As Tress and I drove back home late yesterday morning, I struggled to stay awake. We had been “on the road” for over 15 hours.

On Saturday arvo, we left Tress’ childhood home in Klang, just before 4pm, when the MPV we booked pulled up and we started to load it up and got everyone in, to battle the crawling traffic to KLIA. We had been in Malaysia for the last 10 days.

We left home just over 10 days ago on a Wednesday morning, just before 4am, to drive to Sydney Airport. Kiddo and her mob left about the same time in their car. We found out shortly after, that little Abby had been sick. We met at the Sydney Airport some 3+ hours later. She continued to be sick and threw up a number of time throughout the long journey to Malaysia, but she surprised us all while we were on the last leg of our trek. She chirped “Malaysia!” a number of times, as we rode the MPV from KLIA to Tress’ childhood home.

We got in late that night (Wed, 7pm local time) and the next day, we went to see my mum. It was a sight I had pictured a number of times – that of my mum seeing the 2 little angels. After the expected momentary awkwardness, the warmth and love flowed freely. That long trek from our homes in Canberra (Canberra-Sydney-KLIA-Klang) felt then, like it was worth every minute. We picked up an MPV that an uncle kindly loaned us for the trip, and then headed home to Tress’ mum’s, to get ready for a drive up to Penang the next day. Mic had the child seats Kiddo ordered in, fitted and ready for the girls to ride in.

We spent the next several days in Penang, as we drove up with my brother, who had Jean, my mum and a late cousin’s wife, all travelling with him. We followed him as I reacquainted myself with driving – particularly interstate driving – in Malaysia. The Toyota MPV (a “Vellfire”) felt steady and smooth, albeit quite under-powered.

We got into Penang and burrowed through its busy streets, had lunch in a Nyonya restaurant, and then checked in to the hotel where Nic and Jon were to celebrate the Malaysian page of their wedding. The E&O Hotel is a lovely colonial styled traditional joint right in the middle of downtown Penang. Other relos began streaming in through the course of the day, as we gathered in the courtyard garden that faced the straits of Malacca, for the rehearsal that Abby had been practising at home for a little while.

Later that night, we went to a local restaurant for a dinner with the “Chings”, my mum’s side of the family, that was hosted by Enoch, my cousin who lives in Singapore with his family. It was really nice to catch up with him and his wife Janet, along with Gloria his daughter and Joel his son. Jordan, their youngest, is abroad so wasn’t with the contingent that had descended on Penang. All the uncles and aunties (along with the uncle who loaned us the MPV) were there.

The next day, we wandered around town before we came back to the hotel to get ready for the big event. The wedding was to start at 5pm, followed by a tea ceremony and a dinner reception thereafter. Many of us had suits on (Nic had suggested we did) and I was baking in the heat with my suit and tie, but the over riding sensation was one of joy and gratitude. The sense of being simply happy and grateful made all other sensations ebb away. The tiredness, lack of sleep, the stiff suit (having been in shorts and t-shirts for weeks) and the general stress of feeling responsible for the wellbeing of Kiddo’s mob, all took a backseat as I soaked up the occasion. Tinged as it was with a sense of sadness of not having Sim there, the joy and gratitude were the overwhelmingly prevalent emotions. There were moments I recalled walking along the streets outside the E&O Hotel with Sim the last time we were in Penang. We caught up with so many family members, I was struggling to remember the names of some of the younger ones.

The night ended late, and I climbed into bed circa midnight, the continuing low quality sleep (as advised by my Garmin watch) didn’t seem to matter. I was rested. My soul was. I had found my golden fleece and was fully cognisant of this each time I felt joy and gratitude. Tress, Kiddo, Mic, Abby and Zoe were my Argonauts, although I was probably the only one to have found the loot.

The next day, I went out for an early morning walk, and came back to suggest to Tress that we do a rickshaw ride with Kiddo and her mob. This was enthusiastically accepted by all so I walked back to the location where I had earlier spotted a few rickshaws, and asked for 3 of them to come to the hotel. Mic and Abby climbed into one, Kiddo and Zoe into the other, and Tress and I got into the third. We rode around Georgetown, taking in the sights, stopping at popular tourist spots. It didn’t matter that we behaved exactly like dozens of other tourists. My joy and gratitude had taken on a different shades and hues but they remained luminous inside.

We were at another dinner later that night, this time hosted by Daniel’s mum. It was another opportunity to talk and catch up with the extended family. The next day (Monday arvo), we headed back to Klang. We again followed my brother and his passengers, and arrived at PJ for a “Ngar Choi Kai” (“Ipoh styled bean sprout and chicken”) dinner, before going back to Berkeley, to the house Abby had started calling the “holiday house” and “Ah Chor’s house”.

The next day, we took a trip to KL and visited the Petrosains at the KLCC. I took the opportunity to shop at the Kinokuniya bookshop and picked up “The Albatross File”, the documentation of artefacts to tell the story of the separation of Singapore and Malaya in the 60’s. The next few days saw us visiting the cemetery to look at the gravesites of my late father and Tress’ late father. We also went to the traditional “Chong Kok Kopitiam” in Klang, but spent a lot of time in shopping malls in Shah Alam (in Setia Alam and “i-City”) mainly so the kiddies can have their naps.

Tress and I sat on the couch at home here in Canberra last night, having mowed the lawn, picked up Oreo from the sitter and some grocery shopping (Tress did this while I did the lawn). We had also walked the little fella to our local shops, where we took in the cooler (and much less humid) air. We both dozed off on the couch several times, before climbing into bed well before 9pm. It was raining this morning but as it trickled into a drizzle, I took the little guy for a quick walk around the block, before coming into my home office and see life resuming its mundane best.

I read Louis Adler’s cries of McCarthyism and thought surely someone will respond. As always, The Oz has stepped up and as always, Henry Ergas provides clear and erudite retort to say “bunkum” (well sort of…)

https://www.theaustralian.com.au/commentary/louise-adler-mccarthyite-slur-an-act-of-historical-distortion/news-story/be277c17fabe6f8516c8492d5cfb6032

A strange but thoroughly intriguing read. What a strange and fun ride was what I thought as I read the final pages, and as I closed the book one last time, the back cover said the same.

Gerald Murnane is such a strange but wonderful writer

It’s that time of the year again, when summer peaks and the sun scorches.

This morning however, the sun’s out but it is remaining cool for a bit before the heat hits.

Fridays often see me a bit upbeat but drained at the same time.

Last Friday was no different. Tired from the week’s draining drone of drudgery but upbeat with what the weekend had in store. I finished up a tad early and headed to Chisolm. Kiddo and her mob as well as Tress, had been there a few hours earlier. We were prepping for the little one’s 1st party. I got there around 4.30pm, and helped with getting the local community space ready and early on Saturday morning, we quickly walked the little fella before heading down to Chisolm and had a good coffee and a piece of delicious from the L’epi bakery there.

The party was a hit. The kids had a romping time and both Abby and Zoe, the star of the show, enjoyed the occasion. It has been over a year since we moved up to the bush capital and while 4 Dec was the actual date I moved up, little Zoe’s birthday felt like the more distinct marker. It was her arrival that prompted our departure from Melbourne and had us on this little journey to this bush city. After all these years of living out my personal mantra of making decisions that opened up options, I moved in the opposite direction and pushed the pegs of my tent on this little ground that closed up options in many ways.

I guess options mean less as I crash through the floor of being at the less popular end of the ageing spectrum. Past 60 now, options mean less, much as they remain important. The choice that goes against my personal belief brought joys of being with Kiddo and her mob, and of seeing and experiencing those joys in the face, voice and demeanour that Tress demonstrates daily.

Thanks, Zoe (I think). May you continue to grow in stature and wisdom and be in God’s favour (and man’s).

Malinauskas is the Premier of South Australia. The Chief Crow Eater. He makes a lot of sense. Like this (an Editorial in The Australian today):

Like Chris Minns, another Labor Premier (NSW), Peter M is easy to like.

It’s the end of the first working week of the new year.

2026.

I often recall those days when I watched a scifi TV show that has 1999 as a distant time that will never arrive. So when 1999 came and went, I often felt like I was already living in some futuristic zone. I also remembered that when I watched that show (I can’t for the life of me, remember what that show was), I imagined being 34 years old and as a teenager in the 80’s, that was unfathomable.

2026.

I am no longer in my 50s’. In the past few days, I had resumed slow runs at lunchtime. I went beyond brisk walking, to try and build up my “VO2 Max” reading. Yes, the woes of having worn a smartwatch that monitors stuff like that and get you hooked on stats that would have meant nothing a few years ago. Those runs, slow as they were, had tested my dicky knees again, as well as my left leg generally. Last night, the left foot felt stiff to the point of being sore and I had to wake up in the middle of the night, to pop something to ease it. This morning as I trudged along Tress and Oreo for our daily walks, I moaned no longer being in my 50s (read: past 60).

2026.

Creaking left leg and other smaller, niggling, physical woes aside, I am in a good place. Tress too. We continue to work from our home and spend most evenings after work at Kiddo and Mic’s hovering around and fussing over the two little angels. We spend weekends too, around this growing family’s activities and priorities.

2026.

Those two little angels straight outa Kambah, provide respite and hope in an otherwise bleak and depressing world. The events in Venezuela, where President Trump ran amok like a bull in a china shop, bore an ominous outlook of an American hegemony that belies the “make America great again” noise. Its overtures on Greenland expands on that and I don’t understand how so many of Trump supporters – Americans and non-Americans alike – can support such wanton bullying. Sure, removing a despotic drug dealing president like Maduro is no bad thing but rarely do ends justify means without sacrificing important and fundamental tenets of neighbourly interactions. Oil, as many cynically called out not two minutes after footage of Caracas exploding was aired, is now openly parlayed, incredibly, as a justifiable rationale. The earlier drug menace that Maduro and his cartel presented was no longer the overarching reason. Even then, Maduro’s drugs surely must be a supply side of the coin and America cannot win this drug war by ridding just this one side. What of the demand side of the equation? What trajectory is America on, that make it such a huge market for drug dealers? What does Trump (and his supporters) think the solution ought to be to rid such demand and make America great again from that perspective?

Nearer home, the massacre at Bondi Beach has finally forced Albanese to agree on a Royal Commission. Sure, ignoring the Jewish community’s call to park Virginia Bell, and perhaps opt for a less “progressive” commissioner is his way of saving face and caving in to huge pressure but still having his last say. However, having such a partisan retired judge as a commissioner will attract unnecessary risks of an exercise that fall short of getting to the truth of how this horrible tragedy came about. Ideology really is a cancer of western liberal democracy.

2026.

Leaving aside deflating news in the papers, this year provides hope for good endeavours. I look forward to building on several fronts. Kambah, SBC, Pronto and the immediate frontiers. I’m sure the Lord has other fields he has in store. I need wisdom and strength, as usual, to see and plough on.

We’re at the coast, in the lovely little town of Ulladulla.

Spending extended time under one roof with Kiddo, Mic and the Kiddies, has been wonderful.

Mic is a photographer. He’s not too shabby…