Between Routine and Reverie

As the first month of the year draws to a close, I’m struck by how quickly time slips through our fingers. The long school break is almost over and the familiar routines are lining up again. I’ve always had mixed feelings about routine, hovering somewhere between comfort and mild cognitive dissonance. Anyway, I digress. Back we go to structured lunches, transport timetables, fuller days, and borrowed learning.

Despite summer’s wind and heat, there have been a few unexpected moments of calm and delight. One morning, setting the sprinkler on a very thirsty lawn, I stepped outside just after six. The air was thick with that rare, earthy perfume - an arid landscape given a modest early drizzle. Renewed and optimistic, almost spring-like. It felt good to be alive, and to enjoy the pleasure of simply being outside.

Later that day, driving home with the windows down, I was gifted a repeat performance. A short stretch of road had caught a rogue summer downpour and the scent of rain on hot ground drifted into the car, washing over me with a calm, reverent ease. Another happy moment.

As I prepare for the first printing of my journal, La Cuisine de Bonne Femme, the girls and I have been cooking from its pages - informal testing, revisiting family favourites. This week it was French lentil salad with roast chicken. We felt very French. Last night, a house staple: beetroot risotto with goat’s curd and rocket. Eating the rainbow, indeed.

Friday wound up with a chilled red and anchovies with lemon at a local record bar in Castlemaine, Grant and the girls in tow. People-watching, downloading the week, sharing the small details of our days. Spending time with our big kids is lovely.

A short walk to aid digestion, a sharp hit of espresso, some television - Irish renovation stories - and we were all happily spent after a hot, windy week.

Tomorrow, we’re off to the Vic Market. Pippi pasta on the agenda.

Santé.

Photograph: Kirsty Davey