Give freely to him that deserveth well, and asketh nothing: and that is a way of giving to thyself.

So this is Christmas, and what have you done?

Quite a bit, actually! Pressies been handed out and all wrapping, boxes and packaging has been scooped up before they can present a problem for the tidy-inclined (I had a process that worked out beautifully, thank you very much.

Shifting all the food preperations to Christmas Eve emerged as a masterstroke, as the timing for an early feast of turkey (rolled in ham) and a mountain of veggies, followed by a HUGE vat of homemade chocolate mousse was all completed in a timely fashion to accomodate all the sleeping needs of both kidlets (not to mention the proud parents).

The gift choices also seemed to be a winner, even the Frankenstein-ish concoction of Marino, Silk and Possum that I took a punt on. Very pricey, but the meterage has to be seen to be believed. [How they get these beasties to mate with each other really must be a sight. I can find nothing on YouTube...]

Henry elected himself chief present-opener, and showed excellent form. I am pleased this his keeness to tear more wrapping off meant that he had little problem with actually handing the gift over to its intended reciepient.

Ezra's form was a little patchy. I thought that a four A.M. start was a little unecessary, but then again he did have some decent naps and held it together for the most part. Not a bad effort for a bloke with two new teeth in the past couple of days.

And I got a new camera. As soon as that battery charges, I'll take some snaps and test it out!

I hope that all of your Christmas Days out there in the wider world went as smoothly, and if it wasn't quite as laid back, that it was of your choosing.

Merry Christmas people.

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

There was nothing left. No reason, no conscience, no understanding; even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, good or evil, right or wrong.

Here is a self portrait. I’m calling it Portrait of a lady in a dirty window . Shocking, isn’t it? However, it is apt! Samhain , Nos Galan Gaeaf , Hop-tu-Naa , All Saints , All Hallows , Hallowmas , Hallowe'en or HALLOWEEN . It’s Theme Thursday and we’re talking about the festivals traditionally held at the end of the harvest season. Huh? No wonder Australians have trouble with the concept of HALLOWEEN. For the record, in my thirty-two L O N G years on the planet, I can’t say I’ve ever seen ghosts ‘n goblins, trick ‘n treaters or Michael Myers stalking Tasmania’s streets at the end of October. [That said, I did once see a woman as pale as a ghost turning tricks that looked like Michael Myers in late November one time.] Despite the best efforts of Hollywood, sitcoms, and innumerable companies; it seems Australians are impervious to the [ahem] charms of a corporatized variant of a celebration of the end of the "lighter half" of the year and beginning of the "darke

In dreams begin responsibilities.

A life at sea, that's for me, only I just don't have the BREAD. That's right, Theme Thursday yet again and I post a photo of a yacht dicking about in Bass Strait just off Wynyard. The problem is, I am yet again stuck at work, slogging away, because I knead need the dough . My understanding is that it is the dough that makes the BREAD. And it is the BREAD that buys the yacht. On my salary though, I will be lucky to have enough dough or BREAD for a half dozen dinner rolls. Happy Theme Thursday people, sorry for the rush.

This will hurt me...

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