Stepping Out

We noticed when Jack was a baby that he seemed like an "old soul" because he seemed to grasp things well beyond what someone his age should.

Me? I'm just plain old, and I have been for quite some time.

In doubt? Any day after 4:30 pm you can catch me walking around the house in flannel pjs topped by a down vest. If you're lucky, I'll be working the Washington Post crossword puzzle.

Then there's the fact that I acted like a mom long before actually becoming one. I fretted over people. I hugged. I worried whether my friends would grow up and meet someone nice. I dished out healthy doses of guilt to my high school students. And, thanks to beloved college friends, got valuable practice cleaning up other people's vomit.

Today I went on a shoe shopping spree to replace the fall shoes and boots I've been wearing since Margaret was in preschool. No need to rush into anything.

Putting the boxes in the car, I looked over the labels:

Aerosoles.
Naturalizer
and... dear God...
Life Stride.

Comfy, old people's shoes. I'd like to say that my comfy shoe wearing ways have come about since I turned 40, but I cannot lie to you. Considering how grumpy I get when I have to pee, need a snack, or am tired, I learned long ago that I don't need to add uncomfortable shoes to that equation. Yes, I am aware this sounds more like a toddler than a mature woman. Let's just say that when my kids complained of scratchy tags, I got it.

I'm just so happy to have found 4 new pairs of shoes that work and can carry me into the next years (decade?) in comfort.

I also gained a new slogan, inspired by today's shopping mates:

Anna Donaldson, Lowering the Median Age in the Aerosoles Store since 1993.

Black Friday Blues?

Just got back from our whirlwind annual trip. We stay in a different home each night, which means a lot of driving and schlepping in and out with luggage, sleeping bags, and what-not, but it’s all worth it. The family time with relatives is precious, and I am so grateful for it. We played Charades, ate ourselves silly, looked at old photo albums, saw our first snow of the year, and drove halfway around tarnation.

Coming home is a pain. The stuff we take out of the car quickly overwhelms the kitchen and the hallway and is enough to drive me either to distraction or to drink. One of my favorite things to do when I get home from a trip, once I’ve put in the first load of laundry and managed to dig out a place to sit down, is to look over the newspapers that arrived while we were gone.

I am able to pick through and make a nice little stack of my favorite sections only. Everything else goes straight to the recycle bin. It feels decadent to have four days of unread Style sections or Local News to be enjoyed at one sitting. World news? There's always tomorrow.

Today wasn’t as fun for me because of one thing: Black Friday.

With all the traveling and visiting, I can never shop on Black Friday. It’s not that I even like to shop AT ALL, but when if seems like everyone else is doing it, I feel a sense of urgency that comes from peer pressure, I suppose. But the people who are pressuring me aren’t my peers, but the people on TV and in the newspapers and on the radio.

Tom and I are in the market for a new car, and I read that statistically Black Friday is the best day of the YEAR to buy a car. Aargh. Missed it. Now, regardless of which of the 364 other days we choose, we’ll feel like chumps.

Last night, while visiting my dear relatives, it was all I could do to not whip over to the local Walmart and start scooping up socks, undies, and small electronics. Their pristine, country Walmart was just down the road and if our little car hadn’t been packed to the gills with all of our travel crap (and it did feel like crap by day 4), I would have done it. The clown-car situation, with stuffed packed on the dashboard and under our feet, made me sit down at the farm table with a cup of spiced tea and enjoy the company instead. It was the better choice and one I enjoyed thoroughly.

But to arrive home to find my newspapers full of ONE DAY ONLY offers and coupons for a day that had already passed was a little disheartening. It appears that Target, Toys R Us, Michael’s—well, just about everyone—was handing out free money and merchandise on Friday. I almost get the impression the parking lots were paved in gold.

So what’s your take? Did you run around snapping up the deals, or did you lay low? I’m usually finished shopping before Thanksgiving so this year I feel behind before I’ve even started.

Even as I type this I have the urge to hop on over to Amazon to see if there are any good deals left, so I guess I'm pretty caught up in this whole consumer culture. I must say, however, that having the chance to spend time with my 90+ year old grandparents, who have been married 74 years (!!!) was better than any Early Bird Special on the planet.

Thank You For Not Commenting

No, not my readers. I crave YOUR comments. This is for Tom. When I came home today with two mini-scarecrows to put in the pots in front of our house, but I didn’t have time to get milk for our breakfast tomorrow, you may not have noticed.

If you did notice, thank you for keeping quiet about it. You see, Halloween is 2 days away and I wanted to get a little decorating on. I have priorities. Like coming home and blogging about it.

I tend to think that if you had gone to the store for a big box of my favorite Special K and had come home with-- I don’t know…a baseball card-- I might have had a little something to say about it.

Thanks also for not getting ruffled about that little home improvement “To Do” list on the fridge. You know I like to write jobs down so we can have the satisfaction of crossing them off if we ever get to them. Thanks for not taking this as a personal affront to your manhood.

When you’ve asked me to pick up stamps while I’m out, I’m sorry for those times I’ve acted like you are trying to oppress me and all womankind. I guess sometimes a stamp IS just a stamp, and a #2 coffee filter is just a #2 coffee filter.

While we’re at it, thanks for never once, in the 9 ½ years since I quit teaching, ever uttering the words, “But you’re home all day anyway.” Good decision. Good man.

Inconspicuous Consumption

The president thinks if he sends us all a check for $500 we’ll go on shopping sprees with our “free money,” thereby stimulating the economy. I thought this was taking an overly simplistic view of the problem, and was determined to put our $500 in savings. I didn’t want to feel manipulated into spending money. I wanted to be slightly mysterious and defy prediction.

I was feeling pretty virtuous about this plan—a paragon of self-control—until I thought a little more about my shopping habits. Maybe I wasn’t running out to Best Buy to get a flat panel TV, something my husband would love dearly, but I do have some wasteful habits.

When I go grocery shopping, I sometimes buy items I already have. In come the cans of whatever, to be placed on the pantry shelf in front of the previous cans of whatever that for some reason keep getting passed over instead of being used. In go the veggies to the fridge’s crisper (“rotter” would be a better name for it), and out go the limp, unconsumed ones from last week. My eco-friendly grocery bags next to me, I try to visualize where all the new food will fit. I have a feeling of unease that I can’t quite name. It’s the urge to purge. I want to use the new stuff, as the old stuff has lost its charm.

Things just seem more appealing when I’m at the store, even if I could make do with what I already have at home. Whether it’s because of the packaging, the price, or the advertising, I feel drawn to the new and exciting. This may explain why there is a pork roast sitting in our downstairs freezer marked 2004. Many casseroles, stews and other items have come and gone in that time, but the pork roast remains. After a few months, it just seemed to lose its appeal, and it never rose to the ranks of dinner material. My aunt, a farmer’s wife, has 3 of those enormous chest freezers. I am convinced she just uses the top layers, always adding another cake, more green beans from the garden, and barely scratching the surface of what lies beneath.

This manner of consumption is not limited to food. Have you ever brought home a brand spanking new bottle of shampoo and placed it beside your old, not quite used up one? The new one looks so pristine, so hopeful, while the other one may represent broken promises and unfulfilled dreams. Its lackluster status is aptly illustrated by a little mildew and a layer of soap scum.

It’s all I can do to use up the old shampoo before opening the new one. I might find myself using handfuls when only a little dab would do. This is when a Costco-sized bottle ceases to be cost saving. It lasts so darn long I become sick of it! If I simply can’t wait, I open the new one and my shower door becomes lined with half-used bottles. Same with soap. My “old” bar may be barely getting soft around the edges, but if I whip out a new bar of Irish Spring, the old one becomes nothing more than a pile of gunk.

Remember those little netty things from a generation ago that were used to corral scraps of soap so they would last longer? Now that is a product that has become obsolete. If other consumers are anything like me, they can’t wait to use up those scraps and move on to the next great thing.

Do you ever read “Hints from Heloise” in your paper? So many of her hints seem laughably anachronistic b/c in this age of consumerism, I don’t see a whole bunch of people who want to make a “soap saver,” mix their own bath salts or use a coffee filter as a handy popcorn bowl.

I know by putting this out there, I may come across as wasteful and loony, so I’d love to hear if anyone reading this has similar tendencies. Perhaps for you it is the lure of a brand new pen or a pristine pad of paper. I want to say I’m a pretty good steward of resources. I’ve been driving the same car for nine years, my clothes are from the thrift store, and my dumpster diving speaks for itself. On the surface, I do not look wasteful or overindulgent. The jars of under eye moisturizer in my medicine cabinet, each one destined to change my life, may tell a different story.


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