(That's a line from an O. Henry story that has always caught my fancy.)
- We are now two payment cycles into the mystery shopping adventure, and I'm happy to report that the business is legit.
- The perfect house, in my opinion, would have two and a half baths: a full bath for the master bedroom, a full bath for the use of the family and overnight guests, and a powder room for the use of those just passing through. I like our home, and I'm not complaining a bit, but it would be nice if the bathroom we have to proffer our guests didn't also have to house the children's towels, toothbrushes, and potty chairs.
- While we're building castles in the air, the perfect house would also have a demand (as opposed to tank) hot water heater, a water filter/purifier for the whole house, hardwood flooring, an industrial sink in the laundry room, a pellet stove, an immense pantry, and a dishwasher that doesn't leak.
- I'm very much annoyed at the unavailability of cloth training pants for toddlers. I've scoured the stores, including those claiming to specialise in baby products, and there are none to be found. Are people today so incredibly lazy that there simply is no market for non-disposables?? I won't pay the ridiculous price for pull-ups, and I'm convinced that wet cloth gives an extra boost of motivation which moisture-wicking paper diapers simply cannot provide.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Stuff, again
I've decided that I have too much stuff, and I'm on a rampage to clear it out. It's always such a horrible dilemma between not wanting to hoard and not wanting to fall afoul of an unexpected famine. But I've determined that I must get rid of stuff, once and for all, and simply bear the consequences of discovering, two months later, that the thing I threw out fits this thing which now I have to throw out and buy a new one of.
This is hitting me hardest in the food department. I've gotten rather attached to my stockpile of food, and my pantry has slowly been outgrowing its space until I've concluded that I'm not going to do any more shopping, except for absolutely unbeatable and irresistible bargains. Still, where would I put said bargains? The pantry shelves are stocked high and bowing under the weight, and the freezer has undergone yet another compacting re-arrangement. I even threw out the popsicles (cheap sugar water; easily replaced) to make room for the latest conquest.
The problem is that I have gotten burned from not having enough on hand. I hate the inconvenience and expense of a last-minute necessity (gas wasted running out to the store; recipe interrupted and probably ruined; item not on sale and definitely cheaper at Aldi), so it provides tremendous peace of mind to survey my well-stocked pantry shelves and note that I'm in no danger of running out.
But I need no such peace of mind in the shampoo department, when I'm not likely to use up the sixteen bottles which accumulated on my watch, or the make-up department, where the various cosmetics will probably expire long before I even finish the one stick of mascara that I actually paid money for.
Never mind if it was free. I'm not going to waste any more money paying sales tax on unnecessary stuff. As for the current situation, if I can use it, I will use it, and if I can't, I will give it away. That was, I think, my original intention anyway, only I seem to have gotten sidetracked in my mission to deliver the goods to the poor. Missionary Care Center, here I come. Meanwhile I've had very creamy hands and feet this week.
This is hitting me hardest in the food department. I've gotten rather attached to my stockpile of food, and my pantry has slowly been outgrowing its space until I've concluded that I'm not going to do any more shopping, except for absolutely unbeatable and irresistible bargains. Still, where would I put said bargains? The pantry shelves are stocked high and bowing under the weight, and the freezer has undergone yet another compacting re-arrangement. I even threw out the popsicles (cheap sugar water; easily replaced) to make room for the latest conquest.
The problem is that I have gotten burned from not having enough on hand. I hate the inconvenience and expense of a last-minute necessity (gas wasted running out to the store; recipe interrupted and probably ruined; item not on sale and definitely cheaper at Aldi), so it provides tremendous peace of mind to survey my well-stocked pantry shelves and note that I'm in no danger of running out.
But I need no such peace of mind in the shampoo department, when I'm not likely to use up the sixteen bottles which accumulated on my watch, or the make-up department, where the various cosmetics will probably expire long before I even finish the one stick of mascara that I actually paid money for.
Never mind if it was free. I'm not going to waste any more money paying sales tax on unnecessary stuff. As for the current situation, if I can use it, I will use it, and if I can't, I will give it away. That was, I think, my original intention anyway, only I seem to have gotten sidetracked in my mission to deliver the goods to the poor. Missionary Care Center, here I come. Meanwhile I've had very creamy hands and feet this week.
Economies of scale
As I was trying to put a specific label on my attitude toward our level of comfort with our current standard of living, it occurred to me that 'frugal' falls far short of encompassing our lifestyle decisions. So often we think of frugal in terms of less, smaller, simpler, but that concept only works as a means of comparison. Here's a rather haphazardly scientific and quasi-mathematical way of looking at it:
People manage to make do with very little, and they even manage to be happy about it. We as humans are incredibly adaptable, and we can quickly accustom ourselves to new habits and tastes. A study in something-or-other I read recently tracked a massive increase in what people considered a necessity vs. a luxury item now as opposed to three years ago. In other words, as such trinkets as ipods and mp3 players become increasingly common, more and more people will come to assume that yesteryear’s cutting-edge gadgets are indispensable. Even so have the VCR and microwave crept into pretty much every home, when I personally can remember a time when they were an expensive novelty.
So if it's just a matter of learning to like our circumstances, then it makes sense to choose a lifestyle way down on the cost-of-living meter, and then make it our business to enjoy it.
Sound a bit Pollyanna-ish and trite? Look at it this way. Perhaps you are comfortably happy with your life right now. Contentment is great. But isn't there anything you might possibly find it in your heart to desire, anything at all? Maybe a trip to England? There probably is. There always will be. That's just human nature. We will always want more than we have, and no matter how much we have, we will go on wanting just a bit more. So we might as well start small, because we can always go up from there.
Say your standard of living is exactly average, whatever that means. You take your microwave and your dishwasher and your Starbucks coffee for granted. You spend $800 on Christmas presents (that actually was the national average last year), and presumably rake in about the same. Whenever reality falls short of your expectations - you have to cut back expenses one month, or something - you feel deflated. Whenever you have a bonus month, you get to splurge, and you feel thrilled.
The higher up on the scale of living you are, the more it takes to thrill you, and consequently the fewer the possibilities are of finding something truly out of the ordinary. After all, eating out every day means that eating out is an everyday occurrence, so there is no thrill value there.
Living with delayed gratification and self-denial doesn't mean that I never get what I want. No, in my case, it usually means that I very much want and appreciate what I do get. I find that the potential for happiness is so much greater when my 'thrill threshold' is set low. Gotta love those cheap thrills!
People manage to make do with very little, and they even manage to be happy about it. We as humans are incredibly adaptable, and we can quickly accustom ourselves to new habits and tastes. A study in something-or-other I read recently tracked a massive increase in what people considered a necessity vs. a luxury item now as opposed to three years ago. In other words, as such trinkets as ipods and mp3 players become increasingly common, more and more people will come to assume that yesteryear’s cutting-edge gadgets are indispensable. Even so have the VCR and microwave crept into pretty much every home, when I personally can remember a time when they were an expensive novelty.
So if it's just a matter of learning to like our circumstances, then it makes sense to choose a lifestyle way down on the cost-of-living meter, and then make it our business to enjoy it.
Sound a bit Pollyanna-ish and trite? Look at it this way. Perhaps you are comfortably happy with your life right now. Contentment is great. But isn't there anything you might possibly find it in your heart to desire, anything at all? Maybe a trip to England? There probably is. There always will be. That's just human nature. We will always want more than we have, and no matter how much we have, we will go on wanting just a bit more. So we might as well start small, because we can always go up from there.
Say your standard of living is exactly average, whatever that means. You take your microwave and your dishwasher and your Starbucks coffee for granted. You spend $800 on Christmas presents (that actually was the national average last year), and presumably rake in about the same. Whenever reality falls short of your expectations - you have to cut back expenses one month, or something - you feel deflated. Whenever you have a bonus month, you get to splurge, and you feel thrilled.
The higher up on the scale of living you are, the more it takes to thrill you, and consequently the fewer the possibilities are of finding something truly out of the ordinary. After all, eating out every day means that eating out is an everyday occurrence, so there is no thrill value there.
Living with delayed gratification and self-denial doesn't mean that I never get what I want. No, in my case, it usually means that I very much want and appreciate what I do get. I find that the potential for happiness is so much greater when my 'thrill threshold' is set low. Gotta love those cheap thrills!
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Overheard last night
As I was pouring out my woes to Michael:
Me: So I'm just feeling very overwhelmed by all the looming responsibilities.
Michael: I'm sorry, Love. What can I do to encourage you?
Me: Well, you can always say encouraging things.
Michael: Oh, babe, you are so pretty!
*******************************************
Regarding a new recipe for coffee cake, which didn't turn out as sweet as hoped but which I am trying to get eaten for breakfasts as it is very nutritious:
Me: I saw that you ate some more coffee cake this morning. Thank you!
Michael: Did you eat some too? How did you serve it up?
Me: Well, I just had it plain, but I think if you warmed it up and spread butter on it, it would be very palatable.
Michael: How do you like it?
Me: It depends on your perspective. As coffee cake, it's not that great, but as a zucchini muffin, it's quite good.
Me: So I'm just feeling very overwhelmed by all the looming responsibilities.
Michael: I'm sorry, Love. What can I do to encourage you?
Me: Well, you can always say encouraging things.
Michael: Oh, babe, you are so pretty!
*******************************************
Regarding a new recipe for coffee cake, which didn't turn out as sweet as hoped but which I am trying to get eaten for breakfasts as it is very nutritious:
Me: I saw that you ate some more coffee cake this morning. Thank you!
Michael: Did you eat some too? How did you serve it up?
Me: Well, I just had it plain, but I think if you warmed it up and spread butter on it, it would be very palatable.
Michael: How do you like it?
Me: It depends on your perspective. As coffee cake, it's not that great, but as a zucchini muffin, it's quite good.
Monday, August 13, 2007
On the warpath again
One might think that Horizon milk is so expensive by virtue of its quality. After all, organic always costs more, doesn’t it? If it’s important to you to pay for organic and brand names, then you might swing for the high price tag without a second thought. Personally, I’m not into organic milk (indeed, I’m very rapidly getting away from drinking milk at all), so I would never have given the Horizon shelf a second thought had it not been for a little experience recently.
As I was cruising the dairy aisle early on a Monday morning, I spotted several gallons of Horizon milk that expired that day, and asked for the dairy manager so I could request a discount.
I always ask for a discount if I spot expiring milk, and I almost always get it. Even if it’s already been marked down (usually stores mark down about two or three days out from the expiration date), I will ask the dairy manager if he will mark it down further, since it has to be thrown out otherwise. (Once I snapped up twenty pints of heavy whipping cream for fifteen cents each. We reveled in ice cream for weeks.)
However, when I proffered my request, the dairy manager explained that he couldn’t mark down the Horizon milk at all, because the manufacturer gave him 100% credit on unsold product.
This isn’t an unusual arrangement for specialty manufacturers, although usually the credit is in the 25%-50% range. Manufacturers offer these credits to encourage stores to stock more of their product, thereby assuring the store manager that the product is backed in case sales don’t match expectations. Because of this, I usually have better success getting store brands marked down, as they’re just glad to sell it for something. If the store is going to get a 50% credit from the manufacturer for all unsold product, however, then he’s not going to sell it for any less than that.
So now I know that Horizon guarantees its product 100% to this retailer. That’s lovely for the store manager, who doesn’t have to assume any risk in stocking a surplus of milk, but it suggests that Horizon is building this money-back guarantee into the price of its milk. Why would Horizon offer such a generous buy-back percentage and why would it be so eager to get stores to stock more than the store manager would otherwise feel confident of selling? More shelf space, more product visibility, greater edge over the competition.
In other words, if I buy Horizon products, I’m buying a product with an added mark-up that subsidises a marketing ploy.
This isn’t like, say, Eddie Bauer, which offers a lifetime warranty on all their clothing. That’s my kind of money-back guarantee, because it goes directly to me, the consumer, and it simply guarantees the quality of their product. Horizon isn’t guaranteeing the quality of their milk. Any self-respecting manufacturer would give you your money back if the product turned up rotten. What Horizon is guaranteeing is the popularity of their product, according to their calculations and expectations. And I’m just not willing to subsidise that.
As I was cruising the dairy aisle early on a Monday morning, I spotted several gallons of Horizon milk that expired that day, and asked for the dairy manager so I could request a discount.
I always ask for a discount if I spot expiring milk, and I almost always get it. Even if it’s already been marked down (usually stores mark down about two or three days out from the expiration date), I will ask the dairy manager if he will mark it down further, since it has to be thrown out otherwise. (Once I snapped up twenty pints of heavy whipping cream for fifteen cents each. We reveled in ice cream for weeks.)
However, when I proffered my request, the dairy manager explained that he couldn’t mark down the Horizon milk at all, because the manufacturer gave him 100% credit on unsold product.
This isn’t an unusual arrangement for specialty manufacturers, although usually the credit is in the 25%-50% range. Manufacturers offer these credits to encourage stores to stock more of their product, thereby assuring the store manager that the product is backed in case sales don’t match expectations. Because of this, I usually have better success getting store brands marked down, as they’re just glad to sell it for something. If the store is going to get a 50% credit from the manufacturer for all unsold product, however, then he’s not going to sell it for any less than that.
So now I know that Horizon guarantees its product 100% to this retailer. That’s lovely for the store manager, who doesn’t have to assume any risk in stocking a surplus of milk, but it suggests that Horizon is building this money-back guarantee into the price of its milk. Why would Horizon offer such a generous buy-back percentage and why would it be so eager to get stores to stock more than the store manager would otherwise feel confident of selling? More shelf space, more product visibility, greater edge over the competition.
In other words, if I buy Horizon products, I’m buying a product with an added mark-up that subsidises a marketing ploy.
This isn’t like, say, Eddie Bauer, which offers a lifetime warranty on all their clothing. That’s my kind of money-back guarantee, because it goes directly to me, the consumer, and it simply guarantees the quality of their product. Horizon isn’t guaranteeing the quality of their milk. Any self-respecting manufacturer would give you your money back if the product turned up rotten. What Horizon is guaranteeing is the popularity of their product, according to their calculations and expectations. And I’m just not willing to subsidise that.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Midnight chocolate buffets and silver whale tail charms
Well, the trip was a success, all told. It's been in the works since last October, when my mom first had the idea to surprise my dad with an Alaskan cruise for his birthday. The only possible hitch was the prospective baby, as many cruises won't allow any children on board younger than six months. The cruise left Seattle on July 29th, so when Ella turned up this year on January 29th, my mom knew it was a go.
It's been a long and complicated campaign of subterfuge. My dad thought they were going to Oregon to visit relatives, which they were, at first. The day after they left, we flew out and arrived that night at my aunt's house. The whole family was there when he walked in the next morning, and my, was he surprised! Then came the next surprise when we told him that the next day, we were going on a cruise. That's the background. Now for the cruise.
Well, the food was wonderful, of course. There were lots of restaurants on board, and we took turns eating at the general buffet restaurant and the nicer, sit-down places. The staff were overwhelmingly friendly, and made us feel so pleased by admiring the lovely little girls, who were absolutely adorable. Jane and Ella had a fabulous time with family, of course. We brought the backpack and the snugli, and carted them around with us on all of our hikes.
The ship docked at three places in Alaska, not counting the day we spent cruising around in Glacier Bay and not actually making landfall: Juneau, Skagway, and Ketchikan. Skagway is now officially the farthest north I've been. On each stop we wandered away from the pre-arranged (and overpriced) tours and all the tourist traps, and found our own adventures on mountain trails.
Most of the pictures on our camera were taken by Michael, which means that they will consist mainly of scenery. That's nice, but I tend to like scenery a bit better if there's someone I recognise standing out in front. (My idea of taking vacation pictures is along the lines of, 'Oooh, what a pretty pile of rocks! Here, take a picture of me standing in front of it!' Very few pictures from our England trip have any clear shot at the countryside. Castle? There's me in front of it. Stonehenge? There we are in the foreground. White Cliffs of Dover? That's me, there in the front. English rental car? Me, leaning against the hood.) So most of the best human interest pictures will have to wait until I can get my family's copies.
The highlight on the food front came on the next-t0-last night, when there was a chocolate buffet at midnight. (Whatever.) The spread was amazing. There were chocolate miniatures of everything, not to mention the actual food, which included an incredible array of black forest cake, chocolate pecan cake, chocolate decadence, chocolate-covered strawberries, pastries, cheesecakes, mocha tortes, and the like. I felt like the Cabbie: 'If I'd'a known this was coming, I'd'a lived a better life!'
At every stop, there were various trinkets advertised aboard ship, proffered by the local shops in an effort to get the tourists ashore and in the store. We planned our routes, carefully allocated our one-per-stateroom coupons, handed out the general coupons down to the littlest brother, and raced around the town to collect our freebies. It felt like scavenger hunting, thrift shopping, and Christmas all at once. The highlights were the cultured pearl earrings and stud. The lowest score was the colour-changing-in-the-sun ring. But it was all great fun.
The return journey was eventful and long, and it's taken us pretty much all week to recover from it. In fact I'm going off to take another nap now.
It's been a long and complicated campaign of subterfuge. My dad thought they were going to Oregon to visit relatives, which they were, at first. The day after they left, we flew out and arrived that night at my aunt's house. The whole family was there when he walked in the next morning, and my, was he surprised! Then came the next surprise when we told him that the next day, we were going on a cruise. That's the background. Now for the cruise.
Well, the food was wonderful, of course. There were lots of restaurants on board, and we took turns eating at the general buffet restaurant and the nicer, sit-down places. The staff were overwhelmingly friendly, and made us feel so pleased by admiring the lovely little girls, who were absolutely adorable. Jane and Ella had a fabulous time with family, of course. We brought the backpack and the snugli, and carted them around with us on all of our hikes.
The ship docked at three places in Alaska, not counting the day we spent cruising around in Glacier Bay and not actually making landfall: Juneau, Skagway, and Ketchikan. Skagway is now officially the farthest north I've been. On each stop we wandered away from the pre-arranged (and overpriced) tours and all the tourist traps, and found our own adventures on mountain trails.
Most of the pictures on our camera were taken by Michael, which means that they will consist mainly of scenery. That's nice, but I tend to like scenery a bit better if there's someone I recognise standing out in front. (My idea of taking vacation pictures is along the lines of, 'Oooh, what a pretty pile of rocks! Here, take a picture of me standing in front of it!' Very few pictures from our England trip have any clear shot at the countryside. Castle? There's me in front of it. Stonehenge? There we are in the foreground. White Cliffs of Dover? That's me, there in the front. English rental car? Me, leaning against the hood.) So most of the best human interest pictures will have to wait until I can get my family's copies.
The highlight on the food front came on the next-t0-last night, when there was a chocolate buffet at midnight. (Whatever.) The spread was amazing. There were chocolate miniatures of everything, not to mention the actual food, which included an incredible array of black forest cake, chocolate pecan cake, chocolate decadence, chocolate-covered strawberries, pastries, cheesecakes, mocha tortes, and the like. I felt like the Cabbie: 'If I'd'a known this was coming, I'd'a lived a better life!'
At every stop, there were various trinkets advertised aboard ship, proffered by the local shops in an effort to get the tourists ashore and in the store. We planned our routes, carefully allocated our one-per-stateroom coupons, handed out the general coupons down to the littlest brother, and raced around the town to collect our freebies. It felt like scavenger hunting, thrift shopping, and Christmas all at once. The highlights were the cultured pearl earrings and stud. The lowest score was the colour-changing-in-the-sun ring. But it was all great fun.
The return journey was eventful and long, and it's taken us pretty much all week to recover from it. In fact I'm going off to take another nap now.
Monday, August 06, 2007
Back, again
We have returned from our inspection of the continent at large, and are happy to report that Alaska is very pretty, very breezy, very steep, and very, very many hours away.
If you happened to be watching the local news in Lincoln, Nebraska, yesterday, you may have noticed that a Boeing 767, en route from Seattle to Atlanta, was suddenly diverted there for an emergency landing when one of its engines gave out, which is apparently big news for the small town airport of Lincoln, whose terminal snack bar is woefully unprepared to sustain 250+ people for the 12 hours it takes for the airline to come up with a plan to rescue them. We were part of this exciting caper, and so had a good chance to lose all the vacation weight in one fell swoop by pretty much eating nothing all day Sunday. Our flight got in at last at 5 this morning, and we staggered off to bed with the sunrise, having but two goals for the day: sleep and laundry. We'll post pictures whenever we unpack the camera.
If you happened to be watching the local news in Lincoln, Nebraska, yesterday, you may have noticed that a Boeing 767, en route from Seattle to Atlanta, was suddenly diverted there for an emergency landing when one of its engines gave out, which is apparently big news for the small town airport of Lincoln, whose terminal snack bar is woefully unprepared to sustain 250+ people for the 12 hours it takes for the airline to come up with a plan to rescue them. We were part of this exciting caper, and so had a good chance to lose all the vacation weight in one fell swoop by pretty much eating nothing all day Sunday. Our flight got in at last at 5 this morning, and we staggered off to bed with the sunrise, having but two goals for the day: sleep and laundry. We'll post pictures whenever we unpack the camera.
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