Dorothy Richmond is founder of the Dear Neighbor column and a longtime resident of Cedar-Isles-Dean.
Dear Neighbor,
Let’s talk about chores. I recently ran across the term “Zen chores” and hit up Google immediately. It wasn’t the Zen part but the word chores that got me, because I’ve always loved them.
Like many kids growing up on farms, chores were an integral part of life. The word wasn’t just spoken but lived daily. While my first words, like everybody else’s, were probably “Mama,” “Dada,” “ball,” I think “chores” was one of the first concepts I understood deeply.
I was curious, of course, about its juxtaposition with the philosophical term Zen. Zen chores are the practice of communal cleaning — taking responsibility for shared spaces in Zen temples and monasteries. They’re designed to build character and humility. Each morning after meditation, monks receive a 20 minute task — sweeping, washing dishes, laundry — after which a monk rings a bell. Ding. Time for breakfast.
Dad got up at 5 every morning to do what he called chores — feeding cattle, milking cows — and then again after supper. He never griped about this or anything else, and that was a profound part of the humility he silently exhibited. He just did them. The result was simple: The cows produced, the milk tank filled, the milk truck hauled it off. On a dairy farm, the milkhouse has to be sparkling clean, and I always loved the way it smelled — a combination of fresh milk and bleach.
My siblings and I had chores, both farm and house. In between Dad’s chores, he worked — meaning farmed. Chores and work aren’t the same. Work is more ego-bound, what you tell people you “do.” A job is public and rewarded by money or acclaim. Chores are invisible, intimate, private and usually belong to the realm of family and love. Their rewards are gratitude and being a valued member of the group.
Studies show that kids who grow up with chores turn out to be better self managers and have stronger emotional regulation and mental flexibility.
Households generate chores.
useholds generate chores. Something always needs to be cleaned, fixed, dealt with or cared for. These are responsibilities homeowners take on the moment the deed is signed and, for many, they become part of the richness and reward of home.
And, of course, chores get “stuff” done (GSD — though we all know what the S really stands for). In our individualized, ego-driven Western society, where humility can be seen as a liability, we often pay others to take on our responsibilities.
You know who doesn’t do chores? The queen. One of my most memorable takeaways from “The Crown” is a scene in which Queen Elizabeth, preparing for an event, is being draped — undergarments to jewels — like a Hanukkah bush by her royal dresser. I couldn’t stop thinking about the trajectory. Where does this end? Does she bathe herself? Brush her own teeth? Blow her own nose Does she have a royal burper? When did helplessness become aspirational?
I was pleased to see Elizabeth in a later scene spread jam on her own scone.
A few years back, I was sitting among a group of women, all engaged in the envy game, regaling one another with tales of their various “properties” and carping — wait for it — “It’s so hard to find good help.” For ballast, I revealed that I clean my own house. Thud.
“Why?” they demanded.
“Because it’s my house and I like taking care of it.” It was true. When writing Spanish textbooks, I’d hit a snag, step away, do laundry, vacuum, scrub a sink, and somehow the knot of problems in a difficult chapter would untangle itself. I didn’t mention the immense pride I’d felt recently fixing a toilet. “I don’t even own a vacuum cleaner,” one gilded-age maven cackled, followed by complicit, shrill laughter.
I was a fish in the wrong sea.
As the conversation turned to comparing their latest purchases — the “right” things — I wondered, Am I missing something? Is this how score is kept these days?
My friend Amy tells me that the first Monday of every month she puts on her bill-paying cardigan and sits down to the task. (She also cleans her own house, and it’s a beauty.) Removing the sweater is her reward for a mission accomplished. I don’t have a special sweater, but I give myself a star for each chore completed on my daily list.
Our inner lives, not our external displays, are what lead to real confidence and contentment. What you do when nobody’s watching is your pith. I guess the best thing chores engender is humility. I’ve never met a humble person who wasn’t interesting. Or a snob who was.
