December 26, 2018

Home from the darting sojourn to Atlanta. Things mostly well there. The eldest is reportedly going awry, though I don’t see it- the two or three times a year I lay eyes on him. The rest go from strength to strength. Have promised to paint a wilderness scene including a fish for Daniel’s cubicle. Brown trout, most likely, which we agree is a natural masterpiece. Two of my nephews have become cubicle jockeys. Daniel mentioned that in his whole family, any way you look, I was the only one who turned to art. I reflected silently that I may have overdone it a bit. Bekka sent me a framed portrait of my grandniece. When the festivities were over and people scattered, I went back to my home-away-from-home Hyatt, walked across the parking lot and saw Aquaman. I liked it. It brought back a simpler, more brightly colored time. As I walked back across the parking lot to the hotel I thought, “this is the least turbulent Christmas, the one least fraught with regrets and bitter memories, in what of life I remember.” I took a satisfying piss in the shrubs just outside the windows. The two men running the hotel on Christmas night could barely be torn from their cell phones to check me in.  But, there was chilled lemon water, and no canned carols. All was well.