When I married my husband, my last name became Winquist. As I have melded into that name over the years, I have learned that there are certain things that go along with that name. New culinary tastes are part of the territory. I’ve learned, for instance, that homemade pies are very important. Especially rhubarb pie. Mashed potatoes are definitely made from scratch…and gravy too (still haven’t caught on to that part).
As a newbie Winquist, I learned frugality was a high priority. Empty jars and worn-out t-shirts get a second life, leftover ketchup packets are saved for future home use, and fruit and veggie scraps become wonderful compost for the gardens. My dear mother-in-law was the ‘Queen of Repurposing’ long before repurposing was even a thing. Bread bags and plastic butter tubs were rarely thrown away. Boxes took on a new life when they were covered with contact paper to make classier looking storage containers. She even made her own rubber bands from her old support stockings (some of which are still in use in this house today).
Yes, frugality is a way of life for us.
When my daughter was in first grade, her teacher shared a concern with us at parent-teacher conference. Apparently, our family’s frugality was getting in the way of Beth enjoying first grade to its fullest. The Winquist-by-birth in our family had vetoed the Winquist-by-marriage during the requisite annual school supply shopping expedition by deciding that our daughter’s gently used crayons from kindergarten still had enough life in them for first grade. But, apparently, our Beth couldn’t help but notice that ALL of the other kids in the class had brand new crayons. It apparently sucked the joy right out of coloring for her.
At Mrs. Warner’s suggestion, Wayne lovingly laid aside his frugality and bought our Beth a new box of crayons. You would have thought he bought her the rarest treasure on earth. By laying aside the frugality and the putting on of generosity, the joy of coloring was back! In fact, since we had delayed our purchase, she now proudly owned the newest crayons in the class!
This memory from our daughter’s childhood came to mind the other day when my still frugal husband exercised loving generosity by purchasing a fancy-schmancy set of Thornton’s colored pencils for my mother – complete with a carrying case. It was neat to witness the same joy in Mom’s eyes that I had seen in my daughter’s eyes years before. Momma’s world, lived in the throes of Alzheimer’s, was suddenly brighter and filled with more color and joy.
Math has never been my strong suit. My earliest memory of my aversion to mathematics goes back to grade school. Details are fuzzy, but flash cards and standing with chalk in hand at a blackboard with snickering classmates behind me were involved in the torture. No amount of remedial help or after supper tutoring from my dad could erase the ill feeling of dread and fear whenever our teacher would stand in front of the class with a stack of paper and ask us to put our books away and take a pencil out of our desks. I can still picture her walking up and down each row of evenly spaced desks, placing a sheet of paper face-down on our desks, instructing us not to turn it over until she gave us permission. The only thing pleasant about the dreaded math quiz experience was the strangely pleasing pungent aroma of the alcohol (spirits) on the fresh, purple-inked quiz paper freshly printed on a “spirit-processed” Ditto machine (now I’m really dating myself).
I dreaded getting my paper back after my teacher graded it too. That purple ink on the page would more often than not be accompanied by numerous red check-marks next to each wrong answer. Oftentimes, right next to the grade at the top of the paper, there would be a little note from the teacher that said “See Me” or something like that. It was embarrassing to never quite “get it” when everyone else around me (so it seemed) was catching on just fine.
In marriage, opposites often attract. My husband enjoys math. It’s probably not an exaggeration of facts to say that
playing with numbers brings him great satisfaction. On a related note, he truly enjoys spreadsheets. Creating them. Updating them. Analyzing them. Sharing them. He’s the type of guy that looks at pieces of information and says with a smile, “Hey, let’s build a spreadsheet for that!”
While I struggle with remembering which credit card to use in each purchasing situation, drag my feet at keeping spreadsheets updated, struggle with understanding investment principles, and chafe at always being asked for receipts for updating those spreadsheets, I can be thankful my husband is strong in those areas. His love of managing details means we can pull up a piece of needed information with a moment’s notice when caring for my mom and brother. It means he is a natural choice to be their financial power of attorney (a job I very willingly relinquish). It means our own budget is always balanced. Our retirement investments always well-tended and growing. Our bank account never lacking. Our vehicle and home maintenance always scheduled at appropriate times. Our emergency fund always available. Our taxes always done on time and without error. Our giving always done wisely and with generosity.