My husband and I are both creatives (he's a graphic designer and I'm an ex-scenic painter/set designer, now interior decorator). We didn't start out like you and your husband. We met in college and were immediately best friends and roommates. Six years later we were married. I keep trying to reinvent myself career-wise, while C held a good salaried job with some wonderful, returning freelance clients. I eventually found some stability working as an interior decorator for an ikea nearby just as C was offered a full-time position as an art director of a growing NY hedge fund. For the first time we were completely flush. We could buy anything we wanted, see theatre, eat out. It was bizarre and amazing. We saved so much money, knowing it would eventually end. We saved money and bought a house. We saved money so I could get pregnant, have a baby and take a year off. We thought it would be no problem for me to take my experience at Ikea and find a job doing displays or decorating somewhere else. C would work another year or two at the hedge and then we'd talk about starting a design studio together. We dreamed.
Then J was born. She was amazing, but she didn't sleep, didn't eat well, couldn't be put down. She was five weeks old when C was laid off, his hedge being one of the early implosions. We had savings, so much more than most. C was so qualified and talented, he'd find another job in no time. Five months later there was finally a job, though J had gotten easier to care for, as she discovered the world. We were still tearing through our savings, so a couple months later, I
started looking for work. We played with budgets and possibilities. It was pretty unlikely that I would be able to find a full time job that would pay enough to cover childcare and our shortfall, but I had to look. Something was better than nothing, right? I looked for four straight months. I networked and emailed and searched. We tightened our belts even further. I recently found a job as an design assistant for a local interior designer and I love the work. The pay is good, and my boss is interesting and understanding. It still isn't enough, but we're almost there. We have to hope that the occasional freelance client will help us keep afloat as our savings dwindles and no better paying jobs are in sight. We're not as concerned as we used to be. We feel confidant that something will turn up.
Here are the good things to come out of our circumstances. For the first five months, of our daughter's life, both of her parents were with her, learning her personality, caring for her. We also cared for each other. We're still struggling with parenthood and all it's complexity. And we don't know the future. But we have to hope that things will start to get better, just like it has for us. Slowly and surely.
Alisa
Philadelphia, PA
Showing posts with label Pennsylvania. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pennsylvania. Show all posts
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Monday, March 2, 2009
Portrait: Brooklyn, New York/ Central Pennsylvania
In the grand scheme of this economic crisis, I'm doing okay. I have a relatively stable job. And long before stocks plummeted, I was watching my pennies. I was typing everything from a morning coffee to my student loan payments into an Excel spreadsheet every night. It quickly became my pre-bedtime ritual -- enter the 75 cents I spent on peanut M&Ms for an afternoon pick-me-up into those judgemental little cells; feel defeated as an adult; go to bed embarrassed that I was going to have to sell something on eBay to pay my rent later in the month. I was cognizant of every dollar, every dime. But I had to be, I live in one of the most expensive cities in the world and my rent for a small one-bedroom in Brooklyn is half of my monthly salary. So, in a way, those cells probably saved me from myself. I was able to brave my own taxes this year and got myself a decent refund. I'm actually pretty proud of me for not falling apart yet.
Where I grew up, though, is a different story. My family is struggling. Some of it their own doing, but most of it due to the unstable economic climate. And, as some who always wants to be the problem-solver, I am struggling, too. I talk to my mother, a trade school teacher for almost 30 years, several times per week, and try to stomach it as she tells me that she's not sure when her husband will be able to work again. Or how she's been supporting a family of four on her salary for more than a year. Or how my grandmother's husband, at 70, was just laid-off from his factory job. Or how my uncle's hours were cut at his full-time job to a mere 16 hours a week and his children always seem to be ill. Or how little oil my family has left for the winter. They make all of the news coverage real.
I offer what little I have to give -- as a loan, because I know my mother does not want my money. She knows I don't have much more than she. But she doesn't take it. Instead, she asks me if I have groceries to get through the week. I tell her I do, and that I really don't mind not eating out anymore. She knows I like to eat out and I miss not being able to anymore in a city like New York. She will even send me five or ten dollars every few months with a note telling me to treat myself to some Starbucks. She's in a terrible position and she sends me money to go to Starbucks. Because she's my mother and she's only thinking of the little burst happiness she can give me.
Ashley
Brooklyn, NY / Central Pennsylvania
Where I grew up, though, is a different story. My family is struggling. Some of it their own doing, but most of it due to the unstable economic climate. And, as some who always wants to be the problem-solver, I am struggling, too. I talk to my mother, a trade school teacher for almost 30 years, several times per week, and try to stomach it as she tells me that she's not sure when her husband will be able to work again. Or how she's been supporting a family of four on her salary for more than a year. Or how my grandmother's husband, at 70, was just laid-off from his factory job. Or how my uncle's hours were cut at his full-time job to a mere 16 hours a week and his children always seem to be ill. Or how little oil my family has left for the winter. They make all of the news coverage real.
I offer what little I have to give -- as a loan, because I know my mother does not want my money. She knows I don't have much more than she. But she doesn't take it. Instead, she asks me if I have groceries to get through the week. I tell her I do, and that I really don't mind not eating out anymore. She knows I like to eat out and I miss not being able to anymore in a city like New York. She will even send me five or ten dollars every few months with a note telling me to treat myself to some Starbucks. She's in a terrible position and she sends me money to go to Starbucks. Because she's my mother and she's only thinking of the little burst happiness she can give me.
Ashley
Brooklyn, NY / Central Pennsylvania
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Portrait: Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Every Tuesday and Thursday night I make the kind of walk college students
across the country dread. It is a mile-long hike up a busy street to a
hated class; straight up hill- a bigger workout then you will ever receive
at the gym perched on top, looking over the city. The street is
homeless-central, and in the beginning of the school year, when it was
warm and the scent of new pencils and books filled the air, I would pass
one, maybe two homeless people each block. After months of this, same
night, same time, same people, you start to recognize them and they you.
It becomes a comfort; just like passing the same bookstore means I am half
way home on the way down in the early night. The bald man in army
fatigues and sneakers with holey toes on the corner of 5th and Oakland
means I am ¼ of the way to my class at the top of the hill.
When my lungs are about to burst, I take a break next to a building, pull
out my water bottle and smile at the person sitting on the ground next to
me. Sometimes this starts a conversation, a life story, and sometimes
the man or woman just frown and look away. Occasionally they do not even
seem to notice me, rocking and humming to their own beat. But the
stories! The misconception about homeless people is they are alcoholics
or druggies or that they are running from the law. I certainly have
avoided my share of people who look sketchy, who do not come across as
stable. For the most part though, the regulars are down on their luck,
maybe for several years now. She lost her job at McDonalds and the kids
grew up and moved away, so why get a regular job now? It is just her- all
alone- and she feels okay living this way.
Lately I have noticed an increase in the homeless people. As a rule, I
do not hand out money. I am in college, and although it is a public
institute and much more reasonable then many other universities, some
weeks I don’t even have enough quarters to do my laundry. When there are
$600 worth of books you have to purchase each semester, donating monetary
funds is not an option.
However, there are many things I can give. I am a great listener if you
want to tell me your story when you sit beside me on the bus. When I
occasionally I eat out, I always hand my leftovers to the person who looks
a little hungry. But is that enough? In this land of opportunity, where
people from other countries attend public American colleges on scholarship
and we send food to Africa with the regularity of the rising sun, how is
it that people are still hungry, still homeless, still illiterate, still
needy on our own streets? When will we learn that, like my mommy taught
me, you cannot criticize another until you yourself are perfect? And oh
America the Beautiful, you are far from perfect.
I believe in the goodness of people, which is why the government baffles
me. This trillion-dollar bail out? Who does this help? No one I know
personally is receiving any type of stimulus, and why should we feed money
to those who ran what they had into the ground? Take responsibility! You
have to help yourself before I can help you, because if you do not want to
be helped, then you have no hope.
As I sit at my desk in my warm apartment, I can see a man scavenging in
the garbage behind the College of Business Administration. Somewhere I
cannot see there are babies who are cold tonight, and a ten-year-old who
just wants a home. For every time I have been unsure if the $25000 a year
are worth it, times like this show why I am in college, why I am helping
myself get an education, why the late nights, thousands of dollars, and
peanut-butter sandwiches are worth it. Our country is so beautiful, from
the Jersey shore where I was born, the cornfields of central PA where I
grew up, and the valleys of California my aunt and uncle call home. Every
time I see a sunset I am still amazed, and every time I watch the 5PM news
my heart breaks. If we can’t help ourselves, believe in and hope for us,
for the people who care, then we can never help the world. And right now,
the world needs as much help as it can get.
Andrea Coté
University of Pittsburgh 2011
Pittsburgh, PA
across the country dread. It is a mile-long hike up a busy street to a
hated class; straight up hill- a bigger workout then you will ever receive
at the gym perched on top, looking over the city. The street is
homeless-central, and in the beginning of the school year, when it was
warm and the scent of new pencils and books filled the air, I would pass
one, maybe two homeless people each block. After months of this, same
night, same time, same people, you start to recognize them and they you.
It becomes a comfort; just like passing the same bookstore means I am half
way home on the way down in the early night. The bald man in army
fatigues and sneakers with holey toes on the corner of 5th and Oakland
means I am ¼ of the way to my class at the top of the hill.
When my lungs are about to burst, I take a break next to a building, pull
out my water bottle and smile at the person sitting on the ground next to
me. Sometimes this starts a conversation, a life story, and sometimes
the man or woman just frown and look away. Occasionally they do not even
seem to notice me, rocking and humming to their own beat. But the
stories! The misconception about homeless people is they are alcoholics
or druggies or that they are running from the law. I certainly have
avoided my share of people who look sketchy, who do not come across as
stable. For the most part though, the regulars are down on their luck,
maybe for several years now. She lost her job at McDonalds and the kids
grew up and moved away, so why get a regular job now? It is just her- all
alone- and she feels okay living this way.
Lately I have noticed an increase in the homeless people. As a rule, I
do not hand out money. I am in college, and although it is a public
institute and much more reasonable then many other universities, some
weeks I don’t even have enough quarters to do my laundry. When there are
$600 worth of books you have to purchase each semester, donating monetary
funds is not an option.
However, there are many things I can give. I am a great listener if you
want to tell me your story when you sit beside me on the bus. When I
occasionally I eat out, I always hand my leftovers to the person who looks
a little hungry. But is that enough? In this land of opportunity, where
people from other countries attend public American colleges on scholarship
and we send food to Africa with the regularity of the rising sun, how is
it that people are still hungry, still homeless, still illiterate, still
needy on our own streets? When will we learn that, like my mommy taught
me, you cannot criticize another until you yourself are perfect? And oh
America the Beautiful, you are far from perfect.
I believe in the goodness of people, which is why the government baffles
me. This trillion-dollar bail out? Who does this help? No one I know
personally is receiving any type of stimulus, and why should we feed money
to those who ran what they had into the ground? Take responsibility! You
have to help yourself before I can help you, because if you do not want to
be helped, then you have no hope.
As I sit at my desk in my warm apartment, I can see a man scavenging in
the garbage behind the College of Business Administration. Somewhere I
cannot see there are babies who are cold tonight, and a ten-year-old who
just wants a home. For every time I have been unsure if the $25000 a year
are worth it, times like this show why I am in college, why I am helping
myself get an education, why the late nights, thousands of dollars, and
peanut-butter sandwiches are worth it. Our country is so beautiful, from
the Jersey shore where I was born, the cornfields of central PA where I
grew up, and the valleys of California my aunt and uncle call home. Every
time I see a sunset I am still amazed, and every time I watch the 5PM news
my heart breaks. If we can’t help ourselves, believe in and hope for us,
for the people who care, then we can never help the world. And right now,
the world needs as much help as it can get.
Andrea Coté
University of Pittsburgh 2011
Pittsburgh, PA
Monday, February 16, 2009
Portrait: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
I quit my job four days after the stock market crash in September. I was working as an advertising copywriter, and it was supposed to be “the job” – that first real, salaried job out of college, the one I’d been scraping for a year to find. It wasn’t what I’d hoped – as the new employee, and the one who least shared the interests of the tiny company’s owner’s, I was the fall guy. Even the intern passed work off to me. I learned pretty quickly from the girl who’d vacated the position a month before that it would always be this way. There was no where to go but out, and so I did, leaving my key on the desk a few minutes before noon, emailing my bosses a curt good bye, and flying home on my bicycle, finally relieved of the nervous stomach ache that had plagued me for the month and a half I’d worked there.
I work at a coffee shop now, making roughly $200 less than my monthly bills. A combination of savings and tips have carried me through the past four months. I just picked up some contract work for a company I worked for last spring and summer, so I’ll be okay as long as I keep hoarding money like a Depression widow. My café is near a lot of corporate offices, and the people being laid off, or on the verge of it, have a lot more than I do to worry about. These are people who have been with their companies for years, who have families, who thought they’d earned some security from years of service. It’s different for me. I graduated from an arts program in a country on the verge of a recession. I’ve been on the brink of disaster since birth. I’m used to this. That’s not to say that I like stretching $7 worth of groceries for three days, or living without insurance, or working 50 hour weeks on top of trying to write, but I can do it. I don’t really have the choice. I know a lot people whose families have helped them along well into their 20’s, and it’s hard for me not to be jealous sometimes. After a while, you start to think that you’ve built enough character that you deserve a free ride. It’s not going to happen. The most I, or anyone can do, is keep going, not because it’s easy, or we want to, but because there aren’t any other options.
Jaime, age 23
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
I work at a coffee shop now, making roughly $200 less than my monthly bills. A combination of savings and tips have carried me through the past four months. I just picked up some contract work for a company I worked for last spring and summer, so I’ll be okay as long as I keep hoarding money like a Depression widow. My café is near a lot of corporate offices, and the people being laid off, or on the verge of it, have a lot more than I do to worry about. These are people who have been with their companies for years, who have families, who thought they’d earned some security from years of service. It’s different for me. I graduated from an arts program in a country on the verge of a recession. I’ve been on the brink of disaster since birth. I’m used to this. That’s not to say that I like stretching $7 worth of groceries for three days, or living without insurance, or working 50 hour weeks on top of trying to write, but I can do it. I don’t really have the choice. I know a lot people whose families have helped them along well into their 20’s, and it’s hard for me not to be jealous sometimes. After a while, you start to think that you’ve built enough character that you deserve a free ride. It’s not going to happen. The most I, or anyone can do, is keep going, not because it’s easy, or we want to, but because there aren’t any other options.
Jaime, age 23
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Portrait: Rural Southern Pennsylvania
We just moved to Pennsylvania from Northern California about 8 months ago. We had lived in rural Northwestern Pennsylvania as kids, and kind of assumed it’d be similar.
My husband got a decent job, and I’m really thankful that he’s still working since they’ve been cutting hundreds of jobs here, and back home at one point around Christmas every male in my family was laid off. But living as we do on the main highway between 2 major Pennsylvania cities, we’ve been seeing an effect form the economy.
Earlier this week 4 guys robbed the gas station here on the corner. They beat up both cashiers and stole the money and lotto tickets. You’ve got to be desperate for money to STEAL lottery tickets and hope you win. The cashiers are alright, but it really shook our little town up. By the way these guys look (we’re not as ethnically diverse as I’d like), I assume they drove all the way out here from one of the more urban areas to rob our gas station. Maybe theirs was out of cash?
Maybe it burned down. There has been a huge increase in fires out here. An arsonist in the next town had set 23 or 24 fires since New Year’s; people’s barns are burning down “mysteriously”. Some of this is bound to be criminal activity for the sake of criminal activity. But I firmly believe part of it is an effort to collect insurance money to pay off other debts.
I know I shouldn’t be surprised by the increase in criminal activity, but it IS a surprise in such a rural town. When we moved here I never thought I’d be concerned about home invasion, arson, or robbery. I was thinking something more along the lines of cows getting out of their fence and tromping our yard, or maybe squirrels…I don’t know…but it wasn’t this.
Sabrina
Rural (Southern) Pennsylvania
My husband got a decent job, and I’m really thankful that he’s still working since they’ve been cutting hundreds of jobs here, and back home at one point around Christmas every male in my family was laid off. But living as we do on the main highway between 2 major Pennsylvania cities, we’ve been seeing an effect form the economy.
Earlier this week 4 guys robbed the gas station here on the corner. They beat up both cashiers and stole the money and lotto tickets. You’ve got to be desperate for money to STEAL lottery tickets and hope you win. The cashiers are alright, but it really shook our little town up. By the way these guys look (we’re not as ethnically diverse as I’d like), I assume they drove all the way out here from one of the more urban areas to rob our gas station. Maybe theirs was out of cash?
Maybe it burned down. There has been a huge increase in fires out here. An arsonist in the next town had set 23 or 24 fires since New Year’s; people’s barns are burning down “mysteriously”. Some of this is bound to be criminal activity for the sake of criminal activity. But I firmly believe part of it is an effort to collect insurance money to pay off other debts.
I know I shouldn’t be surprised by the increase in criminal activity, but it IS a surprise in such a rural town. When we moved here I never thought I’d be concerned about home invasion, arson, or robbery. I was thinking something more along the lines of cows getting out of their fence and tromping our yard, or maybe squirrels…I don’t know…but it wasn’t this.
Sabrina
Rural (Southern) Pennsylvania
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