Hippie Muffin

Having just bought a long, sweeping denim skirt and three very simple tops to go with it, I started to think about the stereotypical long-skirt lady. Well there are a few stereotypes there. There’s the prairie muffin (stay-at-home-mom who bakes her own bread on a homestead), the hippie chick (do I need to provide a description?), the pentecostal holiness/apostolic lady with her hair piled as high as her skirt is long. And then there’s me. I’m none of these but maybe I pinch off a bit of each. Maybe I’m a hippie muffin. I don’t have a homestead and my kitchen forbids my baking bread since it has no oven and a tiny amount of counter space. But my dream is to be a stay-at-home wife and I find the prairie muffin’s lifestyle is something to be admired.

Well, where does the hippie part come in? Let’s see… I’m very crunchy. I’ve sinned against my principles lately out of sheer convenience and lack of patience, but in general I run a tight organic ship. I am very interested in being kind to the planet and also very against corporate takeover in our country, so in every way I can I try to make do, do without, or make it myself. And yes, I love patchouli and incense, though we don’t happen to have any at the moment. The whole point of all this is that I love this sweeping denim skirt, and even though it isn’t handmade, it has the look and right now, in my convenience-focused life, that’s ok with me. It helps me feel like my true self- a hippie muffin, I suppose! Now it’s time for tea. You know, the skirt also gives me a nostalgic (is there a better word??) feeling because I almost became a nun, and the nuns wore long, full skirts as well. So even though I massively failed God’s call on my life, I do feel a closeness with my sisters-who-never-were through wearing clothes like this. In fact, I thank God for helping me find this skirt among the myriad others at the thrift store. And I thank Him too for the three simple shirts that all fit (I’ve gained weight) and all look well with the skirt. It’s good to thank Him for everything, even things you don’t think you need to thank Him for. It’s good because all things come from Him, He made it all. Tonight’s tea is David’s Green Passionfruit. Yum.

What's number one?

For all the grief I gave my sweet mom over the years for her imperfections, I am truly sorry. I have discovered that I have inherited her beginner level of housekeeping abilities, her simple desires, and her simple joys. She never complained or wanted much (that I didn’t inherit), and God bless her for it. I am learning to embrace my simplicity, whether it be in the caretaking of my home or in the ways I spend a free evening. I embrace it because I miss her, and I feel proud that she is a part of me in so many ways. This is just the latest, really. I have been noticing my mother from my inside out for awhile now. I think I’m actually a good mix of each of my parents; some parts of me which are more precise and painstaking are certainly from my dad. But the rainbows-and-unicorns part, which just wants everyone to get along and enjoy a simple laugh together, that’s my mom. Dad too was a peacemaker, but he didn’t do it in the same way as she did. Her way irked me, as it was thinly veiled, just shy of a retort. But I think that was her anxiety or low self esteem; she felt like she could not just ask for what she wanted, she had to couch it in something more aggressive for it to count. She couldn’t have been more wrong about that, but I find myself doing it too, by golly. I don’t have the same issues as my parents did, well… I don’t exactly have the same issues my parents did, but I use their techniques to deal with the issues I do have. Number one is the under-the-carpet sweeper. Absolutely. Nonconfrontational? That’s my favorite flavor of ice cream. Subpar housecleaner? Sure, that’s me. Do I think I could improve? Sure do. Am I going to bust my patootie over it? Nope indeed not. Anyway, when I get down on myself for the things I could do better, I stop and remember my mom. She was a Mary, not a Martha, and I think I try so hard to be Martha and lose my focus on what is the most important. For mom, it was Jesus. And other people. Dad too, that was his number one. Loving the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen, that’s the kind of person I want to be.