Achieving tranquillity

While the horrors of 2020 have brought stress and tension to so many unexpected people, myself included, I realised today that I was able to take my foot off the metaphorical pedal and appreciate the rather splendid weather that emerged as the morning progressed. I hate the fact that I'm not going to see my children and grandchildren this year; that this will in fact be the first Christmas we've ever spent with just the two of us in 50 years, but it does mean that we're not worrying about icy roads or gales or storms or floods on Christmas morning (when we'd usually be driving to Edinburgh) or the difficulty of getting to bed at 3am on the 25th and getting up again after 5 hours' sleep; I'm not packing a case or finding receptacles for cake and pudding and brandy butter (hmmm - haven't made that yet) and cranberry sauce ...

I have, however, iced the cake this morning, as well as making the cranberry sauce which is now reposing in two jam-jars in the fridge (I love my home made stuff, and not just on turkey). The icing sugar was a tad trying: I think the packet had sat in the shop for a while and the sugar resembled the crumbling Polar ice-cap and had to be firmly rolled with the rolling pin before being sieved into the bowl. As a result I think I inhaled some of the finest powder: I've been sneezing and coughing ever since, and really you're not allowed to cough these days.

While I was doing this, I was taking a face-time call from the Helpful Crucifer with the news that he'd found Joseph and the old shepherd as well as a couple of wise men and some random angels in a box in the tower. I told him to lose the angels till Easter, but to deploy the first two figures and put the wise men somewhere safe for their Epiphany journey to continue till I need them.

The afternoon we took as a holiday, and headed south to watch the sun setting over Bute and Arran. We walked along the shore road and out behind the Ardyne beach, as the sun went from golden to red, the dramatic clouds over Arran changed and diminished, and the sea turned first pink and then red. We met a couple we knew; we took far too many photographs; we had frozen fingers. Best of all, a phone call from #1 son confirmed that the final presents had now arrived at their destination. 

Blipping the sunset, natch - but I've deleted an earlier extra as suggested to make way for its precursor, the golden drama with the black clouds over Arran.