Even with people we know well we are unaware of their activities from waking in the morning to sleeping at night. Except for the ablutions part of the day's routine, an old artist's day might be of interest. So I made notes on a day's activity which I will now try and put together.
From the very early hours I lie in bed and think of the present painting and possible writing, waking and possibly rising at around 6 o'clock - nearer 5 in summer. From my bed I have already listened to the local church clock and from its sound and resonance guessed the wind direction and air clarity.
In dressing gown I go to my studio at the top of the house to look at the previous day's painting (actually pastel) and stand by the window for some time looking outside.
I have always been keen on the weather, especially since my days as a pilot when one's life could depend on it. I look at the clouds, condensation trails left by passing aircraft, rain, wind direction, wind speed, the direction in which aircraft and birds are landing, birds sorting out their territories, signs of frost, people's clothing and visibility. I might then do a bit of art or writing (like this). It is a wonderful time for me - no noise, no interruptions, clear thoughts (hopefully) and clear air.
Then it is ablution time. The bidet is a wonderful object. When one has used them one wonders how you could ever have done without them. This particular model came from a near neighbour who thought them to be disgusting and was throwing hers out. I took it and had it plumbed in.
As I always cut my own hair, I check it, and cut off more in hot weather. Then I dress, take my pills and fix hearing aids - matters that arrive with old age.
Getting breakfast comes next. On my way down I check the water level in the vase in Margreet's shower toom. I aim to always have a flower there in a vase that is narrow at its top, so the water level drops fast.
There is tea to be made in excellent Dutch insulated tumblers, and toast, made with our own bread on to which I try and vary flavours. But Margreet likes Marmite on her toast, or inside Arab bread. I might then fry my toast in olive oil, or fill the pitta bread with marmelade devilled eggs, bacon or sausage. I have just made pancakes out of some leftover flour from coating fried chicken the night before.
Actually it made four pancakes, two of which we had for breakfast and two were wrapped around cheese, later to become lunch. Today there is cooked batter left over from last night's toad-in-the-hole. I heat it up a little in a frying pan and spread some Marmite over it. I like to make a surprise breakfast for Margreet every so often.
Another lovely breakfast surprise is clear tea with slices of our own lemons, harvested from the garden. When cut, a lemon will scent the air all around it.
As for that toad-in-the-hole, I have, at last mastered it. For two of us the batter should be made at least an hour beforehand and consist of 3 1/2 dessert spoons of plain flour, a pinch of salt, two eggs and 1/4 of a pint of milk. Beat it all together to rid it of any lumps - however small. Then, using the cheapest English type sausages that contain plenty of fat, rusk and some head meat, place them in a baking pan with plenty of oil and give them 20 minutes in the oven set at 200 degrees. Then, after giving the batter another whisk, add it over and around the sausages. After another 20 minutes your toad will be perfect.
It is time to wake Margreet and we eat in and on the bed, waiting for the paper to be brought to our doorstep, now by another kind neighbour as the first one had to isolate because of her contact with a carrier of the Covid-19 virus.
I might go into the garden to water it, keeping an eye on all plants and making sure that the large birdbath is full with clean water.
The paper arrives and we read it on the bed, which we have made together now that Margreet's arm is stronger. As she still can't reach it, I have to hook up her bra - and get a kiss for my trouble.
Aside: When I started this blogpost I thought that I could get it all complete in one piece. Now I see that it must be the first part of two.
For some of her relaxing time, Margreet has started a very complicated jigsaw of a map of Greater London. I am delighted if I can fit in a piece when passing by.
I have an interest in this jigsaw, as when finished (if all the pieces are there), I plan to turn it over and paint something on the reverse - as another jigsaw.
To provide a friend with a mother of vinegar, I delved into my red wine vinegar jar (3 litres) and found only a sulking mother at the bottom of it. There were no expected daughters to give away. So I tore off part of my mother and put it in a jam jar for her. I just hope that this gluey/rubbery piece develops into a proper mother and turns wine into vinegar, and that my own mother survives my surgery. The recipient collected her piece later.
I get lunch (normally we have one week each at cooking), but with Margreet's bad arm I am doing most of it. Lunch is always soup, which is kept on the hob and varies depending upon what leftovers go into it. This was Margreet's own make, and is delicious. With it we eat cheese (the Dutch cannot live without it). Today we added a home-made cream cheese, made with curds (from a mistake) mixed with salt and cream. It is a bit bland. Today it was wrapped in a pancake, as mentioned earlier. I have a small beer with lunch to help me snooze in the afternoon.
I will have done the washing up at any time, often singing my little protest song of "Putting away, putting away, dad is always just putting away" to clear away the dried plates and cutlery beforehand. It has been my lot in every household to have to "put away". The actual washing up I don't mind at all, which I do only having soaked everything well in detergenty water well beforehand.
After lunch we retire for a short snooze and I may read some of Hilary Mantell's third and rather overlong book on Cromwell. After Margreet's favourite show on television, I start the second half of my day.
