Unemployed? Market yourself as a ‘caretaker.’

My extended family has loads of skill sets and garages full of equipment. They’re either professional electricians, plumbers, carpenters or mechanics or else they know enough about it not to wind up in the ER.

They’ll drywall or paint or landscape or bring over their log-splitters. They’ll help you wrestle a heating oil storage tank into place, or wire a surround-sound system for your man-cave.  They’ll cut down a tree or spread bark mulch or dig a hole right where you want it.

It’s a loose system of favor-trading. You need something, you ask. The guy or gal who can do it will eventually ask for something in return. Nobody keeps score. It all evens out – and even if it isn’t strictly “fair,” everyone is pretty happy with the arrangement.

I miss that kind of networking. Then again, I’m the one who moved away. It’s my own fault if I have to hire someone to do the kind of thing cousin Denny would have traded for.

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If life is the currency, I’m already rich.

J. Money has started a “Million Dollar Club” at his site, Budgets Are Sexy. Nicoleandmaggie from Grumpy Rumblings of the Untenured isn’t rushing to join.

(I’m not really sure which of the two bloggers wrote this, so I’m going to guess that it was Nicole. I have a 50% chance of being right.)

Nicole and her spouse are making some smart choices, such as paying the mortgage off early, being canny about retirement funds and living on less than one salary. In this post she noted that throwing every extra dime and spare minute toward millionaire-hood would get them there faster.

But.

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Who would Jesus strafe?

A relative has told me that the only way to secure our border is to allow the Border Patrol to shoot to kill. He honestly believes this is OK. He also honestly believes he is a Christian.

I’ve heard of prosperity gospel. Perhaps his church teaches hostility gospel. My church doesn’t.

Talk about immigration generally ceases to be talk and quickly descends into rhetoric. Porous borders! Welfare cheats! Low riders! Constantly pregnant Latinas! It’s easy to whip up hysteria and to present a convenient scapegoat: the Mexican drywaller who took away an “American” job, rather than the millionaire developer who hired him – and who even now is lobbying your congressman not to pass stricter immigration standards.

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A sad journey.

Less than two weeks after getting back from Alaska I learned that my Aunt Bea has an advanced, inoperable cancer. I’d planned to go to New Jersey to see my dad in the middle of September. After thinking this over for a few hours, I decided to move up the trip by a month.

The day after tomorrow I’ll be on a plane to Philadelphia. About an hour from there is my home town, Fairton, known mostly for truck farming but more recently for prisons — two have been built there since I left. I’ll visit with Bea and also with her sister, my Aunt Dot, whose deathbed I raced to in early April. Well, Dot made liars out of the doctors yet again.

Sure, I could wait until next month. But I’d rather go for a visit than a funeral, so I have been making arrangements:

 

Online news won’t save the planet.

My newspaper didn’t show up today. A missing Sunday paper is particularly irksome because it’s top-heavy with sale and coupon supplements. Happily, another paper was delivered about an hour after I called the Seattle Times circulation department.

One of these days there won’t be a paper – and not because someone stole it, or because my carrier’s Saturday night stretched into Sunday morning. It will be because newspapers have gone the way of the dodo.

At that point I’ll be seriously bummed. So will dog lovers, bird owners and the thrift store cashiers who insist on wrapping each cup or plate you buy in sheets of yesterday’s news.

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