The Mother Hen
Without Prejudice
I love the endearment hen, it reminds me of my Mum, Natalie and my Dad's two Sisters, my Scottish Aunts.
"how are you, Hen ? " softly spoken in a Scots burr is one of the nicest greeting in the world. It emotes care, kindness, empathy. The opposite is to be called a Klypie which meand tattle tale. Scots women are expected to be strong, tough, uncompromising. The Ancestors demand it. They keep a tidy spotless home and I still scrub my front step which is expected of every Edinburgh housewife. They are also brave, loyal and discerning.
The Scots are warriors, fierce warriors and will not back down from a fight, especially if it is about Freedom,as every Scot was born to be free. And taught to fight for it. I feel the Scottishness of my background and sometimes when I am cleaning a house I can feel an ancestor with me. She was a highlander, fiercely proud, a Mother, a Wife and the sounds of injustice rang in her ears and made her heart beat faster.
Never scared, calm, and with a fine brain she could kill if she had to and would to protect. She fought along side her man. He was her everything.I love this ancestor that is built in to my DNA. Probably part witch, fey, psychic, obviously cunning, smart. I imagine her walking down soft green hills, her head full of practical things and day dreaming too. In the colder months she watched over her family, not sleeping till they did. The warmth of the fire reddening her cheeks and making her at last sleepy. I call her Morag.
She would have a dirk in her sock, hidden under her long full skirt. She would have been dark haired, curly to her shoulders. At night she would brush her hair and dress up for her man. She would be sweet smelling and sleepy and if her warrior were home she would offer her body in gladness and comfort. Rolling like puppies, tickling and laughing and then quiet with whispered endearments, not wanting to wake the sleeping children.
She was his Queen and he her King. I daydream about these things as I clean and clean, restore, declutter. I chase the dust bunnies under beds with brooms and scour showers, my body welcoming the physical activity, my mind in reverie. I can strip a room and redo it in half a day and then shop to dress it. I am anal about houses and smells and clean. I love sweet smells from nature. Clean washed sheets smelling of sunshine and heat are one of my favourite things and I love to bury my head in them and inhale the freshness.
Same with a baby. I love to inhale the sweet powdered freshness buried in their neck folds. Blowing raspberries there to make them chuckle.The fat chickles filling my heart with gladness. I think of many things as I sweep and vac and brush, washing dishes I am in a soothing trance, seeing not the mundane but the beauty of simple tasks done well.
I love the femaleness of it, the bubbles popping, the water soothing, the cleaness of it all and my head is in the clouds that scud across my vision outside the kitchen window. Only a woman can know the joy of a well kept home and I think of her Morag. She would be proud of me as I am of her. She will rest at the end of a hard worked day, her eyes sleepy from the warmth of the glowing hearth. And as I stare into the bubbles of my work I can feel her staring into her fire. The days events running through her mind.
She will be weighing up what she has to do the next day only. One day at a time, well lived, full of love and care and duty and fun. Just as I do.
To be continued x
I love the endearment hen, it reminds me of my Mum, Natalie and my Dad's two Sisters, my Scottish Aunts.
"how are you, Hen ? " softly spoken in a Scots burr is one of the nicest greeting in the world. It emotes care, kindness, empathy. The opposite is to be called a Klypie which meand tattle tale. Scots women are expected to be strong, tough, uncompromising. The Ancestors demand it. They keep a tidy spotless home and I still scrub my front step which is expected of every Edinburgh housewife. They are also brave, loyal and discerning.
The Scots are warriors, fierce warriors and will not back down from a fight, especially if it is about Freedom,as every Scot was born to be free. And taught to fight for it. I feel the Scottishness of my background and sometimes when I am cleaning a house I can feel an ancestor with me. She was a highlander, fiercely proud, a Mother, a Wife and the sounds of injustice rang in her ears and made her heart beat faster.
Never scared, calm, and with a fine brain she could kill if she had to and would to protect. She fought along side her man. He was her everything.I love this ancestor that is built in to my DNA. Probably part witch, fey, psychic, obviously cunning, smart. I imagine her walking down soft green hills, her head full of practical things and day dreaming too. In the colder months she watched over her family, not sleeping till they did. The warmth of the fire reddening her cheeks and making her at last sleepy. I call her Morag.
She would have a dirk in her sock, hidden under her long full skirt. She would have been dark haired, curly to her shoulders. At night she would brush her hair and dress up for her man. She would be sweet smelling and sleepy and if her warrior were home she would offer her body in gladness and comfort. Rolling like puppies, tickling and laughing and then quiet with whispered endearments, not wanting to wake the sleeping children.
She was his Queen and he her King. I daydream about these things as I clean and clean, restore, declutter. I chase the dust bunnies under beds with brooms and scour showers, my body welcoming the physical activity, my mind in reverie. I can strip a room and redo it in half a day and then shop to dress it. I am anal about houses and smells and clean. I love sweet smells from nature. Clean washed sheets smelling of sunshine and heat are one of my favourite things and I love to bury my head in them and inhale the freshness.
Same with a baby. I love to inhale the sweet powdered freshness buried in their neck folds. Blowing raspberries there to make them chuckle.The fat chickles filling my heart with gladness. I think of many things as I sweep and vac and brush, washing dishes I am in a soothing trance, seeing not the mundane but the beauty of simple tasks done well.
I love the femaleness of it, the bubbles popping, the water soothing, the cleaness of it all and my head is in the clouds that scud across my vision outside the kitchen window. Only a woman can know the joy of a well kept home and I think of her Morag. She would be proud of me as I am of her. She will rest at the end of a hard worked day, her eyes sleepy from the warmth of the glowing hearth. And as I stare into the bubbles of my work I can feel her staring into her fire. The days events running through her mind.
She will be weighing up what she has to do the next day only. One day at a time, well lived, full of love and care and duty and fun. Just as I do.
To be continued x
