Catching Up

Pop quiz, hotshot - someone offers you bags of money but only if you work a split-shift, long-hour day, long-day week, for as many weeks as they need ... this including your other job, the one you love but don't get paid for, and in spite of your family ...

What would you do?

What would you do?

I took the money. Yeah - despite the five-night past-my-bedtime schedule and the never-ate-with-my-husband, too-tired-to-snuggle workout, I grabbed that paycheck with both hands. It's rare that that much work drops into my lap, but it happens in my line. The key is not dropping beside it.

The month of July was all about teaching and tutoring, selling program and paperwork, back and forth from storage, and shifting into burn-out mode. I just now organized all of my jewelry found in the last 31 days, and finally photographed it. Tonight I'll begin the long cleaning process - I've been wearing pieces scrubbed with alcohol, but most need some degree of tarnish removed. I'm down two classes this week but up five tutorials, and my calendar is getting more crowded by the moment. Plus, I started another blog, one to serve as beard for all my sub rosa typing for the Big Lug, but it, like organization and grocery shopping, fell by the wayside this past month.

I want to scream.

Except I won't.

This is my life. I knew when I started this that I would have to keep my secret from the Big Lug, somehow. I also knew I would be doing things I hadn't had to the courage to do for years, like write to a schedule (here, so far, but the other blog, too, eventually), get dive certified (haven't found a reputable place that fits my schedule yet), or even simply write fiction (a young adult fantasy series, outlined and packaged as proposal, hopefully out to editors by the end of the year). I knew I would have to prioritize, mostly around my paid-work schedule but also around my family. And I knew things would occasionally suffer, which is why I stocked up on our staples in June so I wouldn't be distracted by too many big shopping trips.

We all feel as if we are playing catch-up from time to time. Other things bump to the head of our queues - a sick child or grandchild, a looming deadline, an out-of-commission car, a vacation - and we must let other things slide until the crisis is over. I'm not immune. In fact, it's my way of life, and probably always will be, no matter what I do for a living or for love. I used to try to do everything - perfectly - and nearly killed myself a few times.

Trying to be SuperBunny is a hard habit to break, but break it I will.

Starting right now.

Buying

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.

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?

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.

Letters From the Front

Good evening Mr. and Mrs. America ...

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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.

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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.

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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!

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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.

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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!)

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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?

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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!

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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.

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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.

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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?

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Happy hunting, to all, and to all - including the ships at sea - a great weekend!