Pocket Poem

If this comes creased and creased again and soiled
as if I’d opened it a thousand times
to see if what I’d written here was right,
it’s all because I looked too long for you
to put in your pocket. Midnight says
the little gifts of loneliness come wrapped
by nervous fingers. What I wanted this
to say was that I want to be so close
that when you find it, it is warm from me.

- by Ted Kooser

Did You Get What You Paid For?

I grew up differently from most people I know. Although I was essentially raised by the television, my family weren't huge consumers. We didn't buy a lot of stuff that most other people assume is what everyone gets at the mall. We grew much of our own food, like fruit and vegetables, and the vegetables we didn't grow ourselves, we still didn't buy at the grocery store. What potatoes we didn't grow ourselves, we bought from a farmer down the road. We raised our own animals for meat (pigs, chickens, rabbits, and once, a steer) and eggs (chickens and geese). My Dad hunted moose, partridge, and rabbits. We all went fishing for trout and cod. After school, my sister and I would pick berries, rose hips, and mushrooms. Sometimes we helped butcher chickens, and were part of a kiddy disassembly line plucking feathers, and pulling the guts out of chickens. Mom made a lot of the clothes my sister and I wore when we were little, and we wore a lot of hand-me-downs when we got older.

If something broke, we didn't just throw it out and get a new one. We'd fix it, instead. And so my socks were darned, and my trousers patched. Furniture would get repaired, and Dad would replace worn electrical cables on appliances.

I didn't have many toys. Instead, I played with my animals, read books, wrote stories, wandered through field and forest, or drew pictures. It was a childhood filled with hard work and lots of imagination. Maybe I didn't have fancy toys or new clothes, but I could climb trees, stand on the back of a cantering pony, build a camp fire, and tell you the difference between a doe and a stag's hoof print. Almost all of my meagre allowance went to purchasing stamps and stationery, for I had pen pals all around the world.

As I got older, I became more "civilized," I guess, for wont of a better word. I lived in a city, and was no longer able to grow my own food. Although I still went to the park to pick berries and herbs, this was only supplemental to my regular diet.

It was somewhere around my university years when I think I first heard, "You get what you pay for."

This was anathema to the frugal way in which I was raised. I was used to bartering and trading with other families, and when we did need to buy something, clipping coupons and looking for sales so we could save our money. And now that I'm well past my university years, I encounter it more and more. When free workshops are offered, attendance is often meagre, because how much value can something free have?

Some of the most lasting instruction I've ever received in dance has not been in a classroom situation, but around a campfire. I have learned incredible amounts of valuable information from libraries and off the internet.

Personally, I'm not fond of money. I think it's nasty, filthy stuff, and when I was a cashier at a major grocery store chain, I would wash my hands between shifts to get the grime of it off my hands. I won't deny its usefulness, but I believe that pretty much everyone is far too reliant upon it. To me, money takes the place of when a barter or trade is impossible or inconvenient. For instance, it doesn't make a lick of sense for me to offer dance or fitness instruction to my landlord, because he has no interest in it at all. But it makes perfect sense for me to offer dance lessons in exchange for other sorts of fitness or dance classes.

Over the past few days, I've been seeing a graphic which reads, "If you really want to Occupy Wall Street, do your holiday shopping at a small independent merchant."

My question is why do we need to do shopping for commercial holidays at all? Yes, I enjoy picking out gifts for people. But does it need to be limited to certain times of the year? Why is there such a compulsion to go to the malls in late November and early December to buy what is often shopworn, factory-made stuff? Why is there such compulsion to buy, buy, buy, especially when so much being offered for sale is not so great?

Back when Windows 95 came out, I remember being in a computer shop when a woman was purchasing a copy of the software. Ends up, she didn't even own a computer. She didn't want to be left behind. She was buying it because all the commercials were telling her she needed it.

How many useless (to us) things have we purchased? Do we need to buy another video game, or another toy? Do we need to buy certain education when knowledge is free to be had with a minimal bit of typing?

So says me, in my room overstuffed with books, clothes, and crafting supplies. It's giving me something to think about, at least.