It's been too long...

I don't like leaving the blog un-updated for too long, because then its posts become like appam that's been left too long in the plastic bag on the dining table: old and unappetising. And I have had some complaints that updates are too irregular as well as too infrequent. So, now that I'm trying to introduce some semblance of sane order to my life, I'll aim for one new post a week, at the very least.

But now I'm feeling extremely sluggish in the blogging muscle, and I don't know what I want to write about.

Maybe I could write about how cold today was, and how thankful I am for many things:

1. That my housemate's sister offered me a ride to the mall so that I would not have to carry 4.5kg of hand weights home by bus and on foot.
2. That though I woke up coughing because my throat was cold, it didn't stay cold, because I have a loosely knitted scarf in happy pastels that I threw into my luggage at the last moment when I was leaving KL. So the coughing has ended.
3. That my housemate made a deliciously cheesy, corn- and tomato-filled omelette for dinner, and so for a respite from a half-day spent typing an assignment on my PC I got to eat omelette with toasted, buttered rolls.
4. That I have tastebuds with which to savour omelette, butter and rolls.
5. That those same tastebuds also have a penchant for chocolate ice-cream, which I scooped into a mug and took with me on a walk to the park, despite the cold.
6. That I have overcome the psychological barrier that my first assignment of post-grad life had presented.

This is getting too wordy, and after a whole day of wordy, I can't do it anymore.

Omelette in progress

Bye Spunky, Hello Providence

Many of my friends know how much my (formerly my) car Spunky meant to me and how much I'd hoped its next owner would be someone who appreciated how truly special it was.

So, e-mails were sent, phone calls were made...

... and nobody, it seemed, wanted to buy my car. The only people who wanted it and might be likely to become Spunky enthusiasts were offering me a figure rather low for a Spunky, so I declined.

So, four days before was due to leave KL for Sydney, I gave in and phoned my car loan agent, explained my predicament and asked him to help me sell Spunky.

This was with a very heavy heart because I knew that selling to a car dealer meant that Spunky would lose every shred of, well, Spunky-ness, namely the horses. Don't ask me why those horses were so important to me. It was one of those "becoming real" things that the Velveteen Rabbit talked about. To others, Spunky may have been a gaudy, slightly scratched car with a missing piece from its front bumper; to me, it was the best thing on four wheels.

The dealer called, I told him the brief specifications of the car, and we agreed to meet in SS2's commercial square because he didn't know the shops near my house.

When he called later, he said he'd found the shops. So off I went to meet him, fully intending to turn left towards the shops and a soft shoulder where I thought he could inspect the car in peace without fear of cars zooming round the corner and squashing him.

Instead, I was vigorously signalled to turn right, into a side lane, rather than left onto the shoulder.

Mr. Car Dealer Guy turned out to be rather more pushy than I liked...

... so it wasn't difficult at all for me to make the decision not to sell to him.

Now if this were an ordinary car-sale story, it would end with me being back at Square One, with a car and no sale.

But my life has not been ordinary for a long time, and it was not ordinary that day.

To cut a long (but fun) story short, Spunky has been sold to a private buyer and its new driver likes the yellow, likes the horses, and is very happy to have a Spunky.

And because of the Spunky affair, my father now has a new friend, cooking coach, English student and bilingual Bible study partner.

Which all leads me to realise that, while for weeks I was preoccupied with finding a buyer for Spunky, God had a lot more in mind than getting me to let go of my car before coming to Sydney.

How often is it that the centre of my focus, all that I can think about, is really only a sideshow to the main thing?

Note to self: Remember that life stretches beyond me, I, myself...

... and my car.