Village idiots at our table, pallets under our bed.

Note:  The article, Near Death by Frugality: a Cautionary Tale, by Frugal Scholar inspired me to write this short account of one of my own attempts at frugality that didn’t turn out quite as I’d expected.

. . .

Village idiot–what an ugly, medieval concept. Do we really need to judge others based on our perception of their difference from us?  People deserve a chance . . . right?  Villages in the US, and France and anywhere have their Boo Radleys, after all . . .

August in Provence drove us into the streets in search of air.  Exploring our new village, I began to recognize our neighbors . . . particularly a couple in their early fifties: a man, a woman occasionally followed by a wheezing German Shepherd– at least what remained of him: his fleas, fur and bones.

Afternoons, this odd couple would flee the roasting cement of their Maison de Village to slouch on a main-street bench.  In the shade of a sycamore, the hot breeze drying their sweat and stirring the papers at their feet, they’d stare at us, the strangers.

The orb of the man’s belly protruded from his open shirt.   The woman lifted the limp blond hair off her damp neck with a splotchy red hand. Each time we’d pass, they’d grin at us with their remaining teeth.

“B’jour,” we’d whisper, although we’d come not to expect a response. In fact, we noticed that the other villagers, while basically friendly and welcoming people, gave a wide berth to the folks on the green bench.

September came without any hint of the heat letting up, and my husband went back to work, leaving me finish settling into our apartment on my own.   One problem plagued me: how to keep colonies of mold from growing on our mattress, which currently lay on the bare floor of our rooftop bedroom.  We’d long abandoned hope of  shoving our bed frame up the tiny staircase. I knew with the heat and humidity, our mattress could not survive much longer.

Late one morning, while sweating over a cup of coffee I stared down at a set of perfect wood pallets in the street below our apartment. For those traveling light (or just living light) useful items always catch the eye.  Wood pallets,  the perfect solution to our problem, nearly free and sure to pass up our narrow staircase with a little hoisting.

I decided to work up a little courage.  I was going to see if I I couldn’t secure four of the pallets to save our mattress, despite a twinge of uneasiness about who the pallets belonged to. . .

That afternoon, I presented myself at the bench under the sycamore tree.

“Excusez-moi . . . les pallettes sont à vous?” I asked, motioning to the coveted pieces of wood stacked up beside the building.

The neighbor squinted at me through his dirty glasses, the creepy grin replaced with  a scowl of suspicion.

“So what if they are my pallets?” he said, “I can leave them in the street as long as I like . . .”

“No, you see, I wanted to buy them from you. . .well, four of them anyway.” I said, cutting his rant short.

My neighbors sat up in their seats.  Then, like castaways speaking to the first human visitors in 20 years, they began talking–nonstop. Soon, they were on their feet, stepping into my personal space.

Did I maybe want all the pallets? Because I could have them!  Where did I get my accent?   How did I like the village so far?

Through bits of frantic one-sided conversation I grasped that they were both from the North originally.  The man was an old sailor.   The woman apparently found everything he said to be a grain of wisdom or a private joke. Then one of them got the brilliant idea of helping me carry the pallets to our apartment. . .

I tried to dissuade them– their apparent state of lethargic ill-health combined with such an exertion in this heat might kill them, I thought.

No, No!  They would not hear any excuses. Up we went with the four pallets.

When we finally arrived at my fourth story flat, they hunched forward pale, sweating and gasping.  What could I do but offer them a seat and a cool drink?

I perused our  fridge–water, pastis, a little beer . . .? Yes, the very beer my husband had been saving for his sweaty return from work on this Friday evening.

After twenty years living in the South of France, the two had had their share of wine and pastis.  Beer it was, then.  I watched the two down the beer telling myself I’d make it right.  Before DH returned, I’d have our new bed in place and cold beer in the fridge.  He’d be thrilled with my frugal exploits.

Have you ever realized you could not disentangle yourself from a situation?  You may have squirmed,  made a few false starts, dropped hints.  Yet try as you might, you couldn’t quite wriggle your way out. . .

At some point the conversation went from odd yet colorful to downright alarming.  When would these people leave? I sipped my water politely attempting to hide my agitation.

They cursed the town.  They cursed the townsfolk.  Twenty years of bad blood, distrust, complications with the humane society and run-ins with child protective services spewed forth.  What is it about people who think something is wrong with everyone else?

Some unreasonable amount of time later, my husband lugged his briefcase through the front door. He surveyed the strange people at our table, his empty cans of beer and the pallets piled in the corner; his brow darkened, his eyes darted in annoyance. As he eased into the creaky chair beside me, he shot me a look that said, “What the ?!?!?”

And then it looked like we were saved.  The neighbors stood, headed for the door . . .and turned to inform us they’d be back with a bottle of wine, so we could make a night of it.

“NON!”

In the silence immediately following the outburst, I tried to remember if I’d ever herd DH yell like that.  When the mild-mannered go to the dark side, it never fails to impress. Thirty seconds later the neighbors had left the building in a huff, DH was in the shower running cool water over his hot head . . . and I was speeding off to the market to buy a few conciliatory cans of cold beer.

Did I go too far, I wondered on the way  home?

It took three weeks for my husband to admit that the pallets had saved us and that there was a certain amount of humor in the story.  It took about the same amount of time it took for me to admit I’d invited the village idiots to our table.

. . .

Have you ever gone too far in the sake of being frugal?  Have you ever had a disagreement with a spouse or partner about what exactly constitutes too far?

Save money: change your definition of attractive.

I’ve had this topic on my mind for sometime and planned a post for next week, but this article by Jacob at ERE and the following discussion inspired me to push up my ‘deadline.’  Don’t worry, I’ll post about global change later.

What we find ‘attractive’ is subjective, influenced by everything from mass media to culture, constantly changing and under our control. My modest proposal: if you want to save money on ‘grooming’ and find a partner capable of the same frugality, change your perspective, and never look back.

What exactly does it take to feel attractive?

I have two solutions for those who want to feel attractive: change your appearance or change your perspective. (Hint, one of the solutions is much cheaper and more sustainable than the other.)   For me, working out to produce ‘perfect abs,’ applying lipstick, finding the perfect undergarments or buying new clothes never cuts it.  I’ve found the secret to feeling attractive: go a month without a mirror and stop worrying about it!

Have you ever had an experience where you were out in the woods camping or backpacking and didn’t actually see yourself for a long time?  Those I know who have had this experience usually find that they feel unusually attractive during this time–or at least confident in their appearance (and I’ll swear by it myself).  If you don’t believe me, try it . . .

On being attractive to others:

“But,” you might argue, “you can feel attractive and be tragically wrong!”  Beauty is, after all, in the eye of the beholder.  Being attractive may not just be for personal satisfaction or self-fulfillment–you may actually want to find a partner who also finds you attractive.  In that respect, I think the following two questions are worthy of consideration:

• How many people need to find you attractive for you to be attractive enough?
• Who do you want to find you attractive?
• How much actual effort, resources and money are required to achieve this desired level of ‘attractiveness?’

An experiment with the bare minimum:

In my twenties I traveled through Europe with blatant disregard for my appearance.   (No, I did not look like a super model dressed in fashionable yet shabby clothes–I looked . . .frumpy).  I was surprised to learn that some men are attracted to women who carry a backpack, don’t wear makeup, don’t mess with their hair, wear the same jeans for days on end, don’t watch TV . . . I’ve found that you can ‘attract’ other human beings with minimalist efforts towards personal appearance–  AND that you may actually attract ‘higher quality candidates.’ The men that tended to find me attractive in my ‘frumpiness’ tended to value athletic activities, travel, intelligent conversation and also tended to be non-conformists. As far as numbers go, I’m sure that probably only 10-20% of men my age found me attractive–at most–I was not about to win a beauty contest, but you don’t need to win a contest to find a partner, do you?

Changing what you consider attractive in others:

By the time I met DH, I was already so picky that I wondered if I would ever be in a relationship again.  What attracted me to him?

Interests in life beyond money and status: DH had switched from being an engineer to being a primary school teacher because he liked it better and wanted more time for his family and his interests.

Low-maintenance appearance: DH dresses simply, has a low-maintenance haircut.  He is athletic-looking because he is someone who regularly enjoys sports–not because he spends hours a week in a gym ‘bulking up.’  (Don’t even get me started . . .)

Self-control in spending habits: DH lived in a sparse, low-rent apartment.  His willingness to save money on comforts and appearances allowed him (and still allows him) to spend selectively on developing passions: biking, cross country skiing, guitar . . . I didn’t have to worry about DH judging me for living in a cheap-o apartment with all borrowed furniture and sleeping on the floor.  I don’t ever have to worry about DH spending us both into horrific credit card debt!

Intelligence and ideas: DH is an educated and thoughtful person who can have interesting conversations on a number of topics (in two different languages!).  I occasionally want to shoot myself if I get stuck in a conversation with someone who has no intellectual interests, so DH’s keen capacity for abstract thought helps me avoid a messy end.

Kindness and strength of character: When we first started dating, I told DH he was  one of the nicest people I knew–and he winced, preparing to be dumped.   Apparently not everyone finds this trait attractive.  But I know too many interesting, intelligent and otherwise gifted people who seem unable to use their powers for good. 

I admit that I am possibly strange in my thoughts on what is attractive, and I’m curious to know what others think. What is your definition of ‘attractive?’  Do you find people you can appreciate easily?  Do you feel that people are attracted to those who spend more time, money and energy on appearance?

Note: I wanted to talk about frugal alternatives to dating in this post as well, but I realize there is too much to say.  It will have to wait.

Full disclosure: my most expensive outfit.

Well, today I had to think a bit about my priorities.  I try to be frugal and simple when it comes to clothing, but I do have this one outfit that I suppose could be considered an *expensive* getup.  Technically, it was a gift from my in-laws who did not pay retail price.  It’s all brand-name.  The pants typically cost 200 euros, the shirt about 60, the jacket 150 and the gloves close to 40.  450 euros (not including the hat!): that’s a lot to pay for one outfit. What got into me?

My mother in law and I cross country skiing this morning. Don't hate us because we're beautiful .

At least I can say that it fits my general clothing philosophy because 1) it’s comfortable, 2) it provides shelter from the extremes 3) it covers my intimate parts 4) it goes with comfortable footwear 5) it allows me to do what I want to do.  I can’t say that the extra money spent makes me look more attractive (does my butt look big in those pants?. . .perhaps).  But, I don’t feel like a fashion victim either.

When DH’s parents closed down their sporting goods shop before they retired, they stocked up on low-cost equipment and clothing.  For what it’s worth, if peak oil, the climate change or the credit crunch ever leave us ruined, at least we’ll never run out of biking, hiking and skiing clothes.

Perhaps in a few months, when the weather gets better, I’ll show you my second most expensive outfit . . .the one I wear for biking.

Out of the closet on climate change, peak oil and the end of an economic era.

This will be the first in a series of posts on this topic that you’ll see in the next months.  I have to confess that I privately spend a lot of time thinking about (and planning for) what I believe to be a major and inevitable change in our (meaning you, me and future generations) lifestyles due to climate change, peak oil, and what I see as the probable collapse of our financial system.   But I rarely mention it on this blog, in my personal life or anywhere else–this fact really hit home to me when I read “A Sense of Urgency?” by the Greening of Gavin .  Why don’t I discuss this topic more openly?

I’m tired of people (angrily) trying to convert me to their religious–I mean scientific–belief that everything is just peachy.  I prefer to avoid the persuasion by yelling, flaming, insult, insinuation or sound-byte that this topic tends to engender–and I’ve allowed myself to be bullied into silence. Henceforth, I’ll be speaking up.  If you disagree with the non-expert conclusions I’ve drawn based on my exploration of the facts available to me, please feel free to counter and give your reasons.   Just keep in mind that I don’t change my mind unless I’m presented with some pretty compelling evidence or ideas that smack of logic, reason and science.  I love a good discussion, but I’m willing and able to strike unreasoned and abusive persuasion techniques from this blog–click, click. 

The other reason I sometimes avoid this topic:  spouting doom and gloom doesn’t help anyone–I’m far more interested in solving the problem. Much of what I discuss on this blog relates directly back to problem-solving and rethinking our way of life.  The future posts you’ll see on this topic will be more linked to discussions about what you/we are doing and what we could do to adjust to this reality.

For the upcoming discussions, you should know that this blog, and this blogger, operate on the following premises:

1. Climate change is real, provoked by our  CO2 emissions and inevitable at this point.  That is not to say I think we shouldn’t still work to shrink our carbon footprints.  But, based on my assessment of the situation, we will need to adapt–no question about it.
   
2. We’ve built a way of life on fossil fuels.  Fossil fuels are finite, therefore, so is our current way of life.  I’m not going to get into arguments about whether or not new oil reserves have been located or whether or not we should drill here or there.  I don’t know when it will happen for sure (and neither does anyone else outside of loose estimates based on partial information).  But I do know that, at some point, humanity will need to adapt to life without fossil fuels.
3. The economic arrangement of ‘buy now pay later’ is demonstrably falling on it’s behemoth rear-end on the individual, corporate and government level.  The stock-market and banking system and their associates (insurance, pensions, endowments) are too large and complex for mere humans to understand and predict, much less control.  I’m certainly no specialist in this area, but here’s an interview from 2008 on the News Hour with Nassim Nicholas Taleb that basically sums up my concerns.  There’s no knowing what’s ahead, except that it’s quite possible that it will be a radical departure from what we’re used to.

I try to always keep a positive outlook.  When the oceans stir up waves of chaos, I attempt to surf .  What else can you do?  Please know that I’m not advising we all run to the hills with our shotguns and hundreds of cans of spam and wait for Armageddon.  (If I were to run to the hills, I would be more likely to bring peanut butter by the way).  Change is change.  Change is not personal, it’s not damnation, it’s not the angry hand of some higher being.  But change demands adaptation, dare I say, evolution–that’s what I’d like to focus on in the upcoming weeks. I’m looking forward to the discussion. Feel free to recommend specific topics in the comments.

Note:  I’ll be out of town visiting DH for a couple of days, but I’ll respond to comments again Sunday or Monday.

Two euro thermometer for a heatless apartment

Small white clouds of condensations billowed out of our mouths at breakfast this morning.  We didn’t notice until we were sitting face to face.  It is officially ‘cold.’

Later this morning, DH came back from a stroll around town with a thermometer.  We’d been holding out because the cheapest one we’d seen was 15 euros.  We just weren’t that curious. But for two euros, DH decided he’d like to know how cold ‘cold’ really is.

Indoor temperature at 2PM was 14 degrees celsius–about 57 degrees fahrenheit.  I’m not sure how cold it has to be for your breath to show–we’ll have to check again tomorrow morning.

We’re still not uncomfortable.  When I get cold, I just grab a blanket and a hot water bottle and maybe sit in front of a sunny window.  I find that having a warm body is far more efficient than having a warm apartment.  There’s no reason to heat all the air (especially with our high ceilings) when I’m warmed for hours with 1 liter of warm water under my sweatshirt or at my feet.

Since I can clearly survive the cold, DH is suddenly more interested in living in some of the colder, more lost areas in the Southern Alps.  Housing and land is much cheaper there, and water for irrigation is more plentiful.  The world is an interesting place when you are no longer intolerant to cold.