Chapter 62
The Sugar Cane Flea Market started up because of all the rules coming out of DC about bartering. People, including me, had been getting around taxes and stuff by bartering and keeping it off the books and under the table. Only when certain people realized how much in taxes their states were starting to lose, they brought it up to other people in the government and low and behold they decided they would start enforcing the IRS tax laws concerning bartering. Those laws were already on the books, just not too many people paid attention to them if they even knew they existed. Now that I’m adulting and need to look out for my own interests, I’ve had to bone up on all this stuff. Sucks completely, but if you want the privilege you gotta accept the responsibility.
According to the IRS “you must include in gross income in the year of receipt the fair market value of goods or services received from bartering.” For a while people would just zero out the amount because they figured they were exchanging equal for equal. Don’t work like that anymore. The IRS wants everything itemized. And this year you are required to itemize both sides of the transaction … not just what you get but what you trade in return and all parties involved in the trade. Then there’s the complication of “fair market value” because everyone’s idea of FMV is different and isn’t always easy to estimate. And now everyone has to keep receipts when they barter on top of everything else. If you get audited – which they are doing more and more of – you better have good records with pictures and receipts and how you come up to the FMV of the goods or services involved. It is getting crazy complicated and is bogging down the economy in some places. Flea markets are one way people have come up with to try and control the complications. But don’t get me wrong, more and more people only want scrip and that’s what I had because taxes and penalties are higher if you get caught not reporting bartering.
My list of needs wasn’t that long. I needed some deodorant, some feminine hygiene products, some sunscreen, and a new sports bra because the elastic was giving out in the one that I wear the most. Plus, I’d all but promised to bring something back to Fabrice. My wants list is longer and some of it doesn’t make a lot of sense on the surface.
The other day I’d been listening to Momma L and Auntie talk about Tib and Vadie … and how things were different now days from when they got married. First I wanted to go “Duh!” but next I wanted to say they must have gotten their crystal balls out of the shop because it wasn’t a sure thing that those two would stay together long enough to get married. Or maybe just stay together but not get married. Of course, wanting to say something to those two ladies and actually having the nerve to do it are two different things. I was fixing a leak under the kitchen sink so just let them keep talking. When they started out about how things were like when they were girls and further back to the stories they’d heard from their mothers and grandmothers I wasn’t listening at first but then it got me to thinking so I did seeing if there was some useful bits of wisdom I might could use down the road.
Seems in the old days girls would make and collect things and put them in a trunk, box, or something similar and call it a Hope Chest. As in they were hoping to get married one of these days. In the old days they didn’t have things like online wedding registries where you tell people what you want as a wedding gift. In the old days, the really old days, you didn’t necessarily even get gifts for your wedding, you were the one giving people gifts – like a party and mementos and such – just to encourage them to show up for your shindig and help you celebrate. The stuff you managed to put away in your Hope Chest was supposed to help you set up your first home and get along until you were financially stable enough to buy that kind of stuff. You had years to collect it, even before you had someone in mind to be the groom part of the equation. As not a lot of women worked outside the home back then, it was supposed to be a way to contribute to the family and show you could be economic partners, like a self-provided dowry. It was also a way to guarantee that even if the rest of your lives were hard and … er … extra rustic, that you’d have a few nice things up front.
I think, at least in part, allowing the things they said to roll around in my head a bit is why I’ve started thinking about the possibilities with Em more. Not just thinking about them but really thinking about them, as in what it could look like in real life and not just a fairy tale. First conclusion I came to is that nothing is going to happen until I get Uncle Henley’s family stuff figured out. I mean it could, but I’m not really interested in putting the cart before the horse or dragging a bunch of baggage of that type around. I guess some mysteries really are meant to be solved. Second conclusion I came to is that whether I’m partners with someone or not, at some point I’m going to need to set up my own house … or some type of place … because I cannot survive on crapwork and charity for the rest of my life.
Yeah, I’ve put on a good show of being proactive … always trying to pay my own way and things like that … but a show is all it seems to be in hindsight. The ideas were good, they just didn’t go far enough; or maybe I wasn’t in a place I could apply them more or better. I survived day to day to get out of foster care knowing that when I was 18 I was on my own. I survived not having Uncle Henley to fall back on like I had expected. I’ve survived a lot of things … but it has always been a reaction kind of thing. And now that I see other possibilities I don’t want to just survive, I want to be proactive so any partnership I do establish doesn’t fall apart from outside stressors. Geez and didn’t I see a lot of that when I was in foster care. A lot of kids wound up in foster care because their parents couldn’t handle – or chose not to handle – the hot messes that like threw at them. I may not know exactly what I want yet, but I know for dang sure I don’t want to live like that for the rest of my life.
So, one way or the other it is time to be proactive. When Mamma LeBlanc and Aunt Orélie were telling stories it was all generalized kind of remembrances. They didn’t list out all the stuff that girls used to put in those Hope Chest things so I did some research to try and find out what went in a Hope Chest. Well wasn’t I surprised to find out that people who still wrote about that stuff were just as vague as the older ladies had been. I searched all over the library and no luck. Even going online didn’t reveal more than just rudimentary ideas. So I’ve been stuck making my own list. That’s not as crazy as it sounds because I helped develop the packing list for my crew. We tried to pack as light as possible to make it easier on ourselves while still having a few luxuries that made “easier” more fun. That got me to thinking whether I wanted some hypothetical Hope Chest to be about making life “easier” or about “luxuries” I might not be able to afford once I was paying for everything else in life.
Then I decided I was just making the entire process way too difficult. I had a whole flaming storage locker full of Hope Chest type stuff that will go in a house or apartment or whatever. It has taken me months to get all the stuff in there organized but now that it is, I need to think where the gaps are. I got a couple pieces of furniture but not the big pieces like a sofa or bed, but that can wait. I’ve got kitchen stuff out the whazoo even if it is old fashioned stuff. Same for the linens and stuff that must have come from Granmere’s things. I even have tools and gardening stuff. So what else do I need really? I figured being able to take care of me rather than expecting someone else to do it was a good place to start. And what did I need? Like I said, the hygiene stuff and clothes were part of that. I couldn’t go around dressed in Uncle Henley’s spares for the rest of my life. Not to mention there was a piece of me that was starting to wonder what it would be like to dress as a “real female” more often than I currently do. I sure don’t want to go around with my bits and pieces hanging out, that’s a good way not to get taken seriously. On the other hand I wouldn’t mind – good Lord help me – having a certain someone take notice that I’ve got bits and pieces, much less that I’m not hanging them out like advertisements for every Tom, Dick, or Harry. But as Em mentioned, teasing isn’t brilliant right now.
So what I’m going to do is this. I’m going to start getting together the things that are getting hard to come by. I’m going to keep collecting items in my “pay” that will store long term … like the rice, dried beans, and raw sugar … and I’m going to add to that with spices and herbs, some of which I might just take a hand in growing for myself. Instead of trading off all that soap and disinfectant and stuff that Momma L and I make, I’m going to start saving back some not just for me to use right now, but some that I’ll have for down the road in case things don’t go back to what people think of as normal. I’m going to buy extra clothes as I can until I have enough spares that I don’t have to run around in holey underwear or things I’ve patched so many times they’re more patch than original garment. I’m going to collect jars and lids so I can keep learning to preserve food so I don’t have to worry about going hungry any more than necessary. And I’m going to work on some “luxuries” as they come up. I’m hoping I can find stuff like that in trade for my crapwork, but maybe people don’t think my crapwork is valuable enough to trade a luxury for. It’s a quandry as Col. Morgan would say, but hopefully one that I am up for figuring out.
Thank goodness the human brain thinks faster than it takes to write down or I never would get anywhere but stuck in the past. In real time all those thoughts had already shot through my head and I wasn’t even into the first row of the flea market yet because they were making everyone stop and “show their ID papers.” That was new but not unexpected. Em said he’d actually thought it was something they would have started some time back, at least after the incursion. Good thing I brought mine though I did get a sideways look for having them in my wallet-on-a-chain-leash. With my hair longer people don’t wonder quite as much if I’m a girl or not, but you know they are wondering other stuff that is no where near their business. But it is my choice to act and dress like I do so I consider it just part of the landscaping anymore. Takes too much energy to have an attitude no one really cares about anyway.
I’m finally in and trying to go down the tables of the vendors; it is like bumper cards trying to get down the aisles. I’m not the only person pushing or pulling some kind of grocery basket or cart. The scratch-and-dent food vendors are some of the busiest as are the “dollar store” types that seem to anchor each row. I didn’t see anything in either place that floated to the top of my want list so I kept walking. There was a place selling women’s clothes but they were all used and didn’t even look like they’d been washed before putting them on the rack. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve worn second hand or hand me downs most of my life but I hate sloppy. I mean if you are into re-sale at least wash the stuff first.
I spotted my first find where some guy was selling work boots. He had them in the back of a step van and you gave him your size and one of his partners would bring out a box, you’d inspect them, and then pay for them. Well I don’t need boots. I’ve got big feet and I found a couple pair in Uncle Henley’s stuff that work for the most part. For hunting I still use my old Scout boots, but they are about ready to give up the ghost. Instead of boots I bought some socks from the vendor; a package of boot socks and a package of ankle socks. The ankle socks were a little … okay a lot … obnoxious looking. They were black with florescent colored heels and toes and metallic string detailing around the opening. But, they were the only package that wasn’t mostly white or pastel, neither of which would be good for what I need.
At the end of the same aisle there was a guy with a bucket of junk camping gadgets and he was selling them 5 for $5, 10 for $9, and 20 for $17. I saw a lot of kids wanting to look at the stuff but the adult that was dragging them around for the day wasn’t interested in stopping. Scrip doesn’t grow on trees but I figured there might be something there for Fabrice. I spent the flaming $17 and wound up with twenty gadget toys that I was going to make little go-bags with. DJ made one for me as my Crossover present and I wore it out and it now sits in the small box I put the few keepsakes I have. First thing that I spotted that caused the temptation was a multi-tool hair clip. Not kidding. Even if the tools don’t work, they keep the front hair from getting in my eyes. Some of the other little “toys” that I got were survival whistles, carabiners that had their own little multi-tool attachment, plastic compasses, wire saws, and a couple of survival bracelets made out of paracord that the clip doubled as a pocket knife. On another aisle I found three old eyeglass cases that had a snap-close opening that could be strung on a belt. The “toys” got split between the three and there was still plenty of room for more but I figure I could come up with stuff over time for Fabrice’s if he showed he was responsible with the first stuff.
That problem solved I moved on. It took a couple rows but I found a vendor selling some knock-off brand exercise clothes. I had to pick through a bunch to avoid things like having two different cup sizes or them having something rude stitched on but I managed to find not one, but two sports bras that wouldn’t embarrass me to wear. Was even surprised to find a couple packages of boyshorts undies which is the style I prefer.
I passed a table that was selling honey. Whoooo boy wasn’t that expensive, but people were paying it and seemed grateful to find it. There is a sugar shortage believe it or not. We grow it here in the cane fields, but it gets processed someplace else, or so explained Em. That means it gets harvested, hauled off, and then even though it gets grown here it can be more expensive than where it gets shipped to for turning into the white stuff people are used to using. I prefer the raw sugar now because one it is cheaper, two I get it as part of my pay, and three it tastes a little more real if that makes any sense at all. I think that it is the molasses that is left in it.
There are a couple of five-gallon buckets of honey in the Big House pantry. The older ladies look at it askance. Yeah, that’s a word. I took my SATs my Junior year thank you very much. And askance is exactly how they look at them buckets. They’re going to be looking even more askance when they see that they’ve now got two more of those buckets. Momma L is more willing to accept that we might have to use them but even she says not until after the raw sugar runs out. I saw a note that I’m supposed to get some of my pay in honey this time. I need to look up some recipes and see how it can be used. What was it that Yula Mae said? Oh yeah; waste not want not.
Waste. Funny thing is that the definition of waste is kinda in the eye of the beholder. And my eye was beholding a truckload of scratch and dent pharmacy and that’s exactly what I needed.
