I grew up in my grandparents home, bought in 1917. My parents lived up the street, but my mother was usually there before I woke up and was there when I went to sleep. I never knew why.
My grandmother's house had a long porch, great for roller skating. Our ping pong table was there as well. In summer we closed it in with screens. Take that flies and mosquitos..
The house had a semi-circular driveway with 38 pines in the center. In winter, a plow would push snow halfway. The snowbank became ready-made fort. We had 14 acres of land, much of it woods.
The side yard had roses, lilies of the valley, iris and lilacs. A hill going toward my grandfather's garden became purple with violets each spring.
My grandfather's garden meant until he died, I only ate home grown vegetables. After he died, the little house with its two windows he used as a tool shed, became my playhouse. I had great plans for it and my father put up ceiling tiles. I imagined curtains on the windows and the walls painted white. I imagined a toy kitchen set and dishes and tea sets, a table and chairs. In my mind it was beautiful. I wonder if my desire to beautify every place I live came from never bringing my imaginary playhouse to reality.
My mother had a cottage industry, designing cloth dolls sold through direct mail ads in leading magazine. Women around town did the assemble and my grandfather the silk screening. The man who distributed the toys was named Rupert. I called him Ruppie. I loved his mustache
Before school opened each year, we went to the Children's Shop and selected five dresses one for each school day. There was an additional good dress for birthday parties, and play clothes, which we had to change into the second we got home from school. I had Keds sneakers, boots, oxfords or saddle shoes and pattern leather dress shoes.
I hated that I had to wear knee socks in cold weather and slacks under my dress. It wasn't the grownup look I wanted.
When my parents divorced I was starting junior high. My mother did not want to be away from us all day as she would have to be with an ordinary job. Even if she was a great typist and knew shorthand, she didn't want to be a secretary. By then she was living with my grandmother full time. My grandfather had died.
My brother and I never were left alone. She started a fashion company, selling clothes on the party plan. It was so successful she only had to work six months a year. I was considered her billboard and once I stopped growing, my wardrobe allowed me to go a month without wearing the same thing.
A schoolmate at a high school reunion told me she thought I was being rude when she asked me where I bought a certain dress, skirt, blouse or sweater when I answered, "my mother's business" until she realized it was my mother's business, literally.
We had the first TV in my mother's circle and lots of company as people came after dinner to watch whatever was on. I could smell the popcorn they popped to nibble during the programs.
When I was six we moved to West Virginia and they had not learned how to transmit TV waves over the mountains. Only when we moved back when I was eight did we have another TV. I was allowed to sit up nights to watch I love Lucy on Monday nights and Uncle Miltie on Tuesday nights.
I remember everyone in the family reading to themselves and/or to me. I read to myself as well. For being good at the dentist, I was allowed to go the local hardware store that sold Bennett Cerf's Landmark Series books by known authors. It brought history and science alive.
In West Virginia my mother found the local schools wanting and for two years I attended Miss Blanche's in afternoons. If anyone thinks three hours isn't enough to teach a child, when I return to the Reading MA public schools, considered a good system, it was fifth grade before I covered anything new. I was reading at a fifth grade level in the third grade and couldn't get enough books to keep me happy. Although we had to write script neatly at Miss Blanche's, I was thrown back into printing on two lines. I blame my poor penmanship on that and the change of type of handwriting in a tongue-in-cheek way.
I told my husband in first grade my grandmother had drilled me in the times tables up to 12. "How much is 12x12?" he asked. "144." I shot back. Amazing considering how bad I am at math, the times tables were the only thing that stuck.
We never took vacations, barely ever leaving town. The golf club, where the family was a member, was the hangout. I dutifully with only major complaints, took my lessons every Saturday from third grade to high school hating every minute of it.
I dreamed of travel and packing a suitcase to travel around the world. I was thrilled to go to New Hampshire in my junior year of high school. Boston was as much impossible to see as the moon until my senior year when I went to a friend's Northeastern classes as a possible place for me to go. It was about 12 miles away. I ended up living not far from the university in my 30s. Northeastern was just a few blocks from my Wigglesworth Street address.
Writing this, it makes me sound privileged. As an adult I learned that there were times money was tight, especially after my parents separated and before my mother started her business. Before the divorce, I remember my father threatening my brother and me that when we had our own homes he would visit and put on every light in the house and leave the doors and windows open on a cold day. Money doesn't grow on trees, was something we heard over and over.
My grandmother would patch socks and play clothes. Leftovers would be used to the last scrap. Some of the economies during my kindergarten years were war savings. We had a giant aluminum ball made of every scrap of aluminum. Today I tend to use reuse aluminum. It seems wasteful to throw it away.
I still shudder at the use of paper towels rather than a rag. I could make a roll of paper towels last a couple of years using them only for bacon drippings and dog throw up.
As an army bride of a Spec 4 Army band member stationed in Stuttgart, Germany, at the end of the month we were often food insecure. We knew it was temporary.
As a college student after we returned stateside, even the $400 tuition was a stretch. More than once I pleaded for a couple of weeks more to pay. The controller must have felt sorry for me or my tears got to him. I wondered what he would have done if I'd brought the payments in in change.
As a single mom, every penny had to be watched. My disposal income was 25 cents a day after basic bills. I ended up with a roommate and despite lack of funds we had fun just being. Our vacation was a weekend at a New Hampshire amusement park with one night at a motel and a cowboy movie.
Once we splurged on a special coffee, feeling exotic as we drank it. Sometimes now in France when I'm in a café, I laugh at how naive I was then, but the excitement of creating a special moment either time and place is almost the same. The secret of creating something special exists in the mind more than the pocketbook.
Over my adult years I've gone from having barely enough to having enough to having extra. I realize how blessed I was and am.
My husband often says, "We need to buy," when my reaction is "Why?" when we have one of whatever that still works.
Years ago my beloved stepmom asked why I bought a used refrigerator. I told her the difference in price was a ticket to Europe which I wanted more. I know I was lucky I could have both.
With one exception in my life, I have never had credit card debt and that was caused by my mother's final illness when working full time was next to impossible. If I can't pay it off at the end of the month, I don't buy it. No sense charging things at sales because interest will wipe out any savings.
I have always considered savings necessary, a cushion against the unthinkable which I thought about.
We drive a used car that I could pay cash for. We won't buy another until this one can no longer go back and forth.
Some people think we're rich. We live in Switzerland and the South of France. My original place in France was a studio that I paid $18,000 for cash so I would have no mortgage at retirement. I figured I could live wonderfully well on about $600 a month there. Fortunately, because of some decisions, I don't have to.
Everyone makes choices of what they want, although events are sometimes forced on people such as illness, natural disasters, economic setbacks beyond their control. I like to think I haven't given into the pressure of keeping up with the neighbors or advertising saying I need this or that.
I'm lucky that I was able to earn a living that made my income exceed my outgo while controlling the outgo.
Overall, I've had everything I want in life except maybe the playhouse decorated the way I wanted in my childhood. There have been times of poverty but nothing, nothing, nothing like the majority on the planet over all of time have experienced.
My riches would not impress Musk or Bezos, but I'm so rich in friends and experiences. I have enough, more than enough.
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