Coffee heat rising

How to Buy Your Next Car in Cash

Rolls-Royce-Blue-Phantom

The other day while a friend and I were chatting, the subject of buying cars came up. When I mentioned that I pay for my cars in cash, he expressed some awe: the very idea of not having to make car payments was so far outside his ken it might as well have come from Mars.

“Who can pay for a car in cash?” he wondered.

You can. I can. Anyone can.

You may not be able to pay for your present car in cash, but you can pay cash for the next one. Here’s the strategy:

Take the term of your present loan and multiply the number of years by two. Let’s say you have a five-year loan. Five times two is ten years. That’s how long you’re going to keep the car you’re paying on. Fortunately, most cars are now built to last that long, if you take halfway decent care of them—so, plan to change the oil and stick to the manufacturer’s maintenance schedule.

OK. So you make your monthly car loan payments faithfully, as you agreed to do when you bought the chariot. In five years, the car is paid off.

Let’s say you’ve been paying $450 a month toward the loan.

You know… If you can afford to pay $450 a month to a lender, you can afford to pay yourself $450 a month. Right?

So for the next five years, the remainder of the time you’ve scheduled to drive your now paid-for clunk, what you’re going to do is arrange an automatic transfer of $450 a month into savings.

In five years, when your car is ten years old, you’ll have $27,000 sitting in your automobile purchase savings account. Your car will have some resale or trade-in value—my ten-year-old Sienna, for example, is worth about $5,000. Let’s say yours is comparable: you now have 32 grand with which to buy a new vehicle.

When you do buy the new car, even though you’re paying in cash, figure out what monthly payments would cost if you financed the thing. Take that amount—the new theoretical payment—and put that amount aside over the length of the theoretical loan. In three years or five years, once again you’ll have all you need to buy a new car. Now you can purchase new or new-to-you cars more often. If you decide to drive a car for its entire ten- to fifteen-year lifetime, you’ll have a period in which you need not deduct anything for the future vehicle from your pay.

And you’ll never be saddled with a car loan again.

What if you’re already a couple of years into a five-year loan? What does the math look like then?

It should be about the same: you’re going to keep the car for ten years. After the loan is paid off, you’ll just keep on making those payments, only to yourself instead of to some lender.

What if you pay off the loan early? Bully for you: you can either buy another car sooner, or you can keep the car until it falls apart like the Minister’s One-Hoss Shay. The second strategy will give you a longer period either to save up more money for a fancier ride or to float without having to take the car payment money out of your income.

My first post-divorce car was bought on time. Being averse to loan payments, I paid off the loan as fast as I could. Because a substantial part of a car payment can be interest (less so these days, but when the economy was strong lenders soaked a fair amount of interest out of car buyers), paying toward principal accelerates the pay-off date. By paying a little extra toward principal each month and then taking every windfall (tax refunds, credit card rebates, yard sale proceeds, whatever comes your way) and throwing it into the principal, too, I paid off a five-year note in 18 months.

Then I started paying myself. I didn’t keep the money in my bank accounts, because it would be too easily accessible there—too tempting. Instead, I banked it in a Vanguard short-term corporate bond fund, which I was less likely to raid for indulgences or emergencies. This rather stodgy fund was safe enough, and it earned more than a bank savings account would have paid. Today, I’d put it in a money market fund instead, because a withdrawal from the money market is not a taxable event. If you know you’re going to withdraw $25,000 or $30,000 in one swell foop, it’s best to minimize taxes when that happens.

This plan really takes no more self-discipline than you have to muster to make your loan payments. It takes some time, but once you’ve got the loop going, you’ll never have to pony up a chunk of your paycheck to a car lender again.

Taxes, Government, the Tea Party, and America’s Way of Life

Tea-Party-Logo

Listening to NPR’s All Things Considered during a quick grocery run this afternoon, I heard newly triumphant Tea Partier Rand Paul trumpeting on about what he thinks of as his “moderate” views on the future of American government: basically, get rid of everything that costs anyone anything. The Americans with Disabilities Act, he tells us, was “overreaching,” and businesses should be allowed to refuse service to anyone they please, including those needing special accommodations. Asked if, by that line of thinking, the Civil Rights Act of 1964 was overreaching, he backed and filled like crazy, first trying to say that he agreed with legislation intended to eliminate “institutional” discrimination. Then, when pressed by the reporter who pointed out that the Civil Rights Act said businesses could not refuse service to anyone they please, he admitted he hadn’t ever read the darn thing.

The mixed results of the current round of voting, and the silly “We’re here to take back OUR government” motto that’s being used to fine demagogic effect (hey, it’s not your government, folks…it’s everyone’s government), presage re-election of doctrinaire kill-the-beasters. These people would like to see every tax-funded safety net taken away from every American, and if possible every tax eliminated, first starting with big corporate taxpayers, them moving to the extremely wealthy, and finally focussing on the middle class. As we know, the deadbeat working poor don’t pay taxes.

What, really, would this mean? A few days ago, Jim at Bargaineering ran a post in which he mentioned, in passing, USA Today‘s report that American tax rates are lower than they’ve been in 60 years. He also pointed out that those scary-sounding tax brackets do not even vaguely represent the typical American’s actual ratio of tax to income; after deductions and credits, he observes, “very few people pay anything close to their marginal tax rate.”

This engendered a lively round of screaming and wailing from Bargaineering’s readers. I left a half-baked yelp there, myself, which I’d like to refine a bit today.

You know, the American middle class exists not in spite of the government, but because of it. The affluent lifestyle that has been enjoyed by the majority of our citizens since World War II is an artifact of government protectionism and social programs that date back to the 1800s. The amenities we enjoy and that are envied by citizens of other countries, even in the developed world, were put in place by our taxes. As scholar Michael Lind remarked a few years ago, our middle class has “been invented and reinvented by the government.”

How, I wonder, do the Tea Partiers, the Kill-the-Beasters, and the chronic complainers think we get roads built? Bridges built? Airports constructed? Air traffic controllers trained and in place 24 hours a day?

Where do they think schools come from? Do they really believe it would be better for all of us to home-school our kids, or to rely on private entities with customer service like, oh, say Qwest‘s or Comcast‘s, to educate our children? Did none of them watch last week’s Frontline report on the quality of education delivered by for-profit “colleges” and “universities”?

Have they never used a public library? Have they never put their kids in a summer program run by their town or city’s public parks program?

Where does the water that flows out of the taps in their kitchens and bathrooms come from? Who works to make that water as safe as possible and keep it coming, clean and steady, day and night, year after year?

Is each and every one of them ready to pick up an automatic rifle and defend his home against an invading army? And who among them will be the general and who the privates in the unfunded militia that will protect our country against those who hate us?

And do they never go to professional football or baseball games, held in enormous arenas built at taxpayer expense for the benefit of private entrepreneurs? Do they not watch television, an amenity developed and delivered to us at taxpayer expense?

Did they all go to private colleges and universities, paying the vast tuition for places like Princeton, Yale, and Stanford out of pocket? Maybe they went to lesser schools, like Carleton College or Lewis and Clark—no problem sending the kids there with the savings from all those taxes not paid to support public universities and community colleges.

Maybe these folks, the Joe the Plumbers Sarah Palin pretends to speak for, can afford to put their kids in private or parochial schools. But most people can’t. What do they think will happen to America when 70 or 80 percent of the families in this country, absent public schools, cannot afford to educate their children?

One commenter at Bargaineering says about the claim that taxes are now historically low: “You forget to add into taxes things like social security, state and local fees and also real estate taxes.” Oh, the pain. I weep, I do.

Were it not for Social Security, after a lifetime of hard work and with a bouquet of graduate degrees, I would be sleeping on the street and blogging from the library. Oh, wait! No, I wouldn’t. There wouldn’t be any libraries without local taxes. I would not be blogging at all.

Nor would I be eating.

When I was laid off from my job—the micro-local consequence, we might add, of lax regulation of the financial industry and misguided theories about economy and government—I was forced into unwilling retirement because I am too old to get another job and do not know how to wait tables or stock shelves at the local WalMart (which wasn’t hiring anyway). I could not even get a job driving the tourist train at the zoo. Without Social Security, which now represents more than half my income, I would have lost my paid-off home because I could not have paid the utilities or the cost of basic maintenance. I would not have enough to to buy food or clothing.

If Social Security did not exist, my son would have to take me in and care for me through my old age, or else I would be on the street. And all those Tea Partiers would be doing the same for their parents.

Were it not for Medicare, I would not have any access to health care. Even with a better-than-average medical track record, my age, an evening in the ER with a stress attack pushing my blood pressure through the stratosphere, an incorrect diagnosis of a heart murmur, and a single hairline wrist fracture (signaling nonexistent “osteoporosis” to one insurance bureaucrat) render me ineligible for health insurance at any rational cost. If I could get an insurer to cover me, I could not afford it. For the health plan that cost $36 a month while I was working, COBRA charges $500. One early retiree I spoke with earlier this week said that he and his wife, both cancer survivors, are each paying $2,200 a month for health insurance!

That is more than my monthly gross income. It is $666 more than the 2005 average monthly income for Americans.

Medicare is pretty stiff, too: 8.33 times what I was paying on the job, where my employer footed most of the bill. The largest part of the individual’s cost of Medicare goes to private entities: Medicare Part D and Medigap are provided by the same insurance companies that rip you younger folks off; the only reason you can get full coverage in these programs—assuming you move fast and get yourself a policy the instant you become eligible—is that the federal government requires insurers to cover you without prejudice.

Taxes don’t just evaporate into the air. They buy essential services.

Those services keep our country safe, make commerce and communication possible, build and maintain the world’s best land and air transportation system, keep our food and water reasonably safe, give us a record high life expectancy (if you were born in 1900, when taxes were nil, you could expect to live just under 50 years), make it possible for us to educate our children for nothing or nearly nothing (have you priced private grade schools and high schools lately?), and relieve us from having to support our aged and infirm parents.

Among other things.

So please. Let’s get a little common sense!

Images:

Chicago Tea Party logo: shamelessly ripped from the Internet, without tax payment
Deutche Truppen am Arc de Triomphe, Deutches Bundesarchiv, Wikipedia Commons

Line-drying the Laundry

What with the dryer overheating the other day and 87 gerjillion errands and chores to do yesterday and today—no way can I stay home and watch that thing for two hours while it thumps through two loads of clothes, a load of sheets, and a load of furry dog bedding—I decided to revert to my favorite clothes dryer: a rope line strung between a couple of hooks on the rafters.

Secretly, I much prefer to line-dry the laundry. Why? Because it’s quiet! A clothes line does not nag you by buzzing raucously at you every ten minutes. Nor does it bump, thump, overheat, or use electricity. I hate buzzers. I love silence.

And, truth to tell, I rather enjoy getting things to happen off the grid. 😉

It’s hot and breezy here today. The underwear that came out of the first washer load was dry by the time the second load was done. Even the bluejeans are now about dry, so there’ll be plenty of room on the makeshift clotheslines to hang the sheets that are running through the wash right this minute.

In the duh! department, today I happened to notice the score upon score of cuphooks Satan and Proserpine drove into the rafters—evidently they were seriously into Christmas decorations. Finally, after—what? five years?—in this house, it dawned on me that those little gems were made to hang clothes on.

I use plastic coathangers, because they don’t tangle up the way wire ones do, nor do they seem to breed in the dark of a closet. At least, not as fast. Because plastic doesn’t rust, there’s no reason you can’t shake the wrinkles out of a shirt, fresh out of the washer, and hang it right up to dry. If you arrange the shoulder seam along the top of the hanger, you avoid getting those hanger bumps. And clothes hangers can dangle from the rafter’s Christmas-light cuphooks, obviating the need for clotheslines or clearing your makeshift line for sheets.

Pants can be folded neatly and either hung on one hanger if the day is hot and dry, or put up on two hangers, each pant leg over a separate hanger. They dry much faster the second way. Alternatively, you can use one of those hangers with two clips, and just clip them up by the waistband. Knit shirts can be laid out flat on the floor to dry, which is better for them than running them through a dryer.

I expected to have to run the new linens that came from J. Jill through the dryer briefly, with the heat off, to shake out the wrinkles. But no! To my amazement, the little orange shirt and the beige Capris (which I did clip up by the waistband) hung dry beautifully. They look better than they did in the store! They don’t even need to be ironed.

Towels, as we know, can line-dry up like cardboard. I personally am not fond of stiff towels. However, either of two strategies will solve that problem.

After the towels are dry, toss them in the clothes dryer for about five to eight minutes.
or
Get all the detergent out. And we do mean ALL the detergent.

It’s amazing how much detergent remains in clothes after the rinse cycle. One reason for that, as we’ve seen, is that most of us dump way too much detergent into the washer. Using about half the recommended amount will get your clothes just as clean and give you a chance of getting the stuff out. Another reason, I suspect, is that washers are really not very efficient at rinsing out soap.

Determined that my favorite bath towel would come off the line soft and fluffy, this afternoon I ran that load through the rinse cycle a second time. Great flows of suds came out, just as much as the first time around. (My dryer hose empties into a work sink, which Satan installed over the former washer drainpipe. Don’t ask!) Then I ran it through the entire wash cycle with no detergent. More great flows of suds. Only after a third go-through in plain water did the water start to run out of the washer with relatively few suds. At that point I gave up. We’ll see how it turns out when it’s dry!

If you iron your cotton outfits, line-drying clothes that were washed in hard water produces an effect roughly like a light starch job. Pressing line-dried clothes gives you a crisp, sharp finish. I love the effect!

Does line-drying your clothes save much on utility bills? Apparently not. One source suggests the cost of drying a typical load of laundry in an electric dryer is 30 to 40 cents; 15 to 20 cents in a gas dryer. Today I washed four loads, saving at most $1.60. Since I don’t wash the sheets every weekend (just don’t have that many hours in the day!), usually I’d be doing two loads a week: 80 cents worth of drying.

Hmm…  Let’s say I washed the sheets and dog bedding every two weeks. That would be 26 weeks at $1.60 and 26 weeks at 80 cents, for a total cost of $62.40 a year.

Well, saving $62.40 over the course of a year is very nice. But in the large scheme of things, pretty negligible.

The real benefits of line-drying your laundry are worth a great deal more than a few pennies here, a few pennies there: the pleasure of watching clean, fresh sheets billow in the breeze, the stress relief that comes from excusing yourself from mechanical harassment and allowing yourself to tend to the dry clothes at your convenience, the wonderful all-of-outdoors scent of clothes and bedding dried in the open air. What luxuries!

Come to think of it, though, this strategy could let me put off having to buy a new dryer for a year or so. That is something, spending-wise. I about fainted dead away when I saw the prices at Lowe’s and Home Depot yesterday. The appliance manufacturers have, as expected, edged the price of dryers up to match the extravagant cost of the new, outrageously overpriced front-loading washers. Only a couple of models were still in the $350 range (add sales tax and we’re talking $400). Most of them ranged from $500 to $1,000.

Give me a break! A dryer is a perforated drum with air blowing through it. It isn’t even worth $350! What can you possibly do to a perforated drum with air blowing through it to drive its price up to five hundred bucks?

Okay, so if we add the cost of a new dryer, now we’re talking savings: $350 + 9.3% tax + $50 delivery + $62.40 savings on the electric bill = $494.95.

Nice!


Women’s Work: A Manifesto

Simple Life in France recently wrote on a subject that seems to be worrying a number of women in my circle. It’s a concern that speaks with profound irony to women d’un certain âge. “What would my husband think,” she wonders, if she decided never to go back to work but instead to devote herself to being…ah, let’s say it: “just a housewife?” And into “what he would think,” let’s read the more invidious “what would everyone else think?”

A dear friend of mine here is wrestling with the same questions. She’s contemplating making her escape from the day job sometime in the near future. She agonizes about the prospect of searching for another job, full- or part-time, when in reality she very likely would be happy and successful taking care of her husband and their beautiful home and expansive semirural property. Though she recognizes she needs a break from the work world—possibly a permanent one—she also feels that she should be contributing to the finances of the marital community. Her husband earns a good living that will support them well; their child is out of the home and married; and so the question of whether she should be working is not a matter of necessity but of conscience.

It’s the conundrum of the post-feminist middle-class woman. We’ve gone, over the course of a single lifetime, from a social milieu in which few women were even allowed to work to one where women not only can do just about any job they please but are expected to work, whether they want to or not. By “work,” of course, we continue to mean work two jobs: the day job plus the other full-time occupation of caring for a man, his children, and their dwelling.

The subtext for both Simple’s and my friend’s conflict—and it’s an important one—is “how will I be valued?”

We live in a culture where a person’s value is measured in dollars. The more you earn, the better you must be as a human being, right? And so what does it mean when a woman earns no dollars? A woman who has focused her whole life’s energies on being “just a housewife” receives exactly zero credit toward Social Security. More humiliating, her Social Security benefits, if any, will be tied to her husband’s, and only if she has earned less than half of what he is entitled to…assuming she stays married to the guy long enough. What does that mean?

Unwittingly (perhaps), we’ve not freed women, but instead we have further institutionalized the little-womaning of the American housewife. As feminists, we’ve done it by insisting that women must fulfill some imagined “full potential,” which we have situated in the commercial workplace. As a culture, we’ve done it by raising the cost of living so high that a single paycheck will no longer support a family in a middle-class lifestyle. And we see it in the not-so-subtle message implicit in that Social Security rule.

We as women need to rethink the value of what we are and what we do, and we need to disconnect that value from the dollar. Let’s consider what’s entailed in working as “just a housewife.”

For starters, a woman who lives and works at home takes on the following base responsibilities:

She raises and educates children (let’s face it: most of a kid’s education happens in the home).

She shepherds the children through public school and works to extract the most value with the least harm from the institutional system.

She cleans and cares for a house or apartment.

She may care for a yard and garden, often including small farm animals and large pets.

She designs meals and cooks them.

She shops for food, clothing, furnishings, household goods, and all other necessities and luxuries.

She budgets and handles money.

She cleans, a job that (as you’ll know if you’ve ever hired cleaning help) is a great deal more complex than we give it credit for.

She decorates and maintains a comfortable sanctuary from the outside world.

She does minor repair work around the house and property.

She sees to the maintenance of the cars.

She does sex work.

She volunteers at schools, churches, and community nonprofits.

She cares for elderly parents, whether her own or her husband’s.

In her husband’s old age, she may spend her own elder years caring for a sick old man.

In the course of learning to do these jobs over a lifetime, she attains skills in child development, bookkeeping, money management, hygiene, chemistry, nutrition, first aid, child care, elder care, gardening, interior decor, crafts, cuisine, entertainment, the arts of sexuality. If she volunteers outside the home, she builds knowledge and skills in subjects such as early childhood education, social work, event management, newsletter editing and publishing, office operations, and who knows what else.

That’s if she’s an ordinary, garden-variety just-a-housewife.

Let’s suppose she either is a particularly energetic, college-trained woman or she happens to marry a professional or business owner and so is expected to perform as what we might, in old-fashioned terms, call a society matron. In that case, she gets up to these sorts of things:

She represents her family unit and raises its profile through civic volunteerism and leadership.

She participates in elite service groups such as Junior League. In doing so, she takes on middle-management to executive-level responsibilities in one or more civic organizations.

She serves on the board of directors of one or more civic or nonprofit organizations, such as a museum, a social service agency, or a citizens’ group.

She hires and supervises household and landscaping staff to manage the house in her absence.

She entertains clients and colleagues in the home and at venues such as clubs and professional meetings.

She entertains and socializes with her husband’s partners’ wives, and in doing so collects intelligence on behind-the-scenes matters that may prove valuable for her husband’s career or investment strategies.

She builds and markets her husband’s profile in the community.

As a society matron—or, in more contemporary language, the partner of a professional—our just-a-housewife develops and engages all of the basic skills we’ve seen above plus management of household and landscaping staff, management of volunteers, event management, catering, public relations, marketing, fund-raising, office work, social work, fiduciary management, and a wide variety of other skills and knowledge specific to individual nonprofit organizations. If she has a college degree in business or some other technical field, she may apply that training to her unpaid civic work exactly as she would do in the workplace.

In either event—whether she focuses her energy and activities on her home, husband, and children or whether she also engages in civic voluntarism—the just-a-housewife manifests a wide variety of skills that, in any other context, would command a decent salary. Make that several decent salaries.

But because she doesn’t command a salary, we think of her as “just a housewife.” And she wonders if her husband (friends, in-laws, former roommate, college classmates) will value her.

My point here is that a woman is worth more than money. What she does can’t be measured in dollars, and so her worth can’t be measured in the currency of the marketplace.

When we feminists of the 1960s and 70s agitated to allow women into the marketplace, we did so because we wanted our daughters and grand-daughters to have a choice. We wanted women to be able to choose to enter the world of work, in any capacity, and not to be limited to the home or to menial, ill-paying jobs.

Choice works both ways. To be able to choose to do something means to be able to choose not to do something.

“Women’s work” and skills have great value—really, whether they’re engaged by a woman or by a man. A man, too, should have the choice to do or not to do, to work outside the home or not to work outside the home. The work we do, the knowledge and wisdom we possess should be valued for what they are, not for what they’re paid.

Of what real value are the bankers and financiers who so fabulously enriched themselves at the expense of the entire developed world’s economy? Of what value is the highly paid tobacco executive, captain of an industry devoted to sickening and killing its customers? These men and women are highly paid in the workplace, but we see their value as human beings: negative equity, we might say.

Value yourself for what you are and what you do, not for what you’re paid. Value yourself, and others around you will value you.

And, my friends, let us take up the torch again: demand choice, not bondage—neither to the home nor to the marketplace.

As we go marching, marching, we bring the greater days;
The rising of the women means the rising of the race.

James Oppenheimer, “Bread and Roses

Bye-bye, Bag Lady Syndrome

So I’m sitting in my counting-house entering Friday’s paycheck in an Excel account, when suddenly—ever so belatedly—it registers with me:

One of these diddly little semimonthly community college paychecks is almost as much as my entire month’s nondiscretionary budget.

Yeah. I could cover all of the monthly recurring can’t-get-out-of-it bills with a single net paycheck. Not only that, but my discretionary budget—all other costs except those that are required to keep the power and water running and creditors away from the doorstep—is about the same. Which is to say that when I’m teaching three sections, my measly community college pay alone would cover all my regular costs.

Naaaahhhh….couldn’t be! Out comes the calculator: tap tap tap tap…

Sure could be: the net pay from two paychecks comes to $35 short of my total month’s budgeted expenses. That means that Social Security—almost a thousand bucks!—is mostly gravy.

How did this come about? Three months ago I figured I would be living out of a grocery cart under the Seventh Avenue underpass. How could I have so radically misestimated my cost-to-income ratio?

Well, in the first place, when I started at the community college, I had no way of knowing for sure what my net pay would be. Tax rules are a total mystery to me. Extrapolated from what I’d earned in the fall from two courses, my guess at the net for three sections was significantly less than the actual amount.

Then there’s COBRA. From what I can tell, there’s no way to know what that will cost in any given month, at least here in the State of Arizona, where the Beast has effectively been killed. Since last January, I’ve had four bills for COBRA, no two of which have been the same. COBRA is the largest single item in the expenses list, and it’s impossible to predict. When you don’t know what the bill is going to be, all you can do is budget for the highest amount you can imagine and pray for the best.

And there’s Social Security, whose rules are almost as bizarre as the IRS’s. When you “start” SS in January, you don’t get your first check until February. No, you can’t “start” it in December so you’ll have an income during your first month of unemployment; try that and they’ll count your soon-to-be defunct 2009 salary against you and take the SS money away from you for having committed the crime of earning too much. Because I was forced to take Social Security a year early, thanks to GDU’s layoff activities, in 2010 I come under the government’s earning limitation: every penny more than $14,160 is taxed at a 50% rate—to extract the amount owed, the government withholds an entire month’s SS check, the unused remainder of which you will see (if you’re lucky) the following January.

Well, 14 grand is well under the poverty level. The gross for the two—$14,000 for the part-time teaching and $15,000 for the “unearned” Social Security—also comes to a figure that IMHO qualifies as “poverty.” Because my investment advisor wanted me to forestall taking a drawdown from savings for a year in hopes that during 2010 my investments would recover from the rape of the economic crash, that left me trying to live on 44 percent of my former pay. Significantly less than that—more like 34 percent—if you counted last year’s freelance income and noonlighting income.

So I started out feeling mighty poor. And not knowing what the 2010 take-home from the various sources of cobbled-together income would amount to, it wasn’t evident in January that enough would come in to cover $1,600 worth of expenses. Nor, since in the old regime the discretionary budget was $1,500 a month, was it evident that I could actually buy groceries and live comfortably on about half that.

What to do with these new-found riches?

Before we make an appointment with the style adviser Neiman-Marcus, let’s consider that the freelance teaching income stops in May, just as utility bills climb toward the stratosphere. It doesn’t restart until the end of August. If the only revenue that arrives during the summer is net Social security, each of the three summer months will see a $475 shortfall. So, I’ll need $475 x 3, or $1,425, stashed in savings to see me through the summer.

But that’s only a month and a half of thousand-dollar surpluses. [ahem.] But what we have here is three months of thousand-dollar surpluses. Come summer of 2011, we’ll have nine months of thousand-dollar surpluses.

Gosh.

One way or another, even in 2010, the Year of Penury, I’m looking at about $1,500 that could be saved or spent. Just during the spring semester.

My inclination? Spend. Well, at least spend part of it.

Every time I think of myself sliding into my dotage on the cusp of poverty, I think of My Bartleby, the eccentric woman of my own age I stupidly hired as a secretary. It was hard for me to go in for the kill with Bartleby, because I empathized too much with her. Crazy old ladies have a lot in common. So I think “there but for the grace of God” and contemplate ways to avoid going down her path.

To wit:

I would like not to live so cheap that my hair looks scruffy and I go around in scroungey-looking second-hand clothes that are out of date, saggy, and baggy.

I would like not to get so far behind the times that there’s no hope of catch-up, simply because I refuse to update my hardware and software, refuse to plug in to pop culture, pay no attention to what’s going on around me, especially if paying attention costs more than about a buck and a half.

I would like not to let minor health issues go until they become middling- to major health issues because I’m too cheap to cough up the copay to see a doctor.

I would like not to be so afraid of spending a few bucks here and there that I bring personal growth (and life) to an end.

So. First off, the hair: last time I went to the $30 hairdresser, he gave me a tuft sticking out of the back of my head and a half-spiked “cap” on top of too-short sides and back, which can be made presentable only by dint of 20 minutes worth of primping in front of a mirror with a hair dryer. Every. single. time I walk into that guy’s salon, I tell him I hate bangs falling down in my face. Every. single. time I walk out, I walk out with bangs falling down in my face.

The $75 hair stylist knew how to cut short hair without bangs, and he knew how to make a style that could be fingered into curls and waves without benefit of hair dryers and strand-scorching curling irons. Today I’m going to a new stylist, closer in than the old guy, about the same price. By the time I’ve added the tip to her $65 charge, it’ll be right up around $75. But it may be worth it. We shall see.

Next: I have got to get some clothes! Day after tomorrow, when I’ll have a free day, it’s off to B’Gauze and Talbot’s in search of something that will fit. Don’t hold out much hope, but at least the search can begin.

Then: entertainment. Ticket purchased for a concert downtown May 1. Then, it’s off to the Botanical Garden for a membership and tickets to Jazz in the Garden, if they have any left.

Alors, it’s a start, anyway. With any luck the clothing stores will have something on sale.

Image: Gypsy woman with her dog. Public domain.