home economics

The state of the economy has been hard on a lot of us here lately. If you’re not in the U.S., it’s hard to describe what a dramatic change it has been compared to a year ago. Not a week seems to go by without someone in our church announcing they’ve been laid off. Foreclosure and For Sale signs dot the neighborhood, and we’ve had people come by the house looking for work. People are taking the contents of their house outside to sell in “garage sales” that are really desperate attempts to come up with a mortgage payment in time, or selling their wedding rings on company bulletin boards. We’ve been somewhat personally affected as well – we’ve lost tens of thousands in equity in our home (just about everyone has), and it’s been hard to keep a full piano studio, lessons being a luxury that not as many can now afford. I managed to dodge a round of layoffs recently, but not all my colleagues did. The cost of food, gasoline, health care premiums and heat are up dramatically, far beyond yearly wage increases, and unemployment is at a thirty-year high. We are getting by, but times are lean for almost everyone we know.

That said, I’ve been thinking lately about some of the good things that come out of times like these, at least for the ones like us who are still managing to get by. If nothing else, lean times teach good habits, and they also force people to take advantage of collective resources. We’ve actually had a wonderful summer. The libraries and farmer’s markets are bustling. Neighborhood festivals and campgrounds are the place to be this year (though we do have grandma to thank for the pony ride).

Less people going out of town meant more people out and about in the neighborhood, attending National Night out parties in record numbers and chatting over fences. I no longer feel like an eccentric puttering in my vegetable garden, because everyone seems to be giving it a shot this year, trying to offset skyrocketing food prices. Even chicken permits are exploding.

Picking pound after pound of delicious homegrown vegetables feels like being showered in abundance amidst scarcity.

This summer, we saw no big-screen movies. Like many people, we are driving less and using public transportation more. We didn’t hire babysitters –instead we swapped childcare with friends from church and in the process, got to know the other families with young kids much better. We didn’t go to many restaurants, but we had many lovely picnics and dinners with friends.

We didn’t go to the water parks, but we took full advantage of the parks and kiddie pools we pay for with our tax dollars.

I can’t imagine having enjoyed the past few months more if we’d done things differently – I really can’t. The neighborhood has never felt more like a community.

There are, of course, many people in America who are not getting by, who are making up the increasing amounts of request for assistance coming through my desk at work, who are losing houses, and going bankrupt, or homeless, or sitting on a street corner with a sign, asking for help from a stranger. Homeless shelters are overflowing, aid and jobs are scarce to non-existent, and times are truly desperate for a lot of people. I see it everywhere I go, and we don’t have much of a safety net in this country. We tend to rely on charitable programs to do that in America, but of course, giving is down in this economy too.

What it comes down to, is that I feel oddly fortunate – fortunate to be able to hone habits that will serve us through lean times and not, but also fortunate not to be among those who are losing homes and dreams and any kind of security. It’s an odd feeling – both sad and hopeful. I’m not sad about the fact that my local thrift store shelves are picked clean –it means that Americans are finally starting to get real about consumerism and its true cost, even some of the ones who have other options. I’m not sad about the fact that the buses and light rail cars are packed – these are habits we must embrace if we are to be realistic about the future. Those high energy costs aren't going anywhere. I'm certainly not sad about the fact that the libraries and parks are full of people enjoying what they have to offer.

But I look down the street at the For Sale signs, and wonder what will happen for the family behind those doors. I wonder what will happen to my city’s tax base, to the schools my kids will attend in a few years, to the people whose unemployment finally runs out. I wonder what will happen when too many people’s credit card bills finally overwhelm their incomes in a formula that applies to many of America’s households and spells a recipe for ruin. I wonder how much longer our country can run on empty, on credit, on deficit spending, on waning reserves of oil. Our own finances are being put more or less in order, but ultimately, we are all in the same boat, even beyond our nation's borders.