I would not want to return to the days of my grandparents. But unfortunately, I am not a simple soul content with the good earth. Even with a push mower. I covet things. I covet thing so much some times it makes my fingernails hurt. I get a longing in my gut. For things.
For High WASPs the passion of values is around aesthetics. Moral values are understated. Understood. The done thing. No need to discuss. It is the code and goes without saying. But taste? Taste? The determination of what is “good-looking”? What is “tacky”? In poor taste? For that we might shed blood.
When I see something beautiful I feel it like a knife in my teeth, steel against my tongue. For example. If I had to go back to the time of my grandparents this is what I would put on my 17th century refectory table. Linens or no linens. Everything else completely unornamented. Tall ivory candles. Oooooh. My precious…. (with a nod to Tolkien). The thingness of it is just so thingish. All that translucency. All those angles. All those fissures. Wait. Get me my lawn mower.