Wednesday, September 5
I've always wanted to be good at lots of things. Actually, that's not quite
true: I've always thought that serious people are good at lots of things. I
blame some of this on Robert Heinlein, and more of it on my parents.1
The conceptual model of useful I inherited from them is, it turns out,
well above the American cultural median.
Handle livestock, grow a garden, plant a field, build most of your own
furniture, fix the plumbing, weld, sew, knit, quilt, turn wood, run a combine,
drive a truck, cut down a tree, back a trailer, split a log, start a fire,
cook, bake, can, do your taxes, make paper, shoot, lay tile, pour concrete,
build a barn, fix the roof, dig a posthole, build fence, change a tire, teach,
(false start, but I'll come back to this)
1 Of course, this is circular - my dad is responsible for buying all those
novels in the first place. And in another life, one with more rockets and
polygamy, I suspect he might have been a Heinlein character himself.