Another chores day with a calming picture. The chores were just a list of things that needed to be done. Brightened by the promise of a bowl of cherries for lunch.
Not just any cherries. King Cherries.
But as it happened the day was brightened by meeting a bobber, Helen, during my Farm Shop phase and by not missing the parcel delivery which was only scheduled half an hour after I had left home. I figured I could be super efficient and be at home for 50% of the time slot. Time that I also scheduled for this blog.
But back to the bowl of cherries.
I helped with an end of term tennis club for children last night. The weather was perfect, the children were happy and the snacks were healthy. Which is where I met King Cherries from Lidl.
As luck would have it my early morning chores were very close to Lidl. The cherries called me, I answered and two boxes came home with me.
Cherries posing.
Serendipitous friends and cherries very much lightened my load this morning. No sign of the parcel, but powered by a bowl of cherries the afternoon chores will fly by.
Domestica has leached into Tuesday. I am not entirely certain why, maybe the success of yesterday has spurred me on. Unlike my grandparents I don’t have to be fully engaged with domestica. Today I loaded up the washing machine and the dishwasher and took off for the morning dog walk, then went to meet a friend for coffee. By the time I had returned the domestic goddesses were ready to be reloaded and so with heavy rain outside I started deeper domestica. I also had to look for a missing note book, amazing how missing things gather together. I didn’t find the notebook immediately but curiously my bank card and a tape measure were hiding side by side in an unexpected place, the place I had hoped to find the notebook. The notebook announced that it was not missing at all, but had been put in the wrong place under a quick watercolour sketch all along. In the midst of a domestica day these three misplaced items had eaten up an hour of my down time created by the Domestic Goddesses.
And just like that another project for domestica downtime was inspired. Superimposing the notebook on the quick sketch.
And indeed on some other images I was pondering today.
A wet feather.
A sunflower
A recent sketch
And lastly, the domestica.
In between these images beds have been made and a bit of a summer clear out. I predict Wednesday will be much the same but there is a good chance the additional summer chores will be done and dusted. 2 weeks early. I still don’t love domestica but having the end in sight of the big seasonal jobs does bring a little smug satisfaction.
When did Monday cease to be a traditional day to do the washing? I only remark upon this because I almost never do washing on a Monday.
The only person to have a Monday wash day was my paternal grandmother who was both religious and someone who had worked for others as a domestic servant before she married in her early 30’s. Her day for minor childcare of me was Wednesday when the washing pile had metamorphised from dirty linens to an ironing pile. After school I was permitted to iron cotton handkerchiefs and tea towels. I can’t say I hated it because it is really hard to hate something quite so dull. On reflection I think my grandmother gave me the really dull tasks in the hope that I would ask for more stimulating domestic trivia. Instead I learnt that in life there are a lot of dull tasks and they are to be endured but are not to be trusted to lead necessarily to anything more interesting. My grandmother seemed to take a quiet satisfaction in her tasks being achieved. What do I know? She could have hated every moment of the domestic drudge. Why didn’t she just cut loose on a Wednesday and enjoy time with her grandchild?
My maternal grandmother was both busy and flighty in equal measure. My paternal grandmother did not approve. I don’t remember her ever being tied to a domestic routine. She ran a pub and a taxi business. She almost certainly had ‘staff’. Women who came in from the village and kept the pub and the living quarters looking as fresh as a field of daisies.
Domestica passes down through the female line. So my mum, reluctantly and erratically but effectively did the housework when I was child. No Washday Mondays for her.
Which leads directly to my own lack of domestic rigour and a Washday Monday being so unusual it is worthy of a blog.
This is the beige load.
Now I am a similar age to both of my grandmothers when they were doing minimal care of me. I realise that my domestic attitude is a curious blend of both. There is no routine, I have no problem with enduring the dull tasks but there is an unstated satisfaction when domestica has been conquered.
I wonder what domestic style I will pass on to my granddaughters.
Beige with a hint of colour.
I always take time out for them, perhaps they will believe a fairy does it.
We popped to a coffee shop and bakery during the weekend drizzle. Slightly damp, the outdoor, rustic table showed signs of many a coffee spill. A hard working piece of wood, but nothing like as hard working as this similar looking piece of wood which I photographed supporting the jetty for the Statten Island Ferry in New York.
Decades old wood still working hard, long after its life as a living thing is over.
And now just bystanders to coffee and commuters.
Interesting though that if I digially abstract the cafe table the image can look exactly like a forest clearing.
Nature is a wonderful thing.
In other news I am continuing with my Glastonbury supported summer clear out. Doing the non day to day Domestic Admin that builds up behind the scenes.
To be frank, on day 3, I am at the point with my domestic admin that I am beginning to feel lethagy.Not unlike attending an actual music festival, I don’t much care who is on the stage I just want to lie in my tent and commune with nature,I am done with the whole thing. The summer clear out is over for now. Who knew domestic admin could fill a festival weekend quite so pleasurably? Until the moment when you know.
What does a woman who loves music festivals do when she does not get a ticket for Glastonbury. This one plans a weekend of ‘jobs’ that are vastly improved by the background sound of the BBC livestreaming the music aspect of the festival.
And just like that the futility (utility) room was stripped out tidied and put back together. Our store of Covid restriction ‘essential’ baking and cooking ingredients have gone in the bin.
Farewell inert dried yeast and sumac + many others well past their best.
Tidy Cook Books
Hello tidied camper van too.
And as a reward, a little live night music. Shanty singing in a Cornish Village Hall.
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