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It had been bitterly cold all day, with those cutting winds we get straight off the Russian steppes that howl across Europe sometimes in the depth of winter. As I had made my home visits I had to take care as I ran from my warm car to a warm house not to slip and fall on the patches of ice that were dotted about every street and drive way. Then towards the end of the afternoon as dusk was starting to settle in it started to sleet. I made it back into Maastricht just before 7pm and parked the car up near the park and walked the couple of hundred meters home bundled up in my big scarf while my hands froze around the handles of my medical bags.

At our front door it took me a few minutes of fumbling to find my key card and let myself in but the moment the door swung open I dived into the warmth of the downstairs lobby and threw my bags down. As I unwrapped myself sounds of life drifted down the stairs, the kids were laughing and talking and I could hear Judith saying something in between the clutter of plates. I figured no one had been aware that I had come in, and I guessed that the dogs were probably sound asleep by the fire on a night like this so they would not have alerted Judith to me coming in so I decided to tip toe up stairs.

Our house is all open plan and up one floor above ground level . The stair from the front door comes up between the dining area and main living area and face towards the living area. I came up just enough to be able to see across the dining area and over into the kitchen . I was immediately assailed by smells of cooking and food. I picked out Judith’s spiced cassole’ right away along with the smell of baking breads and coffee. The children were having a loud discussion about their books, judging from the pile on the big table I guessed they were fresh back from the city library. Once a week Judith or myself take them to choose their books, Hilke’s would be about animals, castles and princesses. Nicholas’s would be about trains, trucks, ships or something to do with Wizards. Judith was busy in the kitchen but back and forth to see things the kids were pointing out in their new books, she had her cooking apron on and flour was dotted about her. As she settled Mariaske her into her high chair at the big table I saw her kiss her and Mariaske’s face immediately lit up and a happy giggle came bursting out of her. Judith had her hair tied back out of the way as she does when she is preparing food, but a few rebellious strands had escaped and had fallen forward over her face framing it and making look like a picture. Off in the background I could hear one of the washing machines spinning up in the back utility room, slightly off balance as usual, Judith is hopeless at balancing washing machine load, it is an annoying trait and yet it is wonderfully endearing !

I stood still, just watching, listening, immersed in the warmth and welcoming smells observing this simple domestic beauty. We so often lead our lives in such a rush, trying to meet all those aspirations that the others feel we need to reach in order to be happy and content beings – Why?

Why do we do it when we have what really matters right in front of us most of the time. As I stood there I knew I was experiencing one of those rare perfect moments in life. The cares and worries of my day dropped away and I was left with all that really mattered. The moment brought a song to my mind by a little known English artist called Clifford T Ward, and it fitted the moment perfectly;

You're my picture by picasso
Lighting up our scullery
With your pans and pots and hot-plates
You'd brighten up any gallery……………………

I could paint a different picture
Leafy lanes and flower scenes
But amid your cooking mixture
You still have ingredients that make you shine
And when you take your apron off I know you're mine

You're my photogenic model
From the glossy magazine
In among your kitchen structure
Soapy water, washing machine

I could take a different picture
Rolling hills and flowing gowns
But amid the foaming texture
Dirty linen isn't all that starts to shine
In rubber gloves and faded jeans you still look fine

I was acutely aware in that moment how fortunate I was to have all of this, and how I should appreciate it more often than perhaps I do. I quietly stepped back down into the lobby while I had a little emotional female moment. Then after drying my eyes I made my entrance properly, kissing the children, feigning amazement at their books and then wrapping my arms about Judith. She was warm from the cooking range and smelled of yeast and Allspice. I would have happily held her all evening but an anxious little cry from the table brought my attention to our Mariaske. Her little face was turned up towards me showing annoyance. Judith always tries to hold off her tea time feed so that I can do it when I get home, and I was already a little late. Reluctantly leaving Judith I swept up little one and we settled down on a couch. While she made herself busy and content at my breast I dialed up a song on the remote before relaxing back and remembering and listening………………………………………….

“You're my picture by picasso
Lighting up our scullery
With your pans and pots and hot-plates
You'd brighten up any gallery……………………………..”

Download Mp3 file, 2mb: Scullery by Clifford T Ward
www.willothewisp.org/blogpics/Scullery.mp3

Author: Nina