Real life frugal living!

"Use it up,

Wear it out,

Make it do,

or do without."

This gorgeous vintage Dodge is still good enough for Mr. Broome to haul leaves and
 branches every day of the year. Runs great.

     It's funny how disposable so many things were in our city life. Phoenix has a population pushing 7 million, and that population brings with it lots of amenities. We were a 20 minute drive from Broadway shows, major league baseball, science museums, zoos, world class golf, ice skating, indoor and outdoor water parks, tantalizing restaurants, and all the shopping we could ever want. I personally never thought twice about losing a shoe, or inadvertently breaking a dinner plate. It was no big deal to run to the skate shop for repairs to Mason's longboard, or the bike shop for new tires on the mountain bikes. School shopping was easy, sitting in the dressing room sipping my Jamba Juice while the Nordstrom sales ladies fetched sizes and colors and whisked the too long skinny jeans off for alterations. And with a Target on every corner, we never wanted for Burt's Bees lotions or furniture polish or batteries. Running out, wearing out, breaking down, getting lost were very inconsequential happenings.

     Not so in a small town. The rest of America cannot even imagine how hard it is to get little things like shoes or lawnmowers or (sorry to keep beating a dead chicken in every article) organic free range eggs. Our little town is hours away from Sam's Clubs and malls. What we do have is so limited that I recently ran into a friend who was wearing a dress that I had tried on from the clearance rack at the Stage store that afternoon. I knew exactly where it was from, and so did anyone else in town who wore my size and had a penchant for yellow. You know you're backwoods when the Duck Dynasty guys seem "big city" to you. Monroe has a mall and Five Guys burgers. Willie and those guys can buy new bandanas any day of the week without spending hours on Amazon.com.

     Replacing anything in our small town takes a lot more effort, and I've seen a wonderful shift in the attitudes of my family as a result. I used to nag at my kids for treating EVERYTHING like it was replaceable, like money grew on trees and nothing had real value. But I see now that it wasn't their fault. Everything WAS easily replaceable. Now I love to see how my little Mr. Brodes hoards his Trader Joe's snacks, knowing that he has to sit in the car for 6 hours to buy more in Dallas when those are gone. And how my girls find new ways to mix and match and accessorize the school outfits we bought so many months ago, knowing that Nordstrom and TJ Maxx and Tilly's  and Target are unreachable from here. We all reuse and recycle and upcycle everything now. 

    It makes me wonder if it's really healthy for anyone to be raised in a big city like that where there's no need anymore to squeeze that last little blob of organic toothpaste from the bottom of the tube. It doesn't seem like a perfect way to raise kids. It sort of numbs your natural instinct toward frugality and robs one of appreciation for what they have. I'm glad my girls rush home from school and head outside to find the neighbors for an afternoon on the trampoline instead of hunting for new shoes at the mall.  The simple life wins this battle for sure.

     

A treasured collection of toy planes.

Sometimes I miss the suburbs.

Nearby beautiful but lonesome country road.

We were deep into our cold morning power-walk on Saturday when Jason noticed that I was wearing my bright white Oregon Ducks hat. He stopped dead in the middle of the frosty street to question my sanity in such a choice. It makes me look tan. That was the only stuttering reason I could produce.

Mr. Brodes is warmed by his
 hospital hot water bottle.

     Who knew that it was the first day of gun hunting season and that the forest surrounding us was packed with odorless camouflaged hunters scanning the thickets for a glimmer of WHITE?! I thought deer were brown, or tan, or burnt sienna. I kept walking, then stopped because Jason had muttered under his breath that I had a high probability of being shot with that hat, then decided to press on anyway hunters be d*mned, then opted to shout "Don't shoot!" at random intervals as a precaution. The muttering continued, and I noticed Jason was genuinely agitated and on the alert. So I had a little screaming melt-down in the middle of the stupid, frosty, deserted, hunter-infested country lane. Jason took his orange hat off to correct my ridiculous wardrobe choice (he was pretty much head to toe covered in precautionary colors), told me to stop crying, and continued on.
     Sometimes I miss the suburbs so much!!!!! I've spent the week thinking that Better Homes and Gardens and Country Living Magazine got into my head and made me ruin my life. I've been a West-Coast, city girl, Yankee forever. I'm tired of Wal-Mart and trees and hospitality and southern accents and potholes and fresh air and quietude. I should be able to go for a walk without fearing accidental death by deer rifle.
     I went to bed longing with all my heart for Target, and traffic, and the busy subliminal soundscape comprised of neighbors and vehicles and airplanes and things that signal to my brain that I'm where I belong in the world. The quiet beauty of my neighborhood road makes me feel lost. But when I had Target right down the road I didn't care about it, and wished I had a more simple life surrounded by trees and hospitality. I have a vision for my little family, and I feel that we're on the right track with this move and that I'm just homesick. Anyone else ever go through this? How long did it take you to feel really at home in a completely unfamiliar new place?

My old stomping grounds with neighbors all around.