Tip It!

by Maggie Griffin

  Well, she can want what she wants, but she has to prove she can do it. [Not until someone proves to her there’s a difference between North and South Korea.]

  She really should take a lesser job, like mayor of Wasilla. She’s already done it. She was fine at it. What was wrong with that? That still seems like a good job to me. She certainly knows more than I do about being a mayor. [But you know more than she does about wine, so you’re even.]

  Maggie’s Beauty Tips

  My beauty philosophy is simple. It’s MLV, which stands for the only three things a nice girl [or gay] needs in her purse for all her beauty needs:

  MASCARA—to bring out your eyes. Don’t use too much, you don’t want to appear loose.

  LIPSTICK—to make your lips look dignified (go easy on the lipstick, too, as too much will turn you into a tramp); lipstick is also perfect to use on your cheeks as rouge.

  VASELINE—an excellent moisturizer. Also great to keep your lips and hands soft.

  Note: EYEBROW PENCIL may be added to the MLV beauty kit, but only for extremely fancy occasions.

  Use It Up, Wear It Out, Make It Do

  Ma, the Depression’s over!”

  That’s what I hear from my kids when I try to tell them about the era in which I grew up. Like a tattoo on your brain, the Great Depression, which hit us all in 1929 and lasted into the 1940s, was the kind of experience that can give you a lot of know-how in being wise about money.

  “You paid WHAT for that?” I’ll say when they tell me about something they bought.

  Here it comes: “Ma, the Depression’s over.”

  Well, guess what? The Depression kinda came right back these last two years, didn’t it?

  I’m in my glory! Now I can say, “I told you so!”

  Let me tell you about the kind of thing I saw when I was a kid during those horrible, horrible times. I remember women coming into my dad’s store, crying and begging my dad for groceries for their families. Really crying, I tell ya. Now, these were people who might not have been able to pay my father for three weeks running, but being the very kind man he was, he always helped out. “My husband is out of a job” is what he’d hear from these weeping women. “And we have a couple of kids.”

  But sometimes my dad would feel like reminding them, “I still have kids to raise myself.”

  Seeing that made an impression on me. I told myself, “I hope I never have to beg anybody to give me groceries to feed my kids.”

  We had a big family. We weren’t rich by any means. But my dad was a serious businessman. Every night, when he would lay out all the cash from the day in neat piles of bills before taking it to the bank, you couldn’t bother him. This was serious stuff. No asking how much was there, no talking to him at all. But I’d watch him, fascinated.

  He knew how to economize, I tell ya. We weren’t allowed to touch the thermostat. Oh, no. And if you tried to open a window when it was cold, he would come in, shut that window, and say, “I’m not paying to heat the outside.”

  That makes it sound like he was a stickler, but I have to say, the way he handled money allowed him to help all of us go to school, buy homes, get started in businesses, marriages, and all that. We had nice Christmases—nothing extravagant, but we got good gifts—and we always got new clothes for Easter. And my parents were taking care of quite a few kids, may I remind you, never less than five in the household at any one time. But we never felt like we wanted for anything.

  We got allowances all the time, too. When I was in grammar school, I would get a quarter each Saturday and Sunday. And boy, what I could do with that quarter! The movies were a dime, and everything you’d want in the way of candy or snacks was a nickel. With the extra dime, though, I’d see if I could take a girlfriend of mine who maybe didn’t have the money to pay for a movie. And if I was alone, believe me, I could sure fill myself up on junk for fifteen cents.

  But a quarter today? Can it get you anything?

  Everything is so expensive now that when Kathy used to tell me about something she bought and what it cost, I’d say, “Don’t, Kathy. Stop. I can’t listen. I feel faint.” She knows not to even bring up what she pays for things anymore. Sometimes I accidentally find out, and it makes me nuts. She bought me new towels recently—you know, the set that includes a big bath towel, a medium-size towel, and a little hand-size one—and I noticed that the price tag was still on the hand towel. Eighteen bucks! For the smallest towel! I didn’t say anything to her, but all I could think of was what that $18 would have gotten me when I was raising my kids. Two sets of towels easily!

  And bread, good God. I picked up a loaf of bread by mistake at the grocery store recently, and when I got to the counter, I found out that it was $3.89! Now, I went ahead and bought it. But not without a whole lot of “What am I doing?” going around in my head. Even I go a little crazy sometimes, readers.

  At least I’m not spending those godawful prices for coffee they charge at these hip coffee places. When I think of so many working young people spending their money on coffee, it’s ridiculous. It doesn’t leave them any money for more important things. Like paying their bills?

  When I got older, and started to work, my mother laid down the basics.

  “Pay your expenses. Always save something. The rest you spend.”

  And that’s what I always did.

  I graduated from high school in 1938, and when I started getting a steady paycheck at the Form Fit Bra Factory as a secretary in the returns department, my mother made me open a little savings account. She’d say, “Go cash your check, put it in the bank right away, and you’re done.” Then I made sure I paid my mother room and board.

  Yes, that’s right. I paid my mother room and board for living at home. Everybody who lived at home did that in my day. I made $12 a week, and I paid my mother $3. I still had money for nice clothes, for going out on weekends, and that fifteen-cent cola at work for lunch. (But I brought my lunch, so I saved there, too!)

  See, parents in our day didn’t want their children to be raised as freeloaders. They figured, if you were old enough to get a job, you were old enough to pay for where you slept and ate, even if that was at home. In my family, there was a secret catch, though, which made a big difference. When any of us left to get an apartment, Dad would give back that money to put toward the apartment. He didn’t really need it, you see. What he and Mom wanted to do was teach us a lesson in responsibility. It was a savings account all this time, only you didn’t know it.

  Dad was great when it came to helping any of us out. But then, families had to work together. There was no unemployment insurance, no welfare. Everybody was dependent on one another. It was wonderful, really, the way family members took care of one another. If one of my older brothers was having a tough time—with the heating bill, maybe, or food—the rest of the family would help him. Or you’d see kids taking care of a widowed mom if the husband died. As my mother said, you never want to see your kids—or anybody in your family—go without. Especially if there are grandkids involved. It was a spirit about helping out that made us all pitch in. None of us had that much as it was. But that’s just what you did.

  Nobody ever looked at their parents as a bank, either. That’s because you never had to ask them for money most of the time. Mom or Dad would come to you, instead. “How are you doing?” one of them would say on a regular basis. If you and your spouse were looking to buy a house, then they’d help. That’s what they felt their money was for, as long as you were doing your part about not being foolish with money. My parents worked too hard for their money to throw it away. But if it was for something good and substantial, they were just wonderful. My dad helped I don’t know how many of us buy homes, or get into small businesses.

  That was how I wanted to be. Thrifty, but with a purpose. We never wanted for anything during a hard time, and I hoped to do the same thing when I had my own family.

  When Johnny and I were young marrieds, we lived from paycheck to paycheck. But as our famil
y grew, and Johnny started making more money, we ended up doing pretty well. That’s because we paid our bills, watched our finances, and learned to save.

  This may sound strange, but I love paying bills. My kids always say, “You’re the only one I know who’s ever happy about paying bills.” You know why? Because I actually like having electricity. I want light, and gas, and a roof over my head! Legitimate bills? You won’t see me complaining when I’m writing those checks. Those begging moms in my dad’s store were all the motivation I needed.

  Of course, in my younger days people paid their bills in cash and in person. The hardware store up the street would take your gas and electric bills, I remember. Then Johnny and I got a checking account, and we paid by mail. I was the one who took care of our household expenses, as most women did in my day. The guys made the money, but they didn’t necessarily want to get involved in spending it. Of course, I loved that, because it let me be like my dad when he was working with those piles of money. It wasn’t cash I was staring at on the table—it was bills—but I had the money to pay them, and that was the best part!

  It’s important for married people to communicate with each other about expenses. How else are you going to be on the same page about money? Johnny never questioned anything about bill-paying, but I always let him know the status of our accounts. Sometimes, the expenses were high enough that we’d have to cut down on going out, or seeing shows, and Johnny was always agreeable.

  Then there’d be those times when you looked at your budget and realized, we can go out this weekend! We can have company over! We’re doing real well! Whichever the case, we were always happy. Because we were in it together.

  Credit cards—they’re terrible, and they’re wonderful. They’ve ruined everything, and yet when you have one with you, you feel safe. That’s the paradox.

  Having a credit card with me means I know I’ve got money for whatever comes up. Emergency-wise, that is. When you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere, for instance, and you need a place to stay for the night. Or you suddenly get stuck with a costly emergency.

  But it’s disgusting the way they’re hurting everybody now. It’s half the problem with the country today. When I hear about some credit debt people have, I can’t believe it! How can you sleep when you owe twenty, thirty, forty, or fifty thousand dollars? It would drive me nuts. I feel sorry for people in this predicament, because they’ve obviously never learned how to use a credit card.

  People of my generation didn’t grow up with credit cards, incidentally. We had something called layaway, though. When you put something on layaway, you didn’t get it till you’d made your last payment. No taking it home first. Let’s say you wanted a nice dress for a party coming up. You made sure you paid it off before that party, or you wouldn’t have that dress in time.

  But when credit cards first came out, I remember how wonderful it was to have one. We had a Sears card, and it meant you didn’t always have to have cash for everything when you shopped there. My daughter Joyce was a kid then, and when I would take her to buy her Easter clothes, or new clothes for school, I’d hand the credit card to the cashier, and Joyce would say, “Oh, Mommy, this is so nice! You don’t have to pay for anything!”

  I’d have to say to her, “Well yes, Joyce, I do. I have to pay later.”

  It was too complicated to explain to a little girl. But adults? They should know better. Too many are just paying the minimum and that’s it! It’s appalling. See, back in my day, the credit card you got was for a very small amount of credit, maybe only a few hundred dollars. And when you reached that limit, you couldn’t get any more credit until the bill was fully paid. Sounds like a good idea, huh? I swear, sometimes it just seems like all the good ideas went away.

  It’s become too easy for people to get credit cards, and everybody knows that now. Loans became too easy to get, too. In my day, if you wanted to buy a house, say, you’d save and save and save and then go to a bank, hoping you had enough for a down payment. Then maybe the bank would say, “No, you don’t have quite enough yet. You need a little more. Then come back and talk to us.” How things have changed. When I heard about people putting no money down to get a house, I thought, how does that even make sense? It’s the same with credit cards. Why let just anybody have one?

  Johnny and I always knew the value of a credit card. Even as our line of credit increased, we made sure to use it only for a big item, something we needed that we didn’t have all the cash for at that time, or for a trip. Look, I’d never have gotten to go to Europe if I didn’t have a credit card. On any trip, a credit card really came in handy. But when that bill came, I would make sure I paid that off in three or four installments at the most. That was it. The faster, the better. I didn’t want to see that unpaid debt any longer than I had to.

  Believe me, here’s the deal with credit cards. You better pay sooner, or you will really pay later.

  “Use it up, wear it out, make it do.”

  That’s another one of my thrifty tips. My kids might roll their eyes at how often they’ve heard it, but I didn’t make it up. That was a popular saying during the Depression. “Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without.” Everyone learned the importance of being frugal then: patching up clothes before you bought new ones, keeping things until they just gave out, and wasting nothing. Winston Churchill even said it to the people of England during World War II when times were tough. Why do you need that new thing when the one you have works fine? I feel that way every time one of my kids tells me about some new piece of electronics they bought. Or you see these people trade out a perfectly good refridge for one of those stainless steel kind that makes ice and looks fancy. Or switching out the TV for one of those flat kinds, and then that flat kind for a bigger flat kind. Don’t they all show you the same thing anyway?

  We never did that, and I don’t see why people do it now.

  Well, okay, I sort of do. One problem now is that things aren’t made to stand the test of time. Products used to last a lifetime. You’d be happy if you lived as long as your stove did. Now everything is junk. Recently, I was talking to a woman my age—like me, the Depression is a favorite topic for her—and she was telling me about how her daughter’s been through three toasters in just a few years, but the one she grew up with lasted almost twenty!

  Not that Johnny and I ever made our kids afraid to spend money. But we wanted them to know that if money was being spent on something, they should use that thing. Or at least take care of it.

  I still bring this one up to Kathy. When she was in grammar school, I bought her what the kids used to call a poncho. [They’re still called that, Mom.] You know, that article of clothing with a hole in the middle that your head goes in? They’re warm, and you can take them off easy, and they’re real cute. Well, they were all the rage, and I bought her one. Paid maybe $18 for it. God, what was I thinking? Anyway, she was really proud of it, and she wore it to school. Then the weather turned a little, and she took it off and threw it on the fence. The bell rang for school to start and she ran in, and later remembered she’d left the poncho outside. Well, the sister wouldn’t let her go out to see if it was still there, so she came home after school and said, “I can’t find the poncho.”

  We trudged back to the school, looking everywhere for it, her crying and me half yelling at her about why she couldn’t leave it where she could see it! Naturally some kid found it, thought, “What a nice poncho!” and took it home. I’m sure Kathy still thinks about that poncho. I certainly do my part to help her think about it.

  “Remember the poncho you got to wear only once?” I’ll say.

  Use it up, wear it out, make it do, everyone. Or do without!

  An Old-Fashioned Flimflam Scam

  KATHY: I know another one of your budget tips, Mom.

  MAGGIE: What?

  K: Perhaps you’d like to tell everyone about how good you are at returning things.

  M: Well, working in the returns department at Form Fit was very va
luable experience. See, I would write letters to people who sent us the bras they’d purchased, and—

  K: Hold on, hold on, Mom. I’m talking about what you do now. Let me throw out a hypothetical. Let’s say you had a daughter whom we’ll just call—oh, I don’t know—Bathy. And every single year for Christmas, Bathy got you a new sweater or a new outfit or a new makeup kit that she thought you would like, and then every single year without fail, that new sweater or outfit or makeup kit somehow ended up back at the store. Would you like to walk us through that process?

  M: The reason is, Kathy, the things you gave me—

  K: Bathy, Mom.

  M: Oh, stop it. Look, those gifts were too expensive! I didn’t want you to spend that kind of money.

  K: What. Do. You. Care. I got it for you!

  M: I do care, Kathy, because I want you to save your money.

  K: But you pocket the money anyway!

  M: But I know what I want. I could probably buy three things for the one thing you paid for.

  K: It’s a scam, Mom. An old-fashioned flimflam scam.

  M: What do I need with these fancy things you buy for me? You bought me a Coach bag, and a beautiful blazer, with some slacks to go with it, and you said, “This will be wonderful when you go shopping.” Shopping? I look like a slob when I go shopping, and that’s the way I like it.

  K: How do you talk the salesgirl into giving you cash when you know I paid credit for it?

  M: I don’t know. I just do.

  K: Fess up.

  M: I just tell them I want cash.

  K: And? You what? Come on. You told me this. You act pitiful and . . .

  M: Bat my eyelashes.