THE NEW DOMESTICITY
the
NEW DOMESTICITY
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By Julianna Lawson
February Twilight
When my children were young, I regularly encouraged
the memorization of seasonal poems. We’d delight in the rich autumn days as we envisioned Helen Hunt Jackson’s lines, “From dewy lanes at morning / The grapes’ sweet odors rise,” or we’d soar into spring with the immortal lines of Wordsworth: “I wandered lonely as a cloud / That floats on high o’er vales and hills.” The February poems always seemed to be limited to two obvious themes: Valentine’s Day and snow. Yet a poem by Sara Teasdale, whispered into our home many years ago, speaks of a February gem we might unearth if we dig a bit. Yes, it features the characteristic snowfall, but it goes deeper than that, too. Take a moment to slowly read through “February Twilight,” letting the scene and its implications settle quietly: I stood beside a hill Smooth with new-laid snow, A single star looked out From the cold evening glow. There was no other creature That saw what I could see -I stood and watched the evening star As long as it watched me. If you have the time, read it again. Do you see it? Do you hear it? Teasdale draws us into a scene that is rare: a scene devoted to solitude, to reverence, to quiet. The snow is smooth . . . the star is solitary . . . the evening glows . . . and—wonder of wonders—there is time to simply stand . . . and watch! We lead busy lives. We push for more, we reach for the next thing, we anticipate that which is around the bend. Sometimes this foresight and ambition can be helpful, even necessary. Other
times, it takes away from the moment at hand—a moment that will never come again. Emily P. Freeman, in her podcast, “The Next Right Thing,” brings this to light: “The louder the sound, the more instinctual my attention . . . . The urgent bursts into the room, dramatic and demanding. The quiet things—the sometimes more important things—whisper, steady and waiting.” The quiet, unobtrusive things—like that single star looking out “from the cold evening glow”—is it possible to even care about them anymore? Or have we become too driven by demand, by immediacy, by urgency? I’m a hopeless romantic, but I do believe it’s possible to have “February Twilight” moments, even on a daily basis. As we do so, we’ll be modeling this habit for our children, a habit of paying attention to the things that matter, the things that “whisper, steady and waiting” in our homes, not in our devicedependent hands. The memes, the tweets, the snaps—they feel so urgent! But how much more mesmerizing is the curve of your baby’s smile? The giggle of your girls as they play dress-up? The flicker of candlelight on a cold winter evening? One practical way to begin this habit of purposeful stillness is to start small. Freeman suggests simply sitting for five minutes. That’s it! Sit still, with your hands and immediate agenda . . . empty. Use this time to enjoy the rest, the quiet. (I often accompany this time with a cup of tea and the flicker of a candle or two, but then you already know I’m a hopeless romantic!) This quietness eventually gives birth to the ability to slow down at other times, too. Start to pay attention to those little things that beg for stillness and awe. Appreciate those moments, perhaps even jotting them in a spiral notebook: “the hum of the dishwasher . . . the simmer of soup on the stove . . . the way my son’s eyes glow when he’s eager to talk about his school day.” As we pay attention, we can invite our children to develop this habit of paying attention, too. We continued on next page
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Vancouver Family Magazine • www.vancouverfamilymagazine.com • February 2019