Paying attention

I woke up this morning feeling very gloomy indeed.

I did not put my head under the quilt and hide, but I would have liked to.

The sun was shining. It was a truly stunning autumn morning, green and russet and gold, and the bleak dark wildernesses of last night had transformed into beautiful fell side, purple headed with the rivers running by.

We had some coffee and drove into Kendal, to the glass repairers.

They scratched their heads and shook them and grunted, but joined in helpfully whilst Mark took the window frame out. They made themselves a cup of tea and thought some more, after which they carried it inside to see what they could do.

I began to feel a bit better. We cleared up a bit more broken glass from under the cushions, and had a cup of tea ourselves. Then I sat in the sunshine and waited whilst Mark went into their little workshop with them to do man things. 

They mended it.

A little while later they all came back out into the sunshine and fitted the new window. 

It was perfect.

The relief was wonderful. There is no feeling as nice as normal happy life being restored. 

We could have peaceful souls again. We tidied everything away and packed ourselves up and went home.

We did not stay at home. We hoovered the last of the glass out and hung the washing to dry in the back garden. Then we collected tools and paints and useful things, and went over to the farm. 

We had got to go to the farm, because the scrap metal man had called us to let us know that he was going to come for Number One Daughter’s camper van and would need some help loading it, but really it was a  happy chance to spend a day doing nice things in the autumn sunshine.

It was warm, and bright, and still. 

We parked the camper van at the top of our field.

It was an absolute joy.

When first I painted the camper van, some of the paints that I used were not of a very good quality, and the red, especially, has faded. In some places it has faded away completely and there was no colour left at all. 

The octopus on the front had suffered terribly. It had become almost transparent in places. 

I have since bought some new paints. Mark said that it is worth having some properly expensive paint, since we like having pictures on things. 

Despite that, I have not used them at all. This is not because of not longing to, but because of feeling overwhelmed with guilt whenever I am not doing useful and important things. Dawdling about painting pictures always seems like the most terrific shirk. 

Mark reorganised some of his things in the field and when the scrap metal man came, he helped him to load the van on to his truck.

They lifted it on with a crane. Mark climbed on to the roof and fastened the chains.

Despite it being a huge relief, we were both sad to see it go. It seemed such a tragic end for a little house on wheels, to be loaded ignominiously in chains on to a scrap man’s truck and hauled away to a terrible doom. 

I repainted some pictures.

I think I had been a bit frightened that I would not be able to paint any more, but when it came to it, it was like sinking straight back in to the daydreams, to the enchantment and the magic of painting. I slipped through the veil and was in the quiet bright place inside my head without even noticing that I had gone there.

The sun was blissfully warm on my shoulders. I blended colours and rubbed and mixed with  my beautiful new paints.

They are magnificent. Painting with them is an entirely different experience. They are so easy to use. They felt clean and powerful and bright.

I had a lovely afternoon.

Eventually the sun began to sink towards the horizon, and I had to finish hastily. You cannot paint in the dark, and the painting could not be left unfinished: because we were outside, and of course it all had to be lacquered in case of rain. 

We tidied things up, and then Mark split some old pallets up and we built a fire. 

He dragged an old bench across, and we poured some wine.

We sat by the fire long into the night, wrapped in our heavy coats, and watching the flames and looking at the stars and just being together, thinking about things and being contented again. We are jolly fortunate. We have got our own field in the Lake District, without anybody telling us to keep the dogs on leads, or not to light a campfire. That is a very splendid thing.

In order for you to understand the next bit I had better tell you that the crux of yesterday’s arguments were about Mark not paying proper attention to me, not taking any notice of things that I am saying or doing and hence not knowing what is going on.

I may have been a bit unfair.

He may not be the only one not paying proper attention.

Whilst I was writing those very words he bounded up to the table.

He had got nothing on except his boots, and he was laughing so hard I thought he might crack his ribs.

It turned out that he had told me that he was off to do some naked dancing around the embers of the fire.

I had said something like ‘yes, dear,’ and carried on writing.

He danced round the fire right in front of my very eyes, being careful about the stinging nettles.

I missed it.

I will try and pay more attention to him in future.