Still Picking Up The Pieces

For the last few weeks, I have been sorting through the tangible personal property (to use a legal phrase) of Aunt Ginger's life. I had weeded out a lot of items ranging from knickknacks and furniture to kitchenware and linens when she moved from her apartment of almost 40 years to assisted living 18 months ago, and then downsized her belongings again when she moved from assisted living to memory care. All the same, there was a surprising number of items yet to move to our house and sort through.

Some items were easy to move to new homes. Ginger collected angels for many years and wanted friends and family to take one with them after her death. So we set them out at the gathering we held in her memory with this sign:

By the end of the evening, the last angel flew out the door.

Other items required more careful sorting. Ginger had a desk (which went to my brother per her wishes and her will, which will likely not be probated at any point), but I had to empty it out first. That proved to be fun. 50+ pencils, many of them promotional, many of them unsharpened: into the box of Goodwill items. 20+ small, blue, ancient rubber bands, all at the point of crumbling: trash. Mementos from family events: an article about my brother, my son Benjamin's high school graduation program: those will go to the individuals featured (sorry, Ben). Opened envelopes from cards sent years ago (without the cards): recycling.

And then there were the clothes.

Ginger owned lots of clothes. Lots and lots. She took excellent care of her clothes and so items often lasted for decades. But she also liked to shop for clothes. She was never a spendthrift or very extravagant, everything she owned was probably bought on sale or secondhand, but over the last few decades her wardrobe grew.

And grew.

And grew.

When I brought home the remaining clothes, the ones from the dresser and the ones from the closet, I had to use two beds in two separate bedrooms to accommodate them all. It was not unlike the scene in An Old-Fashioned Girl (one of Louisa May Alcott's books) in which Polly performs a thrifty makeover of Fan's wardrobe: Fanny brought out her "rags" and was astonished to see how many she had, for chair, sofa, bed, and bureau were covered, and still Maude, who was burrowing in the closets, kept crying, "Here's another!" 

For the first few weeks, the clothes just sat in heaps and bundles. I had other matters demanding my attention and, honestly, my heart wasn't ready to deal with the clothing. But finally the disorder overcame my reluctance, and I started folding and sorting and washing (some pieces had dried food and other stains on them; I treated and washed those out, throwing away only the few that would not come clean). Garbage bags piling up on the floor of my study replaced the heaps of clothing.

We have a local community agency, Common Ground Free Store Ministries, which is exactly what it sounds like. It is a free store, free to all, open to all. It opened 12 years ago to serve our community with this mission: It's amazing how something as simple as providing clothing and household items to people in need can help open new doors in their lives. We provide a place to meet everyday needs for the people of Delaware. 

What better place to donate Ginger's clothes? And it was even more fitting because the store is located on the East side of our town (the "other" side of town) only three blocks from where Ginger (and all her siblings) grew up (as did I and my siblings until I was in high school) and where Ginger lived until she was almost 50.

This was my car back seat and trunk this morning before I left:

A half-full backseat...

...and a FULL trunk! 

(The red coat just visible in the back of the trunk was Ginger's favorite. It was a number of years old and in immaculate condition. I hope to see it again on someone else around town!)

It took me a good ten or more minutes to unload my car when I got to Common Ground. When I was through, my car looked like this:

My backseat is back again! 

And so is my trunk! 

 I spoke with one of the volunteers as I unloaded and told her the source of the clothing. "I'm so sorry for your loss," she said. "I am too," I said. "But trust me, my aunt would be thrilled to know her stuff will be going to others who can use it."

And she would have been.

And so am I.

Staring Down The Reading Year

As with so many other things, my reading took a hit in November and early December. There was a lot of travel in November, followed by Aunt Ginger's hospitalization and death in late November and early December. Add in several holiday concerts (some of which I did not make, all of which Warren played in), a flurry of attendance mediations before the schools break for winter, and just the clutter of daily life, and you'll get a sense of what it has been like around our house.

I am still picking up the pieces.

As I look back, I see that I last posted about my reading in early November. EARLY November. So, yeah, I've added some titles since then. Not as many as I had hoped, but I have broken the 200 books barrier.

And here they are:
190. Uneven Ground: Appalachia Since 1945 by Ronald Eller (I wrote about this well-written history here)
191. What You Are Getting Wrong About Appalachia by Elizabeth Catte (as with the Eller at #190 and the next book at #192, I wrote about Catte's work in the same post)
192. Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis  by J.D. Vance (a reread for me, as I noted in the same post linked above)
193. The Library Book by Susan Orlean (this may be the best book about libraries and their roles in communities I have ever, ever read, all threaded through with the story of the 1986 fire that destroyed a significant portion of the main branch of the LA Public Library; I rarely buy books anymore, but this one may end up on my shelves out of sheer love)
194. The Real All Americans: The Team That Changed A Game, A People, A Nation by Sally Jenkins (a history of the establishment of Carlisle Indian School, this nation's brutal treatment of tribal children, and what Jenkins would argue was one of the greatest college football teams in history: the 1912 Carlisle team that beat West Point) (thank you, Anne K. Anderson, for this recommendation)
195.  Main Street by Sinclair Lewis (a reread  of a favorite author; Lewis savaged small-town America in this one and shaped my teenage outlook on them for many years)
196. Little Women by Louisa May Alcott (not only have I read this book more than two hundred times in my life, but  I bought this paperback of it in Chicago at Powell's Books  [I already own three different versions of it] solely because it was a British edition, and after reading Book #167 earlier this year, I learned the British editions are usually the original manuscript, not the "nicer" one that Alcott's publishers insist be published; yes, it is different in the language and rhythm)
197. Ohio by Stephen Markley (when I finished this novel, I set it down and said to Warren "I don't think I have ever read a more disturbing non-horror novel in my life;" that being said, Markley captures small-town Ohio in immediately recognizable ways)
198. Everyday People: The Color of Life--A Short Story Anthology edited by Jennifer Baker (a collection of short stories by writers of color; Baker looks forward to a day when "people seeks to be more inclusive and representative in their writing and reading" so that special collections are no longer necessary)
199. A River of Stars by Vanessa Hua (debut novel about a Chinese woman who comes to California to give birth and her pursuit of the American dream for her infant daughter)
200. My Old Faithful: Stories by Yang Huang (Huang weaves together the story of a Chinese family over several generations and two countries)
201. All You Can Ever Know: A Memoir by Nicole Chung (a devastatingly honest memoir about Chung's adoption as an infant by a white couple [Chung is Korean], what family means (she remains close to her adoptive parents), and her journey as an adult to reconnect with members of her birth family; Chung raises powerful questions about the impact of adopting across racial/ethnic lines on the child and whether such adoptions are appropriate)
202. Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng (unknown to me when I picked it up, this clever novel has a story theme of adoption, or non-adoption, of a failed surrogacy, and of a white couple adopting a Chinese child "abandoned" by her mother, all of it taking place in Shaker Heights, Ohio, the "most perfect" planned community ever)

With it being mid-December, I am hoping to conclude the month with at least (at least another ten or more books. I'm not working from December 24 through January 1: here's hoping!

November Finances

We are halfway through December, nearing the end of 2018, and I am just now catching up on November. The end of the month and the first half of December were packed with work, hospital visits, concerts, telephone conversations with social workers and doctors, and then the not unexpected but still seemingly sudden death of my Aunt Ginger. Small wonder that I am just now getting around to looking at the household totals for November.

The numbers ticked upwards for November. There were some external reasons for this: buying baking supplies and then preparing Thanksgiving for six among them. The former added about $45.00 to the monthly totals, the latter about $25.00. (I did not track either event separately, but added the purchases into the overall grocery bill.) We spent $204.89 on food in November and another $19.51 on household items for a grand total of $224.40. After 11 months, we are averaging $181.30 a month for groceries and household items. While this is not the $175.00 we have been aiming for, it nonetheless is satisfying.

As I predicted, our eating out expenses rose in November. While the trip to Mayo in early November did not cost that much ($44.61), PASIC in November racked up $98.00 in eating out (breakfast was included with our hotel room or the final figure would have been higher; the Dream Cymbals dinner out also helped keep that figure lower). Because of the wildly improbable way we ended the conference, we did not get to Shapiro's Delicatessen. Our final eating out costs for the month came to $156.43.

I do not know what December's numbers will look like, although I have been recording them. At mid-month, we have already spent around $161.00, so December, like November before it, will exceed the $175.00 mark. There was a major shopping a week ago in which I restocked household supplies and staples that had gotten low and there is still Christmas dinner, albeit it looks it will be small this year. I bought food for the reception we had for family and friends after Ginger's death, but did not include those expenses in my monthly totals, even though some of that food ended up back at our house.

Two more weeks to this year, and then we'll see where we ended up.
 

What Has Happened

I have been silent for weeks because family events overtook everything else. Aunt Ginger's hip gave way the Monday after Thanksgiving and she went into a hospital with the hope that surgery to pin the bones back together would result in her learning to walk with a walker and return back to the memory unit in which she has lived since the spring.

It didn't happen that way. The surgery took place and went well, according to the orthopedic surgeon. But she never was able to start the physical therapy following the surgery: too much pain, too much disorientation from the dementia. From there, it unwound day by day. She was always in pain, either mental or physical. She did not know where she was or who was with her, including me. And she was clearly sinking.

During the second holiday concert last Sunday, I took a call from a hospice doctor: Ginger had taken a turn for the worse and was dying. Maybe hours, maybe days, but she was dying. By the time we broke the stage and got to the hospital, she was gone. It had just happened: Warren and I were the ones who notified the nurses. After the nurses confirmed what was obvious, they left us alone. We sat with Ginger in the silence of the room, Warren standing close while I held her hand, still warm but cooling, and thought of how much this woman meant to me my whole life. It was a silent, peaceful goodbye.

The week has been spent dealing with Ginger's death: clearing out her room at the memory unit, finalizing the funeral details, meeting with her pastors to discuss the service, hosting a reception last night for family and friends, and then the graveside services today.

It has been an exhausting week. It has been a long week. It has been a week filled with love and sorrow and friends reaching out and family standing close.

I will be back on these pages soon enough. The clutter of the week will be cleared, Ginger's clothing will go to our local free store, things will be put back to rights, and life will go on. It always does. But for me, for now, there is a gap, a tear in the fabric of life, a missing face at the table.

Capturing Appalachia

Let me start with this: I just reread Hillbilly Elegy by J. D. Vance and I get it.

Is it universally true? No. Are his sociological musings shaky? Absolutely. But his memoir of his family and himself, which is about 99% of the book, reads absolutely spot on. So if you are hoping for a slashing attack on that book, this is not it. [Note: I am not commenting on Vance becoming the "face" or "voice" of Appalachia in the conservative world, and do not endorse what little I had seen of his political and sociological pronouncements.]

I have theories about what he writes and about Appalachian, not because I have driven through it on occasion or read editorial commentary on it by writers flying in and out, but because that's my dad's family down there. I grew up with strong Appalachian roots. I still have ties to that place and culture—well, the culture of white Scots-Irish Appalachia, that is—because there is an African-American Appalachia, a non Scots-Irish white Appalachia, and increasingly as one author (who I will discuss shortly) pointed out, a Latinx Appalachia.

Barbara Kingsolver, with strong Appalachian ties both past and present, recently said in an interview with The New York Times that she could not get through Hillbilly Elegy. She pointed readers instead to Ronald Eller and Elizabeth Catte. Intrigued, I read both of them, then reread Hillbilly Elegy.

Ronald Eller was the longtime director of the Appalachian Center in Lexington and a retired professor of history at the University of Kentucky. His book, Uneven Ground: Appalachia Since 1945, is a well-written history of the region, He focuses on economics and politics: the exploitation of Appalachia through extractive economic policy, the deep-seated political graft, granting of favors, and worse in both parties. 

Uneven Ground is a solid work. But his best sentence—the one that rings truest for me—happened right out of the gate:"We know Appalachia exists because because we need it to exist in order to define what we are not. It is the "other America" because the very idea of Appalachia convinces us of the righteousness of our own lives." 

I started out of my seat when I read that line, immediately putting it into my current notebook of quotes. "[T]he very idea of Appalachia convinces us of the righteousness of our own lives." Thank you, Ronald Eller.

Catte wrote a slim work, What You Don't Know About Appalachia, in direct response to J. D. Vance, whom she would gladly dropkick without any further provocation. Much of her vitriol towards Vance is directed towards his post-Hillbilly Elegy talks and articles, all decidedly conservative, and about his plying his "poor white trash" persona enlightening the rest of us in the media, particularly talk radio. She particularly derides him for posing as and being appointed as an authority on "why Appalachia voted for Trump," which she thoroughly dissects by color, percentage of voters, and by comparing the 2016 primary results with the 2016 election results. She tells the reader up front that she is well-educated, liberal, and chose to move back to Appalachia (Tennessee) rather than live in Texas, which she accurately described as taking industrial pollution and exposure to toxins to a whole new level. She also deftly and convincingly gives a picture of Appalachia that is more, both historically and presently, than just a Scots-Irish enclave with quaint talk and customs,  despite the mainstream dominant culture continuing to portray it that way. (We indeed need that portrayal of Appalachia to convince us of the righteousness of our "superior" way of life.)

What I most appreciated about Catte is that, along with flaying Vance, she tore into both the far conservative right commentators and what she would characterize as the liberal elitist commentators. (It is the word "elitist" that is most important in that phrase, incidentally.) Thank you, Ms. Catte. Thank you for pointing out the massive tone-deaf Hillary Clinton stumble in the West Virginia primary (long before her "deplorables" comment): "I don't want to move away from the people who did the best they could to produce the energy that we relied on." Who did the best they could? As Catte correctly points out: how absolutely condescending and out of touch. No wonder Sanders buried Clinton in the primary. Nor does she spare Trump and his downright stupid comments and lack of policy about the coal industry. She would gladly dropkick him too. 

Catte was a refreshing read.  

And then I reread Hillbilly Elegy, keeping in mind what Catte pointed out about Vance. I don't agree with his prologue, when he does paint with a broad brush a picture of Appalachia that is all white, all Scots-Irish, all stereotyped. But his actual memoir? As I already said: spot on. I handed my copy to my brother Mark after Thanksgiving dinner and said, "Read this. I see our family all through this book." I'll be interested to hear his reaction. 

So what about Appalachia? Back in 1975-1976, I applied for and was granted admission as a transfer student to Berea College, a no-tuition college in Kentucky with a primary service region of southern Appalachia. For several reasons, all of which seemed critical at the time, I did not attend. Even this many decades later, I wonder what my life trajectory would have been had I gone there. And I have written before about the strong ties I feel to my dad's side of the family. Dad and I still haven't made it down to Kentucky to revisit family sites, but with mom not at home anymore, that may be a real possibility. 

I'm glad I read Catte and Eller. I'm glad I reread Vance and I still recommend it for the personal memoir.

Eller summed Appalachia up bluntly: "Moving to a culture of mutual responsibility will help us open up our civic processes to expand diversity, transparency, and participation. Only then can we confront the complex structural challenges of an extractive economy that has drained the region of its physical and human wealth and of an extractive political system that has benefited few at the expense of many." 

Indeed.

More Books Before I Hit The Road

We are off to Mayo tomorrow and I will be traveling with books, of course. OF COURSE! All the same, I wanted to post the most recent reads so my list is up to date.

The latest entries to "Books Read By April This Year" are:
181. All Over But The Shoutin' by Rick Braggs (Braggs came out of deep, deep generational poverty and ended up as a Pulitzer winning reporter for The New York Times; this is his memoir of his family and their—and his—trajectory over a half decade)
182. The Nakano Thrift Shop by Hiromi Kawakami (I wrote briefly about this book here; this is an engaging, quirky, and thoroughly modern Japanese look at love and life)
183. The Sun Is Also A Star by Nicola Yoon (a YA novel about love and fate; the expected resolution in the current story did not happen, but the ending, set a decade later,  brought tears to my eyes)
184. The Woman Warrior: Memoirs of a Girlhood Among Ghosts by Maxine Hong Kingston (I have read some of Kingston's fiction before; this is her early (1976) and evocative memoir about the strong women of her family and her Chinese heritage)
185. What We Owe by Golnaz Hashemzadeh Bonde (love, death, revolution, exile, cancer; Bonde, an Iranian whose family fled to Sweden when she was a child, sets this gut-wrenching novel in Iran at the time of the Revolution and in current Sweden)
186. Almost Everything: Notes on Hope by Anne Lamott (Lamott's latest work on, no surprise, holding hope close in these deeply troubled times; it is not her strongest writing, but it is solid)
187. Theodore Roosevelt: A Literary Life by Thomas Bailey & Katherine Joslin (I ran across this title when exploring the Vancouver (WA) library and took a photo to remember it; it is a flowing, fascinating celebration of Roosevelt as a man of letters, as a serious writer, as a journalist—oh yeah, he was President too but this biography places him in office in one (!) sentence and takes him out almost as fast)
188.The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas (this YA novel about race, violence, prejudice, "passing" is a strong companion book to read alongside all american boys (#180) and Piecing Me Together (#153))
189. We Fed An Island: The True Story Of Rebuilding Puerto Rico, One Meal At A Time by José Andrés with Richard Wolffe (Andrés is a renown chef who went to Puerto Rico following Hurricane Maria and stayed for four months, working with others to feed the people there after the devastation of Hurricane Maria; this is about abandoned Americans (you do know Puerto Ricans are Americans, right?) and is a searing indictment of FEMA and President Trump's disregard for our citizens)

I am taking with me to Mayo three books on Appalachia, one of which I am almost done with but will not finish tonight. Stay tuned.

October Finances

October is over and with that we are staring hard and fast at the end of 2018. Where did it go?

Well, I know where our grocery dollars went this past month! We spent $141.42 on groceries, and another $5.84 on household items (aluminum foil and plastic wrap, primarily). That comes out to a whopping $147.26 for the month. When I plug that figure into the year's running total, our monthly average is now at $176.99.

There was a large expenditure in October that I did not count into the overall food costs. We hosted a reception for opening the 40th Symphony season and those costs—food, ice, related items—came to $107.63. At least $35.00 of that, three bottle of prosecco that did not get opened, will carry forward to the end of season reception we are already planning.

Our eating out this month was heavily influenced by rehearsal and concert schedules. Warren was either on the road or held up at the auditorium for several meals. There were also some "let's just get something" meals as we navigated hospital time with mom and dad. As a result, we spent $52.84 this month eating out.

I look at November and think this will be a month of more eating out due to my quarterly trip to Mayo Clinic next week and the annual Percussive Arts Society International Conference in Indianapolis the following week. Oh, we will pack a lunch and take some snacks, but the reality of the road trips is more eating out. On our list for Indianapolis is Shapiro's Delicatessen, a Jewish deli there since 1905.

An aside: How did I not know about Shapiro's until this year, when I read Buttermilk Graffiti by Edward Lee (#135)? In looking back at my September finances post, I see I raised the same question there. Clearly this has been weighing on me! I am incredulous because except for one year in San Antonio, PASIC is always in Indianapolis. Again, how did I not know?

On to November. We'll see what it holds.

Where That Fork in the Road Went

Seven years ago, I wrote about mom showing signs of of dementia and our first family conversations with my dad about it.

Seven years ago.

Over the many months since then, my mom's cognitive capacity continued to decline, sometimes in fits and starts, sometimes in steep, rushing leaps, and sometimes in barely perceptible shifts. And through it all, my dad soldiered on, taking care of and looking after the woman he loved, even as the woman he had known for most of his life had all but disappeared.

Not that we were negligent as children. My brothers, my sisters-in-law, my beloved husband, and I all kept tabs on dad, asking him what help he needed, urging him to call upon us. "I can do it for now," he'd reply. "I'll let you know when I need help."

We'd talk to him about bringing in some outside services, even on an occasional basis. Meals On Wheels? Someone to clean house? Anything?

"No, I'm not there yet," dad would reply. "I don't want to upset your mom with bringing in someone, and I can handle it."

And he did handle it—"it" being the myriad of daily tasks and duties to keep the household going, to keep mom oriented, amused, and cared for, to care for himself, the too large house, the oversize yard. He handled it and handled it, despite the enormous toll on his own health, right up until about ten days ago. That was when mom fell getting up in the middle of the night, breaking three ribs. That episode unraveled into a series of squad calls for assistance getting her in and out of bed, trips to the nearby ER, consults with social workers, and long, serious faces on the hospital personnel. It culminated in the day when he went to the bathroom and came out to find her gone, only to go outside and find her on the ground where she had fallen, hitting her face, when in her dementia she had decided to take out the garbage. With squad help, he got her into the house. That night, she woke him, telling him she felt she was dying. We all spent a long hard, day at the ER again, while decisions were made.

We spent the rest of the week with mom in a local rehab/memory unit: understaffed, shabby, institutional, and, unfortunately, full of bad memories for dad from 30 years ago when his own father was in the same place. They treated mom well, but it was not a solution.

And then my brother Mark and his wife Jackie did some research and found a memory care unit in a new, home-like senior facility in their town (20 miles away). Dad went out to tour it with them, then came back to town and announced he was moving mom.

We made the move yesterday, "we" being dad, Mark, Jackie, my other sister-in-law Kate, and I. The facility director was calm and helpful: make it look like home (most of their bedroom suite of the last 60 years went over), let us transport her from there to here, please don't come for the first five or so days. So we spent the morning setting up mom's new room, and then went away. I was at the local facility with Kate when the new director showed up to pick up mom; mom was thrilled to be going for a ride. She said hello to us and kept right on going. She reminded me of a little kid: so eager to have the new experience that she didn't even look back.

Dad is struggling with the decision and holds to the hope that mom will be "better" and he can bring her back home. Mark is worried dad is waffling. I suggested we just let the dust settle and let him voice his fears and wishes without trying to point out that mom is never going to get better and this is best. We are all in chill out mode right now.

After I finished up the parent-related tasks yesterday afternoon, I headed down the road to visit Aunt Ginger in her memory unit. Ginger was in good spirits and we had a long chat. She was convinced she had just moved from her apartment a week ago (it was well over a year ago) and was stunned when I said "you've been here for over a year." She talked about her job, one she retired from over 30 years ago and mixed then  ("I retired early, didn't I?") and now ("I'm glad I retired last month. That was getting hard on me.") and then included her friend Esther, who was sitting in lounge with us, in the sweep of those she had worked with for so many years.

Esther didn't mind; she was telling me how her mother had told her this morning that she needed to wear her new jeans. (Esther is in her 80s or 90s as well.)

"And I did, April!," she said, beaming and pointing to her jeans.

Esther was happy. Ginger was happy. I was happy. We were all happy in the memory unit.

Here's hoping my parents' long road to here is likewise lined with happy moments at this time of life.

In Translation

I have just finished reading The Nakano Thrift Shop, the second Japanese novel I have read in recent months, the other one being Convenience Store Woman  # 134 on my 2018 book list. Both were written by women, Hiromi Kawakami (Nakano) and Sayaka Murata (Convenience Store), and both feature a female protagonist.

Finishing the second one brought back memories of a long ago class I took my first year at the University of Chicago: Modern Japanese Novels in Translation. 

The class was taught by Eric J. Gangloff, then a young professor in the Foreign Languages Department. I had spectacularly failed in Japanese I, also taught by him, and he had kindly advised me to withdraw from the course rather than take an F on my transcript. His words, to the best I can remember some 44 years later, were "Japanese is a very difficult language for graduate linguistic students, so don't take it as a sign of failure that you can't grasp it as a freshman." 

[For those who are wondering why Japanese?, the answer is I had a Japanese aunt (a post-World War II bride) and,  even more important, I loved and had read many times the 1961 novel Miss Happiness and Miss Flower by Rumer Godden. What more did I need?]  

By the spring of that freshman year, I was ready to try an elective and Modern Japanese Novels in Translation was what I wanted. We started with Kokoro by Natsume Sōseki, a 1914 novel, and read forward into the mid-century, ending with Mishima and Kawabata.  

Gangloff had a penchant for the works of Jun'ichirō Tanizaki, an author he felt was cheated out of the Nobel Prize for literature because the Nobel Committee was reluctant to honor a Japanese writer after world War II. The class assignment was The Makioka Sisters; under the influence of Gangloff's strong recommendations, I went on to read more of Tanizaki's translated novels and for a long time, owned a small collection of them.

We read Thousand Cranes and either Snow Country or The Sound of the Mountain by Yasunari Kawabata, who became the first Japanese Laureate in Literature. To this day I cannot remember the novels or anything about Kawabata's writing, other than it wasn't Tanizaki.

Back in that era (the 1970s), Edward Seidensticker was the translator of Japanese novels to English. I believe almost everything we touched in class was translated by him; certainly the Mishima, Kawabata, and Tanizaki were. Both of the modern novels I read were translated by women: Allison Markham Powell and Ginny Tapley Takemori. 

I still owned a battered copy of The Makioka Sisters, Tanizaki's brilliant and heartbreaking portrait of pre-war Japan (written post-war) and a way of life that was rapidly disappearing even before the horrors of Japan's wartime actions. I like to think he would have enjoyed the two novels I talk about here; certainly he would enjoy their blunt, direct writing. 

That class turned out to the the sole A I would earn that first year at Chicago. Perhaps more than any other class (with the exception of Rocks and Stars, Katrina!), it is the one that I have carried forward all these years. And, in a goofy alignment of stars, Warren was taking a similar class at Ohio State at about the same time. I asked him as I worked on this what he remembers about the class: some Mishima, The Woman in the Dunes, and "not much else." 

It's enough.

Not A Small Moment

This is NOT a small moment. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

Baby Sanchez #2 is coming in, with arrival slated for late February/early March 2019. I have been sitting on the news since the first night we were out there in August. Ramona gets to be a big sister to little brother Orlando (Ben's grandfather's name) and cousin Lyrick gets another boy in the family.

Yes, my heart is overflowing.

Books Will Never Leave You

Reading what would become Book #175, I came across this wonderful sentence: "Books can break your heart, but they never leave you."

I would tattoo that on my arm, if I could stand the thought of being tattooed.

As I continue to read through 2018, the number of books breaking my heart is growing. The latest accounting contains some that fall into that category:
168. Rough Beauty: Forty Seasons of Mountain Living by Karen Auvinen (this memoir, which opens with a cabin fire that destroys the author's laptop containing all of her writing, made me want to sell everything and move to Colorado. Seriously)
169. Once Upon A Farm: Lessons on Growing Love, Life, and Hope On a New Frontier by Rory Feek (the title caught my eye; Feek is a country songwriter and singer, now raising his young daughter who has Down Syndrome, moving forward in faith and love after the death of his wife by cancer)
170. One Beautiful Dream: The Rollicking Tale of Family Chaos, Personal Passions, and Saying Yes to Them Both by Jennifer Fulwiler (I wrote about this book here; I have resurrected my manuscript and begun again on it on the strength of Fulwiler's story)
171. Heartland: A Memoir of Working Hard and Being Broke in the Richest Country on Earth by Sarah Smarsh (I cried; this memoir is exactly what it says it is)
172. Domestic Affairs: Enduring the Pleasures of Motherhood and Family Life by Joyce Maynard (I'm a longtime Maynard fan; this collection is sometimes hard to read because those of us who read her memoir know that she was writing a gloss over a domestic life that was unraveling even as she wrote)
173. Boom Town: The Fantastical Saga of Oklahoma City, Its Chaotic Founding, Its Apocalyptic Weather, Its Purloined Basketball Team, and the Dream of Becoming a World-Class Metropolis by Sam Anderson (this book is everything the title promises and more: a wild ride from first to last)
174.Making Things Right: The Simple Philosophy of a Working Life by Ole Thorstensen (imagine a Norwegian version of Tracy Kidder's classic House, written not by Kidder but by the carpenter; this was enchanting)
175. The Lost Chapters: Reclaiming My Life One Book At A Time by Leslie Schwartz (Schwartz spent 37 days in the Los Angeles County Jail system for assaulting an officer (among other things) when she relapsed into alcoholism and drug use after being sober for decades; this is a hard read of jail life, of institutional racism, of institutional brutality, and of the books she managed to read while incarcerated saving her life literally and figuratively)
176. A Series of Catastrophes and Miracles: A True Story of Love, Science and Cancer by Mary Elizabeth Williams (Williams was diagnosed with melanoma, which rapidly metastasized into Stage 4, then became one of the first individuals cured of the disease thanks to cutting edge therapy)
177. The Little Women Letters by Gabrielle Donnelly (this WONDERFUL novel is based on the premise that the March family was real, and that Jo March's great-great-granddaughter is tracing the family's story through letters Jo wrote; devotees of Little Women will relish how cleverly Donnelly wove the story and lines of Alcott's classic into this work)
178. The Index Card: Why Personal Finance Doesn't Have To Be Complicated by Helaine Olen and Harold Pollack (if you read one book about personal finance, it should be this one)
179. Refuge: An Unnatural History of Family and Place by Terry Tempest Williams (Williams' memoir turns on the catastrophic rise of the Great Salt Lake in the 1980s, wound through with the resulting impact on the migrating bird populations and the deaths of her mother and grandmother by cancer during the same time period)
180. all american boys by Jason Reynolds and Brendan Kieley  (I have no words for this YA novel about racism, loyalty, silence, and making a stand; after a African-American teen is brutally beaten by a policeman, Quinn, who is white and a longtime family friend of the policeman, wrestles with whether to stay quiet as to what he saw)

Truly, books can and will break your heart, but they never leave you.

Sunk Cost Fallacy

I follow the non-profit Strong Towns online and a recent post by president Charles Marohn resonated with me deeply. Marohn wrote about the sunk cost fallacy as an obstacle to communities strengthening their fiscal and social (in the sense of inclusivity, strong local connections, local resources) strengths. His example was a failed mall project: how hard would it be for a community to acknowledge the project was a disaster and stop trying to "rescue" it? The sunk cost fallacy prevents one from dealing with a problem objectively because one has such an emotional investment in the initial decision that rational thinking is stalled. Instead, one continues to invest in the initial decision, making it harder to walk away from emotionally. For example: We've already sunk $10 million into this project, and even though it is not succeeding and is a drag on our local economy, we can't just walk away from it. 

Marohn would say walk away. Don't sink more money or time or effort in it but instead acknowledge it was a mistake and move on in a new direction.

I also recently read a blog in which the author applied the sunk cost fallacy to a dessert he ordered even though he was full. Common sense told him to just have one bite; he ended up taking five (and being both physically and emotionally uncomfortable afterwards). Having already incurred the cost of the dessert, he felt he had to get his money's worth, even though he really didn't want to eat the dessert.

So here's my question to myself: what if I looked at my own life—my life choices, the way I spend my days and hours—through the lens of the sunk cost fallacy? Not in terms of dollars, but in terms of life energy, life passions? What if I let go of my accumulated emotional investment in this or that project and then decide whether something is worth continuing?

What would that look like?

I spent last weekend cleaning out my closet, our towel closet, and my study. My study had served as my personal dumping ground since the wedding at the end of June: medical papers, papers related to Aunt Ginger's needs, items to keep, items to donate, "stuff" I told myself I needed to sort through. A chair was stacked with the guest room towels (actually, the towels for both guest rooms) that I had washed, dried, and folded the week after the wedding and not yet put away. There were clothes hangers (60, 70, more?) of all styles and materials, all from downsizing Aunt Ginger's closet, strewn across the bed. There were boxes ALREADY FILLED taking up floor space because I had not yet walked them to my car for dropping off at Goodwill. Get the picture? (My closet and the towel closet were considerably better, but both contained items that could go.)

It took hours. (Hell, it took days.) But finally, at about 3:00 Sunday afternoon, I texted my friend Cindy "DONE." (Cindy and I encourage one another on life issues.)

Well, almost done.

The last item in question was a dress I have owned since Sam was very young. The dress is old enough that I once looked down in court to see gum—Sam's passion as a little boy—all over the full skirt from being in the laundry with a pair of his pants. I pulled it out of my closet and stalled. I love the way the dress looks. I love the gum story. But I have not worn that dress for four or five years. I put it on the Goodwill stack, then took it off. I looked at Warren, who had just walked into the bedroom, and told him I was uncertain.

My criteria for donating was if I hadn't worn a piece of clothing in two or more years, get rid of it. But I had that emotional investment in this one. And the dress looks nice. So I stuck it back in my closet, telling myself that if I didn't wear it for another year, out it would go.

I made my decision much faster. Yesterday, I was at a meeting held in a major downtown Columbus law firm. I wanted to look appropriate and I had just talked about the dress, so I wore it. I looked...fine. But I also spent the day aware that the dress didn't fit me well anymore (I've lost a lot of weight), the attached vest rides up when I sit or stand, and, no matter what else it has going for it, the dress just isn't what I wear these days.

I certainly got my money's worth from that dress over the decades; the sunk cost fallacy for me was thinking I had to hang onto it because if I ever needed a fancier outfit, I would save money by having it. Right? Right? (And there is that gum story.) But the rational thinking was I didn't enjoy wearing the dress, especially since it doesn't fit well, and the vest riding up drove me crazy. I have other perfectly nice clothes. And Sam's clothes and mine have not been in a washer at the same time for at least a decade, with or without gum in someone's pocket.

So last night I brushed it off, folded it up, and walked it out to my car, which held numerous bags and boxes. This morning I stopped at Goodwill and unloaded everything.

The sunk cost fallacy has me thinking beyond whether to donate clothes I no longer wear. What if I tossed out all the unfounded expectations I carry around? Scrapped my buy-ins to what I "have to" or "should" do--not because I want to or believe in something, but because I feel obligated? Took a wild and crazy chance on my life? What if I let go of the weight of emotional investments to ideas and projects I have long outgrown or lost interest in or moved beyond?

It's a radical notion. And an intriguing one.

September Finances

Well, contrary to my predictions just a few weeks ago, September, while not a blowout, nonetheless sailed past the $175.00 monthly mark I have been aiming at all 2018. How much past? Enough.

We spent $170.52 on food for the month. We paid out another $32.48 for household supplies. Grand total? $203.00.

That brings our monthly average to $180.29. Not bad. And if we keep to $175.00 per month for the remainder of 2018, we'll miss the $175.00 per month mark but come in only about $4.00 over.

Not bad at all.

We have been slowly eating our way through our pantry, although not as diligently as we could if you look at the money we spent. Admittedly, that food figure includes $18.58 we spent this month for a meeting at our house tonight.

Eating out (takeout, coffee out, sit down, whatever) came in at $70.58. There were still some trip costs in September ($20.94 on our long drive home) in that sum, an out-of-town concert ($12.65), and a couple of coffee dates (($6.50).

And then there was last Friday night. Both of us were exhausted to the core. When Warren got home from work, we looked at each other, I said "How about...?," he said "Let's go" before I finished, and we drove to our very favorite pizza place in the world, Sporty's in Prospect, Ohio. The owner greeted us and we laughed and chatted (we are longtime customers), the pizza and the salad were excellent, and there were leftovers the next day for Warren and his son David as they worked on a project. At $18.95 for a much needed date night, it was worth every penny.

The next few months hold some challenges, some food-related, some not. In October, the Symphony begins it's 40th season and we will hold a reception following the debut concert. Mayo looms in early November, followed the next week by the Percussive Arts Society International Conference in Indianapolis. Both of those events require some saving and watching costs, not to mention more eating out than usual. (Fact: I plan on eating at Shapiro's Delicatessen in Indianapolis; how I did not know of its existence until this year still boggles my mind.) I am likely have some large dental expenses coming up this month, courtesy of my lengthy myeloma treatment. And then, of course, the holidays and presents. We do not go overboard, but we do buy presents. So we are watching our dollars. Between our diligence and the dental work, our October food costs may come in lower!

I'm looking forward to finishing this year in solid shape. Onward!

Today I Met My Granddaughter

This girl 

Regular readers are looking at this title and thinking, "But April, you already know Ramona. You just got back from two weeks out west spending time with her. What do you mean by 'today I met my granddaughter?' Is there another granddaughter that you have been keeping secret?"

No, there is no other granddaughter. I'm talking about Ramona.

My title is taken from a good friend's recent observations. Scott's father died when he was a teenager. He today has teenage children, one of whom recently went on her school's 8th grade trip to Washington, D.C. His daughter was one of four students chosen to lay a wreath at the Tomb of the Unknown Solider. Scott reflected on how his father would have been so proud. Then he said, "Today I think my father met his granddaughter."

Close friends know that several years ago I started a middle school age novel (MS fiction, as opposed to YA fiction) in which Ramona is 12 years old and the main character. I have referred to it in passing from time to time in this blog. This novel has languished for lots of reasons, most of them excuses.

It's. Not. Completed.

Yesterday afternoon I sat for three hours in the hall at the Renaissance Theater in Mansfield while Warren was in rehearsal. I passed the time reading Beautiful Dream by Jennifer Fulwiler, a book I just happened to pluck off the New Book shelf at the library the day before. Fulwiler writes in hilarious, poignant, and solid prose about balancing a large, young family, a strained budget, health problems, and her passion and desire to write.

The writing stuff jolted me. I carried my thoughts through the evening, through the concert, all the way home, and as I fell asleep. I woke with it in my head this morning.

As Warren and I talked in the early, quiet moments of our day, I started to verbalize my thoughts. I talked about being pushed to write again, especially to finish my MS novel. Warren knows the overall story I am writing, but has not read it. He asked me whether I would make changes to the structure given changes to the family (Ramona's cousin Lyrick being born two years ago, for example) that have happened since I first started it.

No, I said. I'm solid with how I have the family structured. Then I spoke about Ramona in my novel.

"It's our Ramona, six years from now. She's stubborn and brave and sometimes just falls apart but takes this incredible hard, huge journey and..."

Then I paused as tears flooded my eyes and my throat closed up.

"Oh my god," I said. "I've met the Ramona I'm never going to meet. And she's amazing and wonderful and..."

And I started crying.

Some of my tears were from sorrow that I will never know Ramona at 12.  But the overwhelming emotions were wonder and gratitude.

I met my granddaughter, Ramona of 2024, today, this morning.

What a joy. What a gift.

"Read GOOGY Eyes! GOOGY EYES!"

"GOOGY EYES!" 

I last caught up the book list just before vacation. We have been back over two weeks, and I am still recovering from that whole exhausting, wonderful experience. I slowed down while on vacation, but am regaining my reading pace.

So here's where I am since last time:
156. Happiness by Thich Nhat Hanh (this is one of two books I took with me on vacation; it is a small, beautiful treatise on meditation and (what else?) happiness)
157. Ten Little Dinosaurs by Pattie Schnetzler (Ramona's little cousin Lyrick adopted us as another set of grandparents and we adopted him as another grandchild while we were on vacation; this book was one that I read easily 30 times while I was there, often with Lyrick waving it and saying loudly and insistently "Read Googy Eyes, ganmaw! GOOGY EYES!" I figure any book I read that much, even a board book, gets listed; I read it enough times that if someone else read it and did not pronounce the dinosaur names [the scientific names] the way I did, Lyrick would shake his head and tell them so)

Lyrick, Ganmaw Apul and Googy Eyes 

158. LaRose by Louise Erdrich (Erdrich is a brilliant, gifted writer who does not write a false word; this novel explores an accidental shooting and the redemption of several lives in its aftermath)
159. Steal Like an Artist: 10 Things Nobody Told You About Being Creative by August Kleon (a quirky, impulse vacation buy while we stood in a FedEx storefront having sheet music printed; I may reread it in a few months and see what I think)
160. Lost Connections: Uncovering the Real Causes of Depression—and the Unexpected Solutions by Johann Hari (this is a fascinating exploration of the author's own struggles with depression and his research into what some doctors feel causes depression: loss of connections in the community, in the workplace, in the home, in the greater world; it is a good jumping off place for some thoughtful discussion but read it with caution)
161. Jell-O Girls: A Family History by Allie Rowbottom (a feminist history, a family history, a story of love and loss and trauma by an heir to the Jell-O fortune)
162. The Good Neighbor: The Life and Work of Fred Rogers by Maxwell King (back in the summer, we saw the documentary "Won't You Be My Neighbor?" about the life and work of Fred Rogers; this biography, not a film-related work, adds to the fuller picture of an absolutely amazing man)
163. The Garden Party by Grace Dane Mazur (this novel is what Anne Morrow Lindbergh's novella The Wedding Party could have been if she had been a stronger fiction writer; this takes place at the rehearsal dinner prior to the wedding of a couple from very different backgrounds)
164. My Abandonment by Peter Rock (I saw the trailer for a movie "Leave No Trace" earlier this summer and was intrigued enough by it to track down the underlying novel; this is a grim, dark work and I have to believe the film made it more palatable)
165. Clock Dance by Anne Tyler (thank you, Anne Tyler, for writing, and for setting Willa free at the very end to go to where she was loved and needed)
166. Squeezed: Why Our Families Can't Afford America by Alissa Quart (this book is about families and socio-economic challenges in today's America, as well as about broader issues of income equity, unstable job markets, living wages, and how we as a nation pay lip service to the notion that stable, healthy families are important)
167. Meg, Jo, Beth, Amy: The Story of Little Women and Why It Still Matters by Anne Boyd Rioux (this year is the 150th anniversary of the first blockbuster novel in the history of the world and Rioux explores the Alcott family, the writing of the book, its amazing publishing success, and why this is an important block in the wall of American literature, even though it is often overlooked as a "girls' book." As someone who has read Little Woman probably over 300 or more times, I get it)

My son Ben and I talked about Kindles when we were out there. He reads almost exclusively on Kindle, explaining how much he can carry around with him (true that). "I can get you one if you want, Mom," he said.

Not there yet.

Those Bad Boys

A few weeks ago, I spent a cold, rainy weekend making pots of black bean soup. Even though we are not yet to the first day of autumn, I was feeling winter pressing down gently. It was a two-day process, not because it was complicated, but because I let it set overnight to let everything meld together.

Our house smelled wonderful.

And, ever curious about the cost of eating, I calculated what went into those pots. Four pounds of dried black beans, $4.98 at Aldi. A bag of Vidalia onions for $1.49 and three cans of tomato paste for $1.17 (total, not per can) from the same. The tomato paste was my error: the recipe calls for four cans of tomato sauce, so I thinned out three cans of paste and hoped for the best. I added another onion from those I already had (maybe, maybe 40 cents), two heads of garlic (66 cents), some oil from a massive container of blended sunflower and olive oil we bought months ago, and a handful of spices from the cabinet (mostly bought bulk). And about four tablespoons of balsamic vinegar (in lieu of wine); I bought the vinegar at least two years ago for a few dollars and am still using it. All the sweet peppers needed (eight total) came from our garden, some already chopped and frozen earlier this summer.

As I posted on a No Spend site I belong to on Facebook, my work and those few dollars spent represented  a whole lot of meals once those bad boys cooled.

And cool they did. When it was all done, I froze most of it (several quarts) for the winter, we ate black beans for several meals, and one container went to our next door neighbors. Total cost? Maybe $9.50, if I am generously rounding up on the spices, vinegar, and oil.

Pennies in, warmth and friendship and winter meals out.

Small Moments

"The fields are coming down."

I don't know which one of us said it first, but we both said it. Last night Warren and I were driving a few miles north to one of our favorite ice cream stands in a small village you reach by roads that run alongside farm fields. It was early evening, the sun was starting to do magnificent things with the line of clouds along the western edge of the land, and there was a farmer starting to harvest the corn crop for the year. We could see the dust rising from the combine way off that way; trucks to haul the grain were parked tail to nose on the country road next to the farm.

Bringing in the crops is the surest sign of fall we know in these parts.

As we sat on the church steps near the ice cream stand (church steps we sat on first in 1972, eating ice cream from the very same stand), we talked quietly. We noticed that, unlike high summer when the lines are ten or more deep, we were the last two customers of the evening. The stand closes September 30 and we agreed it was probably the last time we'd be there this year.

I make no bones about it: fall is my absolute favorite season. EVER. Winter is a distant second. I love fall not for its commercial cuteness ("Pumpkin spice latte!" Not.) but for its finality: winding down the natural year, bringing the outdoors to a close. My gardens are starting to shut down—I spent part of yesterday morning and the same today trimming and cutting. I might (might) get a few more tomatoes.

We still have warm weather and are likely to have it for some weeks yet, but the sunlight slants now rather than come on strong high overhead. The heat of the day evaporates into cool evenings. Morning fogs are not unusual this time of year, highlighting every spiderweb on every bush. Last weekend was cold and rainy; I spent it inside making and freezing black bean soup for the winter ahead.

The Jewish year begins in the autumn. The High Holy Days come at the time of harvest, with Sukkot following hard after. This is a time of self-reflection and renewal, a time of reconciliation and of making peace with one's own shortcomings. For me, it resonates with the ending of the gardens and plantings: time to reflect on what we brought in, what we could have done differently, what we hope to be and do next year.

"The fields are coming down."

August Finances

Yes, yes, it IS mid-September and I  am just now getting around to writing about August finances. Well, we didn't get home until 3:30 a.m. on September 6 (driving, mind you), I was exhausted from the trip, then Rosh Hashanah popped up, then there was this small awards ceremony yesterday that I had to write a talk (two, actually) for, and then...

Excuses, excuses. So what about August?

I approached August a little differently because of our trip that stretched from August 22 into September. While out west, we bought groceries for meals and the household. While out west, we took family (sometimes lots of family) out to eat. I ended up adding the western groceries into our August expenses: whether we were buying for two or ten (two of them children), it was money spent on food to keep the household going. As for eating out, I only added those meals that were just the two of us.

So what about August?

Food purchases (at the grocery store, including and especially my all-time favorite store ever—EVER—Winco) came to $220.76. Add another $10.05 for household items, and September purchases come to $230.83. That brings our monthly average to $177.45, just over the $175.00 I am hoping to average in 2018. With September already half over, and grocery (food and household) right around $110.00, I think the month will finish up frugally.

Warren, who had never shopped at Winco, was totally sold on it. BEST. GROCERY. STORE. EVER. And the fact that it is solely employee-owned makes it even sweeter.

Eating out in August, using the vacation explanation I have above, came out to $34.67. $18.45 of that was an evening meal Warren and I grabbed one night at Burgerville, a regional burger chain out there that can be pricey. That night, when we were worn and depleted, it was worth every penny.

The trip itself was not inexpensive, but we had saved for the travel costs and I had set aside in my own account funds to spend on the trip. I came home with money left over, despite spending more loosely than I do at home. I did not categorized every single expense, but here are some of the big ones:

Tickets (plane, train, and rental car, long-term parking at O-Hare, and a hotel room for one night in Sacramento): $2471.21
Gasoline (to/from Chicago and gas for the rental car out there): $139.81
Fares, parking, and admissions (ourselves and others): $111.85
Percussion (doesn't everyone go on vacation and buy percussion equipment? We do!): $76.00
Clothing (totally not a foreseen cost—thank you, Fred Meyer, for having great sales): $79.23
Duffel bag replacement (Warren's gave up the ghost): $32.45
Books (one word: POWELL'S): $66.89
Gifts (Ramona turned 6 and Lyrick was turning 2; this includes $50.00 gift cards to Target for the parents for each one): $229.43
Ornaments (we buy Christmas ornaments when we travel: Mt. St. Helens, California Railway Museum, California State capitol building): $55.02

These figures, except for the eating out we did on the way home, include some September spending, but I have lumped the trip all together.

The finances have nothing to do with the overall wonderful trip. We spent much welcome time with family and then with close friends when in Sacramento. The train trip home was spectacular. I haven't even begun to sort pictures.

Okay, August is in the books. Hard to believe that in 15 more days, September will be too.

Things I Learned While Traveling

Warren and I just midweek (Thursday morning at 3:30 a.m. to be precise) returned from two weeks on the road: Delaware to Chicago, then all the way out to Portland/Vancouver (Washington, not B.C.), then down to Sacramento, California, back to Chicago by way of Amtrak, then home to Delaware by car. When I post my August financials, I will have a breakdown of the trip (even though some of it fell into September) and at some point sooner than later I will share a few pictures.

This post, in comparison, contains travel observations I scrawled in a notebook while riding the rails. This was not our first lengthy train expedition, but traveling is always an opportunity to broaden one's horizons. In no particular order, here's what stuck with me:

• Two small travel toothpastes are enough for two people for two weeks, no matter what your spouse says.
• When traveling as a couple, I will always pack more than I need.
• Don't leave the cheap flip-flops at home. Ever.
• When traveling by train, take every Fresh Air Break they call one, get out and walk around. Okay, every FAB except the one at 3:00 a.m.
• Amtrak meals (included with the roomette) are expansive. Don't eat everything. On the other hand, stockpile bottled water every chance an Amtrak employee offers you one. 
• The upper berth on an Amtrak roomette is adequate if you are into self-abasement.
• It is easier to sleep head to toe in the bottom berth than subject anyone to the top berth. (See previous entry.)
• The Milky Way is real. Look at it. (I know that, but it helps to be visually reminded from time to time.)
• Look out the window all the time. Even when it is dark. This is a big country. Treat yourself to it. 
• Practice patience. Practice mindfulness. You'll need it.

It's good to be back.

Books And Then A Brief Hiatus

A brief hiatus? Well, only because we head out to the Pacific Northwest midweek for two (2!) weeks and I am only bringing along two books. I don't read e-books as a rule and am not the least bit tempted to break that rule. But the reality is that my overarching goal on this trip is to be with my family and, even for an avid bibliophile like me, books are relegated to the bottom of the list.

In preparation for our being away, I froze my reserve list at our library, set to thaw the day before we get home. I just finished and dropped off a library book this morning, and the two I have at home yet are due after we come back (and one of those is going with me). So all matters book-related are squared away for the duration.

So what have I finished since last time? These treasures:
148. What We Were Promised by Lucy Tan (set in Shanghai, this novel turns on family, honor, promises, and a prodigal adult at the heart of it all)
149. A Carnival of Losses: Notes Nearing Ninety by Donald Hall (this one moved me so much I blogged about it here)
150. The Distance Home by Paula Saunder (a novel set in South Dakota  that I read on the strength of a review in The New York Times; good read)
151. Hello, Universe by Erin Entrada Kelly (this was the 2018 Newbery Award winner and we all know how I feel about the Newbery; it took me some several chapters to warm to this Juvenile novel, but it was worth the wait)
152. Let's Talk Diabetes With Owls by David Sedaris (why not Sedaris?; see also #120)
153. Piecing Me Together by Renee Watson (as much as I enjoyed the 2018 Newbery winner (#151), I really, really loved this YA novel, a Newbery Honor book for 2018; Jade, a scholarship student at a private Portland (Oregon) school who is slotted into a mentor program for young women of color, deals with racism, class, privilege, loyalty, family, and friendship)
154. Another Side of Paradise by Sally Koslow (a novel of the Sheilah Graham/F. Scott Fitzgerald romance, beautifully told from her point of view)
155. Number One Chinese Restaurant by Lillian Li (I almost put this novel down after the first 20 or so pages; I'm glad I took a break, started over, and got caught up in the story of the Han family and the many layers of loyalty and responsibility woven through the Chinese restaurants run by the family)

While out west, I believe Ramona will be reading to me. See you on the other side.

So You Have To Redo Your Grocery Budget? An Interview With A Couple Who Did Exactly That.

My little brother Mark and my sister-in-law Jackie 

A few years ago, my sister-in-law Jackie learned she was lactose intolerant. That discovery required her to rethink how she approached eating, cooking, and shopping for groceries. Then last fall, her husband (my brother) Mark lost his job. He is now self-employed, but has a significantly reduced income. That required them to again rethink how they approached eating, cooking, and shopping for groceries. We have had lots of conversations and emails about saving money eating, saving money cooking, and saving money while shopping for groceries.

A week ago I received this text from Jackie:

Mark wanted me to tell you that we bought a week's worth of groceries      including toiletries and paper products for $70...Saved $20 between specials and coupons! We are proud of ourselves - getting better...

That was such a great text that after I celebrated with them via text, I asked if they'd be willing to be interviewed for my blog. They agreed. So Sunday after we had them and my parents over for a joint birthday meal (Dad just turned 85, Mom will be 83 later this month), the three of us sat in the living room and talked about their grocery turnaround. (The folks had left and Warren went back to work in his shop.) Mark and Jackie's children are adults and do not live at home; it's a two-person household. They shop primarily at Aldi and at a market near them, Mosier's in Raymond, which has some excellent meat prices. They often answered jointly; I note who is giving an answer when it was person-specific.

So you recently texted me about your shopping trip. Tell me what prompted that text?

We were proud of it. [We know] how little you spend...we never come close. So just sharing the news—it is going in the right direction.

Did you always shop weekly or is that new with the frugal changes?

We always shopped weekly.

How much do you think you spent—ballpark it—on groceries before making these changes?

Over $100 a week easily. Probably more like $125 to $150.  Mark, later in the interview: Probably more like $800 a month.

What are some of the special dietary challenges in your household How does that impact your grocery spending?

Jackie: My stuff is much more expensive. Dairy-free cheese is $5.00 versus a dollar something, for example. And milk: I spend $3.49 for a half-gallon of almond milk. [Note: milk is going for about $1.59 a gallon locally at present.] You just pay substantially more. Dairy-free ice cream? A lot for a little amount! As a result, I find us cooking and eating simpler meals. Heavily processed foods often have dairy in the ingredients, so we don't buy those anymore.

Were there any lifestyle challenges that you had to work around? For example: "there's no time to cook." 

Jackie: The dietary changes [because of the lactose issue] eliminated a lot of challenges in that sense. Mark: We had to change the rules on fruits and veggies. The new rule on fruit is "buy one." Because Jackie would buy a fruit she liked and then buy a bag of apples for me. She doesn't eat them. But I can't eat a whole bag before they go bad. Now we're throwing away less fruit.

Where do your food dollars go? Deconstruct a typical grocery shopping.

Fruit, bread, milk, eggs, chips, coffee [I asked here: Coffee every week? No, monthly], meat. We are trying to cut down so we are only buying meat every other week. And not eating as much of it. Mark: And we bought the marked down ones! [Jackie's mother was an RN and Jackie has very definite opinions about food safety. So she winced on this reply, but gamely said "and we haven't died of anything yet!"] We only have the refrigerator freezer, so there are limits. On paper products: big pack of paper towels, napkins, and large pack of toilet paper. We shop a lot at Aldi, so that keeps the cost down.

This answer led to a tangent on toilet paper. Mark asked me where we bought ours. I said we bought the Aldi 18-pack and told him the price (substantially less than the Charmin they buy). Jackie said "but I like soft paper." I ran upstairs, got a roll of ours, and said "here, take it home and do a test run." The things you can do with family!

What if anything have you eliminated from your diet that would thought you would miss but you don't really?

Excess fruit sometimes. We have a similar rule on veggies: we limit how much we buy if we are buying fresh. 

What about leftovers?

We are not anti-leftover. Mark: I don't like eating the same thing night after night. So we eat it one or  two nights and freeze the rest. That really helps on nights when we are tired and can just heat up something that's already cooked.

What's been the biggest hurdle for you in making these changes? Example: "I really miss gourmet cheese," or, "it's too time-consuming to plan a shopping trip so tight, with coupons and looking for specials." Anything like that? 

Jackie: No, we were used to doing that—coupons—before the budget change. Mark: I miss ice cream. But that's not a budget issue. I won't buy it and keep it because Jackie can't eat it and I don't want to eat it in front of her. Jackie: And it doesn't bother me if you do. Mark: I know, but I'm not going to do it. 

I understand that. Since I got diagnosed with the diabetes, Warren often will pass on having cookies or something after dinner, saying he wants to support me. And I'm just like Jackie: I tell him it won't bother me. And Warren says, "I know. But I want you to know that I care." But what I am hearing is the bigger change to your eating and shopping was the lactose intolerance. Am I hearing that right?

Oh, definitely. The lactose issue was the biggest change. Losing the income just made us hone in even more on what we were buying and eating. We don't do a lot of processed foods at all. Mark: And we stopped buying frozen meals pretty much all together.

What's been the biggest surprise for you?

Putting fridge in the food for a lower price. And looking at it and saying "it's enough." That was a big change in our thinking.  

I know some of these changes were driven because of the income shift. Truth: if your income went back to prior levels, do you think you would continue to shop like this? Why or why not?

Mark: I would hope we would continue to shop the same way as now. The money we'd save [with more income] could go elsewhere. Jackie: We are eating simpler meals. I'm aware that we're getting older and we need to be more aware of what we eat and be more health-conscious. That plays into it, too. 

Sometimes people read blogs about cutting grocery bills and comment "I could never do that." I belong to a Facebook group, No Spending for the Year 2018, and newbies on the site will often be overwhelmed at the thought of making such substantial changes. What words of advice would you have for someone who is looking at a radical grocery makeover, either by choice or because they had a big life event that requires them to make deep budget cuts?

Mark: Look and see what you really need to have and get it. Set the other stuff aside—stuff you really don't need. Put it out of your mind. Learn to say "that's enough." And you'll be surprised: it really is enough. Jackie: Keep meals simple. I look at recipes and and not do one because it calls for expensive items and I think "I'm not going to get that much more pleasure out of that!" 

We talked several more minutes about how I buy remaindered apples, peel them, cut them up, and freeze them for future apple pies. Jackie asked whether I had to prep them in any other way, such as putting lemon juice on them. Usually not. If I am doing a lot of apple prep (several pounds at once), I will throw the slices into a bowl of water with lemon juice in it to cut down on how brown they turn, but typically not. And the truth is with apple pie, it doesn't make a difference if the apples turn a little brown in the preparation. By the time I add cinnamon, there's a lot of color change in the final product!

At the end of the interview, we talked about money issues in general (not using credit cards, pay cash or put it off, for example) and just enjoyed being together. Jackie and I walked out to the garden and we picked several tomatoes for her (Mark doesn't eat them). They left our home, after hugs all around, carrying the "test roll" of toilet paper. (Mark to Jackie: "You just used their bathroom and you know that's what they had in there!")

Sometimes it's as simple as a roll of toilet paper.