My mother was a profligate spender, until the day my father died. When she became a widow and had to balance the checkbook and pay the bills herself, the term “fixed income” took on new meaning. Her transformation from spendthrift to thrifty was startling and ultimately impressive. There were times when I, who had inherited her profligate ways, would chafe at her penny-pinching. ÂÂÂ
When she came to visit and didn’t want to splurge on a fancy restaurant, I’d groan, “Oh, mother you’re no fun!” then get out my grease-spattered Julia Child to whip up a reasonable facsimile of a holiday feast myself. (Of course, the cost of preparing a gourmet meal at home is more expensive than anything you’d order at any but the fanciest restaurants.) Nevertheless, though I wouldn’t admit it to her, I enjoyed the chance to show off my culinary skills, and I secretly admired my mother’s ability to change her ways.
Taking control of her finances was a point of pride for her. Born in Russian, raised in Poland, and married to an American during World War II, she lived the last 50 years of her life in the United States, always mindful of her heavy accent (she spoke six languages) and how others perceived her because of it. Smart, independent, a survivor, she fled the Nazis when they bombed Warsaw in 1939 and made her way through unimaginable horrors to relative safety in Vienna, where she met my American father. Her survival skills (she taught herself English in a matter of weeks so that the U.S. Army would hire her as a translator in Vienna) bred in her a self-confidence that could be, at times, intimidating. She was a curious mixture of entitlement, generosity, avarice and practicality.
Either through nature or nurture, her sense of entitlement (I deserve to get everything I want), was passed on to me. Unfortunately, I didn’t inherit her practical side. As a teenager, whenever we couldn’t afford to buy THE dress I wanted to wear to my high-school prom, or that must-have sweater, or the latest Beatles album, she’d always say to me, “You’ll marry a rich husband, and then you’ll get everything you want. Well—surprise, surprise—that didn’t happen. Like other idealistic boomer flower children, I married for love not money. Like many feminists of my generation, I felt I should be able to earn my own money. . . something my mother never did, though the rewards she got from volunteering were immeasurable. I have been successful in my career; I make enough money to be comfortable, and I count myself fortunate. But there are always dresses that I wish I could buy and sometimes do—on credit when I can’t afford them. And when the bills come, and I sit signing checks and balancing my checkbook, I think about my mother and how she taught herself to be responsible about money.
When my father was alive, she would whine and wheedle and charm and strong-arm him into buying the Hummel statues, the ton of mushroom soil she needed each spring for her garden, the Rosenthal china she loved. And he usually did—how could anyone say no to her?—on credit. But when she had to make ends meet on Social Security and a military pension, she counted her pennies. What was the secret of her radical transformation?
Always fun-loving and high-spirited, she made a game of saving money. She discovered the appeal of shopping at Wal-Mart. When she lunched with "the girls" on Tuesday afternoons, she bragged about how much she saved by ordering the Senior’s Special. She always paid her credit card balances in full and on time. (Can you imagine doing that?) When she bought a new car a few years before she died, she’d saved enough so that she could pay half the price up front in order to reduce her loan and interest payments. In a few words: she simply stopped being frivolous. When I took her to lunch at a local “Turf Club,” featuring off-track horse betting on tableside screens, she couldn’t even enjoy putting $2 on a horse to win, place or show, calling it too much of a gamble. ÂÂÂ
Only once, after my father died, do I remember her splurging on something special for herself. She bought a “pre-owned” baby grand piano, whose ivories had once tinkled in the smoky nether regions of a local cocktail lounge. She said she wanted to learn to play again (she had owned a piano when she was young in Warsaw), and she did take lessons briefly. But eventually, the baby grand stood, unused, like a beautiful black sculpture, taking up a corner of the living room, adding a touch of elegance, a reminder of the luxury she had left behind one frightening day in Warsaw.
Thinking about it now, I realize that my mother’s ability to adapt, to shape her behavior to her altered circumstances, was probably the secret of her survival during the War. Her latter-day frugality and practicality are qualities I aspire to. But a lesson I treasure even more is the one she taught me when she splurged on that grand piano. In her wisdom, she knew that we all have to treat ourselves to the things we want every once in a while. Because, you know what? We deserve it. ÂÂÂ
Gail Harlow is the founding editor of the digital women’s finance magazine Making Bread (www.makingbreadmagazine.com) and the co-author of “Making Bread: The Ultimate Financial Guide for Women Who Need Dough.”
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(and thanks to mariana for the recommendation.)
http://www.gather.com/viewArticle.jsp?articleId=281474976904688
It was embarrassing as a kid, but her lessons on saving have proved invaluable to me during my adult life.
Lots of love, light, and blessings~Mama t
I can relate to what you've shared post penny pinching. My parents were born after the depression but lived as if they'd been through it. It always annoyed me as a child when I couldn't have the latest toy or do an eat out frequently.
Today I have two kids of my own and they expect everything. I've created monsters in that regard. Recently I've cut back on the plethora of spending and said enough. Meaning is lost when you have everything.
My parents taught me a valuable lesson but I was late in getting it.
Last night, I watched something about some 16 year old's parents threw her a Mardi Gras Party (they live in Manhatten, I think) and it cost a million dollars - big party, float and bands - the whole nine yards, including a BRAND new RED Jaquar which cost $69,000. The mother and the daughter were both on TV talking about how all her life (16 years) the daughter had wanted a big Mardi Gras party - hahaha...I can remember going to Mardi Gras in Nawlins with $5.00 that my uncle and aunt managed to save together and you know what - I will never forget it was the best Mardi Gras of MY LIFE...I actually had to feel sorry for all that ostentacious entitlement - at least, I know all my buddies liked me for me and not for my car or my rich kid parties...Ok, that was Mariana's CASH-talk for the day! Gail, have a wonderful day! SAlud.
Gail, WOW. (WOW = Women Of Wisdom; upside down, it's MOM)