Authentically serving family
“There were thousands of households throughout that city and there was something happening in all of them. There was some kind of story in each, but self-contained. No one else knew. No one else cared."
Markus Zusak, "Underdog"
"To be a queen of a household is a powerful thing."
Jill Scott
Upon reading a web article "The Lost Skill of Serving Your Family," I realized that there are a lot of things related to the household that has either gone the way of so-much-home-trainin' or is being phased out in favor of technology by way of social media, immediate gratification, and a new kind of narcissism that makes the classic self-absorption look like philanthropy.
As a hedge witch, I tend to shirk too much technology. Yes, I have this laptop to write this blog, participate in social media, do research, reading, and the like. However, I can live without it perfectly well, and the books on my shelves get a lot more action when I do (than I do?). On days that I'm not working, the computer often sits on a shelf, neglected, until the next workday. These in-between times, my son has occasionally found me sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of coffee, and watching out the window.
"What are you doing?" he asks.
"Nothing," I reply.
When I was a little girl in the '70s, I watched my late grandmother (then in her 60s) sit in a chair opposite the glass back door with a cup of coffee and napkin-wrapped buttered toast. She would have her breakfast, watching out the door, until her coffee cup was empty. Then she would get up and continue with her day.
She had already dressed, cooked everyone else's breakfast, and cleaned up. The rest of the day, she cleaned, did laundry, made beds, ran errands, cooked, cleaned some more. Most of times I saw her sit would be to talk on the phone (It was still connected to the wall!), visit with guests (after she handed them refreshments), or work in the evenings on her latest sewing project.
I find myself repeating this tradition, mundane as it seems, as I eat the buttered toast I just made, and ready myself for my workday. When I'm done, I'll close the computer, sit quietly for a few minutes before my son comes bursting through the door, fresh off the school bus and loud-talking details about who of his friends had the smelliest fart that day. While he's old enough now to get himself a snack, there's dinner to organize, Boy Scouts, sports practice, seasonal events, pants to hem, kid problems to advise (and sometimes handle), chores to assign. You get the idea.
When asked if I could do anything in the world (having to pay bills notwithstanding), my answer is always to stay at home and take care of my family. The manner in which I chose to do this is "old-fashioned," I suppose: I have no microwave or automatic coffee pot, nor do I wish for these convenient appliances. I mend torn clothes. There's no video game system or household shared computer. My son does not have a cell phone, tablet, or hand-held game system.
It may seem as though I have traded modern technology for a more inconvenient way of doing things, especially in the kitchen. What I have discovered, however, is that it makes my tasks more deliberate, more authentic, more in-the-moment. While some things are more labor-intensive, like making popcorn in a skillet, these things add to the sweetness of just sitting with a cup of coffee and buttered toast. And this kind of deliberate participation opens up opportunities for my domestic hearth magic.
Cooking is deliberate: Anything needing to be heated has to touch the stove and be tended by my hand. My kitchen witch skills get practice and hone with each meal prepared.
Meals are more authentic: It surprised me to find how many pre-packaged foods at the grocery store require a microwave in their instructions, along with the warning, "Do not place in oven." That's how dependent our society has become on microwaves and how lost we've become in our ability to operate a simple can opener.
I'm in the moment: Every moment.
There's magic in the cooking, the cleaning, the sitting with coffee and toast.
There's magic in seeing the smile on the face of my son when he finally gets down a new skill I've taught him, watching him read the third book this week instead of turning on the television, spying him speaking gently to his dog as they snuggle together on the sofa (which may seem like "doing nothing," unless you're a witch).
Authentically serving family is taking care of family, always lending a hand when needed, supporting in difficult moments, making sure they have the things they need to get on with whatever they're doing. I've done this before, as a stay-at-home wife, making sure my then-husband had clean clothes for work, dinner each evening, and all errands taken care of. (No, I did not fetch his damn slippers. This is not the 1950s.) My job at home made his job at work easier, and both made our life together possible. It was purposeful, and I loved that part of the marriage, as he served family in one way and I in another.
If you've ever read other articles posted in my blog, you'll know that I'm all about feminism, my independence, and personal freedom and agency. This may seem antithetical to my desire to stay home. In keeping with both ideologies, I have managed to secure employment for some time, working at home, all the while taking care of my household. If I were not the only breadwinner and we could afford for me to stay home, only to take care of family, to do that job to its fullest extent, how much less would the others have to worry about the domestic things?
The domestic-only job makes life simpler. Running around after work, trying to get kids where they need to be, get all that day's chores done, errands taken care of that can't wait until the weekend, feeding everyone, getting everyone to bed, all within the space of 5 or fewer hours after a full, draining day at work, only to get up before the sun and do it all over again--rush, rush, rush. I'm exhausted just typing that.
My home is my sanctuary and my temple. It is a place that I want to be. I practice magic here, I worship here, I love here, I clean here, I cook here. I spend time with family here. I want them to want to be here, as well.
(Of course, the boy is not yet a teenager.)
My days go by a little more slowly with this lifestyle. There's almost no drama, less stress, I can take more time with some things--like longer conversations with the up-and-coming witchlet, and set more dinners at the dinner table instead of in front of the T.V.
My son hasn't noticed when I've seen him sitting on the back step, doing nothing. He doesn't know that I recognize the magic in his well-practiced skill of scrambling eggs or less practiced mowing of the lawn. He doesn't think that I hear the magic in his voice when he talks to me about music or shows me his latest attempt at wood-working in the backyard. I doesn't realize how much I appreciate his watchful attention to major chores around the house and taking care of me when I'm so sick I can't open my eyes.
Authentically serving family has so many connotations; there's not one right way to do it. This is my way, even if I don't feel like its enough. The dynamic could change in some way, over the next few years, and I will adapt. I know my son is watching; I see him holding the traditions I've taught him in action only and hope that he will continue the story when he has made a home of his own, full of this hearth magic.
