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Over two decades ago the DHM and the HM married. At the time we both had reasonable jobs, but within a month or two we both lost our jobs. It was the midst of the Reagan Recession, the HM’s employer died and his wife disbanded the business, the DHM’s employer was a whole ‘nother story that shall never be fully told.
Having played like crickets instead of saved like ants, we had no money in the bank. Zero. We had lived from paycheck to paycheck, and so, overnight, we were broke. Not just broke, but destitute.
We sold our stereo and some pieces of furniture. I baked bread and Granny Tea sold it at work. The HM sold his truck and we walked everywhere we went. G-pa loaned the Headmaster a mo-ped. We babysat. We picked up coins in the street. We moved to a smaller and cheaper apartment. We didn’t have the money to pay the deposit for utilities, so we did without electricity and used the ice chest for a fridge. We had a camping lantern for evening light, and we had a gas cooktop for cooking. Fortunately, we lived in a temperate climate.
The Headmaster was able to pick up two minimum wage jobs, and we managed as best we could, although we would not tell our friends and family just how bad things were. I think they assumed we’d been less profligate than we were.
We were friendly to the apartment full of migrant farm workers next door, and I remembered a few words of polite Spanish from my school days. They would bring home a box of vegetables periodically which supplemented our food supply nicely.
There came a day when we had two eggs in the house, and no prospects of more money or food until the next day. When it was time to cook them, I dropped one on the floor and broke it. It didn’t just break- it splattered all over the floor so I couldn’t even scrape it up and cook it. I sat on the floor and sobbed. The Headmaster hugged me and joked, “Well, you know what they say! No use crying over spilled eggs! I was not comforted.
It might have been the next day, but I think it was that afternoon….
To be continued
Unfortunately, after spending a good hour collecting links to news stories, my post disappeared when Microsoft did that annoying error message thing and shut down all my windows. When I tried ‘recover post,’ I got Jenny-Any-Dots last post instead of my own.=(
Really quickly I’m just going to suggest these stories:
Arrest of Saddam’s nephew and terrorist financier in Iraq. Note the involvement of the Syrians.
Patterico on the Miers nomination- he’s on a ledge. Talk him down? Join him? Or give him a push? I’m for talking him down, not because I think he’s wrong but because I enjoy his harangues so very, very much.
More in a few minutes. I’m hitting publish now so that I don’t lose this again.
Able Danger story (rough language warning, IIRC) continues- what does the Pentagon have to hide?
Voter fraud- “The St. Louis area has seen 16 Democrat election workers convicted of voter fraud or similar charges this past year. This past week an obstruction of justice and plotting to murder a government voter fraud witness can be added to that list of Democrat convictions…”
In related news a voter I.D. requirement in Georgia was just struck down, even though the I.D. cards were free to the poor. The Anchoress is irked.
Take the 100 Acre Personality Quiz!
Happy sigh. Thanks to Firefly at bioluminescence
And speaking of Firefly, I’ve been meaning to mention that you simply must rush over there right NOW and look at the incredible photograph of a little visitor they had at their house.
Thank-you “coffeemama” for the link to SterlingNorth.com, but woe unto Equuschicks everywhere because even there direct quotes could not be found.
The Equuschick did discover, however, that for an admission of $3 + the cost of a trip to Wisconsin, she could visit Sterling North’s house. It is tempting.
Zeus was given A Bath today. The Equuschick, following her own self-advocated theories on positive reinforcement, brought treats to the bath with him and even gave him his favourite toy to keep him company in his hardship. But Zeus was unmoved. He made it very clear that it was not his desire that Bath Time Be A Happy Time, or Indeed Any Sort of Time At All. Bath Time, as such, should cease to exist. Poor dog child.
Too low they build, who build below the stars.
What ought not to be done, never think of doing.
If you would be known to do a thing, never do it.
Trifles make perfection, but perfection is no trifle.
The Burial of Sir John Moore at Corunna
by Charles Wolfe
We buried him darkly at dead of night,
But half of our heavy task was done
When the clock struck the hour for retiring,
And we heard the distant and random gun
That the foe was sullenly firing.
Here’s one little feature of my new kitchen-
a desk with built in bookcases. These colors are pretty much all wrong, except my bookcases really are going to be very light in color. My pantry will run the length of the wall from the edge of the bookshelves to the other doorway (which you cannot see here). The pantry is a closet about 18 inches deep and about 12 feet long. I feel all sparkly inside whenever I think on it. Hummy, too. In fact, every once in a while I break out into a line from the Hallelujua Chorus.
The nice cabinet man emailed us about a dozen pictures like this one, all different angles of the kitchen. So far I think we’re only making about half a dozen changes from what we talked about two days ago. But, as always, I digress.
I opened up the pictures and we were looking at them and making admiring noises when the FYB walked by. He stopped and looked for a moment and then said, “I have an idea. You could put all your cookbooks in those shelves by the desk, then they’d be in the kitchen instead of the living room.”
I casually said that yes, that was a very good idea. His father has a more perky personality than I, and he responded with whoops and hollers and very vocal ‘atta-boys,’ and ‘You’re so smart,’ and ‘ what a brilliant idea,’ sorts of comments. Then he picked up the boy, swung him around, gave him a huge hug and said, “Whose little boy are you to be so smart?!”
At that the FYB cocked a sceptical eyebrow at me and said knowingly, “You were going to do that anyway, all the time, weren’t you.?”
Whose little boy is he to be so smart?