Kris and I have always hoarded food.
We each keep a pantry shelf stocked to overflowing with our favorite canned goods. The fridge is filled with fruits and vegetables and cheeses and sauces, some of which have long since gone bad. The freezer compartment is crammed with frozen vegetables and pre-packaged dinners, sometimes years old.
We hoard food.
We're not sure why we do this. There are only two of us, after all, and though the cats like when we feed them tuna, there's no need for us to have a dozen cans of the stuff.
I hypothesize that my own hoarding instinct comes from growing up poor. We didn't always have the foods that we wanted. Now that I can control my own eating destiny, I feel the need to have seven cans of Nalley's chili with beans on hand. I must have three bottles of Thai fish sauce. Those extra kalamata olive are a neccessity.
We came to an agreement this afternoon: in the new house, we'll hoard less food. We'll keep a list of those items we always like to have on hand, and we'll stock one of each. One can of Nalley's chili. One bottle of fish sauce. One container of kalamata olives. When we use our stock, we'll make a note on the list indicating that we need to buy some more.
"Plus," I said, "then we'll have room for beef. I think we should go together with another family or two and buy a side of beef."
Kris shook her head.
"That sounds like the ultimate in hoarding to me."
This move is humbling. I am awed that Kris and I have reached a place in our lives where we can afford to buy this beautiful house. Having grown up poor, I now feel relatively wealthy, and this humbles me, as if I don't deserve it.
The other night at book group, Denise mentioned that our generation is supposed to be the first that doesn't do as well as the one before it (financially). We, as "Generation X" (or whatever you want to call us), aren't supposed to have as good a life as our parents had. Yet I think every one of us in the room could say that wasn't true. Our lives do seem better than the ones our parents had. We do feel better off.
For my part, I provided the following anecdote: I wanted to go to college, but I knew that my parents couldn't afford to send me. I knew that I wauld have to send myself. I wasn't particularly good at saving money (it's a life-long flaw), so I worked to obtain scholarships.
I wasn't the smartest student; I wasn't an athlete; I didn't get the best grades; I didn't have the most activities; I wasn't even wholly obsessed with college; however, I was well-rounded, had something to show in each of these categories. And I tested well.
In the end, that was enough. I attended a fine university on scholarship. And then frittered away the opportunity.
"I knew I didn't want to have any part in the box business," I told the book group. "I applied myself so that I'd have a chance to go to college and do something else with my life. What do you think happened? When I got out of college, I went to work for the box business. And here I am."
And here I am.
As of this afternoon, we'll officially own the house in Oak Grove.
On this day at foldedspace.org
2005 — Vignettes No long story today, but several (amusing) little anecdotes.
2003 — Jesus Christ Superstar There's a question as to whether Jesus Christ Superstar is a Broadway musical or a rock opera. The debate hinges on the definition of opera.
2002 — The Holy Ratio Two parts fish sauce to one part lime juice.
You do deserve it!