Skip to main content
Dear Kate,

Stories like this are starting to trickle through the U.S. too.

Today on the front page of The New York Times was another piece about tent communities growing. Featured, were two - one in Sacramento, Ca. and another in Fresno, Ca. But they're popping up in Nashville, Tenn., Olympia, Wa. and St. Peterburg, Fl. as well. I spent a summer in St. Petersburg years ago working for the local paper and I'm trying to imagine a "Hooverville" there. (That was the name given to homeless encampments during the depression in the 1930s - for President Hoover.)

While there aren't any tent cities in Manhattan, it's still coming close to home. I'm hearing stories within my community- about the single mom who has lost her job, certainly belt-tightening by almost all. Empty storefronts are growing — even within a block or two of my apartment.

The Rabbit asked me a few weeks ago if we might lose our home. I realized even at 6, she's still too young for me to have the evening news on when she's in the house. Stories of foreclosures, evictions, lead the news nightly. And the photo on the front page of today's newspaper, and the caption about "homeless encampments," was easy for her to see and read. How much should we be protecting our kids? How much should they know? I told her we wouldn't be losing our home. But more importantly, I told her we'd always be together. I can't imagine how hard it is for the women you met and interviewed, leaving their children.

Families were split apart, in this country, during the depression decades ago. The United States was not insulated. I remember the story of my grandfather leaving his home in St. Louis to find work in California near his married sister in 1933. Granted he wasn't a child anymore, but he was 19-years-old, his mother had just died, and staying where he'd grown up wasn't an option. He packed up his 16-year-old sister, and took a train West, with 10 cents in his pocket, he later said.

I know it affected him. He never bought a house. Never bought anything on credit, and paid cash for every car he and my grandmother ever owned. The last one didn't have air conditioning. He wouldn't pay for that extra when he could just roll down the windows. At 12 years old, I thought he was nuts. We were living in Los Angeles, after all, and I hated spending summer afternoons with him if it meant we had to drive somewhere.

What choices will we make from this downturn that will label us nuts to our grandchildren? What choices will we have to make?

xoL

Comments

sarah said…
oh, my head. I used to think my grandfather was crazy because he re-used his tea bags 2-3 times instead of just going ahead and using a new bag.


I'm relieved Ethan is still to little to have the slightest clue as to what's going on in our economy.
Anonymous said…
Yes - these things impact on you for life (re comments about thrifty grandparents) and they make sense in an ecological way today. Thrift is now a necessity. We would be wise to look back to Trollope (The Way We live now - 1875) and Steinbeck (The Grapes of Wrath - 1939) and heed the stark messages within those pages. Our children need to know that we are there for them and their future, and we should start educating them kindly about respect for their environment and each other.

Popular posts from this blog

The Grim Reaper

Firstborn is obsessed with death. It started with the odd comment, such as; "Mummy, what happens when you die?" OK, I thought, I was expecting this at some point, what a cute little curious brain she has. So I trotted out all the cosy Heaven stuff and left out all the things that could worry her, such as worms and bones and holes in the ground. This went down pretty well, although somehow Firstborn made the jump from my view of Heaven (filled with love, joy, always warm, never rains, has a huge discount designer shoe outlet and I never have to pay my Visa bill) to her own view of Heaven; a wonderous place where small girls don't have to eat their vegetables before they're allowed pudding, and where Barbie dolls grow on trees. Anyway, I digress. Last week Firstborn started shouting "Kill! Kill!" in a bloodthirsty tone while bashing her hithero-beloved teddy against the wall. This was topped by her purposely flushing her favourite My Little Pony down the loo. ...

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to

A friend recently emailed me to say that her big memory of her stay with us last year is that she had a great birthday, one of the few where she didn't 'act like a spoiled grumpy princess'. She tried to give me all the credit but as I explained to her, it was all down to having a fellow female organising the birthday fun rather than leaving it to her partner. Her email got me thinking about birthdays and how very different men and women are in their attitudes to celebrating special occasions. It also had me thinking about my birthday two years ago when I threw a major tantrum in the Carrefour car-park after being told that we were off to do the weekly shop, kids in tow, which was simply the final straw at the end of a very uninspiring day. In contrast, my birthday last year was rather lovely (a morning on my own in a spa with no mobile coverage, pure selfish bliss). This year - in a few short months, eek! - I'll be hitting the grand old age of 38. This will be my las...