At work, I was feeling more and more sick, so I’m heading home from work early to avoid contaminating the office.
Train at Flinder’s St is spontaneously rerouted from a city loop to a Richmond direct express to Box Hill service so I jump on just before it leaves. Train takes off and a lady starts freaking out.
She and her 4yo(?) son heard the announcement late and have tried to exit, but the doors closed between him getting off and her doing the same. So he’s standing on the platform crying as she jogs down the length of the carriage trying to get help.
Continue reading Rerouted
For the past few years, Úll’s reputation has been rising as a thoroughly thought through, brilliantly balanced, carefully constructed conference for creatives interested in technology.
Moreover, it’s held in a spectacular venue in a country we’ve wanted to visit for the longest time, not far from friends we deeply love.
So we’ve decided to take the plunge and travel halfway around the globe to join a long list of luminaries in Killarney, before spending some quality time in a quality country.
Suggestions for places to visit and things to see will be warmly welcomed.
Godparents are something of an anachronism nowadays.
I think that asking someone you trust to watch out for your kid is invaluable. There will come a time when Steph & I are anathema to our children, and when having another set of thoughtful, loving Christians praying for them and giving them wise counsel just seems like a no brainer.
So we thank God for the six saintly souls who look out for our girls – for the way the actively seek things to pray for them, and for their working hard to be part of their lives.
Fourteen years ago to the day, my eternally patient wife (then bemused girlfriend) spent her Valentine’s Day afternoon helping me move into a sharehouse with some bozo.
Practical, self-sacrificial, and loving – what more could you look for in a valentine.
Unlike earlier, before we knew you were you were no more.
Before the last battle you were carried through the stable door
by the lion, whose roar
the world, who separated south from north.
And whose deeds at the stone table are worth
trusting – even as the donkey brays
that he cut short our little ones’ days.
But we know his word says
that we’ll meet again even if our ways
in this world are four score
They say the appropriate gift is tin.
Perhaps “they” here are New Zealanders who struggle wuth theer vowels end hev muxed up theer “e”s with their “i”s.
Maybe “they” figured that after so many years rusted onto each other, it was only appropriate to share a corrosion-safe metal.
Or perhaps “they” decided to give a poor, mortgage-laden chap a break and let him go cheap on the gifts this year.
They say the appropriate gift is tin.
But I say, after walking the yellow brick road with me for this past decade, the best gift I can give you is velvet-wrapped and sawdust-filled. And being renewed every day by our saviour & God.
Thank you, Stephanie Louise, for your great, great love all these years. You are the source of most of God’s earthly blessings for me. I still thank him daily for you, and pray I keep living up to the promises I made ten years ago today.
It was twelve years ago to the minute.
I worked as a graduate on the control systems for Australia’s DVN – digital video network – for your classic Aussie, battle-hardened technical boss. He’d personally designed or built much of Australia’s media infrastructure to that point.
I recall walking into scene of open mourning in our office in Melbourne’s CBD.
Half the floor were IT consultants from the USA – huddled around PCs refreshing CNN.com and nytimes.com manically. Searching for news of friends, family, anything.
Most of us locals had been up all night too, transfixed by the images you’ve all seen and that don’t need repeating.
We had nothing we could say to help out these grieving souls from across the Pacific.
I remember overhearing their local Project Manager tell them they could go home for the day if they needed to – an empty gesture as (like most consultants) they were all living out of hotel rooms. Even more, they needed each other’s company & support to cope with what they were witnessing.
So they almost all stayed. Standing around in group-shock. Staring, slack eyed, at little CRT & LCD PC monitors.
Into this muddle of semi-catatonic disorganisation strode my boss.
Continue reading Nine-twelve
Dear friends, koinonos,
start their long trip to Sydney.
Goodbye for not long.
Enacted after the tragic mass murder at Port Arthur, Australia’s “National Agreement On Firearms” was a watershed legislative moment.
Quoting from Wikipedia:
Anyone wishing to possess or use a firearm must have a Firearms Licence and, with some exceptions, be over the age of 18. Owners must have secure storage for their firearms.
Before someone can buy a firearm, he or she must obtain a Permit To Acquire. The first permit has a mandatory 28-day delay before it is first issued. … For each firearm a “Genuine Reason” must be given, relating to pest control, hunting, target shooting, or collecting. Self-defence is not accepted as a reason for issuing a license, even though it may be legal under certain circumstances to use a legally held firearm for self-defence.
Each firearm in Australia must be registered to the owner by serial number.
As former Prime Minister Howard said recently:
The US is a country for which I have much affection. There are many American traits which we Australians could well emulate to our great benefit. But when it comes to guns we have been right to take a radically different path.