When I was a child, my father “puttered” in his free time. This had nothing to do with golf; it had a lot to do with a form of relaxation we don’t see much of anymore. The extinction of puttering has a lot to do with some fundamental changes in our lifetimes. Let me explain.
To putter is defined thus: to busy or occupy oneself in a leisurely, casual, or ineffective manner: e.g. to putter in the garden. Leisurely, casual, and especially ineffective. In his puttering, my father considered many projects and chores; few of them materialized. Puttering was not meant to be productive; it was meant to be an antidote to hard work and productivity.
My father had special clothes for puttering. He wore, for years and years, the army fatigues he had brought home from his stint in the military sometime between WWII and Korea. Those clothes lasted forever and were eventually stained by every kind of oil and paint known to our household. Long after the shirts fell apart, the pants remained. Dad called them his “putter pants.” Now, there are “putter pants” on the market, designed with an elastic waist for old guys. It would have been anathema to my father to buy something special to putter in. When the last of the “military” putter pants bit the dust (probably disappeared by my mother), he started buying putter pants at tag sales – castoff military wear if he could get it.
Dad puttered on weekends and most of the summer. (He was a college professor.) He made no lists, but just wandered from one thing to another. It was therapeutic rather than effective. He would do it alone or with a child. His grandchildren enjoyed puttering with him until they reached puberty, then they had “better” things to “do.” So, Dad went back to puttering alone. Such puttering is a lost art.
Dad sometimes did more than putter – in his younger days, he built two houses and repaired our cars and boats. But when there was not something special and demanding on his plate – he puttered. You could tell he enjoyed it because he sang or hummed the whole time. Frank Sinatra and Patti Page hits when I was young; later it was Roger Whittaker.
I thought of this recently when I came across an article about Jeff Bezos and his habit of rising early and “puttering” until 10AM. Good for him. But the gist of the article was that Mr. Bezos was sure that his puttering made him more effective and more creative. The author of the article tried it, and, sure enough, it helped him get things done. I guess everything has to serve the Goddess of Productivity. But that is not what puttering is supposed to be all about. It is not supposed to be scheduled or weighted for effectiveness or participated in wearing specially designed pants. Thoreau (one of the great putterers) would certainly assure us that there are not supposed to be new clothes for it.
Men of my father’s generation puttered. What do they do now? Is surfing the net or watching nonstop sports or playing video games the new form of puttering? Do women putter? I do it on occasion, but not with the joie de vivre and lack of purpose with which my father did it. Even in retirement, I find myself pondering whether there is something specific I should be doing, somewhere I should be, some news I should catch up with. Even if I am willing, even eager, to be decadent, there are many alluring alternatives calling to me – funny videos, silly text exchanges, countless errands. I hope we have not lost the art of puttering – for it is an art. And art is done for art’s sake. It is not supposed to be a productive activity in any way – Jeff Bezos notwithstanding.
Perhaps this piece of writing is an example of puttering. You might also look at an example of my puttering at fiction. Talking about Thoreau and the advent of autumn reminded me of “Again and Again and Again.”
When I Come To Be Old 