Wishing for machines that pushed buttons for other machines.

Last weekend on our way home from Coeur d'Alene, we stopped at an outdoor bistro in Hood River and noshed on salmon burgers with spicy mustard and full glasses of Gerwurtraminer on the patio. In typical fashion, after one glass I was toasty enough to realize that I could no longer drive our little family the remaining 60 miles home, and so Chad and I switched seats. He was now driver, I was now passenger, and our ergonomics were way off. I was laid-back gangsta-style in his seat, staring at the car ceiling almost with cold air blasting me, and he was sitting prim and proper with a straight back, chest pressed against the steering wheel and his knees angled out awkwardly. "Ugh," he moaned. "We sit so differently. I wish that this car had that memory function where it knows who is sitting in what seat and adjusts accordingly." Silence filled the little Volvo. Crickets chirped. Tate burped. We wished that our lovely, brand-spanking-new, company-betrothed Volvo with leather seats, pop-up GPS, Bluetooth capability, blind spot alerts and ninja-like headlight sprayers would be could be a tad more user-friendly. "Did I just say that I wished I had a machine to push a button?" he asked. "Um, yes." Maybe our one redeeming quality is that we know at times just how crazy we are.

I am trying to turn the corner from a lifestyle of dependence on things that are sold to me to a lifestyle of realizing that I can actually do most of it - or at least a lot of it- myself. I mean really, what on earth are we here to do if not live authentically, without machines pushing buttons for other machines for us. Do we ultimately just want to sit on couches and have our lived fulfilled for us so that we don't have to put forth that awful effort of exertion? There is a threshold in this discussion...if you go too far in one direction you risk losing true progress that society has made. But if you go too far in the other direction, then we lose the skills and traditions that men and women have honed over generations. They made things with love, imperfectly but as best they could, because they had to. It's just what you did. It seems that we should continue this tradition even if we don't necessarily have to, but because if we don't then we un-evolve as skilled humans. My great-grandmother knew how to sew a quilt out of old flour sacks. I know how to buy one made in China by going to www.bedbathandbeyond.com. To me, that does not at all seem like real progress. So, there's a choice over what technology to keep, and what to do pass up on. Case in point:

When I was back home in Louisiana a few months ago, I talked to my mom about a sewing machine that I have been saving up for. It's a Singer Featherweight 221, glossy black, made in the '40's, and a blast to sew on. It's beautiful and hums and it just makes you happy to use. "But don't you want a new model?" my mom asked, "You know, that has a button-maker?" "No," I said smugly. "If it has a button-maker then I will never learn how to sew them myself." "Well then," she quipped back, "Why don't you just go spin and dye your own thread, too, so you can learn that too?" Touché, mama, touché. So where to draw the line? Why is it good to learn how to sew a button myself, but ridiculous to spin my own thread?

But then why hand-knit Tate a sweater when I can buy one for cheaper?

Why bake my own bread? Or make my own yogurt?

Why grow my own vegetables?

Or pick and can berries?

Why should Chad make our furniture? Or renovate houses that still have integrity to them despite years of neglect?

Or is this all just romantic nostalgia for a time long since passed?

No, there is value in learning to do these things. An evolution of the individual and a continuation of skills learned and perfected over generations is something that I have to think would be stupid of us to forgo. We saw firsthand during Katrina that technological advances can truly be turned off like a switch and then you sit, in the dark, trying to figure out how in the world to sew a button on.

Wendell Berry wrote an article once on why he would never buy a computer. (By the way, if you don't know Wendell yet, please meet him.) In it, he came up with this little list of how to decide if a purchase is necessary and good. It's something worth considering:

1. The new tool should be cheaper than the one it replaces.
2. It should be at least as small in scale as the one it replaces.
3. It should do work that is clearly and demonstrably better than the one it replaces.
4. It should use less energy than the one it replaces.
5. If possible, it should use some form of solar energy, such as that of the body.
6. It should be repairable by a person of ordinary intelligence, provided that he or she has the necessary tools.
7. It should be purchasable and repairable as near to home as possible.
8. It should come from a small, privately owned shop or store that will take it back for maintenance and repair.
9. It should not replace or disrupt anything good that already exists, and this includes family and community relationships.

--Wendell Berry, 1987, New England Review and Bread Loaf Quarterly