I spent Labor Day weekend with my folks in Lake Wales, Fla., and tried my best to complete as many projects as I could in three days.
I don’t get down there as often as I should, and I mean no disrespect when I say this, they are at an age where they need assistance with their household chores. My recent experience in Central Florida prompted deep contemplation on the use of the term “projects.” I don’t know how broad the trend applies, but for me, I have shifted to using it to refer to the exact opposite of its original definition.
“Projects” are big, made up of many steps, require great effort and usually take longer than you had in mind. Think of road projects, household renovations, anything involving contractors. That sort of thing. It’s a matter of size and scope.
Nowadays, I tend to use the word “projects” to describe plain old chores, any task around the house that needs doing that I typically can’t get to during the week. For example, last weekend, I replaced the floodlights at our neighborhood entrance, cut back the Rose of Sharon by the mailbox, put a fresh coat of paint on my grill, and other similar “to-do” list items.
Now lesser evolved men might call these a “honey do” list, but my wife knows that the slowest way to get anything done is to give me a list to help me plan my day. I have a psychological urge to de-prioritize anything I am asked to do. Carla long ago figured out that if she somehow mentioned it casually and made me think it was my idea, I would get to it right away. She’s playing four-dimensional chess over here, and I’m barely conceiving of Tic-Tac-Toe.
My consumption of Southern cultural influencers, commentators and comedians has also brought me into contact with a number of ways we used to describe accomplishing little tasks that weren’t all that important but felt very satisfying: Piddling, puttering, tinkering, dabbling, fiddling, among others.
I’ve realized that for me, the use of the word “projects” has replaced all those fun words. I think it’s maybe a way to elevate simple chores to make me feel like I’m really doing something. And Carla can attest, I will not sit down to watch the ballgame on Saturday until I’ve finished a number of projects to put my mind at ease.
I’m a list maker as an organizing principle. I’ve noticed that my “To-do” list note on my phone has been subdivided into regular items and then a special category at the bottom I have labeled “Projects.” This note reflects the difference between tasks and projects, but mentally and verbally, they’re all projects to me.
I think this odd habit began when I was a teenager. Dad always had an array of “projects” for his three boys back when we were under his roof. They typically involved yard work. Now in his retirement, projects can include making holders for his glasses, growing vegetables in boxes or making a prayer list for his Sunday School class. When I call home, I try to remember to check on the status of his projects because I know they help him meaningfully fill his day.
Likewise, he checks in on the progress on my projects, such as my pond re-do. Carla has been after me to just fill it in and quit pretending we have a functioning backyard water feature. The stream and koi pond was immaculate and amazing when we first moved into this house 10 years ago, but it has been somewhat of an albatross in recent years.
I will not give up on it. I plan to devote an entire post to the pond project in the future, but for now, I’ll just say it’s a good example of a real project because it has involved many steps, many hours of backbreaking labor, hundreds of trips to Lowe’s or Home Depot and months if not years of delays and setbacks. If we’d had a contractor do this project, we would have fired him already. But I’m telling you, it’s almost done and ready to reintroduce live fish.
I’ve also discovered the affinity for projects might just be handed down genetically from one generation to the next. Not only does my dad do it and I do it, I noticed this summer that my oldest boy, Barron, always has a project going. He lived at home between graduation and starting his job, and he had our basement workshop covered in sawdust the entire time. He likes refinishing furniture he gets on his antiquing adventures.
If Dad’s behavior is any predictor, I can see myself having plenty of projects when I retire. My plan is for those to involve more writing and less digging and moving of rocks. For now, if you hear me talking about my projects, just know I’m being grandiose and maybe exaggerating a bit.
The truth is, I’m just piddlin’.
New South Essays 