Growing Old The Cash 'n Carry Way

Like many couples, my husband, Wally, and I had issues over money. Growing up in the  Great Depression years, Wally G (we called him that to differentiate him and our son, Wally K) learned to respect money, though he was anything but a miser. A dollar bill never entered his wallet with crumples or turned-down corners. But he didn't like credit cards.  If I'd hear him call me, “Joyce!” into his office shortly after the postman came and see a business sized paper in his hand I'd know I was being called to account for some credit card statement. "What was this for? Or this?" he'd ask, pointing to the numbers.

Wally G liked to manage the money and since he was the one who earned it I could scarcely quarrel with that. I never purchased big items without his consent, it was the accumulation of little ones that ballooned to a dreaded bottom line. Then I’d have to remember, explain, placate, and remind him that I, too, earned the money as his housekeeper, loving wife and the mother of his children. “If you had to pay for even the first of these, a daily housekeeper, think how that would add up!” To which he’d respond, “I know, Mrs. Wethe," (his pet name for me, pronounced wethy,) "and I wouldn’t deny you anything under the sun if I had the money! I never mind spending money if I have it.” To prove that point, he'd save cash in an old coat pocket for special occasions. I found $1,800. cash in that old jacket in his closet when I went through his clothes after his passing. It was money he’d put away to spend on one of his no holds barred Christmas family dinners at our favorite restaurant. We hadn’t gone out that year because he was not well. He died on December 26th. 

Even though I, too, grew up in the Depression years, I was not quite old enough to feel it. I used to wonder why Mother sliced the Spam so thinly though, or showed me how to separate the two layers of a Kleenex tissue so they could be used separately. Since I seldom handled money I didn't miss it. When Mother passed on and I took over the housekeeping, laundry, and cooking, Daddy would stick a few greenbacks under the scarf on the top of the piano for me to take when I drove to town. I seldom bought anything for myself, though he never told me not to. Then when Grandmother Darling took me in as a college student, she paid for everything. I didn't lack for anything nor even ask. I just didn't need money. After marriage, at nineteen, I found it hard to spend money provided for by my husband. I got over that, however, and learned how to enjoy shopping. 

I've learned to spend more freely as the years go by. But lately I’ve been a little too free with my credit cards and have gone into my savings to keep them paid up. So yesterday I did something drastic. I terminated the use of all my credit cards, packed them up and mailed them to my son, Wally K. It’s debit card, check and cash from now on and I’m going to have to watch my step!

Maybe I’ll try to follow Wally G’s example and leave the kids cash enough to go out and have a grand Christmas dinner. Somebody remember to tell them, as Wally G used to, “Don’t look at the right side of the menu, kids. The sky’s the limit!” And when the check comes to the table pay with cash and hand the waiter and maitre'd their tips along with a word of thanks for their service as you leave.  

Growing up as we grow old, I'm learning, is coming to grips with one's faults because we may be making other changes before long. Mark Twain was asked which he'd choose to go to after death, heaven or hell. He's supposed to have answered, "Well, I think I'd choose heaven for the climate, but the other place for the company." So now, for me, this is one more step in the process of growing up. If I don't grow up I might grow down and that's not a place I'd care to go to either for the company or the climate!

Who Are the Rich?

My grandmother on my father’s side, Grandma Hahn, once said to me, “Your Grandma Darling is a very good cook.” Then she added, “But, of course, she uses a lot of butter.”  

The thing that brought this to mind was an article I just read in the newspaper. It had to do with the richest people in the world. I decided to look up the word rich to see all the definitions. In the dictionary. no. 4 said, “full of choice ingredients such as butter, sugar, etc.” This blog is going to deal with no. 1, being wealthy in terms of money, possessions, etc.

After naming some of the richest people in the world, the writer posited the idea that there will never be the opportunity for relative equality of wealth in America, even if it is as it’s been known “the land of opportunity.” I wanted to question that argument, but first I needed a better look at the word “rich.” The first definition was as I’d suspected, to be wealthy in money, goods, land, possessions, etc. I didn’t find the definition I was looking for but I’ll see if I can find it in this blog. 

One of the richest persons in America got his wealth from building an empire of gambling casinos. There was a picture of him with the piece and it was, put charitably, not the face of a happy man. Maybe he is aware of how his business preys on the weak, the addictive, those who are willing to throw away their money, their loved ones, their very lives in the hope of getting more money from less. I know nothing more of the man or others like him in that business, so will reserve my judgment of him.

There’s a tendency to portray the extremely wealthy in our world as avaricious, greedy for money and all that it might buy. While that may be true in many cases, sometimes wealth is accumulated by the execution of a good idea that benefits countless people. Reminds me of an old saying: “There’s no sin in being wealthy and no virtue in being poor.” I may not be quoting that right, but you get the idea. 

Maybe my mind was tuned into this frequency today because I was reminded by my son, who is also my financial advisor, that I’m currently spending more money than I’m taking in. I’ll need to deal with that, but right now the subject of wealth makes me wonder why it is that some have it and some don’t. Of course, there’s no one answer to that. 

My own theory is this: Wealth does not come from saving money for the fear of losing it. Sometimes it comes from taking risks in money matters or being just plain lucky. Wealth comes to those who both invest wisely and spend wisely. It also comes to those who do not think Poor. Or, from not wanting more material things.

Most everyone who gets along in years can look back and see how they could be much richer today if they had done this or that at certain junctures in life. My dad used to say, “If I only knew then what I know now, I’d be a wealthy man.” He was a wealthy man because he was simply and honestly real.

If the accumulation of wealth, that is, money, had been my own highest priority I could be a far richer woman today than I am, but I, too, would have had to know the future. In retrospect even choices that seem wrong monetarily can be the right ones.

This I know, that ill-gotten money does not enhance one’s happiness or the sense of well being one gets from the things that are free, like a baby’s smile, a glorious sunset or sunrise, a starry night in the desert or one look of love from someone you love too. 

Money is as good as the good it does. Money can lead to happiness or sorrow only when it’s spent. Until then it’s only paper and ink and some digits on the computer and a source of comfort or worry. 

I’d like to add on to the definition of the word “rich.” I’d say it means being wise in ways beyond money, like love, appreciation, gratitude and courtesy. It might even be in Grandmother Darling’s sugar cookies. She did use butter in them. A lot of it. 

'Readin and 'Ritin' and 'Rithmetic

That old song starts out with “School days, school days, good old fashioned rule days, readin’ and ‘ritin’ and ‘rithmetic, all to the tune of a hickory stick. You were my queen in calico. I was your bashful barefoot beau. I wrote on your slate, I love you so, when we were a couple of kids.”

The words hark back to times even before my times. One room school houses, one teacher for the first eight years, a blackboard, chalk, erasers, and slates. Desks set all in straight rows. Windows along the side walls. The alphabet marching around the top of the walls in both lower and upper case. The flag up front. A picture of George Washington and another of the current president. A wall clock, of course. A bucket of fresh well water on a stand with a dipper hanging above it. A pot-bellied wood burning stove for winter days. And, yes, somewhere near the teacher's desk up front would be the hickory stick when needed. Worse would be the shame of causing the use of it on one’s bottom! Or being made to sit on a stool up in front of the room for everyone to see you and sympathize or scorn.

Those days are a far cry from today’s school rooms. You can argue whether better or worse but in a way they describe a method of learning that lingers in our everyday adult lives. Reading is a must and even though its done with computers, Kindles and Nooks, I-pads and the like, we still have to read to get along.

Writing is another thing. Nowadays I’ve heard that cursive is, or will be, a thing of the past. I think that is sad and yet practical I suppose. Handwriting can be unclear and signatures? Most of the time they might as well be X’s. A printed version of one’s name under them is absolutely necessary. The kind of writing most of us do is on e-mails or Facebook or cell phones. When I think of my old typewriter days and the hardship of having to make corrections or revisions I’m deeply grateful for the computer!

Arithmetic without a calculator is nearly a thing of the past. I’m not sure how much of times tables and long division or even addition and subtraction without it is required in today’s schools. It is my weak subject so I can hardly even discuss it. Still, I’m in awe of those who are most advanced in mathematics.

In everyday life a lot of things are getting better as we grow older, especially if we can avoid the dangers of alcohol, tobacco, junk food, immorality, recreational drugs and gambling. I’d add swearing to that list too. Foul language, to me, is crude, impolite, indecent and self-demeaning. But I’m either old-fashioned or prudish to say so in today’s world. 

As for art? I studied the old masters in school and they’re still highly honored. Modern nonrepresentational art? I can appreciate some but some other leaves me cold. Like a painting I once saw in a museum I visited. It took up a whole wall and was entirely black with no visible variations. The title? “Black on black.” I just didn’t get it and can’t help wondering how someone gets paid for art that seems equally ridiculous to me, but I suppose I’m showing my ignorance here.

My daughter, Robin, is a watercolorist and her work pleases a lot of people because it exudes happiness. Without art the world of thought and vision would be drab and dull, so there’s room for a wide range of tastes.

What more can I say about all this? Keeping up with the times takes flexibility. It’s a quality that oldsters struggle with and it shows in our walk and talk, and in our writing. I’m glad to be giving up some of my former rigidity. I’m still working on giving up self-righteousness. As for politics? Reading, writing and arithmetic all play their part in that. I haven’t mentioned religion or the denial of it. Much is spoken, written, read and argued about religion these days. If we could all agree that love is the answer and then practice it I think the freedom of reading and writing, combined with the science of arithmetic will help us to make a better world. Then the old “hickory stick” of penalties and prisons can become relics of the past!

That song I started out with today didn’t stop with the three R’s. Remember the message on the slate? Love walks into our daily lives and eclipses all else. To live to love, now that’s the happy solution to life, and we see many signs of love in today’s world. Love is changing us and our world in a quiet, powerful, sometimes invisible evolution, and things are getting better. Even for the elderly like myself, if we can just keep learnin' and lovin'! 

Untitled

On the desktop of my computer there is something called Untitled. It’s a blank page where I begin to set up my blogs for publication. Usually I’ll copy the title and first paragraph or so from a lined notebook in which I’ve handwritten the blog, but soon I’ll only select bits and pieces of that first draft and let the rest come out of the keyboard. Editing then becomes the next step and I enjoy that one most of all. Even after I’ve published the blog I frequently go back, sometimes days later, and fine tune it. (You writers out there can no doubt find plenty of editing left undone.) 

This morning I spent time early to recline on the sofa and read. In direct line of my sight was the sliding glass door to the patio and since it was before dawn the reflection on the door was that of my living room. I could see nothing of the patio. Gradually the dawn crept in and started showing the shrubs and trees by the creek but what on earth was the piano doing out there too? As plain as could be the piano stood proudly on my patio surrounded by greenery!

Of course I wasn’t really disturbed by that because I knew it was not the piano itself but merely the reflection left over from predawn. Now it doesn’t take much imagination to draw a lesson from this. The predawn reflection on the glass showed a perfect reflection of the interior view of my room including the piano, but as the dawn came it began to show dimly, then gradually more brightly, what was really out there. The piano’s faint reflection was leaving fast and soon faded out of the scene altogether. 

You’ve probably got what I’m driving at now. The glass door is symbolic of a personal limited mortal mind, the one each of us call our own. It is a mirror to our limited living room concepts, the familiar environments we’ve grown up with, but when light comes we can see beyond the glass doors of our limited mortal minds. We learn to leave behind the personal mind we call our own to let the one infinite Mind take over. 

According to the Bible, God’s first word was let. “Let there be light.” When the whole picture was revealed He pronounced creation to be “very good.” Not one mention of evil in any degree, in any place. It always had been so, but only needed light for Mind to see it so. 

I suspect we’ll all, sooner or later, discover ourselves as children in the realm of Infinity. We’ll be spooked for a while by the dark places not yet illumined by light, our God-given intelligence, but if we persist we’ll see that we can live without fear. Heavenly harmony will reign and declare, like the words in an old song, “All your fears are foolish fancies...” The “piano” will be back in its rightful place and a new day will help us discover more of enlightenment and joy.

Now I’m trying to think of a better title for this blog than “Untitled.” How about Who Moved the Piano?

Home Schooling In House Keeping

I’m making a list of good tips on the subject of keeping house. Then I’ll compile them into a home-schooling class for myself and start trying them out. I may even write a book about keeping house. You know, one of those smaller books you pick up at book stores near the check-out line. I’m sure I’ll not be the first. (Is Heloise still around?) I haven’t looked in bookstores or on line yet because I want to figure this out on my own, tailor the ideas to fit my own house and be my own boss.

This will be a work in progress. If it works out well I’ll keep my readers updated now and then. If they are so inclined to submit ideas that have helped themselves and want to share them with me for possible publication that would be great. Keep them brief and pithy.

I’m not claiming to be a good teacher on this subject. It’s rather sad that I’m still struggling with it after all these years. I think that’s because I’ve been my own boss in housekeeping except in my childhood. My mother taught me to take one job at a time and to make it a game. She didn’t pay me for the little jobs she gave me because, “You see, dear, it’s only a token of gratitude for our home that we're willing to take care of it as it takes care of us. We all should do our share in making home the sweet spot of our lives.”

Our homes reflect our attitudes about housekeeping, art and comfort, but if I were to list my own motivations for keeping house I’d put them down in this order:

To enjoy visual pleasure when I enter and occupy each room.

To find comfort and cleanliness there.

To feel a sense of belonging both to my home and my home to me.

To not feel the need to apologize to anyone who visits.

To make home and the keeping of it one of my highest priorities.

You may notice that the last one on the list wasn’t given the priority of being first. That’s because in my own mind I recognize that other things have been gaining higher priority, like writing this blog, for one. 

The day I'll not see a housekeeping job in need of attention and not once say to myself, "I can do that tomorrow," that day will be the day I give myself an A+!

The Hidden Reality

My writing teacher says that book titles are up for grabs. “You are allowed, by law, to publish a book titled Gone With The Wind, if you so desire,” he said. I took his word for it and the title to my blog today is grabbed from a book by Brain Greene, a book I intend to borrow soon from the public library. An article in the latest copy of Smithsonian magazine called Mind Over Matter triggered me off.

I can guarantee you I shall not be able to understand more than a small fraction of that book because Professor Greene speaks mathematics and physics, languages I know little of. I took only the math which was required in school. I can add, subtract, multiply and divide. Beyond that, even algebra and geometry are now Greek to me, though I passed them in high school. My son, David, however, was a science major and chose those fields in high school, college and in his career. When he first showed talent along these lines I realized that he must have got it from me. Why? Because I can’t find mine!  Nevertheless, I believe that mathematics is a true science and will lead us someday, yes, is leading us today, to a higher reality. I’ll be reading about that in Brian Greene's book. 

When I get onto these subjects I feel like an ant looking up at a skyscraper and asking “What’s this?” There’s no hope of the ant finding out and it couldn't care less. We must be in something like a parallel universe as far as an ant is concerned. Here, but unfathomable.  

Brain is the big subject these days. You might even call the brain a lens. (I wonder what they’ve learned from Einstein’s brain? I mean the brain he left for scientists to study when he died.) I believe the brain is a tool of the lens of conjecture or material beliefs, through which we see “darkly,” as St. Paul put it. 

This dark lens may give us glimpses of that hidden reality and I'd like to learn more of it, but I'm not anxious to leave this scene as yet. I enjoy its beauties and innocent pleasures, even though I take issue with its darker side. Wars, terror, catastrophes and such I'd like to believe are simply warped views like dirty windows or a hall of mirrors at a county fair. On this plane of existence I don’t believe we'll ever get things totally right but we're here to learn. The sooner we can understand and move on the better. At my age, if I am not quick enough, alert enough, to be ready for the hidden reality, I might just get another turn to look through an imperfect lens. If so, I hope it’s as good a trip as this one, or even better!

I wish I could tell you, my readers, more of the hidden reality I feel I have found, but you see, I need to prove it in order to do as our writing teacher says, “Show, don’t tell!” I can show you this, for sure: I’m asking questions, and according to a professor I once heard, the first sign of a step in progress is to ask, “How come?” 

Then we need to listen because the answering voice is a “still, small” one!

  

Before and After A/C

Did you know this? “In 1945 a man named Robert Sherman of Lynn, MA, invented the portable, in-window air conditioner that cooled and heated, humidified and dehumidified, and filtered the air (Patent # 2,433,960 granted January 6, 1948). It was subsequently stolen by a large manufacturer. Sherman did not have the resources to fight the big corporation in court—they promised to "break him" if he tried - and thus never received any money or recognition. He died in 1962.” 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Air_conditioning

I came across this bit of information as the result of spending two hours, (not by choice,) in an upstairs un-air conditioned room this afternoon where the temperature was about 90 degrees F. My writing pad goes with me on occasions when I know I’ll be waiting without something to do, so I wrote another blog to kill time in captivity suffering the heat, but when I read about Mr. Sherman my heart went out to him and I decided my complaint was minuscule compared to what that man endured. That made me hot under the collar and if the article had mentioned the name of the “big corporation” I’d gladly boycott it!

I remember that as a child I was blissfully too occupied with other things than to pay much attention to temperature, even in those hot sticky summer days and the deep dip temps of winter in our Minnesota country home. In my teens and older I joined the popular habit of noticing extremes in temperature and complaining about them. 

When I married in 1945 (the year poor Mr. Sherman invented his in-window air conditioner,) Wally was a captain in the Marines and one of our first homes was a Quonset hut on the air base in the Mojave desert. We kept deliciously cool, in what might have been unbearable heat, by a water cooler in the window. That was a far more simple apparatus than the window air conditioner but it worked almost as well in that dry climate.

The first house we actually owned was in a brand new development in North Carolina near the Cherry Point Marine Air Base. It was a prefabricated three bedroom bungalow with white siding and blue shutters. (As cute as all the others that looked exactly like it.) It had not only my first dishwasher but an air conditioner! With an FHA loan we moved in with nothing down and payments of $64.00 a month. The cost? $10,000. We sold it 2 years later for $11,500., a tidy little sum at the time.

(I apologize to my readers for rambling. Can’t help it, even though one of my writing teachers said, “Stick to your thesis and don’t stray from it with your favorite side tidbits. You’ve got to murder those little darlings!”)

Let’s see,..the thesis is air conditioning past and present in the life of Yours Truly. 

In about 1955 we got a flat tire in Death Valley on one of our moves across country. I think  the temperature was about 118 degrees!  The next car we bought just had to have an air conditioner. 

I’ve been lucky enough to enjoy air conditioning everywhere I’ve lived since about 1950 except in the house on our ranch in Oregon. When it was too hot in our upstairs bedroom at night we’d make up cots to put beside the huge redwood tree in our front yard. Even air conditioning couldn’t beat the beauty of a night under the Milky Way!

Now, in my present condo, I stay fairly cool without the A/C, but when I need it, it’s there and, incidentally, I’m glad to be home now enjoying it! In my old age am I not allowed to be spoiled?