Penury, Shmenury!

There are times in one's life when one can look back fondly on the years of struggle where we pulled ourselves up by our bootstraps, by gum. (We did it by gum because we couldn't afford a dentist and didn't have any teeth left.)

I have done a lot of thinking about financial problems. This is easy to do if you've had them. Poverty is a relative thing. Compared to the people Mother Teresa is taking care of, I'm rolling in dough. Compared to Bill Gates, life is more like the Dickensonian sweatshops.

I looked up poverty in the thesaurus. Another word for poverty is penury. Doesn't that give it an erudite sound? Utter these words with an English accent like Margaret Thatcher's: "Yes. Well. We were living in a Virginia backwater, devoted to a life of penury and meditative reflection. It was there that we became aware of the plight of the common people."

Once Peter and I were in a situation where we were between jobs. We had just sold one of our cars that we were outgrowing as a family. The following week the second car collapsed totally. It needed organ transplants -- blood transfusions, a lobotomy -- all the major repair jobs. We were so broke that we ended up trading a few bags of groceries for a new (I use the term loosely) car.

Some friends had gotten a new car, and kindly passed one of their old ones along to us for that trifle. I think it was a 1977 green Dodge Valiant. We were truly grateful to have a vehicle to go from point A to point B -- even though it felt like punishment to be seen driving in it. It chugged, roared and stalled at stop signs. It was also putrescently ugly. (That could be an advantage if I was trying to find it in a parking lot.) I thought about wearing a disguise -- something subtle, like a brown paper bag with eyeholes.

We somehow lived through that time. Looking back, we survived because we had goals. At this writing I am watching our dreams beginning to hatch. The old Napoleon Hill/Anthony Robbins positive thinking routine. I believe in the power of belief! (Even though I was on my knees every other minute saying, When, God, when? How much longer?)

When you don't have money, you tend to shop where the deals are. Thrift stores and flea markets. My heart truly ached at some of the people I saw in those places. I used to think poverty meant not having any money. Real poverty is not having any imagination. What if the pinnacle of culture for you was Monster trucks and the National Enquirer? Poor neighborhoods tend to feel oppressive. They can have a soporific effect. The broken windows, the unlandscaped sidewalks. The negligence permeates everything. How many people feel oppressed by the atmosphere in La Jolla California, or Martha's Vineyard, for example? (Unless you're oppressed for lack of capital!)

On days spent shopping on the wrong side of the tracks, I would come home and try to rid myself of that atmosphere. With empty pockets I would look at the sparkling James River or blink up at the blue sky. My little boy Tymon would say in his wee voice, "We may be poor in money but we're rich in spiwit (spirit)."

It's important to set priorities straight. If one specifies one's goals and systematically works to achieve them, they will come true. It takes sweat, focus and faith. It means smiling in the face of gloom. Sneering at the lean times. Reviling defeats. Scorning discouragement. Thumbing one's nose at the iconoclasts who would puncture one's dreams. We hitched up our pants, cinched up our belts, rolled up our sleeves, put our noses to the grindstone, our shoulders to the wheel and plowed forward (tripping all over our cliches), unwavering to the goal.

Then one day I came home and found a Publisher's Clearing House Sweepstakes application in my mailbox. Knowing that my priorities were straight, I brought it inside and carefully followed the directions. I filled out the paperwork and put the little colored sticker for the Jaguar in the right spot, and dropped it in the mail. I believe in my dreams, but why take any chances?