Thursday, October 27, 2011
From the Hearth
The heater kicked on seventeen minutes ago.
I think the wee hours of this morning may have brought our first frost.
It's dark, still, so I've plugged in the pretty white christmas lights around the window. (They've been up since last winter. I like them.)
My beloved three still sleep, and I have some quiet time.
I was just thinking about Home.
There is nothing so nurturing and leaves me sentimental as the latter half of autumn.
Autumn in the valley... outside my window. The autumn that wants for pumpkin candles. The one that turns the grass brown, and leaves frost on the pumpkins. The one that calls to turn on the oven, and leave it or the stovetop on for most of the day. Flannel jammie bottoms, cozy socks, and favorite blankets.
Home and Hearth.
Sometimes we are told we shouldn't like Home so much. It makes us backward. We can't deal with society. It makes us strange... awkward... inept.
[shrug] But it's hard not to like home.
It's a place where we can learn how to be ourselves without getting into too much trouble. How to love others better without embarrassment or impossible-to-bridge chasms. How to get along without too much fuss.
Home means a place where your wishes are granted. A place of favorite things. Favorite stories. Favorite people. A place for ideas becoming. A place for free expression, confidences, and unwavering love.
Home is a place where we have all the time in the world for whatever dream can be dreamed.
In our house, it's a place for exploring freely.
I think this is my favorite part of Home right now--providing the best nest for my children.
Sometimes that means offering my babes the freedom to learn things when understanding comes simply and easily, instead of spending months or years on them before that is so. Done by not pressing unnecessary lessons into their heads, but by being comfortable waiting until something can be understood in minutes. Like learning to tell time. And like complicated subtraction.
Some things are learned quietly, slowly, naturally.
Other things in our house are just explored, and learned over time... with paints, the television, cuisenaire rods, and each other.
There is no one at home who raises an eyebrow over anyone finding their way.
Here, in this lovely, warm space, I can be generous of spirit without doubt.
I can shut out the outside world and reflect and smile.
When I am not doing 'good enough', it's often easy to change it.
In this magical place, I can live best by my own (carefully examined) ethics and convictions, and have no doubt but that I am doing the right thing, according to my soul's promptings.
Here we get to do, become, seek, grow, learn, and Be while surrounded by people who welcome us and all that that means.
How could we not love such a place?
How is it possible that it's not considered invaluable?
It seems like a lovely, nurturing place of first, last, and always, to me.