Un-Domestic Goddess

It’s a darn good thing I wasn’t born 50 years earlier than I was. That would mean I was born in 1929. I would have been 26 in 1955 and that means that, more than likely, I would have had little choice but to live the domestic life. I would suck at the domestic life then or now. I am, for all intents and purposes, a purely undomestic goddess.

Yesterday during the mass cleaning (note that we paid others to come clean the place) one of the people who came to clean was standing with me in the kitchen. “Do you need us to clean the oven?”

I chuckled. “No, we never use that!” I waved my hand dismissively at the oven that is used once a month to bake a pizza. He laughed too. Seriously, I hardly know the difference between baking soda and baking powder. Cooking? That’s what take out is for…

Now it’s true that were it 50 years ago, I would undoubtedly have better preparation for the domestic life–classes and probably a membership in the Future Homemakers of America (a group I saw pictured in my mother’s high school year book–all female and not including my mom). Plus that classic article from a magazine I am sure we have all read on being a perfect housewife. Plus, I’d have my pearls. But sometimes I think I just was not made for it.

Case in point, our office is knitting and crocheting seven by nine squares to make afghans to donate to a battered women’s shelter. Best Friend knows how to crochet. She and I want to make an afghan all on our own. Poor Best Friend has taken it upon herself to teach me how to crochet. I can barely braid hair. When my friends and I made friendship bracelets growing up, mine were crap. Best Friend is exhibiting massive amounts of patience as she tries to teach me and insists I am catching on better than I think. I am overwhelmed–keep it tight but not too tight, same amount of tension throughout, loop and stitch. Thank god it isn’t kintting. I can’t imagine if I tried to use two needles for this. People, this is why other people knit or crochet scarves for me. This is why I buy winter wear at the store. I am no good at it.

When I was little I learned to cross-stitch. I cross-stitched a good two square inches of a piece. That took a few years. I simply got bored with it. Shiny things would distract me. It might be a patience thing. It might just not be in my blood, although my grandmothers either knitted, embroidered, or made quilts. Even my mom who hates to cook is a great seamstress and cross-stitcher. I must get it from my dad. Yeah that’s it. Cause domesticity isn’t at all an Italian trait. Or maybe I am just a victim of my time. A girl with options, a girl who would not personally choose a domestic life, at least not a purely domestic one, cause I’d suck at it. It’s not easy. Too all women of the domestic sphere, I raise my crocheting needle and salute you. Hey, at least then I can use it for something.

Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda

I have been giving lots of thought lately to the idea of redoing. Hindsight, they say, is 20/20. And how many times do we utter the words “If I knew then what I know now,” or “If I could change one thing.” Overall, it doesn’t do much good to beat ourselves up over our pasts. It isn’t a good idea to play the “if only” game. Because, in the end, it is the past. It can’t be changed. And it has shaped us into who we are now.

There are times in our lives where it seems like we’ll never make it through. It’s unbearable while we’re in it. We wish we’d never made the step in that direction. It something that at the time we wish we could undo.

I think of my first two years of college, a time where I was so miserable there was talk of anti-depressants. Perhaps people would think that if I could just redo that point in my life, I would. Sometimes I think so too. Sometimes I say “If only I had four years at Bryn Mawr and not two.” But here’s the thing, if I had I would have missed some lessons I learned at The Place That Shall Not Be Named–lessons about who I wanted to be, lessons about my beliefs, lessons about people I didn’t want to be around. Plus, I know for a fact that if I hadn’t gone to Bryn Mawr when I did, I wouldn’t be where I am.

If I hadn’t gone to Bryn Mawr when I did, I never would have met my best friend. Without her, I know I wouldn’t be the person I am today. She encouraged me to go to counseling. She has been a key player in building up my self-esteem, in letting me see that I could be more than I thought I was. I wouldn’t have met other spectacular people who helped shape me, who encouraged me. Without the experience before Bryn Mawr, I might not have taken so much from it–indpendence at being half-way accross the country, the courage to speak up, confidence. So as much as that first college experience might seem like a “redo” it isn’t.

Still, I am far from perfect, which means there are things I wish I could change. I can’t help but think of things I would have liked to done or be or done or be sooner. If I could have:

• I would be less scared.
• I would be more trusting.
• I would believe I was/could be something more than just a “smart girl;” I would see a pretty face, athletic ability, humor and I would see them all, and more, sooner.
• I would not push away my father’s attempts to reach out to me the summer before he died.
• I would have more fun.
• I would stand up for myself more.
• I would not be so hard on myself.
• I would recognize sooner, relationships that just weren’t worth it, and ones that deserved more investment.
• I would really hear more of what my parents said to me; they knew what they were talking about most of the time.
• I would have more courage.
• I would appreciate naps more when I had time for them.

Fortunately, while there may not be do-overs, there are still-to-be-dones. That’s why it’s so important to learn from the past. You can’t change it, but you can change your future and maybe some day have fewer couldas, wouldas, or shouldas when you look back.