As unlikely as it seems, I seem to be channelling the spirit of June Cleaver.
That might not be so surprising to anyone who knew me in high-school, but for anyone who saw my rectory in Dunblane…
Today was Wash Day. And (pace, June) since I have a modern wonder of a condensing drier, what made it Wash Day was that it was raining. There were mountains of sheets and towels and clothes, hillocks of hand-washing, and an iron hoping to preside over it all.
All day, it was up the stairs, down the stairs, water whooshing, drier buzzing, cat twitching and standing guard against transgressors at the bus stop.
And while it all went on, I sat at the table, surrounded by cookbooks and planning menus. I love cookbooks. And it seems that everyone I’ve ever known is hoping to visit me in Durham, so I had the perfect excuse to play all day, pretending it was planning.
Tomato bisque with soft rolls and camembert.
Chilli with glazed butternut, crunchy slaw, and chocolate pots.
Dragonwagon Parsnip Nubbins with raw cranberry relish, dark greens and pecan pie.
On and on it went. Wash, dry, plan a menu. I enjoyed it immensely. And then I poached an egg for supper, and sighed deeply over the ironing. For the truth is, June Clever never was my role model. It was always Samantha from Bewitched.