Lists: A Requiem

Occasionally—okay, frequently—my wife asks me if I have done something that needs to be done. When I look at her blankly and say, “No. Was I supposed to do that?,” she says “You didn’t see the list I put on your desk?” as she scans the various disorganized stacks of paper. Then she makes me another list.

My editor here at Memoria Press, Dayna, gives me lists too. They are mostly about when I’m supposed to deliver articles like this one to her. She gives the lists to me and I file them in my filing cabinet under “Lists.” But since I rarely ever open my file drawer, except to put things into it, I forget about it.

After a certain number of days have elapsed, she comes into my office and asks me if I have completed her list. I look at her with a blank expression, and say, “Let me check it and I’ll get back to you.” She gives me a doubtful look and leaves. Several minutes later she comes back with a new list that is the same as the original list, except with more things on it.

I file it. Under “Lists.”

Just several minutes ago she poked her head into my office and asked me about this article and whether I had written it. It was on her list and it was late. [Editor’s note: The missed deadline was a distant memory by this point.] I said, “Yes, of course, I’m working on it right now,” a confident smile on my face. She raised an eyebrow. Still looking at her, I commenced typing.

Despite my difficulty operating a list, I actually like them. I write out lists all the time. One of the things I try to do at the beginning of convention season, when I am trying to think up talk titles that classical educators might be interested in, is make sure to have at least one talk that involves a list. Among my most popular talks are those with titles like “Five Classical Books,” “Twelve Great Christian Novels,” and “Ten Books They Don’t Want Your Boy to Read.” This year, I have a talk titled “Ten More Books for Boys.” I have a whole list of talks that are made up of lists. If people think you are going to give them a good list, they will come in multitudes.

But I myself am apparently not terribly proficient at employing lists to their fullest effect. I post them in various places around my house and office, confident that they will help me get things done. Usually they end up getting misplaced or forgotten. Let me offer some guidance on how to use a list.

How to Use a List:

1. Write various things down on a list.
2. Put the list in a place you will remember.
3. Resolve to consult the list frequently.
4. Try to remember where you put the list.
5. Look around for the lost list.
6. Resolve that, next time you make a list, you will keep better track of it.
7. Finally discover the list.
8. Realize that so much time has elapsed since you originally wrote the list that all the “to do’s” on the list are now completely obsolete.

File this in a place you won’t forget, along with the other lists you have forgotten about.

The issue of The Classical Teacher you now have in hand is made up largely of lists. But if you lose them and cannot find them for a long period of time, it won’t matter.

Unlike lists, classical education is never obsolete.