“worldly wealth he cared not for, desiring only to make ends meet….” The History of the Worthies of England Thomas Fuller circa 1661
Let’s talk money. Bamboozled by dollars and cents. Take it seriously, Roger. Come on play the game. Have a read of the struggle, the anxiety …….this will take several posts to play out.
What Color Is Your Parachute? I started buying this bestselling annually revised job hunting book by Richard N. Bolles in the 70s. I bought a copy every year. I recently spotted a 2022 edition. What a racket! A bit of updating, a little tweaking and lots of new sales. Also, I attended a 4 day workshop presented by Bolles and went to a 2 week program with John Crystal, the brains behind Bolles’ book. Crystal had a manual entitled Where Do I Go From Here With My Life? The Parachute in microcosm. My work at this time was in the field of career development and job seeking. I conducted workshops and worked one-on-one with job seekers. So of course I was into it.
One day I introduced myself in a workshop by listing all the jobs I could remember holding over the years. I listed over two dozen and ran out of space on my easel pad. Fun. Embarrassing. Telling. I was pretty good at guiding others but had difficulty with my own vocational life. My parachute color was shit brindle brown. I never really found out what to do with my life.
Forty years have passed since those life planning days. Now no retirement plan. Scant savings. Meager social security. Only $50 a month pension from church after a brief time as a chaplain, pastor and administrator. Mild anxiety is present while I am waiting for late-life collapse and death. How will all this work out?
My children will probably have no inheritance. If any, puny. We drive a car given to us by my son. My partner and I have little savings, but by pooling our income we make ends meet. When one of us dies the other will be up the creek. Fortunately we live in a part of the country with a relatively low cost of living. I still think about working – jobs such as Walmart greeter, courier driver, grocery stocker, personal shopper or other light weight work. On this side of bladder cancer and because of other aging issues I am saying “no” to work at this time.
Along with anxiety is a sense of contentment. Ends are meeting. We are comfortable. Routines are simple. We are happy. I have some regrets about not being able to strike out on a road trip. But overall, we have a sense that all is well and gratitude prevails.
Let’s go back into my personal history. I grew up in a home of hardworking parents. Mom worked in factory jobs. She gardened for our food. She worked on-the-side businesses selling costume jewelry, sewing (she made shirts and pants for me and brother Terry), pillows that she sold as throw pillows for couches. She worked hard at any and every thing to supplement dad’s erratic income.
Dad was a very gifted man with a serious temper. He had many vocations, including working as a foreman for an asphalt paving company, being a big equipment mechanic, being a butcher and being an owner of an excavating business with backhoes and dump trucks. He wanted the business to be Golden and Sons Inc., as he wanted so badly to have his sons working with him. The excavating business was seasonal with some snow removal work in the winter. Dad’s desire to be independent made it difficult to make ends meet.
Money was always tight for our family. Happiness was centered around Friday night paychecks or a big job payment. By Monday Mom and Dad were already quarreling over money matters.
Even so, grade school years were good for me. We lived a block away from Wawaka Grade and High School with all 12 grades in the same building. The first six years I was in three classrooms on the first floor; seventh through twelfth grades were on the second floor. First graders and seniors rode the same bus to away ball games. The smallness led to a feeling of togetherness. I liked school and did well. My passion for reading started in grade school; I was awarded a book by my 5th and 6th grade teacher, Mrs. Mawhorter, for reading the most books. In particular I remember ‘Brer Rabbit” by Joel Chandler Harris, which Mrs. Mawhorter purchased at Harris’ home, The Wren’s Nest, in Georgia. Mom and Dad were too busy making ends meet to give much guidance, but my motivation and enjoyment of school carried me through.
While still in grade school I started working for pocket change hauling firewood and coal for neighbors. I also burned trash and carried Mrs. Swank’s chamber pot to the outhouse. That was a favorite! There were large tomato fields around Wawaka, with Mexican migrant laborers doing most of the picking. School kids were paid 25 cents a hopper for leftovers from the migrants. Odd jobs became a way of life for me.
Will be back next week to share about my growing awareness of income differences in our town and the Golden family.