When Old is New

By TAD BARTIMUS

My friend very carefully spooned the Kung Pao chicken into the paper carton, then made room beside it for the extra white rice. She put the dab of steamed vegetables into another box and tucked her unread fortune cookie into her purse.

"Supper," she cheerfully announced. "I like this place because there's plenty to take home."

My once-a-month lunch partner always gets the leftovers. Out loud we say it's because I live two hours from the restaurant, while her refrigerator is just a few blocks away. But we both know she gets the doggy bag because it's more important to her than it is to me.

My friend is thrifty. Tight as a tick, you might say. She swears her financial ethic evolved while rearing five children, but I think she was born that way. She claims she's never coveted a single article of clothing and always saved string. I, on the other hand, have always been a spendthrift; I was in ninth grade when I bought my first sweater on installments. It feels like I've been paying for it ever since.

Buy, buy, buy everybody's always trying to get us to buy things we already have. Why not use them 'til they're worn out?

My friend is a stay-at-home mom whose husband has a blue-collar, middle income job. Years ago they decided they didn't want to worry about money, so they pledged to always live within their means and, except for a few medical crises, have done so.

This concept stunned me. No debt? No credit card bills? No lottery on Friday to see who gets how much? Absolutely not, says my friend, who pays cash or does without. She's stayed in the same house long enough to own it. Her 13-year-old car runs like a top. She always looks nice, but her clothes come from second hand stores. Dining out is for special occasions; rice is a nightly staple, meat a treat.

She doesn't have a home computer, the kids don't own video games, and the television is hardly ever on; until just a couple of years ago, it was an old black-and-white set. Recreation means long walks, the children's school sports events, Scrabble and Monopoly on rainy weekends, books, books and more books. The family has never taken an expensive vacation away from home; instead, summers are spent at public ball parks, swimming pools and the beach.

"We don't need that stuff," says my friend, waving her arm vaguely in the direction of the shopping center. "Buy, buy, buy everybody's always trying to get us to buy things we already have. Why not use them 'til they're worn out? Why do I need a bigger house when this one fits? Why do I need a fancier car with more things to break when mine runs fine?"

Gee, I don't know. I thought it was the American way the more you get, the more you spend, the more you have to earn. Her serene face made me wonder; could Madison Avenue be wrong?

I looked out at my friend's carefully waxed old Chrysler and was reminded of my 1965 Mustang. I paid $2,500 for it new and sold it for $100 eight years later. Now it's worth $25,000. Clothes from my youth also have become collectibles: retro couture, the fancy auction houses call it.

"Listen," I said to my frugal friend, "I think you're onto something. The next time you go to the thrift shops looking for bell-bottoms take me with you."

© Copyright 1998-2000 The Women Syndicate. The content on these pages is the property of The Women Syndicate and may not be used without express permission. Contact friends@tadbartimus.com