My raspberries are ripening, for the third time this summer. The first was the black raspberries - small flavor-packed gems of sweetness. The second round was a single red raspberry bush - larger berries, misted with the haze that tells you they are ripe, but so few I wanted to cry. And now, unexpectedly, the bushes I thought were dormant, male, or just not ready are so heavy with small white and larger pink berries the limbs are weeping toward the grass. I picked about thirty yesterday - not one percent of what's to come - and they were so juicy, so sweet and warm from the sun, those thirty were enough to sate me until the bumper crop comes in.
You can't get raspberries like that except in the summer. Because everything has its season.
My dad taught me to cook out of self-defense. According to the tale, one morning I wanted to cook my parents breakfast in bed. So, as I'd seen them do countless times, I made coffee, bacon, eggs, and toast ... but unlike them, I made it all in the same pan, on high heat, and walked away. (Hey, I was four!) The choking cloud of smoke woke everyone (no detectors back in the stone age) and while Mom soothed my younger siblings, Dad bolted downstairs, opened the window, and threw the whole flaming mess out into the snow. He then found me (in front of the TV) and sat me down with a butter knife, a loaf of bread, and the toaster. My first lesson. The second quickly followed - no matter how hard I cried, I could only eat strawberry jam in the winter, not fresh fruit.
Now, of course, I can buy strawberries any time. But why would I want to? Nothing is as delicious as strawberries in May, stone fruit in July, pears and oranges in October, leeks in November ... just about anything still smelling of the bush, the tree, the earth, or the vine is better straight from its source. Everything - wine, clothing, even meat - everything has its own season, and paying a premium for something that isn't in synch with its own rhythm is not only a waste of money, but of potential. All I need to do is go (right now) and buy a dry, mealy apple to remind me of that.
Investments have their seasons, too. I was bidding on a beautiful pair of gold earrings on Goodwill's auction site. I was hoping no one would quite know what to do with the "585" mark (14K gold, in British). They did. I lost because I wasn't willing to pay what gold is worth today - gold is at a premium right now, so it's out of season. It will be "in" when the economy bounces back, and at its peak when we are. That's when I will start finding better deals on gold jewelry - and when I will add a Precious Metals mutual fund to my IRA portfolio.
Stocks seem to be in season now, especially stable financial institutions that were dragged down by the idiotic practices of some of their brothers. (No, not every lending institution or decided to create sub-prime mortgages for those who weren't "flipping," lose their shirts lending to normal people caught in the crossfire, and have the government bail them out with a mortgage pool - or is that "plan" it?) Anyway, I might buy some shares in a company I have truck with. And I might not. Too many changes afoot.
I think I will add a REIT to my portfolio, though. I can't - no, I won't invest in anything that I cannot pay cash for, and with property values so low ... well, it's a thought. Property, right now, is apparently in season. Sad, but true.
I like food better; I don't feel sorry for the raspberries. But money and cooking are not all that different. And I'm on a quest for smart, ethical money. While I know I can walk into any kitchen on the planet and put together something pretty special, I'm still a novice about investments. There are so many out there, so many different flavors and textures and recipes to play with. I can imagine how a raspberry tastes with balsamic vinegar (reduce it to focus the sugar, don't just sprinkle) but I cannot picture how to blend and meld the perfect retirement. Not yet. I will cost average, for sure - spend a fixed amount every month for everything I own - but I will also do my best to spend windfalls on things that seem to be ripe. I probably won't get it perfect - some of my berries yesterday were a bit tart, some a bit tipsy - but I know for a fact that things tend to find their own balance, and that a little pinch of this and a tad of that can fix just about anything that doesn't.
I've had forty-five years of practice in the kitchen. I'll figure this out, too - and without setting the house afire.
The world, maybe, but not the house.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
Selling
"Don't."
"Not yet."
"Hold onto it."
That's what everyone is saying, about almost everything these days. Based on the prices I've seen on Wall Street, on eBay and Goodwill's auction site, and on even the most hard-core collector's arenas, I would agree.
Almost.
It depends on what I'm selling.
If it's stocks, especially bank stocks or anything else that's fallen below my poverty level, then probably I don't have much more to lose so what the heck, right? I'll hold it. If it's precious metals, then I might be able to find someone who's willing to pay a bit of filthy lucre, but I did some calculations (seriously - I have a number thing) and figured out few items are selling anywhere near even their scrap weight price (although gold items are still selling well above where they were a decade ago). If it's milk glass or comic books or a house in my area - not even on a dare. Maybe it's time to buy - maybe - but I'm sure it's not the time to sell.
Unless it's exquisite. Or was free. Or both.
Not that anything is selling for what it did two years ago, at the height of the economic frenzy. But there is money flowing out there. People are buying at something other than rock-bottom prices. Jewelry can sell for amazing prices - if it's beautifully crafted, fabulously detailed, and made of some kind of precious metal. And bonds, unless they've defaulted, are still halfway decent. Land without a house on it sells for a good price, even around here. And some stocks (Johnson and Johnson comes to mind) have fallen but a tiny bit - in a market that slid like a California hillside during a rainstorm. And anything I've picked up off the ground, or I bought for pennies to begin with - these are the things I'll put on eBay in a heartbeat, especially when I need the money, because even if they don't sell for what they could later, they'll sell for more than I paid for it now.
We're not very logical about selling, most of the time. I learned, with the yard sale, that I hold onto things too long - some of my items wouldn't even have sold for what I paid if I'd done this two or three years ago, but ten years ago ... yeah. We kick ourselves, then, because we should have timed the market better. We should have been smarter. We should have known, somehow, that a downturn would occur, that our collectibles would not hold their value, that we could have made more, shouldn't have lost that much ... blah, blah, blah.
Bullocks. None of us has a crystal ball. I was reading some articles from just a couple of months ago, advice from the stock market "experts," and in some cases I just laughed my butt off. They might know more than we do about the present and the past, but they don't know about the future. "Hindsight is always twenty-twenty," my mother used to say. And foresight is fuzzy. For all of us.
So what do or will I do about this? First, I try to buy smarter to begin with (more on that over the next couple of weeks) so that I don't ever have to sell at a loss if I can avoid it, and I will do even more of that. Second, I will pick and choose what I sell carefully - and do the research to see where I'll get the best prices! Third, before I sell I will figure out if I can earn more first, especially if what I have to sell is severely undervalued or I'll get a penalty. Fourth, if I still must sell, for whatever reason, I will not blow the proceeds on more jewelry or other luxury or "investment" tems.
But for now, as long as my job and the Big Lug's hold out, I'm going to just give more away, because - hey! - I'm not using that chair, that crock pot, or that game anymore.
Are you?
"Not yet."
"Hold onto it."
That's what everyone is saying, about almost everything these days. Based on the prices I've seen on Wall Street, on eBay and Goodwill's auction site, and on even the most hard-core collector's arenas, I would agree.
Almost.
It depends on what I'm selling.
If it's stocks, especially bank stocks or anything else that's fallen below my poverty level, then probably I don't have much more to lose so what the heck, right? I'll hold it. If it's precious metals, then I might be able to find someone who's willing to pay a bit of filthy lucre, but I did some calculations (seriously - I have a number thing) and figured out few items are selling anywhere near even their scrap weight price (although gold items are still selling well above where they were a decade ago). If it's milk glass or comic books or a house in my area - not even on a dare. Maybe it's time to buy - maybe - but I'm sure it's not the time to sell.
Unless it's exquisite. Or was free. Or both.
Not that anything is selling for what it did two years ago, at the height of the economic frenzy. But there is money flowing out there. People are buying at something other than rock-bottom prices. Jewelry can sell for amazing prices - if it's beautifully crafted, fabulously detailed, and made of some kind of precious metal. And bonds, unless they've defaulted, are still halfway decent. Land without a house on it sells for a good price, even around here. And some stocks (Johnson and Johnson comes to mind) have fallen but a tiny bit - in a market that slid like a California hillside during a rainstorm. And anything I've picked up off the ground, or I bought for pennies to begin with - these are the things I'll put on eBay in a heartbeat, especially when I need the money, because even if they don't sell for what they could later, they'll sell for more than I paid for it now.
We're not very logical about selling, most of the time. I learned, with the yard sale, that I hold onto things too long - some of my items wouldn't even have sold for what I paid if I'd done this two or three years ago, but ten years ago ... yeah. We kick ourselves, then, because we should have timed the market better. We should have been smarter. We should have known, somehow, that a downturn would occur, that our collectibles would not hold their value, that we could have made more, shouldn't have lost that much ... blah, blah, blah.
Bullocks. None of us has a crystal ball. I was reading some articles from just a couple of months ago, advice from the stock market "experts," and in some cases I just laughed my butt off. They might know more than we do about the present and the past, but they don't know about the future. "Hindsight is always twenty-twenty," my mother used to say. And foresight is fuzzy. For all of us.
So what do or will I do about this? First, I try to buy smarter to begin with (more on that over the next couple of weeks) so that I don't ever have to sell at a loss if I can avoid it, and I will do even more of that. Second, I will pick and choose what I sell carefully - and do the research to see where I'll get the best prices! Third, before I sell I will figure out if I can earn more first, especially if what I have to sell is severely undervalued or I'll get a penalty. Fourth, if I still must sell, for whatever reason, I will not blow the proceeds on more jewelry or other luxury or "investment" tems.
But for now, as long as my job and the Big Lug's hold out, I'm going to just give more away, because - hey! - I'm not using that chair, that crock pot, or that game anymore.
Are you?
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Obsession
Exercise is important. It strengthens our muscles, builds bone mass, helps our hearts, and even makes our bodies produce shots of feel-good chemicals. Not exercising is bad. Too much is worse, at least according to many experts. Finding a balance between couch potato and shin splints is the key.
The same holds true with money. For me, however, it's not about finding balance between the spending and saving - it's fighting for the middle ground between apathy and obsession. I get excited about things, and I'm easily distracted. These are not two things that should go together in anything that's not a poodle.
I have - obviously - become obsessed with jewelry (yes, both because I wear it and because it can be a good, long-term thing here). It started as a profit-based enterprise, aimed at selling on eBay. It became a fascination, which wasn't a problem as long as I confined my searches to yard sales and limited my budget to my allowance. It's gotten a bit out of control - and not just because it's so sparkly and looks darned good on me. The minute my work hours went nuclear, my focus began to wobble - not from the "acquisition of" said items, but from the "limiting to" said dollar amounts. In the last two weeks, I've spent three or four times the money I usually spend during a weekend for my hunts. Thrift shops and consignment stores are not yard sales, let's put it that way - not all are that one, amazing Goodwill. Yes, I found some great pieces, one that's even amazing, but overall I paid much more than I should have simply because I bought in the heat of obsession.
Poodle, not Bunny.
And not Diva, either, that's what's killing me. She wasn't the one who paid far too much for the ugly multi-metal pendant just because the stone looked intriguing (it is, I believe, dyed jasper, as common as sand - why I thought a better stone would be in such a cheap setting is beyond me). Diva also wasn't the one who decided to spend $12 on a necklace that looked like amber - believe me, even framed in a sterling mount, a plastic bead full of dead mosquito bits isn't worth that much. And, of course, she wasn't the one who bought two sets of costume jewelry (necklace and earrings) that were not only unmarked but hardly hypo-allergenic ... all because the woman selling them was a former teacher. (I didn't even try to wheel and deal!)
I could almost hear my inner Poodle - "Hi, hi, hi! I want this, and I don't care how much it is -wait, did you see that? It looked like a bird and - hello, master, were you gone? - oo, I smell bacon ... what was I doing again?"
Yes, things have been happening that aren't just my job (water heater springs to mind), but I've taken my eye off the prize. I haven't entered a contest in nearly two weeks. I didn't check my work email for five days - and I think I lost a tutorial because of it. I haven't tackled and finished a home improvement project in a month. And I need to vacuum soon or my terrier's shedded hair will find the primordial sludge in the bathroom sink and form a new species.
Balance.
I thought I understood it. I thought I'd found it - and I had, really. But balance, like exercise, isn't something you can find and forget, or take for granted - it's got to be constantly monitored, continuously tweaked. Prioritizing, sticking to vows and schedules, and organizing - these are not my strong suits. But passion is. My passion for this quest, for my husband's happiness, and for the outcome (not the moment) - these are my obsessions.
Jewelry's just the fun part - especially when it's 90% off retail.
The same holds true with money. For me, however, it's not about finding balance between the spending and saving - it's fighting for the middle ground between apathy and obsession. I get excited about things, and I'm easily distracted. These are not two things that should go together in anything that's not a poodle.
I have - obviously - become obsessed with jewelry (yes, both because I wear it and because it can be a good, long-term thing here). It started as a profit-based enterprise, aimed at selling on eBay. It became a fascination, which wasn't a problem as long as I confined my searches to yard sales and limited my budget to my allowance. It's gotten a bit out of control - and not just because it's so sparkly and looks darned good on me. The minute my work hours went nuclear, my focus began to wobble - not from the "acquisition of" said items, but from the "limiting to" said dollar amounts. In the last two weeks, I've spent three or four times the money I usually spend during a weekend for my hunts. Thrift shops and consignment stores are not yard sales, let's put it that way - not all are that one, amazing Goodwill. Yes, I found some great pieces, one that's even amazing, but overall I paid much more than I should have simply because I bought in the heat of obsession.
Poodle, not Bunny.
And not Diva, either, that's what's killing me. She wasn't the one who paid far too much for the ugly multi-metal pendant just because the stone looked intriguing (it is, I believe, dyed jasper, as common as sand - why I thought a better stone would be in such a cheap setting is beyond me). Diva also wasn't the one who decided to spend $12 on a necklace that looked like amber - believe me, even framed in a sterling mount, a plastic bead full of dead mosquito bits isn't worth that much. And, of course, she wasn't the one who bought two sets of costume jewelry (necklace and earrings) that were not only unmarked but hardly hypo-allergenic ... all because the woman selling them was a former teacher. (I didn't even try to wheel and deal!)
I could almost hear my inner Poodle - "Hi, hi, hi! I want this, and I don't care how much it is -wait, did you see that? It looked like a bird and - hello, master, were you gone? - oo, I smell bacon ... what was I doing again?"
Yes, things have been happening that aren't just my job (water heater springs to mind), but I've taken my eye off the prize. I haven't entered a contest in nearly two weeks. I didn't check my work email for five days - and I think I lost a tutorial because of it. I haven't tackled and finished a home improvement project in a month. And I need to vacuum soon or my terrier's shedded hair will find the primordial sludge in the bathroom sink and form a new species.
Balance.
I thought I understood it. I thought I'd found it - and I had, really. But balance, like exercise, isn't something you can find and forget, or take for granted - it's got to be constantly monitored, continuously tweaked. Prioritizing, sticking to vows and schedules, and organizing - these are not my strong suits. But passion is. My passion for this quest, for my husband's happiness, and for the outcome (not the moment) - these are my obsessions.
Jewelry's just the fun part - especially when it's 90% off retail.
Friday, July 18, 2008
Letters From the Front
Good evening Mr. and Mrs. America ...
**********
The world is a better place this week, at least from my point of view, because I ran into yet another group of teens who are busily defying stereotypes - artist, filmmaker, photographer, and smartass, the four were sitting at a table next to mine in Barnes & Noble on Wednesday. I wasn't eavesdropping, but when someone starts talking about Doctor Who, I tend to pay attention - especially when I realize they just returned from England, and were able to say, "... and the final episode was kind of a --" That's as far as he got, since I shushed him with my hand and my teeth, and then again, and again. Our five-way conversation (ranging to all things Joss Whedon and how much we miss Heroes) went on for 45 minutes. Once again, I see that individuality does, indeed, exist in the public school system. And I'm happy.
*********
The Big Lug was misinformed when he bought my ruby earrings - fakes are not hard to make (especially those that fluoresce), and have been made for over a hundred years. But, perhaps, good fakes are difficult - as good as the synthetic diamonds that are fooling experts all over, anyway - and I'm slowly learning what to look for inside the stone to tell the good from the bad. Those $24 fakes I bought in Texas are worth their weight in ... well, you know.
**********
Poisonous air has been hanging over our area, and will be here for yet awhile. I'm going to redouble my efforts to change the way we do things. For example, I'm checking out prices of solar panels and electric cars - not hybrids, true battery-operated things (even wind-powered). I drive ten miles to work. I don't need much. But I listen to people who say they want to go greener, yet lobby for widening roads (so they don't get stuck in traffic) and drilling more wells (so they don't pay so much at the pump), and I don't understand. Has the credit crisis taught us nothing? Making it easier to waste doesn't cure the problem - pain cures the problem. We have to want it in order to fix it!
**********
I didn't go back to that great shop today - see above for toxic breathing - but I found some pretty sparkles (including a sterling moose charm - yes, a moose!) at my local Salvation Army, and without driving 150 miles to do it.
**********
Yesterday, I woke to a miniature Lake Erie in our basement - and without rain! Yes, the water heater finally went to its ecologically sound Elysian Fields, where all major appliances in this county go to finish rusting. Our beloved work horse was 26 years old, younger than one of the plumbers, and a 15-year veteran of teenagers, cheap washing machines, and endless hand-dishwashing (why did none of them realize you don't have to run the water while scrubbing!). We replaced it with a much more energy efficient beauty - and while the plumbers were waiting for the new one, they changed out the main shutoff valve, as well, which was only one year younger than me. (Two more home improvements crossed off my list - cha-ching!)
**********
Yesterday I reduced the balance of what I owe on one of my cards by a significant amount - I called and asked for a lower interest rate. That's all, just asked. I got a full tuition scholarship from my university back in the day, too. Amazing what can happen if we just ask politely, huh?
**********
I still haven't caught up on my economic issues (paying bills, ordering supplies), my sleep, or or my organization of The Jewelry. I've had real trouble adjusting to my hours this year. Could it be that I'm getting to old? Nah! I have more fun things to do, that's all!
**********
And just for the record, I realize I'm buying the jewelry for me to wear - as much as, if not more so, that I want bargains so I can resell it when the time comes. I've lost a lot of weight. I'm feeling kind of sassy.
**********
I'm still trying to fight Blogger's technology for dominion - I swear, I see that I can set up The Bunny's Fantastic Finds Slide Show, I just need to wrestle it into submission so it will.
**********
I watched the Electric Kid yesterday while both parents worked. At one point, he crawled into the fireplace, then tracked ashes all over the place, including the sofa. I howled, of course - with irritation (my sofa is cream-colored), then fear (he has allergies), but it didn't take long to succumb to laughter. I had a sudden flash to when his father, Acid Trip, was that age - covered head-to-toe in orange clay after taking a forbidden, sliding, crawling play trip all over a baseball field during a (military) Company picnic. Apples really don't fall far, do they?
**********
Happy hunting, to all, and to all - including the ships at sea - a great weekend!
**********
The world is a better place this week, at least from my point of view, because I ran into yet another group of teens who are busily defying stereotypes - artist, filmmaker, photographer, and smartass, the four were sitting at a table next to mine in Barnes & Noble on Wednesday. I wasn't eavesdropping, but when someone starts talking about Doctor Who, I tend to pay attention - especially when I realize they just returned from England, and were able to say, "... and the final episode was kind of a --" That's as far as he got, since I shushed him with my hand and my teeth, and then again, and again. Our five-way conversation (ranging to all things Joss Whedon and how much we miss Heroes) went on for 45 minutes. Once again, I see that individuality does, indeed, exist in the public school system. And I'm happy.
*********
The Big Lug was misinformed when he bought my ruby earrings - fakes are not hard to make (especially those that fluoresce), and have been made for over a hundred years. But, perhaps, good fakes are difficult - as good as the synthetic diamonds that are fooling experts all over, anyway - and I'm slowly learning what to look for inside the stone to tell the good from the bad. Those $24 fakes I bought in Texas are worth their weight in ... well, you know.
**********
Poisonous air has been hanging over our area, and will be here for yet awhile. I'm going to redouble my efforts to change the way we do things. For example, I'm checking out prices of solar panels and electric cars - not hybrids, true battery-operated things (even wind-powered). I drive ten miles to work. I don't need much. But I listen to people who say they want to go greener, yet lobby for widening roads (so they don't get stuck in traffic) and drilling more wells (so they don't pay so much at the pump), and I don't understand. Has the credit crisis taught us nothing? Making it easier to waste doesn't cure the problem - pain cures the problem. We have to want it in order to fix it!
**********
I didn't go back to that great shop today - see above for toxic breathing - but I found some pretty sparkles (including a sterling moose charm - yes, a moose!) at my local Salvation Army, and without driving 150 miles to do it.
**********
Yesterday, I woke to a miniature Lake Erie in our basement - and without rain! Yes, the water heater finally went to its ecologically sound Elysian Fields, where all major appliances in this county go to finish rusting. Our beloved work horse was 26 years old, younger than one of the plumbers, and a 15-year veteran of teenagers, cheap washing machines, and endless hand-dishwashing (why did none of them realize you don't have to run the water while scrubbing!). We replaced it with a much more energy efficient beauty - and while the plumbers were waiting for the new one, they changed out the main shutoff valve, as well, which was only one year younger than me. (Two more home improvements crossed off my list - cha-ching!)
**********
Yesterday I reduced the balance of what I owe on one of my cards by a significant amount - I called and asked for a lower interest rate. That's all, just asked. I got a full tuition scholarship from my university back in the day, too. Amazing what can happen if we just ask politely, huh?
**********
I still haven't caught up on my economic issues (paying bills, ordering supplies), my sleep, or or my organization of The Jewelry. I've had real trouble adjusting to my hours this year. Could it be that I'm getting to old? Nah! I have more fun things to do, that's all!
**********
And just for the record, I realize I'm buying the jewelry for me to wear - as much as, if not more so, that I want bargains so I can resell it when the time comes. I've lost a lot of weight. I'm feeling kind of sassy.
**********
I'm still trying to fight Blogger's technology for dominion - I swear, I see that I can set up The Bunny's Fantastic Finds Slide Show, I just need to wrestle it into submission so it will.
**********
I watched the Electric Kid yesterday while both parents worked. At one point, he crawled into the fireplace, then tracked ashes all over the place, including the sofa. I howled, of course - with irritation (my sofa is cream-colored), then fear (he has allergies), but it didn't take long to succumb to laughter. I had a sudden flash to when his father, Acid Trip, was that age - covered head-to-toe in orange clay after taking a forbidden, sliding, crawling play trip all over a baseball field during a (military) Company picnic. Apples really don't fall far, do they?
**********
Happy hunting, to all, and to all - including the ships at sea - a great weekend!
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
A Price Above Rubies
Last Friday, a friend of mine turned 50. She's the kind of person who keeps in touch with everyone she's met, even after decades of separation. Two of her best friends, women who'd been the seasoned military wives when she'd joined them, late, as a new bride with two daughters from a previous marriage, flew and drove into town for the event. Listening to their stories, to their howls of laughter - and warm remembrances - made me (me, Bunny) close my mouth and open my ears.
What I heard was the echo of my 21 moves, first with my father then my husband, and it sounded a bit hollow. I have friends whom I've known since the ninth grade - we don't see each other enough, but we talk on the phone several times a year. I have my sister, who is also one of my best friends, as well as my favorite person to run to when I have a juicy story or a powerful rant. I have my kids, here, too. And two wonderful women who are my foils and co-conspirators and my inspirations (and I swear, when I think up good names for them, I'll put them in here!). And, of course, I have the Big Lug, who is my very best friend, my constant companion and love of my life.
Now, I know that I have a king's ransom in people whom I love, and who love me. I know this. I say a silent "thank you" for them every single day. And yet ...
Something strange happened to me at that party, but I didn't really feel it until my first yard sale on Saturday. I glanced over the stuff (displayed so much more artfully than my things had been) but I didn't turn and leave. I found myself, instead, talking with (and listening to) the young homeowner who was still opening boxes and sorting the linens (yes, I was early, even for a 7 am start). They're moving, you see, after only one year in the house - renters, thank heaven, so no tragedy with the mortgage - because the husband found another job in another state ... another universe compared to here because they were able to find a house they could actually afford. I bought a lamp for more than I usually would have paid, and left, oddly disturbed by the exchange.
I let Mama Angel lead me, drifting from sign to sign like some Icelandic saga character, not thinking - just watching for the opening, as usual. A couple of quick glances at small and not-in-my-taste yard sales later, I turned at a sign that said the sale was "awesome."
What was awesome was the kids who were running it - 19, college students all. The in-charge one had dark hair and dark lips, multiple piercings and a major 'tude - with laughter in her eyes. She majors in psycholgy but wants to add a second major, physics. According to one of the group, another female (who looked like a Minnesota cheerleader), the dark one is brilliant, and will change the world. I believed her. I also believed that the blonde would do so, too, subtly, with her photography (her major) and her quiet way. The others were male, liked the loud music throbbing on the car stereo more than they wanted to talk to customers, especially an old biddy pawing through a box (filled to the brim!) of jewelry, but they definitely provided comic relief since the girls didn't just give as good as they got, they determined the game.
Thirty minutes and $15 (two pairs of earrings, a bracelet, and two beautiful necklaces) later, I went home to join the Big Lug. We were going to see one of his pipe guys about some tobacco.
Once in town, the first place I checked was my favorite consignment shop, but it was empty of antique glass this time. However, a shop that had been simply a store front the last time we were in town was now open, and I saw sparkly things inside. I went in with a sigh of delight, and almost forgot about the gemstones that surrounded me.
The owner had just returned from Iraq - he'd spent "40 years finishing a 25 year enlistment." He told me about his wife, who'd started collecting jewelry 15 years ago - all the shiny things were estate and auction items. He spoke fondly of his kids, who range from 5 to 37 (second marriage, second family), and his 7 grandkids (one of whom is older than his youngest child - the aunt is younger than the nephew). He didn't talk about Iraq at all, but we traded stories of military life. And he gave me very good deals on everything I bought. In fact, I plan to go back this Friday, just to see if it was all a dream.
By the time we returned home, late in the evening, I still hadn't identified what was nagging at me, whatever had begun at the party. No, that took something this morning, when I was on a schedule - I needed to walk to Home Depot while my car was getting an oil change, just for two items, so that I could hit the thrift store that was going to open in twenty minutes before going home. That was the plan. Then I met up with an 84-year-old man who started telling me his story, too, and since it started with "my wife, who died a year-and-a-half ago ..." I could not walk away, did not even want to. And as we stood in the middle of the aisle between "Garden" and "Plumbing," I listened to him speak of his beloved of 54 years, of his time in government service, of his days at Indiana University (my father's alma mater), and his life before, growing up in Basra. Nearly an hour later, we parted.
And I knew. I knew what had been bugging me. For seven months, now, I've been focusing on cold cash, on assets and income, on savings and projected values. It makes sense - I've moved so much, I've had little security (financial or emotional) and it takes a stick of dynamite to tear an opening in my heart. But this week I remembered. I remembered that every thing I buy, whether it's jewelry, glass or mutual funds, has people behind it - not elves but people, people who designed it, who built it, who gathered it together, who sell it, who used it ... people who have problems and histories and lives and families and losses and gains and tragedies and absurdities.
I have been telling you my story. I want to tell you theirs, as well. This isn't "The Bunny's Yard Sale Finds Show." It's treasure hunting - and finding - and sharing the treasure with you.
From here on out, I will brave the technological labyrinth to post pictures in the margin instead of in the body. I will work harder to put favorite books and web sites up, to help both chronicle my adventures and give you something to play with as well. But, even better, I will do something I'm told I'm not very good at in general - I will listen more, and I will pass the stories along to you.
Because these people - these mad, wild, sad, wonderful, hilarious, wise people - are definitely the greatest treasure we will ever find.
What I heard was the echo of my 21 moves, first with my father then my husband, and it sounded a bit hollow. I have friends whom I've known since the ninth grade - we don't see each other enough, but we talk on the phone several times a year. I have my sister, who is also one of my best friends, as well as my favorite person to run to when I have a juicy story or a powerful rant. I have my kids, here, too. And two wonderful women who are my foils and co-conspirators and my inspirations (and I swear, when I think up good names for them, I'll put them in here!). And, of course, I have the Big Lug, who is my very best friend, my constant companion and love of my life.
Now, I know that I have a king's ransom in people whom I love, and who love me. I know this. I say a silent "thank you" for them every single day. And yet ...
Something strange happened to me at that party, but I didn't really feel it until my first yard sale on Saturday. I glanced over the stuff (displayed so much more artfully than my things had been) but I didn't turn and leave. I found myself, instead, talking with (and listening to) the young homeowner who was still opening boxes and sorting the linens (yes, I was early, even for a 7 am start). They're moving, you see, after only one year in the house - renters, thank heaven, so no tragedy with the mortgage - because the husband found another job in another state ... another universe compared to here because they were able to find a house they could actually afford. I bought a lamp for more than I usually would have paid, and left, oddly disturbed by the exchange.
I let Mama Angel lead me, drifting from sign to sign like some Icelandic saga character, not thinking - just watching for the opening, as usual. A couple of quick glances at small and not-in-my-taste yard sales later, I turned at a sign that said the sale was "awesome."
What was awesome was the kids who were running it - 19, college students all. The in-charge one had dark hair and dark lips, multiple piercings and a major 'tude - with laughter in her eyes. She majors in psycholgy but wants to add a second major, physics. According to one of the group, another female (who looked like a Minnesota cheerleader), the dark one is brilliant, and will change the world. I believed her. I also believed that the blonde would do so, too, subtly, with her photography (her major) and her quiet way. The others were male, liked the loud music throbbing on the car stereo more than they wanted to talk to customers, especially an old biddy pawing through a box (filled to the brim!) of jewelry, but they definitely provided comic relief since the girls didn't just give as good as they got, they determined the game.
Thirty minutes and $15 (two pairs of earrings, a bracelet, and two beautiful necklaces) later, I went home to join the Big Lug. We were going to see one of his pipe guys about some tobacco.
Once in town, the first place I checked was my favorite consignment shop, but it was empty of antique glass this time. However, a shop that had been simply a store front the last time we were in town was now open, and I saw sparkly things inside. I went in with a sigh of delight, and almost forgot about the gemstones that surrounded me.
The owner had just returned from Iraq - he'd spent "40 years finishing a 25 year enlistment." He told me about his wife, who'd started collecting jewelry 15 years ago - all the shiny things were estate and auction items. He spoke fondly of his kids, who range from 5 to 37 (second marriage, second family), and his 7 grandkids (one of whom is older than his youngest child - the aunt is younger than the nephew). He didn't talk about Iraq at all, but we traded stories of military life. And he gave me very good deals on everything I bought. In fact, I plan to go back this Friday, just to see if it was all a dream.
By the time we returned home, late in the evening, I still hadn't identified what was nagging at me, whatever had begun at the party. No, that took something this morning, when I was on a schedule - I needed to walk to Home Depot while my car was getting an oil change, just for two items, so that I could hit the thrift store that was going to open in twenty minutes before going home. That was the plan. Then I met up with an 84-year-old man who started telling me his story, too, and since it started with "my wife, who died a year-and-a-half ago ..." I could not walk away, did not even want to. And as we stood in the middle of the aisle between "Garden" and "Plumbing," I listened to him speak of his beloved of 54 years, of his time in government service, of his days at Indiana University (my father's alma mater), and his life before, growing up in Basra. Nearly an hour later, we parted.
And I knew. I knew what had been bugging me. For seven months, now, I've been focusing on cold cash, on assets and income, on savings and projected values. It makes sense - I've moved so much, I've had little security (financial or emotional) and it takes a stick of dynamite to tear an opening in my heart. But this week I remembered. I remembered that every thing I buy, whether it's jewelry, glass or mutual funds, has people behind it - not elves but people, people who designed it, who built it, who gathered it together, who sell it, who used it ... people who have problems and histories and lives and families and losses and gains and tragedies and absurdities.
I have been telling you my story. I want to tell you theirs, as well. This isn't "The Bunny's Yard Sale Finds Show." It's treasure hunting - and finding - and sharing the treasure with you.
From here on out, I will brave the technological labyrinth to post pictures in the margin instead of in the body. I will work harder to put favorite books and web sites up, to help both chronicle my adventures and give you something to play with as well. But, even better, I will do something I'm told I'm not very good at in general - I will listen more, and I will pass the stories along to you.
Because these people - these mad, wild, sad, wonderful, hilarious, wise people - are definitely the greatest treasure we will ever find.
Friday, July 11, 2008
All's Quiet on the Bunny Front ... Sort of ...
July 5th was in the holiday weekend, so pickings were rather slim around here. I did hit a couple of thrift shops - best find was a lovely silver and cinnabar (yes, cinnabar!) pendant, in the shape of a lotus blossom, for $2.99. Mostly what I walked away with, however, was unknown gems, minerals, and metals, classic speculation items that were inexpensive enough to warrant the risk. (You know, "learning curve" items.) Plus, classes have begun with a vengeance, and I'm already up to 28 billable hours a week (which is about 36 hours of actual work).
So, instead of shopping, and thinking more than I had to, I continued to clean the place up. I filled several boxes with more things - for the thrift store, I swear. Then The Big Lug joined in briefly, even saying he should have pulled his old bike, a decade-old 10-speed, up from the basement and out into the yard sale.
That's when it started, and I can't get it out of my mind ...
I'm seriously thinking about having another yard sale.
Talk me out of it.
Somebody? Anybody?
Please?
So, instead of shopping, and thinking more than I had to, I continued to clean the place up. I filled several boxes with more things - for the thrift store, I swear. Then The Big Lug joined in briefly, even saying he should have pulled his old bike, a decade-old 10-speed, up from the basement and out into the yard sale.
That's when it started, and I can't get it out of my mind ...
I'm seriously thinking about having another yard sale.
Talk me out of it.
Somebody? Anybody?
Please?
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Dependence
Rabbit season.
Duck season.
Rabbit season.
Rabbit season.
Duck season - fire!
Ha, that Daffy Duck! What a dope! What a maroon! He thinks he's so smart, but he's the dumbest thing on the planet! You'd think he'd learn by now that trusting Bugs (not listening carefully, not reading the fine print) is just plain idiotic, wouldn't you? Well, wouldn't you?
Sure, because trust is pretty stupid, isn't it? I'm right there with you. Trust isn't my long suit, either. "Why?" you ask. "Does it matter?" says I. Most people don't trust easily, if only because of the society we live in. I don't even trust myself very much. But I have learned, the hard way, that I not only can trust, I have to.
Our culture has somehow made "dependence" the newest four-letter word. Admitting dependence of any kind is perceived as either weakness or status symbol, something to be "cured" of (or supposedly so). But it was only after Betty Ford admitted her addiction that we began the shift toward "dependence" as a substitute for the clinical term. ("How could someone like Mrs. Ford have something so unsavory as addictions, after all ... and how could I have missed my own little problem?") As usual, the spin we gave the word changed our perception of it, so that now, no matter the circumstances we won't or we can't depend even on the sun to rise. We have to stand alone (except for addictions). We must be skeptics, debunkers, cynics, or we're just not cool (except for addictions).
In my last post, I declared my Independence. Today, I unashamedly admit that I cannot and will not live my life by myself, for myself, and of myself.
Today, I proclaim my Dependence Day!
Dat dat da DA! On this day, at this hour, I, Bunny, announce the following:
1. I state categorically that I will trust both the Big Lug and Mama Angel (as well as her Boss) to love me, to support me, and to have - only and always! - my best interests at heart.
2. I assert that the ancient Greeks had the right idea when they said that the winds were reborn every day at dawn - no matter what happens in any 24-hour period, I depend upon the sun to rise and produce 24 hours full of unlimited possibility.
3. I affirm that I can bank on my own abilities and talents - and that I will get out of my own way more often than I step in it.
4. I pronounce (with great fanfare) that I know life will happen as it should instead of as I want, that it will be inconsistent and paradoxical - but I also declare that I will always believe the best of situations and of people first, and that I will have someone to comfort me and help me through if it proves otherwise.
No, I'm not going to turn into warm, fuzzy Bunny (any more than I can simplify that last sentence). But maybe, just maybe, I can shift my perspective - a bit, then a bit more. And, like the "spin" that eventually produces sea changes in our cultural thinking, the adjustments will create a slightly different reality, a whole new world for me to see, and see differently.
After all, everybody knows it's actually Elmer season.
Duck season.
Rabbit season.
Rabbit season.
Duck season - fire!
Ha, that Daffy Duck! What a dope! What a maroon! He thinks he's so smart, but he's the dumbest thing on the planet! You'd think he'd learn by now that trusting Bugs (not listening carefully, not reading the fine print) is just plain idiotic, wouldn't you? Well, wouldn't you?
Sure, because trust is pretty stupid, isn't it? I'm right there with you. Trust isn't my long suit, either. "Why?" you ask. "Does it matter?" says I. Most people don't trust easily, if only because of the society we live in. I don't even trust myself very much. But I have learned, the hard way, that I not only can trust, I have to.
Our culture has somehow made "dependence" the newest four-letter word. Admitting dependence of any kind is perceived as either weakness or status symbol, something to be "cured" of (or supposedly so). But it was only after Betty Ford admitted her addiction that we began the shift toward "dependence" as a substitute for the clinical term. ("How could someone like Mrs. Ford have something so unsavory as addictions, after all ... and how could I have missed my own little problem?") As usual, the spin we gave the word changed our perception of it, so that now, no matter the circumstances we won't or we can't depend even on the sun to rise. We have to stand alone (except for addictions). We must be skeptics, debunkers, cynics, or we're just not cool (except for addictions).
In my last post, I declared my Independence. Today, I unashamedly admit that I cannot and will not live my life by myself, for myself, and of myself.
Today, I proclaim my Dependence Day!
Dat dat da DA! On this day, at this hour, I, Bunny, announce the following:
1. I state categorically that I will trust both the Big Lug and Mama Angel (as well as her Boss) to love me, to support me, and to have - only and always! - my best interests at heart.
2. I assert that the ancient Greeks had the right idea when they said that the winds were reborn every day at dawn - no matter what happens in any 24-hour period, I depend upon the sun to rise and produce 24 hours full of unlimited possibility.
3. I affirm that I can bank on my own abilities and talents - and that I will get out of my own way more often than I step in it.
4. I pronounce (with great fanfare) that I know life will happen as it should instead of as I want, that it will be inconsistent and paradoxical - but I also declare that I will always believe the best of situations and of people first, and that I will have someone to comfort me and help me through if it proves otherwise.
No, I'm not going to turn into warm, fuzzy Bunny (any more than I can simplify that last sentence). But maybe, just maybe, I can shift my perspective - a bit, then a bit more. And, like the "spin" that eventually produces sea changes in our cultural thinking, the adjustments will create a slightly different reality, a whole new world for me to see, and see differently.
After all, everybody knows it's actually Elmer season.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Independence
We all make resolutions on New Year's Day, and we give thanks on Thanksgiving. We remember the dead on Memorial Day (or we're supposed to), and we celebrate giving during the winter holidays. I think we're ready to start a new tradition - Independence Day Declarations.
That's right. We need to make a list of all the things we've become independent from - which, by the way, means whatever we've gained freedom from, not things we've decided not to depend on. (That would be non-dependence, something based in pride and arrogance and pain, which is a sucky way to live.) I even propose that we don't stop with what we've already done, but declare things we're going to do in the next year, too! After all, the Founding Fathers declared Independence before they actually fought and won it!
I'll start.
1. I declare myself shed of the tyranny of the circumstances of my life - it's all about attitude!
2. I declare independence from slick advertising, from the Joneses, from the life the media and all the lies around us say we should have.
3. I declare myself free of the bondage of credit cards and payday loans, and from "high-end" anything (that I don't find at 80% off).
4. I declare myself emancipated from the clutter that stifles, from the laziness that prevents home-care, and from hanging onto bad choices from the past (the ones that won't let us move forward!).
If we could find half the cajones that our forefathers had, and tear ourselves away from "conventional," from "expected," and from "the new American Way," we could be free.
Because true freedom - to be ourselves - is worth any price.
That's right. We need to make a list of all the things we've become independent from - which, by the way, means whatever we've gained freedom from, not things we've decided not to depend on. (That would be non-dependence, something based in pride and arrogance and pain, which is a sucky way to live.) I even propose that we don't stop with what we've already done, but declare things we're going to do in the next year, too! After all, the Founding Fathers declared Independence before they actually fought and won it!
I'll start.
1. I declare myself shed of the tyranny of the circumstances of my life - it's all about attitude!
2. I declare independence from slick advertising, from the Joneses, from the life the media and all the lies around us say we should have.
3. I declare myself free of the bondage of credit cards and payday loans, and from "high-end" anything (that I don't find at 80% off).
4. I declare myself emancipated from the clutter that stifles, from the laziness that prevents home-care, and from hanging onto bad choices from the past (the ones that won't let us move forward!).
If we could find half the cajones that our forefathers had, and tear ourselves away from "conventional," from "expected," and from "the new American Way," we could be free.
Because true freedom - to be ourselves - is worth any price.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Speculators
Have you noticed how many different entities are (apparently) the cause of the current economic downturn? Banks, credit card companies, mortgage companies ... the federal government (devaluing the dollar by overspending), the state government (overspending), the counties (ditto) ... the Fed (for not regulating enough), the FCC (for not regulating enough), the FBI (yes, I really did see that) ... unscrupulous buyers, unscrupulous lenders, unscrupulous decorators ...
Everyone is getting blamed for this except the actual cause - The American Way.
No, not the charity (that's the United Way) but the concept - a chicken in every pot, a Lexus in every driveway, and the Constitution-given right to the pursuit of happiness. You know - wealth, even if you don't have it to start with.
I'm not against money - that would defeat the whole purpose of my quest - and speculation is indeed the way to get it. Every time we buy a house, a stock, or any other non-consumable item we are trading a liquid asset (cash) for another, more solid one in the hopes that the elves will grow our pot of silver into a pot of gold - organized gambling on a global scale. And there's nothing wrong with it! Everyone who's anyone has succeeded because of it!
It's when we go into the deal with a pot of lead and expect the elves to become alchemists, or when we walk in with silver (knowing it's trolls at the helm) that we get the straw instead of the gold. And we know this! The Great Depression was all about "leveraging" - the foundation for a house of hay that blew down with little more than a hearty guffaw from the Big Bad Wolf. The turbulent 'sixties and the deprivations of the 'seventies was because we built and overbuilt like there was no tomorrow after WWII. And the "Oh-My-God!" 'eighties led to the "Where's-the-Ramen?" 'nineties.
Don't expect (much of) a lecture - this is commiseration, not judgement. I've rolled the dice more often than I've rolled a T-bill, and I have the callouses and debt to prove it. But I had an "oh-crap!" moment this weekend, and I'm still feeling the reverbs today. It had to do with a little pink stone.
Here's the backstory ... hunting was pretty
good on Friday - an estate sale in the morning yielded some pretty jewelry and a bunch of signatures on a "farewell" thing, while a trip south (I really am stretching my wings!), armed with an internet search and a nose that told me to drive twenty miles farther down a state highway instead of the interstate, gave me some of my better finds (the gold chain, moth pin, rock bracelet, turquoise ring, and sterling cake server). By Saturday I was pooped, and as hunting was good at only one yard sale (onyx and sterling ring, silver bracelet, and a bead necklace) I knocked off early and veged out - the Texas trip had finally caught up with me.
Those were good. Sunday was the problem. In the past two weeks, I have learned that all Goodwill stores are not created equal. The only one I'd visited here was more Dollar Store than happy hunting grounds (which they need to be where they are, trust me), so Sunday I decided to visit more of them.
In one, I found The Ring: a polished pink stone hot-glued onto a craft-store adjustable form, cranberry pink, intriguing. And for $2.99, what budding rock hound could resist? I bought it, went home, and headed for my black light, where it fluoresced orangy-red. Hmmm. Nothing in my book really matched that combo of stone color and fluorescence. So I pried it off the mounting, peeled off the glue, and looked again. No fluorescense at all, except in this one place ...
Okay, must be the polish. I took it to the kitchen and tapped it with a hammer - I swear, it was just a tap!
You saw that coming, didn't you? Yep, pink dust.
I believe that it was a "reindeer stone," very brittle (duh) but also quite collectible for a rock hound. Or maybe raspberry quartz, very flawed (so broke easily) and also kind of cool. Now it's pink crumbs.
I speculated, I was foolish, I lost my asset. But how much did I really lose?"
Enter the geek.
Tap tap tap
I spent under $40 this entire weekend (on things that may or may not appreciate in value). That pile of rock powder is, essentially, nearly 8% of my "investment" for the period.
Tap tap tap
Wait, one necklace (not shown - already given away) and one ring are gifts, and a piece of marquetry (not shown - glued in place) is mostly for decorative purposes ... so, really, that pebble was ... tap tap tap ... 11% of my potential assets.
A pretty big loss for such a small stroke of a hammer. Or "just" a leverage on a buy (with a small margin) of oil futures. Or a house "flip." Or an equity cashout. Or a credit card buy (knowing that I will have the business to pay for it later). Or just about anything else that many of us call - or once called - "speculation."
So there I sat, Sunday evening, and I realized I'd scheduled a replacement window estimate for Monday knowing that I have neither the cash nor the hard-and-fast income in the next six months to pay for it. And Monday, when I wanted it so badly I could taste it (all $26K of it - top of the line, two extra holes, etc.). Yes, it will increase our equity. But this kind of thing is not the speculation that earned Carnegie and Buffett their millions - hubris and greed are ingredients for a cake of Titanic proportions.
Been there, done that, got the blood sugar to prove it.
Will I get the windows done? Maybe - no bells and whistles, and only when I have the cash. Will I continue to buy? Will I be able to?
I'm betting on it.
Everyone is getting blamed for this except the actual cause - The American Way.
No, not the charity (that's the United Way) but the concept - a chicken in every pot, a Lexus in every driveway, and the Constitution-given right to the pursuit of happiness. You know - wealth, even if you don't have it to start with.
I'm not against money - that would defeat the whole purpose of my quest - and speculation is indeed the way to get it. Every time we buy a house, a stock, or any other non-consumable item we are trading a liquid asset (cash) for another, more solid one in the hopes that the elves will grow our pot of silver into a pot of gold - organized gambling on a global scale. And there's nothing wrong with it! Everyone who's anyone has succeeded because of it!
It's when we go into the deal with a pot of lead and expect the elves to become alchemists, or when we walk in with silver (knowing it's trolls at the helm) that we get the straw instead of the gold. And we know this! The Great Depression was all about "leveraging" - the foundation for a house of hay that blew down with little more than a hearty guffaw from the Big Bad Wolf. The turbulent 'sixties and the deprivations of the 'seventies was because we built and overbuilt like there was no tomorrow after WWII. And the "Oh-My-God!" 'eighties led to the "Where's-the-Ramen?" 'nineties.
Don't expect (much of) a lecture - this is commiseration, not judgement. I've rolled the dice more often than I've rolled a T-bill, and I have the callouses and debt to prove it. But I had an "oh-crap!" moment this weekend, and I'm still feeling the reverbs today. It had to do with a little pink stone.
Here's the backstory ... hunting was pretty
good on Friday - an estate sale in the morning yielded some pretty jewelry and a bunch of signatures on a "farewell" thing, while a trip south (I really am stretching my wings!), armed with an internet search and a nose that told me to drive twenty miles farther down a state highway instead of the interstate, gave me some of my better finds (the gold chain, moth pin, rock bracelet, turquoise ring, and sterling cake server). By Saturday I was pooped, and as hunting was good at only one yard sale (onyx and sterling ring, silver bracelet, and a bead necklace) I knocked off early and veged out - the Texas trip had finally caught up with me.
Those were good. Sunday was the problem. In the past two weeks, I have learned that all Goodwill stores are not created equal. The only one I'd visited here was more Dollar Store than happy hunting grounds (which they need to be where they are, trust me), so Sunday I decided to visit more of them.
In one, I found The Ring: a polished pink stone hot-glued onto a craft-store adjustable form, cranberry pink, intriguing. And for $2.99, what budding rock hound could resist? I bought it, went home, and headed for my black light, where it fluoresced orangy-red. Hmmm. Nothing in my book really matched that combo of stone color and fluorescence. So I pried it off the mounting, peeled off the glue, and looked again. No fluorescense at all, except in this one place ...
Okay, must be the polish. I took it to the kitchen and tapped it with a hammer - I swear, it was just a tap!
You saw that coming, didn't you? Yep, pink dust.
I believe that it was a "reindeer stone," very brittle (duh) but also quite collectible for a rock hound. Or maybe raspberry quartz, very flawed (so broke easily) and also kind of cool. Now it's pink crumbs.
I speculated, I was foolish, I lost my asset. But how much did I really lose?"
Enter the geek.
Tap tap tap
I spent under $40 this entire weekend (on things that may or may not appreciate in value). That pile of rock powder is, essentially, nearly 8% of my "investment" for the period.
Tap tap tap
Wait, one necklace (not shown - already given away) and one ring are gifts, and a piece of marquetry (not shown - glued in place) is mostly for decorative purposes ... so, really, that pebble was ... tap tap tap ... 11% of my potential assets.
A pretty big loss for such a small stroke of a hammer. Or "just" a leverage on a buy (with a small margin) of oil futures. Or a house "flip." Or an equity cashout. Or a credit card buy (knowing that I will have the business to pay for it later). Or just about anything else that many of us call - or once called - "speculation."
So there I sat, Sunday evening, and I realized I'd scheduled a replacement window estimate for Monday knowing that I have neither the cash nor the hard-and-fast income in the next six months to pay for it. And Monday, when I wanted it so badly I could taste it (all $26K of it - top of the line, two extra holes, etc.). Yes, it will increase our equity. But this kind of thing is not the speculation that earned Carnegie and Buffett their millions - hubris and greed are ingredients for a cake of Titanic proportions.
Been there, done that, got the blood sugar to prove it.
Will I get the windows done? Maybe - no bells and whistles, and only when I have the cash. Will I continue to buy? Will I be able to?
I'm betting on it.