ANTONIA ROLLS ARTIST EXTRAORDINAIRE NEWS. An account of an Artist and Mother in Bognor Regis. Worthwhile, but exhausting, so pour the tea and make yourself comfortable...(this painting is a family portrait, about 2'x 3', oil on wood. It is the Ross Family, each family member with items that describe them best. And at the front, on the grass on the right hand side, is a photo of Grandma, sadly missed.)
Tuesday, 17 August 2010
I Am Where I Should Be This Morning, In Bed And Triumphant.
So I Am Here, In State, In Bed And Triumphant. 9.45am.
This feels like an achievement. I am still here, I am in my pyjamas, I am propped up with pillows and it is still not time to get up. I woke at 6am with a text that made no sense from Alexia, the Blonde and Fierce Daughter, which turned out to be a kind of rubbish drivel text she sent while half asleep. She apologised and I am sure that she will text all her secrets to undisclosed recipients if she does not put her mobile phone far away from her pillow while she sleeps. It is like sleep walking, only it is sleep texting. No Matter! I said to myself, there is, should I wish it, a plan to stay in bed till I no longer wish to stay in bed. And that, I said wisely to myself, could be weeks away. So I snuzzled back into my pillows and went to the strange dream/wake state that one gets in the early morning and thought that lots of people practicing clog dancing in my bedroom was perfectly normal.
I sleep in the Summer with a large window, a quarter of the size of the wall against which my bed is placed, open wide and the curtains flapping in the breeze. Or dripping onto the bed if it is raining. A gentle gust of August wind woke me again about an hour ago, and I stirred amongst my red and deep pink pillows and cushions and thought Is it time for Tea? Could I manage the walk downstairs to the kitchen? And once there, in the kitchen, could I be tempted by Breakfast? And once tempted, could I put it all on a tray and take it back to bed with me to eat and drink in my red and pink orange boudoir with the strong cool August wind blowing my curtains and hair around as I dream the morning away? I am still thinking about that. Once downstairs, I get flustered about Jobs and may forget that there is a morning of Nothing and ruin the whole experience. So I am going to wait a while, and put on a bath, which will only give me limited time downstairs in the kitchen to get my tea and toast before the bubbles in the bath overflow. The bath will be a kind of Glorious Egg Timer. It will give me a strict and certain amount of time before it is Done.
At midday, 13 Year Old Son and I are off to London. We are going to go to a museum first and then on to see Billy Elliot at 7.30. So this afternoon is as different to this morning as you could imagine. 13 Year Old Son and I also intend to walk around China Town near Oxford Street. Costya, the Muppet, stumbled on it a while ago and has taken us all there with enthusiasm. It has become a kind of Family Hotspot, we go there with glee and look at the amazing foods and teas and eat wonderful odd things in tiny green Chinese cafes. We, 13 Year Old Son and I, won't be back home here till very late tonight. Tomorrow is a busy day and I have Arty Meetings etc and Work To Do, so this morning is, really, the most wonderful idea ever. To Not Get Up, to Lie Around and Dream of Odd But Harmless Things, to eventually surface to a bath and tea and toast, is just what I need. And then, to prevent early Alzheimers setting in, a busy, action packed visit to London for the afternoon. Wonderful.
I have been too tired and weary to really take part in Life since I turned 50. Last week. I have envied the less active of my friends who can just switch off, and I consider that they are wise and sensible and will live to a ripe old age. I on the other hand, flap about here not really concentrating and feeling too fuddled to do anything really well. After this morning, I will be on the road to recovery. I may need a few mornings like this. It stikes me that it is only sensible. It feels like a holiday.
So. The bath now, and tea and toast. All the paintings, the admin, the preparation for exhibitions, the letters to clients and prospective interested parties, all seemed too much yesterday. All the Stuff that goes to make up our life in Bognor Regis, had to my mind, the same feel as running the United Nations. A morning in bed, a morning truly In Bed, has been the best idea since, well, since the last good idea. But it is a good idea. I feel the mist clearing, and feel that all is possible again. And is that a faint stirring of appetite? I think, my dear friends, that the next item on the agenda is ready. Tea and Toast In The Bath. Oh my. I may die of pleasure before I get there.