July 25: Good...or Bad, Summer Finances, Tired

"Is it good," she said, "or bad?"--to help him.

"Bad," he answered.

"We are quite ruined?"

I've written about this little known scene in Stave Four of A Christmas Carol before.  It's between a husband and wife who are worrying over the debt they owe Scrooge.  At the end of the passage, the couple celebrates the fact that Scrooge has died, giving them more time to collect the funds to pay off their obligation.

I understand this couple's predicament.  When my wife and I refinanced our mortgage earlier this summer and learned we wouldn't have to make our first payment on the new mortgage until September, we celebrated, as well.  That little stroke of luck saved us this summer so far.  We wouldn't have been able to pay the rest of our bills otherwise.

Last night, my wife and I sat down to examine the current state of our summer finances.  It was not a very gratifying experience.  In fact, I would describe it as being just short of a morning in a Siberian gulag.  Times are not simply tight for us right now.  They are suffocating.  After an hour or so, I started having a little anxiety.  It made for a bad night of sleep, and I'm pretty tired this morning.  I have a feeling it's going to be a really long day at work.

There is going to be no Ebenezer Scrooge dying to save my finances.  The thing that I have my sights set on is the fact that my checks from the university should resume in a couple of weeks as the fall semester approaches.  That is, if the employment contract with the college is settled.  If it isn't, and there's a work stoppage (strike), life will pretty much suck.  The Cratchit Christmas dinner will look like a friggin' feast, and I don't even like goose or figgy pudding.  Yes, I'm praying for a contract extension or settlement.  Soon.

We are not quite ruined.  Not yet.

Marty, patron saint of worriers and underpaid college adjunct instructors, gives thanks for that.

What the hell is figgy pudding anyway?

March 13: Quite Ruined, Hope Yet, Bills

"We are quite ruined?"

"No.  There is hope yet, Caroline."

Not checking in yet, but I have reservations

I'm sure not many people will recognize this little exchange.  It occurs in Stave Four (the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come chapter) and involves a young couple that owes Scrooge a lot of money.  They are obviously at the end of their ropes, and the man has just returned with news.  His wife, Caroline, is sure they are going to end up in debtors' prison or the poor house.  We 21st century Americans don't know too much about things like debtors' prison or the poor house, but, let me assure you, neither places were a day at Elizabeth Arden (unless Elizabeth Arden has bars on the windows, manacles, gruel, and armed guards).  The man, however, knows that Scrooge has died, buying them enough time to make good on their debt.  Caroline still has visions of jail and homelessness dancing in her head.

This morning, I had a Caroline moment, thinking of bills that have been collecting, unpaid, on our dining room table.  It was total panic, convincing myself that Scrooge was banging on our front door, metaphorically, demanding immediate payment of my financial obligations.  I won't kid you.  It scared the shit out of me.  Still does.

Recently, I have made no secret in this blog of my family's money problems.  Since my wife's unemployment checks ran out, our bank account has slowly dwindled.  For a while, it was only mildly alarming.  Then it became distressing.  Now, it's full-blown terrifying.

The good news is that my wife started a new job yesterday.  She'll be working full-time for the next two weeks.  Then she will be working part-time in the afternoons.  We will have more money coming in soon.  I feel like Caroline's husband.  There is hope yet.  We just have to hold off the wolves for a few more weeks.

My wife and I aren't extravagant spenders.  We don't eat prime rib and lobster for dinner.  Last night, we had meatloaf burgers.  I hate being behind in paying bills.  It gives me bad dreams at night and stress headaches during the day.  It's been a long time since I haven't gone to bed worrying about our money woes.  When I get up in the morning, I usually cut my shower short to reduce our water bill.  Thank God we don't live in Victorian England.  My daughter would be working in a blacking factory right now for sure.

Saint Marty isn't quite ruined.  Not yet.  There's still hope.

February 8: Tess Vigeland, Quite Ruined, Marketplace Money

"Is it good," she said, "or bad?"--to help him.

"Bad ," he answered.

"We are quite ruined?"

"No.  There is hope yet, Caroline."

"If he relents," she said, amazed, "there is!  Nothing is past hope, if such a miracle has happened."

Not too many people remember this little scene in Stave Four of A Christmas Carol.  Scrooge begs the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come to show him any person who feels emotion caused by "this man's death" ("this man" being Scrooge).  The Ghost brings him to this husband and wife.  The couple are facing financial ruin because of their dealings with Scrooge.  Upon learning of  Scrooge's death, they celebrate their good fortune.  They are saved.  Scrooge's death brings them only pleasure.

Everyone into the pool

On Wednesday mornings, while I'm in the shower, I listen to a program on Public Radio called Marketplace Money.  It's hosted by a financial expert named Tess Vigeland.  Each week, I come away from the show completely depressed.  This morning, she got a phone call from a man who's underwater in his mortgage.  He's not just underwater.  He's submerged in the Marianas Trench to the tune of a couple hundred thousand dollars.  Of course, there's not much Tess can do to help this poor slob.  She talked about walking away from the house/mortgage, starting over.  She talked about declaring bankruptcy.  She talked about living with the debt.  It was all thoroughly dark and dismal.  To use the title of another of Dickens' novels, he owns Bleak House.

I must be a glutton for punishment.  I listened to the entire program.  It didn't get much better.  There was a segment on adult children becoming financially responsible for their ailing parents.  By the time that uplifting piece was over, I was ready to check into debtor's prison and hang myself.  I need to find something better to listen to in the morning.  Christmas music or an Up With People station.  Anything but Tess Vigeland talking about financial oblivion.

Saint Marty's not quite ruined yet, but he may need to find a factory job for his daughter.