The Art of Housework

Wake to a surprisingly glorious summer's morning. The news after all has been full of downpours of biblical proportions and rain is forecast every day for the next two weeks! And here is the gift of a perfect morning. I woke at half past six to use the toilet and then went back to bed and slept until nine, now as I stretch and think about what to eat for breakfast and my plans for the day ahead, I have this pleasant surprise of a lovely day. I determine to savour it, to take it slowly, with gratitude and due appreciation. I Cook a full English breakfast with tea and eat slowly in the kitchen whilst thinking about what to do. After showering and putting on a pair of shorts and a tee shirt, set too and make a bechamel sauce for the "cannelloni al forno" that I will dine on this evening. Whilst the sauce is thickening on a low heat, I stuff the cannelloni using the rich tomato and mince sauce from the slow cooker, and then place them on a plate whilst I wait for the sauce to cool. In the meantime I put on a wash load of whites and get a second half load of coloured togs in a basket ready for the next run. Once the sauce has cooled, I cover the bottom of an Alsace, red iron ware oval dish with it and then layer the cannelloni on top, adding cubes of mozzarella on the way, repeating the process until all the cannelloni and sauce are used up. I then store the dish in the fridge until cooking time this evening. Whilst I am in the kitchen, I make some more oaties, but once I have processed the oats to make them finer I decide to complete the task by hand, in a mixing bowl. It is slower by hand but it is nicely quiet and much more sensuous and deeply satisfying than using the food processor. I do not need to save time, in fact I really don't care how long things take! This batch of biscuits is slightly different, I have added cinnamon and I am using chopped apricots instead of sultanas. By now it is half past eleven and I decide to mow the lawns whilst the weather holds, unfortunately my only option is to use the electric mower, and so it doesn't take long, even though I work at a leisurely pace. When I have finished I mash a pot of tea and a take a plate of oaties into the garden, enjoying my snack sat in the sun. The temperature is perfect, around twenty degrees, warm enough to work without my tee shirt, but cool enough to make work a pleasure. I read a short story by A.S. Byatt whilst drinking my tea, and when I have finished the tale, seem somehow to have resolved to trim my hedge, which is heavily overgrown. Back at Cherry I have some electric clippers, but there is little skill or enjoyment in using these, and in my shed are an excellent pair of Spear and Jackson shears. However, before I can make a start, the alarm sounds on the oven to tell me that my biscuits are ready, and when I set them to cool they are an exquisite golden brown and the sweet smell of cinnamon fills the kitchen. I take my time trimming the hedge by hand, it's pleasant work in the sun, and soon I am lost in the task, working my way in layers from end to end and from top to bottom. The only sounds the rhythmic clicking of the shears and the sweet song of my garden blackbird, who seems to appreciate the syncopation. When it's done, I hang out my clean whites and put on the coloureds to wash, before raking up the trimmings and putting these in the brown bin. Inevitably, some have fallen into my neighbour's garden and so I knock on her door to ask permission to pick them up. Nora is a reclusive, shy old lady in her eighties and agrees to let me clean up my mess and whilst I work, we chat. It turns out that she has been here since the bungalows were built, twenty five years ago. When I have finished and tidied everything away, I make more tea and try my cinnamon apricot oaties, they are OK, but next time I will soak the dried apricots first. Nevertheless the cinnamon works well with the oats, even if the apricots are a bit chewy. I sit in the afternoon sun and read another short story. The day has flown by, as it often does when you are enjoying yourself, and it is now half past six, so I put my tee shirt back on, make a shopping list, and then drive to Morrisons to do my weekly shop. It's quiet when I get there and my shopping is soon completed. I have bought some fresh salad and a French stick as an accompaniment to the cannelloni. When I arrive home, I put the oven on to heat up whilst unpacking my shopping. The red light on the oven goes out and this tells me the temperature is 200 degrees centigrade, I put the cannelloni in to cook and then make a tossed salad with a vinaigrette dressing and shavings of fresh Parmesan. I eat this as a starter with crusty bread and butter and a glass of vin ordinaire, and by the time I have eaten it, the cannelloni are ready. They look and smell wonderful, I grated nutmeg over the bechamel sauce before cooking and the mozzarella is melting and spitting over the stuffed pasta tubes. I serve myself eight cannelloni and let them rest for ten minutes before starting to eat. The first time I made them, I ignored this advice from the cookbook and burned the roof of my mouth quite badly, the pasta and boiling sauce stuck to my palate like glue. It's a salutary lesson! The pasta is excellent, but as ever, I have enough left for two more meals. After dinner I retire to the Garden Room with a decaff coffee to write this journal and as I finish, it is just falling dark. It has been a lovely, unhurried day, just doing simple things, slowly and mindfully and taking great pleasure in the luxury of knowing that I am rich in time. D.T Suzuki points out that we can't all be great poets or painters, but we can all be artists of life!