More Home

I have my doctorate in family studies and most people don’t know that it’s actually an outgrowth of what was home economics. We tend to think of home economics as a sewing or foods class we took in junior high/high school.

What we don’t think about is the history of home economics– the reasons it began, where world events took it, and where it landed today. That was in the book in the photo- The Secret History of Home Economics.

There are a lot of things I could say about the book– it was very well researched– but for me, it’s really about the continued reminder of the importance of home. And as technology advanced to make doing household chores less cumbersome (to some extent– I still don’t like emptying the dishwasher and folding laundry) and more women joined the workforce, it ultimately morphed into family studies, looking at how we can make families stronger.

For me though, I find the history interesting because I believe home is important. As I reflect back on my own experience with my mom, I see how hard she worked to create as much of a happy home for us (despite all efforts by my dad to squash it with his own unhappiness that kept him drinking). And as I’ve gone to so many estate sales, now realizing I’ve been going to them for almost twenty-five years, I also see that my mom was just like the other moms out there.

They kept the recipe booklets that came from the gas company or they mailed away to Jello for. There was often a stack of towels or sheets in the linen closet to be saved for special occasions that in their eyes never came along and thus were never used. There were bright patterns on the dish towels and the pot holders/hot pads in the kitchen for when they tired of making meals for their family, usually an ungrateful group who didn’t understand what a chore constant dinner creation could be.

While the book delves much deeper than this and while my doctorate isn’t related to cooking and housekeeping in any way, I can only think that because my mom worked so hard on our home, and because my friend Bonnie, who grew up in an “oil patch” family and then married an “oil patch” man, taught me that you need to sow your seeds no matter where you are planted, I’m aware of the importance of making our dwelling as much a happy and comfortable place as we can.

Home is where I work, making my home better is what inspires me, and the history of home– while not always pleasant when one reflects on the racism and sexism– is necessary to acknowledge as we continue to take it forward. It’s still about strengthening family units, however those might be defined (two humans and two dogs at my house). It’s ultimately about how we make our lives better, lessons not always taught in this present world we live in.

Home

I don’t believe I can ever write enough about the importance of home because I don’t believe many people understand how important home is related to who we are/who we become. And the choices we have about making home a place that makes us happy.

While I understand that life isn’t about physical objects so much as it is about what happens inside our minds, nourishing all sides of ourselves, home is our shelter, our rest, our inspiration. Home is a place where we live the routine moments of life that make up more than the big events.

Someone taught me long ago that you sow your seeds where you are planted, that no matter where you are, you make the most of it. Her words have always echoed in the back of my mind, even when life wasn’t what I wanted or that I wasn’t really where I wanted to be. Still, it was important to take care of home.

And it’s why I spend the time making changes, updates, surrounding myself with what makes me happy. I love to explore the world, but I also love to come home and just be.

Watching the pandemic play out, I saw many people who realized that home wasn’t necessarily what they wanted it to be so they made changes. Others chose not to. To me, it was an opportunity to make home better because that bodes well for the future, especially for the others who share that home with you. It might not be obvious, but you’re giving something to them, too– a piece of yourself.

Mom's Bernina and My Creative Space

On video today- sharing some of my creative space and the sewing machine I use, the one that belonged to my mom.

This Is Me

In the more than twenty years that I have been flying back and forth between my now-home of Albuquerque and my hometown in the Chicago suburbs, from the air I have gotten pretty good at locating the house I grew up in as well as the house that I had bought not too far from it, now sold since my last move back to Albuquerque. I can spot the high school I attended, the quarry-now swimming pool I spent my teens years at with my friends. Then as we travel toward the lake and then around the downtown Loop, I can spot my maternal grandparents' house on the north side of the city. This time I also saw the hospital where I was born at– the same hospital where my grandfather was a doctor on staff– and the high school my mom and her sisters attended.

It had been almost a year until I flew through for a short night's stay this past weekend, on my way to Green Bay, Wisconsin, for a talk. I couldn't get there from Albuquerque in one day to arrive before my talk so I split the trip overnight.

I missed my hometown, on the way in, my nose buried in a stack of magazines that had been collecting on my coffee table. We were heading over Lake Michigan when I looked out the window and instantly I thought of my family. I thought of everyone who isn't here anymore: all my grandparents, my parents, and my younger sister.

All the people who make up much of who I am today.

I am proud to be from Chicago, my parents both city dwellers until they married and moved to the suburbs to raise us, all of us born in the city at the same hospital. I'm proud to be a Midwesterner. I live in New Mexico now, that's my home, that's who I am today, but as the plane traveled forward over the Lake, then turning north to come back to land at O'Hare, a series of memories traveled through my mind, various events in my life– many of them routine– that helped me to dream and become the person I am.

They might be silly– thinking about listening to Chicago radio each morning before school– but each one of those events or parts of the daily routine helped me to dream, to think about what I wanted out of life, to experience life.

I ate pizza with my sister and a very good friend that night, in a restaurant chain we had grown up eating at. And when I checked into my hotel there at the airport and poured myself a glass of water I realized something.

Lake Michigan water.

I was taken back to my grandparents' house on the north side and the little jelly jars Grandma left by the sink so one could grab a quick glass of water (Who thought about transmitting germs in those days? Especially within families). The water had a smell to it, and a taste you could only get when it was just out of the tap.

We had well water in Naperville until later when the pipes were finally laid and then (this was after I had moved away), they, too, had Lake Michigan water. To say I couldn't stop drinking it was an understatement. The next morning I made sure to get my fill and enjoy it.

It might seem silly to some but I believe that going back to where you are from, to be reminded of what brought you to where you are today, takes you forward in life. I don't take steps backward in my life but I look backward sometimes at the steps that have been laid. And in them I remember the family and the people who helped me become who I am today. Then I continue my path forward.