Ruminations and Retirement

Just happen to be ruminating about my retirement plans. I've been in retirement mode for some 30 years now, plowing money into a portfolio, buying and selling property for a profit, working at a state-level job with those wonderful state pension plans, etc. Feeling sorry for myself these days because who knew that when I was approaching retirement, the economy would go belly up and also that I would inherit four kids to support as well as my adult daughter (though I must also say that she works full time as a hairdresser and is doing much better than even my predictions) who is struggling to build up a clientele, I started to think about my parents and grandparents and asked myself how they made it through the hard times. My parents were depression era kids and so growing up I heard "turn off the lights," "eat everything on your plate, kids in China are starving," and "no you can't do this or that, we only have enough money to go to the drive-in theater with homemade popcorn." I can't even remember how many times I heard my mother tell me the story of her father, my grandfather, a likable fellow named Angus, who quit school in the third grade and by the age of 10 was working in a lumber camp in the north woods of Michigan. Seems that during the Great Depression, he supported my mother and grandmother by going to a warehouse in Flint, Michigan, and buying what he called "little stuff," to trade or sell. The "stuff" that he purchased were things like chore boys for the kitchen, little sewing kits, small household items, etc. Then he went to the dump and picked through the glass bottles. He brought the bottles home, scalded them in a galvanized wash tub, and then pasted labels on them. One set of bottles he filled with homemade vanilla, which my grandmother made in a laundry tub and the other set was filled with white liniment for whatever ailed one. My grandmother made the white liniment as well. I'm sure it cured most ailments because it smelled powerful. My grandfather would load up the car and drive throughout the Michigan countryside trading for meat and vegetables or selling what he could for cash. He stayed out for about a week at a time, plowing through farm country. He was always a talker so I am sure that he loved every bit of the challenge.  My mother remembered that when he came home on Friday nights, there were crates of chickens tied to the running boards of the car, while the trunk and backseat were loaded to the rooftop with potatoes, onions, apples, and other assorted vegetables as well as good ole fresh farm eggs. They didn't have much of anything during the Depression, but they ate well and even shared their bounty with neighbors. It is with these stories in my memory bank that I ask myself, "do I have what it takes to make it through the tough times?"