An Almost-lost Art

 

Carolyn J. Rose

 

Every month I gather the necessary materials and engage in what I suspect is an almost-lost art. No, I don’t use a handloom or a forge and anvil. I don’t make a fire by rubbing sticks together. I don’t practice map reading or dead reckoning. I don’t dry fruit, vegetables, and meat on a rack in the sun.

 I balance the checkbook.

I know plenty of people who don’t bother. Some round up purchase amounts believing that will provide them with a financial cushion fat enough to mitigate mistakes. Others eyeball their balance when they make a withdrawal and decide whether it’s safe to take a little more. And many contend that with credit and debit cards and all the other means of paying bills and transferring funds, balancing is just too confusing and too much trouble. They take it on trust and leave it to the bank.

 Although we write darn few checks every month, reconciling the account is not a simple task. Deposits come in from several sources, and money drains away to several more. Then there are ATM withdrawals and debit card purchases—some noted, some not, and others scribbled in a way that makes 3s look like 8s and 2s like 6s.

 That leads to the trust-the-bank-or-dig-through-the-file dilemma. I was never a trusting person and 25 years in the news business coupled with 20 years as a substitute teacher made me even less willing to take anyone’s word for . . . well, just about anything. Over the years, I’ve uncovered transfers made from my account by mistake and deposits not credited. And don’t get me started on computer glitches. But digging through the file could be an exercise in futility if the deposit or withdrawal slip or store tally never made it into my office to be filed. So, when I can’t verify or conjure a hazy memory, if the amount is reasonable, I grit my teeth and trust.

 When all the entries are checked off or circled to show they’re outstanding, I do the math. It wasn’t my strongest subject in school, so I’m grateful that algebra and geometry aren’t required. Simple addition and subtraction are all I need.

 But arriving at an answer that matches the last number in the checkbook is seldom simple. At least half the time the numbers differ. Sometimes the difference is due to a simple mistake and the numbers are off by 10 or 100. Other times the difference is an odd number, like $9.63 or $111.27. Experience tells those discrepancies are the sum or several other errors, mistakes I’ll have to find by going back to the date of the last reconciliation and checking the math on each entry.

 Usually, I track down the problem numbers, correct the math, and achieve that perfect balance.

 But sometimes—and I hate to admit this—I can’t find the error. Sometimes—and I really, really, hate to admit this because I have OCD tendencies—I have to put the checkbook and adding machine aside, suck it up, and trust the bank.

 But only if I’m off by less than $10. Otherwise, you’ll find me at my desk, eyes bleary, head throbbing, fingernails breaking on the number keys, sanity slipping away at an alarming rate.

 I’m starting to think my mental health depends on joining the others who no longer practice this almost-lost art. But then, so . . .