ON FRUGALITY

Sometimes when I think of my children – of their attitudes toward money and things and how they live in their world, or even how they would roll their eyes as we pinched pennies when they were growing up – I mentally say to them, “You just don’t know!”

I’ve been doing a little sewing lately – well, not sewing but organizing so that I can sew – and sewing always brings thoughts of my mother. Now my mother was a good seamstress – much better than I will ever be. While I struggle to be good and always seem substandard in my efforts, she was naturally good – or so it seems to me. But sometimes I find myself shaking my head and rolling my eyes as I think of some of the things I was taught to do. For instance, we saved thread. Yes, you heard me – we saved thread. We had a spool of thread we used just for basting – thread pulled from other projects. And if I wanted to use new thread for basting, I had to ask first. Then, of course, that thread when pulled would be wound onto the “basting spool.” Eventually, someone at a fabric shop mentioned to my mother not to use old thread for basting because it could leave marks on the fabric. Always baste with the same thread with which you are sewing, she said. At that point, Mother loosened her rules.

Now about buttons – I have lots of buttons. I have my mother’s button box, my grandmother’s button box, and the buttons from what few shirts Mike has parted with over the 32 years we’ve been married. “You never know when you’ll need a button,” my mother said. The buttons on a pair of slacks are broken and need to be replaced, so Mike says, “Just replace them with whatever you have that would be appropriate.” Hah!!! Do you think in all those buttons there’s even one style that’s the right color, the right size, the right type. Even if I do find one, it’s just one, and I need three. And how long is it taking me to find these buttons? It’s truly more cost-effective to buy new buttons.

Then there’s “cutting to advantage.” Yesterday as I cut fabric to make pillowcases, I carefully folded the fabric so as not to wastefully cut from the middle, then laughed at myself as I threw away that narrow strip anyway. In my mother’s world, that scrap would have been saved.

I was raised by people who suffered the consequences when not only money but goods were scarce. Old habits die hard.