Warrior. It’s a term that’s all to often thrown about without really paying attention to what it means. Or it immediately brings to mind images of men and women; scarred & battle-hardened, steely-eyed, weapons bristling about them as they seek out their enemies. Whether it’s leathers or chain-mail, AK-47s or a bastard sword, when the word is said you know what sort of person is being referenced.
But… and hear me out… what if that’s not entirely accurate? What if there are various types of warriors?
I’ve been a homebody from early, early on. I got my license at 16 not because I wanted to, but because I had to. I avoided leaving home if at all possible – probably because my schedule was jam-packed with school & church-related activities & I was tired all the time. Also, I just liked being at home. Warm, cozy, comfortable… pants optional. (lol)
I became a big sister at age 3 & again at 8. Even at 3 I knew I was supposed to take care of the little ones, and I did. As I got older, I kept looking after them, and started taking on ‘hearth & home’ duties as well. I was the only teenager I knew who’d rather redecorate the living room & then curl up with a good movie than go to the mall. I hated the mall… still do.
So that’s my style – If you want floors so clean you can eat off them, cabinets and drawers organized so intuitively that you don’t have to guess where something is, the ready-answers when you need to know where or when an event is, what’s next, or how to get there (and what all you need to have when you DO get there), well then – I’m your Girl Friday.
I’m neat & tidy. That’s my magic… what some people get from whipping up lusciousness in the kitchen, I get from an immaculately organized closet. Things are put away, the next season is prepared for, the children are happy and seen to… Peace reigns supreme.
BUT. Let someone set a foot wrong. One. Single. Foot. Let an outside (unwelcome) force make a move against me or mine…
All hell will break loose. Because I’m coming.
I’ve been a ballerina and a kickboxer – and there’s a time and place for both. I don’t go out looking for a fight, but I sure as hell will finish one. I occasionally get all up in arms about a slight against one of my family and in my ranting am told to let it go – and I’ll sometimes take that; there are a few people who can (and do) calm me down, but they use their power sparingly. It’s kind of like being wolf-ish – motherly, protective, in control, warm & snuggly… with a vicious set of teeth.
I chose the name of this blog very carefully. I call myself a Hearth Witch, because though I love tinkering around with pots & pans, I’m not a Kitchen Witch (I know a couple of those… whew! So not me). I am, however, a homebody. A Hearth Witch. I’m compulsive about creating and maintaining the space my family occupies, and having it be a safe & welcoming environment for those who might have lost their way a little… or just need some breathing room.
And, I suppose it doesn’t hurt that I have the teensiest obsession with fire. I always want a fireplace in my home… a REAL hearth… and not currently having one has made me a little creative – but that’s another post. 😉
So while I have nothing but respect for the “go out & face the danger” Warriors, and don’t begrudge them the title or the renown, I’ll just stay here as a little hearth-warrior, back at home with my broom, bottles & bed-sheets, ready to grab my axe, baseball bat, or Sig 9…
Should the situation call for it.