On November 30, 2002, just three days after impetuously starting this weblog, I wrote, in reference to the title:
But what do I struggle against, for, & with in the bungalow kitchen? Let me break it down:
1. Acceptance of my role in the kitchen.
2. The tedium of dirty dishes.
3. The lack of culinary tradition.
4. Unavailability of many ingredients in my small town.
5. Occasional lapses in the flow of cooking inspiration.
6. Finding time to concentrate with small boy always demanding I draw skeletons and superheroes for him.
7. A husband whose recipes should all come out of the Mayo Clinic Cookbook.
8. Stupid cookbooks
9. Frequently not being able to find the can opener.
10. A border collie always smack dab in front of the stove.
I wrote the above list, then tossed it aside. For the entire first year, I didn’t brood, dwell, or think too much. I simply threw myself into learning how to cook. Sometimes my reach exceeded my grasp, but the end result was that I turned myself into an adequate cook, one who could put on an adequate feast on relatively short notice. Adequacy, I’ve come to realize, is a nice notion--and one that is highly underrated (probably because it doesn’t sell many magazines.)
Looking back, I see it was a wise move, that year of action in 2003, because what I learned then, carried me through a year of upheaval in 2004. Writing this blog changed me. Maybe writing any blog changes a person. To quote from Doris Lessing:
This has to be so, if you think about it. On the lowest level, if you are thinking hard about a subject, information and insights on the subject seem to come from anywhere: books arrive in your life, you hear it on the radio, in conversations, and on television. This is a fact, it is true, you can rely on it—and there is no scientific explanation for it.
2004 was rife with information and insight--the basis for theories. Now, of course, the challenge ahead is to continue to put the theories into practice--or, somehow, to distill them and funnel them into one overriding philosophy of life. (Yesterday I was in an antique store and saw a pretty $8 sampler that said: Hands to work, Hearts to God. But, no, I thought. It cannot be that simple. What about the mind? And if it does turn out to be that simple, well, then I'll make my own sampler. I won't buy someone else's.)
To review some of the things I learned, in chronological order:
January: I began by reading Jean Zimmerman’s book Made from Scratch and came away with a sense that the Zeitgeist was changing, for the better, with a gentle reproach towards the previous generation, back towards more pleasure and value in the work of keeping a home. This sense was reiterated throughout the year, but no more strongly than in John Seymour’s powerful words that “the most creative thing anyone can do is create a real home.”
Worrying, however, that all this might be a lot of idealistic claptrap designed and guaranteed to put women in their place, I delved a bit into the history of feminism, finding some of the major voices of second-wave feminism to be overly preoccupied with grandeur, the esteem of society, and the concomittant economic rewards, leaving traditional work to be done simply by poorer or less educated or foreign women.
Something got a little rotten in the state of Denmark there, didn’t it?
Therefore it seemed time to put feminism back on track as a moral stance, extending it to include the work of care and including men in the creating and the caring—but in real and significant ways—not just via lip-service and wishful thinking. And I think we are finally getting around to doing just that, with the aid of technology. Smaller bank account, richer soul—and the soul is enriched by the smallest acts of care imaginable.
Or is that just idealistic claptrap on my part? Well, it’s my story and I’m sticking to it. I only have to look at the case of my husband caring for our child while he’s at the office to know things are changing.
(I also learned how to stop spaghetti from sticking.)
February: Had to slow down, the insights were coming in too hard and fast. The main insight of February was, in fact, that slowness is the key to happiness. In total agreement with Edith Wharton:
“As [Edith] Wharton once described it, real life is deep and complex and slowly developed, and has its roots in fundamental things. And you cannot experience those fundamental things, or true pleasure in life, without taking your time.”
March: Informed I was a bad housekeeper. Whoops. It may have been that I slowed down too much. What I know for sure was that I was shedding of media-fed ideals of magazine-like perfection left and right. Slow or not, I don’t have time for that shit. Which isn’t to say I don’t like a pretty or pleasant house, but I wasn’t about to fuss endlessly to the point of resentment or martyrdom to get it. Housework does indeed expand to fill the time allotted, and it was time to start alloting a lot less.
April: Reaffirmed the value of blogging as useful creative act; tracked down a copy of Rescue magazine and felt all warm and tingly. Discovered the joys of port, “the wine of friendship and philsophy.” Alas, no friends to drink it with. They are all too busy with the work of care.
May: Went on a spiritual retreat and discovered that I like walnuts on my oatmeal. A theory to put into practice for the rest of my days. Might just have to make a sampler about this.
June-December to be continued. . .It's Midnight!
Happy New Year!
1:02:19 AM 
|
