I'd rather be a lady.

Reading Victorian novels makes me wish I was born a long time ago, and was living out my life in an entirely different generation. Having an English accent would not have been so bad, either, though that has nothing to do with my favor.

I am currently a homemaker, raising 4 children and homeschooling. I had intended to stay at home and homeschool for a while, then slowly go back to school and eventually when the children were middle schools work so that they can experience an expensive private school education. That while was extended when we had another child. And could be extended again, as we do want another baby in the future.

When I was younger, I wanted to be a zoologist or a National Geographic photographer. Largely, my childhood was isolated and these interests came from the abundance of National Geographic magazines and videos handed down to me by my great-grandparents (whom I have mentioned in a previous post were very important to me). I remember sitting in the colossal barn where my grandfathers last horse-the others had all been sold-and the huge tractor he was too-aged to use sat, unused but obviously loved. Cobwebs extended from the stall of the old mare, up to the ceiling and then down over the mechanical beast, swaying in the breeze like threadbare flags of surrender. Surrounded by farm tools that were no longer in use, and showed it in thick layers of blood red rust, I poured over pictures of African women shirtless and working in fields, their faces full of piercings and tatoos, fascinated by their huge smiles. Stories of Jane Goodall living with gorillas spiked my interest. My small town Indiana upbringing, where life revolved around the RV and double-wide factories, seemed all the more abysmal as I considered articles that spoke of the vast world of which I had never heard. Going back home from the farm in Ohio, I dreamt of life beyond cornfields and country lanes.

Now the things I couldn't wait to leave and thought lacked all grandeur call me back. I've long since realized I am not cut out to be a zoologist. I've seen enough zoos. I don't want to be a field photographer, I'd rather be settled with my husband and children and take their portraits occasionally.

With childhood dreams seen unrealisitic, I don't know where to turn. I want a degree, but there seems so little left in the world to do that I think is at all important. I don't want to be in business, technology, or politics. Real trades don't seem to exist anymore. It's all corporate, bigger than life, reality show ugliness. I want to teach, but where? I am stuck in indecision.

I just want a big garden (without my neighbors fences tight against our property on all sides, so close they're all visible from the back door), a horse or two to whinny at us as we pull into our long dusty drive (no more cement driveway!), and to see my children running through fields of wildflowers. I don't think they'd understand that flowers sometimes grow by themselves in vast, colorful swatches along rolling hillsides, and that you can pick as many as you want. My children understand plants in pots, from seeds bought at K-Mart, and flowers aren't to be picked because they're so scarce here that one just wants to let them flourish for the few weeks or months they'll bloom.

I don't like this city life, this busy idea of life. I want idleness.

I could be a lady of old, sitting in my drawing room sewing, or strolling through the gardens, without retirement and insurance and college degrees to comtemplate. I want neighbors who don't avoid eachother out of fear.

Do you know the feel of cobblestone beneath your shoes? Whatever happened to cobblestone? I hate blacktop.