“Every spirit builds
itself a house, and beyond its house a world, and beyond its world a
heaven. Know then that world exists for
you” ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
During the 19th century (seems like a long time
ago since we entered the 21st century doesn’t it?), the home was
viewed as “heaven on earth”, a hallowed haven in an uncertain world. When man, woman, or child crossed the
threshold of their home, “they were safe, not only from injury”, as John Ruskin
wrote, “but also from all terror, doubt, and division”.
Today, I cast a longing and nostalgic glance backward to
this era. The Victorian era seems so
calm, gentle, and gracious – the complete opposite of these modern times. Yet, historically I know that the four
decades spanning the Civil War at the turn of the Century were among the most
politically, socially, and economically turbulent years in our history… Until
now. Why then, should a period of such
profound upheaval come down to us not only as an age of innocence but one of stability
and tranquility?
I personally believe (having had older parents and
grandparents than most my age), that is in large part due to a legacy of love
left to us by those great grandmothers who reigned over their hearths as surely
as Victoria did over her empire.
Victorian woman may not have had the vote or the trappings of power
(including personal disposable income and independence), but they were the
MORAL, SPIRITUAL, AND PHYSICAL CENTER OF THE HOME; responsible for creating a
welcome treat of beauty, comfort, and contentment that would protect, nurture,
and sustain those they loved. To achieve
this, ordinary middles class women, like me, elevated the pursuit of domestic
bliss to an art form, from white linen Sunday dinners to red-checked gingham
Independence Day Picnics. Women
approached the domestic arts of cooking, gardening, crafting, decorating and
entertaining now as burdens, but as a form of personal expression and a means
of persuasion.
Traditions that celebrated the joys of home and family life
acted as the mystical mortar that held bodies and souls together in a
tumultuous society that was changing at the speed of light. Ah yes… progress (but I don’t think it has
been all good do you?)
One of my favorite poets, T.S Eliot wrote “home is where we
start from.” Today, over a century after
he was born, home is where I and many women are longing to return… at least
figuratively if not literally. I have always believed that the time, energy,
love, and emotion that I invest in caring for my home, in essence carving out a
haven for myself and those who are dear to me, is a sacred endeavor…
Life holds no more guarantees for you or for me than it did
for our Victorian forebearers. However, they faced the coming day with full
hearts, determined to create a lasting work of art; a happy secure, and
beautiful treat of love and laughter.
Living in my new home, I have renewed that endeavor which I
lost when I left Pensacola and shortly thereafter lost my beloved Doug. Oh, I kept trying, for a while, but my heart
and soul were not in it. Finally, I have
found my way back and my new home is becoming my sacred refuge once again.
Home truly is the definition of God.
