~home-bod-y. noun.~

home·bod·y n. pl. home·bod·ies One whose interests center on the home. Homebody - A person who seldom goes anywhere: one not given to wandering or travel.

All I want to do anymore is stay home. Be in my pajamas. Quilt. Do laundry. Clean my fridge. Finish projects. Be domestic. Ponder a bit while I am stitching. Does this make any sense to anyone else? Am I 'letting myself go?' Does this mean I am getting soft? Am I turning into a couch potato? I can't be doing that because we don't watch or even have a TV. I just 'reflect' a lot and am trying to be the person I was meant to be. I am being mindful of my existence and making the best use of my time. I love being home and I try to run errands or do my limited shopping either on my two days of work, or every other week. Saves money and time to be at home. In colonial times, so much work was done at home - even to light their evenings they had to set aside several days a year just to make candles. While I don't have to do that, I can rejoice that I have an inside bathroom to clean. That I have running inside warm water for laundry. That I can just walk over and flip a switch on the wall for heat. That I have a great OTT Light to see to stitch at night. AND that I have a crock-pot to cook my dinner for me. All this. Wow - all this! And I get to choose to be a homebody.

With that I am going to go read. With a good bedside lamp. Curled up underneath a warm quilt. AFTER I say my nighttime prayers - thanking my Heavenly Father for these blessings in my life. I am blessed to be a 'homebody. '

~Tis My Colonial Hearth~

Colonial hearths, like the one pictured above, have fascinated me for many, many years - ever since I was a little girl. I was afraid, as a child, that when the fire crackled and popped, embers would fly out onto the floor and start a house fire. Yet, I loved to sit near a open flame, whether in a home or around a campfire, and just take in the ambiance of the flames. And to think that the early colonial hearths were open and people cooked in them, and sat around them at night for family time, and really, were the center of their lives and survival, just really fascinated me. There was always one added element that signified safety, security, and self-reliance, and that one element was the black powder rifles that hung above the mantle.

I have always wanted a black powder rifle. I don't know anything about them, really. I liked the romantic coziness they gave to the hearth, the look of stately belonging. I knew that both revolutionary and civil war reenactors today use them, but I couldn't tell you anything about the different sizes, makes, or anything about how to tell how old a gun was. I knew from the Little House on the Prairie books that Pa had one hanging above their fireplace mantle, but I didn't know what all they took to fire - the amount of black powder to use, or the size of 'ball' needed to fire it. I just knew that some day I would like to have one. That 'someday' came Christmas Morning for me - bless my dearhearted husband!

Our hearth before:



Our hearth after:


I have a very understanding husband who made a purchase for me that I will always treasure - and while some wives may think me a bit off - I am a simpleton. I may live in 2011, but my husband knows that at times I wish I lived during the early days of our nation, and he tries his best to get me there.


It is lightly snowing outside, and I think I may get my copy of "Woman's Life in Colonial Days" by Carl Holliday, pull up my settee by the hearth, and read.

Blessings on Your Day!