I subscribe to 66 RSS feeds.  Of course I don't have time to read them all every day.  The ones I do take time to read without fail are the ones listed on the left side of these posts.

It's not unusual that I have that "slapped in the face" feeling when I read these – and I don't mean that in a negative way.  A virtual slap in the face isn't so bad; and boy did I have a big one when I read Seth Godin's post today, Evolution of every medium.  It's short, so I'm just going to share it with you here – but if you get a chance to read Seth, online or in print, you'll be better off for it.

Evolution of every medium

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I have always thought there is a wide chasm between being cheap and being frugal.  I grew up in a family of four on a teacher's salary.  I was never keenly aware that we were poor.  We lived in rural areas and had no exposure to shopping malls.  Of course this was long before the internet was anything that kids were using.  In those days being frugal and being cheap were nestled together, since life had fewer options.  I'm grateful for being raised that way, and more grateful that I've been able to shed the cheapness and keep the frugality.  I find distinct differences now between the two.  For example:

• Cheap leaves a 10% tip for a great meal.
• Frugal leaves at least 20% and doesn't eat out as often.
• Cheap buys a new $20 shirt on sale for $10.
• Frugal buys a used $50 shirt for $10.
• Cheap cuts corners.
• Frugal rounds them.

There are so many reasons to be frugal and so many not to be cheap that this post has to be Part 1 of 1+x (math reference, see below).  I'll never get to it all in a single post.  Instead, I want to tell you about one of my favorite, repeatable frugal experiences.

I was in a thrift store doing holiday shopping (believe it or not, NEW gifts are frowned upon in my family – they simply do not support the production of new goods, a topic for another post).  Because I regularly shop in thrift stores, I can attest to this happening at least once a month.  I found THE PERFECT ITEM!  It's always unexpected.  You look down and THERE IT IS staring at you from a pile of … well, other people's trash.

This time it was a gift for my sister, the math whiz.  She has a Master's Degree in Mathematics and she edits math textbooks for a living.  Meanwhile, I can barely add and subtract.  She tells me math jokes and I can do nothing but stare blankly at her while she's laughing her ass off.  This is what she's getting for Christmas:

And can you believe this little gem is still in print? It cost me all of $1.99 but when it comes to having fun with my sister, it's priceless!  Merry Christmas, sis!

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The last three weeks have been so frustrating I can hardly stand myself.  A combination of really pissy things happened all in a row.  One of my good friends was diagnosed with leukemia.  Then I awkwardly tried to reconnect with another good friend.  (Awkward on my part – I tried to be reserved about it and then unabashedly fell all over myself, from which I am still trying to recover).   Then the asshats at my job started to get festive.  Then I had lunch with my grandpa at his assisted-living center.  All the while, I'm having these very surreal dreams that stick to my brain like duct tape during the day and I can hardly think of anything else.  When I step back and try to figure out what is really going on with my precarious mental state, it seems like:

• I don't want to die.
• I don't even want to get really old.
• I don't want to work with asshats.
• I don't want to lose the few friends that I have.

What if the choices I've made are the ones that get me exactly what I don't want?  Even though I would say I don't choose to die, I did choose to be a smoker for 20 years.  On the other hand, that could be useful in terms of not getting really old.

Layering the dreams on top of this is really creepy because in the dream, I meet up with my (now awkwardly renewed) friend on a  steep cliff and there are other people in my life milling around aimlessly, like they do in dreams.  Then I experience something that has only happened to me once before, when I had to put my dog down a few years ago (I told you it was creepy).  At the moment she died, I swear to you that I felt her soul pass through mine.  It made me draw in a sharp breath and I  thought I might have a heart attack right there and go with her.  There's no good way to describe the feeling.  It was intensely painful and intensely joyous at the same time.  Well, in my dream the same thing happens when I meet up with my friend.

The first time I had the dream, I decided I should get back in touch – maybe there was something going on that I was supposed to help with.  But things are going great with my friend and I'm still having that dream regularly.  I try not to read too much into those things, but like I said, this one is really tough to shake off.

So I do what I am best at – pretending.  I pretend everything is fine and I pretend to like my job and I pretend that I'm not terrified of getting old and I pretend to be the happy, successful woman that everyone likes.  And when I wake up in the middle of the night feeling like my heart is going to jump right out of my throat, I pretend it doesn't mean anything.

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It’s been a rough 90 days, integrating back into the working world.  At least one day a week, I have to really hunker down and fight off the urge to quit.  Once you quit a high-paying job, like I did last year, it’s much easier to do it a second time.  When I don’t find myself downright pissed off, I try to laugh at the Dilbertness of it all.

Yeah, that’s hard.  It’s just not that funny when it’s your life.

The best part of the new job is that my boss went to a lot of effort to find me a place to sit where there is almost no foot traffic.  I’ve realized that I am far more sensitive to everything than I want to be and having a quiet spot is truly priceless.  I don’t have this weird need for "face time" like so many of my peers – maybe because I don’t buy in to the career path theory.  I really want to be under the radar as much as possible.  No recognition; no reward; just getting the job done.

There are good moments and I’ve made some new friends.  But mostly I’m refilling my bank account and hoping I can stick with it long enough to feed myself for a while after I quit again.  I told my husband I would try to stay for five years, but after the first five days I realized that probably wouldn’t happen.

The commute averages 70 minutes a day, round trip.  It’s a lot of stop-and-go highway traffic.  I don’t really mind it, but that kind of driving makes me nervous about having little fender-bender accidents.  I listen to NPR and try not to give the bird to the countless people who cut me off and then honk at me for good measure.  I’m not an aggressive driver, but that’s more due to the car I drive than my own personality.  There is a reason I chose a four-cylinder engine – it’s for your safety as well as mine.

There is a bit about working that makes everything else surreal, particularly when you head upwards of 60 hours a week.  At first I could do no more than eat and sleep and work.  It was all-consuming.  Now it’s just consuming.  Some days I can eat, sleep, work and read.  Today, I ate, slept, worked and wrote.  

Today is a good day.

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Ask me how I know.

I rarely have to swallow my pride. I liked to think of myself as being far more self-aware than the rest of those pride-swallowers out there.

Then the economy disappeared, and then I started a very long search for a job, and then I realized my best opportunity would be to go back to work for the company I unceremoniously left a year ago.

And now I have to swallow my pride and let me tell you, it tastes like a big ol’ shit sandwich.

When I left that company, I gave the usual notice and didn’t burn any bridges. I didn’t leave for greener pastures and I told them that. I’ve been self-employed since I left, but the term is somewhat of a misnomer if you were to look at my tax return. I kept in touch with several good friends, one of whom is going to be my new boss. So, you’d think it wouldn’t be that difficult to go back.

Wrongo.

It feels humiliating. It feels like people expected me to go do some really Big Thing when I left and by coming back they will all see that I Am A Failure. Oh wait – that’s not what PEOPLE expected – that’s what I expected.

I didn’t do some really Big Thing. I did a lot of Small Things and went from being unbelievably stressed out to content. It’s been one of the best years of my entire life, in large part because I didn’t have a job.

Now that I have to go back to exactly where I was a year ago, a landslide of very sharp and heavy rocks has just buried my soul. The part where I feel lucky to find employment right now is missing. I know I need to find it, and find it quick. If you’ve seen it, leave me a note.

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I’ve never been a huge spender, but there are some things I really miss.

5.  Towels.  I only have one matching set and they are getting raggy.  Of course they still work, so I can’t really justify going out and getting new ones just to make the bathroom look pretty.  But I’d really like to retire the ones we’re using to the dogs and get some that are big, soft, and have all their threads where they were meant to be.

4.  Underthings.  See Towels.

3.  A professional haircut.  Yes, I’ve been cutting my own hair.  It’s a mess but you can’t really tell unless you happen to be in the business.  I pity the person who gets to clean it up.

2.  A car wash.  I used to buy a car wash a few times a month when I’d fill up with gas.  I haven’t done that in at least a year now.  When it rains, I try to get the car outside to wash off the grime.  Unfortunately, it hasn’t rained in Denver for a loooong time now.

1.  Shoes.  Just a few pairs.  I haven’t bought shoes in almost two years.  I’m talking about dress shoes – I have one pair each of black, brown and blue.  I’d love a red pair.  With a pointy toe.  Kitten heel.  Size 9.  Wide. 

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My grandma passed away 10 years ago, and my grandpa has been doing a good job of living independently since then. For a guy who was born in 1922, he’s still pretty sharp and he’s darn funny.

I’ve been packing the strangest things. I think there’s something about having lived through the Great Depression that has left a generation of people who save everthing just in case it might come in handy in 2011. I’m not allowed to throw these things away. On Monday he wrestled a piece of cardboard away from me as I was headed for the trashbag. "Wait! I can use that!" Needless to say, I acquiesed immediately. Few things are less fun than wresling with an 86-year-old man.

As I was trying to organize and pack yet another "miscellaneous drawer", I found an empty paper-towel tube. Bearing in mind the cardboard experience, I looked it over carefully. On the outside was written, "Head of Christ".

Yes, imagine my surprise.

Unfortunately, the tube was empty. I went through the rest of the drawer looking for His Head. Nothing! Knowing I couldn’t just throw it away, I had to say these dreaded seven words:

"Grandpa, I’ve lost the Head of Christ."

Did I mention he’s a bit hard of hearing?

"WHAT????" he asked. Now, I can’t tell if this is shock at what I’ve said, or just that he didn’t hear it.

"Grandpa, I’ve lost THE HEAD OF CHRIST!" I yelled. This time I showed him the empty tube, looking through the vast interior that did not contain His, or any, head.

"The WHAT???" he asked, again. Then the lightbulb came on, almost as blinding as if His Head had actually appeared.

"OH! That was for the prints of my drawing," he said, pointing towards the portrait of Jesus that he made several decades ago. My grandpa is a very talented artist, and had just drawn Jesus from the neck up. Several family members wanted a copy, so he had stored extra prints rolled up inside this tube. Of course.

We’re saving the tube for 2011, but the fact that it’s marked Head of Christ may limit its potential.

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I met (virtually) Zen master Mary Jaksch last year when I had the good luck to find her blog, Goodlife Zen.  I was intrigued by the topics she wrote about and the active community of commenters.  Since that time, Mary has been given the coveted position of Chief Editor at Leo Babauta’s Write to Done blog while still writing for her own blog and guest posting around the internet.  I don’t know how she manages to do all this and stay sane, but her latest guest post on Zen Habits , How to Find Islands of Ease in the Chaos of Life, gives us a look into some of her methods.

Finding this article couldn’t have come at a better time for me (synchronicity, anyone?) because I have been unusually preoccupied with things that I don’t even like to think about.  Things like why haven’t I had a single interview after sending out more than 50 resume’s.  Things like what will I do once my retirement fund has been spent paying bills.  These thoughts have started to tear at my sense of connectivity with the greater universe.

Reading Mary’s article has started to stich that sense back together a bit.  Putting her suggestions into practice will not be easy for me, but the truth of what she says is so obvious that even a stubborn goose like myself can see it.  I’m actually going to shut down my computer after posting this and take my dogs for a walk on this beautiful, 60-degree day in Denver!

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No, it’s not because I’m germ-phobic or have a tendency towards hypercleanliness.  It’s also not because I think bleach smells really good. 

The reason I smell like bleach is because, twice a week, I volunteer at the Denver Dumb Friends League.  The DDFL is a local animal shelter, established in 1910.  In 2007, they adopted out 14,557 dogs and cats.  They’re the largest non-profit animal shelter in the Rocky Mountain region.

The DDFL is an "open-admission" shelter, which means that they do not, ever, turn an animal away.

EVER.

They accept any animal, 24×7, for any reason and under any circumstances.  They work with other organizations and local farms to take animals that they can not house on-site.  They have a place for people to leave their animals anonymously, at night, in kennels that always have warmth and water at the ready.  They have extremely kind people who work with you if you have to relinquish your pet.  (For the record, I am not one of those people.  That falls into the category of things Annie is not capable of doing.)

Here’s the rub:  Animal shelters can either be "no-kill" or they can be "open-admission".  They can’t do both.  This means that the DDFL must euthanize animals.  I happen to think that this is awful and horrible and tragic.  So do they.  So does everyone who volunteers and works there. 

"…  the reality is that there is not enough space and money to accommodate all of them. We humanely euthanize those animals—primarily cats—that are not chosen by new families. We also euthanize aggressive animals—primarily dogs—that are determined to be a potential threat to the community and those sick or injured animals that are unrehabilitatable given our resource limitations."  DDFL website

My job at the shelter is to take care of cats and kittens that are too sick or too small (or both) to be adopted.  There is a large Foster Care facility where we nurse these kids back to health and then send them up to the adoption floor.  I also take care of the small animals:  rabbits, ferrets, hamsters, mice, rats and the occasional parakeet and chinchilla.  For all of these animals, my job involves feeding, loving, watering, loving more, changing papers, petting and more love.  Somewhere in this list I work a lot with bleach.  My car smells like bleach.  My clothes have bleach stains on them.  My hands will smell like bleach even after I take a shower. 

I don’t mind the smell.  It reminds me of the furry lives I help to save.  I urge you to do the same (save furry lives, not smell like bleach).  If you can, please

• Microchip, tag and collar your pets.
• Spay or neuter your pets.
• Tell people that keeping cats inside keeps cats alive.
• For the love of God, adopt your next pet from a shelter.
• Support legislation to control commercial breeders.
• Donate to a local animal shelter.

If you’re broke like me, volunteer your time.  Trust me, you’ll get used to the smell.

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‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
The network came alive with clicks from my mouse;
The articles were written, submitted with care,
In hopes that Google would soon be there;

The keywords were nestled all snug on the page,
When search engine robots leapt from their cage;
Finding my backlinks like breadcrumbs laid,
Tiny spiders on the path I had made.

When out on the net there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the couch to see what was the matter.
Away to the browser I flew like a flash,
Spilling my coffee with a loud crash.

The moon on the edge of the MacBook Pro
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But organic search traffic, that much was clear.

Without any pay per click, so very frugal,
I knew in a moment it must be Google.
More rapid than eagles its coursers they came,
And it whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, Sphinn! now, Digg! now, Twitter and Stumble!
On Squidoo, on Reddit! On Friendfeed and Tumblr!
To the top of the page! To the number one spot!
Secret algorithms, show us what’s hot!"

The sweat and the tears, the niches I’d lost,
Domains unused, keywords tossed;
The hours of staring at Samurai red;
Those days are over, or so Google said.

E-books and newsletters and membership sales,
And a shiny new list brimming with emails.
Laying my finger aside of my nose,
I gave a quick nod, from the chair I rose.

I skipped to the kitchen with my empty mug,
Stopping on the way to give the family a hug.
I whispered to my kids as I held them tight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."

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