The days run into each other. They are full of online news, sewing, cooking, baking, writing, walking, sketching…and, luckily, picking up a small hairy white dog and giving him lots of hugs. He is roughly the size of a baby when they’re still very portable, so it’s the work of an instant to scoop him up and cuddle him. He doesn’t object and seems to like it.
Today I make more masks. These ones are fancier than hitherto, and I remember I have more gorgeous fabric in scraps far too small to make anything else from them. I am going to embrace wearing one and far from trying to make them look medical, I am going to enjoy the patterns and colours I once chose so thoughtfully for skirts and things.
I make bread. Between putting it on, forgetting to take it out of the machine when it’s kneaded, waiting for it to prove, turning on the oven and forgetting it’s come up to heat, then baking it and waiting for it to cool down…it’s never ready by lunchtime. This means that delicious hot bread comes out of the oven around the 4 or 5pm mark, which in turn means people have spoiled their appetites by dinnertime.
I write my book on drawing expressive people, and I sort through my images for the book. And I sketch, of course, the high point of every day.
I cook, and everyone enjoys a lovely time around the dinner table, as long as we (by which I mean Marcel and I) steer well clear of politics.
I walk up the road with Reuben, but far less than I should, and far less than I did before “all of this”.
It’s a dreamy time. I haven’t been further than the village for two weeks. And to my great surprise, I wouldn’t mind keeping it that way.