Transient


The Holy Covenant Anglican church in Cook, ACT is a lovely suburban community. It appears compassionate and people are warm. A couple of ladies, who looked like they could well be office bearers of the ACT chapter of the CWA, greeted me warmly and the husband (presumably) of one of them spoke to me about how they occasionally take the service at the nearby Calvary Hospital. The “high church” feel and the focus on topical concerns like migration of Syrians to western Europe and Australia’s action towards its own asylum seekers across the Indian Ocean had me wonder how I was going to enthusiastically engage or be engaged here. Jesus, God’s saving grace and the bible were mentioned only in the liturgical parts of the service. The sermon was on faith in action a la James but given the other messages coming through, that might well have been designed to prompt thoughts and actions on the asylum seekers/refugees front.

Later in the evening I said to Tress – I forget if it was through text, Facebook messaging or the phone – that the search for a church would probably continue.

I guess it is possible I would not have a faith community here in Canberra. Not until it becomes clearer if I was to stay here longer than until this present contract runs out.

I guess many things are and will remain transient for now.

I guess that explains a lot of why I feel so out of it in so many ways. Maybe that suggests the wisdom (or lack of) in taking up this role, nearly 700 km away from home in Melbourne in the first place but I guess the opportunity to engage Kiddo has been a main driver.

On Friday night Kiddo Mic and I met up at the Hamlet in Braddon. I rode there after work and arrived early before them so I walked across the road and picked up some beers. We shared a variety of food – Peruvian, German and Spanish – ate and talked then went back to the apartment where I watched the Hawks go down to a very good West Coast Eagles side.

On Saturday morning I gave Kiddo a ride to the ANU where she was meeting up and working with a group of fellow writers. I then went for a long slow run, did the laundry after that and went out to buy lunch for kiddo, dropped lunch off for her at ANU and then went back to the apartment. I made myself some lunch and just after 1pm decided to clean the apartment. I had thought I’d spend no more than an hour – it’s a tiny 2 bedroom’er – but I ended up cleaning more things than I’d expected. I also used more cleaning chemicals than I’d expected so when it was all done after 4pm, I decided to head out again – it had been a warm and sunny day – and rode to the Lake area again, this time taking a right turn after crossing the bridge at New Acton. That turn took me to the National Museum area and I felt free and the clean fresh air was what I needed to flush the scents of those chemicals out of my system. Back at the apartment that night I watched the Crows v Bulldogs game. The winner was going to play Hawks. It was well balanced, with neither side leading more than 1-2 goals at any point. Crows edged it in the end and it would be them against Hawks at the G this Friday – when I’d be on the road again…

Yesterday after church I went to Belconnen and did some shopping at Westfield. I did some ironing back at the apartment, kept the laundry away and then sat out at the balcony to read (Tony Payne and Phillip Jensen’s “Pure Sex“). It was another warm and sunny day and I was in my shorts and with a glass of chardonnay, reading out on the balcony was very pleasant. Kiddo and Mic later came back from Crossroads and lunch and we chatted a bit before watching another footy game. It was another close encounter between Richmond and North Melbourne. The latter won and would meet the Swans in Sydney. The two Western Australian teams await the victors (Hawks v Crows and Roos v Swans) at the Preliminary Finals. Grand Finals await. As it stands, I’m scheduled to be back in Melbourne on that weekend. But such is my life now that even that is transient. I might be in Canberra watching it on the little TV in the little apartment – alone.

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