She says I talk about monetary policy too much. I have the data to prove she’s wrong.
Last night, Linda made meatloaf. It’s my favorite. She’s been making it for thirty-two years, and I appreciate that. But when I looked at my plate, I noticed something. The ground beef cost $6.49 per pound. In 2019, it cost $3.79. That’s a 71% increase. These inflation food prices represent a crime against American families, and I said so. I had the receipt in my pocket. I always keep the receipts now.
Linda put down her fork. She asked if we could have one meal—just one—without discussing monetary policy. I told her that was like asking if we could have one meal without eating. The inflation was *in* the meal. I gestured at the meatloaf. She closed her eyes for a moment. She does that a lot lately.
The Grocery Receipt As Historical Document
I have kept every grocery receipt since March 2021. They’re in a binder in my office, organized by month. Linda calls this “the other binder.” She calls my main binder “the binder.” I have several binders. The receipts prove what the official statistics won’t admit: the dollar is being systematically destroyed.
I showed Linda the March 2021 receipt compared to last night’s receipt. Ground beef: up 71%. Eggs: up 89%. Butter: up 63%. I had highlighted the key figures. She said she knew what food cost because she was the one who bought it. I said knowing the prices and understanding what they *mean* were two different things. She went to the bedroom. It was 6:45 PM.
Dinner Was Ruined In 1971
Our daughter called this morning. She asked Linda how dinner went. I don’t know what Linda told her, but Jennifer called me afterward and asked if I was “doing okay.” I told her I was doing better than okay—I was doing important work. She asked if Mom seemed “tired.” I said Linda goes to bed early most nights now. Jennifer said “Dad” in a tone I didn’t understand and then said she had to pick up the kids.
I didn’t ruin dinner. Nixon ruined dinner in 1971 when he closed the gold window. Everything since then—every price increase, every inflated grocery bill—flows from that decision. The meatloaf didn’t cost $6.49 per pound because of supply chains. It cost $6.49 per pound because the dollar has been debased for fifty-three years. I have a chart that shows this. Linda has seen the chart. She’s seen it many times.
What Linda Doesn’t Understand
I love my wife. We’ve been married thirty-four years. But she doesn’t understand that when I explain monetary policy at dinner, I’m protecting our family. Last night I suggested—again—that we convert more savings to physical gold. She reminded me that we already have $47,000 in gold and she would like to remodel the bathroom. I told her the bathroom would cost more next year because of inflation. She said “Murray” in a way that used to mean she wanted me to stop talking and now means something else I haven’t identified.
Our son called her last week. He didn’t call me. He works at a bank now, which I’ve mentioned. Linda talks to him every Sunday. I talk to him on his birthday and at Christmas, which is fine. He’s busy.
The Meatloaf Is Getting Cold
She told me the meatloaf was getting cold. I told her the meatloaf has been getting cold since 1971. She didn’t laugh. She hasn’t laughed at that one in years. I’ve said it before. It’s still true.
She washed the dishes without speaking. I went to my office to update my charts. The crazy wall—Linda’s term, not mine—needed new data points. I added the meatloaf price. $6.49. Highlighted in pink, which means “catastrophic” in my system.
The collapse is coming. Someone has to track it. Even if that someone eats dinner alone most nights now. Linda says I don’t eat alone, I eat “with my charts.” She meant it as criticism. I took it as a compliment.
About the Author
