budget

Kathleen Carries On Part 11 or I Need a Duck Suit

“The teacher said I gotta have a duck suit Friday,” announced Billy, a second-grader. “I gotta be a duck in a stupid play, Friday”

“What?” demanded Mother, feeling panic rise in her gut.”where am I supposed to get a duck suit?”

Fortunately, the next day was Thursday, payday, but where in the world do you get a duck suit? In a panic, she called her friend who had a kid in the same class.”

“Ruby, Billy has to have a duck suit Friday for a play. Where am I going to find a duck suit? I don’t have time to make one.”

“He’s not gonna be a duck. He’s gonna be a duke and escort a duchess in a program. The boys have to wear suits and the girls have to wear their best dresses.”

“Oh, so now all I have to do is come up with a suit by Friday.” She moaned, dreading the cost.

I am sorry she found out the truth. It would have been so much mote interesting if he’d shown up in a duck suit .

Poverty, the Only Thing Money Can’t Buy

The stories of crippling student loans are mind-boggling.  Is it not possible to get through without so much debt?

When I was going to college in the late sixties and early seventies, I got student loans through the Department of Education.  It was not possible to borrow even enough to pay tuition, room and board, and books. I if private loans were available , fortunately, I didn’t know it. My government loan paid only tuition, initial payment on room and board, and possibly a few books.  I had to earn enough to pay second installment on room and board.  Propitiously, I worked in the university library and learned early on that textbooks could be checked out from the library and renewed all semester, eliminating book fees. Most textbooks sat on that lonely shelf all semester. Even if books were older editions, the changes were minimal, such as rearranging chapters or updating pictures.  It was an excellent plan, cutting my costs tremendously.

Bud and I got married our last year of college.  We arrived with the incredible sum of five hundred eighty dollars to start our senior year.  That was enough to pay his tuition, first month’s rent, get utilities turned on, and stock our meager pantry.  We earned minimum wage, one dollar and twenty-five cents hourly.  Between us, we earned thirteen hundred dollars that year.  We didn’t get married till August, so we had dorm fees the first half of the year.

Our Budget:

Rent.                 $75

Utilities.              20

Groceries.           50

We lived in a small shabby house not far off campus.  There was no air-conditioning, and two gas space heaters, one in the living room and one in the bathroom.  We only used the one in the living room when we were home, closing off the rest of the house off.  The bathroom heater only went on during baths.  There was no telephone, more savings.  We got through that year without buying clothing  except two pair of shoes.  I bought cheap ones the first time and they quickly tore up, necessitating the purchase of a second, quality pair, a poor economy.

Bud had a 1962 Chevrolet truck that got us back and forth on the few visits we made to our families.  A few times, my dad sent us a check for gasoline so we could visit.  We parked the truck when we got back, not moving it again till we left town.  We walked everywhere, class, work, and the grocery store.  We both carried home two bags of groceries on our monthly shopping trip.

I still remember our grocery list,

One pound Community Coffee.               $.89

1 lb ground chuck.                                         .89

Whole chicken approximately.                  1.00

Five lb flour less than.                                   1.00

Pasta 3 lb. less than                                        1.00

5 lbs beans less than.                                      2.00

3 cans tomato sauce.                                       1.00

Two lb meal less than                                       .50

1 lb margarine.                                                    .2 5

Two lb rice less than.                                         1.00

1 dozen eggs.                                                           .29

5 lb grits less than.                                                1.00

1 lb can Crisco less than.                                       .89

Three envelopes dried spaghetti sauce mix.   .99

Toilet tissue less than.                                            1.00

Laundry powder less than.                                   1.00

Toiletries and sundry                                   Negligible

Of course, we occasionally bought salt and pepper.  The whole chicken made three meals.  The first time, I fried four pieces, the second meal was chicken and dumplings, the third chicken noodle soup.  The ground chuck was for a casserole and to be cooked in spaghetti sauce, two meals.We had lots of beans and rice.  Many afternoons we fished.  If we had a good catch, we had fish and fries.  If not, we are grits.  We also had a lot of gravy and biscuits.  Bud’s mother gave us her old wringer washer, so we cranked that devil up when we totally ran out our clothes, so there was no expense for the Laundromat.  I will always remember this as one of the best times of my life   I never felt poor.  All our friends were as poor as we were, so we had community.  Bud always said we had one thing money can’t buy: poverty. The good thing about struggling early on is that from that time on, you know how to budget and set expectations.  We were fortunate.

Lady of Luxury

Thursday was payday, so buying groceries was paramount in Mother’s week. In fact, Wednesday evening she would have probably made supper(not dinner)from the few remaining items in the pantry, possibly a box of macaroni, ketchup, a dented can of mackerel, and dried lima beans. Yum! It takes a talented chef to whip up an appetizing meal from that poor fare. Alas, Mother was no chef, but we were always ravenous, so we ate it. We knew better than to complain. Wednesday breakfast would have likely have been oatmeal, no butter, or God forbid , flap jacks. Mother’s flap jacks were her last resort breakfast. When she got that low, she was likely out of the eggs or milk needed to turn them into decent food. I believe her recipe was:

mix self-rising flour with equal amount of water. Stir until consistency of mashed potatoes. Drop gobs into near-flaming grease. Turn just before gobs ignite. Can be served with pear or fig preserves if you don’t have butter and syrup. Failing that, they can be served with thick brown gravy. Be sure to cook in blazing skillet so they swell up before burning black on both sides Dough should ooze out when pierced with a fork. There should be ample leftovers.

They were as horrible as they sound, nothing but fried dough balls.

These need to be about four times as thick and several shades darker

My parents usually owned one car, meaning Mother had to drive Daddy to work at 630 and rush back home to get the babies before the big kids caught the bus. All this took place after being up at five-thirty to milk the cow and cook the delicious breakfast described earlier.

Then, she was on her way to pick up Daddy’s check and do the banking. Next, she drove by two small grocery stores to check the specials posted in the windows. She usually managed the bargains with groceries and babies in one buggy. Then, off to do the real shopping at the A&P. Pushing her buggy along, she heaped it up with canned goods, cleaning supplies, big bags of potatoes, dried beans, sugar, flour, butter, meal, produce, and meat. The babies rode along in the second with paper goods, cornflakes, and lightweight items stacked carefully around them.

The car fairly sagged with its cargo. With no availability or funds to purchase lunch, Mother changed and fed the babies a makeshift lunch in the car. Hopefully, they’d be napping amidst the shopping when she got back to pick Daddy up from work.

Back at home, Phyllis and I would be pressed into service to doodle in innumerable parcels, put away groceries, tend babies, and help get dinner started, while Mother got ready for evening milking. In time, Phyllis and I had to milk, a repulsive chore. According to Daddy, men were forbidden in the Bible to milk. “Thou cannot take what thee cannot give” He couldn’t cite the chapter and verse, but knew it was in there. He quoted lots of convenient %#|^ from the Bible.

The financial reckoning came after supper. As Phyllis and I cleared the table and started the dishes, Daddy pushed back from the table, lit a cigarette and asked. “How much did you spend on groceries?”

Mother dreaded this. “I spent about eighteen dollars at the A&P and eight dollars on chicken and hamburger at Barrett’s Market. Oh, I got a box of day bread at the bread store for a dollar.”

“I told you, can’t keep on spending like that. You’ve got to cut back! You need to go get your groceries and bargain with the manager on price!” Daddy had never been grocery shopping in his life, but had to know better than that.

“Bill, I’m not doing any such thing! That’s not how grocery stores work!” and they were off!

Accounting

Bud is fussy about his budget.  He does a computer check on the bank account every morning.  Our big dog, Croc eats a lot.  That goes in the budget.  What goes in must come out, so he poops a lot.  Bud also likes to work that not the budget.  “Croc pooped about a dollar’s worth.”

I’m glad I’m not in charge of accounting!”

A Hog a Day Part 8

Taking his cue from Mr. Grady Rose, Daddy decided he needed to go into the hog business. In theory, all he had to do was harvest wild hogs and watch the money roll in. Mother reluctantly agreed.  In fact, he did accrue a few expenses to get a few starter sows and a boar or two, timber to build trap pens, and corn to bait the traps.  

Of course, he had to have a gun and knife for protection, and mud tires to negotiate the deep woods and oh yes, a hog dog for the hunt, expenditures that severely stressed an already overburdened budget.  Daddy brought home about a hundred dollars a week. Groceries took twelve dollars of that.

Daddy took to hog hunting enthusiastically.  It became  a sport rather than a money-making venture.  I don’t recall eating a lot of pork or having to help count the extra money it brought in. The boars were very aggressive to men and dogs.  Daddy was always stitching his dogs up after they were slashed by hogs.

Daddy’s hunting buddy, Jimmy, was amazing.  He’d lost a leg as an infant, but had compensated so well, he seemed not to miss it at all.  When an angry boar charged a group of hunters aggressively, the other men scattered into nearby trees while Jimmy agiley jumped on top of his crutch and balanced as the hog ran beneath him.  He used his crutch to vault over fences rather than hunting for a gate.

When my brother Billy was little, Mother had learned to dread what Billy might say to people.  Early one morning as she stood at the kitchen sink washing dishes, she saw Jimmy headed for the front door.  She rushed to get to the open front door greet him before Billy got a chance open his big mouth and ask about the missing leg. She was too slow.  As she rushed in, Billy announced, “Mama, a skeeter bit his leg off!”

Daddy made an interesting acquisition from one of his hunting buddies.  For a nominal amount, he became the proud owner of the Hog Wagon.  It was a school bus on a cut down frame with a cage on back for transporting hogs and sometimes children.  This amalgamation was unlicensed, of course, since it had no windshield or doors.  A battered bench seat covered with burlap bags replaced the bus seat. The V8 flathead engine made it very powerful when run in first gear, an invaluable feature for a vehicle used in swampy areas.  We hung on for dear life when we were fortunate enough to get a ride on this beauty.  Daddy also employed this powerful machine to pull up stumps when clearing pasture.

We were seriously the envy of neighborhood kids.

 

 

 

The Sad Saga of Door to Door Sales

Daddy would buy anything sold door to door.  He probably would have bought a helicopter had a salesman shown up and offered one on a no-money-down, three-year-payment plan.  He bought waterless cookware.  It was supposed to cut cooking time, save money and increase Mother’s effiency. He was all for anything that made Mother more organized. I guess it never occurred to him a string of babies and unending farm and house work might be a factor.

When the vacuum salesman came around, Daddy didn’t feel he could afford the new model, so he bargained for the used model the salesman had taken in trade on his rounds that morning.  The purchase probably saved the guy a trip to the dump. The salesman jimmied with it enough to get it running that day, but it never started again.  I don’t believe that helped Mother’s organization or her attitude a bit.  The good news was, the salesman took five dollars cash, and Mother was to send payments afterwards.  The good news was, Mother never sent a payment, which meant the guy only beat them out of five bucks.

We also had the only house distinguished by lightning rods on the roof.  The theory was, the lightning would strike the rod, rather than the roof.  The charge was to follow  a metal cable downward, where it would be grounded.  The lightning rods might have been an the answer to a prayer had Daddy not bought a remote-controlled television antenna which  was probably twenty feet taller than the model that came with the TV from the next guy who knocked on the door.  He enjoyed trying to find the best reception for a month or two until the antenna was struck by lightening.  The charge ran down the wire, melted a hole in metal TV case and fried the vacuum tubes.  Sadly, it also blew out the works in the beautiful ship lamp that came with the TV and melted its lovely red cellophane windows.  I was kind of glad when the antenna motor blew out since Daddy spent a lot of time adjusting it, limiting our viewing pleasure. We were frequently sent outdoors a lot to let him know if it was moving while he adjusted.  I never could tell when it moved, so I just gave random answers.  I don’t know why it gave him so much trouble.

 

to be continued

Styling on Shoes

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I am thankful I’ve achieved one of my life goals!  I got Keds!  All the snooty kids wore Keds when I was in school.  Since there were five of us to shoe, Mother showed no interest in putting us on our path to snootiness.  When the guy at the shoe repair shop gave her notice that shoes were beyond repair, she’d bring home a new pair, sized by the pencilled imprint of the lucky kid’s foot.  She always went prepared,  just in case.  We were a one-car family and there was no possibility of a special trip just for shoes.  We were whatever she brought home.  There was no chance we could claim ugly shoes didn’t fit.  She knew what she was doing.

Sometimes,  one of us tripped Mother up by having a major shoe malfunction resultingin shoe acquisition that couldn’t be put off till Thursday, Daddy’s payday and her scheduled trip to town,  in that miserable situation.  On more the one occasion, she made a panicky trip to the dry goods store in Cottage Valley and bought the only shoes available.  We hated these crummy sneakers, or “Tennies” as we called them, the ugly, red-headed stepchildren of Keds.

Girls got a style somewhat reminscent of Keds, usually white, wide in the arch, just right for duck feet. Bill got hightop, black basketball shoes with a white basketball on the ankle.  Naturally, we had to wear theses lovelies till they fell apart.  Mine were always dirty by the time I got to school, even if I were lucky enough they’d just been washed, and frankly, they weren’t washed that often.

My brother Billy got off the bus in one shoe after school one afternoon.  Mother exploded. “Boy, where’s your shoe?”

He wasted some time trying to explain and she wasted more trying to make sense of the story.  Finally, she got down to business and hauled him back to school to retrieve it from deep in a mass of brush on the wrong side of a hurricane fence.  Undoubtedly, he’d pushed it deeper in his rescue attempts.  Eventually, they showed up at home victorious except for scratches on her forearms and a tick or two.