CLOSE TO THE BONE

This morning the phrase "close to the bone" came flying out of my mouth during a challenging conversation with my partner about money. Now I am distracted from my morning's plan, and hear it rolling through,like a mantra, over and over.

I imagine the phrase came from butchering. One wants to get the meat close to the bone for it's added nutrition, and to avoid waste. I can see the shiny white bone, the clinging muscle, it's long strip waiting for the sharp boning knife's graze.

And I also assume the phrase took special meaning during the Depression. As many of us in my generation, I heard about the depression throughout my childhood, while my family lived in the lap of luxury. Increasing numbers of us now are looking at "getting by," turning to food bank assistance, more carbohydrates and less protein, and scouring the food that's been shoved in the back of the cupboard to create a meal or two.

Yesterday, for example, I found canned pumpkin from 2006. It smelled okay, and I was going to cook it anyway, for a Thai soup with winter spices. (Yes, I sprung for coconut milk.) While in the recesses of the garage food storage, I found dried kidney beans, long overlooked. (I hope not so long that they won't soften in the crock pot today.) I'm accessing recipes from living on welfare in the seventies: making a chicken last for four meals, homemade breads, potato dishes (still some from the CSA). Since I'm home nearly every day, it's all coming back to me, including the fond memories of toddlers in the house, and ironing!

Close to the bone includes washing dishes by hand, resisting two-hour drives, closing drafty doors to preserve heat, entering the grocery store with a specific list and promising myself to adhere to it. It means cooking breakfasts for the teenager rather than letting him scarf up on expensive cereals, buying frozen juice rather than juice in cartons for the same reason. It's thinking ahead a day or two about menus. It's listening to my very frugal friend who keeps me alerted on special sales. It's taking on a few hours more a day of household tasks that had been let go when I worked full time. I'd gotten pretty spoiled.

"Close to the bone" is not going without food, however. Recently I heard a thoughtful description of a day in Haiti when U.S. troops were handing out food, not enough food for the hundreds that were standing there hoping to eat. The soldiers were working without any weapons, dressed in their uniforms without headgear or even nightsticks. When the coffers were empty, they formed a line and sat down. Then they announced the food was gone. The Haitians turned away, resigned, many still unfed, to come back the next day. Someone thought that gentle plan out ahead of time. I appreciated that.

My "close to the bone" is still privileged. I still have varieties of sale food to choose from, I've still got electricity to cook and hot water to wash in. I have financial support coming just around the bend. But I might just stay with these frugal practices. I see another financial collapse on the horizon, and I want to be ahead of the game. That would mean more planting in the spring, putting more food by in the fall, and being glad I was on welfare 'way back when. It taught me a lot. Gratitude, most of all.