It's Halloween, and our building is not a trick-or-treat building. Third-floor walk-up, twelve units, a front door that locks. So no kids are coming up our stairs tonight. Instead, I bought a single bag of mini chocolate bars "for the vibe," Sam is carving a very small pumpkin on a sheet of newspaper on the coffee table, and Olive is trying to eat the pumpkin's insides. This is about as festive as we get, and I love it.
Fall is when our evenings change. It gets dark early, the north-facing living room goes dim by 5:30, and the urge to go out shrinks. It's also the time of year our budget feels a little tighter: the new lease rate kicked in at the start of October, and winter electric bills are around the corner. So we've gotten good at evenings that feel full without costing much.
Keeping the heat off a little longer
Our apartment is all electric, with baseboard heaters in each room. Last winter, our January bill was $142, which made me pay attention. So in fall we try to hold off on turning the heat on until we really need it. Most years, that's early November.
- Layers first. Thick socks, a sweater and a lap blanket on the couch keep us comfortable well into the low 60s indoors.
- Cook with the oven. A tray of roasted vegetables or a baked pasta heats the galley kitchen and drifts into the living room.
- Close the bedroom door during the day and open it before bed so the warmer living-room air spreads in.
- A hot water bottle. Old-fashioned and about $10. Tucked at the foot of the bed twenty minutes before we get in, it's a small luxury.
Our cheap evening rituals
Soup Sundays (and leftover Mondays)
Every Sunday in fall, I make a big pot of soup: lentil, potato leek, white bean with kale, or a chicken noodle when someone is sniffly. It costs $8 to $12 and covers two dinners and a couple of my work-from-home lunches. The pot simmers for an hour and makes the whole apartment smell like we have our lives together.
The library stack
Our library branch is a fifteen-minute walk, and in fall we go every couple of weeks. I get a novel and something nonfiction, Sam picks whatever cookbook or history book catches his eye, and we grab a movie from the DVD shelf, because the library still has one and we have an old player. Free, and it gives us a reason to walk somewhere on Saturday.
Lamp light only
After dinner, we turn off the overhead light and use two lamps and a string of warm white lights draped over the bookshelf. It sounds minor. It completely changes how the room feels, and it uses less electricity. The evening shifts from "still at work" to "home," which matters when I work in that same room all day.
Board game nights for two
We have a small collection of two-player card games picked up at thrift stores for a few dollars each. A round takes twenty minutes. We keep a running score on a sheet of paper stuck to the fridge. Sam is currently up by eleven games, and I'd like it noted that he is a gracious winner only about half the time.
What we used to spend on and quietly stopped
Takeout every Friday was our big one. In fall especially, it was easy to justify. Now it's twice a month, and the other Fridays are homemade pizza on a sheet pan: store-bought dough, a jar of sauce, whatever cheese is in the fridge. About $7, and honestly more fun.
We also stopped buying candles in every new fall scent. One good unscented candle and an open pot of simmering water with orange peels, a cinnamon stick and a few cloves makes the place smell like the season for pennies. Just don't wander off and let it boil dry, which I have done exactly once.
A walk before it's too cold
Most evenings after dinner, while it's still bearable outside, we take a twenty-minute loop around the neighborhood. People's porches have pumpkins and fake spiderwebs, someone two streets over goes all-in with a full graveyard, and the air smells like leaves and somebody's fireplace. It's the best free entertainment the month offers.
Sam's pumpkin is finished now. It has triangle eyes and a lopsided grin, and he put a battery tea light in it because real flames and a curious cat don't mix. It's sitting on the balcony railing, facing the street, for anyone who happens to look up at the third floor. A few of the mini chocolate bars are already gone. Nobody is coming to the door, and we are completely fine with that.
