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Sunday, 7. September 2003
Ups and Downs
Kate
19:08h
I am happy. Behind me in the house are two happy, healthy children. One has dug the plastic pail of freezies out of the deep freeze and informed me that he learned a new way to open them if you don’t have scissors. His dad showed him this summer, he said. “Just use your teeth!” The other is pouring juice, making himself a breakfast of nectarines and yogurt and cottage cheese. Barney wanted to have a “family breakfast” today. So yesterday I took a package of bacon out to thaw and said we’d make pancakes and ‘creme a sucre’ for them. Then we went to town (not about to have no Midol next time it’s needed, which is sometimes in the middle of the night) and I didn’t buy milk when we were getting groceries. No milk, no pancakes. Why have I still not bought a bag of powdered milk? Because I am cheap, and it seems expensive. I bet when you figure out how much milk a bag makes, it’s not expensive at all and I have been a silly bugger for a year or more, not buying it, waiting for it to come on sale. God. As if I don’t have $12 to spend on powdered milk that will last me at least half a year. This is an example of old patterns of thinking, where I still assume I have to watch my pennies *so minutely* about SOME THINGS. (Then I ‘throw money away’ on mocha smoothies and ice cream sandwiches and pop and chinese-food smorgs.) I buy the can of beans that is 10 cents more than the one sitting right beside it (Louise Hay’s idea, perhaps), just to reinforce the mental affirmation that I am prosperous, not a poverty-stricken pennypincher. Then I notice myself still doing these other things that demonstrate my old pattern of thought, my old belief, that I can only afford stuff when it’s cheap. I was taught at age eight that going out on Saturday after receiving the week’s 25-cent allowance, and spending the whole thing on 25 red licorice shoestrings, was a despicable irresponsibility. They told me this after I’d done it, of course. I got the pleasure of a handful of licorice that lasted a while, and shit from my parents. They were both born at the end of the depression of the ’30s. They are frugal folk. *** Remember that pottery glass I put a picture of in here a short while ago? And that I have no idea how old it is or where it came from? Last night I dreamed I saw another piece of kitchenware with the same kind of cracks netting the inside of it, and imprinted in it was the date it was made -- 1603.
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