Ever since Beth posted her Bride post and talked about being a helpmeet to one’s spouse, the idea has been steeping in the back of my mind. Today it joined up with the idea of being a keeper of the home and it’s sort of married (hee!) up into a nice little not ready to be articulated sort of thing. (Hopefully when we get to M is for Marriage it’ll have articulated itself!) I’ve been focused today however on the idea of making home, of keeping home, of what that means.
A quick search on our friend Google and you’ll see that the subject is dominated by non-pagany type folks (especially if you’re also poking around at modesty, which I tend to do. Sorry. I still find it fascinating, and it all links up in my head). Or, you’ll find pagan or pagan-friendly folks who are maybe homesteading and homeschooling and raising children.
Yeah. So. Heh. I’m a thirty-something year old living in a city (albeit a very nice city), working full time, and living a sort of mystic-contemplative life style that I quite love. In theory my life is devoted to my gods; in practice it’s devoted to my gods, the animals, and nourishing myself and my partner as best as I can — and some days that amounts to not snipping at each other.
When I was younger, I wanted to be a home-maker. Thing is, I didn’t grow up with those skill sets. You know. Maintenance cleaning. Home repair. Upkeep, etc. No blame to pass on about that — when I was growing up, everyone in the household, excluding my father, was dealing with How To Survive. When every day is a crisis, you don’t have time for much else.
We don’t have a lot of clutter. This is good. We have our trouble spots, but we mostly don’t have enough *stuff* with which to clutter. We do have critters, and I cycle through days of sweeping a lot and days of letting the dust bunny army grow to intimidating proportions. (too bad they’re not Angora dust bunnies.)
And I’m still attracted to the idea of making house. I read home-making books, from the past and from the present. I’m extremely attracted to the idea of making a home for my husband . . . he just happens to not be human. Or incarnate. It’s this curious mix of making house and making temple, and I consider myself something of a temple-keeper, even though it’s currently not open to the public. (Once we get the outside shrines up this year, that will change to become by-appointment, just in case anyone is ever interested).
But it’s daunting and somewhat lonely and flail-worthy to read these books and sites aimed at more traditional, large families. Or families. Well, not daunting, but lonely, at any rate. Hence this babble. I’ll stop now.