William Morris, the English artistic force (he wrote poetry, designed textiles, made art), stated an idea that I find very meaningful and thoughtful in these times of hyper-cluttered, tschotske-infested homes:
” If you want a golden rule that will fit everybody, this is it: Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful.”
Think about it–hoarding is becoming so commonplace that it no longer shocks, but is still fodder for reality television, and the self-storage industry generates billions of dollars annually. Do we really need all this garbage? Must we save every little piece of popular-culture junk until we consolidate them into myriad “collections”? Wouldn’t it be better (or at least more satifying) to have fewer–but better–things?
I adopt this myself. Always fairly consistent at removing much of the unneeded crap* from my home (and it is a home, not merely a house), I’ve adopted Morris’s philosophy more fervently this past year or two, even donating 25-35 cookbooks (don’t worry, folks–I still have a hundred or so left, but cooking’s my passion!) Indeed, my guest room is home to some bags and boxes for donation (once we get a little bit of thaw, I’ll haul them to the Animal Rescue Fund thrift store or Goodwill). In the coming weeks, I’ll work on more of this, especially as I continue work on renovating my home office.
Perhaps it’s because instead of investing the time and energy to devote to figuring out our own life-and design style, we take the easy way out and let the fashion, home-decor, and retail industries decide our style for us? And that, by extension, means buying more stuff because they are in the business of selling said stuff.
*that’s the technical term
I slipped on some snow-covered ice as I was making my way across campus to the parking lot. All I could think about was saving my Coach bag so it wouldn’t get scratched.
And save it I did!
But I did dine well! Goat cheese and sundried tomato frittata with roasted broccoli. One square of Endangered Species 72% Dark Chocolate with Raspberries for dessert.
I will admit up front that I find the game of football less than scintillating. Much less. Oh, I’ve watched games (and have even rooted for teams like the Eagles and the Colts in the past). I’ve always wanted my college teams to win, although not enough to actually attend games (waste of an afternoon). So I don’t actually follow football.
Okay, I get that people enjoy watching and following football—I used to be quite the baseball and hockey fan. And frankly, I didn’t care until recently. What has changed is the increasing understanding we have of the effects of repetitive football head injuries (e.g. concussions) on the brain, specifically chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE). Once primarily associated with boxers, the prevalence of CTE in retired football players has been generating much media attention. This is an ugly, tragic disease, one that is both progressive and degenerative. Memory loss, aggression, cognitive disturbances—these are the symptoms of CTE. Dave Duerson, a former NFL star who graduated from a local high school, committed suicide three years ago, leaving behind a message that his brain be used for research (he was found to have suffered from CTE). Even parents are becoming leery of having their kids play football, according to a recent study. So, if I follow football (or ice hockey, a sport I really did use to pay attention to), am I somewhat culpable in the likelihood of these players suffering years from now? Would I be contributing to a culture that lionizes a sport with the potential for endangering even children? Surely if there are fewer fans, then the NFL (or the NHL) would have to institute changes to make these games safer for everyone.
Which brings me to the Super Bowl. Super Bowl Sunday is a de facto (US)American holiday. I’ve thrown very successful Super Bowl parties (and attended them at the homes of others). Sometimes I might actually be rooting for some team, though usually not. What I always enjoyed most of all are the commercials—some very good and some forgettable. So my dilemma is whether watching the ads on Sunday is innocuous (I’m not actually following the game and promoting football) or whether it is morally wrong (if I pay attention to the advertisers, then I am contributing to the “importance” of football). Am I guilty of being the person who didn’t speak up?