Coffee heat rising

When Giving Goes Awry

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Baker at Man vs. Debt hit the gong at several blog carnivals this week with his rumination on the various excuses not to give money to charities. While the article is well written and I respect the passion with which his readers respond, the enthusiasm for giving away hard-earned wages escapes me.

I rarely donate cash to any charities or churches. There’s a reason for that: charitable giving warped my father’s psychology, influencing his entire life for the not-necessarily-better, and it permanently alienated his two older brothers from each other. Effectively, it destroyed his mother and his family. Because of his experiences, he would never allow my mother to teach me religion or to drag me to church, and he would not permit her or himself to donate to anything.

At the turn of the twentieth century, my grandmother inherited a substantial sum from her father, who had accumulated a small fortune in freighting buffalo hides out of Oklahoma to market in Texas. By the time my father came on the scene, rather late in her life, she was pretty well set: she owned two houses and a commercial property in Fort Worth, and she had money in the bank.

My father was a change-of-life baby: the youngest of his two brothers was 18 years older than he. At the time he was born, his father ran off, abandoning the middle-aged wife to care for the new baby herself. Her two other sons were, by this point, out of the house and launched on their own lives. One became a ranch hand, running cattle in west Texas; the other went to work at a Fort Worth dairy. Both men had their own families, with all the concerns that entails.

Over the next decade or so, my grandmother became engaged with an alternative Christian church that since then has evolved into the mainstream. Neither brother paid much attention to what was going on, although my father realized something was awry by the time he was about ten years old. She was quietly giving money to this church: large amounts of money. The church was gratefully accepting it and offering exactly nothing in return.

The two older brothers learned about this only after it was way too late. They found out when the county seized their mother’s home for unpaid taxes. She couldn’t pay her property taxes, because she had no money. She was flat broke, having given every penny of her fortune to the church.

Did this make her a better person? No. Did it contribute to her personal happiness? Obviously not. Did it make her holy in the eyes of God? Maybe. God didn’t do much to keep a roof over her head, though. Nor did He prevent creditors and the government from taking away what little she had left. She lost both houses and the gas station, and everything she had ever had was gone. There was no help for her from any direction. She died in desperate penury, without a word from the worthies of the church that had taken all her money.

My cattleman uncle blamed his brother, my other uncle, for this state of affairs. He felt that his brother should have been keeping an eye on their mother, since he was the one who stayed in Fort Worth. The two men fought, and after that they never spoke to each other again.

My father was a little boy, but he was old enough to understand that his home was gone, his mother was reduced to poverty, and a substantial inheritance that should have supported her and all three of her sons had evaporated into the coffers of a church. He determined that he would earn back the entire amount that she had lost.

And he did. By the time he reached his goal, forty years later, the dollar amount wasn’t very much, and because he wasn’t an educated man, he didn’t understand that to match the buying power of what she lost, he would have had to save over seven times as much. But that didn’t matter: in his mind he’d regained her losses. As soon as he reached his goal, he retired, imagining he would be set for life.

To do it, he

• dropped out of school in the 11th grade;
• lied about his age to join the navy;
• worked like an animal all his life;
• spent ten grim years of his life, my mother’s life, and my life in a godforsaken outpost in the Arabian desert;
• pinched every penny that came his way;
• based his marriage and his entire life on the accumulation of savings;
• lived a miser’s life right up until the time he died.

To say he was a frugal man is to understate. Saving money became an obsession, and he focused all of our lives on it. Because he didn’t really understand money well, he made some serious mistakes, topmost among them investing all he had in insurance securities, which during the 1950s were returning at a rate of 30 percent. He didn’t realize a) that investments should be diversified, and b) no investment that was earning that much could possibly last long. When the bottom fell out of the insurance securities market, he lost almost everything—just as he stood at the verge of making his goal.

He did eventually earn the lost savings back, but this fiasco added another ten years of hard labor to his financial plan, and it pinched his personality even more than it was already pinched. Overall, he fared pretty well, considering that he had no education and only the opportunities he managed to wrest from life by main force. He kept us in the middle class, and he left about a hundred thousand dollars to his wife, my son, and me.

But his character was changed by his mother’s charity: warped and crabbed. And he was effectively left alone as a teenager, his two brothers spun off like asteroids in deep space. What remained of his family fell apart, and he spent his entire life trying to put what he thought was his birthright back together.

And that’s why I don’t give to churches.

To my mind, charity begins at home. If I give any money away, it’s to my son, who has returned the favor by growing into a decent man. By keeping myself off the public dole, I save the taxpayer a great deal of money.  And let us bear in mind that what I do to keep myself off the dole—mostly teaching—is itself a form of charity: I educate young people for a small fraction of what anyone with comparable skills doing a comparable amount of work with comparable management responsibility would earn in business. She who gives away her time, energy, and skill for the public good donates something worth a great deal more than cash.

. . . to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.

No end in sight…

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So, I had this fantasy that I’d be done with the last of my GDU work before Thanksgiving and would use my 350 hours of unused vacation time to take the rest of the year off. Nice thought, eh?

Ah, how quickly fantasy morphs to horror! Both of the two projects that were supposed to end my tenure with that place have burst out of their cocoons and revealed themselves to be GIGANTIC CLAWING SCREAMING SLAVERING MONSTERS!!!!!!!

I’m doomed. I will never be free of GDU. It will kill me before I break loose.

More later: it’s off to campus to put in another 10-hour day. Enjoyed the 3:00 a.m. to 5:00 a.m. shift no end; now can hardly wait for the next stint.

😯

Perfectionism: Is it perfect?

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J. D. Roth holds forth on the subject of perfectionism, which he suggests is “the enemy of the good.” The point he makes, which is well taken, is that you can waste enormous amounts of time and ruin your health in the pursuit of perfection.

True, to a degree. I have a friend who, having burned out in a high-stress altruistic occupation, decided to apprentice himself to become a carpenter. He was very talented, but he never got anything done because everything had to be EXACTLY perfect. My ex- and I gave him cash to build a dining-room breakfront for us…we never saw either the furniture or the money again. And Friend never did become a master carpenter. He ended up going back to riding herd on juvenile delinquents.

On the other hand, my own experience is that if you set your target too low, you never come up to your full potential. When I was a young thing in college, I discovered that if I would compromise by doing what other people wanted me to do instead of what I set myself to do, I could perform quite well at the lesser tasks that were set for me, with very little effort. The perfectionistic bent I had cultivated as a youngster was, it developed, unnecessary. I graduated Phi Beta Kappa from a backwater state university (instead of Berkeley, where I’d spent my high-school years preparing to go), with a pointless degree that suited me for nothing other than marriage to a man of the sort my parents felt I should marry. Although the grades looked great and the man was a six-figure earner and a decent husband, I never did get to do what I wanted to do with my life.

In the workplace, where mediocrity is the standard, few people will notice that you do anything perfectly (except to resent you for it). They will notice when it takes you forever to get things done, though. You’re better off to do a good job without sweating perfection. If you fail to keep your own standards up, you’ll eventually fall short of your personal goals, and you’ll find yourself performing at the same lackluster pace as the rest of the herd.

The discovery that nothing has to be perfect can lead you to waste as much time as you would in pursuit of the ideal.

Once you realize you don’t really have to do your best in order to get by—or indeed, to generate spectacular annual performance reviews at the office—you stop trying to do your best. You devote your creativity to getting the job done with the least amount of work possible, and that can backfire on you. If you haven’t done an adequate job, sooner or later you’ll either face the consequences that occur when an important issue has been missed or you’ll have to do the whole darned thing over again.

Case in point: Recently I fobbed half of a large project onto one of my young pups, figuring she could do it as well as anyone. While she knows little about the subject matter, she’s technically skilled and I expected she would do “good enough.” I did the other half, hurriedly because it’s a job I dislike that requires a full week of dreary, mind-numbing plodding. Reveling in short-timer’s syndrome, I just wanted to get the damn thing off my desk and walk out the door with the keys locked inside the office.

The result was a study in mediocrity. And—no surprise!—our client editor noticed. Now he’s demanding fix after fix after ditzy time-consuming fix. Tomorrow I’ll have to spend the entire day in the office cleaning up the mess, and if that doesn’t satisfy him, I may actually have to toss the entire thing and start over! That will happen just as 40 ten-page papers come in from my students—400 pages of drivel to read in the few days before final grades are due. I’ve already spent way more time on this job than I should have, and we’re now a week late against the deadline we set for going to the printer. By the time we’re done, we’ll be two weeks late.

A little perfectionism goes a long way…

Some days it’s not worth getting out of bed…

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{sigh}

Yesterday Costco had two new pairs of glasses ready: a new pair of progressives plus what the optician described as “intermediate” lenses.

I’d asked him to clone the pair of ancient close-ups I use to grope around the house, because my new close-up prescription is way too strong: I can’t see my feet through them, and so it’s unsafe for me to walk when I have them on. The old pair was perfect: I could see to walk around, but they sufficed to read most kinds of copy.

But no. He (being a man and so therefore certain he knew better than the little woman, eh?) insisted on making an “intermediate” pair that he thought would be better.

Apparently, the people who make glasses assume most wearers do only three things in life: watch television, drive, and sit down to eat at a restaurant. Evidently most people don’t read. For the life of me, I can not make these people understand that I need to be able to see more than one or two lines at a time, and that my livelihood depends on being able to see an entire sheet of paper! They just. don’t. get. it.

The progressives are good for those sorts of basic tasks: watching the television (yeah! like I do a lot of that!), driving, and forking food into my mouth. They’re useless for computer work, and they’re just barely adequate for short bursts of reading things like newspapers. Also, I thought it was odd that when the optician’s assistant marked these spots on the progressives where some part of the gradation was supposed to go, she kept getting the one on the right about 1/4-inch higher than the one of the left. She remeasured twice, and every time that’s what she got.

And as I suspected, the lenses on the progressives are not coordinated. When I try to read an 8½ x 11 sheet of music in the half-light of the choir loft, I can see the score OK (sort of) with my left eye, but everything’s a blur out of my right eye.

The intermediates are OK for reading a few things, but not for the variety of copy I read. Neither of them allows me to see enough of a page to parse out more than a three or four words at a time (I read a line or two or even three at a time), and  I can’t even begin to make out the photocopies of photocopies of music that probably was set in hot type. Microscopic hot type!

So this morning at rehearsal, I couldn’t sing because I couldn’t follow the music. I couldn’t see the stuff at all. I finally gave up and came home.

Guess I could have grabbed my bifocals and raced back to the Cult Headquarters—I could’ve made it just in time for the procession. But by the time I got home my mascara had run all over my face, because I cried all the way home, mostly out of frustration. I would have had to wash my face, remove the gunk around my eyes, and reapply make-up. Adding those tasks would have made me late.

Oh, damn it, how I hate that. Once I start to cry, all the loneliness and despair that haunt the corners of my life come bounding out into full daylight, and then I can’t stop crying.

Welp. Let’s get out of these uncomfortable clothes, wash the paint off the face, take the dog for a walk, stop crying, and grade some student papers.

Seven painless ways to save

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When the job ends on December 31, I’m planning to consolidate all my checking and savings accounts into just three: a checking account, an emergency savings account, and the self-escrow account to pay annual property tax and insurance bills. Right now I use one checking account as a “pool” from which incoming cash is disbursed to a half-dozen “cookie-jar” accounts dedicated to various expense and savings needs. Yesterday, thinking ahead to what the simplified system will look like, I added up all the money that has accumulated in the cookie jars and then estimated the last few pittances due next month. And I was astonished to discover how much cash has quietly accrued, painlessly, without  my trying very hard to save.

Hang onto your hats, folks: over $26,500 is sitting there in the credit union!

That’s about $16,500 more than I thought. What accounts for this startling windfall?

Well, near as I can tell, the combination of a small extra income stream plus certain frugal habits builds saving into your lifestyle in ways that you hardly notice. For example:

• Use a budget to help you live within your means.

How it works: By establishing limits to how much you spend, you rarely spend more than you earn, and you occasionally spend less. Every time you come in under budget, the money you didn’t spend tends to accumulate in your checking account.

• Automate your savings.

How it works: Ask your bank or credit union to divert part of each paycheck to savings. What’s left in your checking account is the amount you view as your net income, and you don’t even think about the savings set-aside. It’s already done by the time you start to budget.

Also, take advantage of any 401(k), 403(b), or other retirement schemes your employer offers. These allow you to save—automatically—with pre-tax dollars, and if your employer matches contributions, you get double the savings at half the hassle.

• Pay yourself first—and last.

How it works: Got money left over at the end of a pay period? Transfer it into a savings account. It doesn’t hurt to have two savings accounts: one to hold automatic savings “payments” from your paychecks for the long term, and one to hold leftovers, which can be used to reward yourself with indulgences and vacations.

• Live within your former means.

How it works: When you get a raise, leave your spending level where it was. Add the new income to the amount your bank or credit union automatically transfers from each paycheck into savings.

During the first six months of 2009, GDU’s ill-advised furlough scheme cut my income by $240 per paycheck. In that period, I learned to live on a lot less pay. In July, when the university started paying us our full salaries again, I continued to live on the “furlough” budget and put the extra income into savings.

• Drop your spending level a small amount at a time.

How it works: Reduce discretionary spending in small, tolerable steps. This allows you to get used to a smaller budget, and a smaller spending budget leaves more from your income to put into savings.

The layoff message has been scrawled across the wall for a long time. At my office, we’ve known since summer of 2008 that sooner or later the university was likely to can us, and as we’ve seen, that suspicion was confirmed in June.  This has given me time to reduce my habitual monthly expenditures from about $1,500 a month to $1,200 and then to $1,000. Or less! The past couple of months I’ve managed to keep the spending in the vicinity of $800. Because I’m still earning until the end of December, all that unspent income has gone into savings.

• Snowball and snowflake savings as you would snowball a loan.

How it works: The “snowballing” principal suggests that you can accrue funds to pay down debt by focusing on a single account and then when that’s paid, add the amount you were paying against that debt to the amount you’re paying against the next debt, speeding payoffs incrementally. “Snowflaking” entails applying every windfall and every bit of “found” money, no matter how tiny, to paying down debt. Well, you can apply that to saving, too:

When you’ve paid off a debt, the amount of the payments can go into savings, rather than being diverted to restaurants and indulgences. Same with unexpected bits and pieces of money—gifts, extracurricular jobs, overtime, bonuses: stash the money in a savings account before you can diddle it away.

Every little bit helps. It’s amazing how fast these dribs and drabs add up. When I paid off the second mortgage on my house, I had the credit union put the $169/month into savings instead of leaving it in my checking account. Same with another $200/month payment I managed to escape. Lo! That’s $369 a month, $4,428 a year of “free” money.

• Divert all income from a second income stream to savings.

How it works: A key way to protect yourself from layoffs, pay down debt, and build savings is to build a second income stream. If you don’t need that income to live on, for heaven’s sake keep it!

I have three side income streams: teaching, blogging, and freelance editing. None of them earns much, in the large scheme of things. Taken together, I probably haven’t netted ten grand in 2009. But everything I earn from these ventures has gone straight into savings. Over time, as we can see, it certainly has added up.

It has added up: so painlessly that I hadn’t even realized how much, really, was stashed in the half-dozen credit union accounts I’ve been using. I have to admit that I had no intention of keeping that much money in low-interest checking and savings accounts.

I’d figured to start unemployretirement with a base “cushion” of $10,000, which I expect will tide me over the first year when Social Security rules will allow me to earn no more than $14,160. Ten grand plus $15,000 of Social Security plus $14,160 of teaching income should just net enough to cover my expenses. So, next month, when I’m certain of how much is in there after my last paychecks, vacation pay, and whatnot, I’ll transfer about $16,000 of those surprise savings from the credit union into my investment accounts.

If, as my financial managers expect, the economy continues to grow in 2010, that should go a long way toward reviving my retirement fund!

Most coveted junk

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So, what do you want for Christmas? The New York Times “Home” section, one of my favorite catalogs for the aspiring nouveaux, has any number of inspirations for valuable junk you can give to friends and relatives, or, better yet, ask them to get for you. I love looking at this stuff. It’s so hilarious! Consider, for example, the stone platters edged in gold leaf, at $375 apiece an item you surely will treasure for the rest of your life and hand down to grateful children. Speaking of leaf, we have these fine leafy spoons, designed to scrape the hide off your palate, at $195 to $275. And who wouldn’t appreciate a framed collage of dried weevils, your loved one’s for a mere $700!

Surely we must all be guilty of coveting some useless object that costs more money than anyone has good sense.

Moi, I want a set of Christofle sterling silver flatware in the Cluny pattern. The going rate for this stuff is $990 a place setting, or $7,920 for eight place settings; but one place online will let you cobble together eight place settings for a mere $4,640 (shipping free!).

What makes this wee craving especially ridiculous is that I already have a perfectly fine set of Cluny in silverplate.

Yes. But…I want it in sterling.

Having received precious few of the pieces of the Royal Danish we registered for our wedding, after my ex-husband made full partner in the tony law firm where he worked, he and I set off to San Francisco one year in search of a set of sterling that would meet our tastes, which had evolved somewhat since the day we were joined in holy matrimony. As a young thing I had selected Royal Danish because it vaguely resembled the pattern I really wanted, which was George Jensen’s Acorn. Why did I think I had to have that? Because one of the other budding partners’ wives selected it.

She and her groom, however, could afford it. We could not, and amazingly enough we had enough sense to realize that we never would: today eight place settings will  lighten your load by $11,625. IMHO, it’s not that much better than Royal Danish: they’re both kinda ugly.

By the time XH and I went in search of sterling, I had decided that I wanted something astringently, Spartanly plain. No frou frou. None. No curlicues, no roses, no leaves, no “acorns,” no acanthi that look vaguely like “acorns” that look like acanthi. What I wanted was something that would resemble the few 19th-century coin-silver pieces handed down from my great-great grandparents through my mother.

Do you know how hard it is to find sterling flatware that is free of gew-gaws?

It’s hard, that’s what it is.

We had just about given up when we stumbled into Neiman’s—it was the last place we were going to look. If we couldn’t find what we (i.e., “I”) wanted, we would resign ourselves to living with our perfectly fine, breathtakingly expensive Danish stainless. We explained what we hoped to find to the sales lady (at Neiman’s, we don’t drool over the silver in its glass cases: we ask to be shown the silver). Forthwith she led us to the sliding wooden cases where the Christofle resided, and by golly, there was a perfect rendition of what I had in mind.

However, in those days Cluny was not produced in sterling. You could only get it in plate. At that time and in that place, the silverplate cost as much as an American set of sterling. XH was prepared to buy sterling, and I expect he would have bought it in sterling were it available. I’m sure, however, that he was privately relieved when I announced I loved the pattern so much that I had to have it, plate or no plate.

Polished and ready for Thanksgiving. Note how similar the Cluny is to the antique pieces in the lower right quadrant of this photo, some of which are dated 1864.
Polished and ready for Thanksgiving. Note how similar the Cluny is to the antique pieces in the lower right quadrant of this photo, some of which are dated 1864.

I’ve treasured this stuff since we got it. After I exited, I left the fancy Danish stainless with XH and decided that I would use the Christofle every single day, the theory being that when you save things for special occasions, you never do use them. And I have. Not only that, but I wash it in the dishwasher. It has held up well: the plate is so thick that after 18 years of daily use, it shows no sign of wearing through.

But, it being plate, it goes clunk when a couple of pieces bump together. I want my Christofle to go ping!

I ask you: is that unreasonable?

Almost ready for Thanksgiving. We actually had more people, and wine glasses were lined up on the kitchen counter for immediate use by arriving guests. I should've put the plates on, since all the food was brought to the table.
Almost ready for Thanksgiving. We actually had more people, and wine glasses were lined up on the kitchen counter for immediate use by arriving guests. I should've put the plates on, since all the food was brought to the table.