Then, readers, I awoke.
Mr. FS and I were going to graduate school. (In real life, we met in college and re-met in grad school.) I had decided to go to U of Illinois (fictional), a public institution where I had a tuition waiver. Mr. FS had decided to go the U of Chicago,a private institution, with a half tuition waiver (also fictional; we went to a different school).
Frugal Scholar shrieking in dream: "But the tuition at Chicago is almost $50,000/year! You will have to take out loans for $25,000/year! For at least 4 years!"
Mr. FS: "I didn't realize that." (looks downcast)
FS: "We can both go to Illinois!"
Mr. FS: "I forgot to apply!"
FS: "I just want to be middle-class!"
Then, readers, I awoke.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
What We Did that Made the Biggest Difference to our Finances
There's a rumbling through the media as we are--approximately--at the one-year anniversary of the financial meltdown. No, I'm not planning to listen to re-broadcasts of the news from last year. No, I'm not going to read the various post-mortems.
All I can say is OMMMMMMMMMM.
Doesn't every single self-help thing out there--whether for finances, relationships, addiction, whatever--exhort focusing on the things you can control?
So my anniversary will be marked by a list of the things we did that made the biggest difference to our financial lives.
1. We didn't avail ourselves of student loans in grad school. We lived like poor students.
2. When we finally got jobs, we didn't get a car right away. Mr. FS was sold a used car by a colleague for $200.00! We used it for several years. Then, my parents passed on an old Volvo, which we also used for several years. We didn't have 2 cars for some time.
3. We bought a house that was a bit too expensive for us. Interest rates were high at the time (10%!). So, perhaps counter-intuitively, we began paying extra on the mortgage, because we couldn't stand it.
4. Breastfeeding and cloth diapers. The latter, surprisingly, had a spiritual dimension.
5. Public schools.
6. Sheer luck. Both children were National Merit finalists and we sought out colleges that wanted these kids. Children DID participate in this choice.
OMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM.
What were your financial choices that had large impacts?
All I can say is OMMMMMMMMMM.
Doesn't every single self-help thing out there--whether for finances, relationships, addiction, whatever--exhort focusing on the things you can control?
So my anniversary will be marked by a list of the things we did that made the biggest difference to our financial lives.
1. We didn't avail ourselves of student loans in grad school. We lived like poor students.
2. When we finally got jobs, we didn't get a car right away. Mr. FS was sold a used car by a colleague for $200.00! We used it for several years. Then, my parents passed on an old Volvo, which we also used for several years. We didn't have 2 cars for some time.
3. We bought a house that was a bit too expensive for us. Interest rates were high at the time (10%!). So, perhaps counter-intuitively, we began paying extra on the mortgage, because we couldn't stand it.
4. Breastfeeding and cloth diapers. The latter, surprisingly, had a spiritual dimension.
5. Public schools.
6. Sheer luck. Both children were National Merit finalists and we sought out colleges that wanted these kids. Children DID participate in this choice.
OMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM.
What were your financial choices that had large impacts?
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Frugal by Chance
I just realized that I am frugal by chance.
What does that mean? I was planning to write about how I am frugal by choice. And that is a good thing, especially because it is easier than being frugal by necessity, as so many are in these difficult economic times.
But then I realized that it is hardly a choice. There's just a lot of stuff I don't want. One of Miss Em's college application essays was on her unlikely invitation to a debutante luncheon and ball. She began by saying that it was, indeed, unlikely, because her family was "resolutely eccentric." And it is true, as Duchesse remarked in response to a post by Mr. FS, that our eccentricity is perhaps a bit ostentatious.
With that eccentricity comes a long list of stuff I don't want. I never wanted an engagement ring, and don't have one. I never wanted a wedding, and had a quickie at the court house in Richmond, Indiana. I never wanted china or silver, and don't have either.
I once had a discussion with two women my age and one was complaining that her new home did not have room for a hutch in the dining room. This was evidently an intolerable situation. I said that I didn't have a hutch and that that was OK because I didn't have fine china to display. They looked at me with pity.
My mother may be used to me by now, but I think she wanted me to want all the above items. I can't help it. It is my nature. I am frugal by chance. Please accept me as I am.
So, Readers: Are you frugal by necessity, by choice, or by chance?
What does that mean? I was planning to write about how I am frugal by choice. And that is a good thing, especially because it is easier than being frugal by necessity, as so many are in these difficult economic times.
But then I realized that it is hardly a choice. There's just a lot of stuff I don't want. One of Miss Em's college application essays was on her unlikely invitation to a debutante luncheon and ball. She began by saying that it was, indeed, unlikely, because her family was "resolutely eccentric." And it is true, as Duchesse remarked in response to a post by Mr. FS, that our eccentricity is perhaps a bit ostentatious.
With that eccentricity comes a long list of stuff I don't want. I never wanted an engagement ring, and don't have one. I never wanted a wedding, and had a quickie at the court house in Richmond, Indiana. I never wanted china or silver, and don't have either.
I once had a discussion with two women my age and one was complaining that her new home did not have room for a hutch in the dining room. This was evidently an intolerable situation. I said that I didn't have a hutch and that that was OK because I didn't have fine china to display. They looked at me with pity.
My mother may be used to me by now, but I think she wanted me to want all the above items. I can't help it. It is my nature. I am frugal by chance. Please accept me as I am.
So, Readers: Are you frugal by necessity, by choice, or by chance?
Saturday, May 2, 2009
The (Blog) Writer is Always A Fiction
When I was in graduate school, Walter Ong published an article that proved to be very influential: "The Writer's Audience is Always A Fiction." I don't remember anything about it beyond the title. Ong, who was a Jesuit priest as well as a scholar, remains an academic hero: in addition to writing about Ramist logic, he published many groundbreaking books on media, on the shift from manuscript to print culture. These studies are relevant today as we move from print to on-line culture--such as the present blog.
I am here to tell you that not only is the audience always a fiction, but the writer is as well. I mention this because a student who reads this blog now and again said "I know so much about you and your family."
Oh REALLY? You think so? This writer--even if you do know her name--is a fictional character.
I commented on a few blogs this morning, and everything I said was true: I did put our son on our Amex account; I did pay off my mortgage early; I did get new kitchen cabinets in August.
I am here to tell you that not only is the audience always a fiction, but the writer is as well. I mention this because a student who reads this blog now and again said "I know so much about you and your family."
Oh REALLY? You think so? This writer--even if you do know her name--is a fictional character.
I commented on a few blogs this morning, and everything I said was true: I did put our son on our Amex account; I did pay off my mortgage early; I did get new kitchen cabinets in August.
Monday, April 27, 2009
All frugal families are alike
The title is a play on the famous first sentence of Tolstoy's Anna Karenina: All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. .
So: All frugal families are alike; each un-frugal family is un-frugal in its own way. Un-frugal! Help me find a better word, readers.
I was thinking about this because of the recent visit of Mr. FS's brother and his wife. The visit precipitated massive decluttering, which is still not finished. But they were lovely guests, very easy going and low stress.
I had never thought of them as particularly frugal owing to their different life histories: while BIL went to graduate school, he was in biology and so didn't go through the lengthy period of poverty and uncertainty that we--in humanities--went through. I always felt they were frugal, but not pathologically frugal as I am, for better or worse.
Like many, the two are facing economic uncertainty: BIL's lab at a university is funded by the NIH. For the first time in almost thirty years, his grant was rejected (the NIH is experiencing budget cuts too). If his grant is not successful in his re-application, his university, which has hosted his lab all this time, will pay him 25% of his salary. Only with 50% of salary will he continue to receive benefits--like health insurance. SIL is self-employed part-time.
But I was impressed by their planning for various scenarios, from reprieve to disaster. Mr. FS and I engaged in such planning early in our careers.
And I was impressed too by random comments. Like us, they listen to books on tape during commutes. Like us, they borrow those tapes from the library. Like us, they are making sure their kids get out of college debt-free, having seen the consequences of massive education debt on the children of friends.
Like us, they plan for big purchases. Like us, they enjoy the waiting period of saving up. Like us, they never feel deprived.
Like us, they spend their big money on travel.
It seems to me that the key to frugality is intentionality and setting boundaries. BIL said that he wanted his kids to learn the true cost of small every day purchases, like lattes. I told him that that was the premise of David Bach's books, and that Bach had even copyrighted the phrase l____ factor. BIL had never heard of David Bach. Right before they left, SIL asked me if I had a novel she could keep so that she wouldn't have to buy a book at the airport. I was able to oblige, not with a novel, but a book by Bill Bryson.
It was a wonderful visit. In addition to a day at Jazz Fest, we had a frugal feast of Shrimp Creole and I taught SIL how to make a roux, a skill she will be able to bring to Seattle.
Do you agree that all frugal families are alike?
So: All frugal families are alike; each un-frugal family is un-frugal in its own way. Un-frugal! Help me find a better word, readers.
I was thinking about this because of the recent visit of Mr. FS's brother and his wife. The visit precipitated massive decluttering, which is still not finished. But they were lovely guests, very easy going and low stress.
I had never thought of them as particularly frugal owing to their different life histories: while BIL went to graduate school, he was in biology and so didn't go through the lengthy period of poverty and uncertainty that we--in humanities--went through. I always felt they were frugal, but not pathologically frugal as I am, for better or worse.
Like many, the two are facing economic uncertainty: BIL's lab at a university is funded by the NIH. For the first time in almost thirty years, his grant was rejected (the NIH is experiencing budget cuts too). If his grant is not successful in his re-application, his university, which has hosted his lab all this time, will pay him 25% of his salary. Only with 50% of salary will he continue to receive benefits--like health insurance. SIL is self-employed part-time.
But I was impressed by their planning for various scenarios, from reprieve to disaster. Mr. FS and I engaged in such planning early in our careers.
And I was impressed too by random comments. Like us, they listen to books on tape during commutes. Like us, they borrow those tapes from the library. Like us, they are making sure their kids get out of college debt-free, having seen the consequences of massive education debt on the children of friends.
Like us, they plan for big purchases. Like us, they enjoy the waiting period of saving up. Like us, they never feel deprived.
Like us, they spend their big money on travel.
It seems to me that the key to frugality is intentionality and setting boundaries. BIL said that he wanted his kids to learn the true cost of small every day purchases, like lattes. I told him that that was the premise of David Bach's books, and that Bach had even copyrighted the phrase l____ factor. BIL had never heard of David Bach. Right before they left, SIL asked me if I had a novel she could keep so that she wouldn't have to buy a book at the airport. I was able to oblige, not with a novel, but a book by Bill Bryson.
It was a wonderful visit. In addition to a day at Jazz Fest, we had a frugal feast of Shrimp Creole and I taught SIL how to make a roux, a skill she will be able to bring to Seattle.
Do you agree that all frugal families are alike?
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Death and Taxes: Meditation and Confession
An embarrassingly predictable and prosaic title, it is true.
First DEATH.
Since my father died 5 months ago, I check the obituaries each morning on the New York Times website. I'm not really interested in who died. But there is a general feeling in my family that my father was cheated out of his lifespan. He was 80, it is true, but his father lived to be 99 and his mother lived into her 80s.
He wasn't sick. In fact, he was hale and hearty, a very tall, big, LOUD, talkative fellow who had gone to aerobics that morning. He died while watching a movie on television with my mother: he said "My head hurts" and "That's Tom Hanks." A blood vessel had burst in his brain. I guess he really died a few days later, about nine hours after we had the life support turned off.
Reading those obituaries increased my sense of unfairness. So many 98 year olds! Even 88 year olds! Today, I saw that Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick had died. She was a very famous literary scholar. Her most famous work is called Between Men and it is about homosocial (as distinct from homosexual) desire. This is something of a development of the work of Rene Girard, Deceit, Desire, and the Novel, which is about triangulated desire.
The point here, looked at in the context of literary works, is that the relationships that count often are not the ones between men and women, but rather those between men. The men are battling it out for honor, prestige, or whatever. Just read the beginning of the Iliad and you'll know that is true.
I didn't use Sedgwick's work too much in my own teaching or studies. But I've got to say that it helped me understand the dynamics of my own little world at work. Thank you, Eve Sedgwick. You were only 58. You definitely didn't get the lifespan you deserved.
Now for TAXES.
Yes, it is April 15. I've always done the taxes, though in a very time-consuming, inefficient, and probably costly way. I even did the taxes for Mr. FS before we were married.
But this year, I can't finish. What pushed me over the edge was the fact that I had to cash out the UGMA accounts I established for my children. I put in about $3000.00 for each of them. Ten years later, that's about what was left. TIAA instituted fees for accounts with low balances, so, to avoid the fees, I cashed out. This was lucky because it was right before the really big stock decline. (Too bad I didn't cash out of my bigger accounts at the same time!).
Anyway, I have no idea how to do this--gain, loss, what is it? Frugal Son also earned $1200.00 last year. I told both kids I would figure out how to do the taxes for them.
While I was flipping out about this, I neglected my own taxes, which involve only slight complexities--a little self-employment income for each of us. Since paying off our house, we don't even do a long form.
A five minute computation indicated that we will be getting a refund. I do this every year, and I am always right within $50.00. Nevertheless, I have to slog through the forms, which takes hours. Even though I like doing computations, I am disorganized.
So--extensions for all! I am thinking of sending in a small check for each child just in case a small amount is owed.
Dear Readers: Please say it's OK for me to get an accountant! Mr. FS has been begging me to do this for years. And--how does one find an accountant anyway? Help.
First DEATH.
Since my father died 5 months ago, I check the obituaries each morning on the New York Times website. I'm not really interested in who died. But there is a general feeling in my family that my father was cheated out of his lifespan. He was 80, it is true, but his father lived to be 99 and his mother lived into her 80s.
He wasn't sick. In fact, he was hale and hearty, a very tall, big, LOUD, talkative fellow who had gone to aerobics that morning. He died while watching a movie on television with my mother: he said "My head hurts" and "That's Tom Hanks." A blood vessel had burst in his brain. I guess he really died a few days later, about nine hours after we had the life support turned off.
Reading those obituaries increased my sense of unfairness. So many 98 year olds! Even 88 year olds! Today, I saw that Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick had died. She was a very famous literary scholar. Her most famous work is called Between Men and it is about homosocial (as distinct from homosexual) desire. This is something of a development of the work of Rene Girard, Deceit, Desire, and the Novel, which is about triangulated desire.
The point here, looked at in the context of literary works, is that the relationships that count often are not the ones between men and women, but rather those between men. The men are battling it out for honor, prestige, or whatever. Just read the beginning of the Iliad and you'll know that is true.
I didn't use Sedgwick's work too much in my own teaching or studies. But I've got to say that it helped me understand the dynamics of my own little world at work. Thank you, Eve Sedgwick. You were only 58. You definitely didn't get the lifespan you deserved.
Now for TAXES.
Yes, it is April 15. I've always done the taxes, though in a very time-consuming, inefficient, and probably costly way. I even did the taxes for Mr. FS before we were married.
But this year, I can't finish. What pushed me over the edge was the fact that I had to cash out the UGMA accounts I established for my children. I put in about $3000.00 for each of them. Ten years later, that's about what was left. TIAA instituted fees for accounts with low balances, so, to avoid the fees, I cashed out. This was lucky because it was right before the really big stock decline. (Too bad I didn't cash out of my bigger accounts at the same time!).
Anyway, I have no idea how to do this--gain, loss, what is it? Frugal Son also earned $1200.00 last year. I told both kids I would figure out how to do the taxes for them.
While I was flipping out about this, I neglected my own taxes, which involve only slight complexities--a little self-employment income for each of us. Since paying off our house, we don't even do a long form.
A five minute computation indicated that we will be getting a refund. I do this every year, and I am always right within $50.00. Nevertheless, I have to slog through the forms, which takes hours. Even though I like doing computations, I am disorganized.
So--extensions for all! I am thinking of sending in a small check for each child just in case a small amount is owed.
Dear Readers: Please say it's OK for me to get an accountant! Mr. FS has been begging me to do this for years. And--how does one find an accountant anyway? Help.
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