The word speaks to me of home – home wherever I am lucky enough to create it, home as the safe haven for my sons, home as fortress, as enclave, as a place for abundance, for essentials, for the contents of my heart.
The word, of course, is domestic.
It’s a term I toss around flippantly and without consideration. But I wonder about its deeper significance, sitting in traffic after the weekly rounds to pick up paper towels, fresh fruit, veggies for soup, a deal on tuna.
Domestic? Pas moi.
Then again, maybe I’m kidding myself.
Domesticated? Likely not.
But when I think about it, maybe I’m wrong.
Domesticity: In Vogue or Out?
Domestic is a term that is emotionally charged. It’s a label generally attached to women, a label equally associated with tedious tasks. It is also a dismissive term for a servant, whose responsibilities include caring for the machinery that runs a household.
According to Dictionary.com, domestic takes its origin in the Latin domus and offers us flavors we might evaluate:
of or pertaining to the home, the household, household affairs, or the family: “domestic pleasures”; devoted to home life or household affairs; tame (domesticated); of or pertaining to one’s own or a particular country…
After considering the freezer with its half loaf of bread and one chicken breast, and the veggie drawer with dead spinach and a handful of carrots, my “domestic goddess” status becomes moot. If I want something other than a chicken and carrot sandwich, I need to tend to my domestic duties.
Domestic Help? Paws to Reflect?
Am I domestic?
Returning home and emptying the car, I’m irked as I note the sink full of dirty dishes, I’m impatient as I unload bags, I’m irritated as I realize I need to clean the fridge and the kitchen – in entirety – at least two hours of drudgery I would delegate to anyone who cares to volunteer.
(Hello? Furry bear slippers? Can you lend a paw?)
Beyond my annoyance, there are indeed moments of pleasure.
I unwind when I wander the aisles of Whole Foods. It isn’t the only place I shop, but one among several where I know exactly what to buy, and on my budget. I’m in heaven navigating the unusual ingredients, and I’m relaxed in the midst of produce in particular – with seductive textures and vibrant colors. (I’m also happy to see exactly what I’m searching for – leeks and red potatoes – for Soupe Hercule Poireau tonight.)
Domestic Affairs?
My domestic inclinations? My domestic affairs?
While my morning has been spent in pursuits that are “of or pertaining to household affairs,” I can’t say there are pleasures awaiting when I think of the dishes, the crowded counter top, the fridge, not to mention the floor. I hate to clean. And entering my home, well… that’s obvious.
And so I repeat. Domestic? Certainly not. There is nothing pleasurable or even particularly satisfying – to me – in domestic duties.
Looking further at the definition of domestic, am I devoted to home life? Hardly.
I have to earn my keep, I’m on my own, and that leaves little in terms of time or energy to spend “making a home.” What time I do possess I prefer to spend reading, walking, or learning something.
Tame, or domesticated?
Now that’s a far trickier discussion. How do we define tame? In what arenas do we consider it applicable? The human animal is taught manners and morals. Is that alone sufficient to “tame” us? Are we wild in the boudoir, but tame in a confrontation? Are we submissive between the satiny sheets, but vehement in our argumentation?
Domestic as pertaining to one’s own country?
I consider that another discussion entirely.
One More Time. Deep Breath. Homemaking and Making a Home.
I fully admit to adoring the years during which I “created” a home – picking up an antique here, deciding on a fabric there, and especially – the chase for artwork that I could love forever.
I would move chairs on a whim, rehang paintings every few months (as my boys shook their heads), switch pillows on the sofas and chairs as the seasons changed – all of it part of my delight in setting the stage for pleasing a husband, welcoming friends, and making of the process a pleasurable undertaking in and of itself.
Those days are not part of my present, yet I smile when I recall them.
But making a home is so much more than that. Making a home after divorce in a different house was a must, for the sake of my children – and I confess, myself.
But why is it that we’ve come to disparage the term “homemaking?”
Why – though we all benefit from the sensation and grounding of home – have we come to dismiss the investment of ourselves that goes into its “making?”
Home Is Where the Heart Is
It’s cliché and we know it: Home is where the heart is.
I don’t think it’s quite that simple, but I do believe that home matters to millions of us. We needn’t be married. We needn’t have children. We may be dealing with 6,000 square feet or 600. We need and want to carve out a spot that feels like our own.
Where we can relax, feel safe, feel loved.
For you, home may be about dinners on the table or homework around it, parties for the kids in the finished basement, or coffee with a few friends outside on a small deck. Home may be about neighbors gathering, football on the big screen at night, measurements inked on the wall in the spare room – each birthday flagged by a mark and a date for your nieces and nephews, or maybe your grandchildren.
To the extent that I have always cared about my surroundings – from dorm room with stacks of books, to tiny apartments with stacks of books, to a family home (yes, still stacks of books), to a post-divorce life that is “smaller” but no less filled – making a home has always been important to me.
Feeling at home – even more so.
Domestic Duties
In the meantime, the dishes await, the fridge awaits, and I wish I could put off the cleaning I despise.
The cooking?
These days it’s a pleasure – and more so on the weekends when I’m cooking with someone, and little is tamed, but all things domestic are savored.
As for the extent to which I care about my home, cling to my sense of home, love the warmth and openness of the home that my sons and I created?
I am devoted and committed – to preserving the sense of “us” in this place, the history and laughter we have shared beneath this roof – this place of home, this place of belonging, this safe house where we can be ourselves, this most dear domus.
What about you? Are you domestic? Partially or peripherally? Reluctantly or blissfully?
Hi D.A.,
Since taking care of our home is my sole job, and since the children are gone, you’d think I would have a spotless home. There are dishes in the sink, dishes in the dishwasher, a stack of junk mail, my winter coat and my spring jacket are hanging on chairs – because who can figure out the weather, and let’s not talk about my floors or the piles of catalogs.
I’m not very domestic, but if I know you are stopping by; that’s another story. You might get the impression that I was the Queen of Domesticity, because I’ll make it shine for someone else 🙂
My class has finally ended…40 blogs and 40 websites of other students to keep on top of. Now I can return to everyone I have neglected and missed for the past few months.
MAD MEN!!!! 🙂 Can’t wait ! Hope you’ll be reviewing!
Robin
Yes! Mad Men! I’ll be glued to the tube on Sunday and you bet I’ll be writing! 🙂
(Glad you’re done with class. Did you enjoy it?)
I’m currently in a 400 sq ft home – a 5th wheel on the road. I’ve had so many “houses” over the years that yes, I’ve come to view home as wherever I am currently. And yes – home as a place where one feels safe. I used to loved the pillow fluffing, the furniture rearranging, the linens I could pull for different meals and a kitchen pantry you could get lost in. But I’ve learned I can leave it all. Except for color. I’m sewing new valances and recovering a few chairs and just sold our couch on Craigslist so I can buy a white slipcovered couch I found at CostPlusWorldMarket. I’m making a bohemian sort of quilt for our bed – and on the hunt for a new throw rug. I’ve carved out a little writing nook and will find something to post quotes and inspiration in front of myself in that space while I write.
And I had to laugh at your stacks of books no matter where you find yourself. Me too. And much to my husband’s chagrin, as we have to watch our weight – our towing weight.
And as far as being domestic? What we love is that when we sleep at night – it’s in our own bed with our own bed linens, that when we cook, it’s our own making and fresh and not from a restaurant on the road – and the cleaning? Can I even express to you what a relief it is to clean 400 sq ft rather than the 4000?
And now we enjoy public gardens and parks and river walks rather than mowing and edging and watering – ahhh.
The subject list on my blog includes the heading ‘Pretending to be Domestic’; that’s the best I can manage. I enjoy various bits of domesticity here and there, but cleaning is not one of the things I’ll be wishing on my death bed to have done more of. I think we dismiss domestic activity because it is not well paid. I remember reading about Georgian men (Amanda Vickery’s At Home with the Georgians). In the 1700s single young men went to the city to make their fortunes. They rented rooms in other people’s houses, had an 11PM curfew after which they could be locked out for the night, ate horrible food in ‘chop houses’ and generally dreamed of having their own homes and a wife to make it comfortable. That may be the last era in which domesticity was truly appreciated.
Oh, and I meant to mention that up here in the North of England ‘a domestic’ is an argument between a couple in their home.
I am domestic only in that, after a very hectic life working outside the home and around the world, I like to be in my home. I have no talent for changing the basic features of the house, and someone else cleans it once each month, but I enjoy having the opportunity, for the first time, to pay attention to inside comfort and to work outside in the large garden. (I also do my professional work from here, in one isolated room.). The property is my sanctuary.. There are delightful companions here (two dogs and, on evenings and weekends, my husband), but there is also ample opportunity for solitude. At the same time, I work hard to make this a wonderful place for our children to be when they visit from their faraway perches. (My son, with little time or money, creates a lovely home wherever he lives. My daughter is interested in the comfort and utility of her abode.) I feel very, very fortunate and sometimes wonder if I will ever choose to return to a more outward life. With downsizing a financial necessity, I do know that very soon, my husband and I will have to find and make a new home, and that challenge is daunting yet energizing.
Thank you for your comments, Leslie. Your home does indeed sound like a sanctuary, and a lovely place to return to for your children. In your reckoning with the need to downsize in the future, do you worry about how your children will respond to the change – whatever that means? Or do you feel that you’ve discharged your responsibilities to them, when it comes to keeping “the” home that was “their” home?
A challenge, yes. So glad that you perceive it as energizing.
I appreciate your very good question. It would be my inclination to worry about how my children will respond to returning to a different home, but they have assured me that wherever our family gathers will feel like home because we are together there. In fact, they have been urging us to downsize for some time, so that we can live in a home with more light and less usually-unused space. So, while I no longer feel any responsibility to keep for them the home in which they grew up, I do want, very much, to find a new home that will be a comfortable family gathering place. But first, I must cope with my own attachment to their familial home, borne of both its history and its current place in my life. I hope to learn more about, and draw inspiration from, the sudden move of writer/blogger/activist Dominique Browning (“Slow Love Life”) from an idyllic home sanctuary on the coast of Rhode Island to an apartment in Harlem.
Why – though we all benefit from the sensation and grounding of home – have we come to dismiss the investment of ourselves that goes into its “making?” I’ve often wondered about this mindset. Why do we relegate women who are able, financially, to choose the domestic route as somehow not fulfilling their potential…or the potential we think they should have?
And I’m not sure domestic and tame really go hand-in-hand; take any of the Housewives of (fill in the city)…they are anything but tame! Personally, I’d be happy to walk away from corporate America and be blissfully domesticated (aka; a kept women??). But, I’ve always been comfortable in that role. Like Leslie, I find I have attachments to a physical home and hearth, that makes it difficult to live a more carefree, wanderlust lifestyle. I guess I equate a shifts in the domestic scenario with a less secure family feeling.
You raise interesting questions, as always. Take care, my friend. xox