Menosukhi Moments - Macdom

I spent Christmas in the Hutch. While the Maestro was with us, I made the effort to attend the family gathering at her home. It was always a bit of a personal challenge, having been in OZ and far distant from the event for three decades. Add to that the vegetarianism and that first couple of Christmases back in the Bonny Land tested my mettle somewhat.

Even way back before Mac-diaspora, there tended to be discord as I have always held Christmas in my heart as the sacred holy-day rather than the mid-winter madness it has become since the second world war.

I can recall one where my mother wanted to put the washing machine on. I was twelve and struggling with puberty and highly emotional about such work being done on the one day of the year when she was supposed to be sharing time with us. The disturbance of the peace and sanctity of the day was distressing to me. It is a strong memory and one of those which led to a D&M discussion with mother later in the day, just she and me. That was the one where she told me I was likely to end up an "eccentric hermit spinster".

She had vision, my mother.

When she said it though, it was meant to jar me out of my already socially isolationist ways and conform more with the 'norm' of discos and boys and smoking behind the cycle sheds. She wanted to be able to chide me about those things rather than things she knew rather less about. It worked to a degree. I did just enough to satisfy her that I wasn't in need of psychotherapy (the up and coming thing in the 1960s - and mum read Dr Spock and other such trendy things) but never lost my desire for spiritual succour. I turned out alright if somewhat closing in on the label she provided all those years ago!

Three Christmases have passed without the presence of the Maestro now and all have been spent here at the Hutch. What I do then, is drive over to Edinburgh to spend Hogmanay and 'first week' with the father. On all three occasions so far, it has been only the two of us and BBC Alba's ceilidh. Then he pulls out his harmonicas and we have half an hour of our own musicalism. Bed at 2 a.m.

Normally, the younger Macs, who come up to spend Christmas with him, have left before I get over there. This year, though, they hung on an extra night so that I could hug them in person instead of through the googlevid etherwebs. I suggested I would cook us a special end of year meal on that Sunday night (the 30th) and Mac1 was invited to join us. I made dahl, jeera rice, shakarkhand pooris, coconut sambal and egg curry. There was none left - not a thing. Nothing pleases a cook more than to find the food so eagerly consumed!

What made it all the more special, though, was that all five of us were around the table for this holiday after so long. Father was clearly revelling in having his kids at one moment in time to surround him. He would never say it aloud... but his face speaks volumes. (Image courtesy of Mac2 - queen of the 'ussie'!)