Gwen's blog

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I'll be reading Growing Up with Tamales for story time at Blue Willow Bookshop, in Houston, on Thursday morning, May 15. Tell everyone you know with kids in the Houston area. How do you find and support local indie book stores like Blue Willow? By going to Booksense.

On Saturday, May 17, I'll be in Dallas, reading and signing at the J. Erik Jonsson Central Library, for the 13th Dallas Children’s Book Fair & Literary Festival.

On June 22, here in Houston, I'm going to do a poetry workshop. It's free and open to the public, y'all, and they're having one every Sunday in June, taught by local poets I love and respect. So come on down.

Saturday, November 24, 2007
reminder of what I have

2007 has been a disappointing year for me, for various reasons beyond my control. A year of rejections, failures, unexpected expenses and medical dramas. I'm calling it, in my mind, a year of learning experiences and character strengthening.

The one thing I have been able to control is my own body--namely, how much I eat and how much I exercise. (And I know that's the seed of anorexia: focusing on controlling your own body when you feel powerless to control anything else. But don't worry; I'm very, very far from that.) So I've failed at increasing my income this year, but I succeeded at decreasing my weight.

So I need new clothes. And I'm broke. And I have a whole wardrobe of clothing that doesn't fit me anymore. So I thought I'd have a garage sale. But I couldn't, because my neighborhood association won't let us. And no one else I knew could get it together to have one... and selling clothes on eBay or Craigslist is too much work for too little money... But I was hoarding these bags of too-big clothes, thinking I'd sell them one way or another and then use the money to buy new clothes.

And then, the other day, my friend Letty, who works for the local women's shelter, called me up. I was walking around the clearance dress racks at Macy's when she called, in fact. She said, "Do you still have those clothes that are too big for you?"

I said yes. She said, "Would you consider donating them to the shelter? They just called me and said they desperately need clothes in that size."

I said uh, yeah, I guess, maybe. She said, "You don't have to give them all of it. They just really need work clothes and underwear."

I said, "Underwear? Y'all take underwear? I was just gonna throw mine away. I never donate underwear because that's kind of weird, you know? I mean, who wants old underwear?"

She said, "Well, sometimes women who come to the shelter have just been raped. So their underwear gets cut off of them when they're being examined. And, you know, we have clothes to give them, but we don't always have underwear--especially in the bigger sizes. So, you know, they just come to us..."

And I said okay, and I went home and got all the clothes together. And I went through my underwear drawer and pulled out the stuff that was fit to give away, and I tried not to think about how horrible it would be to have your underwear cut off, and then to move to a new place, full of strangers, with borrowed clothes and no underwear on your body. Or to try to start a new life with nothing but borrowed clothes, or literally no clothes at all. Not a wardrobe full of things that are a little too big, not a closet full of things you're a little bit tired of, but literally nothing.

Houston Area Women's Shelter needs larger sized work clothing and underwear, y'all. Especially sizes 20 and up. And winter coats. And toilettries. And diapers. And everything, all this stuff we take for granted.

winter storage

I gave Letty the clothes and then we had lunch, and we talked about a lot of stuff. I've known Letty since Kindergarten, and we don't have lunch as often as we should, but when we do, we always end up discussing massive things. Because we are massive-issue-discussing friends. Which is good. It unblocks our minds.

One of the things we talked about was fear of poverty versus the ennui of middle class existence. Most people educated in America know of middle class ennui, because we read about it. It's like, the prevailing experience of our literary canon, right? So I knew about it, but I didn't really understand it until I became middle class.

I just bought a house, and Letty's agonizing over whether or not to buy a house, and we both see now what it is--a huge financial commitment to a lifestyle you're not sure you want to live for the life of your mortgage. And, if you fail (foreclose), then you aren't just a failure--you're a failure with worthless credit. Marked for life.

And Letty's been wanting to go to grad school, but says she's afraid to be broke. AKA poor. (I hope she doesn't mind me telling you this. Letty, tell me if you mind and I'll delete.)

Assuming everyone reading this has a little money, and therefore access to a computer and time to read this entry: Did you grow up poor? If so, then you know what it means to be afraid of returning to poverty. Did you grow up rich or middle class? If so, know that all your friends who grew up poor and scratched their way up are secretly, desperately afraid to turn poor again.

So I understood what Letty was saying, on the house count and on the grad school count. And I told her that, even though having a house makes me completely broke (AKA land-poor), I don't mind because this time, I'm controlling my poverty. This time, I look at my budget and make conscious decisions. There's no shame in being broke--in eating ramen noodles, buying thrift store clothes--if I've made the decision to do so in order to hold on to my house. And, if I decide to sell my house and go back to renting, it'll be a slight failure, but again, something I controlled.

So... yeah.

It's winter now in Houston, finally. And it's the holidays. That means that, all over town, people who grew up poor are experiencing PTSD, and coping with it in various ways. Turning the heat up high. Not turning the heat up at all. Spending lots of money at the mall. Not spending money at all. Clinging to family. Avoiding family. Reliving old habits and trying to make sense of them. Creating new habits and trying to move on.

I turned up our heat a little today, because I think it's worth paying to be warm. I've been taking things out of storage--things people gave me that were kind of a pain to store all summer when we lived in an apartment. Tea pot. Coffee press. Warm slippers. Sweaters and coats.

And you know what? I'm glad I have these things, and people who love me enough to give them. And I'm especially glad that I have this little snail-shell house. Meaning it's heavy on my back, but it holds all the things that we need. In all senses of those words.

DJ Drama

Last night we went to local club Rich's to see Felix da Housecat. Because he always puts on a good show, and Rich's is our favorite venue. And, guess what? Felix wasn't there. There was a hand-written sign on the register saying he was in the hospital, and that cover would be free, and that our pre-purchased tickets would be good for when Felix rescheduled.

I hope he isn't really hospital-worthy sick. I hope he just felt like flaking. But if he's really sick, I hope he gets well soon.

The opening act DJs did their best to make it up to us. They did a pretty good job.

After Rich's, we went to South Beach. South Beach is one of Houston's premier gay clubs. The reason we go there is JD Arnold. JD Arnold is, pretty much, Houston's best DJ. He used to work at Rich's for years and years and years. Then he went to South Beach (which is, incidentally, the phoenix risen from the literal ashes of hate-crime-ruined Heaven, as some of you will remember).

And then, JD Arnold left South Beach, apparently. Recently, I think. Because he was there last time we went, several months ago, and now he's not.

"What happened to JD Arnold?" I asked the door guys.

"Who?" they said. "Who is that?"

"Hey, what happened to JD Arnold?" I asked a bartender who was running around.

"Who?" he said, just like the caterpillar with the hookah in Alice in Wonderland.

A bunch of employees gathered together, then, and complained about some customer hitting on or failing to hit upon one of their number. I was kind of tipsy, so I said it again. "Hey, you guys, what happened to JD Arnold?"

They looked at each other, made faces, rolled eyes, and said in a haughty chorus, "Who?"

Then I got it. "Y'all are mad at him, aren't you? Y'all are, like, never saying his name in this club again?" They lifted eyebrows and scattered like feathers on the wind.

I still don't know what happened. South Beach hasn't updated their web site, either.

Last month we went to see DJ Sasha at Bar Rio. I know none of y'all listen to the music I listen to, and y'all probably just mentally blip over my long descriptions of the DJ shows. But, if you've read this far, know that in my fantasies of a post-lottery-winning wedding, I'm wearing a fuchsia silk cheongsam with embroidered peonies, and Sasha is DJing our reception. Got me?

A man called Spooky opened up that night, and he did very well. He's an older guy, looks like an extra on a Lord of the Rings set, in t-shirt and jeans. Not ranking on his looks at all--just saying he didn't look like you might expect a DJ to look. But he played like a mofo, so we loved him with all our hearts, right at that moment.

Then Sasha came out, and I was so, so excited, and I was right up there in the front where I could breathe his air...

... and he played this set that he later described as minimalist (in response to complaints, I think), but which I would describe as easy-listening techno. And I was sad, and disappointed. And I respect that he wants to try new stuff, and that he may be chilling out as he gets older, but, dude...
don't come to a dance club and play undanceable music.

Now I'm thinking JD Arnold will have to play at my wedding. If anyone can find him. If he hasn't been run out of Houston by the local velvet mafia, I mean.

crafting, baby

I painted a bunch of paintings--commercial interior dec stuff like they teach you to do on Trading Spaces--and they came out nice, and I'm happy. And it felt good to make stuff off the top of my head, with no pressure.

Try some crafting today. Start a holiday tradition. Put your dinette set in storage and make your family a crafting room. Let the cat help by stepping all over your drying canvases. (Because, of course, mine did. Thanks, Starbuck!)

Okay, that's all. More later. Thanks for listening.

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3:35 PM #

Comments:

 Geez, I feel like I got my money's worth on this post - so much to think about, so much going on. Thanks for the free-yet-filling post!

:)


# posted by Blogger Velma : 11:07 PM  

 Nothing more sobering than realizing that women in shelters need your castoffs. I think that's the perfect Thanksgiving message. We're so comfortable over here and I think it takes real effort to be constantly grateful for what you have, or at least to keep your own problems in perspective. SSB and I often bring up a family we saw sleeping on the sidewalk at a bus station in Venezuela--a little baby, even, sleeping on a blanket on the concrete.

Growing up, we had food on the table, but no extras. No bikes, no new clothes, no presents besides Christmas and birthdays, and then the presents were extremely modest. My folks conserved all the resources, bought second hand. We lived in a nice enough 3-bedroom house in a neighborhood that was overrun with hoodlums. But it feels like everyone was a hood in the 70s. We had woods behind out house, art supplies, a tent and sleeping bags, great records to listen to. That was plenty. When I was 12 my uncle bought me a bike. A lot of my friends at school had expensive clothes and toys and took trips on planes to the beach. But my best friend from 1st grade on had a similar family life that I did. We hated not having money, but I'm so thankful now for the way it was. We had a blast.


# posted by Blogger Marigoldie : 9:24 AM  

 I grew up poor. Still poor, in a way. I fear the bills, even though we can pay them, just barely. Is that what you mean by middle class ennui?


# posted by Anonymous Nik : 4:33 PM  

 I grew up in a weird space between poor and middle class. When I was 2, my dad got laid off from a good job at Ford, and it was three years before he had a salaried job. In those years, he worked a lot of crappy jobs to pay the bills. My mother also worked, and my grandparents (not rich, but my grampa was retired from the steel mill and had a good pension) helped substantially. I was about 16 before I realized that not everyone's grandparents bring groceries over every week.

What I remember with a cringe and sadness is being so very aware of money as an issue. I never, ever wanted to ask for it. School picture time made me very anxious, as did any field trip or other class-related fees. I knew it probably made my parents feel inadequate to struggle so much, and I wanted to protect them from that. At the same time, I was mad that I didn't get new clothes or school supplies every fall, like all my friends did, and that Christmas and birthdays were so sparsely celebrated.

So, lots of emotion tied up in money. When my dad got a good job, we still didn't have a lot, but the best part was not worrying about my parents' feelings.

I still have financial hang-ups from all that. For example, I hate spending money on practical things, so will do anything to avoid turning on the heat or air conditioning. (I'm typing this while wearing several layers, under a blanket, drinking hot tea and getting ready to prep my hot water bottle for bedtime.) I used to think of things like sunglasses, winter gloves and scarves as luxuries (and I still feel a little guilty buying stuff like that).

I also do not want to make any longterm financial committments, so break out in hives at the thought of buying a house or a car (especially since the latter depreciates in value so quickly and so much). The thought of being responsible for those monthly payments AND any repairs is just too much.

I worry about money constantly. My shrink says that people who have always been okay (as in, they've always managed to make ends meet) will tend always to be okay, so I shouldn't worry so much. But there's rationality and there's emotion, and money is very emotional for me.

BTW, thanks for reminding me about donating clothes to shelters and so on. You've motivated me to do just that, and to go buy a bunch of underwear for those women. What a horrific thing to have to endure.


# posted by Anonymous Jackie D : 8:54 PM  

 I grew up poor and being poor is one of my greatest fears. I assign such a LIFE to money, and I don't know why.

When my children were first born, I was really mega-hella-poor. Like not sure where my next dollar would come from poor.

I'm not rich now, but I'm okay. Even though I'm okay, I'm terrified that I won't be okay. Last night, in fact, I couldn't sleep at all between 2am-5am because I was terrified, literally, about money.

Logically I know I am okay. My bills are paid and we have groceries. We have heat in our home and gas in our cars. But emotionally? I remember not having more than I remember having.

This also causes me to want to give my kids more than they probably need. I remember always longing for things like nice clothes that fit and socks with bows on them. I don't ever want my kids to feel that longing, and I honestly don't think they ever have. Fortunately I have good kids who are pretty appreciative for what we have. I'm lucky.

It's so hard. Money is SO hard.


# posted by Blogger That Chick Over There : 2:48 PM  

 Velma: I'm glad you got your money's worth, because I didn't know how I could've given you a refund. :)

Marigoldie: I'm glad you had a friend in the same shoes. I think that's what saved me, most of the time--sharing the issues with friends. (And still sharing them today with the same people, heh.)

Nik: No... middle class ennui is people realizing they spend all their lives working to pay a mortgage and mowing their lawns to keep from being ostracized... and then they start drinking. :)

Jackie D: You're so right about money being emotional. I guess that's the way of it for so many people. Even rich people, right? Why can't we all just concentrate on something else... like sex. Heh.

Okay, sorry. :)


# posted by Blogger Gwen : 7:30 PM  

 Woo, now that's a post! Lots of good points here. I've never been particularly inclined to buy a house ('American dream' and all that be damned) and I think a large part of the reason for that is my fear of ever suffering "middle class ennui."

Not that artistic poverty is any better sometimes.


# posted by Blogger tina : 8:34 PM  

 I posted the other day as anonymous because I cannot seem to get my shit together and get my blogger password. Not that I have made the greatest effort. I am Tracey and live in The Woodlands.
A tiny shack of a house, in The Woodlands, back in the oldest section which the richies wish would go away.
I grew up totally poor and I know just what you are talking about. My husband and I do well enough, but if something happened to one of us, oh dear God we would be so on the street. I really don't think about it, although I probably should. It drives my husband crazy, he constantly worries.
And, wow. I never thought of donating underwear either. I'm glad you wrote about the need. I think I will take a twenty or so and go buy some new undies at Walmart and donate. You can get twenty pairs for twenty bucks there! Did I just bust myself on my cheapass undies?


# posted by Anonymous Anonymous : 10:37 PM  

 I grew up house poor. We had a big house in a safe neighborhood that slowly became run down (the house and the neighborhood). Some years I did not have a winter coat. Now, I just bought a house and I wake up in the middle of the night, panicking about money (and zombies). I worry a lot about not having enough, although I do have (barely) enough. I hope that I can move past it someday. I sometimes feel that if I can release myself from these feelings, I will have a bountiful life. Your entry was really thought provoking and good. Thanks.


# posted by Anonymous sooboo : 9:21 PM  

 Wow.
I grew up comfortable. My dad was a farmer and he had a union job at the railroad. My mom stayed home with us until I was in high school (I’m the oldest). I didn’t really think about money. It wasn’t for wasting – my parents were, in retrospect, good savers as they paid of their mortgage in 15 years on my dad’s salary – but we always had groceries, shoes when we needed them, went camping ever year.
I never really understood money/fear until I was with my ex-husband who, ironically, grew up in a much more middle-class, wealthy family. He was horrid with money. He had a professional job and I’m sure (even adjusted for inflation) he made more than my parents had, but we never seemed to have any. It wasn’t like we were living paycheque to paycheque so much as that we were about two paycheques behind. Then there’d be a windfall like a bonus or a small inheritance or a tax return and I’d clear up as much as I could and watch as we sank again by increments.
When he left and I had my own books, I realized I was far, far better at this stuff than he was. We’re pretty comfortable now. I’m at grad school and we have a large-ish savings cushion, but we seem to be making it within budget. I paid off student debt, a car (in 18 months) and I’ve never not paid my credit card off at the end of the month. It’s weird.
I feel a little guilty for not buying a house, but I’d really much rather go to school. It’s such an obvious outward sign of ‘making it’ though. I worry sometimes that the kids’ teachers think we’re eccentric crazies for not having a house, ‘real’ jobs, or whatever. And then I don’t care. Choosing to be thrift-store gods and live like students is really different than having to do those things because you wouldn’t survive otherwise. There’s a sense of fun about it that was completely missing from my early married years. If need be, I can go back to corporate work, but I don’t need to . . . yet.

-- saskatchewan


# posted by Anonymous Anonymous : 9:28 PM  

 I know the music of which you speak :) I really like some older Paul Oakenfold and Paul Van Dyk. Sasha can be fabulous, as well. I also like John Digweed (especially Shanghai). Anyway, you've made me think about crafting and donating items to people in need. My close-to-work Starbucks has adopted a family through YWCA. You bring the items to the store for distribution based on the list of needed items. Thank you for the introspective and interesting posts:)


# posted by Anonymous Elizabeth : 3:20 PM  

 I found your man... Go to http://jdarnold.netfirms.com


# posted by Anonymous Anonymous : 4:17 PM  

 We had enough, growing up. But both my parents worked two jobs at times, and all of us kids had paper routes and part-time jobs growing up, so we could have enough.

I wasn't poor until I was a young adult in the Reagan years, scrabbling at two or three shitty part-time jobs, trying to go to school when I could scrape together enough money, and even living in my car for a while. Because it was just inconceivable to me to ask my parents for money, being raised the way I was.

And I am AL-ways scared that I'll be back sleeping in the car someday--especially as my husband is lousy at both keeping jobs and handling money.


# posted by Blogger Dimestore Lipstick : 6:21 PM  

 Whoa... you saw Spooky and Sasha on the same bill. I'm so jealous! The electronic scene has pretty much died around these parts, sadly, so the really great DJs hardly ever come to town any more. The best show of my life featured a four-hour set by Sasha. And I just did the math and realized that was ten years ago. And now I feel really old.

To answer your question, yeah, I grew up poor and, while I'm now what I guess you'd call "comfortable", I still have the poor-fear. My husband grew up blue-collar middle-class, and he doesn't quite get why I occasionally get panicky if we dip into our savings (because, yo, that's what savings are for, right?). He doesn't see that money the way I do -- as the buffer I need to have between me and poverty -- but he's always sympathetic and nice about my money-related mini-freakouts.


# posted by Blogger Doppelganger : 5:57 PM  

 Tina: I feel you. Mid-class ennui vs artistic poverty is totally my grass-is-greener dilemma.

Tracey: You busted yourself on the cheap underwear, yes, but it's okay with me. :)

Sooboo: Thank you. I'm glad you liked it. (My middle-of-night worries are money and ghosts. And muggers.)

Sask: This is gonna sound pander-y, but your life has inspired me for a while now. I see how you prioritize stuff and eschew bare-faced consumerism, and you make me feel like I can be brave in that way, too.

Elizabeth: :) Rock on.

Anon: Thank you. That link's out of date, unfortunately, but never fear. JD Arnold's boyfriend found this entry and sent me an email! JD is happily living in Portland now.

Dimestore: !! I'm sending you not-living-in-car-again vibes. But I admire that you survived that.

Doppel: That sounds like your excuse to visit Houston. :)
And it's good that your man is awesome like that. That's good to have in a partner, right? Different perspective, but still sympathetic/empathetic.


# posted by Blogger Gwen : 7:56 PM  

 I grew up poor. Like, clothes and books from Value Village/Goodwill, shoes from Kmart, poor.

My first year of college was practically free because my mother was on welfare and had only had $5000 income for the year before.

It took me a while to get money smart. I racked up about $1200 in debt on my very first (and only to date) credit card.

I'm still not actually smart about money, really. I have no savings. I swing between being flush (payday and a few days after) and broke (the week and a half til I get paid again).

It was an attitude that carried over to food as well. It was always either famine (ok, not that bad, but the same food a lot) or feast (lottery winnings meaning living it up for a bit). You don't know when the next time is that you'll get so much good food, or how long it'll last, so gobble, gobble, gobble 'til it's gone.

I'm the same way with money sometimes.

And I can't imagine not renting. And it's hard to accept that my tastes have changed. I'm not willing anymore to live in a skanky, scary place, just because it's the cheapest I can find.

My partner is the responsible one. Money in savings, investment property owner (what?!?! you own a house you don't even live in? Crazy talk!). He has a certain amount of savings he needs to have to feel like he's got a good cushion, but he doesn't have the same knee-jerk reaction to money that I have.

When we first moved in together, I had a large (for me) chunk of money from my tax return, and I should have been using it to pay off my student loans, but I was holding on to it, "just in case", for a year, before I actually used it.

I'd like to be able to have a cold, rational "money is a tool" outlook, but there's just too much baggage.


# posted by Blogger Eli Reed : 9:51 PM  

 Oh, man... Did you write "winter storage" specifically for and about me? ;)

I also grew up poor--really poor, by American standards. My parents each had three jobs for most of my young life (night shifts at circle K, real estate commissions that never came, walmart deli worker, etc) and we still didn't have enough food to go around. One of my pre-kindergarten memories involves locating which products were covered by my mother's WIC checks and bringing them to her (she would tear the list into sections and split my sister and I up in the store). While most kids are jealous that their friends have their own room, my four siblings and I shared two beds. I've only owned one pair of new pants, which I bought for myself from one of my two jobs two years ago.

Now that I've recently married a gentle man who not only grew up middle-class, but has a fabulous middle-class job, my family teases me for wanting to get a nursing degree. "Why would you want to get a job? You're a kept woman!" You'd think they'd understand how insecure and anxious I am about making my own money... my husband certainly doesn't.


# posted by Blogger Cassandra Miles : 6:13 AM  

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