Grandparents’ Day

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Bet you didn’t know that there is a holiday in September called Grandparents’ Day. In the United States as well as some other countries. It falls on the first Saturday after Labor Day, which is September 13th this year. Not a big holiday–no parades, fireworks, or gifts.  It’s more of a family holiday where grandparents and grandchildren celebrate each other.

My late husband and I  were blessed with grandchildren (four), but I was shortchanged with grandparents.  My maternal grandfather was killed in a motorcycle accident in 1916, and his widow only lived to 55, dying before my parents were even married.  My paternal grandparents, who were divorced, had 12 grandchildren.  I seldom saw my grandmother. We had step-grands who didn’t take much interest in us, but we were close to my father’s father who had an apple orchard and a cider press and would try to stay connected with his oldest son’s  abandoned brood of three. A generation farther back, I lucked out–t with great-grandmothers

Ida Scoviille Hiewitt and Alice Muinger Stewart  are the great-grandmothers ones whose stories I will share on my weekly email missive to my daughters, niece, and nephew. I  knew my mother’s grandmother Alice and  my father’s grandmother Ida through stories told by my mother and my aunt. I will also honor in memory my own mother as a grandmother to my children.  What these three women had  in common was a genuine interest in young people and a willingness time to spend with them. 

My mother was close to her grandmother but also well acquainted with her grandmother-in-law, who raised my father when his parents separated. As a result, my mother had a huge fund of stories to share. Recounting family history through stories is a great gift from someone who knows the stories and can tell them well.  My mother told me many times how much I resembled both Alice and Ida in personality as well as appearance. Alice refused to raise her two children in the harsh conditions of homesteading in Kansas and brought them back to Connecticut, to which her husband reluctantly followed.  She also marched for women’s suffrage in 1913.  Ida married a small-time dairy farmer, but she inherited her father’s real estate business. She was successful enough to send all three sons to college in the early 1900s. 

My mother also told me and my children stories of her high school days as a social butterfly and the hardships of the Great Depression and even stories of her failures, like wrecking her sister’s car and getting arrested for driving without a license.  She longed to be a writer as did my sister and I, All three of us have found ways to express that gift, starting with being the associate editors of the Torrington High school newspaper in (respectively) 1926, 1953, and 1958!

I too storytelling seriously, a way to connect  my four granddaughters with their history. My number three granddaughter, Bella, would sit at my dining room table when she was in preschool and say, Grandma, tell me another family story.

Here is one favorite family story about their beloved Aunt Carla at the age of five.  We had just moved for a one-year stay in Boulder, Colorado, and I took the children to school to meet their teachers. I mentioned that Carla, not quite six, could read. Oh, the teacher said,  a lot of parents think their children can read because they have memorized some of their favorite stories.  Let me put it this way,  I said.  I was in the bank with my girls and Carla said, Mommy, do you like service charges? No, I said, why? Well, said Carla, that sign over there says “Don’t like service charges? Neither do we.”  Too young with a September birthday to put in second grade, Carla stayed in first grade in a one-person reading group! Many years later my older sister told me a similar story about my introduction to first grade  when I had been reading for two years. And my youngest granddaughter, despite her protest at age four that she couldn’t read until she was six, was clearly reading signs and menus and cereal boxes! Early literacy tied three generations of readers together.

Storytelling helps you understand where your cowlick and your left-handedness and height or lack thereof came from and which of the members of your extended family shared your gifts—athletic, musical, artistic, or storytelling. Or cooking, or caregiving, or carpentry. And stories of  how earlier generations met and married, and what career paths they chose and why.

It would be nice if your grandchildren made you a card or sent you a text for Grandparents’ Day. But the real challenge is for us grandparents to accept our role of being memory keepers and storytellers who link the generations together.

Holley Ulbrich is a retired Clemson economist with four granddaughters and one great-granddaughter.  You can visit her blog, Purple Sage 41, to read more.

The Final Years Part Two: The Bucket List

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In April I tripped over something that wasn’t supposed to be in the middle of the road and wound up in the hospital emergency room with a broken radius and ulna on my right hand/wrist/arm.  My friend who accompanied me to this place said, “Well, I can check ride in an ambulance off my bucket List!”  Often our first definitive bucket list is a part of the retirement process. Often the list emerges as a retirement planning exercise.  Over the ”golden “years items on the list can be checked off and new ones added

Most of the people  in my age cohort started with travel—places to go, things to experience. As the list gets checked off and age takes its toll of our mobility or endurance, that section of the list shrinks.  I still have a few travels on my list but the distances are shorter because getting there is rarely part of the fun. At the moment, my list includes New Orleans, Hawaii, Pittsburgh, the Canadian Maritime provinces, Iceland, Detroit, the Mississippi River and Costa Rica.  I have already had 20 years of semi-retirement and ten full retirement  years to travel to a lot of other places.

What other things besides places to go, things to see have you always wanted to do but haven’t yet? One item on my list was to write a book that was not a textbook (of which I wrote quite a few!) I am far from a bestseller, but after my retiring to semi-retirement, I have written one more textbook and six other books, all nonfiction—and there is at least one more in my head. I also, as you all know, write a blog. Perhaps you have a skill or talent that you would like to redirect or develop.  It the moment, I am trying to improve my gardening skills on by small but challenging yard in a part of the country where weeds and in particular kudzu are the designated enemies, and the growing season is nine long months.

As a retired professor, I am a big fan of lifelong learning. Most years I take on a learning project.  Last year it was upgrading my French with the aid of Babbel.  Before that it was a six-month study of Stoic philosophy followed by a long period of reading the works of four female Oxford philosophers who challenged the super-rational approach of their male colleagues. I have settled on my next project, which is to seek at least a rudimentary understanding of Quantum physics. My baggiest and longest project, though, was to go to seminary to study theological ethics, which was timely, expensive, and rewarding. I added a final degree, master off theological studies, to my resume.

None of those may appeal to you, but there are all kinds of non-academic learning from line dancing to photography to sketching to cooking to carpentry and lots of places to learn.  In my state, people over sixty can take college classes at state colleges tuition-free on a space available basis. OLLI (Osher Lifelong Learning institute) is everywhere and offers short courses to older adults as well as opportunities to volunteer.  Volunteering is a great way to feel useful and make new friends.

One thing that many of us miss when we retire is the work community.  I’ve always been a community person—church, discussion groups, League of Women Voters—so my  is a good mix of engagement and downtime. My calendar was rarely blank. The later years  offer a good time to reconnect. For the first period of semi-retirement, I focused n more time traveling with grandchildren while they were still interested int traveling with their grandmother. More recently, I started traveling again with my college roommate, class of 1963!  Closer to hoe, there are arranged “dates” –hikes, lunch, walks in the park, local festivals, farmers’ markets–with old friends and newer ones.

Another challenge/opportunity that deserves some space on your bucket list is working with older people, often isolated by not being able to drive or other limitations. Every 9 am I check-in with my 90-year-old friend (we both live alone, and she is blind). It has been a joy of mutual discovery that there are still things we can learn from and about each other after 60 years of friendship.

Then there are the many other things you want to see, hear or understand.  I once took a creative writing class in which we were challenged to list 100 things we wanted to experience before we died.  The only item I remember from that list some 25 years ago was “Understand why Canada works.”  Haven’t checked that one off yet despite seven trips to Canada!

The Joys and Challenges of Aging

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I turned 85 recently, one of those milestones that gets extra attention. This milestone marks the impending end stage of a long and satisfying collection of experiences and companions. There were rewarding achievements and instructive failures, teaching and learning, giving and receiving, reading and writing, caregiving and being cared for, leading and following, taking hold and letting go. Your list may be very different, because my list includes not only family and friends work and communities but also my specific personal experiences, gifts, dreams,  challenges and opportunities.

Many (but not all) of my readers are close to my age, We grew to adulthood in the time of the Cold War, The Pill, Vietnam, Civil Rights, the women’s movement. That context affected us all in different ways, depending on all the dimensions of being that each of us brought to our shared historical and cultural environment. Even if you are from a later generation, you probably have people in your life  who are at this stage and whom you are perhaps trying to understand.

Like everyone else, some big parts f my life were beyond my control. I was female, poor, white, academically gifted and artistically/musically/athletically challenged, a  mainstream Protestant in a sea of ethnic Catholics, growing up in a single parent household in a New England factory town where my ancestors had lived for generations and where extended family still did. Each of those aspects of my identity shaped my hopes, fears, aspirations and constraints.

But so did my choices. The determination to go to college and figure out how to pay for it. My choice of a husband, a wise decision apparently made by my right brain. Becoming an economist. Changing my political identification. Having three children intentionally. Changing my faith identification. Getting involved leadership roles in a variety of communities. Writing textbooks. Running for city council. Writing non-textbooks. Preaching.  Retiring early (and also late). Going to seminary after retiring to study theological ethics.

The last part of life has unique challenges of its own. Hinduism recognizes four stages: the child, the student, the householder (including the work to which one has been elected or assigned), and what we Westerners would call retirement–the time to give up the focus on duties and possessions and  turn to matters of the spirit.

Our challenges in an individualistic society are similar but also different at this final stage. At my age, I am definitely in that fourth stage. But as a daughter of western culture, I think there is still a role for work, meaning and purpose in those as well  as  adapting to our changing roles and abilities. final years.

 I identify four kinds of tasks or challenges for the final years.  Let’s call them Bucket List, Letting Go, Staying Engaged, and Legacy. The next four blogs will each focus on one of those challenges. I would appreciate you sending your comment or stories in response!

Friends, Enemies, and Revolutions Revised

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I love to blog about holidays. Some months have no obvious choice for what holiday to celebrate, but July is easy. Two related but very different revolutions, American and French, officially began in July, one by a document and one by the execution of the ruling monarchs. Both were motivated by oppressive rulers and taxes. One was started by distant colonists from the more prosperous and educated classes while the other was a violent protest by the poor over taxes and poverty amidst the conspicuous extravagance of the ruling classes..  One link that tied the two revolutions together was the assistance from  the Marquis de Lafayette and the eventual French support of the Americans against the British. A member of the aristocracy, he was killed during the Reign of Terror.

A second much needed and unappreciated resource was the fierce fighters from the Appalachian colonists, the Scots-Irish, They played an important role in many of the later battles , most of which were fought in the South. The end came in Yorktown, Virginia, when French strategy and brave Scots-Irish solders brought about the surrender of British general Cornwallis at Yorktown in 1781.

 he Scots-Irish and the French both had scores to settle with England.  The roots of animosity between the English and the Scots and Irish were long and deep. France and England had wavered between friend and enemy for several centuries, but by the 1770s there was competition between France and Britain for control of North America. France also had strong ties to Scotland when it was a separate nation until the early 1600s

Lafayette helped Washington in many ways as the war moved south and engaged the French government to near bankruptcy and heavy taxes, resulting in a violent revolution in1789. Unlike our own revolution, the Storming of the Bastille on July 14th it did lead to democracy but to the reign of terror and eventually Napoleon. In 2018, when American forces liberated Paris, General Pershing announced, “Lafayette, we are her,e.”

Acknowledging the role of these allies that helped win our revolution suggests two important lessons.  .  First, sometimes the best place to find friends is among the enemies of your enemy,  as long as you can appeal to their self-interest..  The French could offer money, supplies, and military experience that they hoped would in turn  help them against the British in Canada and in their Southern beachhead in Louisiana and beyond. The Scots-Irish wanted to get rid of the hayed English and throw in their lot with the colonialists. In his book, Born Free, former Virginia senator James Webb documents the critical role of these Indian-style guerilla warriors played in battles like Cowpens, King’s Mountain and Yorktown in ending the war.

So as we leave the 4th of Jul;y and approach Bastille Day, July 14th,let us pause to give thanks to both our French allies and our Scots-Irish immigrants who contributed so much to the birth of a nation. We could not have succeeded without their help. We all get by with a little help from our friends.

The Dirty Refrigerator

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Long ago, when I was teaching introductory economics, (  would begi the study about how we make choices about how to use our limited resources of time and money. Eventually we would get to more complicated questions, but I would begin with the dirty refrigerator problem. The inspiration for this example came from two weddings and thfee friends.

My youngest daughter was getting married on Saturday. It was Tuesday, and my daughter’s future in-laws were arriving in about 12 hours. They were planning to host a rehearsal dinner at my house and I was madly getting the house ready. Then I got a distress call from work. My colleague was supposed to give a speech in Myrtle Beach, but he had called in sick.  They asked if he could send the speech and they would read it . Apparently, he hadn’t written one. To save our Institute’s reputation, I agreed to write a speech for him, but I had procrastinated too long with my least favorite household task, cleaning the refrigerator. Three of my friends asked how they could help.  Everything is clean, I said, except the refrigerator. They busied themselves with reading expiration dates and filling the trash bag and scrubbing while I retreated to my home office  and wrote the speech.

          .Fast forward to my middle daughter’s wedding. I had left the refrigerator till last once again. The wedding was on Saturday. On Thursday evening. the groom was waving his arms in a fit of Italian exuberance and accidentally knocked his bride off a low wall, leaving her with a sprained ankle. The two of them were scheduled to go to the baker to sample some cakes before finalizing the order.  He wanted her to rest up and hoped that “Doctor Mom” could do that with him. Once again, I had procrastinated on cleaning the refrigerator and the as my three friends came to the rescue.  The only price I paid was years of teasing thereafter.

Back in the classroom, I invited their suggestions. Clean it now? Clean it later? Leave it dirty? Beg or pay for someone to do it for you? Swap it for a different favor?  It was agreed that the new refrigerator was not a good solution, but the other options were worth considering, weighing the costs and benefits of each.

A second family refrigerator even made me expand the possibilities.  My mother was moving from her mobile home to assisted living, and my sister had come to town to help me get ready to sell her home.  She opted, to my great relief, to tackle the refrigerator, Our mother had many great qualities, but housekeeping was never one of them. My sister’s husband  was career army., She had learned housekeeping as an army wife. When she finished after about three hours it could have gone on a showroom floor. My housekeeping standards lay in between. So the question was not binary, to clean or not to clean, but whom to charge with the task and how clean do you want it to be,

Even a simple question of cleaning the refrigerator is nonbinary (more than one option), contextual), and has a range of options about how clean and how much time or money or return favors are you willing to spend?

I am thinking a lot these days about nonbinary choices as well as the contexts in which they occur. If you have any good stories, please share

Celebrating the Solstice

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This essay is a repeat of last year’s solstice blog with an addendum.

Next Sunday is both Father’s Day and the summer solstice, the longest day of the year.  In Australia, New Zealand, and most of South America, it is the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year.  There they huddle before a warm fire at this solstice and celebrate the December solstice at the beach. Here in the Northwest quadrant of the globe, we have picnics and celebrate Fathers’ Day. Why is Fathers’ Day so closely connected to the summer solstice? Perhaps because, in Celtic mythology, the sun God is at the peak of his powers, even as the mother Goddess is pregnant with his child who will be born at the winter solstice. After the solstice, the Sun God begins a long descent into aging and death before being reborn in December.

The four sky holidays (equinoxes and solstices) are celebrated with bonfires—spring at dawn, summer at midday, autumn at dusk, winter at midnight.  Do these times of day remind you of Easter, (sunrise service), Fourth of July picnics (two weeks past the summer solstice), Trick or treat (five weeks past the fall equinox), and midnight mass (winter solstice)? If so, you have penetrated the Celtic roots of some of our non-biblical religious and secular customs of honoring the rhythm of the earth.

The ancient Celts, from whom many Americans trace their descent, observed eight evenly spaced holidays.  Solstices and equinoxes were dictated by the rotation of the earth around the sun, while the four cross-quarter holidays were earth-centered. Males were associated with sun and sky, women with moon and earth.

We modern humans are largely disconnected from these rhythms of earth and sky, with air-conditioned buildings and food from the grocery store that can be frozen or refrigerated.  We can eat blueberries and watermelon year-round even if it means shipping them long distance from Chile or other points far south. Change of clothing is one of the few acknowledgements we make of changing seasons as we swap coats and sweaters for T-shirts and bathing suits.

And yet the pull of the rhythm of the seasons is still strong. The urge to plant is evident in the spring, even if we are more often planting for beauty than for sustenance. Recreation moves outdoors in the warm summer months, while long winter nights are a time to huddle in front of the fireplace, alternating with snow sports in the short daytimes in more northern parts of the hemisphere.  We can try to insulate ourselves from nature, but we are in fact a part of nature and our bodies and hearts pulsate to its changes. We are also dependent on nature for all the resources that sustain us—food, and water, and electricity, and fossil fuels, metals and minerals,  plants and animals.

Each season brings us different gifts of both beauty and sustenance, challenge and opportunity.  If a single word unites these eight ancient holidays into a common thread, it should probably be gratitude.  Gratitude for rain and sun, soil and water, food and fuel, beauty and wonder. Eight chances to count your blessings and honor Mother Earth and Father Sky.  A joyous summer solstice to all my readers!

Another message can be derived from the Sky God’s story of growth and decline.  For humans, the cycle from birth to peak to decline and death is much shorter. Unlike the Sun God, we do not know what happens after death. Somewhere between the perpetually recurring cycle of the Sun God and mere mortals lie the rise and fall of empires. From Egyptian to Persian, Greek and Roman to Persian, Ottoman and British, not to mention empires of the Far East, all have risen, had their time in glory, and declined. During that peak in most empires, there were many wars, great inequality, suppression of citizens’ rights, and corruption. Less ambitious nations content to dwell within their parameters have often but not always fared better. Will this be the fate of the American empire, and what nation or nations wait in the wings to succeed us?

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Ten Lessons from a Broken Wrist

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40 days ago, I tripped over something that wasn’t supposed to be lying in the middle of the street in Chicago. I suffered multiple injuries but the most serious was a broken radius and ulna in my right wrist. I had broken that same wrist ten years earlier, but this was much more serious.

Every experience can teach us something.

  1. If you must break a wrist, aim for the non-dominant hand. Both times I broke the right wrist. I am left-handed.
  2. Orthopedic surgeons are my new best friends.
  3. Everything is twice as hard with just one sort of good hand (the left sustained less injury)., It gives a very different meaning to “single-handed.”
  4. Friends and family are vital for survival.
  5. I didn’t realize how much I count on being able to drive. I hate having to ask for rides, and I will bear that in mind when it happens to other people, especially those of us who live alone.
  6. Our bones do become more fragile with age.
  7. Teeth can serve as a spare hand.
  8. Putting on underwear and pants is a challenge, T-shirt dresses and elastic waist skirts are a blessing.
  9. 9.Fentanyl while they reset my bones created entertaining hallucinations.
  10. Stay grateful long enough to pass it forward.

Beltane: Roots and Wings

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Beltane (May 1st) is an ancient Celtic holiday, a celebration of fertility as spring gets underway.  It still bears echoes in May poles (a mating dance) and May flowers, but in its ancient Celtic time people were encouraged to couple in the fields as an invitation to plants and animals to be fruitful and multiply. As we multiply, we need to give our children sturdy roots, and when the time is right, bless their wings and let them fly away.  Children need both roots and wings—roots to make them feel safe and give them a “starter” identity, wings to fly to new places and ways of being in the world.

Seven years ago, I went to my 60th high school reunion in Torrington, Connecticut.  It was my first reunion ever. and one of few visits to my hometown after graduating from college and getting married. My sister, my mother and my brother were all living elsewhere.  In 1959, my mother’s the youngest child, I had spread my wings and fled Torrington into the richer soil of academia, first in Storrs at UConn, then in South Carolina as a Clemson professor. I wasn’t coming back.

Torrington is an old town full of dead factories and new housing developments.  My family on both sides has lived there for many generations. Aunts, uncles and cousins dotted the landscape.  I picked apples in my grandfather’s orchard and attended the annual family reunion with people I rarely saw at any other time..  I grew up in the church of my maternal ancestors and was married there. At the Congregational church we sang from the Pilgrim Hymnal and attended Pilgrim Fellowship in high school. We knew who we were, In a town that was heavily populated by Catholics—Polish, Irish, but mostly Italian, we were New England Yankees, Protestant, hard-working, private, frugal, often unimaginative, cautious. 

Torrington High School’s Class of 1959 reunion was a surprisingly pleasant; warm welcome, old familiar faces, catching up on everyone’s past.  I was assured that I was so smart and they knew I would do great things—me, Alan, and Carol, the three nerds at the top of the class.  Later that weekend I visited UConn with my college roommate to recall where my wings first landed me, Unlike Torrington, UConn had changed.  We sought out the few familiar landmarks–the skating pond, the Congregational church.  Our old dorm still bore the same name but had been updated, as did”The Jungle,” a group of men’s dorms where my future husband was living in 1959.

My mother gave me roots, but she didn’t think wings were such a good idea. I could go to the local branch of UConn, she said.  No, I said, I’m going to the main campus.  You can be a teacher, a nurse, or a secretary, she said.  I think I’ll be an engineer, I replied. (That was shortly after Sputnik.)  But being rooted in time and space among ancestors and hills, relatives and neighbors gave me the confidence to sprout wings. They eventually flew me to marriage and an adult life as an economics professor in faraway South Carolina. There I repotted myself and put down new roots, which in turn provided soil for my three daughters– home town, high school friends (they regularly attend reunions), second cousins and a grandmother who moved here ten years after I did.  They still enjoy visiting their hometown.  One daughter, two sons-in-law, and two granddaughters are Clemson grads and tiger fans. My oldest daughter moved away, saying she was too liberal to live in the South, but after adventures in Charlotte and Dallas she would up back in Clemson, working for Clemson as a graphic designer. Another daughter lives a few hours away in Aiken SC, while the third developed big wings that took her to many places before settling in New Jersey.

There are no Congregational churches in the area, so I became first a Lutheran and then a Unitarian Universalist, a faith community that shares a history and a liberal approach to religion with my ancestral faith. I learned how to respectfully hold onto and affirm my worldview while treating those of others with respect. I let my daughters choose their colleges (within some financial limits) and their majors—an economist and a physicist looking on in wonder as they grew into an artist, a musician, and a librarian/photographer.

I am grateful for my roots and my wings, and I am pleased that my daughters return to their roots while also spreading their wings.   I wish the same for every child.

Thanks, Mom!

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It’s Mother’s Day for every living being on earth.  Some of us remember as children celebrating Mother’s Day by making breakfast in bed or taking over some daily chores. Or making a card.  What can we do for our mother Gaia, the earth, today?

We can stop treating our mother the way the boy in Shel Silverstein’s The Giving Tree did.  Haven’t read it? It’s a good place to start your reflection on the primrose path from modest requests to exploitation.

All mothers like flowers (except for some with allergies…).  Plant something that b\blooms.  Plant something that invites bees and butterflies to visit your yard. A bird bath for her feathered children.  No mosquito spraying or toxic herbicides—birds eat mosquitos but shouldn’t drink water that has been sprayed, and dogs and cats roam in grass that is contaminated and harmful to those sprays.     While you are at it, plant a small vegetable garden (or a large one, if you have time to spare) that is organic in every way.  Organic fertilizer. Mushroom compost.  Space permitting, plant a tree, Gaia will be proud of you.

There are other ways in which you can gift your earth mother-–less pollution from fossil fuels, lower the thermostat in our shared house by resisting or reversing climate change in partners with other mother-loving tree huggers.  Hassle hour city council about mosquito spraying and other toxic practices.  Push them for bike paths and sidewalks. streets and more public transportation.

At night, try to enjoy your canopy of starry sky, but it may be hard to see if for all the light pollution.  Can you turn down the lights a little so we can see the earth, and the sound pollution so we can hear the birds?

Thanks, Mother Gaia.  We hope we have come up with some gifts that will last all year and beyond for your grandchildren and outs.

Celebrating (?) Income Tax Day

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Thursday, April 15th, is the day to settle accounts with the federal government.  It used to be March 15th, but since Congress itself can never produce a budget by October 1st (used to be July 1st), our legislators blessed us with our very own procrastination opportunity. They also blessed many of us middle class folks by eliminating  the incentive to itemize. A big $17,000 standard deduction for a single person, $32,000 for a couple discourages itemizing.. It takes a lot of charity, medical bills and state taxes to claim that much, and it makes filing faster and easier.  The current income tax code also thoughtfully discarded the exemption for dependents, thus discouraging taxpayers from having children that the nation would have to feed and educate.  (At least the government doesn’t have to vaccinate them anymore.)

If we don’t celebrate sales tax day, or property tax day, or tariff day what’s so special about the income tax?  The answer is that it is the only tax that doesn’t demand a larger share of their income from the poor than the rich.  It is less progressive than it used to be but more progressive than any other tax.  In fact, most of the sources of federal, state and local tax revenue are regressive. Progressive means your tax bill is a larger share of your income as you move up the income scale.  Regressive taxes take a smaller share of your income as your income rises

Forty-one other states use income taxes, but mostare less progressive because they want to be atracitive to business location and high-income residents. are not very progressive—in fact, many of them have flat rates, and only some kind of standard deduction makes these states a little bit progressive.  The mainstay of many states (45) revenue systems is the retail sales tax..

The sales tax is regressive for two reasons.  First, poor people spend all of their income, rich people don’t. The part the rich salt away to invest or at least save does not pay any sales tax.  Second, even if the rich spend their money they spend more on services, and states tend to tax more tangible goods and relatively few

Think about being rich. There are limits to how much you can consume of food and clothing, but no end to the services you can enjoy. (Think gardeners, nannies, house cleaners, hairdressers, life coaches, tutoring for your wayward children, travel..)  Also, sales taxes of all kinds—regular sales tax, gasoline tax, alcohol tax, tobacco tax, tariffs, are all paid in small amounts in our daily rounds. They add up, but they never show up as visibly as   income tax withholding from your paycheck the end of the week or month. The income tax is not exactly a model of fairness, but we have to pay for government services somehow, and it is the least unfair of all the kinds of taxes humans have invented.  With that less than ringing endorsement, I invite you to gather your paper and visit your computer or your tax person and make your confession of what you owe the government,