linda may

The year is off to a rough start. A snow and ice storm is blowing into the Pacific Northwest just as my father calls to let me know my mom was admitted to the hospital for heart problems. My parents live about 5 hours south, and I want to drive to be with them. But I can hear the howling winds, which sound downright foreboding, and see the snow blowing chaotically all around us. We wake up to see that our street is like an ice rink. Nate is stressed about me driving in these conditions, and I am too. I wait it out until Sunday when the snow stops, after checking the road cams that show the mountain passes on my route are clear of snow and ice. I’m not thinking a whole lot about my decision not to buy stuff this year.

January 14th: I drive to Southern Oregon to be with my parents after my mom’s hospital stay. I start to see cars, trucks and several jacknifed semis abandoned in ditches off I-5 during my long drive south. During a detour off I-5 to avoid traffic, I see families on foot lined up with propane cans at a gas station. In the opposite direction, a line of cars and trucks backs up all the way to the highway entrance, also lined up for fuel. I wonder how many of these folks have lost heat and power during the storm.

I feel so grateful to arrive safely. I help my parents meal plan, grocery shop, cook, clean and monitor my mom’s vitals. I help my mom pack up the Christmas ornaments.

January 15th: Mom is feeling well and wants to get out after 3 days in the house. We go out for coffee and some shopping, with a specific goal in mind: a new bathrobe (the one she was wearing was secondhand when she acquired it 19 years ago). I have to excercise restraint in the store as beauty products and sweaters catch my eye! But I stay laser-focused on getting mom a new bathrobe and feel good about this purchase. $42. We head home before Mom gets too tired. Later I make dinner, and we watch an old British mystery together on the couch and share ice cream.

January 16th: After my mom’s medical appointment, I purchase my parents some new bowls and dishcloths at the local kitchen store. Hmmm. I considered whether this was retail therapy. $51. We stop by the sewing shop on Main Street and buy some elastic to repair an 18-year old pair of pajamas gathering dust in my sewing basket. 60 cents. Back at my parents’ house, I help my dad sort through old books to give away.

January 17th: We have a lovely late lunch with my parents at Sunshine Natural Foods, which feels like their natural habitat as a couple of hippies who met in a natural foods commune in Berkeley in the 70s. We sit in a booth by the window and eat salads and raisin bread and feel like a family.

January 18th: I notice that I am starting to feel stressed about my parents’ stuff. I drive my dad to their storage locker with the Christmas decorations and we pull out some boxes to sort through or recycle. My dad hopes to clear out the storage locker this year but, like me, knows he will need help and accountability. On the drive back, he calls a friend and they set up a coffee date. I take 6 bags of my parents’ books, clothes and miscellaneous items to Goodwill. I hug my parents a tearful goodbye. I make the 5 hour drive home, feeling exhausted, and happy to see my husband & kids.

January 20: Nate and the kids and I make our annual pilgrimage to The Mall (dreaded by my husband, as evidenced by his excessively fast walking as soon as we step through the doors) to buy a new kitchen wall calendar for 2024 – in late January there is usually a 50-75% off sale, and we find one we all like for $3.99. (2023 was Audubon prints; this year is gorgeous scenes of desert landscapes in bloom.) We depart The Mall without buying any other stuff!

January 21st: I find a like-new yogurt maker on FB Marketplace for $15. Made delicious yogurt.

Although technically all of my purchases are “allowed” on my list, I am already noticing how much of my leisure time is organized around buying things, and then sorting through things to give to give away. It seems that, even during a “no-spend” month, shopping – and stuff – is often a focal point of my days. It would be foolish to argue that I didn’t somehow get comfort from making those purchases for my mom, or that I didn’t try to feel a sense of control (when my mom’s health is so out of my control) by focusing on helping my dad declutter. In case there was any question, shopping is apparently one of my coping skills in times of trouble.