DIY

Lessons from a Frugal Childhood

Some things you just can’t get away from.   Everyday when I got home from school, it was the same thing..  Mother met us at the door.  “Take off your clothes and hang them up.  Take off your shoes and put them under the bed.  Get a biscuit out of the oven and do your homework.  Then you can go play.”

I hated hanging up my clothes, preferring to pitch them wherever they landed. I got sick of hearing how much work went into washing, starching, and ironing them.  After all,  she had a wringer washer, clothesline, and iron.  What else did she have to do anyway? She was a mother, not a person.  I got sick of all that nagging about my shoes.  I didn’t always have time to go back and put my shoes away when I tried to slip out to play.  Many times I’d kicked them off in the yard.  Once a dog chewed one up, a disaster, since getting new shoes involved pinching pennies and careful timing.  Daddy got paid on Thursdays.  Mother went to the bank and did all her shopping Thursdays.  There would be no money till  the next payday.  A Tuesday shoe emergency messed up the whole plan.  Daddy also had to be dealt with.  When we messed up, she was responsible.  It rained on the just and unjust alike.

Finally, the point of the story.  Despite my best efforts, Mother’s teaching, or genetic input took control. The instant I get home, I change and hang up my clothes and put my shoes in the closet. If I had one, I’d certainly have gotten a biscuit.  This just isn’t right.  You’d think after more than sixty years , I’d get a break.

Worse yet, I have to be frugal.  I have to use it up. Wear it out.  Make do or do without, just like people were directed during World War II.  Paper towels and napkins are wasteful, so I use dish cloths and cloth napkins.   Buzzy went into a clawing frenzy  and scratched a hole in my nice bamboo sheet a while back.  He is not frugal. I couldn’t bear to toss those  beautiful sheets and pillow cases, so I am making them into napkins and hankies.  Bamboo hankies are $19.99 per six pack.  Bamboo napkins cost $19.99 per twelve. So far, I’ve made a dozen napkins and a dozen hankies and some sleeping shorts for Bud. There is enough left over for more several more hankies, napkins , dish towels, dust cloths, and doilies for embroidery.  I am sick of the carcass of those  sheets , but can’t bear to throw them away when all this costs nothing but some work.  I think I need therapy.

A Hog a Day Part 4

With Billy asleep under the porch, I was bored.  I noticed the toilet sitting down  the trail from the house.  “I need to use the bathroom.”  I told Mother. This needed investigation.  I knew what a toilet was, but had never gotten to investigate one to my satisfaction.  Mother had always rushed me through the process on the few occasions I gotten to use one.

”You’re going to have to wait.  I can’t go with you right now.  I’m in the middle of putting this permanent in,” Mother replied.  That fit in nicely with my plans.

”I can go by myself.  I’m a big girl.  I’ll be careful and not fall in.” I asserted.

”If you do, we’re just going to leave you,” laughed Miss Bessie.  “You’ll be too nasty to save.  She ought to be okay.  My younguns went by themselves all the time.”  I admired her good opinion of me as I sauntered off, though I had to wonder if that was where the lost little girl had gotten off to.

“Okay, but don’t fall in and come right back.” Mother looked a little worried as I left them to their project.

I considered myself a bit of an authority on toilets since we had an abandoned toilet in our chicken yard put there by the previous owners.  Mother had always threatened us away from it, but I had bragged about it to a couple of Mother’s coffee-drinking friends once, much to her horror.  As long as I could remember, she’d been after Daddy to pull it down, but he never found the time.  Not only that, I’d been lucky enough to visit a couple of toilets when we visited some of Daddy’s backwoodsy friends.

I was completely surprised at the daintiness of Miss Bessie’s toilet.  In contrast to her rustic house, it was a showplace.  The walls were beautifully decorated with remnants of ornate wallpaper.  Though the numerous patterns varied widely, they were all right side up, unlike the magazine pictures and newspapers tacked to the walls of her house.  My favorite print was of little fat men in rainboots and top hats holding umbrellas. Clearly, Miss Bessie had had control of this operation and was a high-class lady.  Bright floral linoleum graced the floor.  Wonders of wonders, a toilet seat covered the open hole I’d expected to see.  A toilet paper holder held a full roll, instead of the Sears and Roebuck catalog I’d been forward to perusing.  I never felt brave enough to look at women’s underwear unless I was assured of privacy, a rare situation in our busy house.  This expertly decorated toilet far surpassed our poor bathroom at home, a very utilitarian one with the usual drab features.

Naturally, once I’d completed my business, I raised the toilet seat to inspect the quagmire beneath, interested to know whether Miss Bessie had managed any improvements on the usual situation.  She hadn’t. The stench was overwhelming. Fat maggots squirmed in the disgusting mess, just like every other toilet I’d ever seen.  If the little lost girl was in there, the maggots could have her.
I was repulsed to see a big red rooster stretch his neck to peck out a maggot.  It was thrillingly disgusting!

“You took long enough,” Mother said when I got back.

“That toilet smells even worse than Miss Bessie’s hair,” I informed the two on the porch.  “I sure am glad I ain’t a rooster!”

”Linda!” Mother chided.  “You watch your smart mouth or “I’ll warm your britches up for you!”

Miss Bessie laughed and spewed coffee out her nose.  I knew I wouldn’t get a spanking this time.

Use it Up, Wear it Out, Make it Do, or Do Without

Some thing you just can’t get away from.   Everyday when I got home from school, it was the same thing..  Mother met us at the door.  “Take off your clothes and hang them up.  Take off your shoes and put them under the bed.  Get a biscuit out of the oven and do your homework.  Then you can go play.”

I hated hanging up my clothes, preferring to pitch them wherever they landed. I got sick of hearing how much work went into washing, starching, and ironing them.  After all,  she had a wringer washer, clothesline, and iron.  What else did she have to do anyway? She was a mother, not a person.  I got sick of all that nagging about my shoes.  I didn’t always have time to go back and put my shoes away when I tried to slip out to play.  Many times I’d kicked them off in the yard.  Once a dog chewed one up, a disaster, since getting new shoes involved pinching pennies and careful timing.  Daddy got paid on Thursdays.  Mother went to the bank and did all her shopping Thursdays.  There would be no money till  the next payday.  A Tuesday shoe emergency messed up the whole plan.  Daddy also had to be dealt with.  When we messed up, she was responsible.  It rained on the just and unjust alike.

Finally, the point of the story.  Despite my best efforts, Mother’s teaching, or genetic input took control. The instant I get home, I change and hang up my clothes and put my shoes in the closet. If I had one, I’d certainly have gotten a biscuit.  This just isn’t right.  You’d think after more than sixty years , I’d get a break.

Worse yet, I have to be frugal.  I have to use it up. Wear it out.  Make do or do without, just like people were directed during World War II.  Paper towels and napkins are wasteful, so I use dish cloths and cloth napkins.   Buzzy went into a clawing frenzy  and scratched a hole in my nice bamboo sheet a while back.  He is not frugal. I couldn’t bear to toss those  beautiful sheets and pillow cases, so I am making them into napkins and hankies.  Bamboo hankies are $19.99 per six pack.  Bamboo napkins cost $19.99 per twelve. So far, I’ve made a dozen napkins and a dozen hankies and some sleeping shorts for Bud. .  There is enough left over for more several more hankies, napkins , dish towels, dust cloths, and doilies for embroidery.  I am sick of the carcass of those  sheets , but can’t bear to throw them away when all this costs nothing but some work.  I think I need therapy.

 

Raggedy Ann, the Orphan Doll

I’ve been spending a few days with my kids in New Jersey.  I made this Raggedy Ann doll for my three-year-old granddaughter, Leda.  I don’t think she was impressed, at all.  She’s hooked on Superheroes.  I guess I should have made it a cape.

Hair of the Dog Sweater

This is the prequal to yesterday’s post about dog sweaters.  I decided it might go nicely today.

My son John lives to torment my mother. Buzzy, our American Eskimo Dog sheds incessantly, making us vacuum every day to stay ahead of him. One day my husband Bud noticed a big paper bag on the mantle stuffed full of Buzzy’s combings, hair pulled from his brush, and hair swept from the floor. Amazed, Bud asked, “What in the world is this bag of dog hair doing up here?”

Mother chimed in, “Oh, that’s Buzzy’s hair I saved up for your sweater.” This was the first Bud had heard of his dog hair sweater. He thought maybe Mother had finally come unhinged. “What dog hair sweater?”

“The one you’re going to get the woman at work to make for you out of Buzzy’s hair.” Mother thought Bud was losing it. “John told me to be careful to gather up all the hair I could find every time I came over so that woman you work with can spin it and make it into a sweater for you. How long do you think it will take to get enough?”

Poor Bud had to break her heart. “John’s been pulling your leg, again. There ain’t gonna be no dog hair sweater.”

 

 

My son, John

John as Jason

 

Dog Sweater

Above you can see my American Eskimo Dog, Buzzy.  He is a pure delight, except for shedding.  I brush him several times a week.  Pictured below is the pile of hair I brushed out this morning.  The fibers are long, silky, and soft as rabbit fur.  I have long thought it would make a beautiful sweater.  I believe I could collect enough in a few weeks, but am not industrious enough to learn spinning.  I need to get to work.  I am wasting a valuable renewable resource.
I found the pictures below on a Russian sale site of garments made of various kinds of dog hair, including Spitz, Akita, Samoyed, and Eskies.  The health, warmth, and durability are highly touted.  Check out this site.  https://www.livemaster.com/masterpr        Shop at Livedogsnitka(MasterPr).

A Hog a Day Part 4

With Billy asleep under the porch, I was bored.  I noticed the toilet sitting down  the trail from the house.  “I need to use the bathroom.”  This needed investigation.  I knew what a toilet was, but had never gotten to investigate one to my satisfaction.  Mother had always rushed me through the process on the few occasions I gotten to use one.

”You’re going to have to wait.  I can’t go with you right now.  I’m in the middle of putting this permanent in,” Mother replied.  That fit in nicely with my plans.

”I can go by myself.  I’m a big girl.  I’ll be careful and not fall in.” I asserted.

”If you do, we’re just going to leave you,” laughed Miss Bessie.  “You’ll be too nasty to save.  She ought to be okay.  My younguns went by themselves all the time.”  I admired her good opinion of me as I sauntered off, though I had to wonder if that was where the lost little girl had gotten off to.

“Okay, but don’t fall in and come right back.” Mother looked a little worried as I left them to their project.

I considered myself a bit of an authority on toilets since we had an abandoned toilet in our chicken yard put there by the previous owners.  Mother had always threatened us away from it, but I had bragged to a couple of Mother’s coffee-drinking friends once, much to her horror.  As long as I could remember, she’d been after Daddy to pull it down, but he never found the time.  Not only that, I’d been lucky enough to visit a couple of toilets when we visited some of Daddy’s backwoodsy friends.

I was completely surprised at the daintiness of Miss Bessie’s toilet.  In contrast to her rustic house, it was a showplace.  The walls were beautifully with remnants of ornate wallpaper.  Though the numerous patterns varied widely, they were all right side up, unlike the magazine pictures and newspapers tacked to the walls of her house.  My favorite print was off little fat men in rainboots and top hats holding umbrellas on the ceiling.  Clearly, Miss Bessie had had control of this operation and was a high-class lady.  Bright floral linoleum graced the floor.  Wonders of wonders, a toilet seat covered the open hole I’d expected to see.  A toilet paper holder held a full roll, instead of the Sears and Roebuck catalog I’d been forward to perusing.  I never felt brave enough to look at women’s underwear unless I was assured of privacy, a rare situation in our busy house.  This expertly decorated toilet far surpassed our poor bathroom at home, a very utilitarian one with the usual drab features.

Naturally, once I’d completed my business, I raised the toilet seat to inspect the quagmire beneath, interested to know whether Miss Bessie had managed any improvements on the usual situation.  She hadn’t. The stench was overwhelming. Fat maggots squirmed in the disgusting mess, just like every other toilet I’d ever seen.  If the little lost girl was in there, the maggots could have her.

“You took long enough,” Mother said when I got back.

“That toilet smells even worse than Miss Bessie’s hair,” I informed the two on the porch.  “I sure am glad I ain’t a maggot!”

 

 

 

 

 

One Man’s Trash

Inspired by the story of the woman who sold a piece of cheese toast on eBay for a monumental amount, I realized I might be able to score big time with this starter kit for hoarders.  The most desirable piece might be the brown wooden toilet seat cover.  It matched my bathroom redo and looked great in the store.  It turns out, brown is not the ideal color for a toilet seat.  Turns out, brown Is not a color that I really felt comfortable with, once in place.  Not only that, in an effort to ensure hygiene, I wasn’t satisfied with cleaning instructions and ramped it up with an improved cleaning regimen.  Sadly, it sprouted splinters, resulting in considerable complaints.  It had to be replaced.

The collection includes several cracked flower pots which would still be useful if you put them in place before filling with flowers.  The ugly gourd blue bird nest has hosted a family of wasps.  and will probably be  non-toxic to birds in a few years.  I blasted it pretty hard with wasp spray.  The kneeling pads are cracked, but probabaly wouldn’t pinch if the gardener covered them with a towel before use.  The square plastic container is leakproof.  It has held chicken-poop tea for my ferns for a couple of years. The miasma of poop is still quite pungent.  Maybe other men wouldn’t object to it the way Bud does.

The ragged soccer ball is an adored dog toy, barely past its prime.  I am sure a crafty person could find a good use for the ragged bathroom rug and broken brick.  Be sure to get your bids in as soon as possible, or I’ll have to stuff it all in the two mulch bags and dump it.

Burn Baby, Burn

Sometimes Bud can be difficult.  One lovely day, we both headed outdoors.  I had my work.  He had his.  I busied myself, digging, shoveling sand, putting out flagstones. Meanwhile, he pottered about at some uninteresting task of his own, never even asking if I needed help. After putting the last touches  on my patio, I went for the water hose.  I felt smug at finding it stretched across the backyard, since he’s always after me about winding it back up, barely letting me finish what I’m doing. Nevertheless, I pulled it back around to my new flower bed.  Bud had even left the water on, just shut off by the adapter.  That wasn’t like him at all.  I’d have to mention it when I got through.

It wasn’t long before Bud tore around the corner yanking the hose, clearly in a panic. Rudely, he grabbed the hose and took off, not even asking whether I was finished. I followed and found him spraying a pile burning yard refuse that had almost gotten away from him. It turns out, he’d had the water hose nearby just in case and hadn’t noticed when me taking it when he’d turned away to pile on more brush. Fortunately, he got the blaze under control. Unfortunately, not before it consumed the nice sweeper he’d disconnected from his tractor and left near the pile. He’s much more careful with the new one he bought to replace it and thoughtfully tells me when he’s about to burn, now.

My project certainly turned out better than his.