Hard times and windfalls

I realize it isn't the wise thing to do, but we have always aimed at having a good-sized income tax refund.  Yes, we're letting the government use our money, and we're not getting paid any interest on it.  Whatever.
Actually, these days there's no need for us to have a large refund.  Thank God we aren't living paycheck to paycheck like we used to.
I guess we want that big refund for old times sake.
We had no health insurance at all, for much of our married life.  Cliff worked for a small, family-owned butcher shop; there was one stretch when the boss told Cliff, "I'll supply your insurance out of my own pocket; it's cheaper that way than paying for insurance for your family."
He ended up paying for our son's month-long hospital stay when he broke his leg and had to be in traction; as far as I remember, that was it.
We were amazingly healthy, and it was a good thing.   
For three years, we had great insurance, while Cliff worked for R.B. Rice.
Our kids were both gone from home when R.B. Rice moved to Tennessee, with Cliff and me in our forties.  We went totally without insurance during the years after he lost that job.  Scary.
We've always maintained good credit; it's been a priority of ours to pay our bills.  There were years I don't even know how we did it.
During those lean years, the one thing that often bailed us out was that income tax refund.  After a winter of buying propane, after real estate and personal property taxes coming due, that check was like manna from heaven.
We'd watch the mailbox eagerly, and what a joyful day it was when that wonderful check arrived.  It usually came on a Saturday for some reason, and we'd hop in the car and go buy Cliff three or four pairs of Levis: enough to last him until tax time the next year.  We'd call our propane company and have the tank filled, and actually pay when it was delivered.  We might even take the kids to McDonald's as a treat; we didn't ever eat out, because there was never extra money to do that.
Now it's just me and Cliff, and for now, we're making ends meet pretty well.  But it's the memory of how welcome that refund used to be that keeps us going for a large refund every year.  Even if we're not, at present, going through hard times.

Remembering

As a child, I was pretty much allowed to eat anything available, at any time. Daddy often quoted some family doctor who had told them (referring to me), "We don't care what she eats, just as long as she eats." There were lots of foods I didn't care for when I was small, and I was never forced to eat those. By the time I reached adulthood, I started sampling everything I had passed up in my younger years and found out I liked all of it. Some dishes more than others, of course.

My mother was one of five children, and like most families back then, all the food on their table was home-grown. Chicken, I believe, was the main meat dish served out on the farm.

There's something I never thought about until recent years: My grandma, my mother, and some of my uncles and cousins, could be heard making the strangest statements when a platter of chicken was passed around:

"I love the neck."

"The gizzard is my favorite."

"Are all the wings gone? I love the wings!"

Yes, while I was reaching for a meaty drumstick or a nice wishbone, my Stevens relatives were fighting over the least-desirable parts of the chicken.

Those same relatives liked fat, whether it was on a pork chop or ham or a beef roast. "I love the fat," my mother would exclaim, sticking her fork in a reject piece I'd pushed to the side of my plate.

I now have a theory about these strange tastes my relatives had: Times were hard when they were growing up, and in a family with five children, one chicken might not go far. Especially considering those children worked up big appetites doing chores around the farm.

My uncles, I believe, all grew to be six feet tall, so their bodies needed a lot of fuel. I think my grandma did a bit of subtle brainwashing: with seven people at the table and only two drumsticks and two or three breast pieces, I think Grandma reached for the neck, praising it for the flavor, telling the children that was her favorite piece, for two reasons: One, because the mom always takes the smallest portion if there isn't much to go around... or she may even do without. (Ladies, can I get a witness to this?) Two, the more she praised those bony pieces (or the tough gizzard, or the fat), the more the kids grew to accept that those items were indeed prizes to be desired.

It's just a theory.

Over the years, I've developed a taste for fat (now that it's the last thing I need), and I love chicken wings, as long as there are several available; I'm not going to settle for just one, like Grandma was willing to do.

I'll still pass on the neck and the gizzard, though.

Is there something I should know?

I saw these books at Sam's Club today. Looks to me like someone is expecting times to get really hard!


I was certainly glad to see these two, since Cliff and I have crossed off everything on our bucket lists. Perhaps if we read these, we'll get some new ideas.

worst-case scenerio

So yeah, times are hard.

Haven't you talked about what you'll do if worse comes to worse?

We have.

If the company where Cliff is employed goes under, he's old enough to get social security.

Mine and his social security, added together, come to less than $2,000 per month.

There's a little bit in his 401K. Not much.

Our only major payment is the house payment, but taxes and insurance could bury us.

What would we do?

Probably sell our property and go to some old-folks, low income housing. Or maybe there would be enough cash from selling our place to buy a property in some small town. We'd keep the motorcycle. Blue might have to go. Sadie stays with us.

We have to be prepared for any occurrence. We'll survive.

I come from a long line of survivors.

Reflecting on my mother's mementos

My mom kept hundreds of letters, post cards, and mementos. However, it wasn't something she did consistently throughout her life.

I've noticed she kept things from 1930-1932, which was her dating/courting period. Obviously that was a significant time for her; she kept diaries during those years, but all that remains are a few pages. Mice, stains, and time have spoiled most of her journaling.

Then there's no correspondence stored away until 1937-1938. I've researched and read the letters from that time, and I think now I understand why she kept everything from those years. It's because there were such life-changing things going on in her life.

First of all, she lost the baby boy she had carried to full term because the umbilical cord was around his neck. You can see she wrote on this picture, "Me pregnant for Lonnie Ray".

Next, she and Daddy were trying to get his son from his first marriage into their custody. My dad's aunt had kept my brother from birth after his mother died birthing him, and had steadfastly refused to give him up. Although my dad had every right to his son, my parents were too poor to hire a lawyer.

But my brother started giving the aunt some trouble as he approached adolescence, and she realized she wasn't going to be able to handle him.

I've read letters from some aunts to my parents, telling them that this was their chance to get the boy. And finally they did. In the above picture you see my parents with my sister and brother, after their family was united.

Also in 1938, my mother's daddy got cancer, suffered horribly, and died. So in that picture where my mom is pregnant, her daddy (in the overalls) did not have long to live. He wasn't that old a man.

All the letters my mother kept from that time mentioned at least one of these events, one way or another. Yesterday I read on a post card my grandma had sent, "It's been nine months since your dad left us."

After that, there are no more cards and letters until 1944. In July of that year I was born. My mother, at age 34, had finally given birth to a live baby. She kept every card of congratulations and even all the Christmas cards from that year. There must have been great rejoicing in that house. She kept the letters the doctor wrote to her, both during her pregnancy and after my birth. In one of these, the doctor tells her to be sure and not spoil the baby. Obviously, she didn't obey orders. But all of that goes into what makes me ME.

Oh, there are a few items Mother kept in later years. But never to the extent that she did in those traumatic times, her saddest and her happiest years.

It's surely been a blessing to me, reading those letters from the past.

Thanks, Mother. I'm sharing these things the best I can.

Old pictures

Because it's family reunion time, I've been looking at old pictures my mom left behind when she passed on. Mother didn't always take the best care of old photos, but she had an abundance of them.


This is my dad's mom with all her children. Daddy, the oldest child, is on the left. Next to him stands my Aunt Gladys. I never knew this grandmother because she died giving birth to another baby that died with her, before my mom and dad met. Since Aunt Gladys was the only girl, the housekeeping fell to her in that motherless household, and she was still "chief cook and bottle-washer" when Mother and Daddy first married. These people were dirt-poor; Mother told about the time she saw Aunt Gladys remove a drowned mouse from the crock of milk sitting on the cupboard one morning, and then make gravy from the milk. When Daddy's first wife died and left him with two children, my sister's care fell to Aunt Gladys until Daddy and Mother married. So this lady had her hands full at a young age.

This is how Aunt Gladys looked last Sunday at the reunion. She's pretty much blind, and almost deaf. I believe she's 91 years old.

One of Daddy's aunts took in my brother Gerald as a newborn when his mother died giving birth to him, and refused to turn him over to my parents for several years.

Times were hard back then. My parents married in 1932 in the throes of the Great Depression, but Mother said they were so poor to begin with that they really didn't see any big difference. They supported themselves by working as hired hands for first one farmer and then another in north Missouri and southern Iowa.

I have lots of Mother's keepsakes around. Daddy's old cornhusking glove is among them. This thing was used to remove the husks (leaves) from the ear of corn, out in the field.

That sharp hook tore through the husk. You'll find an interesting article HERE explaining how difficult cornhusking was.

People sure did have it rough back then.