A Manifesto, Sort Of

Once upon a time, a very long time ago, even before I was born – so we’re talking ancient history – everyone didn’t “go to work.”

Oh, they worked, all right. Mighty hard. They just didn’t leave to work for someone else in exchange for wages. There was some minor trading back and forth, but work was what you did to put food on the table, protective clothing on your families’ collective backs and maintain a roof over their heads.

There is a population of people who would love to return to those Little House on the Prairie days (everyone was so eerily clean in that show). I am not one of them.

That being said, Laura Ingalls Wilder, perhaps as older people will often do, left out some key social and cultural issues that might make the 21^st century citizen think twice about longing for such a bucolic lifestyle – the bathrooms, or lack thereof, come to mind first. Then there are the nasty issues of high infant mortality, rampant tuberculosis, racism, women being treated as chattel and the fact that nobody bathed much.

I do, however, understand the lure of what is presented as a simpler time and, frankly, the wardrobe would have covered my legs, no small consideration for me when choosing where on the dial to set the time machine.

At the core of this fantasy, though, is a valid longing to be more closely connected with that which sustains us – our home.

Oh, you say. Of course I’m connected with my home. I live there.

Really, though, how much of your home are you truly connected to? First there are the utilities: your electricity come from elsewhere, your water from elsewhere, unless you have a well, in which case someone else came and dug that well and installed a pump which is dependent on that electricity.

Okay, utilities are a necessary evil if we want to live in comfort. There are a hardy few who manage to pull themselves off the grid, but I am not one for extremes, at least in the area of basic needs.

But, look around you. Your furniture is probably made by someone else. Maybe you picked out a “suite” of items that were matched up in the store by someone else. You may have even painted your room the same as the mock room in the store. Or maybe you hired someone to decide the décor for you.

Apply this concept to your wardrobe, your yard or your food. With each step dependent on some outside contractor you distance yourself further and further from the reality of life. There is a reason why celebrities are so dysfunctional and a reason why, when they go into rehab, the most basic therapy is having to “do” for themselves.

Don’t worry. I’m not suggesting we all live in a hut where chickens roam free as we spin sheep’s wool for underwear. Unless you're into that sort of thing, in which case, God bless. I do feel, however, that the more connected you are to the creation of your surroundings, the less likely you will have an existential crisis.

While I truly believe you cannot state definitively what a blog will be before it’s had a chance to ferment a bit, it is my intention to document some of the domestic activities that go on around my house and the reason behind why I do them, as opposed to farming them out to someone else.

From the basic day to day chores to projects that may or may not succeed, this is the story of keeping myself grounded, in spite of a culture determined to keep us dependent and in line.