I Love My Home

We have lived here among the Jemison people and found them kind and good. We have bought us a nice home. I don’t like Jemison, but I love my home. It is a comfort to have a nice home, a place where happiness reigns supreme. - Frances, October 1891

Every year, on November 1st, I get a little sad. Once Halloween is over, most people skip right on over to Christmas, missing Thanksgiving entirely. The stores fill with red and green decorations, the movie channels switch to snowy scenes, and almost every TV commercial includes some part of the Nutcracker music. But what about Thanksgiving??

I love Thanksgiving because of the strong ties to family and tradition. Growing up, we always gathered at a family home to celebrate. First, it was my Grandmother’s house in Tuscaloosa - sitting down at the big dining room table. Then my Aunt’s house in Montgomery - taking the family photo on the deck. And my Aunt’s house in Atlanta - snacking on appetizers in the sunroom. A home holds memories like no other place.

From her diary entries, it sounds like Frances struggled with living in Jemison. She never goes into detail about why she doesn’t like Jemison, but she frequently describes her home as a source of comfort and relaxation. She raised her family in that house, and she always felt safe there. Even when the future looked uncertain, she had her home.

There is something wonderful about having a secure, safe place to call home. This Thanksgiving season, as we dust off the family recipes, let’s take a moment to remember the places of our past. Sometimes, home really IS where the heart is.

I Ought To Be Happy

This is the thrice anniversary of our marriage.  I ought to be happy.  Here I have a nice comfortable home, a dear kind husband.  Two of the dearest little ones in the world.  I am, most of the time.  Sometimes I am about half sick - feel real bad + imagine Mr. Grimes don't love me, but I reckon he does - he does think to say a few kind sympathetic words.  I was never petted in the least in my life.  Why should I expect it now?   - Frances, June 1892

Every time I read Frances' diary, this entry stands out.  Here she is, on her third wedding anniversary.  Living the life she is 'supposed' to live.  Raising two children.  Living in a nice house.  Maintaining that household (with the help of a cook and a nurse).  Supporting her husband.  She has all the comforts a woman could want.

But why isn't she happy?  Are these fleeting moments of sadness - or a more telling description of her married life?  She calls her husband Mr. Grimes - was this just formality, or something deeper?  Was she seeking more affection and connection with her husband?  Or was she just tired that day?

So many questions from one entry, and such a revealing glimpse into her world.  Have you ever felt like Frances?  Felt disconnected from your loved ones?  Felt guilty for not being grateful enough?  Those are definitely familiar to me. 

Journals contain more than lists and recipes - they also hold our doubts, fears, and insecurities.  We are all complicated, messy, beautiful humans - at both our highest and our lowest - and we are more alike than we are different.