My great-grandmother saved everything.
After her passing in 2009 at 90, we discovered a series of stored items that dated back to the 1960s.
A carton of washed “CoolWhip” containers, a tub of washed aluminum foil pieces, cakes, pieces of bread in the freezer from the 80s and a laundry list of saved buttons, pencils, bread ties, and the like lined her pantry walls.
By definition, she was frugal. But she was not poor.
I have a taste for nice things, but nice means quality, not branded exuberance. It doesn’t matter the brand or if anyone else used it, what matters to me is if an item will last.
My house is filled with antiques handed down from our families. I have dining room furniture from the 1920s, oil lamps wired for bulbs, and several times from the early 1800s adorn my daily use. Coupled with the fact that we live in a century home with the earliest deed dating to 1898, we have a lot of old, quality things.
I also admire and acquire vintage and hand-made clothes. I still wear a few pairs of shoes I obtained in high school, and my closet is stacked with designer shirts and jeans made in Germany, San Francisco, and Italy.
In my arsenal of tools, there rests vintage sets of wrenches and power tools from Japan and even my saxophones are all vintage. (Even my original tenor which was new in 1991 now garners a historical ideal)
The quality of things matters. Especially if you have to work to pay for them. Yet, oftentimes, in my line of work, I don’t make enough money to afford cheap new things, must less quality workmanship. Nevertheless, I continue to obtain quality things, not valuable things, without spending anything or very little. I’ve never really written about this but feel like as I work on my latest publishing, it fits the occasion.
For furniture, I have been given most of it from family or friends who were going to donate it. We’ve given 100s of pieces of furniture away through the years also as we’ve passed on solid and useful items to new couples and families in need. It doesn’t matter if a table is Duncan Phyfe and the top is ruined if the children can create, eat, and enjoy time with their family. Free is best. Free quality is better.
When we left the SF Bay area in 2011, bringing all of our ‘free’ furniture wasn’t cost-productive. Of course, the family heirlooms, even though they held little value, came with us for obvious reasons. The other, we gave away to multiple families. Arriving in Georgia mid-September we needed living room furniture, kitchen tables, and the like. So, for the first time, we purchased new, lower-quality sofas, chairs, and tables. Less than a year later, these items needed replacing.
Searching online marketplaces and local yard sales I obtained twenty-year-old leather living room furniture for pennies on the dollar. While we had to drive in freezing weather about three hours away, it was a well-received savings and our family has been sitting peacefully ever since. Likewise, I discovered my aunt had a hand-made kitchen table fashioned by my great-grandfather in 1963. We still have it.
Other furniture needs have been met by going to resell and overstock warehouses where we’ve found a nice solid pine table marked from $1500 to $35. Yes, we bought it.
Tools, lawnmowers, and other household items to have come from pawn shops, yard sales, and online marketplaces. In our kitchen, a Dacor 36” gas duel fuel oven burns with a fury many times per day as we feast upon its labors. Originally priced at over $7,000, a trek up a North Georgia mountain with my brother, and several pain pills later, I obtained this oven in 2012 for $600, my Bosch dishwasher for $50, and both of my stainless refrigerators for less than $800. I have had to spend a few hundred dollars in repairs over the years, but having the top-of-the-line for a fraction makes that possible.
My closet speaks of the same ideal.
The fit and lasting endurance of quality clothing is non-negotiable. Buying current trends in footwear and pants is like throwing your money and time in a fire and thinking it’s usable.
Goodwill and eBay have been my tailors for decades. This Spring I sold eight pair of 7 For All Mankind men’s jeans that were too large for $35 a pair. I paid $5 a pair for them and wore them for four years. The retail on those pants was over $1500, they are not worth that, they are worth $35 because that’s what they sold for. I’ve done the same with some nice Adriano Goldschmied jeans. Even though I had to hem them, I learned in my youth how to do a blind hem, so there’s that.
I cannot tell you the clothes that I have been wearing for 20 plus years, in all sizes, at nearly no investment to later sell them for a profit. (Maybe a business model here helping folks do this?) I just know that even with newer brands like Columbia, Gucci, and Levi’s, I have never paid more than a few dollars for any of them. In 2020 I needed ‘larger’ button-up shirts, went on FB Marketplace, found 20 shirts for sale at $15 each (Ralph Lauren), offered $5 each for all, and picked them up. I sold them a few months ago in like fashion for $10.
So, what to make of all of this?
Part of the chaos of life is the constant replacement of things. From chainsaws to vehicles to clothes (only new undergarments FYI), when we are constantly losing ground, replacing needed items, and paying good money for low-quality stuff, we are not living a life that maintains a sense of simplicity and peace. While not for everyone, for me, this way of life is suited.
In reflecting upon this tapestry of memories and practices, it becomes clear that the ethos of my great-grandmother's frugality is not merely a testament to thriftiness, but a profound statement on living intentionally. Her legacy, woven into every salvaged button and cherished antique, speaks volumes about the value of endurance in a world constantly chasing the ephemeral. This journey of preserving the old, of finding beauty and utility in what many would disregard, is more than an exercise in economizing; it is a conscious choice to swim against the current of consumerist “disposability”. I believe this mindset flows into our relationships and how we view life in general.
Each item in my possession, be it a vintage saxophone or a sturdy piece of furniture, carries a story - a narrative of resilience, craftsmanship, and the human touch. These objects, enriched with history, stand in stark contrast to the transient nature of modern goods. They remind us that in an age of mass production, the true luxury lies not in the brand or the price tag, but in the quality and the tales they embody. This realization redefines luxury itself - it's no longer about opulence or status, but about the richness of history and the sustainability of a choice.
There is a settledness in this.
This approach extends beyond material possessions to a philosophy that permeates all aspects of my life. It champions the idea of sustainability, not just in the environmental sense, but in the sustainability of our actions, our choices, and our lifestyles. By choosing to reuse, repurpose, and cherish the old, we make a stand for a more thoughtful, less wasteful way of living. We weave a narrative that honors the past while responsibly shaping our future. Of course, there is the quality, and high-level expense of newer things, I just prefer to let others take the hit, I’ll make the memory.
Lastly, this way of life is an invitation to reconsider our relationship with the things we own. It encourages us to ask deeper questions: Does what we own reflect our values? Are we contributing to a cycle of waste or breaking it? In this era of instant gratification and relentless consumerism, the lessons from my great-grandmother's pantry resonate with profound clarity. They teach us that the true essence of wealth lies not in abundance but in the appreciation and mindful stewardship of what we have. In embracing this philosophy, we find not just economic savings, but a path to a more fulfilling and sustainable life.
BTW, I’m sitting in my grandmother’s chair while I write this on a used MacBook I bought from a small business in Palo Alto for $400, two years ago listening to music on fifteen-year-old speakers given to me by my uncle.
No, I am not eating her bread…
Even your writing has the feel of craftsmanship James. I feel as though I should be reading it in a hardbound text, able to feel the actual weight of it in my hand, and the ability to dog-ear all of those pages I want to go back to. Your words are worth an actual printing that could be cherished along with other meaningful possessions.
James - elegantly written and super thought-provoking. I live in a 1913 Craftsman home and have a blend of family heirlooms and modern-day acquisitions - all very intentional!