Yesterday I went again to Wat Buddharangsee in Annandale with Ann. I have been quite often in the past, sitting through a Thai Buddhist liturgy and then sharing a common meal in the adjacent hall. The centre supplies an English language version of the Thai/Pali script, so I can follow along and even chant if that takes my fancy.

These days I go with a somewhat different lens on what unfolds before me, having returned to Christianity two years ago. This is not a superior or critical view, but one which is both interested and engaged. I have had opportunities to become a buddhist in the past, but I realised on all occasions that it was not the right fit for me. It would not have worked at a deeper psychological level.

There are certainly similarities between how the two faiths see the problems of existence. Death, suffering, loss, pain, disappointment, sorrow and so forth are common aspects of life. We can't avoid them. Buddhism argues for a casting off of all attachments to the world, Christianity demands for a surrender to God. Both are giving up, letting go of. 

I have made my choice and I am happy with it, though any faith is a daily commitment. Facing life without such a window on the world and eternity is a tough ask indeed.

As part of my Christian life, I read a couple of devotionals every day. By a coincidence, perhaps, one of these daily studies is examining the Book of Ecclesiastes, and the other, the Book of Proverbs. It doesn't take a scholar to know that these two tomes form part of the 'wisdom' literature of the Bible.

If you were to entirely reject religions of all stripes but still want to engage with relevant ancient thinking, then you could do worse than study these two books. I read somewhere (by someone who had tried it) that applying the principles of Proverbs alone can dramatically alter your life for the better. Ecclesiastes contains similar wisdom, though it is presented in a narrative form, teetering at times on the edge of pessimism. The latter ('life is meaningless') can seem quite dark, but is ultimately saved by the knowledge that God is good, even if Man is often not. Do we really need to make sense of things, or is trust a better option?

I find both of these texts reassuring. I need to be on track in my life and proverbs is just the tonic, whilst Ecclesiastes suits my own hopeful pessimism to a tee.

Had I not married a Thai woman, it's unlikely that I would have come to know 'Thai Town' in Sydney's Haymarket area. I would probably have noticed the area, running along Campbell St and roughly bounded by George and Castlereagh Streets, but not in the way I do today.

Here you find a lot of Thai restaurants and cafes, Thai grocery shops, Thai travel, Thai massage and so forth. There used to be a Thai music library and other services, but they seem to have disappeared, or moved elsewhere.

My wife Ann regularly goes to the city to get specialised groceries and vegetables. Sometimes she picks up a home-made food order or even buys fresh durian when it gets flown in during the growing season. I admit to having hung out there quite a lot, though I am not the only farang to do so. 

Ann often directs me to wait on the footpath outside whichever grocery shop she is in. I guess this must be a Thai thing because other foreign husbands are similarly positioned, all looking mildly uncomfortable. I'd rather be inside looking at the produce on the shelves, but mine is not to reason why, is it?

The new Metro line in Sydney, the extension of which recently opened, is a surprisingly worthwhile addition to public transport structure of the city. I have been on bits and pieces of it since its first iteration a few years ago. On that occasion I took the train from one terminus (Tallawong) to Castle Hill. It was very impressive.

Since the opening of the extension from Chatswood to Sydenham, I have made time to make some short side trips, all for no apparent reason, though yesterday Ann and I went on to Chatswood. In the parlance, we alighted at said station so she could investigate a Thai shop in the Mandarin Centre.

I confess to being a little nervous on crossing under the harbour - thinking of the volume of water above us - but all went well. As for Chatswood, it is simply a different place to one I used to frequent in the 1970's and 1980's. Tower blocks, shopping malls, new pedestrian plazas, I could see nothing that had not been changed so maybe it should have a new name too.

The map below shows the existing and future Metro lines.

Like many kids 'back in the day', my family had a healthy collection of Little Golden Books. I can't remember all the titles but the covers often leap to mind. The artwork of illustrator Tibor Gergely was so striking that I can picture the volumes long before recalling the titles.

The other day I bought my first ever, second-hand Little Golden Book. I had been haunted by the cover illustration of The Taxi That Hurried since it had popped inadvertently onto my computer screen a week or two ago. The image of the yellow cab on two wheels being halted by a policeman was worth the few dollars I paid.

Some of the stories are undoubtedly dated now, the vast sophistication of the modern era always knowing better. I may buy others too, contrarian that I am.

The garden is awash with flowering trees, plants and vines. The old plum trees, those that have survived the bamboo nightmare of recent memory, have delicate white blossoms, tinged with pink. Those of the pear tree are hinted with a yellow, matching a dazzling potato vine of a similar hue on the front fence.

So, spring has arrived with full force, though today is actually quite cold. The sun is warm, but a southerly breeze harkens back to early August and the last of the combustion stove fires. There is a lot of sneezing about too. I suspect hay fever sufferers will suffer, for the pollen count is high.

What else can I say? Our parish priest, Father Joe, is moving to a new parish in North West Sydney - though I think reluctantly - and we await news of who the bishop will appoint in his place. I was sad when I first heard, for Father Joe was there at my faith formation classes and presided over my confirmation. He had been a encouragement and a rock since I began attending St Finbars over two years ago.

May God bless him in this new endeavour.

The US Presidential Election remains the tightest of races. It is a contest that will be decided, most likely, by a few hundred or a few thousand votes, here or there, across a slew of 'battleground' states. The chances of either candidate winning by a landslide are beyond remote. The US is a bitterly polarised society where the number of 'moving' votes has shrunk in recent decades.

Harris made a compelling case in tonight's debate and effectively put to rest the disaster that was the first debate between Trump and the ailing Joe Biden. She commanded the material and she commanded Trump, for the most part. The latter was hobnailed by self-inflicted  and unnecessary flights down rabbit holes and a chronic inability to stray on message. 

Trump's capacity to free-range is both his best friend and his worst enemy. In front of adoring crowds it is largely an asset - he can shoot the breeze about anything that comes into his head and nobody minds. In a debate, the structure of the exercise requires a certain discipline and a mastery of the each topic.

But as I said, the margins are very tight and either of these candidates could wake up President on November 6, the morning after.

Today is our 8th wedding anniversary. I first met Ann some two years earlier when I spied a cute bespectacled woman in a photo taken at Bondi Beach, Very few of us know the outcome of first meetings (ours was near the fountain in Hyde Park), whether love will bloom, or not.

I do think its harder for younger people, not because they don't have a huge array of dating apps at their disposal, but because many of the rules of social engagement have changed or fallen into disuse. The rush to the bedroom is one such fraught development, allowing no chance for the gradual unfolding that a romantic relationship should take, if it is to have any chance or working.

I am lucky to have my wife. She has been a most devoted companion. You can never rush into that.

As mentioned before, I have been singing in SATB choirs for three decades now. On the whole, they have been a great blessing for me, offering not only the chance for friendship and mutual endeavour, together with the joy of singing, but also myriad other opportunities. Such as meeting my first wife, going to Japan, spinoff singing projects...I could go on.

These days I am with Moo Choir (we meet at Warrimoo) and it is probably the consistently strongest group of singers I have ever sung with. A good choir relies upon a good director, without which you may be average or less than average. Moo Choir has been graced with several excellent musical directors, passionate people who work hard and have set a standard and pushed us to hit that standard. Thirty average voices can achieve a lot when properly trained and rehearsed.

A few weeks ago we sang at the Winter Magic Festival, a regular gig for all the Mountain's choirs. It is, alas, but a shadow of its former self, but we gave it our best anyway. The closeup shot below features some of the bass and alto section on this occasion, including yours truly. Oh, and the hand of our director, Rowan!

Almost gale force winds again today. The gusts are strong enough to unsettle the walker or topple the unwary. Birds remain on their branches or bound to the earth. Choir is cancelled tonight due to a blackout.

We are hunkered down. This old cottage still has its roof intact and the walls have yet to blow in. Ah, such blessings from God! I wonder if the possums will do their high-wire act tonight, or if they will find less tortuous routes to their destinations.

Tonight, too, we may 'feel the roots of the house move,' or see 'the window tremble to come in.' We may indeed.

Well I hope not, but there is a wildness abroad that will not brook the foolish or the gullible. Think of the storm in King Lear, and the madness that ensued.