The wife and mother, who is the home-maker and consequently responsible for the esprit de corps of the family, will direct, suggest, and guide the conversation into profitable and interesting channels. By thus supplying the atmosphere necessary to the efficient eating of a meal, the digestion and the assimilation of the food will adequately take care of itself. Overeating is never a part of any meal and should be religiously avoided.
What Makes the Home.—We know it isn't the house we live in that makes the home. Many have lived in humble dwellings and have carried all through life the memory of home as a sacred legacy. Wealth does not make a home, nor culture, nor any of the intellectual attainments for which we may strive unceasingly. We may have all these and yet not know the joy of "home." "Home" conveys to every heart the same tender memories. To have known the blessings of a "home" is to be fortified for life's battles. No one can deny its importance in humanizing mankind. A boy who has never known what it was to have a home, whose substitute for the home associations was an "institutional mother," may have all the necessary potential qualities for success, but he will be forever deprived of the inspiration that memory of home kindles in every human soul.
The secret of the sources of home is its atmosphere. The atmosphere of home is the sum total of the kinship and sympathy radiated by its members. It is a tangible something which is capable of being felt, which is capable of inspiration and which is capable of being carried away into the years beyond, exerting a helpful influence over the milestones of worry, and trouble, and defeat; and it is always a fragrant, soothing, energizing influence. Every human heart needs the memory of a home and the presence of a friend at all times and in all places.
We must contribute our share to form the right kind of home-making "atmosphere." The two qualities which are essential to this task are sympathy and peace. Each contributor must be more than a negative unit in the home. It is not enough to simply desire peace—a deaf mute could fill that part. We must desire to please and we must be an active agency working for harmony and peace. If there is in our heart enough sincere affection for brother and sister, father and mother, the desire to please will be the bond of sympathy that will weather every temperamental storm. If we are eager to do something to lighten the load of another, eager to sacrifice self, to cheer and counsel and inspire, to leave unsaid some unkind word, to forget our own troubles in the larger trouble of a friend, we are home-builders. We must control our moods in the home, we must submerge the instinct of selfishness, of impatience, of pride, and of obstinacy. We must not be opinionated, we can many times conform to the opinion of others in trivial matters and preserve peace; we thereby minister to the happiness of others, because to give happiness is the surest way to be happy. Temper is the sting that poisons many homes. Its possessor is an impossible associate and will defeat the work of the angels in the effort to make homes.
Working for Something.—At various times we have emphasized the necessity of having definite plans, of "knowing exactly what you want," of "beginning wedded life with ideals"; in other words, we believe that to combine the maximum efficiency with the greatest degree of happiness it is necessary for all of us to "work for something."
It is not necessary to prove that the average human life is uninteresting; most of us know that. As a matter of fact the average existence is a monotonous, hopeless dreary stretch of time, dotted at more or less frequent intervals with physical pain and suffering, and with mental sorrow and anguish.
While this is undeniably a true epitome of the average life to-day, it is not to be accepted as the only possible average existence. Every agency that is working for the betterment of the conditions which surround life is helping to elevate the status of the average individual. As individuals, the question whether our life will conform to the average, or be individualized, rests with ourselves.
The ordinary average housewife's existence is slavery in its loneliest and most wretched form. Its utter hopelessness is its most depressing feature. If we could hope for some glint of sunshine, some day in the future when conditions would change, some circumstance which would give us the opportunity which we have never had, some test of our womanhood,—anything to relieve the crushing, hopeless inertia of the daily routine,—we imagine we could go on again, hoping that things would permanently change eventually. Don't "hope things will change." Change them! Don't get in a mental rut; don't be an "average" housewife. If you really can't do anything else, if things are so abjectly hopeless that there is no other way out, if your path is leading to nowhere, start a rebellion. When the smoke has cleared away you may see a new path to follow, and it may lead to somewhere. It is not necessary to do this often, because the fault is usually our own, and not that of environment or conditions, or our husbands. All we need to do is to think things over, and begin something, and all the other conditions will take care of themselves. The moment we step outside the humdrum path of existence, the moment we are curious enough to do this, there is hope for us. A little mental fresh air will dissipate a good many brain fogs. The instant we begin "working for something" definite, we cease to follow in the procession of the average helpless and hopeless citizen. So to the young housewife we would strongly suggest that she "think things over" and decide what she is going to work for.
Now, what will it be? Of course it will be different with each housewife. With many it will be "a home of our own." It may only be a piano for the children, or it may wisely be more insurance. Possibly you live in the country, and you long for the social and other advantages of the city. You may be a city wife and may long for a farm in the glorious country. It may be a trip to Europe; or a college education for the boy; or a musical career for the daughter. It does not matter what it is, the "it" is the thing itself, and, having found it, the world for you has changed. The lonesomeness, and the hopelessness, and the wretchedness of life have disappeared. There is always in the future the "it"; no matter how dark and gloomy the road may be, it is illuminated at the far end with the realized "it." It is the bearing of the burden of life that makes a wife, and when we have "something to work for" we begin to live. Love is the explanation. We don't want the home for ourselves. We want it for those we love, we want those we love in the atmosphere, which I, as mother, will make in "our home." It is the elemental mother that speaks,—the motherhood spirit that pours out eternally in self-sacrifice and keeps no debit account. It is the cry of the primal mother that echoes through all the ages and which has kept the race sane and safe and hopeful. Having something to work for supplies the element necessary to cheerfulness. In the darkest moments, when everything seems to go wrong, the thought that we can look forward to a time when a great change is coming, when we will move to the new home, when we go to the farm or the city as the case may be, or when John will finish his college course and start out as a lawyer,—when the strain of skimping and making ends meet is over we feel that the struggle will let up and we can rest in peace for a little while. It is sharing these burdens that counts, and brings out the best elements of human nature. The struggle of making ends meet draws the young couple closer together, and adds that touch of divinity that is essential to confidence and love. It strengthens character, curbs the tendency to unnecessary expenditure of money and time, and teaches frugality and patience. The incentive to win out is ever present, and it is the anchor that means final satisfaction and success.
Try to see the point. Work for something,—something worth while, and when you have once begun never turn back. "Nothing-succeeds like success."