On behalf of every child whose parents grew up in the Depression: Now we get it.
I'm so sorry I rolled my eyes when you saved everything and seemed to feel physical pain when I threw away something valuable, like a paper clip or rubber band.
"Why is this in the trash?"
"It's a rubber band. It's broken. What do you want me to do, tape it back together?"
"Tape is for Rockefellers. Here, give it to me, I'll sew it."
I scoffed then, but now I'm thinking I should have a clothes line and some pins, so I could rinse out the coffee filters, hang them out to dry and use them again. Yes, I have reusable mesh filters, but something in my brain, planted by my mother, says those are the nice filters for when company comes over.
Except company isn't coming over.
Too bad. I have bread for an army. Specifically, Napoleon's army deep into the Russian invasion, because it's all frozen. I have six loaves, picked up over the past month, jammed in with extra ice cream, which means this will be the supper meal in mid-April:
