As soon as I woke up yesterday, before I'd even gotten out of bed, a glance at the thunderclouds outside confirmed that it was an 'at home' day. So what should we do today, Ficali, I said to myself. The world's our oyster.
With Rohinton and Jeet away for the weekend, the apartment had a larger-than-life kind of stillness to it.
I absorbed the silence for a while. Then, revelling in the absolute stillness around me, I did an hour of yoga. Then, feeling lithe and energised from the yoga, I did an hour of pilates. Then I groaned and cursed myself for having gone overboard in my enthusiasm. How had Macklaine so eloquently put it? Hoisted by my own petard.
The other day, Milo had asked me out of the blue, "do you draw or paint?". His question reminded me that I hadn't touched my sketchbook or colours since moving from London earlier in the year, and all of sudden I started to miss it terribly. So yesterday I nipped to the local art store across the street and did an impulse shop for sketching pencils, a sketchbook, water colours, brushes, palette, the works. Fortified with my new acquisitions, I spent all day listening to music and painting pictures.
Not that they're any good, mind you. I'm totally unartistic, and wouldn't want you to get the wrong impression. But painting is just so therapeutic and relaxing. And it was just such a perfect day.
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