Return to Balgownie

The lawn grass had turned into a straw-like yellow, consistent in dryness like a change of coloured carpet. The geraniums on the side had shrivelled leaves and thinned flowering blooms and buds, reflecting a change in the weather pattern whilst I was away from Australia. Adelaide and Melbourne had recorded a maximum of 43.8 degrees Celsius in the days just gone past, but I did not expect such effects in New South Wales. I recalled the burnt brown leaves one New Year's Day upon my return from Tasmania, and especially the smell of burnt bush hanging in the air even as I just stepped outside Sydney Airport. There was no such intensity this first day of February, but the mandarin shrub had turned obviously yellow. with little green left in its leaves.

The cricket was on for most of the rest of the day, having been telecast live from Perth, on the other side of the continent. King Federer was due to give his crown to younger Spaniard Rafael Nadal later that night in the Australian Open in Melbourne. One of my neighbours had kindly placed my Sunday paper delivery neatly near my front door. Even if not significant, there was a bit of drowsiness from somehow losing three hours off the clock flying across from Singapore.

My office looked the same as I left it - having been reliably looked after by good mates. I had to quickly get back to the routines and demands of the business. The evenings turned out to be more oppressive in heat than when I left the place just before my holidays. Restarting my home kitchen was always a possible challenge after being leisurely fed by family and friends during the festive break away, but I commenced with a curry and a herbal soup. On the third night I ventured back to the local supermarket after the night air had cooled down, but they were closing soon after I arrived and I could not even get the things I had intended to purchase.

Some things do change. A colleague I enjoyed working with was leaving after seven years, and I arranged for a few of us to enjoy a lunch with her near the waterfront.
I was pleasantly surprised when my previously black moore turned golden orangy in colour, perhaps due to water conditions in the tank or her diet when I was away,but for the Lunar New Year, it is indeed truly special. My car still had the crackling electronic sound which was still unexplained when I got it checked at the service yard before I left. It was truly amazing when the sound stopped, albeit temporarily, when Chris drove it - but the strange audio came back when I took the wheels again to go to the supermarket.

A Special Week

One more week to an overseas stint away from the routine in Wollongong.

I started with a lovely , relaxed lunch with a buddy who had just came back from a sojourn himself, with both of us sitting in an old-fashioned balcony overlooking one of the town's shopping and cafe streets. We exchanged views with each other and listened intently to what we had been doing for the past few weeks.

The week had partly offered some personal goodbyes and a departure from what I have taken for granted. We had gathered to ostensibly mark the leaving of someone I have known well for another country, albeit temporarily,but we all knew this rite of passage was important to accept the moving-ons from a cultivated past to an exciting future. Another came to let me know personally her leaving the office. They are at an age when they can make choices, know they have to do it now instead of waiting and acted with their heart.

The weekend before, in just a single day, I drove 346km. I also had the opportunity of accompanying JJ, the lovable Labrador of a cousin in Baulkham Hills, for a 2km walk. This was refreshing to me on a cool early evening after a hot summer's day. Earlier in the afternoon, I had climbed 100 steps from the beach to the cliff top road. That morning I had woken up at 650am, and commenced the long drive to a Sydney suburb.

Karson and Salina, together with 9 year old son Brayden and four year daughter Annsley (whom I met delightfully met for the very first time, had arrived on the Sunday night before from a Qantas flight into Sydney. I had not seen the parents for years and I was so happy that I could have a late supper (yes, Sydney does have restaurants open in its Chinatown past midnight) and then, on a lark, drove all of them across the Harbour Bridge and then returned to the cbd via the Harbour Tunnel. We all had free rein on the city streets at the unearthly hour of 2am.

It was also great to visit and know that Aunt Doris was recovering well.

And nothing is complete with some food experience. What about soft crabs, duck and fish done in a regional Thai style at the Papaya, in suburban Croydon. The ambiance was tropical relaxing, though quickly filled up with customers by 730 in the twilight. Joyce and I found the taste not totally authentic and there were hints of modification which may suit the clientele in Sydney's lower north shore.

Best of all, after along day at work and dinner out, we still were welcomed by Charmaine and Chris for home made expresso coffee with a kick, even if it was rather late on a school night. All of us could just be ourselves - the most relaxing state. This summed up the common thread in my most special week.

Signs In The Sky

Approach to Milson's Point Rail Station, North Shore Sydney City, 2am, 1 Jan 2009

New Year's Eve in Burwood, a Sydney suburb,, and I was fortunate to partake in white turkey, baby abalone and flat flounder. All done in Vietnamese- Chiuchao style. 2009 beckoned in just a few hours after dinner!

My car had casually passed by Wicks Road in North Ryde and we were curious about the crowds that had gathered in front of an oval. Then we spotted the top part of the Harbour Bridge beckoning in the distance, blocked by the tops of trees, and realised that they were all waiting for the 9pm fireworks. I got to chat with a friendly
Brit couple who had migrated to Oz not too long ago but appreciated being here.

At Artarmon train station, in Sydney's lower North Shore, many blue eyed youth were lining up for the train tickets. It was all very civil but what we did not realise then, and only found out in the wee hours of the New Year's, was that Sydney City Rail was offering free rides that evening. There was no sign or notice anyway of that at Artarmon. Most of us were just looking forward to see the Harbour Bridge fireworks.

My group alighted at Milson Point's station and settled in at Kirribilli. As you can imagine for Sydney, the crowd was as cosmopolitan and varied as can be - many
Spanish eyes; teenagers weeing against the wall; slinking low undies as fashionable gear; a cohort of Indian families; romantic couples, young and old;and so forth. All eyes were glued to the remarkable harbour side view on the east side of the coat hanger Bridge. A Chinese teenage guy came up to me to have a friendly chat; he was with his school mates and felt liberated and easy on this night of nights. The evening was still humid and warm and many used paper fans, waving away frenetically.

When the midnight firework display got going, what impressed me were the round pollen ball fireworks, horizontal sprays and sprouting fountain displays along the length of the Sydney Harbour Bridge. Something very different offered - amazing when this was a tradition that has been carried out some twenty years, if not more.
What was even more fascinating were the artificially created lightning and thunder sequences created by the firework providers as a prelude to the main show.

The train ride back to my car in Artarmon proved to be both an eye opener and unwanted experience for my group. We waited an hour for the tsunami of passing people making their way from the bay up the slopes to the rail station and then thought it was safe to join them.

Once we were headed to Milson's Point Station itself, we took another 45 minutes before we actually got on to a train. What happened to the orderly system utilised at the Sydney Olympic Games? I felt like in an uncontrolled public scenario - I felt pressing back packs, sweaty patience and physical endurance as all of us endured the crush and push into the rail station. A Lebanese teenager used my shoulders to rest his arms when it got unbearable - this was unsolicited as I did not even know him, but there was no need to complain, and the only option was to share the experience, I guess.

Truly, Madly, Deeply

Right: Developing Pomegranate from my Garden
You are obviously in love.

Every detailed thing that Darling does for you, you note and analyse like
a school lab frog - but I don't blame you, only to wish you receive
the love you deserve and that both of you are protected if things don't go the
way both Darling and you want.

I am sure you are in love because you lap up the good advice that Darling
gives you - like a little puppy, I must say. That is a sure sign of
the goodness of a positive relationship, in that it motivates you
further to do things that you know you want and you should, but just
require a little gentle push to actually do it!

You must be in love as well because you get all truly glad inside your
heart just to know that Darling is happy. Love, as I understand it, is
self-less, makes the lover forget his existence and willingly submerge
into the consciousness of the loved one. How well is the loved one
willing to infuse the dimension of this existence with you?

What is age and its niceties in deliberations of love? It's all
perception, hype and what both of you make of it. There are other more
significant things in a relationship, like the ability to blend
together in interests, personality, humour and sincerity. Others may
have their opinions, but like anything else, are they part of the
marriage? The bottom line is that only the two of you are going to
share and experience the joys, trials and camaraderie of a
partnership.

A gift is a symbolic token of the bigger perspectives of appreciation
and feeling. The precious gift of love must be used to build upon a
deeper and more thorough structuring of a meaningful relationship, one
that takes both of you through sunshine, high water, uncertainty and
resolve, one that combines with the other essential ingredients of a
true friendship, one that spices up the start of a solid bonding.

Sunday Outings

Alex Higgins has grown up. He tells me that he is now in Year 10 at school. Alex lives in an enclave of southern Sydney that overlooks the sea, perched up on a cliff top. I catch up with his Dad as well. Little William has brought back a tiny strawberry after a walk with his uncle and aunt, who got hitched recently, first in a Phuket Buddhist Temple, then in the registry in Parramatta and soon to beholding their reception at Chateau Carlingford.

The afternoon was getting oppresively hot and humid. We were in a green house portion of an Austrian-German restaurant in far north Sydney. The food was excellent, including my fav duck, pork knuckle, potato au gratin and the lightly batterred fish. After lunch, my group of four riding in the same car secretly diverted to the nearby Ba'hai Temple, strikingly white and laced with lattice windows with a beauty topped by its harbour lighthouse top. This is the first time in many years that I have seen the building of prayer in sunny daylight.

The afternoon had been lazy and it continued in the St Ives home of the birthday girl. It was a conversational Sunday, perked up by the coffee made in the style distinctive of Jennifer and Janie. Sunset was to be after 8 in the evening, and so it was good to somewhat lose track of time. Like Late June in the northern hemisphere, December in the south-east corner of Australia is meant to be unfettered - but we had separate appointments to go for Sunday night, and it was not a roast dinner.

I headed for Chatswood, only a short drive south along the Eastern Arterial and Willoughby roads. Charmaine and Chris had organised a home gathering, which featured creations from various cooks who poured their special touches of creativity to, amongst the several dishes served, Bangkok tom yum soup (Cindy); ice kacang (Joyce); and duck curry (Charmaine). The street light sparkled up obviously through the front door when night fell, late; Wai Fatt from Kuala Lumpur chatted about the pending arrival of the rest of his family coming to Sydney soon.