More than shopping on a budget

By Duane Sweep
Associate for Communications

He calls out of the blue. (What does that mean, anyway? Ask Google. So I could have said, out of the sky.)

But that’s what he does - calls out of the blue. Wendell, I mean. It was Thursday.

He was probably sitting in a seaside lounge chair, wiggling his toes and drinking something that has a miniature patio umbrella as a swizzle stick. Banana is probably in the drink’s name.

I say hello. (Remind me to pay attention to the incoming-call number.)

He just says, “So what’s this I read?”

And I know who he is and what he’s talking about.

But I say, “What are you reading?”

“This food-challenge or SNAP-challenge thing,” he says. He says thing like it’s something you shouldn’t step in – avoid it if it’s on the sidewalk. Don’t step in that.

“Yes, Wendell, it’s called a food-stamp challenge or a SNAP challenge. We’ve been spending the week living on Minnesota’s average food-stamp payment.” I’m sure he’s already checked it to see that it’s $3.86 per person, per day.

“You’re still living,” he says, and I hear ice rattling.

“Of course,” I say.

“See,” he says, “It’s not that bad. If you can do it so can anyone else.”

“That’s not the point, Wendell.” He doesn’t like it when I use his name like that. It’s condescending, he’s told me. It’s just being nice, Wendell, I told him once. It helps me remember who you are, Wendell, I said. He could see right through me.

“And, Wendell, it’s not about living on what you spend,” I say. And I pause. He waits quietly. “It could have something to do with wastefulness, Wendell,” I say.

“Stop it.”

“No, there’s only a couple of days left. We won’t stop now.”

“No, not the challenge,” he says. “Stop calling me Wendell.”

“So it could have something to do with wastefulness. We don’t usually pay much attention to what we spend on groceries. This week was different. We actually planned our meals. Bought low-cost stuff, like a pound of margarine for 74 cents.”

“I’m not impressed,” he says.

“Well, think about this. We made my mom’s Spanish rice for Sunday dinner and then ate it as leftovers Monday. Then we made something like a package mix with hamburger Tuesday, pushing it further with a can of corn, and ate … ” And he didn’t let me finish.

“Your mom’s Spanish rice?” he asks.

“That’s what I call it.”

“She was Dutch,” he says.

“So I’ll just call it rice and tomato hotdish,” I say.

“Casserole,” he says.

“But we’re typically wasteful. We don’t pay attention to what we buy. We don’t often think about those who have to live on a limited budget or might be hungry. It’s easier not to. And I should think about that. I should think about it every time I step in the grocery store.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“It’s in morning where you are, isn’t it?” I ask.

“Friday morning, actually,” he says. “I couldn’t sleep. I was on Twitter.”

“So that’s where you saw the food-stamp challenge.”

“Yep. Had to call.”

“I know.”

“And I really don’t care that you’re wasteful.”

“Thanks, Wendell.”

“Don’t thank me,” he says. “Being wasteful doesn’t do much. I really don’t care if you’re thankful that you don’t need food stamps or that you can be thankful during the big holiday next week or that you think o others. What I’m wondering … ”

I interrupted him this time.

“I know where you’re going with this,” I say.

“Do something about it,” he says. “There needs to be more. Maybe you could share a little bit – not like sitting in a circle and sharing your thoughts – but sharing. You know, sharing what you saved on groceries this week. Just that little bit.”

“That’s the tough part, Wendell.” I say his name, and I’m sorry, but he didn’t notice. “Sharing doesn’t come easy.”

“As I see it, that’s what needs to happen,” he says. “Hey, just think about it. And it’s about time for me to get to work.”

I know he was sitting on the west side of the island, down on the beach, but still in the shade. I think it was in the 80s there, partly cloudy, rained last night. I hear him getting up.

“Hey, take care,” I said. “Wendell?”

Just like that – out of the blue.

(Yes, this phone call is fiction, but you knew that. There may have been a few guys like Wendell, but the character isn’t real – maybe a composite.)

Double dare you

I haven’t checked national numbers, but there was a story in a recent edition of the Star Tribune of Minneapolis that reported more than 500,000 Minnesotans receive federal food assistance. That’s about one in 10.

As of this morning – Nov. 1 – 169 people across the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) have decided to participate in the Presbyterian Hunger Program’s “Food Stamp Challenge.”

Can you live on the average, per-person food-stamp support in your state? In Minnesota it’s $3.86 per day. The average per month here is $115.91. Divide that by 30 (the number of days in the month), multiply the result by 7, the number of days in the week, and you get $27.04.

A couple of us – well, Sandy and I for now – have decided to accept the challenge. One week. Seven days. Nov. 17-23. Wait a minute. My birthday falls in there. That’s right, but that’s no excuse.

By the way, Minnesota has the lowest average, per-person food-stamp support of all the states. But we don’t pay sales tax on food purchases here – a bright note.

Getting involved is easy.

You go to this website to sign up. And you find the average, per-person monthly support here. As it says, “The Challenge simply means choosing for one week to live on the average amount of food stamp support.”

But it goes on to note, that the amount you can spend includes “breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks, seasonings and drinks.” Did you ever look at the price of pepper? Do you know how much that artificial sweetener costs?

I’ve posted about it a couple – well, a few – times. In every place, be it Facebook or Twitter, someone replies that it can be done – you can live on the average food stamp allowance for your state.

I know it can be done. I’m not doubting that at all. Sandy and I will spend only $54 on groceries for that week. And we will survive. After all, it can be done.

But that’s not the point. The point is many of us have it pretty good.

Every morning I eat a bowl of Cheerios – at least two cups. That’s about 50 cents. I drown the Cheerios in milk. I go through about a quart of milk every 10 days or so. That’s about 20 cents per day. I drink a couple cups of coffee. We buy Caribou ground breakfast blend (hey, it’s good), but that’s about another 40 cents per day – just for me.

Once I get to work, about mid-morning, I’ll eat an apple. That’s about 50 cents. And for lunch I’ll eat a low-carb frozen lunch – oftentimes one of those mystery-meat selections. It’s about a buck a day.

Then, after lunch, I’ve used up $2.60 of my daily allowance.

I’ve been known to eat an apple or an orange for an afternoon snack. That would be another 50 cents and that would put me at about $3.10.

And I will only have 75 cents – well, 76 cents – left for dinner.

Let’s take a close look at dinner. My share – for one serving – of one of those boxed meals – you know, the box of pasta with secret sauce mix combined with  milk and hamburger – will be about 25 cents if the box is on sale for a $1. That’s figuring that we get four servings out of each box.

But I suppose I need hamburger and a little milk.

Hamburger, even on sale at $2.99 per pound, will be about 75 cents per serving. That’s a quarter pound of the cheapest beef (75 percent lean) per serving.

I’ll have to make sure we get four servings.

But I’m at $4.10 and that’s 24 cents (let’s say 25 cents) over the limit.

There go the two apples per day. We’ll check on carrots. A reasonable substitute?

I’m drinking water all week. There will be black coffee at the office.

We will spend $54, no more, on groceries that week.

It will cover everything.

Are you up to the challenge?

Consider yourself challenged. In fact, I dare you. No, I double dare you. No one should go hungry.