Pocket Change

I don’t usually read the morning paper, but I had the urge to today. I have no work assignments and no obligations until this afternoon. The idea of sipping a cup of tea and slowly pouring over the paper was very appealing.

I could get nostalgic about the good ol’ days when newspaper boxes (vending machines), like shady trees, were planted on every other street corner. I won’t even go into the fact that either of the city’s major dailies could be purchased for only a quarter.

The price is now $1 and the nearest box is a couple blocks away. (The machine requires exact change.)

It’s still an easy destination. A pleasant walk. The hard part is finding four quarters.

Years ago, when I had to bundle up two weeks worth of laundry and haul it off to a Laundromat to do, I used to save quarters. I looked for excuses to pay cash for things hoping to build up a stockpile of silver that would keep the coin-op dryers spinning until my jeans were not damp.

But finding four quarters was no longer a slam-dunk, and I didn’t want to drive to a gas station or drugstore, where I could use bills, just to buy a paper.

I seemed to remember I had an empty cookie tin in which I had some quarters socked away. You know the kind, some sort of European butter cookie you can buy for almost nothing on closeout. I looked on the floor of my bedroom closet then on some shelves until I found the blue round tin.

It was dusty. I can’t remember the last time I looked for quarters.

Opening it was somehow like opening a treasure chest. I didn’t know what I’d find. I ceremoniously wiped off the dust before I pried off the lid.

Wow. Ten quarters and a few nickels and pennies. Around three dollars. Three dollars I had forgotten about, wealth I didn’t think I had.

I wasn’t exactly giddy, but I felt a rush of motivation to look for more change.

I checked the lining of my coat pockets. (I figured the coats had to go to the dry cleaner soon anyway.) I took out the contents of my purse and combed the lining and zipper compartments for coins.

I remember friends who used to save pennies or nickels in glass jars. When they finally took them to a bank — No, they weren’t able to go on vacation, but I remember once a friend cashed in $52 in pennies – enough to for a couple pizzas and a bottle of vino.

When I pulled my pocket change and purse change together, I realized I had about five dollars.

Just a few days ago, I was with friends playing a board game. We talked about different times in our lives when we were poor, when we felt poor; a little bit desperate and a little bit hopeless.

My friend Val shared that she remembered looking for fallen and forgotten change in her couch cushions. We all talked about odd things we did to earn extra money or how we found money in unexpected places.

As I counted my coins, I was happy about taking a little detour from my planned activities to perform a mental inventory of what change, what money, I had that I wasn’t accounting for. I came to an interesting conclusion:

You’re never poor (or as poor as you think you are) when you’re conscious of what you have.

Finding a cache of coins is no small thing.

Little Black dress

On most Sunday mornings, I go to a meditation center. It’s nice to take time to go inside yourself among other people who are doing the same.

Although there is no formal dress code, it feels appropriate to dress modestly and comfortably. In other words, long skirts serve the purpose well. It seems that I have a few suitable Sunday outfits for summer but not for these transitional months.

Not one to make a sport or pastime out of shopping, recently, I decided to check out some places for a long skirt that I could wear on Sunday.

I went to The Village in my old neighborhood, my favorite resale shop. It was a Green Dot Weekend (with special discounts on items marked with a colored sticker), and it was very crowded. I didn’t stay long.

Then I went to a couple strip malls on steroids. Anchored by a major discount retailer but not as big and overwhelming as a suburban shopping center, I checked out the racks at Marshall’s.

Slim pickings, for sure; a mish mosh of new spring arrivals, warm-weather vacation getaway tops and winter items tagged for clearance.

A deal is a deal, right? After a few tours of different sections within the store, I realized that there were no long skirts to try on.

I began looking at spring tops and winter items that had been marked down. When shopping for clothes, I often employ the same strategy as I do when wine shopping. I look at the original retail price then at the discount price. I tend to look more seriously at buys that represent a good value.

When I started thumbing through the clearance items, I came across a cotton-knit black dress with three quarter sleeves. It had a high scoop neck. Except for a little flare at the bottom, it was pretty simple – well, it was plain.

OMG. $23.99

I gathered it, along with a few name brand tops and headed to the fitting room. I probably was juggling 6 hangers, just barely making the limit I could take into the fitting room at one time.

When I stopped looking for a particular thing, I SAW SO MANY THINGS THAT I WASN’T LOOKING FOR – things that maybe suited me in surprising ways.

I put a patterned long-sleeve tee and a highly reduced sheer Calvin Klein top in my TO KEEP pile.

Then I tried on the dress. It was so simple, and pretty much out of season. But it was a classic. With my natural curves and a scarf or jewelry, I could see pulling it from my closet for many occasions.

I don’t think I ever had a little black dress before, a go-to dress, and I was very happy about MY FIND.

I thought about the mental state I brought to the day’s shopping. It seemed that having a relaxed awareness rather than a single-minded focus was the key. I’m appreciative when I can slip into that space.

That I found a perfect little black dress (for $23.99, no less) is no small thing. (Okay, if I could find fashion forward shoes that don’t hurt my feet – that would be a miracle!)

Supersize Me

I’m not usually one to espouse the bigger is always better philosophy.

I prefer shopping at Harvestime over Costco. (I’m definitely not tempted by the idea of saving two dollars by buying 30 rolls of TP only to create a storage problem.)

I would much rather drive to a destination in sedan than an SUV no matter how many cup holders and electronic device adapters it has. I would sooner go to hear jazz in a little club than go to a stadium event where you’re lucky to see the stage (and probably have to wait in a line to pee).

I don’t know why I succumbed to the allure of a promotional mailing I got in my in email box last week, but it became high on this past weekend’s list of errands. It was for $5 off a gi-normous bag of dry dog food.

In the brand I buy, there’s a 4-pound bag and a 24-pound bag. The 24-pound bag already costs much less per ounce than the same product in a smaller package, but buying bulk is not an automatic decision for me.

I hate the thought of lugging this heavy-duty, handle-less sack that’s always changing shape up the two flights of my winding back stairs then over my kitchen threshold.

I also don’t like the idea of paying for something in advance of getting pleasure out of the purchase.

I don’t like when the Illinois Tollway wants me to prepay $40 for tolls I don’t need often. (I don’t commute to work.) Even my subscription to the symphony -– I’m very glad when I enjoy a performance, but I bristle a little bit when I have to shell out cash in June for shows I won’t see until the following April.

When shopping for myself, I worry about waste. Yes, the giant tub of yogurt costs much less per serving than the small package, but I hate pouring food down the drain or into the garbage because I can’t consume something before it becomes a science project.

I realized that I might need to look at this in an expanded way; to let go of some hard and fast rules.

I’m apprehensive about habits that encourage gluttony. If I buy more of something I use, I’m more apt to over-indulge. I’ll fill my plate at a buffet-style restaurant if only to get my money’s worth.

But I don’t want to be miserly with myself. I don’t want to get myself thinking in terms of scarcity. I don’t want to think that things need to be measured out in very deliberate portions, whatever constitutes just enough.

I know what it’s like to open my refrigerator door and see only a carton of eggs, a block of cheese, and a bottle of ketchup.

I remember when I was about to go on an extended vacation in October. I was worried about my dog’s anxiety about being abandoned (which, as a rescue pup, she’s experienced at least once). I had a conversation with a pet communicator a week before my trip.

I had her explain to India how I will be gone for 12 days, but that she shouldn’t be worried because I would come back. I wanted to let India know that I made arrangements for a friend to stay at my home. I wanted to assure her that her daily schedule shouldn’t change.

The pet communicator reported India’s response; that my friend was okay but that she would miss me. Then India asked if there would be enough food in my absence for them both.

I laughed thinking about this because it would be so like India to wonder where her next meal would come from, but I also saw it as a lesson for me – to be FLEXIBLE, not to feel bound by past decisions or rules of habit.

It was okay to SUPERSIZE my dog food purchase.

More is not always better, but not being miserly with myself is important too. I need to remember I don’t have to follow one rule.

There may be times when lugging a big bag up my stairs causes me more anxiety than the cost savings is worth. And I need to honor that feeling. But spending less money over a period of time, having ENOUGH for LONGER, has its attractions.

I need to honor my dominant feeling.

Having a whole season of kibbles in ready supply for your favorite pooch is no small thing.

 

From the Universe…with Love

thank-youl-bag1Like running through my pre-theater ritual — the one where I check all the compartments of my purse three times to make sure I have my tickets — right before I take my dog, India, out for her nightly walk, I perform a routine.

I put on her pink harness and watch her walk in a few tight circles in my living room before heading towards the door.

I check my front left pocket to make sure I have my house keys. Then I stuff my back right pocket with a plastic bag or two (usually saved from a grocery trip, or I take one of the New York Times sleeves a friend saves for me).

I make sure my cell phone is in my back left pocket. It’s equipped with the perfect flashlight, one with a narrow beam and adequate candlepower for supporting me in picking up the by-product of all the kibbles my pooch consumes.

Just the other night, I must have failed to complete my ritual. After going down the front stairs and hearing my building’s front door click locked behind me, I took a few steps along the parkway and realized my right back pocket was empty.

Oh no. I forgot poop bags!

India had already lowered herself near a familiar tree to pee and was eager to enjoy the rest of our walk and, honestly, I didn’t want to go back up to my place; to trudge back upstairs and get a bag.

But I don’t want to be an inconsiderate neighbor, either. I contemplated whether I could feel okay with myself if I was a little lax on my cleanup responsibilities in the moment and came back to the spot India decided to use as her toilet during tomorrow morning’s walk and clean up then.

Then I thought…

What if an unsuspecting person, walking through the grass en route to their front door, soiled their shoes?

I contemplated going to the back of my building where I park my car. Maybe I’d find an extra plastic bag in my trunk. I didn’t want to have to go back up the stairs. I just wanted a plastic bag.

As I turned the corner, thinking I might walk through my alley, to my parking spot and rummage through my car, my eyes focused on a dark brown object on a walkway leading up to an apartment building. I decided on a closer inspection.

It turned out to be a thin poly film shopping bag, the kind you’d see at a bookstore or card shop. It was beginning to split to the side of one handle, but, I decided, it could certainly scoop up a small load (one of the advantages of having a smallish dog) and be tied off securely before tossing it in a nearby garbage can.

I know that an argument could be made for not using bags made out of plastic, but just then, upon finding one in my path, I thought PERFECT.

As a I picked up the chocolate colored bag, I noticed a few words were printed on the front –- in pseudo-fancy script, in a cheap looking gold. It said, Thank You for Shopping With Us. The first words I saw were THANK YOU.

What were the odds — that I’d find the exact thing I was looking for only a few feet from holding this thought — and that object expressed the gratitude I felt?

My mind recalled examples of times when I experienced this phenomena; times when I found the exact change at the register while the checkout line waited behind me, or times when I made a recipe and had just enough flour or butter to make the recipe.

I marvel anytime I seem to have EXACTLY what is needed in a situation. (More often than not.)

I often want to SEE SIGNS, to imagine that my experiences reflect some greater force at work. Then sometimes, I’ll remember that the universe is always sending little gifts, little reminders of things to pay attention to.

Knowing that all events have meaning without attaching any undue significance to any single one is no small thing.