Waiting was once a common state of being. Folks waited through the seasons (which imposed their own weathery logic), waited for the rain to come, for the seedlings to sprout up, for news from the big city about a new king, a war, the approach of a plague. You get the picture. You waited because that was how it was and had always been, across the generations.

The Industrial Revolution changed the rhythms of life for many people, in the same way that it has radically altered ways of being through the Information Revolution in the present age. People don't like to wait and, moreover, don't have to wait, because gratification is almost instantly available. You can order and pay with a click and if you don't have the money, you still buy and pay later.

But waiting is actually a good thing - both instructive in teaching patience and as a lesson in the follies of haste. I see this in myself. Once I get a plan or good idea in my head, I want to get on with doing it as soon as possible. 

Currently, I would like to sell this house and move. I have been thinking about it for a few years, but sickness intervened two years ago to put a stop to any plans. That was a good thing (not the sickness, but the delay) because I had a lot of unfinished business to deal with in my family. I was getting ahead of myself, wrapped up in plans that were far too advanced for my own good. As a Christian, I realize that I had left God out of the equation - not necessarily in prayer ( I pray about everything) but in an abiding trust and a patience to wait. It's always wise to be prudent and diligent, but not to rush off ahead of a clear pathway set by the Lord.

This time around, I am far more cautious, far more prayerful and much more accepting that God's plans are the best irrespective of how it all actually turns out. I do take steps and have paid attention to opening and closing doors more closely. Still waiting is hard. When I start to get into that compulsive forward rush, I have to rein myself in. Pray. Surrender. Wait. Repeat.

Today is Australia Day and many families and individuals will be out celebrating - whether at a beach or a river or a dam, a picnic ground, a backyard, or even at one of the many events organised by local councils and community groups. My wife and JJ have  gone down to Glenbrook for the annual AD celebration.

Another group of Australians will be having 'Invasion Day' events - marches and gatherings to protest the aligning of a national day with the arrival of the First Fleet in 1788. While it was not strictly speaking a planned military invasion, it might just have well have been for the indigenous population. The consequences have been largely identical.

I have a foot in either camp, knowing that Australians have precious few national days already, outside of Anzac Day, but also that January 26 cannot but have a profoundly negative meaning for Aboriginal people. My preference would be to find another day to celebrate Australia Day. That in itself is a fraught task, for how many days are free from any taint?

In this respect I am in the minority, for a recent poll showed that 70% of Australians don't want the date to change. That is a strong majority indeed.

For now, I think we are all big enough to live with the tension that arises from these two positions, opposed as they are, but also informing each other. Let it be peaceful and respectful. Who knows, perhaps one day there will be a convergence by mutual agreement.

 I was in Thailand when the Bondi massacre occurred. The local TV networks in Thailand, already busy with the floods in the south and a border war with Cambodia, covered the atrocity fairly comprehensively. I supplemented this with direct internet-mediated news from Australia, but once I had the facts of the case, I largely stopped following the onrushing news cycle. The repetition and overabundance of reporting was too much. At some point, you need to step out, else you may be drawn into a maudlin scrolling of every tidbit. Despite my well-known sympathies with Israel and the Jewish people, I needed time-out on this event until I got back home.

Yesterday, in events somehow related to that awful incident last year, the Liberal and National Parties at Federal level exploded and the coalition between them, dissolved. This may only be temporary but it is nevertheless an almighty shot in the foot. At a time when the Federal Labor Government was vulnerable thanks to the lukewarm performance of the Prime Minister over the past two months (on multiple fronts), the Opposition chose to implode. It is a head-scratcher, I tell you. If one had a circular firing squad on hand, it couldn't do worse.

Ibis

Ordinarily, you see 
them on bins, beaks

like deep spoons,

bent like 

whimsical derricks-

and for their sins-

they awkwardly dip

into somebody's waste.

Surgeons, they 

tenderly incise:

part tissue and bone, but

Rarely do so in haste.

From a height

they ply the

mouldering scraps,

smashed chips and

prawn heads,

a Parson's nose -

what a prize!

they are,

bin chickens, it seems,

almost by design.

But today

I saw an Ibis

in a mad storm,

Striding fevered puddles

Like a ballet star.

To the pleasure, no doubt, of many readers, I have had very little to say over the past two months. December I was in Thailand, refusing to type onto a tiny screen. January I have been getting practical things done about the house - painting and repairs and such like. There was also the matter of dealing with the fallout from the stolen phone incident in Bangkok, the first time I have been successfully pickpocketed. Credit cards needed cancelling and many services updated with new information. Smart phones can be a colossal hassle at times. Their sheer capacity is both a strength and a weakness.

Thailand is a hot place, even in what they call 'winter' over there. The end of year is certainly a better time to go weather-wise, though there are many more tourists about. You can get a decent walk in in the early morning and evening, when the temperature is reasonable and the sun is down. Middle of the day is out of the question. The heat and humidity is a significant drain.

I think if I had to name a couple of highlights were the towns of Hua Hin and Phetchaburi. The former has some lovely beaches, a few notable temples and two royal summer palaces. The latter is less touristed but also boasts some wonderful temples and a more authentic Thai experience, if river walks and markets are anything to go by.

 Happy New Year to one and all!

Back from a month in Thailand, I see that this blog was poorly treated in December. With the exception of one new poem(written in Thailand but published upon return) I made no entries. There is a simple reason - I find it hard to type into the blog page on a small phone keyboard and really couldn't be bothered doing so.

I took plenty of photos and had a lot to write about upon my return but alas, my phone was stolen last Friday night at the busy Chit Lom station in the Siam shopping district. I don't know if the pics can ever be recovered.

Ann's mum also broke her hip, meaning we were forced to cancel a trip to the north in exchange for long waits in hospital wards for a fortnight. But it's just as well we were in situ at the time, because someone had to pay the medical bills and render daily assistance. She is doing very well now after surgery, which is a blessing indeed.

I will try to give a Cook's Tour of what we did, without sounding like a travelogue in the near future.

 School's Out 1960

They are like warriors
With Globites brandished
And wide smiles in
The wilting heat - a sunken
Corrugated heat that
Makes gum-soft the hard
Chalked-up bitumen,
Opening cracks
For the New Year.
But this is end of term
And the tangled cohort
Of pressed limbs and blind cheek
Is out for the big break.
They mob at the gate,
And scrum in passages,
Scuffing at steps
Whooping at boredom's finale.
Now is the quitting of books
And incinerations joy,
A great fiery loosing of routine.

In January, somewhere
Between the lassitude of beaches
And stuffed bellies,
Ennui will return.
Snapping the gates back in place.

The day after tomorrow we leave for Thailand, so I am thinking about flying. I wonder how much the experience has changed since Marion Strobel wrote this verse in her poem, Bon Voyage, in 1942,

'Or board a plane: the chairs adjustable,

Oxygen tubes, safety belts for the climb.

Fly over the world, see your country unroll

Like a map, save - if you desire to - Time.
Look back on the sunset your flying from:

Breakfast is free and there's plenty of gum.'

Or this from John Magee's High Flight, 

'Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth,

And danced the skies on laughter-silver wings;

Sunward I've climbed and joined the tumbling mirth

Of sun-split clouds, - and done a hundred things

You have not dreamed of'

Or perhaps this fragment from Amelia Earhart's From an Airplane, 1921

'Even the watchful, purple hills

That hold the lake,

could not see so well as I

the stain of evening

creeping from its heart;

nor the round, yellow eyes of the hamlet

growing filmy with mists.'

And finally from An Airman's Grace, by Father John MacGillivray

'Lord of the thunderhead and sky

You placed in us the will to fly

You taught our hand speed, skill and grace,

To soar beyond our dwelling place.'

There seem to be quite a few poems written about flying. The experience of being in a small open-cockpit machine in the early days differs markedly from that of the modern traveller in a fat, climate controlled 747. It was a lot more dangerous then too - Earhart and Magee both lost their lives flying and many others have to boot. I don't recall writing any poems about being a passenger in a modern plane so I might give it a whirl if the spirit takes me. I prefer to stay on the ground but, by the Grace of God, I pray we will be speeded safely to and from our destination.