The Penny In The Purse...

...or the wallet.

My daughter Bridget and I went shopping today.  She needed a new purse.  Her old purse was growing mold.  Ewww.

She chose a darling bag.  Red on the outside.  Little red bows at the ends of the straps.  Blue interior with white polka dots.  Very much her personality.  I would love a bag like that, but it would just look silly on me.  And I don't think my kids would allow me out of the house with it.

Anyway, we came home and Bridget was removing all of the tissue paper with which purses are generally stuffed.  I imagine there are people in all the Asian purse factories who spend their days filling handbags with tissue paper.  I think we could save a lot of trees by calling a halt to this practice, but I guess the ensuing increase in worldwide unemployment would not be healthy for the global economy.

After she was done with the task of un-stuffing her new purse, Bridget reminded me of something.  That my mother always placed a penny in a handbag or a wallet whenever she gave one as a gift.  She told me as I was growing up that it would bring good luck to the recipient -- and she never, ever, not-even-once neglected this practice.  And my mother gave a lot of handbags and wallets as presents, including to her grand-daughters.   So, Bridget fondly and laughingly told me that the first time she bought herself a purse, she went through all the tissue paper and pockets of her newly-purchased handbag looking for the penny.  She thought they all came with one tucked inside by the purse-factory people.  (Wouldn't that be nice if it were true?) 

This story just brought a smile to my face.  And maybe my mom, hopefully in Heaven above, heard Bridget tell it and had a good laugh herself.

I Was Ben Sherman...

...but, thankfully, I was not armed. 

Season 5 of "SouthLAnd" started this past Wednesday.  If you have read this blog at all, you know that I am a "SouthLAnd" fanatic.  It's my favorite show since "Dragnet", "Adam-12",  and "Emergency". 

Anyway, one of the main cop characters in "SouthLAnd" is Ben Sherman (played by Ben McKenzie), who is partnered up with the slightly older and far wiser Sammy Bryant (played by Shawn Hatosy). And Ben has been dabbling in some rather shady cop behavior lately.  Engaging in some "ends justifying the means" type of reasoning.  And he has been having a little "walk on the wild side" in his personal life.  Decompressing in ways that may not be so healthy -- physically, mentally, or spiritually.

Now, Ben Sherman is a really good guy inside.  He has a very strong sense of justice.  He joins the LAPD with a soul full of compassion, a desire to do good and make a difference.  He is a highly intelligent and capable man.  He probably took a lot of AP courses in high school and went to a well-respected university.  In the first season, we learn that he took a college course in Black Studies, which seems to have touched his heart.  So, he enters the world of police work expecting to have good relationships with the people he encounters.  And perhaps (a bit pridefully), expecting them to respect him because he has come to help them and the communities in which they live.

Ben reminds me a lot of myself when I was hired to teach high school right out of college.  I had taken all the advanced courses at my own high school.  I had gone to a well-respected university, where I learned all the latest in liberal thought.  I was full of good intentions and compassion.  I wanted to do good and make a difference.  And perhaps (a bit pridefully), I expected those I encountered in my work to respect me because I had come to help them.  The school at which I began my teaching "career" was in suburbia, but there were many, many kids bused in daily from some rough neighborhoods.  There were gang members, wanna-be gang members, drug dealers, drug addicts, baby-mamas, baby-daddies, and a lot of kids who couldn't read or do math at anywhere near grade level.  And I was tasked with teaching science to these young people.

I was 23 years old at the time.  Five feet, three inches tall.  One hundred twenty pounds.  Not in the least bit intimidating.  Here is what happened the first day of school when three confident, formidable young women were sitting in my classroom, listening to me talk enthusiastically about the Scientific Method.

     Girl #1:  DID YOU KNOW I HAD A BABY?!?!
     Girl #2:  YOU HAD A BABY?!?!  I DIDN'T KNOW YOU HAD A BABY!!!!
     Girl #3:  WHAT KINDA BABY YOU HAVE?!?!
     Girl #1:  THE KIND THAT COME OUT THROUGH YO CUNT!!!!

Now, of course, they were playing with me.  They wanted to see what this little teacher in the flowered dress, who looked like a teen herself, was going to do about this.  And, naturally, I had no idea what to do.

This is what happened the third day of school:

     Boy (who was eventually arrested for drug dealing, after being observed on campus wearing a fur jacket with wads of cash sticking out of the pockets):  I need to go to the bathroom.
     Me:  You can go after class.
     Boy (unzipping pants):  If you don't let me go to the bathroom, I'm gonna shit on the floor.

I honestly have no memory of what happened next.

These are the kinds of experiences I had, day-in and day-out, in my teaching "career".   Let's just say I started to become a bit cynical.  I started to feel a bit hopeless.  These kids were not interested in all the good I wanted to do for them.  They did not want my help.  My youthful pride was injured.  I also felt exhausted and grief-stricken at all the sadness I saw around me.  And sometimes -- I admit -- I got very, very angry.

I got angry when I saw lovely young women being pressured by self-centered, cocky young males into having sex, and then being left alone and lonely when they became pregnant.  I got angry when I had rocks thrown at my back by a group of adolescent males.  I got angry when a kid high on coke got in my face and called me a bitch.

Was this anger justified?  Sure.  But, it was also dangerous.  It was dangerous because it caused me to become more and more cynical.  It caused me to lose hope.  And it even caused me to feel rather aggressive at times. 

So, when I see the development of the character of Ben Sherman, I don't approve of all the stuff he does.  But, I can understand it.  I can relate to it.

And it makes me thankful for the following:

     1.  That I had a nice boyfriend, so I was not tempted to drown my sorrows in a wild and crazy sex life.
     2.  That even if I had not had a nice boyfriend, I would not have been clever enough to figure out how to have a wild and crazy sex-life.
     3.  That I would have been too embarrassed to hang out in a strip club.
     4.  That I was, as I said up-top, unarmed.

I am also thankful that the teacher next door to me was a bit like Sammy.  He was older and vastly wiser and more experienced.  He was also kind enough to mentor me, even though it was not his job.  He taught me, like Sammy is trying to teach Ben, to have realistic expectations of myself, of others, of what I could actually accomplish.  And he taught me to see the humanity in people, to look for the good -- even when it is extremely difficult.  And he taught me the importance of self-control.

I hope Ben learns these things from Sammy.  I hope he learns them before he ends up in an orange jumpsuit -- or loses what is left of that good man who was described as having "kind eyes" by the mother of the lost little girl.

DUCK AND FRIENDS -- THE DINOSAUR BONES (A Book Review)

In my family, we are not beyond reading children's books.  Even though the "children" in this household are 24, 22, and 20 years old.  I suppose I could use as an excuse the fact that there are small nieces, nephews, and Godchildren in our extended clan.

Recently, we came across a delightful story: DUCK AND FRIENDS -- THE DINOSAUR BONES, by Donna McFarland.

Why is it delightful?  It is like no other children's book I have ever read.  And I have read many, believe me.  Except to my son.  He only allowed me to read COMBAT AIRCRAFT RECOGNITION to him when he was small.  If I tried to read anything else to him, he would cry and smack his head on the floor.  Although, even he might have tolerated this DUCK AND FRIENDS thing.  It is a tale that seems to have come straight out of a child's imagination.

It is a story that is not bound by reality, in any way shape or form.  Just exactly the way small children play.  If you need a blimp, you can get one.  No questions asked.  And you will just automatically know how to fly it, naturally.  If you need $200,000 worth of building materials?  No problem there, either.

And the characters?  Delightful.  They are such good friends to each other -- caring for each other, respecting each other, helping each other, and having fun together!  A good example in this day and age.

This is a wonderful read-aloud for kids who have not yet learned that skill.  It is also a great book for reading instruction, for those in grades K-3, as the words are quite manageable.  I really admire the way Donna weaves together such a fascinating adventure using vocabulary that will not frustrate the young student.  And older brothers and sisters will delight in reading this story to their younger siblings.  A good thing for all those in the family, I believe!

You can get this book from Amazon in both paperback and Kindle editions.  Here is the link:

http://www.amazon.com/Duck-Friends-Dinosaur-Bones-Volume/dp/1481267884/ref=tmm_pap_title_0

My Very Own Personal 49ers Story

Once upon a time, there was a glorious decade known as the 1980's.  And during this glorious time, the San Francisco 49ers were in Super Bowls, too.  Super Bowls which they actually won.  Because Joe and Dwight and Jerry and Hacksaw and Reagan and Margaret Thatcher were there.

And I was young then.  Young and sorta kinda maybe a little bit prettier than I am now.  I was also rather bold and brassy.  And the 49ers practiced every day about 5 minutes from our house.  They did not practice in the fortress-like, high-security facility in which they practice today.  No.  They practiced in a field at the recreation center in the town in which I lived.  There was a rather lame fence around the field, which it was pretty easy to see through.  There were also holes in the fence separating the community pool from the area where their locker room was.  When I was on a girls' swim team and we practiced in said pool, we used to sit atop this fence and look through the holes within it.  We could see right into their locker room.  We greatly enjoyed this and we would tease the young, muscular football players as they paraded around in their towels.  (This pool stuff actually happened in the late 1970's, when nobody gave a rip about the 49ers because they lost all the time.  So, they were just grateful for some attention.)  The wondrous football players also had to park their cars in the main parking lot where all of the rest of us regular people parked.  And this is where my story unfolds.

It was during the time of the playoffs, and it was pretty clear that the Niners were going to get to the Super Bowl.  One of my younger sisters was home with me one day, and I knew the team was having a practice over at their low-security facility, parking their cars in the lot with all the mommies and preschoolers and other regular folk.  "Let's go over and get autographs," I said to my sister.  She was pretty mortified at my idea, but I persuaded her with my bold and brassy attitude.

So, we drove over to the recreation center and awaited the arrival of our team.  And arrive they did, one by one, in their fancy cars.  And I criss-crossed the parking lot, with my sister in tow, chasing them down and collecting signatures in my Autograph Book.  Yes, I have an Autograph Book.  It was given to me by Santa Claus in 1974 and it has a an odd, 70's-era picture of some kind of striped cat on the cover.  A picture that might have been drawn by somebody who was on one of the many drugs that were popular in 1974.

I got many autographs that day, and the players were all really fun and nice.  Except for Joe.  He parked his car close to the building and made a bee-line for the door.  It's not that he was mean or rude or anything.  He was just a very shy person and was intimidated by us bold and brassy types.

Not long after this the 49ers moved to their new, locked-down facility.  But, it doesn't really seem to have helped them any.  They were just as good, and maybe better, practicing on the little field with the dilapidated fence around it.  And I'm just very glad and grateful I got to be a part of those 49er Glory Days.

Of Ash Trays, Picnic Benches, and Horror Movies

With the passing of my mom, my sisters and I have naturally been doing some reminiscing as we look through her photographs and possessions.

In her china cabinet, I found two very old ash trays.  One was actually quite pretty -- made of what I believe is called "milk glass."  Now my mom had not smoked since about 1972, when she was diagnosed with Hodgkins' disease.  My mom really loved to smoke.  She started when she was 14 years old (1947).  She and her friends used to sneak down to the creek behind their Catholic high school to indulge themselves in this past-time.  Upon being diagnosed with a disease that was most often fatal in those days, though, the doctor unceremoniously told her, "Quit, or die."  Quit, she did.  And took up incessant gum-chewing instead.  Eventually, she gave that up, too.  Dental problems, you know.  Anyway, finding these ash trays, which nobody had used for AT LEAST 40 years, made me laugh.  Why?  Because my mother was anything but a pack rat.  My mother did not keep useless things.  She tossed old stuff with a vengeance.  Finding that she had kept these ashtrays was, therefore, quite intriguing to me.  Remembrances of a carefree, slightly rebellious youth, I suppose.

And hanging out with my sisters, remembering our childhood, brought back memories of incidents long-forgotten.  Like the time I purposely dropped a picnic bench on my foot to avoid getting in trouble with my mother.  I was probably about 8 years old.  My younger sister and I were playing in the back yard of our home, when I did something that made her extremely angry.  I don't remember what I did, but it was most likely mean and nasty.  My sister yelled and cried, announcing that she was "going to tell Mommy."  I was terrified of this.  This could not be allowed to happen.  My mother could be pretty fearsome when we got in trouble, and I wished to avoid her wrath at any cost.  "Don't tell her," I pleaded.  And then I got an idea.  "I'll do something to myself, and then we'll be even," I told my sibling.  This was agreeable to her.  So I took our picnic bench, which was made of solid wood, and tipped it onto the top of my foot.  Man, it hurt like hell.  But, my sister was satisfied that justice had been done, so it was worth it.  To me, anyway.  What I did not count on was an absolutely enormous bruise forming on the top of my foot, which of course was quite visible to my mother when she spotted it one evening as I was getting ready for bed.  She demanded to know what had happened, and the whole story ended up coming out.  I think I got a spanking.  So, in the end, I guess I got two punishments instead of one. 

As I looked through the house with my sisters, I also recalled all the great parties my parents gave.  My parents loved parties.  I remember New Year's Eves as a little girl, when us kids were put to bed and then all my parents' friends would come over.  There was wonderful food laid out on the dining room table -- stuffed veal pocket, lovely rolls, salads, salami and cheese, olives and pickles.  And in the kitchen were all the makings of any kind of "high ball" one might desire.  In the living room, swing dancing would be going on.  My dad was a kick-ass swing dancer.  Now, you might wonder how I know all about what went on at these parties if I had been put to bed.  But, I ask you, why in the world would I stay in bed?  I used to quietly sneak out of bed and down the hallway, where I would take up my post.  The end of the hallway provided a great vantage point to see all the action.  I would sit there, curled up in a tiny ball so as to make myself less visible, for what seemed like hours on end.  I also used to take up this secret hiding place in the hallway when my mother would watch horror movies on the TV in the living room late at night.  My mother absolutely loved horror movies, and I was quite curious as to what they were all about.  My most vivid memory is of a scene in which some woman was being buried alive by being covered with large stones by a bunch of mean men.  I really didn't understand why this woman didn't just whomp the asses of those mean men.  They didn't seem to be armed or anything.  To this day, one of the things that most pisses me off in movies and TV shows is when women get grabbed by men who really aren't that formidable- looking, and they just scream and flail around.  I guess they are waiting to be rescued by Ben McKenzie (See?  I found a way to talk about him.  Ha!)  Somebody needs to talk to these women, though, because Ben McKenzie just might not show up.  But, I digress.

In some ways, this past week has been really hard.  I have missed my dad greatly since he passed away about two years ago, and I am now missing my mom.  I am really blessed to have had them as parents.  They were really good people, and tried to teach their kids to be really good people.  But, they were also a lot of fun and a little bit edgy -- and that makes me smile.

Rest In Peace, Marilyn Argenti

Last week, I spoke about my mother.  I described how she had been struggling mightily after open heart surgery.  I am very sad to have to say that she passed away yesterday, during the early morning hours.  She will be greatly missed.

My mom was one hell of a woman.  She lived through many things that would have defeated a lot of people.  Her family struggled with poverty during the Great Depression.  She saw two brothers go off to World War II (thankfully, both returned home safely).  She had a failed engagement at a young age. Her first baby was stillborn and she had a subsequent miscarriage.  She told me that she had made her peace with being childless before finally becoming pregnant with me after about six years of marriage.  She dealt with having Hodgkins' disease in her thirties, while she and my dad were in the midst of building their own business.  She raised three daughters and had five grandchildren.  She nursed my dad through leukemia and was with him when he died.  And she lived (pretty independently) for three years after suffering a heart attack that -- according to her doctors -- would have killed most people.  My mother was tough.  Much tougher than I. 

In fact, she would often say as I was growing up, "You have to be a little bit tough in life."  And one of her favorite stories to illustrate this was of her oldest brother, who enlisted in the Army during the Second World War.   He wrote home to their mother and basically said, "I am going to join the paratroopers.  I hope I have your blessing.  But, if I don't, I'm going to join anyway."  Join he did, and he was part of the 101st Airborne when they invaded Normandy on D-Day.  (If you don't know what the 101st Airborne is, and if you don't know what D-Day is, and if you don't know what the Invasion of Normandy is -- then your education is sorely lacking and you had better find out. )  This uncle of mine told my father that he considered every day of his life after D-Day to be a "bonus".  That was how bad it was falling out of the sky in a parachute on that fateful occasion.  My mother liked to tell this story as an illustration of being "tough" because she considered her mother to be tough for being able to handle this.  After all, how many mothers these days are considered tough when they have to send their sons off to college -- where they have meal cards and sports facilities and counselors to talk to if they get home sick?  And -- just so you know -- I am in a glass house here.  I shed plenty of tears after dropping my son off at school.  My mom also considered her brother to be tough for volunteering for this job.  No shit, right?

Along with teaching me to be tough, my mom taught me to create an orderly and enjoyable home life.  A place of respite for the family to return to after a "day in the trenches".  No matter how hard things got -- in my father's job, in our family finances, with anybody's health, in the extended family, with Richard Nixon and his antics, with Jimmy Carter and his inane moving of Daylight Savings Time so that everyone's lights were on during the day instead of in the evening (anyone remember that?), with gas lines, with the sexual revolution -- my mother made sure we had a secure, dependable, and usually fun domestic life.  Each and every day she made most excellent meals, our clothes were always clean (ironed, even), and there was a routine to the housekeeping so that things were pretty darn spotless.  We had swimming lessons, music lessons, and great birthday parties.  She also sewed most of our clothes when we were growing up.  She even made us "belly tops" -- our term for halter tops or half shirts -- the ones that show your tummy off.  Take that, modesty police. ;-)

My mom was also an avid movie buff and reader of books.  The movies she liked?  Rosemary's Baby, The Exorcist, James Bond, the Mad Max series (she had a crush on Mel Gibson), and Woody Allen.  The books?  All the most popular fiction the library had to offer and Rose Kennedy's autobiography.  There is also a closet in her room full of what my husband calls "bodice rippers".  You know -- those paperbacks, whose covers are graced by illustrations of beautiful people with their clothes falling off.  My mother always insisted that it was a waste of money to buy books, especially if there was a good library in town.  But, she obviously made an exception for these romantic tales and anything by Ian Flemming.  My sisters and I are going to have to battle it out over these... Tee-hee. ;-)

My mom, as you can see, was quite a spirited lady.  And I'm sure St. Paul is now finding this out.  She always had a few issues with him.  And I'm sure he is hearing from her even as I type.

May you rest in peace, Mom.  See you on the other side.

Money

My parents never had much money, but they were good with what they did have.  And they passed their wise habits onto their kids.  They tried, anyway.  At one time, I worked in a loan department at a credit union.  Eye-opening experience.  And I have always been in charge of our household budget.  We could be tens of thousands of dollars in credit card debt or I could be running a money-laundering operation, and my husband would never know it.  He is an engineer, so his mind tends to be on more lofty things.  Hopefully, I am a person of good character. Also -- I really don't understand money laundering well enough to actually do it.  I suppose I could find a partner...

Anyway, for what it's worth, these are some things I have learned along the way about the green stuff.

"Live within your means," my dad always said.  It's hard to do this sometimes.  Especially if relatives, friends, and neighbors are not doing so, because you might start to feel deprived.  If everyone around you is going skiing -- even if they're putting it on their credit cards -- you might feel left out of the party.  Especially if you were invited to go along.  But, you might end up happier in the long run if you are able to pay off that credit card each month.  So, if you want to do something fun, go ahead.  But, only if all the rest of your bills are covered and you have enough actual cash on hand to pay for it.

I am not saying that all debt is bad.  It has been my experience that a mortgage is acceptable.  But, it should be a mortgage that you can actually afford to pay.  My dad always advocated home ownership.  But, not because your house could serve as a piggy-bank.  His reasoning was that rents go up over time, and end up being unaffordable to people as they age.  He told us kids that we should buy houses and get them paid off before retirement, so that we would have secure homes.  He had seen too many elderly people struggle to pay the rent, even on small apartments.  Now, will my house be paid off before my husband retires?  I am not sure.  But, I have worked to keep the payments modest so that we will (hopefully) be able to afford them, even as we get older.

A reasonable car loan is probably also not a terrible thing.  It all depends on where you live, and how much you have to drive.  I have driven klunkers before -- many times.  But, that only really worked out if I was just driving around my relatively small town and my parents were available to give me and the kids a ride home in the likely event that I broke down.  I had more than one experience of myself and my three little ones riding in the cab of a tow truck enroute to the auto repair shop.  Not incredibly fun.  So, if you have children and if you need to drive a fair amount and if you can afford it, get a decent car.  Even if you have to have a loan.  You don't have to drive the best of the best, though.  A modest car is usually the healthiest on the budget.  Also, you don't feel so crappy if it gets dinged in the parking lot.  Now, though, I must make a confession.  For a while, I drove a fire-engine-red Ford Mustang convertible.  I do not regret it.  And, someday, I hope to get another one.

Student loans.  A biggie these days.  The government-backed ones are pretty good deals.  But, I would stay away from those private loans.  When you start reading the fine print, they are damn scary.  And think about it.  What are your reasons for going to the college or university you want to go to?  Is there a more economical way to get the result you want from your education?  Think these things through carefully before making your decision.  It may very well be worth it to you to go to a more prestigious (a.k.a. expensive) school, but you'd better be sure before you take the dive.  Because you might be paying for it -- in both cash and lifestyle -- for a long time to come.

And those credit cards?  It is fine to have one or two.  Beyond that, I don't see the point.  And pay them off, each and every month.  You'll be glad you did.  This is something I learned when I worked in that loan department.  I used to run the credit checks.  Wow!  And I realized that, often, the people who looked richer were actually poorer, and vice-versa.

This is how I have, personally, used my credit card.  I only have one.  I put the gasoline on it.  I use it for things like airline reservations, hotel reservations, and internet shopping.  BUT, before I use it for any of those things, I make sure that I will have the actual money in the bank to pay it off at the end of the month. 

But, you might say, what if I have necessary expenses that I need to put on my credit cards that I will not be able to pay off each month?  If you are a young person, just starting out, this is what I would suggest you do before this situation occurs.  Because, once it occurs, it is a bitch.  My parents always advised us kids to live at home for a while after college, while we were working, so that we could build up a healthy amount of savings before striking out on our own.  I found that this financial "boost" my parents gave me has been of inestimable value in my life.  I would advise parents -- if they can -- to do this for their offspring.  In the long run, it will pay off for you.  Your kids won't become that of the "boomerang" variety and there will be much less chance of them calling you for financial help as the years progress.  Although, for this to work, parents must be VERY CLEAR that they expect their children to use this time at home in a fiscally responsible way -- appreciating it for the gift that it truly is.  A kid doesn't get to live at home, taking advantage of his parents' generosity, while simultaneously "living it up" -- with fancy vacations to Monte Carlo and shopping sprees to Neiman Marcus.  Hell, no.  And, dear young people, once you "fly the coop" of your familial home, make sure you have a solid understanding of what is "necessary" and what is "optional" concerning possessions.  Think about what you really NEED vs. what you WANT.  It is easy to confuse the two.  And it can be fun to get by with only the "bare necessities of life."  It can be a game, of sorts.  I know of a family in which the dad, for a period of years, earned a very modest income.  His wife was a SAHM, though.  They lived in a little apartment, with no furniture, except for camping cots on which they slept.  They were actually able to save some money, and they ended up buying a nice home for themselves.  But, it took a lot of discipline.  Instead of looking at it as an onerous task, though, they made an adventure out of it.  And their philosophy of delayed gratification went a long way toward helping them achieve financial security.

Concerning newlyweds?  My parents' financial philosophy proved to be quite wise.  This is something they repeated with regularity all during my childhood.  They believed that the young couple should pay all of their bills solely with the husband's salary.  Yes, young people.  Even if that means a "hot date" is the taco shop and Netflix and "going out for coffee" is a thermos of Folgers on the park bench.  Folgers is really not so bad if you use 8 HEAPING (vs. level) tablespoons to 12 cups of water, as my daughter has recently taught me.  ( To think I have been needlessly suffering all of these years...)  The other half of my parents' equation was this:  The wife should work full-time until a baby arrives.  And ALL of her salary should be dedicated to savings.  My parents never went in for the idea of a wife without kids not working, or only working part-time.  To go along with this, though, they always believed the husbandly half of the couple should do just as much housework as the wifely half.  And my father never failed in this regard.  Even as I was growing up with a SAHM, I saw my dad do plenty of household chores -- thoroughly and cheerfully.  Why did my parents advocate these things?  It was because they strongly believed in a mom being home with the kids.  And their experience was that the above practices would facilitate that.  If you are a young couple who aspires to have the mommy be at home, the above practices will put you in a position where that dream has a much better chance of becoming reality.  And you will lower the odds that you will end up putting your necessary expenses on credit cards after the new mom leaves the workforce.

Let me tell you, though, my father was NEVER a cheapskate.  And he told the three of us girls, repeatedly, of the importance of being a generous person.  Being frugal does not equal being cheap.  Since he was self-employed, he would look at his bank account at the end of each year and donate a good amount of that to charity.  If a friend visited from out-of-town, that friend would be treated to a very nice dinner -- either cooked by my mom with quality ingredients or at a restaurant, if he could afford it (even if it meant stretching the remaining dollars a bit that week).  My parents were also known for the parties they threw for special occasions -- with wonderful food and drink.  And they did this with great cheer, not resenting the expense.  But, never spending money they didn't actually have, either.  And how could they afford these things?  Because of the habits they practiced the other 95% of the time.  A pretty good trade-off, I would say.

But, when it comes down to it, the most important piece of financial advice I ever heard my father utter was this:

"IF YOU CAN FIX IT WITH MONEY, IT'S NOT A PROBLEM."

And when I see all of the troubles in the world that truly cannot be fixed with money -- spiritual suffering, mental illness, physical infirmities, broken marriages, strife between peoples -- I realize what a true statement that is.  So, whatever your financial situation, if your problems can be fixed with money, you are blessed.  I don't mean to sound all "high and mighty" here, either.  This is something I have had to remind myself of many times throughout my own life.  It can be hard to remember, when things get tough.  But, it is worth remembering.  Thanks, Dad...