Christmas blues

Christmas stuff is everywhere. And I have to venture out into the big bad commercial world today because we're all out of food and I also have a hankering for a trip to Bunnings.
They will be playing various and awful versions of carols or Kenny and Dolly type mixes of Christmas-themed songs.
The best Christmas I have had, since I grew up and 'real' family disintegrated (even more so now - I can't bear to think how Christmas will be this year in Kolozsvar) was the year in Busselton with Sandy, Paul and their extended family, which for those few days included us as well.
A barefoot Christmas, with wholesome food and cold beer and long hours by the calm water.

I am going to buy some dried fruit and Drambuie (and get shitfaced and forget all about Christmas) and start the process of mince pies. Including my own pastry this year I think.

I only have a tiny bit of work for the weekend, and then I'm back to the linseed oil and paint planet in the middle of the lounge room floor.
Jutka had an accident while holding Ben (he's okay, she's just endured 5 hours of surgery on her arm), and I've never heard her usually unflappable brave voice sound so small. How does one help from so far away. Mum is making soup for Jutka, it makes me quietly happy that they have each other close.

Back to Christmas, part of me wants to make a big deal out of it, some of the time. Thinking that if I bow to tradition, the nice feelings will come automatically. But most of the time I think that it would just be a day bound in tinsellated sadness.

I'm off into the sunshine (sunscreen applied) . . .