Needle-Point

I sat in the middle of the parking lot in my van, doors open to let in the air because Teancom was asleep in his car seat. It was 6:15 on a Thursday night and Elijah and Miciah were out of sight practicing on their respective soccer fields. For a moment or two I sat thinking about how great it was that Teancom was asleep, since he hadn't napped earlier in the day. I looked back at him and smiled. Sleeping children are beautiful.

Then I did something that I hadn't done in years. I picked up a needle-point project. Yep. Tamra Thacker was doing a sewing project. It's a project that my Mother initiated when she was in town one time, playing around and finding new avenues for her sewing habit. Unlike most of my Mother's sewing ideas, this particular project interested me because it was different, fast, and required absolutely no skill. But I hadn't finished it then, of course. I'd let it sit on my shelf for 2 years, waiting for the right time. Twiddling my thumbs at soccer practice seemed like as good a time as any.

As I wove the thread through the fabric, I felt a sense of calm and peace come over me. Suddenly I felt a desire to be drawn back in time. Not back to the days of my own Mother doing sewing projects at my soccer practices, but way, way back. Back to days before women's rights, when being "accomplished" as a women meant that you were an excellent cook and made amazing quilts.

I had a desire to sit around a fireplace late into the night and use the dying light to embroider my skirt and darn my husband's socks. My husband would read to me out of the Bible and I would nod appreciatively at appropriate times, perhaps when he gave a particularly stirring rendition of Psalm 24, or spoke with emotion in his voice as he recounted the story of Abraham and Isaac. We would spend some time talking about the discipline of the children and he would tell me about the crops. I would briefly tell him about my day, and then listen with heartfelt interest as he talked about more important things that happened to him.

I imagined this conversation between my 1750's counterpart, the virtuous Tabitha, and Robert, my hard-working husband.
We are sitting in front of the fireplace in the evening hours. The children are asleep. Robert is putting the 400-lb. family Bible on his lap. As he starts opening it I say, "Oh, Robert, how I love to hear you read to me from the Bible. But I was wondering if I could suggest that we read some Shakespeare tonight."
Robert looks at me stonily but silently.
"We can read the Bible, too, but I just love the story of Hamlet," I continue.
Robert is shamed by my brazen comments.
Of course, though, my suggestion wouldn't have happened at all, because I would have known that speaking like that towards my husband was a sin.

As I sat in the van thinking upon this happy scene, I knew in an instant that women's rights have set me back. Consider it! Knowing how to read is a burden--I could certainly accomplish more sewing projects if I didn't have the chore of reading books to slow me down. Being able to vote is a particular bother, because then I have to spend the time to be informed. Back in the day I couldn't vote--how can property vote? I didn't have to be bothered with thinking for myself or reading for myself. I just had to bother with raising 11 children and cooking and cleaning, and sitting around a fireplace sewing blankets for my children.

Who thought up women's rights anyway?!