For every negative thought or circumstance that we dwell upon, there are a dozen or more positive ones that we simply fail to see. Unless we pause to look.

Shortly after I wrote the earlier post, the sky became the deepest blue and a warm autumn sun settled upon the wet earth and threw the turning leaves into glorious relief. 

My bike purred along and suddenly, all was well with the world.

 An old folk/rock song from the 1960's by Barry McGuire goes,

"But you tell me
 Over and over and over again, my friend
 How you don't believe

 We're on the eve of destruction"

This refrain follows verses in which the singer laments the frail and parlous state of the world, the threat of nuclear war being but one option amongst a dismal list of human failings. The 1960's was a time of social and political upheaval, of deep questioning about established truths. As now the environment weighed heavily in the debate, though ours seems a far vaster existential threat.

Today, nuclear weapons have not gone away and the Russian dictator often talks airily about their use, defying past practises. I have talked before about the subversion of truth, these being factually established truths, and the erosion of trust in key institutions. Ditto the rise of an all-consuming cynicism and a growing intolerance of other points of view. There is an extremism afoot across either end of the political spectrum.

Well, I could go on and on. By way of balance, I could also point to the many positive achievements in the sciences and medicine and education, of the alleviation of poverty in many countries, of people striving everywhere to make a difference.

Still, when I hear the question arise of what life will be like at the end of this century, it strikes me that we will be lucky to get out of these next half dozen decades alive  at all. If a great filter is ahead of us, woe betide!

Frankly, I have been amazed, and not a little concerned, at the manner in which Covid safety rules have been relaxed. In fact, they have collapsed. Governments in this country have fallen over themselves to undo regulations and most of the citizenry have gleefully abandoned masks and social distancing.

As a mask wearer in most situations, I think I am starting to stand out a little. I think that there is quite a bit of projection going on too, as I sometimes catch people giving me a quick glance. Never mind that I have the medical establishment on my side. I am not a goody two-shoes, just residually wary of a disease that shut the planet down, caused widespread panic, a complete change of lifestyle, whilst sickening and killing millions of people.

Kardashev 1 for human civilisation one day? I doubt it.

Apropos yesterday's post about Anzac Memorial in Hazelbrook, I present two photographs taken this morning to illustrate what I was writing about.

1. The re-sited memorial in Gloria Park.

2. The memorial plaque in Memory Park

Today being Anzac Day, I walked over to the memorial at Gloria Park. This was originally sited in Memory Park (hence the name) but was moved when the highway was widened. To be honest, it might easily have been repositioned in the revamped park, though I guess that the dishevelment that was Memory Park at that time mitigated against such an idea. Still Memory Park remains a place of recollection and a solemn plaque with the names of those who served (from the village of Hazelbrook) is there now.

Earlier I had watched part of the Sydney Anzac March on the ABC. It has been rerouted since George Street got new trams, and now makes its way from the Cenotaph in Martin Place to the War Memorial in Hyde Park. There are no veterans from The Great War left alive and only a few, as best I could see, from the Second World War. Even if you hopped into that conflict as an 18 year old in 1945, you will still be a sprightly 93 today.

More's the pity really. Soldiers from those dreadful conflagrations were living testimony to how futile and awful war is, something which we may be slowly losing now. Sure, diaries, letters, books and film records remain to tell the tale, though these have to be sought after and studied. They need to be reflected upon. Ours is not a time in which reflection is much prized. Thoughtful consideration cannot be found in 280 characters.

Yesterday I was in town with Ann and JJ. The place was crowded and really bustling with shoppers and those in search of a foodie experience. I took myself off to my first Sunday Mass at St Peter Julian in the Haymarket. Coming out at the end, I felt like a different man to the one who had earlier gone in.

Lest We Forget

Good Friday

The coast now clear
The boy, barefoot by

A lone arum,

Sunk low as a snake

For fear of the guards,

For fear his father,

Should find him here.

But the best bits had passed:

Creak of flying wood

And hammer shot,

The blood spilled abroad-

None to the good.

A crowd drifted

For something better,

All that stood,

Was a line of three,

A soldier, bored

In the ebbing day,

And yonder the sound

Of women, weeping,

One knelt to pray 

Under a shattered man,

The same the Cyrene helped,

Along the way 

As he fell down

Beneath the wood.

'Home' his father said, 

He had dashed then, but instead

Circled to this cruel space. 

The Nazarene had caught his eye, 

Somewhere on the hopeless slog,

And brought him stumbling,

And fearful, yet curious,

To hide by a solitary bush

For whatever reason

At the killing place.

Popping out to check the post box this morning, I was surprised to find a slim volume inside, lying faceup. It was The Gospel of John (with commentary) and I wondered if I was the only recipient of this kind gift, or whether the whole street had been visited. I am yet to find out, though I think I may be it.

Now and then I get little presents like this, a handwritten letter about God, a pamphlet from a church and so forth. I know it drives some folks mad and occasionally I see angry posters on social media, as if a religious tract or its equivalent is somehow an intolerable imposition on their otherwise quiet, unreligious lives. Not to judge of course, but bland advertising material does not get the same exasperated treatment!

Easter is but a few days away and already there are caravans plying their way westward on the highway. People are getting away. Ann and JJ took off for a day or two in Bathurst this morning and countless others will be pointing their cars north and south in this great migration away from the Big Smoke. I wish them all well.

That little volume is on my bedside table and I will start reading tonight. John could be read a thousand times over without weariness or boredom setting in. I am becoming more serious about the faith I foolishly dropped away from a few decades ago. For every step forward there seem to be two back wards, such is the struggle.

I believe it was Martin Luther who said, "Man can only sin."

Ann and I went to Burwood yesterday, for the rain looked to be receding and she was hungry. Without wanting to wade too deeply into the fraught weeds of stereotypes, East and SE Asian folks love nothing more than to eat out on a day off or the weekend. This is what my wife tells me and judging by the crowds, she is right.

Burwood is a spoilt for choice when it comes to potential culinary experiences - the place is bursting with restaurants and cafes catering to a range of micro tastes in gastronomy. Ann ordered Thai from an Isaan oriented shop, and my Chinese looked and tasted nothing like the suburban offerings from the same nation. It's nice to be amongst people as they bustle through the streets and survey shop windows.

Just before lunch, we popped into the Burwood Daiso and to my surprise and joy, came across this old friend again. Such memories of Japanese vending machines on hot summer days!

 A little over a year ago I bought my Himo C20 ebike. I have written about it a few times since then, in an almost entirely favourable manner. It has re-energised my love of cycling, something which had fallen into relative abeyance since moving to the Blue Mountains. Where I live holds the clue as to why I found getting on a bike more of a chore than a joy. The little boost up hills makes all the difference.

It has also been utterly reliable. The only exception are the disc brakes, which I suspect are of a lesser quality. They have to be adjusted every three months and most recently, needed new brake shoes. I guess that this was one of the trade-offs for keeping the price of the bike in the low to moderate range. I also had a flat rear tyre which a kindly neighbour helped me change.

For those contemplating buying an ebike, I can only offer encouragement. If you live in a less hilly abode than mine, you will zip along with ease. While the energy output is lower than a regular bike, your legs are still moving and some work is being done.

If I was to add one feature to the Himo, it would be suspension struts on the front forks. Bumps are unforgiving and one needs to be alert to leaving the seat at a moments notice!

The birthday boy.

Today all wars ceased. All slaps were unslapped and all harsh words, taken back. Today there was a vast redistribution of wealth, where the rich happily shared their good fortune with the poor. Governments have suddenly ceased to be venal and have also decided that complete honesty is the best policy. Today there was a remarkable technological discovery that will wind back global warming to pre-industrial levels. A panel of doctors announced a cure for all diseases had finally arrived. Petrol prices have dropped to ten cents a litre. There is a new variant of bacon that is perfectly healthy and drinking too much alcohol will no longer leave you with a hangover. Images from the James Webb have conclusively proved that an exoplanet 200 light years away has intelligent life.

Today is April 1st. More's the pity.