I was recently sitting at a party attended by mostly homeschooling moms and their children–a delightful and smart group of women who talked about everything from the best pedagogy to teach children ancient languages to politics and the economy. Most in the group, like myself, own older homes in rural Maine, which means the list of things that need tending is long. And that list constantly gets reevaluated and shuffled because what was priority yesterday (say, a new dishwasher) gets quickly usurped by a new concern (say, getting enough firewood stored before what is expected to be an extra cold winter). And so it goes with putting the garden to bed for the winter, mending broken screens, fixing the loose door hinge (because old homes shift a lot), putting up new bookshelves, maintaining the septic. This doesn’t even include the regular housekeeping duties of sweeping up, washing dishes, making meals, and keeping the 352 pairs of shoes from overtaking the mudroom. Seasonally, snowsuits and boots need to come out and bikes and swimsuits need to be put away. As I write this, sipping my cuppa by the fireplace, I’m surrounded by storage bins full of winter coats and snow pants that need sorting and trying on before the rest are stored back in the up-up.
It never ends and for the homemaker that can feel daunting….except….it’s not. It’s rhythmic and life-affirming. I imagine this old house is a living entity and we the inhabitants have made our nests in her extremities. The fireplace is her heart and the kitchen her soul. Yes, the home needs a lot of maintaining, “but so do I..” I think as I put on my skin serum after my shower and take my supplements before bed. I need an extra sweater in the winter and the house needs some extra firewood stacked by the stove awaiting its chance to impart cozy heat.
Have you ever had a dream where you were in your house and suddenly you find yourself in a room you didn’t know was there? Or you’re walking down a staircase or a corridor and you think, “Has this always been a part of my home? Why did I never explore this?” Although my physical home is small, I think there must be aspects yet unexplored. There are histories and stories deep in the old wood that hold secrets only the ghosts know. My privilege is to look after this current iteration of this house. Never before has this 200 year old place seen bright blue walls and orange trim and icons in every room. The old place is settling into her woodland nerd era with old books and old music finding new nooks and crannies to fill. Certainly it is the first time in her two centuries she has housed a dog, three cats, 2 turtles, 2 bearded dragons, and a hedgehog. I imagine that my home loves the life in this place–sometimes messy and unruly–but so is my curly hair, which never does exactly as it is told.
When we moved here a decade ago I named this place Kylo. Oh, it was before that name was popularized by Star Wars, which I have never watched anyway. Kylo stands for Keep Your Love On. It’s my personal motto, my mantra, the goal of my life. And so, it is the name of this place. It may seem that old wood beams hold up these walls, but it’s actually love that does all the heavy lifting. It is love that fills these walls with laughter and provides a safe place to cry. It is love that keeps us warm in the winter and semi-cool in the summer (we have no air conditioning). It is love that welcomes always one more, that makes space at the table (schooch down will you, I want to sit next to you) and finds an ever increasing capacity for healing. We are not perfect who live within Kylo’s extremities. But we try. We try to love, to walk toward wholeness, to have the humility to return home after failures, to give and forgive and to keep working out our salvation with fear and trembling, keeping our love always on.
Keeping Kylo alive and thriving, and keeping this family alive and thriving, and keeping my middle-aged chronically ill body alive and thriving are not such different things. Love, intention, rituals, and starting over apply to all.
Keeping house is a life-giving art. I love it.
The house of the poor is like an altar.
In it the eternal transforms into food;
and at evening it quietly returns
in a wide circle and retreats
slowly and reverberates.
The house of the poor is like an altar. (Rilke)
reconciling things 