What I Want vs. What I Need
Sat., November 24, 11:59 AM
Each month I complete a survey for Big Research. It's kind of interesting, usually a mixture of the regular questions and something specific for that month. Sometimes you can tell, from the kind of questions, just who is requesting the information. I've been doing it long enough that the appropriate age range I check off has changed at least twice.
They don't pay a lot of attention to my answers, of course. Their findings often make the news, but my opinion is never in the majority. “I told you so,” is not an option. I predicted the drop in the stock market and the rise of unemployment, but the so-called experts are covering their collective nether regions… “It's not a real drop, it's a correction.” “That's not a real loss of jobs.” Whatever. I know how to lie with statistics too.
One question that turns up each month is whether I — the person answering the questions — have changed to buying what I need rather than what I want. I find that an interesting question, because its meaning has changed over the past few years.
I'm sure that anyone who grew up in a family with limited funds knows what I mean. You spent money only for what you really needed. Instant gratification was only for infants. Everyone else saved their pennies until they had enough to buy what they wanted.
It becomes a way of life after a while; for my mother it was kind of a game. “Learn to eat the specials.” You don't even think twice about it. Yeah, that's me, cheap; I don't waste my money on junk because my money is finite. (The junk is infinite.)
But the original definitions don't necessarily work. Consider celery. The best buy on celery is a plain old large bunch. When I was preparing food for a family, I used enough celery that the large bunch was an excellent buy. But as the kids moved out, I was finding those disgusting masses of dead celery in the back of the fridge… If I have to throw it out, it's not a good buy. I switched to hearts of celery, which are more expensive but smaller and cleaned of some of the elements that go bad first. That worked for a while, but soon even the celery hearts were spoiling. My supermarket, thank goodness, now sells single celery stalks by the pound. They cost from ten to fifteen cents each, and I buy only two or three at a time. That's all I need for a week. I may want to buy the old large bunch, but I buy only what I need.
When I was dieting, I learned that (1) I needed fresh salad regularly and (2) buying a head of lettuce or broccoli was going to result in lots of stuff going bad before I could use it. Suddenly, to get what I needed when I needed it, I was buying from the salad bar, that expensive convenience that I seldom, if ever, visited. It's not my first choice, but it does fill my need.
Suddenly it has become fashionable to conserve energy, to go green. In my house, we have always done that. The television spots offer little hints, like turning down the thermostat or using fluorescent light bulbs. They don't mention one thing I don't do already. That's what I want to continue doing. But I have an elderly patient in my house now, a man who will crank up the heat rather than put on warmer clothing. He needs round-the-clock oxygen, which is supplied by an electric concentrator. The concentrator alone is enough to trip the circuit breaker if we're not careful.
When reading becomes difficult — and it still tires me quickly — I watch more television. Not what I want. I would like to drive out and “chase the specials.” Again, not an option. I have bought extra supplies, paying more, just in case we run out when we can't get to Costco.
Nevertheless, it can get funny. I ordered an electric Hanukkah menorah because I can't take the chance of real candles, especially if Husband decides to carry his oxygen into the room. Sure, I would rather have candles; I need to avoid open flames. This item has been tested by Underwriters Laboratories, a reputable firm that ensures that your electric products are safe to use. UL also includes a safety guide in the package, to remind you to use the product sensibly. It is a very generic guide. It says in part, “if you use this electric ornament on a tree, be sure to unplug it…” I do not know any person who observes Hanukkah by hanging the menorah on a Christmas tree.
I do know that every time I look at my sink, it is full of dirty dishes. I wash them, only to find that Husband has more dishes in his room. Every time I do dishes, I have to run the hot water — half a gallon's worth — until hot water comes up. I am wasting water, not to mention electricity. I see it coming. I never wanted one, but I think I need to buy a dishwasher.
