Poultry & Prose: Frugal living

Showing posts with label Frugal living. Show all posts

Frugal Foodies Will Favor This Frosty Cake

This weekend I had a chance to try out a cake I’d wanted to try for a long time. A Frosty Snowberry Cake, from a 1950s-era Pillsbury Bake-Off book. The “snowberries” are actually cubes of jellied cranberry sauce that are folded into the batter. The ingredients were the most basic of staples: flour, sugar, egg whites, shortening, and baking powder. By a happy coincidence, I even had the ingredients that I don’t have every day: light corn syrup and cream of tartar for the boiled frosting. Vintage kitchen implements that have gone unused in the time we’ve been here were finally pressed into service. A glass double boiler. Cake pans with metal slider releases.

Cakes seemed healthier in the 1950s than they are today. No pudding in the mix. No preservatives to give the cake the longevity of Twinkies. My son Wyatt said the cake was “chewy.” I think he meant “bready.” The cake didn’t quite look like the picture shown here, as cakes that come out of our $99 oven tend to look like the Metrodome after it collapsed. However, it scored major points for satisfaction. The cranberry sauce gave the cake the taste and texture of a jelly roll. I didn’t have food coloring to tint the frosting pink, so I added a pinch of raspberry Jell-O instead. It did the job just fine.

Here’s the recipe for Frosty Snow-berry Cake, which was the Senior Winner in the 1953 Pillsbury Bake-Off. Mrs. Marguerite Marks of Camden, New Jersey did herself proud!

Our Cupboards Are Bare No More

The final coat of paint is on our kitchen cupboards.

They're no longer bare like this,

but painted in a high-gloss oil base.

I painted the whole room myself. Mike would come in and point out where a second coat was needed or a spot was missed.

Like that bare baseboard at the bottom.

As it did for the walls, the cupboard color palette evolved. At first I thought of doing the trim in yellow, even going so far as to paint the trim of the cupboards above the sink. But I realized how bright the wall was going to be. So I switched to red, to complement the Twister carpet.

One of these days we'll be back up in Bruno. I want to stop at the thrift store because they have the largest collection of curtains I've ever seen. I can visualize the curtains I want, a red and yellow and brown lava lamp–type print. But the poultry valance will do for now.

And to think the kitchen started like this...

Related Posts
A Sunny Outlook for 2012
Right Food Red: Meet the Twister Carpet
Accio Bob Vilatas: the Old House Remodeler's Magic Spell

A Sunny Outlook for 2012

If 2012 isn’t sunnier moneywise, then by God it’s going to be sunnier colorwise.

We're painting the kitchen walls a bright, bright yellow. The original color was a thirty-year-old beige. Our first idea for a wall color was bright, bright white. But with the white refrigerator, white storage cupboard and a white paneled wall where a makeshift closet once was, the room has more than enough white. And the red 70s-era Twister carpet called for an equally bold wall color. And the color that called to me -- loudly -- was yellow.

I started low on the color swatch strip with Playful Lemon Spritz, then inched up to Delightful Canary. And by the time Mike and I checked out at Menard's, we had ascended the color summit to Pineapple.

Fun with Knick-Knacks
Making a room your own with knick-knacks is always fun, especially when you have yellow as a backdrop. Both of these belonged to my grandma: cocktail glasses with silverplated stems and a sugar-and-creamer set made in occupied Japan.

The sunny outlook in our kitchen continues to the barnwood wall with this 1930s poster. Sunshine Biscuits was a brand name belonging to the Loose-Wiles Biscuit Company. According to this Wikipedia article, in 1912 Loose-Wiles was the nation's second-largest manufacturer of crackers. The company had a brand called Sunshine Biscuits that they never registered. To keep other companies from using the name, Loose-Wiles was forced to change its name to the Sunshine Biscuit Company in 1946.

Sunshine sounds a lot more appetizing than Loose-Wiles, in my opinion.

Downsizing means living more affordably, but hey, you've got to have fun along the way. We've continued working on the kitchen as time and funds allow. We still have a long way to go, but it's amazing how far we've come. The photos you see here are "before" and "after."

Related Posts
Right Food Red: Meet the Twister Carpet
Accio Bob Vilatas: The Old House Remodeler's Magic Spell

The Day the American Pickers Came

Mike Wolfe and three generations of Maricle Pickers.

When your in-laws have 30 years of acquisitions from garage and antique sales, and they treasure their privacy as much as their acquisitions, the last thing you’d expect them to agree to is a visit from the American Pickers.

But that's what happened back in May. And I couldn't let 2011 go by without writing about it.

Big News in a Small Town
A visit from a show this big in a town this small is huge news. American Pickers is the highest-rated show on The History Channel. Mike Wolfe and Frank Fritz crisscross America in their Antique Archaeology van, seeing prized antiques where others might see junk. At least 1,200 people email American Pickers daily. Somehow, my email made it to the top of the heap. (Potential employers, take note.)

Thirty years of acquisitions, including these
1960 scale-model cars, were up for picking.

"You Should Have the Pickers Stop Over."
Our move into Mike’s parents’ house was preceded by clearing out the second story of stuff. Items were sorted into several categories: keepsakes, things to be sold at antique sales, things to be given away or disposed of, and things to be kept for our new household.

“You should have the American Pickers stop over,” neighbors would tell Mike's parents. We offered to contact the show. To our surprise, his parents agreed. In December I emailed them about the picking potential and rich history of Dodge County, Minnesota. Weeks, then months went by.

Bottoms up: the Pickers paid $30 for these diver shotglasses.

In April we heard from a producer named Jeff. He had a long list of items they wanted in particular, and a request for us to send photos. I did a two-day photo shoot over the Easter weekend, with 120 items prepared, photographed, uploaded, catalogued, downloaded and sent. Thank God we had DSL Internet service instead of the satellite we have today. I’d still be downloading.

"Oh God, Now What Did I Get Us Into?"
What looks like a random pop-in on TV is actually the result of months of military-like planning. My husband Mike talked with producers, production assistants, and location scouts. An assistant wanted to know if there was a deli nearby where the crew could grab lunch.

"Why don't we just throw some brats on the grill?," Mike suggested, knowing how hard it would be for a TV crew to slip in and out of downtown Dodge Center at lunchtime.

“That’s a great idea!,” the assistant said.

Oh God, now what did I get us into, Mike wondered.

So not only was a national television crew stopping by, they were staying for lunch. I was amazed at the aplomb Mike's parents showed. Mike bought brats and buns and sides and plates and plasticware for 18 people. I made three kinds of bars.

At one point, Mike was told the storyline would be about three generations of Pickers in one family: Mike’s dad, Mike, and Wyatt. But in a last-minute call, Mike learned the storyline changed; he would be the only person on camera. Mike's a loquacious sort and has a good command of prices from watching Antiques Roadshow. But flying solo on national TV had him nervous.

Wyatt was disappointed because he wouldn’t be on TV. I was disappointed because I wouldn’t have a meatier blog. But you go with the flow, even if you're going with the flow from the green room.

"Your Mom Has a Good Eye."

Several times during the shoot, Mike would pop in when the Pickers made an offer that he wanted to double check with his mom. Frank Fritz was interested in a Fenton green glass basket. Mike's mom said she'd part with it for $60.

"Your mom has a good eye," Frank told my husband. "But that's what we'd get for it." Their offer of $30 was politely rebuffed.

Picnicking with the Pickers
The crew broke for lunch at about 1. Mike's dad grilled the brats. I helped set up and clear away paper plates and served dessert. I was curious about the Pickers’ experience in Minnesota but figured they needed down time, not to be Pickers but just two guys at a cookout, enjoying lemonade and potato salad and grilled brats that were crusty on the outside, juicy on the inside. One of the cameramen told Mike's dad they were the best brats he'd ever had.

The Pickers nixed the zeppelin photo,
but the producers overrode them.

The Maricle house wasn't quite the "honey hole" the Pickers dream about, but they did buy a few things. A leather jacket owned by Mike's uncle Harlan, a set of 1960 scale-model cars from a Ford dealership, a pair of bizarre shot glasses with figures of divers sculpted into them, a model T steering wheel, and a 1929 photo of a zeppelin taken over Davenport, Iowa. We figured the Pickers would pounce on the zeppelin photo since they’re from Iowa.

You see photos like this everywhere, Mike Wolfe said.

But the producers, who call the shots, said they wanted the photo picked.

The Magical Mystery Bus.

"Oh, You're Good."
The Pickers looked at a beat-up tour bus formerly owned by a country singer named Howie Gamber. The bus was crammed with boxes of stuff from the second floor. Mike offered the Pickers a price of $200 for the bus and its mystery contents. Frank wasn't interested, but Picker Mike was and husband Mike ran with it. "Just think of how it would look with Antique Archaeology on the side," husband Mike said of the bus.

"Oh, you're good," Picker Mike said.

Dog lover Mike Wolfe and a wary Jerry.

We were afraid our rescue dog Jerry would freak over the house full of people and bright lights, but he lay placidly on the couch, as usual. Mike Wolfe, a dog lover, flipped over him.

By the end of the day, Mike's parents were surprised by the scripted sense of the show. So was Mike, who realizes the final cut of any program is the result of heavy editing and scripting. “I’m a lot more jaded now,” he said.

A Post-Pickers Antique Sale
We knew the Pickers' visit wouldn't stay a secret forever, not when a county sheriff stopped in front of the house during filming. Not with the school nurse living down the road and around the corner. The next step is to prepare for a spring antique sale. There's a peck of possibilities that the Pickers didn't pick, and you might discover the honey hole of your own dreams.

Follow me on Facebook so you'll know where and when the sale will be held, and what you'll find.

Want to be on American Pickers? Click here.

The Worst-Kept Secret in Dodge County

Mike Wolfe and three generations of Maricle Pickers:
Wyatt, Darold and Mike.

The American Pickers were at the Maricle household this past May. It's the worst-kept secret in Dodge County, what with a county sheriff stopping by during filming and the school nurse living down the road.

"I heard the American Pickers were at your house," said our new mechanic Pete, whose shop is a few miles away in West Concord.

"We really don't know if or when we're going to be on," Mike and I would tell people with genuine cluelessness.

This past Monday was a new Pickers' episode on the back roads of Minnesota. We watched. And waited. And realized. We're not going to be on.

Who knows. Maybe we will be. But I'm doubtful. While Mike's parents have an amazing collection of antique farm implements and vintage kitsch, they're roadies in the world of junk rockstars who populate Season Four of American Pickers.

Dog lover Mike Wolfe and a wary Jerry.

So to confirm what everyone in Dodge County already knows: yes, the American Pickers were here. The pictures prove it. (Mike Wolfe is a dog lover.) Interested in the entire story? I'll publish the post soon. And follow me on Facebook to find out when the mother of all antique sales is held next year.

Christmas Creativity from
a Frugal Ford Family

I still haven't found my Cutting Corners book, the compilation of 1950s household hints by wives of the Ford Rouge Plant factory workers. (Having grown up during the Great Depression, these clever and creative women were the First Frugalistas, and the subject of popular posts like this and this.)

But creative frugality wasn't limited to the women alone.

As long as I can remember -- and that goes back to the early 1960s -- the figures for our Nativity set were packaged in FoMoCo auto parts boxes. I don't know whose idea it was, my mom's or dad's. But somewhere along the line, someone had an epiphany.

The 8 3/4 x 2 3/4" Trans. Main Drive Gear boxes are just the right size for Mary and Joseph, a shepherd with lamb, a King, the camel driver, and the infant Jesus.

The 5 x 5" square Retainer boxes house a kneeling King, a donkey, and a cow.

And a whole flock of 2 3/4 x 2 3/4" Gear and Bushing Assembly boxes house the lambs.

Here is a photo of my dad, Michael Astor; he's the guy on the right. The photo is taken at the Ford Rouge Frame Plant, located on the Rouge River in Dearborn, Michigan. Dad was born in 1904 in Austria-Hungary, or what is today known as Slovakia. Building hand-made wooden houses with thatched roofs is a Slovak folk art. After several moves over the years and less-than-careful handling, the manger needs extensive rehabbing. But the boxes which house the Nativity figures still feel substantial and sturdy, even where the tagboard is worn. I wonder if today's auto parts boxes could stand a similar test of time and wear.

The Nativity scene evokes worship, controversy, and sometimes irreverence. (Like a Nativity scene with a G.I. Joe action figure.) What I worship about our Nativity set is it represents the creativity and frugality of my parents. It represents an era of durable American workmanship. And it represents a thriving manufacturing base in which an immigrant with a sixth-grade education could provide a solid middle-class life for his family.

Gardening Tips from the Ford Frugalistas

A Labor Day Tale of Two Collars

The Cherished Right to "Wote"

There's a Place for Everything.
I Just Haven't Found It Yet.

Opening the last few packing boxes, and finding homes for the items inside them, is like trying to finish up a Rubik’s Cube.

I have moved dishes from one cupboard to another and back, realizing the most frequently used items need to be in the most accessible places. And those out-of-the-way, pain-in-the-butt cupboards are perfect for storing items that are used maybe once a year. Canning pots. My zucchini chipper.

Things are coming together. It’s hard to tell from day to day, but looking back from month to month we’ve made huge progress. When all of the boxes were opened and sorted, things disappeared daily. My Garmin. The steel box with all of our important papers. Luckily, both have resurfaced. I was about to call in a psychic to find the steel box.

The one thing that I haven’t been able to find is my Ford Housewives book. That fact is especially vexing, because there’s a chapter in the book on frugal holiday decorating. There’s one more box in the mud room to open. If the book isn’t in that box, it ended up in the attic. Then God help us all.

Such is life on the second floor of a 150-year-old farmhouse with a décor that includes polished wood and barnwood, 1970s carpet from a Holiday Inn, dresser scarves that my grandma embroidered, a kitschy tablecloth from a 1960s vacation to Canada, and antiques peppered throughout.

There’s a place for everything. And eventually, everything will find its place. But just to be safe, Dodge Center–area psychics, please don’t go on vacation just yet.

Beaning and Blogging

Stepping Out on My Mechanic

Out of all the million little changes associated with moving, finding a new mechanic is one of the most traumatic.

A good mechanic knows your vehicle inside and out better than you do. A good mechanic saves you money and earns your trust and loyalty. A good mechanic doesn’t come along every day.

Denny Molgaard, my Dodge Neon, and my husband Mike.

Denny Molgaard at the Bruno Deep Rock has done all my oil changes since 2000. Under his care my 1996 Saturn would have hit 300,000 miles had a sprinting deer not hit it first. And he continued to service my 2003 Dodge Neon with expertise and care.

So finding someone new was a huge change.

While washing and drying blankets at the Mega Express Laundry in Rochester, I found a newspaper coupon for an oil change at a place called Quick Lane. Armed with my Garmin, I headed over, fully expecting a lecture. You really should think about replacing this car. Washing it every now and then will extend the life of it.

All the guy found was a burned-out license plate bulb and brake rotors with plenty of life left but with grooves worn in.

“For a car with 143,000 miles, it’s in surprisingly good shape,” he said.

“I owe it all to Denny,” I said.

I’m not sure yet if Quick Lane, which is a national franchise, is going to be my go-to service place. Its four carafes of coffee (two house blend, two breakfast blend) and three types of cappuccino work in its favor. A 1950s-era gas station in a town of 101, the Bruno Deep Rock doesn't serve cappucino, or coffee, or even bad coffee. But they'll be a hard act to follow.

The Tao of Town Laundry

When Health Insurance
Is No Health Insurance

I took Wyatt to the Lenscrafters in Rochester, Minnesota for an eye exam and a new pair of glasses, paying in full with my own funds. The Lenscrafters guy seemed surprised to come across a customer with no health insurance in the land of the Mayo Clinic.

But apparently, even people who have health insurance in reality have no health insurance, because it’s too costly to access.

Just for the heck of it, I shopped around for a family health insurance plan. The cheapest I found was $383 a month with a deductible of $15,000.

In other words, pay $400 a month and coverage doesn't kick in until you've had a catastrophic illness.

There was a fast-moving flu at school, a flu that hit Wyatt and then me. For the flu, there’s not much that a doctor can do except say “Rest and drink fluids.” But the idea of kids attending public school who may or may not have private health insurance is a huge disconnect. One solution would be to abolish public school, which is what the far-right element wants to do. Another solution would be public health coverage. I vote for the latter.

Related Posts:

The Economy's Sick. Up Its Meds.

Right Foot Red: Meet the Twister Carpet

As the remodeling of the second story continues, my husband Mike figured I'd want to have the carpet replaced with something more subtle.

I've never been crazy about it. But now, perhaps because we'll be living upstairs, I'm starting to like the carpet. Really like it.

Picture the bubbles of a lava lamp, or a Twister mat with all of the spots red. That's the carpet. It's recycled from a Holiday Inn in Rochester which remodeled its conference rooms in 1972. The hotel was giving away carpet to anyone who could cart it away, and Mike's parents carted home a truckload. They carpeted all the rooms on both floors. They gave carpet to a friend whose carpet was ruined by flooding.

Because the upstairs of the farmhouse has been rarely used, the Twister carpet looks new despite being almost 40 years old. (The downstairs carpet has long been replaced.) Mike had a remnant of gold carpet he offered as an alternative. But I liked how the red of the carpet kicked up the energy of the Pretty Good Room, what we call our miniature great room. With a funky 1970s carpet design and a column finished in barn boards, the room has a feel that's frugal and eclectic.

So if you ever come to visit, we'll be ready for a game of Twister (watch the original 1966 commercial here) -- as long as every command ends in the color red.

Looking out from the Pretty Good Room, with barn boards
on the right, and the door to Wyatt's room across the hall.

The bookshelf at the right was once a doorway to the Pretty Good Room, which at one time was two rooms. The room at the end of the hall is the bathroom: another story in itself.

Accio BobVilatas: the Old House
Remodeler's Magic Spell

Oh, how I wish that completing the remodeling of a 100-year-old upstairs was as simple as summoning a Harry Potter–like spell.

Lacking those powers, I will have to be content with showing before and during photos.

This is the north room back in May of this year. Like all rooms on the second floor, it was used as storage for 30 years. Roughly 11 by 18 feet, this room was to become our kitchen, dining room and living room.

Here it is today. We call it our Pretty Good Room
rather than a great room.

On the other end of the room was a makeshift closet.
This end was to house our dining nook.

Mike and his dad started by removing the wall plaster down to the lath, which is how walls were built 100 years ago. Mike said in some places of the house he found horsehair mixed with the plaster to strengthen the hold.

New paneling is put up over the laths.

Wyatt's room is his dad's old room.

It's taking longer than we expected. But it's getting done.

Small Kitchens with Fifties Flair

Every magazine article and blog about small-space decorating and decorating on the cheap is catching my eye these days. Especially this post by Donna Davis at The Apron Revolution. The fact that it's about vintage 1950s kitchens is the maraschino cherry on the sundae.

You'll discover ideas from the 1950s that can make a small kitchen of today functional and fun. There's also a fascinating chronology of how kitchens have changed over generations.

Smaller doesn't mean lesser. Small kitchens worked for our moms, and we turned out all right. (Didn't we?) So mix yourself a glass of Tang and enjoy this fun blog.

Turn Bargain Berries into Drinkable Berries

Nancy at Rivertree kitchen not only creates great recipes,
she does great photography.

The local supermarket (local meaning 25 miles away) has every berry imaginable on sale this week: six containers for $10. (All were pints except for the raspberries, which came in 8-ounce packages.) I loaded up on strawberries yesterday, and came back for raspberries today, thinking I would freeze them, then realizing I'd never get around to it.

This strawberry sorbet recipe by Nancy at Rivertree kitchen gave me the solution, not to mention a mouth-watering heading. My blender has been going nonstop, and the freezer is filled with homemade strawberry and raspberry frozen juice bars for the steamy weekend. Plus, there were plenty of berries to bring to the local food shelf.

Got bargain berries? Give Rivertree kitchen a whirl.

Gardening Tips from the Ford Frugalistas

Not many of us garden in a dress and high heels anymore. The fashions of the Ford Rouge housewives may not have stood the test of time, but their gardening tips still come in handy. More household hints from Cutting Corners: a 1950s-era book of household hints by wives (my mom was one), mothers, and sisters of those who worked at the Ford Rouge Plant on the banks of the Rouge River.

A helpful hint for prospective gardeners is offered by Mrs. Lawrence Janish. Her husband works in the Tool and Die plant. She says a garden rake, with two large empty thread spools attached to the teeth of the rake, makes an excellent marker for the rows.

To prevent garden tools from rusting, store them in a box in which lime has been placed, suggests Mrs. Edward Gottlin. Mrs. Gottlin's husband works in the Rolling Mill.

To keep flower pots on window sills from falling, simply place a curtain rod across the window. Paint the rod the same color as the window sill. This hint comes from Mrs. Edward Dwyer, whose husband works in the Gear and Axle plant.

A good brace for a tall-growing plant is a small extension curtain rod, writes Mrs. Elmer Boehr of Garden City. The rod can be pulled out as the plant grows. Mrs. Boehr's husband works in the Iron Foundry.

That odd cream pitcher, sugar bowl or tea pot will make an attractive flower pot and will add color to your kitchen or even your bedroom. Mrs. Lawrence Tucker, St. Clair Shores, says she has a couple around her house and they're attractive. Her husband works in the Casting Machine plant.

With all of the canning and jelly-making hints elsewhere in the book, I was surprised to see no hints for vegetable gardens. But I believe vegetable gardens were the man's domain in the fifties. At least they were at our house.

Other hints -- starting seedlings in eggshells, preserving cut flowers by adding salt to the water, using a salt shaker to sprinkle fine flower seeds -- aren't new today. But in the 1950s they were, and the Ford Frugalistas shared them generously. All hints appear here (except for the addresses) as they did in the Rouge News.

You might also like
The Ford Housewives: The First Frugalistas
A Labor Day Tale of Two Collars
The Cherished Right to "Wote"

Cheapskates and Cheap Steaks

I like the word "cheapskate." It's got the snap of a fresh green bean, and it carries a sense of pride when you self disclose, though that's not always the case when you're described by others as cheap.

When my 14-year-old was a little guy he pronounced the word "cheapskate" as "cheap steak," which I like even more. There's nothing that better conveys a sense of cheap than a cheap steak: tough, thin, gristly, mottled in color and flavor. Ironically, Cheap Steak is also the name of an iPhone app. Wyatt says he wants royalties.

I've been enjoying the blog of Northern Cheapskate, as we both live in areas of Minnesota where frugality isn't a choice but a mandate. You don't have the option of pricing a loaf of bread at the Rainbow five minutes from your house, then going down the block and finding a better price at Cub. Go to the intersection in town and there's one gas station, not three. So you learn to shop frugally and strategically. Where to look, when to shop, what to grab and what to pass up. In my neck of the woods, you pay over five bucks for an 18-ounce box of cornflakes at the general store. But a roll of Necco wafers is 99 cents compared to The Vermont Country Store price of $1.69 (not including shipping).

It's hard to talk about the economy in this country because everyone has their own definition of what it means to be frugal or in need. It can mean living on $1,000, ten dollars, or in the hypothetical case of John McCain, living in one house. In 2010, a family of three making $18,310 a year was considered poor, according to U.S. poverty guidelines. Our family made more than that last year. But between that figure and $18,310 are enough shades of need to fill a Crayola box: Pinched, Stretched, Mighty Uncomfortable, World of Hurt.

No matter what baseline figure you're working with, everyone wants to save money. Northern Cheapskate will help you do that. You'll find coupons, giveaways, freebies for the kids, gardening, organizing on a budget. And of course, great ways to cook a cheap steak.

Note: The continuum of need stretches to where many of us can't even see. Social networks are raising awareness. Indy is a homeless single mother who lives with her two kids in a minivan that needs a new transmission. If you can help, donations are being collected through April 11. Thank you.

Don't Throw Away That Pickle Juice -- and Other Frugal Fifties Hints

“Mom, these berries taste iffy,” my teenage son Wyatt said of the strawberries softening in the fridge.

“That’s okay, I’ll make them into a smoothie,” I said.

“Mom!,” Wyatt admonished.

“What you are witnessing is a new generation of Depression parent,” I explained.

I grew up in a blue-collar family in a working-class suburb of Detroit. My mom was a Depression-era mom: saving string in a ball, reusing aluminum foil, recycling boxes Christmas after Christmas. My dad worked at the Ford Rouge plant, located at the confluence of the Rouge and Detroit Rivers. The weekly employee newspaper was the Rouge News, which in its heyday had a circulation of nearly 90,000. The women’s section had a column called “Cutting Corners,” which featured the household tips of wives, mothers, daughters, and sisters of Ford employees.

Eventually, the hints were collected in a book. My mom punched a hole in her copy and hung it from a string on a hook by the kitchen sink. I keep the book in the same place in my house today. The cover is gone and so is the copyright date, but it’s from the 1950s, judging by the artwork in the book.

Don’t Throw Away That Pickle Juice

Cleaning a lampshade? Removing a stain from a felt hat? Fixing a cracked vase? The Ford housewives had a better idea. When something wore out, they couldn’t take the car and run out to Wal-Mart and buy another one. Even if they had a second car, or a Wal-Mart, their Depression-era sensibilities wouldn’t have permitted them the extravagance.

Some hints from the cooking section:

• When you have emptied your catsup bottle, rinse it with a bit of vinegar and use this in your dressing for salad, This is especially good when added to French dressing, says Mrs. Gene Peron.

• Mrs. James Ward has a helpful hint concerning burnt toast. Instead of throwing it away or scraping it with a knife, try rubbing it on a grater. The burnt spots will disappear and so will the burnt flavor.

• Sandra Wenner suggests saving the waxed bags in which gelatin and puddings are packaged. She says they make handy leak-proof containers for lunch box pickles or other juicy foods.

• Mrs. Ralph Campbell says she never throws the sweet pickle juice away when the pickles have been eaten. She uses the vinegar juice in mayonnaise for potato and vegetable salads. It adds zest to the salads and also helps to save on mayonnaise.

Remnants of Gracious Living

The book publishes the household hints exactly as they appeared in the Rouge News, with the household address and the division in which the husband (or son or brother) worked. Today, some of those addresses are more than likely vacant. For that matter, entire neighborhoods of Detroit are gone. This book provides a glimpse of Detroit as a city of prosperity and gracious living, with marquisette curtains and embroidered dresser scarves and gleaming mahogany furniture. (Mrs. M.J. Polakowski cleaned hers with cold tea to keep it looking new.)

I realize that not all women in the 1950s lived the life of June Cleaver or Donna Reed. Abuse and addiction were closeted, abuse considered the husband’s prerogative, addiction stifled by stigma. Some women must have been bored silly, wanting to be the breadwinners instead of waxing book covers to make them easier to dust. But what these women did was important. They were the ultimate multitaskers, the first frugalistas, the forerunners of Martha Stewart.

Today the Ford Rouge plant is the Ford Rouge Center. It comprises 600 acres instead of 2,000 and employs about 6,000 people instead of its zenith of 100,000. Its eco-friendly architecture includes a green roof. The Ford housewives would undoubtedly approve of such thriftiness. They’d also agree that iffy strawberries make spiffy smoothies.

What frugalities do we practice today that will make our kids and grandkids say, “Can you BELIEVE they did that?”

Living on the Economic Edge

If you're a person who attempted to write a book in the pre-computer era, you'll know what I mean.

Did you ever have a book chapter that languished in your desk drawer, a chapter that you just didn’t know what to do with?

Change “desk drawer” to “draft folder” and “chapter” to “blog” and you’re describing my current dilemma.

I’ve had the beginnings of a blog on my dashboard called Food Stamp Confidential: An Exposé of Life on the Economic Edge. It’s a place where I’ve lived, especially in the last few months. Not too many people are willing to talk about financial stress because of the belief it’s their own fault: they didn’t work hard enough, weren’t smart enough. Because people don’t talk about financial hardship, it’s not big on the collective radar. And when it is, it’s something that happens to some other group of people. Not to people like you and me.

The Middle Sixty Percent
My husband Mike and I have joked that we’ve always lived as if a recession were going on, even in the 1990s. Dan Williams, program director of Lutheran Social Service of Minnesota Financial Counseling, calls this population “the middle sixty percent.” Working families making from $15,000 to $70,000 a year, just getting by when the economy was thriving, and hit hard when the economy nosedived. Over the years our family has experienced a steady drip-drip-drip of increasing property taxes, health insurance premiums, fuel prices. A dry well here and a job loss there and the drip-drip-drip turned into the perfect storm.

I chose the blog title Food Stamp Confidential because I liked the tawdry feel of it, calling to mind a 1950s tabloid. The title isn't literally true in my case because I'm not on food stamps. (I've applied but didn't qualify.) The term "food stamps" is a metaphor for poverty and need, difficult things to write about. My drafts folder is filled with posts that remain unpublished because they convey a moroseness I don't feel.

I don’t feel poor or in need, nor do I define myself by the prefix un- or the suffix –less. I do define myself as a survivor. Like when Scarlett O’Hara strode into a post Civil–War era wearing green velvet finery that in its previous life was a set of draperies.

Living on the edge means feeling flush one day and doing a Dukes of Hazzard–type bank run the next. The bumps in the road jolt you harder but the joys feel sweeter—and there are joys. Finding a $20 bill in a purse you haven't used in months. A mechanic who devises a just-as-good Plan B that results in a cheaper repair bill. (You reciprocate, of course, with cookies.) A customer service representative who says, "I'll work with you.'"

Treading Water
What finally tipped our family over the economic edge was $4-a-gallon gas in 2008. Treading water for over two years takes a lot out of you. So does not talking about it. And now that gas is once again headed for $4 a gallon, I suspect more households will be in the same situation. Feeling isolated, wondering what they did wrong. Reading this story and realizing, “Hey, it’s not just me.” Knowing that in economic uncertainty there is company. Plenty of it.

In June 2010, U.S. Senator Al Franken held a Wall Street reform field hearing in Minneapolis. Individuals including a small business owner and a self-employed contractor testified on how the recession affected them. The UpTake livestreamed the hearing. Dan Williams of Lutheran Social Service was at the hearing, and his testimony is from 7:15 to 11:32. Watch the video here.

Black Friday at the Bruno Thrift Store

In northern Pine County, Black Friday starts at 10 a.m.

That's when the Bruno Thrift Store opens.

The Bruno Thrift Store is like a Mall of America in the midst of a rural outpost, with many items priced at fifty cents apiece. I have found apparel by J.Jill, Lands End, Eddie Bauer, Coldwater Creek, and the Vermont Country Store. I once found a pair of wool blend slacks that was at least thirty years old, judging by the Sears Roebuck name and a yellowed tag that said The Fashion Place. Price, fifty cents. In a vintage clothing shop in the Cities the slacks would have fetched at least ten times the price.

The day after Thanksgiving, traffic is light at the Bruno Thrift Store. Peggy, one of the volunteers who works there, says it's because people stop by after they're done shopping at Wal-Mart or Target. If they stopped there first, their Wal-Mart or Target run might be lighter. The beauty of the Bruno Thrift Store is, you never know what you'll find. The things you find aren't always top of mind. A tree stand. A set of ornament hooks. Or maybe you'll find a set of dishes or a box of ornaments that will whisk you away to a fondly remembered Christmas past.

The Bruno Thrift Store doesn't have a phone number, doesn't have an address outside of "Main Street, past the railroad tracks in Bruno." It's the best-kept secret in northern Pine County. It is completely volunteer run, including the adjoining food shelf, which unfortunately has seen steadily increasing traffic. Customers come from as far away as Duluth and Minneapolis. If you're on state Highway 23 on the way to the cabin or to Duluth, turn right when you get to Bruno. Cross the railroad tracks and park in front of the yellow building on the right. You'll discover a store where every day is Black Friday. And on the real Black Friday, you get to sleep in!

The Pentagon Takes Shape

“No it won’t,” I told my husband Mike.

“Yes it will,” he insisted.

The issue being debated is the completion date of the Pentagon, the five-sided chicken coop that Mike is building. When the calendar hits November, a race begins to see which reaches the finish line first, December 31st or whatever major project is on the table.

To my way of thinking, progress is slow. If you can’t track it on an Excel spread sheet, it’s not happening. Mike says progress in construction occurs in baby steps and giant leaps. Putting up the frame, filling in the corners and caulking up cracks are the baby steps. Putting up walls and installing windows are the giant leaps.

One of the rules on our farm, outside of No Mean Animals, is Don’t Throw Anything Away Because The Minute You Do You’ll Wish You Hadn’t. The drawback being, it’s easy for your property to lose curb appeal. The benefit, you can throw together a chicken coop for roughly fifty bucks.

The former owner of our house also believed in the No Throwaway Rule. Mike was rummaging in the garage and found a stash of small windows and a couple of sliding patio windows, making the Pentagon a chicken coop with a picture-window view. All windows either slide or crank open to keep the interior from becoming a broaster.

The finishing touch is a set of 1960s-era monkey bars that will be joined to the Pentagon by a chicken run made of orange plastic snow fencing. The monkey bars are from the old Kerrick School and are close cousins of the monkey bars from Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds. Our set will be entirely covered with snow fencing during Phase Two of construction.

Our farm has been a diploma mill for foxes earning a Ph.D.: Pilfering Hens Daily. But no more. Whenever the Pentagon will be completed, it'll be "better than new," an expression my Dad used whenever he finished a repair job. He'd be proud of Mike's work. The Pentagon's skeleton has withstood winds of fifty miles an hour. It will be sunny and spacious. Add WiFi and I might commandeer it for a writer's office!

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