When we were at Kiddo’s home in Canberra over the Labor Day long weekend, I picked up Geoffrey Blainey’s “Tyranny of Distance” from her shelf. What an irony. I was reading PG Lim’s memoir and so I didn’t start this Aussie classic until about over a week ago. I’m just a little over the half way mark.

Last night Tress rang her parents and I think for the first time it hit Tress’ mum just how oppressive that tyranny can be. She sounded shocked to learn Canberra is about 7 hours away by road. We must have mentioned it to her several dozen times before in the many years our lives have been subject to that tyranny but now that people close to her – people like Uncle Jin’s family and Auntie Hooi’ – will be making this trip, it hits her. It finally sank in and she sounded horrified. I had just finished cooking the week’s meals – chicken curry with home made spices – after catching up with some office work, and Tress had just done the brekky after having finished the ironing earlier. So I was a little relaxed as otherwise I would have uttered even louder, what I said under my breath, namely “mum, we have been saying that to you for years”.

Distance is a tyranny for Australia. Even here in Melbourne. Ruth my cousin is technically living and working in Melbourne. Their new home – a farm out at Woodend – is on the fringe of the western suburbs but she works for Western Suburb health so that’s fine. For us to visit her however, it’s a 90-minute drive each way. That assumes traffic flows reasonably well and most Melburnians know that is not always a safe assumption. And so although she’s moved into her new home for maybe a month and a half now, we have yet to visit them. I guess that is partly down to us being busy in recent weeks but the tyranny of distance is the bigger culprit, as our “busy-ness” had included back to back footy at the MCG and meals with the Hipos and Chews and time with our home group, including that very thought provoking memorial service for Elena on Friday arvo, for which I was able to get away from work to attend.

This tyranny of distance is not just for relationships and well-being within Australia. It affects how Australia relates to the rest of the world too. Since moving to Melbourne, our overseas trips have dwindled dramatically. Last winter Tress and I had a quick escape to Hawaii and the warm weather and warm beaches were great respite in the middle of winter. It was a lovely holiday but everytime I asked Tress if she’d like to go again she shuddered at that 10+ hour flight. Our friends have loved travelling to places like Japan, Korea, Taiwan and such other destinations but I have zero inclination to visit. The sheer thought of making those long flights kill any interests I might otherwise have had. My bucket list for travel remains jumping on the Ghan to vertically traverse the Outback and see Ayers Rock. The tyranny feels far easier to tame when one embraces the journey, especially the romance of being close to the red earth and being up close and personal with the monolithic behemoth.

It is hard to embrace the monotonous behemoth that is The Hume Highway however, and Canberra as an institution of federalism and its consequential governmental webs of tentacles around the lives of Australians, remains such an artificial and manufactured place that one needs to be totally philosophical about the journey to deal with the tyranny. As usual, Geoffrey Blainey is such fun to read because what he says resonates with our experience of this vast sunburnt country.

We sat at our usual spot at church yesterday. Seated next to Tress was AC. As the service progressed, I could hear AC sobbing. Across the blocks I see Kiera too was wiping away tears. Both AC and Kiera were close to Elena and the sadness was palpable. I too was quite saddened. Tress wiped away a few tears too.

Later that night, Susan sent an email to all in the group, suggesting a meal later in the week to remember Elena. That was a good idea and even as the fog of yet another very warm night enveloped my mind, I found myself wondering why someone we knew quite little, touched us that much. Maybe it was her tireless advocacy work, especially for the deaf. She has this roundish face with large round eyes. I’d say she even glows – often – and she was just a very lovely person. She warms up to anyone she spoke to and her very gentle demeanor belies the steely strength that saw her labor long and hard for the causes she held dear.

She’s at rest now from her labor and her battles against a world that is often not attuned to the needs of those less able bodied.

Rest was the resonant theme yesterday. Both David Williams (leader) and Mike McNamara (sermon), had messages along that focus. It was what I needed to think about.

I had been saying to Tress lately, that I’m tired. Even at the footy at the G on Saturday night, as we saw a sluggish Hawks side labor hard against a pumped Bombers team, I felt tired. At half time, as Hawthorn was unbelievably in the lead, Tress and I decided to leave early. It was a night game and if we stayed till the end it might have been close to midnight when we got home. It was the first time we left the G at half time. I was glad we did however as we were able to have a wonderfully relaxed night at home and slept earlier than had we stayed on till the end.

And yet the tiredness lingered. Maybe it’s just the never ending warm weather. It’s the end of March and it should have been cooler now but it remained warm. An overnight over-20deg always makes sleep more fitful and though I didn’t wake till the alarm went off, that fogginess lingered to ward off any sense of being refreshed. Even a clean home – Tress and I had spent the better part of Saturday cleaning, vacuuming, wiping and dusting – did not appear to have brought us rest. Rest remained elusive and as we contemplate the next two weekends remaining before we head up to Canberra again, the weary fog stubbornly remains, un-lifted.

Even as we feel the sadness of Elena’s departure, she is probably – at rest now – the one feeling sad for us as she looks down from wherever her Elysium may be. She is no longer tired and as the rest of us labor on, I wonder if we should be joyful for her and sad for ourselves.

Tress and I were milling around at the end of the service yesterday and just before we left we had a chat with Peter, the Senior Minister. We talked a little bit before he mentioned he heard a terrible news the night before. He asked if we knew Elena and to our horror he said Elena died on the way to Geneva, sometime the night before. She was on her way to Geneva for a conference.

Of course we know Elena. Knew Elena. She was one of the first people we came to know in St Alf’s. Sue Bazanna, a person we sat next to for a few weeks when we first visited, had invited us to her home for lunch one day. The only other guest was Elena. Sue had left Melbourne to take up a role with UNSW in Sydney a few years ago. We had also become part of a small group who meet in the Maury’s home and both Sue and Elena were members of that group.

We missed the small group meeting on Thursday because after we returned from Canberra on Monday, work kept me busy and I was very tired and a little bit under the weather. Elena was rostered to lead the discussion on Thursday. It would have been the last time we heard her lead.

Elena had a hearing disability. She was almost completely deaf. Much of her work is advocacy for the disabled, especially the deaf. She was a lawyer with the government, presumably doing policy work (including with the Human Rights Commission), for a number of years before leaving to join CBM to continue her policy and advocacy work. She was always engaging and often sought our Theresa and I to have a chat. We will miss her.

Yesterday, as members of the small group exchanged emails on our experience with Elena and what we could do to remember her, I found myself searching within me. Tress had chided me for again being short and disagreeable for much of Saturday. I had taken that on board and reflected on Elena, her life and how fleeting life can tend to be and often is. We went to the oval late in the evening, as the cricket finished and the dog owners came streaming on with their little friends. As I walked amongst the dogs and talked to some of their owners, my mind drifted amongst Elena, the ongoing wedding plans Kiddo has been bathing herself in, my work, Tress and our own little LBJ. At some point I decided to switch them all off and just engage with the dogs, and soak in the atmosphere. It was warm, the sprinklers had come on and many kids were soaking themselves underneath the sprays. Dogs were darting across to and from everywhere, owners were talking and exchanging barbed banters with the cricketers who were having a drink – they all combine to create an atmosphere that was uniquely Australian suburbia.

It was not my kind of Saturday. We were to babysit a couple of little girls – Gerry and Jesslyn’s little darlings – and Tress had been exchanging text messages the night before with the parents as to what time they could drop the girls off. Their investment property – as the crow flies from our little abode – was to be auctioned off that morning and Gerry had been anxious. They had wanted to drop the girls off nearly a couple of hours before the scheduled auction. After a busy and tiring week – having been at Canberra the week before – I was just unsettled by having this silly notion that my Saturday morning was being invaded yet again. My lawn could not be cut and the outside of the house could not be cleaned or organized, for the second week running. I didn’t know better for much of Saturday but they were of course, just little things. I was being an idiot and Elena’s life and passing was a punch in between my eyes.

It turned out we had a great time with the girls. I read to Sheryl (the younger one) – and reading a book with a little girl evoked poignant memories – and we went to the oval and playground to play and walk. Sheanne walked along the boundaries of the oval a few times and as I walked with her, we engaged in a wonderful conversation and again I’m reminded what a glorious chatterbox a little girl can be. After they were picked up around noon – it was a successful auction – we went out to lunch. Madam K was jam packed and we ended up at Honey Thief on Canterbury Road. After grocery shopping we went home and it was close to 4pm when I finally started on essential chores. The car needed to be washed badly as each drive up or down the Hume to and from Canberra ends up with dozens of bugs stuck to the front of the car. After nearly a week, they were near impossible to be cleaned properly. As I scrubbed with a large but ineffective carwash sponge, my frustrations mounted. I thought about how the car was earmarked to be the bridal car and I wondered how presentable I could get the car when it mattered.

When both cars were eventually washed – with still visible bug guts etched on the front of one of them – I felt hot, bothered and frustrated. We were to meet up with Gerry and his girls again for dinner that night so I had to clean up quickly, which I did after a quick beer. We went to this tiny little Thai place in Mitcham Road. The food was delicious and it was good to just talk to this young family. They had bought another investment property a couple of years ago and with a growing family which attracts all of the financial burdens like childcare, school fees and the likes, they decided to sell the property which was auctioned off earlier in the day. As we were driving home, I said to Tress this typical Asian family has demonstrated enterprise, restrain and all the fiscal and financial responsibility which we have come to expect, instead of stretching out their hands to demand handouts as many other migrants have done. That sentiment and opinion required some tampering the very next day.

Elena and others in that small group have been strong on seeking more government funding for a range of social justice causes. I had often wondered to Tress, if we were, ideologically at least, in “wrong” company. Yet, mingling with this group has heightened my sensitivities to the marginalized and disadvantaged, even amongst an apparently opulent community. I guess with ruddy financial health arising from fiscal and financial responsibility, one has to then be generous in looking after the more vulnerable in society.

God puts all sorts of people in our lives to continually shape us to be more like him. We are I hope, also people he puts in others’ lives for the same purpose and function. Rest well, Elena.

A cooler day, sun teasing. TGIF.

It was another hot and uncomfortable Canberra weekend for Tress, LBJ and I. The last time we were there was probably not more than 10 weeks ago. It was even hotter then. While driving on the interminable Hume Highway yesterday arvo, I said to Tress – again – that I’m tired. The very thought of making this drive again in about 4 weeks, was in itself, draining.

There’s a bright side to most things. It’s God’s small mercy to those who are weighted down with one form of weariness or another. I guess the bright side of this impending long drive – yet again – up and down the Hume, is that it would be the last of a series of involuntary act of this episode. I no longer have to do this, when that sojourn is complete. I may choose to do it voluntarily but I no longer have to do it.

This sense of compelled action is the wearying source I guess. I hope, in a couple of days, when the balm of familiar routine – one which ends with happy slumber in one’s own bed each night – applies to rejuvenate body and soul, the creeping bitterness will ebb to be replaced with joyful anticipation.

We went up principally to check out the venues involved and to do a recci of sorts. Tress wanted to check out the hotel our relos will be staying, and to gauge the distance to the NPG and the Canberra Baptist Church in Kingston. To complete the recci exercise and experience, Tress suggested we attend the Sunday service in that church. That service turned out to be more like an activists’ get together to rant, chest beat and plan. Like many Canberran inner city churches, the cries of the progressive bend far overrides any biblical exposition one finds in churches planted in other demography. When Tress suggested we leave as the offertory prayer was uttered, I couldn’t be happier.

In between checking out venues, we ate, Kiddo shopped, and we tried to talk about their plans. I don’t know when weddings began taking on the importance they do now – the myriads of plans, programs, schedulings, etc – they have long ceased to be a mere mark of two people deciding to start a family.

Strangely, few moan against the grotesque takeover of the commercialised arts scene so that couples spend an exhausting amount of time and money to plan a day which need only be a simple celebration of two becoming one. If it was completely up to me, 25 years ago I would have simply asked that my family and friends come to witness Tress and I exchange vows and rings in a church, followed by a simple dinner in a quiet restaurant nearby. Minus all the lights and sounds.

Alas, the tide of an ever growing bridal party, the conquest of the fashion designers and photographers, the rule of the caterer and the creeping reign of social expectations, have not ebbed one inch since Tress and I were subjected to their forces. They have grown their tentacles and their grip continue to suck the joy out of the occasion.

It was a sultry 18 deg at 5.30am this morning. Maybe that’s why I continue to feel tired.

Balance. It is illusive and elusive. One simply know when it isn’t there. Like now. At this point in time.

I leave for work just after 5.35 in the morning. I’m in the office maybe 10 to 7. After a quick smoothie brekky I’d start working and would leave a bit after 5. I walk back in through my front door a bit after 6. So a bit over half of my 24 hour allotted time is spent on work and work commute. I do this 5 days a week.

Back in the day when we were living and working in Malaysia such a pattern would not have warranted a second thought. Here in Melbourne, and at my age, this is often in my thoughts.

Sometimes a weekend provide good reprieve. Certainly on Friday night when Tress and I were at a long table at Via Matta, seated with the Hippos and Chews, it felt the weekend was starting and the week’s labour could be forgotten. At some time around noon on Saturday it felt, at times, that the weekend wasn’t going to provide any meaningful rest. I had started my work maintaining the lawn and hedges, from just after 9. Tress did the laundry earlier and had also started vacuuming.

By the time she left home for a catch-up lunch with some friends in the city, I was soaking in sweat, caked and dusted with clippings from the James Sterling hedges. In these warmer months they grow quickly and will easily breach the 2meter mark if not clipped regularly. Regularly now means once a month. The Ryobi hedge sweeper feels like Thor’s hammer after the first hour. Thankfully the whole side fence can be done in a bit under one and one half hour and the back fence maybe another twenty minutes so by the time my arm could no longer lift Thor’s hammer up a step ladder anymore, the job’s done and I move on to the lawn mower.

By the time I finally moved on to the broom to start sweeping down the deck and driveway, it was almost 1pm. I felt so drained my earlier thoughts of going to the local deli to pick up some cold cuts to fix a nice sanger had taken flight. After a long shower all I could do was a quick instant noodle lunch. The fridge had only a solitary bottle and it wasn’t beer. Cider isn’t my go to beverage but it had to do.

After lunch I thought about continuing with the vacuuming but abandoned the idea as I was in no mood to lift anymore appliances. I headed to the local library as I had finished my book on the train on the way back on Friday arvo. Ann Henderson’s book on Menzies had been on my list but the sheer size of that book – given my arm’s weary state – scared me. I returned home, empty handed, and continued with the vacuuming.

Tress then came home with some ribs which I marinated for the week’s cook on Sunday arvo and we went out for some grocery shopping and the day’s gone.

Madam K was a little different after church – we didn’t meet our usual old friends and Rose was extraordinarily generous with her serving and added goodies. After lunch we went to pick up my suit, got more paraphernalia for the wedding and when we sat down for a coffee and watched the Sunday arvo crowd milling through the arcade’s outdoor dining strip, I finally felt the weekend reprieve. We later got home and I started cooking. We then took the little guy to the oval for his walk, which he enjoyed. Just looking at him – a sightless wonder – bouncing around with a smile on his face, made me feel, at long last, a true sense of having rested. Even as we went for a short walk past the oval across an adjoining field.

This morning as I lumbered through Melbourne’s suburban rail, I felt the imbalanced nature of my weeks starting again. It feels as elusive as ever.

We’ve been cooking on Sunday arvo’s for a while now. A five spice pork ribs rice dish is a recent favourite. We’d cook enough for maybe 4 days’ lunch and pack them daily for work.

The ribs would be marinated overnight in a special five spice soy and garlic marinate.

The secret weapon, if you like, is the pressure cooker which lets you sauté and brown meat. So we’d sauté some onions, brown the ribs, then add rice and some chunky veges before finishing with some coriander, roots and all.

Usually the resulting serves are quite satisfying. Today is sort of there, maybe meatier (yummies!) …

Lunch should be pretty good this week.

The usual Friday arvo energy depleted state kicked in early and by about 3.30pm I was flat as a prairie. I had had a wonderful lunch in a newish Indonesian hole-in-the-wall joint and I thought I was well fueled to finish the week on a high but I guess the week’s busy-ness took its toll. We stayed home and I had an early night.

Saturday morning had Tress and I letter boxing. We still had a couple of areas to do for the marriage alliance info brochures to do and it was a beautiful cool and sunny morning so we made the most of it. We had it all done by late morning and while grocery shopping towards noon, we decided to skip Madam K and do a salad at home instead. Tress had bought a couple of meals for a joint in Hawthorn, which we were doing dinner for that night.

Just after 2pm we drove to Heathmont for a talk. The ACL was sending its National Director to talk about current cultural issues and as we pulled up into the driveway towards the car park of the venue, we saw a police car with 2 officers inside the car. The meeting then explained police and private security was present that day as the ACL website had its event registration page ambushed by more than 50,000 spammers, many of them accompanied by vile messages. There was a risk people like Simon Hunt from UNSW was going to instigate a protest against the meeting.

No protest happened and as Tress and I sat amongst maybe about 100 people listening to Lyle Shelton and Dan Flynn, I was glad I turned up for that meeting and I later thought about how to deal with a culture that is stridently anti-Christian.

The meeting ended just before 5 and we drove to Hawthorn for a lovely dinner. I got a warm, fuzzy feeling – not just because it was a lovely dinner of comfort food but it was Hawks country too. Pubs had the brown and gold colours on, even though the season is yet to get underway.

Later that night Tress got busy doing online shopping for Kiddo related stuff and I toggled between the Coen brothers’ “True Grit” and Tarantino’s “Jackie Brown” – both on SBS. Both were very good movies and it was amazing both were on SBS at the same time.

It was David Williams on Sunday morning – I always enjoy his messages. Matthew 15:1-20, through his reading, became more (a lot more) than just a declaration that all food is clean.

We’ve been running into some old friends at Madam K’s on Sundays and yesterday was no different. Andrew Hang and Bee Lye were there again and we shared a table and talked – mainly about Malaysia. As we were leaving, it made sense that the gleaming white Maserati parked across the side street from our humble bone shaker, was theirs. Later that arvo we went shopping as I have been looking out for the suit for Kiddo’s wedding. A young man at the suit shop tried hard to get me to opt for a light blue one, which he claimed (and I’m sure he’s right) is the current trending colour and style. It was just a touch too flamboyant for me. Other than possibly drawing attention to myself (and away from the special couple) it just wasn’t me. I opted for a darker shade of blue…

We also looked for other decorative stuff for the event and decided we’d get some of those paraphernalia when we return to pick up my altered suit next weekend.

Back home it was the usual Sunday arvo cook fest for the week’s lunches. That has become a safe activity for me on Sunday arvos. With those containers tucked away in the fridge and freezer, I felt safe (I kid you not) that I have homecooked, nutritious, delicious and cheaply made lunches for the week.

United beat Southampton to win what used to be known as the League Cup. It’s now known as the EFL and while trophies are always nice, I can’t help but wonder if we’d ever relive Fergie’s days when such a trophy was so far down his priorities he used to play second or third stringers. Mourinho rolled out his biggest gun last night and reports suggest we were the inferior team but somehow managed to beat the Saints. I was interested enough to check the scores when I got up this morning but I still found myself looking forward to when the AFL season proper starts again…

Family is mostly a wonderful element of life. It provides, for many, a raison d’etre for being. It is a driver – a potent one – for me and often, dominates to an extent where it does become the be all and end all. At least on a psychological and/or emotional level. It certainly occupies much of my thoughts and feelings.

And so on occasions such as on Saturday night when Tress and I were sitting on the deck of Uncle Jin and Auntie Pin’s busy home it is easy to drift along and continue believing. Bathing in the warmth and comfort of home cooked dishes and uncles, aunties and cousins and their partners, it sits up there as a preferred activity for a weekend, distance to their home notwithstanding (a 100km roundtrip).

Ray, Auntie Hooi and Uncle Marloney’s eldest, sat next to me the whole night. He joined the ATO after earning a commerce/law double, and has recently bought his own home which he talked about excitedly. Next to him is Chris, Natasha’s boyfriend. Nat is Ray’s baby sister. Chris is causasian, a tutor and looks like a nice fellow. Next to Nat was Kathleen, Auntie Anne’s and Uncle Seng’s youngest. She was the sole representative of her family that night. She works for a PR firm (Dentsu Aegis) a stone’s throw away from my office. Next to her was Sherry, UJ and AP’s youngest. She’s an engineer of sorts and her husband. YW, also an engineer, wandered in and out of the house, mingling amongst the 2-3 groups who coalesce into one sometimes, then breaks off again. Next to Sherry was Boris, Marina’s boyfriend. Marina is Sherry’s older sister. Tress had Marina on one side and me on the other. She and I are the oldest of the group and it was great being amongst the younger group, although the average age of that group is probably closer to 30.

Family on the other hand, can also be a source of angst. As we sat down late yesterday (Sunday) arvo, having completed our household chores – Tress did loads of ironing and I cooked the week’s lunches – Tress received a video clip from her dad. She decided to ring for a chat. Her dad soon passed the call to her mum and before long, her mum was carrying on about the pain and expense of having to travel to Kiddo’s wedding. She came on strong about us picking up the tabs for guests’ airfares and hotel bills. I made a face at Tress, stuck my middle finger up rhetorically. Her mum has been doing a song and dance about trekking to Canberra and has repeatedly moaned and groaned about the whole thing so I was tempted to think this airfare and hotel bills shit had more to do with her spitting the dummy than us being generous. Money wasn’t the issue – it was her mum being her mum. Well her mum carried on for a bit, so I had enough and headed into the study to do some work – work I had assiduously put off as those emails kept coming in on Friday night and Saturday.

About an hour later I emerged from the study, things looked calm so I let it be, and watched TV together with her. The ever popular “Perfect Match”, Sino styled, warmed our hearts and made us smile, before the latest iteration of “24” came on at Channel 10. Even though I snoozed for a bit mid way, I kind of enjoyed the familiar themes, look and feel of the latest Baueristic responses. The CTU is almost family, for better or worse.

A few days ago I said to Tress it was less than 9 weeks to go. Having said all I have on the angst bit, I have to say I look forward to having the family around again when the time comes – in a bit over 8 weeks.

Several months ago while on a work trip to Malaysia, I decided to visit Tress’ parents and my mum et al while I was there. I decided to catch a commuter train to Klang as the hotel I was staying in was only a few minutes’ walk to the KL central station. I expected the worst in terms of timeliness etc. but as I stand there waiting on the platform, almost 30 minutes later than the scheduled time, I messaged Tress to say I’d wait another 10mins at the most after which I’d jump onto a taxi. The train did eventually come but it was something like 40 minutes waiting without knowing if or when the train would come. That was my Malaysian commuting experience, less than 6 months ago.

This morning as I walked towards the ticket machine at Box Hill station, I started feeling uneasy as I saw commuters walking back, away from the station, as though they are changing their travel plans. I had heard on 3AW, as I was driving into the station, that the Belgrave Lilydale line has been disrupted and callers were sounding very frustrated. I thought and hoped however, that the disruption only affected stations between Lilydale/Belgrave and Blackburn. Blackburn had been closed for over a month while level crossing removal works were carried out and this morning was supposed to see it reopened to the public again. I had been using Box Hill the whole time Blackburn had been closed but I suspected it wouldn’t be all smooth sailing this morning so I had decided to keep using Box Hill this week.

As I waited at the platform and strained to hear the announcements, I became agitated. The announcements were more propaganda than disseminating information. The lady announcer carried on about the importance of safety and the merits of the level crossing removal projects, and further carried on about how everyone has had a tough 6 weeks adjusting to the Blackburn (and Heatherdale) station closures. Precious little about whether there would be any trains servicing Box Hill and the city.

After about half a dozen of these waffling insanities I had enough and went to the ticketing office to ask if there would be a train taking commuters into the city. I got the same waffle so I exploded. I looked at that dingbat of a lady and said, “Will there be a train taking commuters into the city soon?” She said she didn’t know and went on about inclement weather affecting track work. I said the rain wasn’t all that catastrophic in that we’ve had rain like that in Melbourne before and repeated my question. She again said she didn’t know so I asked did she have any idea how long it’d be before she could give commuters like me any idea of what to expect in terms of whether there would be a train to take commuters into the city anytime soon. Before she could answer I said I wanted a clear simple answer as all that waffle earlier hadn’t taken the commuters anywhere nearer the city nor had it advanced Melbourne Metro from the commuter trains in Malaysia. She looked at me with a pale face and I said to her not to worry and I walked away…

The train came eventually. Monday morning was a little different as a result but the tendency to waffle or to inject spin as a primary component of a piece of simple communication (train disrupted, apologies, next train due when, apologies if can’t tell when train will resume…) is a sure bet to stir anger and frustration.

It was a disruptive Monday morning but the weekend was good.

I had ended last week with what felt like an oncoming flu of sorts. Tress and I went to a lovely Malaysian restaurant in Bayswater on Friday night and because I was a bit under the weather, I felt queasy on the way home and had an early night of sorts.

On Saturday morning, after our usual leisurely coffee and breakfast at home, we went letter-boxing again. The ACL pamphlets carried an important message and we dutifully dropped them in homes nearby, in the Blackburn South area. We then went and got some groceries, mainly to cook for a dinner party at Jason and Mel’s later that night.

On the way home, Kiddo rang and spoke briefly about her first week at Caroline Chisolm college. It sounded challenging and I hope she finds a serene groove in this rough and tumble challenge of the socio-economic backwaters of ACT southern nether.

We then got home, cooked, vacuumed, and did other bits and pieces at home. When they were all done, I slumped into a bean bag and surfed Netflix before settling down to a trusty Marlon Brando/Al Pacino adorned mobster classic. I lost count after watching it for the 10th time some 10-15 years ago and it’s now a question of noticing nuanced twitch of Marlon’s face or Sonny’s shoulders or the annoyed look of Clemenza as he gave instructions of preferring a dessert over a weapon.

At Jason’s we feasted over a wonderful meal of nasi lemak – a la gourmet. We brought a chilli prawn dish and some pickled vegetables as well as some sliced cucumbers and enjoyed them with over a half dozen other dishes. The Hipos were also there, as well as a friend of Jason’s a lady who was there with her 14-year old boy who looked and sounded a music prodigy of sorts.

After church and Madam K on Sunday, we got home and I did a quick mowing and clean-up of the lawn, front yard, deck and driveway before doing the cook for the week’s lunches. Alex rang as I started to cook and asked if we’d like to join him for a drink with his new neighbours. I had to ring back later to say we couldn’t make it – just as well, as I was sitting down on the couch early in the evening (around 7pm), I quickly snoozed and drifted in and out of dreamland before heading to bed around 9pm. If only I knew what Melbourne Metro’s was about to dish out the next morning, I might have taken up Alex’s offer and called in sick this morning…