Saturday …
I woke early after a rare but, none the less very welcome fitful nights sleep, I’m still having stomach issue,s, but despite this, I had this uncontrollable urge for something hot, crunchy and buttery in the wee small hours of the morning, (in other words some toast)..since 3am I had been tasting it, my mouth watering with anticipation, I had a craving for salty meltingly greasy butter goodness, it was all I could think of and I hasten to say convince myself not to get up and make some, (only promptly falling back into a deep sleep prevented me following this need to fruition) but when I awoke, it was fair game and I sought out my shiny red toaster with glee, I made the coffee and with that I gave into golden brown,comforting slice or three of the long awaited toast, ..I took my breakfast back to bed and enjoyed every single mouthful, i did not even feel the slightest remorse as crumbs dropped down until my newly laundered bed linen….I raptured over every morsal and sighed with completion when only oily buttery residue remained on the small red flowered tea plate….
Grate works begin somewhere…..
Before actually getting up, I took a look at my hands, seeing the still tatty broken nails, with slight black sooty remains in places, I had not been able to remove from the day before, much to my utter disgrace and chagin, (I’ve always prided myself on having clean ,long, well shaped nails. These I was very much ashamed of and hid them from view. I’ve scrubbed , soaked them, even took a scrubbing brush to the offending nails at one point, out of sheer frustration…..what have you been doing you ask?, Well, I will tell you, as you may know, there’s a lovely Matt black log burning stove in my sitting room, it’s not only a great focal point, but also throws out a lot of warmth, Over previous weeks of use , the glass at the front had become terribly encrusted with baked on soot, (scrub as I may) using every recipe known to scrubber kind, it wouldn’t shift (I’m one seasoned scrubber believe you me and if I couldn’t do it with my stubborn persistence it’s just not happening for love nor money).
So I do something that is my usual modus operandi (or M O as my addiction for cop series has taught me), I go check out my buddy Amazon of course, 😁, And after just a few seconds to my delight and with a whoop of delight, I found out, they even have stuff to remove soot from stove glass, I was in soot removal heaven, there were hundreds of reviews,even more products and funny enough the cheapest stuff , actually happens to be the best. I just couldn’t wait, it was due two days later, And I was so ready for it…….
I left the stove cold the day of the BIG!!!!!!! Clean, (of course this meant I was also cold too 😁), old t shirt, bleached out trousers and I was set for scrubbing my little heart out, .. There was a knock at my door…my usual delivery man is stood there holding a huge box, Hands it to me with our normal greeting “package for yah Babe”, ..I,m expecting this box to weigh heavy and Steele myself for its weight in my arms, …I nearly fell back with the lightness , all the while I’m trying hard to think of what I have infact ordered recently it could possibly be, ..I thank my driver with a very puzzled look upon my face,……I’m curious and attack my box at once with large orange handled scissors, slicing deftly through the brown package tape, (I can open these boxes with the speed of light now) …as I break through the final piece of tape, open the corrugated top, remove six yards of brown paper, bubble wrap and plastic wrap, there sit the lone spray stove cleaner at the very bottom of this massive box, …again a bemused look upon my face, I grab the cleaner, hand poised upon its bright yellow trigger, I’m so ready to get this job done.
I open the stove door, lay down an old cloth, spray the glass thoroughly and go and make myself a coffee, while sit out the 30 minutes wait the instructions called for, ( by the way, I now know how to clean stove glass in several different languages) ….I play a game on my tablet to distract myself, enjoying my coffee and my allotted cookie of the day….this week’s are a peanut flavour deliciousness, golden and topped with half peanut pieces, (it’s my one weakness, , ok of the day anyhow) . I try to keep my mind off the stove, I’m itching to get up and see if the spray is working , several times I had to stop myself from just taking a little cloth and rubbing just a tinsy section, completing my game , finishing my coffee……at long last the 30 minutes were up(in fact it was 32 minutes and 30 seconds to be precise, I was so ready, armed with clothes, wipes, a bucket of warm water, scrubbing brush I set to, fully expecting to have to work up a real sweat and much elbow grease to remove the tarry sticky black baked on layers……imagine my shock as with just a damp cloth in hand , it came off!!!!!!!!!!, Not only that but the glass shined like new, I could in fact see my reflection, none to happily I might add,….my face, hands, nails, shirt, hair,every cloth I had was very soon covered in the black mess from the stove, while there it stood, glass, it’s top, grate gleaming in the sunlight, beaming in from the living room window, I on the other hand looked like a cross between an over grown Victorian chimney sweep and Cinderella…..I would not be going to any balls, any time soon and that was for sure……..
Bratty Bunny completes his training……
After scrubbing my hands red raw and breaking nearly every nail, I decide I will console myself with another celebration cookie, …I grab the box, that makes a delicious rattle upon handling, ….. as I open the lid pulling up it’s air locking flaps, I feel something staring at me from behind, (it wasn’t Jesse as he was busy there in phone chat land) . I check about me, it’s day time, No one can get in ,
the doors are locked., Confused I go back to my biscuit container, ……..again the uneasy feeling of being watched ……looking about the room, I feel spooked, but as I look behind me on my right , I spot one large black eye, pressed against the wire of his run, it’s watching my every move, …sighing and relieved I ignore it, I had fed him earlier so no need for worry , But my bunny is as determined as his owner, he starts flinging his toys about , they crash with a thump against the floor, each time I stop , he desists in what his doing, ….I know exactly what he wants…..he loves a piece of biscuit, his drawing my attention to the fact I’ve had one already and he demands his share of my next, …I of course being soft ,give into his every little whim, snapping off a piece of my biscuit, I offer it up to my already waiting bunny, he then gives me that look, of about time too…..I walk away suitable chastised, this is just one of his little training methods , I feel if he had a thumb or two he would attempt clicker training at once…but manipulation also works on your adoring human type person……
Saturday,
I have been going through a large brown folder, that’s very dear to my heart..for it contains several coloured pencil drawing,s of my fathers, …every now and again, I get them out, a place them across my bed and just look at them, my fingers running over each in turn, each stroke of pencil, line, colour transports me back in time…..back to Saturday afternoon spent with my father, him stood behind a large self built pine easel, table at his side covered in papers, pencil,s, half rolled up tubes of Rowney oil paints, palate knife, palate and a rag dangling from his grey flannel trousers pocket to clean brushes, the air full of the smell of linseed oil and brush cleaner….I’m sat with an old chair, pencils dad has sorted through for me, paper and doing my best to imitate him, I adored my dad, and both our passion for all things art, from a very young age we went hand in hand a perused many a gallery, …
The Tate in London our favourite, he bought me post cards of the works of Stubbs , Constable, Monet which we would take home to look over and take away our own ideas , One picture of my fathers always stands out more than others, it’s depiction of a badger in its Den, branches, ivy, dandelions growing about it, I love the minute detail of the leaves, the badgers eyes, each hair, And this is made more remarkable because it’s all done in eye catching black ink, ….it should be flat, monotone ,dare I say compared to his other pictures full of life and colour ,it should and could have been boring, ….but it’s not, it’s eye catching, it’s alive and always makes me pause as I flick through each picture……I had always wanted to make my own depiction, recreate, capture and while doing so, walk in my fathers shoes, being him in close…..
I don’t return the picture to its brown folder this time, I’ve put this off far too long now, Even just doing this, immediately the doubts crowd in, I have always wanted to match my fathers talent or that of my Aunts, I can draw, possess somewhat small amount of talent, but my lack of confidence let’s me down before I even begin ……all night I Toss and turn ,the picture on my mind…..just before I go to sleep, eyes closed in the semi darkness, an image from my childhood plays out before my eyes, ….Dad as always is stood before a canvas , brush paused in the air temporary, his painting the prettiest scene of emerald moss covered rocks, cobalt blue sky, an icy water fall ,crashing over black shiny rocks, spray filling the air, ., I can remember looking up at my dad with pride and wonder, how could he do this?, make nature,s glory from those brushes?, what manor of sorcery was this?, …with his infinite patience, he smiled on indulgently as my endless questions start….My dad was always good about my following him, my endless whys,? whats?, how’s? would have been enough to drive a saint crazy, But this was our time, And his softly spoken voice educated cleverly without my knowledge,
This evening was to be no exception, as my six year old self stood at his side, I asked Dad ” how can you make those rocks so very real”?, He did no more than hand me a loaded brush and said paint a shape, any shape……I was at once terrified, this work was beautiful and concern filled me , I expressed this, for him to laugh, shoulders shaking, slight wheeze as he did, and I at once felt at ease, …..I did the shape, choosing a small oval, ….I then watched his deft hand turn this into a credible rock, like all the others, this was indeed magic, …..he then explained, Theresa never been afraid to try something, if you do and it goes wrong, you’ve learnt not to do it that way again, .besides everything in art can be undone, corrected…..I fell asleep with this vision, those words in my head and knew then I would attempt my own version of the badger picture, it may not be perfect, it may turn out completely different, but nothing in nature, in art, life is perfect after all, my father was wise and wonderful, I’m hoping he is looking over my shoulder as I do each line , each curve, with his warm indulgent smile upon his face as always……stay well my friends ,love to you all 💛💛💛💛💛💛💜💜💜💜💛💛💛💛💛💛💜💜💜💜💛💛💛💛💛💛💚x
My American Man In Purple Lace Corsets 