tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61501489397272003552024-02-19T22:10:08.947+10:00Stepping Westward'Twould be a wildish destinycarlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10889058576333972227noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150148939727200355.post-25509063014399486912010-10-17T07:16:00.002+10:002010-10-17T07:35:24.031+10:00savage beauty'The great affair, the love affair with life, is to live as variously as possible, to groom one's curiosity like a high-spirited thoroughbred, climb aboard, and gallop over the thick, sun-struck hills every day. Where there is no risk, the emotional terrain is flat and unyielding, and, despite all its dimensions, valleys, pinnacles, and detours, life will seem to have none of its magnificent geography, only a length. It began in mystery, and it will end in mystery, but what a savage and beautiful country lies in between.'<div>- Diane Ackerman</div><div><br /></div><div>A docile life would be robbed of the real beauty - the savage beauty - that can only be witnessed when all of life's fears and heartbreaks and messy complexities are acknowledged in full.</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't want a life of constant drama and endless confusion; I do want to find a self-assurance, an anchor in life's storms, an inner peace. But what I really need is a way to ride those rugged waves with salt-stung eyes, strong arms, and a steady heart, feeling the rightful fear of the brutal ocean embraced by that transcendent calm that comes only from beyond me, and only from within.</div>carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10889058576333972227noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150148939727200355.post-60764438051440949362010-09-12T09:23:00.002+10:002010-09-13T03:15:51.535+10:00ForeignerWhen it gets like this I am a disease, a grafted organ repulsed by its host. I am Jonah attempting to wrench himself from the hostile bowels of the whale, to spew himself onto some sandy shore or desert or spot in the sun. Homeward bound down stricken home sick.carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10889058576333972227noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150148939727200355.post-28006985521113755762010-09-11T20:35:00.004+10:002010-09-11T20:46:05.180+10:00morning hazeThis morning I slowly woke to the sound of kids playing on the oval at Wilston Primary and a dog yapping outside the bakery. Through my closed eyelids I could see tradies with their meat pie and Breaka; mums with a loaf of white and three cream buns; Chris from the post office dropping in for his coke and chicken and avocado roll.<div><br /></div><div>I vaguely thought, "Are we driving to the southside today? Picking up a cheesecake for family lunch? Afterwards we can stop at Sunnybank for Gloria Jeans and a cheap movie."</div><div><br /></div><div>Then I opened my eyes to a different scene. Remembered Macrgregor and Rochedale South are a day - not a car ride - away.</div><div><br /></div><div>And the thought of a marble cheesecake from Mrs Robertson's made me feel a little bit sick.</div>carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10889058576333972227noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150148939727200355.post-39526550299900040112010-08-14T00:06:00.003+10:002010-08-14T00:16:31.287+10:00summersPoems from the heart of the season.<div><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><b>Queensland summer</b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Queensland summer is</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">a big belly laugh</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">rippling juices round.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">It is an indulgent fart</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">bursting from the body</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">triumphantly.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">It is</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">farting because you’re</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">laughing because you’re</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">farting</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">so much your sides burn</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">and your face explodes</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">and rippling juices</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">ooze from your eyes.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><b><br /></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><b>Norfolk Summer</b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Norfolk Summer is</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">a pup’s loving lick;</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">soggy tongue to the eyelid,</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">wet nose to the neck.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">It is the fresh faced</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">girl’s giggle –</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">the tickle</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">of the dog's warm breath</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">to her strawberry cheeks,</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">her wheaten hair,</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">her sandy skin.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">She rolls about the grass</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">and lays in its cold green,</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">watching the puppy</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB">scurry away.</span></p></div>carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10889058576333972227noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150148939727200355.post-39616540465347290802010-08-13T23:24:00.005+10:002010-08-14T00:21:41.430+10:00where the heart isSomething unexpected has crept upon me these past six months: I have found my heart has two, equal, homes. In hindsight, here's how I believe it happened.<div><br /></div><div>February. Winter had devoured me and I truly thought it would never ever end; my memory of any warmth had vanished and I believed the seasons in this god-forsaken place would turn only from bitter to melancholy and back again. I was a forgotten ghost in an alien world, losing sight of the paradise I called home.</div><div><br /></div><div>March. The light lasted longer each day. Birds whistled in the mornings. But I was still battered by the brash winds when I stepped outside and, with no certain date set for our return, only dreamed of my family and friends back home. Neil saw my tears and suggested: why not head home for a visit?</div><div><br /></div><div>April. Homeward bound. On the flight to Australia I found the place where I could embrace everything fully, ready to let it all go after 14 days. I opened myself to every moment, every encounter, every ray of sun. And I noticed, staying at my parents' place, where I hadn't lived for six years, that my old home here - the flat in the Grange - wasn't home anymore. People had warned me I wouldn't want to return to England. But when the volcanic ash cloud turned my two weeks in Brisbane into three and a half, I missed home. I mostly missed Neil, but I also missed my new Norwich home.</div><div><br /></div><div>May. Trips around England with Australian girls reminded me: I am an Australian in England. So simple, but somehow so tricky to balance. Too much of being an Australian and I lose out on being here now - the one thing I want most to do. Too much of being in England and I forget there are parts of me that think differently, know differently, speak differently - yes, I have an accent and everyone can tell! - though subtle, these differences are there and they are okay and they are me.</div><div><br /></div><div>June. Heading home from an amazing trip to Barcelona, I realise I am heading home. We celebrate six years of marriage in a quiet Norfolk B&B. Here we are; we are here and we are happy.</div><div><br /></div><div>July. Summer smacks me and laughs, "I am alive in these parts!" I roast on the balcony and plan my summer holidays, and the next school year. Here, at my school, where I am, now.</div><div><br /></div><div>August. I thrill at the chance to host Aussie mates, showing them my new home, sharing discoveries of this amazing place. I will miss it here so dearly, I think. I already miss it, devouring every exploration and each enjoyment as though it will vanish any day. The stickers on the map in the spare room tell a tale of journeys made and journeys yet to come. There's more here for me, so much more. I research visa requirements, indefinite leave to remain. I dream about Christmas here again, about the Autumn illuminations, about frosty nights and snow days and my red winter coat.</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't want to go home yet, because, I love this home.</div>carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10889058576333972227noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150148939727200355.post-31121497213477058252010-03-04T07:20:00.000+10:002010-03-04T07:21:04.358+10:00breathTonight I tried yoga for the first time.<br /><br />Afterwards, I floated out into the zero-degree night, amazed at how much there is to yoga; how clumsy and awkward I was a it, yet how enlarging and organic it could be. All the while without the typical tension tightening my neck and shoulders and back when the weather nears freezing.<br /><br />At home I sat again and practised awareness and breathing. Inflated with fresh energy; expelling waste. Slowly I felt the seasonal connection and it made sense for the first time: spring is the inhalation; summer the height of expansion; autumn is the deflation and winter the absence of breath. Without the winter, death lingers. Winter creates the vacuum inviting spring to rush in.<br /><br />Today, March 3rd, I feel the inhalation of spring like a crisp shower after a sleepless dream. Birds wake me in the golden morning like a cliched cartoon. Cleansed of yesterday, absence has reached its panging fullness; breath rushes in.carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10889058576333972227noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150148939727200355.post-10710286999923674392010-03-03T08:01:00.004+10:002010-03-03T08:31:02.462+10:00winterWinter I<br /><br />The musky marshmallow sky<br />Oozes honey<br />Drizzled over gingerbread houses<br />with marzipan trimmings<br />All this sprinkled with icing sugar<br />And I, in my red coat,<br />The cherry on top<br /><br /><br />Winter II<br /><br />Stale stench clings to crumbling relics<br />Once rotting, now decomposed<br />Marrow sucked from skeletal trees<br />Left bereft<br />Maggots and scorpions have died out<br />Feasted on the chalky ash of remains<br />Their carcasses scatter the darkened alleys<br />Only blind ghosts<br />Wheezing their way past the hollow stones<br />Remember a shadow without fog<br />And wish they could weep for itcarlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10889058576333972227noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150148939727200355.post-473685496221318542009-10-31T02:18:00.007+10:002009-10-31T02:34:45.741+10:00Autumn Lights<div><div><div>The dazzling view from our new flat, as pictured below, seems to have shifted my perspective on the season.</div><br /><div><br />Frozen fireworks<br />Blurred blaze<br />Colours caught in their fiery spray</div><br /><div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398430683062948306" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3AI0s2268lQpMDusNGAsqP2O4Z3MjmIYkG2NaOXGQq8Wlagd3qBl-Ml2lhb8LG7xczeJf7FMfw-BSxstIvTRDiKKiShq8YHP1EAg21yjHoOnp_tciUKDd35H2cRUtY0IfQKbFMV_oHpyF/s320/3+fiery+spray.JPG" /><br /><div>Blackened branches<br />Charcoal haze<br />Embers clutching the flickering flames</div><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398430149168123618" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF0PvSh_njCXAoRWaSBwFuzAutfMUNWW4USYU8z4rkKhBQSSTSyJyMhEUeM2Iz7tCXpxHmZM9gD4rPGgJbVasYqcWJwtbTkw4V9qUI4GHV4H0b8sfm3S3QR7_UK0efn80CMsKRXMttNX9v/s320/3+showering+fireworks.JPG" /><br /><div>Spitting sparks<br />Dazzling rays<br />Moment showered in a golden daze</div><div> </div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398431405064473794" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOl0UiyfE_aUUQTV9QMNxfewEeB4LSePLdawb9AYhaQZomrOXo_qb7pzzWEa43Cz61i7OWuQ4wglrQxaSP4Qw8mc_d777XSGiRGlHfXcd3nVjyGPl04cb2HpfYkcqoxMIoPatdajk8WKu1/s320/2+rotunda+view.JPG" /></div></div>carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10889058576333972227noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150148939727200355.post-42031199073875192972009-10-14T05:24:00.005+10:002009-10-14T05:53:49.531+10:00Autumnal Haze<div align="center"><span >Sun's breath driven back by icy winds</span></div><div align="center"><span >Coldness claws, warmth rescinds</span></div><br />Mid-October. The sharp edges of the changed season jut out from the thinning remnants of Summer. [Photo (c) MJ Photography, found strawberry-lane.blogspot.com]<br /><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392174486601251394" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPsLUbKWK88SmVHjUurCmvbQxcUm1oaXwRrAtqoG6ACRXtUFsVjfW46rLwY6HdBw792elzVWqFYXXpbyw9Ry2BMJ1wSSVpsR1ojnOmIuZ3mrvFdwgdqtMGvhl4dOoPuqt_nXLsyIdQIGsE/s320/dry+leaves+of+autumn.jpg" /><br /><div align="center">Green blood drains, leaves leaves</div><div align="center">Choking crimson, gasping shades</div><div align="center">Dried veins wither, disintegrate</div><div align="center">Crumbling carcass, falls, fades</div><br /><br /><br />There's a sorrowful beauty to this phase - the wispy aura of a pale, aged woman with diamond eyes. Yet there is a stronger sense of longing; an oxygen shortage, the smell of steel. The world is wide awake while sleeping; we drift through a transluscent dream.carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10889058576333972227noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150148939727200355.post-56926372138000317862009-07-15T05:15:00.003+10:002009-07-15T05:34:24.728+10:00Westward Home<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6XIT0gxbi6Bkuzha6JHquXfUICuwmdvgwD60VYlqtZ5T1_lovWk6XdlLCbadod6vHsSxzNasIAVvhrGy0dveHNougpxpCbdvsVQvYSPFLl6uvwMg1flcfDUD0jGg4C45-oi6PsVzyghGm/s1600-h/Westward+House+door.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 226px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358398511841854066" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6XIT0gxbi6Bkuzha6JHquXfUICuwmdvgwD60VYlqtZ5T1_lovWk6XdlLCbadod6vHsSxzNasIAVvhrGy0dveHNougpxpCbdvsVQvYSPFLl6uvwMg1flcfDUD0jGg4C45-oi6PsVzyghGm/s320/Westward+House+door.JPG" /></a><br /><div>I found this 'Westward House' door on a cute terrace at the North Norfolk Coast in early May, shortly after I 'stepped Westward'.</div><div> </div><div>I use this image as an attempt to explain that, while this blog was a useful way to express my perspective leading up to my move, now that I've made this Westward place my home, I feel this blog has become redundant.</div><div> </div><div>Neil and I have a shared travel blog at <a href="http://www.neilandcarla.wordpress.com/">www.neilandcarla.wordpress.com</a> which makes this one unnecessary.</div><div> </div><div>So, with great affection I am signing off for the last time -- at least until I see a need for this place in future.</div><div> </div><div>In the meantime, please visit my current blog <a href="http://www.neilandcarla.wordpress.com/">www.neilandcarla.wordpress.com</a> for photos and brief updates of my adventures.</div><br /><div></div><div>Cheers,</div><div>Carla</div>carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10889058576333972227noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150148939727200355.post-17589731042107200672009-07-02T03:59:00.003+10:002009-07-02T04:14:39.202+10:00La ville de la Paris<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKiYNYyxXtKj5uXygQyxf6zOVYhJU1k9iIPGstbv_GtzlXx7GDFuPNfOAsv4sDJ0NE8JlgAiDROs8aXH-o2ZgI_oaUWF1Lc59IN6OsjDmzSbDwTvUxRN2x2x95fiQCw-Ct16UBDIKALVnn/s1600-h/Paris+wkend+305.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353554924323622674" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKiYNYyxXtKj5uXygQyxf6zOVYhJU1k9iIPGstbv_GtzlXx7GDFuPNfOAsv4sDJ0NE8JlgAiDROs8aXH-o2ZgI_oaUWF1Lc59IN6OsjDmzSbDwTvUxRN2x2x95fiQCw-Ct16UBDIKALVnn/s320/Paris+wkend+305.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwBZ56VZWbox-vbvLCHtanNgT4f9VPv3l-8jAru1AJpILOnBKut9-5Wmqz7no99MDUHJ94E9DUldNNTIbP1eb3P8iwMtd17bKRpV2BzwhYRshuRhLCb946FKW2ahGeJp3NDZtI5pBr-YA3/s1600-h/Paris+wkend+197.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353553721947694770" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwBZ56VZWbox-vbvLCHtanNgT4f9VPv3l-8jAru1AJpILOnBKut9-5Wmqz7no99MDUHJ94E9DUldNNTIbP1eb3P8iwMtd17bKRpV2BzwhYRshuRhLCb946FKW2ahGeJp3NDZtI5pBr-YA3/s320/Paris+wkend+197.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_ewzpuOGTfSam9ycwFg7kjjTnrT1r8GBplZyRTvBxoZV0Z0U_usAxvuD-IKuam1AA_jwmtk4Y7CP0u6XtCx1jRTJKRb6ARFBZd11R2UfXSYaWScqNi0oNTWGNiOErvUBZQjWpp98cwBJC/s1600-h/Carla+basilica.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 144px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353553712843107826" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_ewzpuOGTfSam9ycwFg7kjjTnrT1r8GBplZyRTvBxoZV0Z0U_usAxvuD-IKuam1AA_jwmtk4Y7CP0u6XtCx1jRTJKRb6ARFBZd11R2UfXSYaWScqNi0oNTWGNiOErvUBZQjWpp98cwBJC/s320/Carla+basilica.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMlY1ZdDzLTp7IO1AhH_x3lKzojcBw31QWEtLlVUm1FhoATeVr55qNDIRKPzCBYzCZ2N1KzriaegQQsMut8FNjhu0k3lNHK_Jr5r_zCgDdaADdd7AgUNyZLGXcdec_PTEuV36bOXNb3Bbu/s1600-h/Neil+and+me+Louvre.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 211px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353553706536583746" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMlY1ZdDzLTp7IO1AhH_x3lKzojcBw31QWEtLlVUm1FhoATeVr55qNDIRKPzCBYzCZ2N1KzriaegQQsMut8FNjhu0k3lNHK_Jr5r_zCgDdaADdd7AgUNyZLGXcdec_PTEuV36bOXNb3Bbu/s320/Neil+and+me+Louvre.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMQAOZ1cMhrXnoIqmMlgvRoySMmd2Uw49POTWyxxUlcP1k3a9rhyphenhyphen4l09d9Z5XtNE3EvWer3YbwlyQl9RZ0zuk-O4ZKyI-XZy8hgeDEXkSaEfKBGnyucKrjrAPd5PsKZxfHmdPz-6FWbhCw/s1600-h/Carla+eiffel+tower.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 213px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353553704668312770" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMQAOZ1cMhrXnoIqmMlgvRoySMmd2Uw49POTWyxxUlcP1k3a9rhyphenhyphen4l09d9Z5XtNE3EvWer3YbwlyQl9RZ0zuk-O4ZKyI-XZy8hgeDEXkSaEfKBGnyucKrjrAPd5PsKZxfHmdPz-6FWbhCw/s320/Carla+eiffel+tower.JPG" /></a> </div><br /><div><br />What a magical adventure Paris was! Extravagant in architecture and history, while subtle in language and cuisine. Gorgeous hot days lingered into balmy bright nights. The Parisiens humoured us with our flakey French conversation and charmingly offered snippets of tuition. We indulged in light, interesting meals that lulled our tastebuds into strange new dances. The Mona Lisa, the Moulin Rouge, the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame and so much more. So much to see - it was almost overwhelming - until the faint outline of the Eiffel Tower in the distance, or the calm sparkle of the Seine, lifted us again. Tres beau! And all just a train ride away.</div></div></div></div>carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10889058576333972227noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150148939727200355.post-87889662736119586122009-06-21T04:05:00.001+10:002009-06-21T04:05:54.328+10:00carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10889058576333972227noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150148939727200355.post-67693548270580927302009-06-01T02:35:00.003+10:002009-06-01T02:51:20.814+10:00The Curious Case of CarlaMy brain malfunctions when I try to imagine my life if I were still in Brisbane.<br /><br />It seems to utterly 'right' that we are living this phase in this time in this place. There is something about Norwich that breeds expectancy. The promise of continuous, reachable adventures waiting to be had.<br /><br />Precisely because I don't see this as my home forever, I have no desire to leave and every urge to soak up its offerings while I can.<br /><br />A <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2009/may/30/curiosity-change-your-life">book reviewed in this weekend's Guardian</a> suggests that keeping curious could be the factor that brings ongoing life satisfaction. The book's author suggests that even if we create exciting circumstances for ourselves, the thrill naturally wears off with familiarity. If we can train ourselves to search for newness in the midst of the mediocre, we will continually experience the satisfaction of "finding and creating meaning".<br /><br />Let the curiousity continue!carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10889058576333972227noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150148939727200355.post-10675528566406750712009-05-19T02:01:00.003+10:002009-05-19T02:17:36.946+10:00CambridgeA few words to capture Cambridge in lieu of photographs:<br /><br />light<br />clip clops off cobblestone<br />stretching the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">stony</span> alleys<br />the buildings bulge, edges glowing<br />glory<br />peeps through weeping willow leaves<br />wraps the river in reflection<br />ghosts<br />tip tapping on the cobblestone<br />grand curiosity in their airy eyes<br />peaceful pride<br />alumni<br /><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">illuminaters</span>carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10889058576333972227noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150148939727200355.post-85777628628344846702009-05-13T00:32:00.005+10:002009-05-18T02:52:39.031+10:00whirlwindThe last two or three weeks have been a blur of new faces and places, as well as piles of paperwork and endless errands.<br /><br />Our first weekend here was a blast as Neil's workmates plunged us into their social circles and we <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">gallivanted</span> nonstop around town enjoying ourselves.<br /><br />The next week we knuckled down and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">focused</span> on finding a place to rent. After viewing a selection of locations including a run-down flat, a retirement unit and a charming but cold terraced house, we opted for a nice flat near town. The flat itself is new but built inside the old hospital building which is quite stately with it's turrets and high ceilings. We moved in that weekend and, while Neil started work the following week, I kept busy assembling furniture, washing new linen and crockery, running errands and so on. The 'home duties' label given to me by the bank was proven true.<br /><br />Last weekend our great friends from Australia came to visit us after their 2-month tour of Europe. Seeing them was brilliant fun, and brought the mixed feeling of missing Australia yet being inspired by their time on the continent.<br /><br />This week Neil is of course at work, while I focus my energies on finding a job of my own. This has proven to be quite a marathon of an obstacle course. When it comes to seeking work as a teacher, I'm continually jumping through hoops, dodging projectiles and taking detours at the sight of big signs which read "<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">British</span>-trained European Union citizens only". As far as non-teaching work goes, I find I can barely focus on finding it, since teaching is a higher priority at this time when positions become vacant for September. And yet, can we really wait til September for me to contribute an income? And so sometimes I feel like I'm running a cross-country that has no finish line.<br /><br />However, I am really enjoying life in this town. There are plenty of interesting, provocative and entertaining events here yet the 'small town' feel is very obvious. The people we hang out with are easy and enjoyable company, and the places we've visited around the county and beyond have been delightful. Neil and I are enjoying life together and, living so close to town, have access to so many people and places. Yes, as the welcome sign asserts, Norwich truly is a fine city.carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10889058576333972227noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150148939727200355.post-50230462283707808522009-04-24T23:19:00.003+10:002009-04-24T23:27:44.823+10:00WestwardEurope. I didn't even have to leave the airport at Amsterdam to be reminded why I'm making this trip: the lure of the unfamiliar.<br /><br />Walking through the calmly chaotic airport, I felt like a piece of dry white bread, dunked into a delicious soup. People's clothes, mannerisms, faces and skin were warm juices and their constant uttering of foreign phrases was like a subtle mix of herbs to enliven the brew. Dutch, German, French. Patisseries, Beethoven, cathedrals, wine.<br /><br />And now I sit in Norwich. Finally, here. Though the seed has barely sent off a shoot, it has been planted. The new phase of my life has begun.carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10889058576333972227noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150148939727200355.post-35023421217858982992009-04-24T00:29:00.002+10:002009-04-24T00:35:52.951+10:00in transitBrisbane to Singapore: good; fine. Uneventful, almost.<br /><br />As when hunger is so prolonged that eating is about easing the pangs rather than savouring the texture and taste; so I seemed somewhat desensitised to my departure. "Finally. Really? Yes."<br /><br />Tonight, however, I leave Singapore after a relaxing break. This time I fly to Amsterdam and then to Norwich. Tomorrow I will be in my new hometown. A little savouring seems possible tonight.carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10889058576333972227noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150148939727200355.post-44004441865831783682009-04-21T23:37:00.003+10:002009-04-21T23:43:08.910+10:00sweet sorrowI won't have time to post an entry before I fly out tomorrow. So here is how I envision my departure, through the words of William Wordsworth:<br /><br />Where lies the Land to which yon Ship must go?<br />Fresh as a lark mounting at break of day,<br />Festively she puts forth in trim array;<br />Is she for tropic suns, or polar snow?<br />What boots the inquiry? Let her travel where she may,<br />She finds familiar names, a beaten way<br />Ever before her, and a wind to blow.<br />Yet still I ask, what haven is her mark?<br />And, almost as it was when ships were rare,<br />(From time to time, like Pilgrims, here and there<br />Crossing the waters) doubt, and something dark,<br />Of the old Sea some reverential fear,<br />Is with me at thy farewell, joyous Bark!carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10889058576333972227noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150148939727200355.post-51396398722760023752009-04-13T09:47:00.004+10:002009-04-13T10:02:37.699+10:00the chasm<blockquote><p>I'm on an island at a busy intersection</p><p>I can't go forward, I can't turn back</p><p>Can't see the future; it's getting away from me</p><p>I just watch the tail lights glowing</p><p> </p><p>One step closer to knowing</p><p>One step closer to knowing</p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size:85%;">-- From <em>One Step Closer</em> by U2</span></p><p> </p><p>Here I am in this numb timelessness between the warm goodbye and a crisp hello. This landscape is littered with boxes and stray belongings; a desert governed by lists.</p><p> </p><p>One step closer to going. One step closer to going.</p></blockquote>carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10889058576333972227noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150148939727200355.post-75520533263833542082009-04-04T20:38:00.002+10:002009-04-04T20:51:44.308+10:00So near yet so far<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt3A-pvDGmlpgpo3BZWPqQmwxSJ33icFKafvyjGKxkhdR5ERQRpv5_ygYRDEBWDb7vh3FBpeeqTopal6Xl4u1LSSZ7olTyi3w0JJAY7W4UWmY8hbhYgDtvJlK0eZgvHtCp1Hn7fG7O7HmX/s1600-h/norseman+-+built+image.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5320783930144055106" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 318px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt3A-pvDGmlpgpo3BZWPqQmwxSJ33icFKafvyjGKxkhdR5ERQRpv5_ygYRDEBWDb7vh3FBpeeqTopal6Xl4u1LSSZ7olTyi3w0JJAY7W4UWmY8hbhYgDtvJlK0eZgvHtCp1Hn7fG7O7HmX/s320/norseman+-+built+image.jpg" border="0" /></a> I feel close enough that I can almost envisage the life awaiting me across the globe. Or is it only a collection of my imaginings - nothing like the reality that lies ahead?<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Image: <em>Norseman</em> by Shaun Tan, brilliant artist/writer/picture book author and illustrator</span>carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10889058576333972227noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150148939727200355.post-69678949878628757282009-04-02T21:33:00.003+10:002009-04-02T21:47:34.075+10:0020 days 'til take-offMy visa has arrived! One week to go at work. Two weeks left in our unit. Three weeks 'til we're soaring above the Middle East, on our way to Amsterdam. Feels just a little like <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=INyo5ctzmGo">this fabulous vid</a>.carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10889058576333972227noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150148939727200355.post-4796411373949362112009-03-16T20:19:00.005+10:002009-03-16T20:33:48.151+10:00What am I thinking?<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbAxJJqLQhOERaRJdV5e7r-s-Qb8xUyzeUZQsd3Ym3WuPKIrTTD4RVHPSTLRkUrwMplLZDwLmplz-CQTc8tuWpqejrryvPzIRlbpg6v7K0S9i7nxSrr8N6gbmPRI7C3a8q4PaOHdvWXITB/s1600-h/Effervescence-web.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313730404848310354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 216px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbAxJJqLQhOERaRJdV5e7r-s-Qb8xUyzeUZQsd3Ym3WuPKIrTTD4RVHPSTLRkUrwMplLZDwLmplz-CQTc8tuWpqejrryvPzIRlbpg6v7K0S9i7nxSrr8N6gbmPRI7C3a8q4PaOHdvWXITB/s320/Effervescence-web.jpg" border="0" /></a> [Image: <em>Effervescence</em> by Sarah B Hansen]</div><br />For the past 24 hours it's been bubbling up inside me - as though a packet of sherbet's been injected into my pancreas.<br /><br />In little more than 5 weeks I will wake up in England, in some odd town; jobless, homeless, friendless and most likely cold.<br /><br />What am I thinking?<br /><br />Finally the "scary" part of "It's scary but exciting" is fizzing its way to the surface.<br /><br />This is really happening!carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10889058576333972227noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150148939727200355.post-37230145420705310342009-03-05T19:52:00.004+10:002009-03-05T20:33:40.347+10:00viva la visaTomorrow - 30 days after applying for my visa - I can officially phone the British Embassy in Canberra to check my visa's status. However, the website already tells me that "a decision will usually be made 12 weeks after the application is received".<br /><br />This would be fine, except for the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ridiculous</span> fact that the Embassy doesn't accept applications more than 3 months before one's estimated date of arrival. Last time I checked, 12 weeks was only a few days less than 3 months. Seems to be cutting it a little fine, considering this ticket into the country cost hours of my time and $1300. And did I mention I had to send my actual passport?<br /><br />On a lighter note, I'm hoping my application isn't hindered by my <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">embarrassing</span> misunderstanding at the Brisbane office, where I had my "biometrics" taken. On arrival, all I knew was that the procedure involved the scanning of applicants' fingerprints and eyes. Weird, I thought - but we are living in "a post 9/11 world".<br /><br />So there I sat, in the "biometrics" room. After pressing multiple finger combinations into a small screen, I was told to look at the lens on my left. <em>Time for the eyes,</em> I thought. I fixed my sight on the lens, widened my eyelids, and stared, frozen, ready for my eyeballs to be scanned.<br /><br />*Flash*<br /><br />Turns out the "eye scan" was actually a photograph - one that no doubt makes me look like a frightened freak. How embarrassment!carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10889058576333972227noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150148939727200355.post-9627825358754074082009-02-28T11:20:00.005+10:002009-02-28T11:37:44.687+10:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW6vVnTXEppPmwQusZYT0J6wqKLUA1lGbTKTEuu50R8WdV9TWVlznLWZfQ6PjQOHDplowtJ05_AsRlpFtuBlVzBK58cIQg9teC7w50QwsTPIHbLWRCDntjihFaJt3_FLqsCIC56LnULCvh/s1600-h/wings+in+the+wind.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307655277857217138" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 319px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW6vVnTXEppPmwQusZYT0J6wqKLUA1lGbTKTEuu50R8WdV9TWVlznLWZfQ6PjQOHDplowtJ05_AsRlpFtuBlVzBK58cIQg9teC7w50QwsTPIHbLWRCDntjihFaJt3_FLqsCIC56LnULCvh/s320/wings+in+the+wind.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><strong>Stepping Westward</strong> - by William Wordsworth<br /></div><em></em><br /><div><em>"What, you are stepping westward?" -- "Yea."</em></div><div>'Twould be a <em>wildish</em> destiny</div><div>If we who thus together roam</div><div>In a strange land and far from home,</div><div>Were in this place the guests of Chance :</div><div>Yet who would stop, or fear to advance,</div><div>Though home or shelter he had none,</div><div>With such a sky to lead him on ?</div><br /><div>The dewy ground was dark and cold ;</div><div>Behind, all gloomy to behold ;</div><div>And stepping westward seemed to be</div><div>A kind of <em>heavenly </em>destiny :</div><div>I liked the greeting ; 'twas a sound</div><div>Of something without place or bound ;</div><div>And seemed to give me spiritual right</div><div>To travel through that region bright.</div><br /><div>The voice was soft, and she who spake</div><div>Was walking by her native lake :</div><div>The salutation had to me</div><div>The very sound of courtesy :</div><div>Its power was felt ; and while my eye<br />Was fixed upon the glowing Sky,</div><div>The echo of the voice enwrought</div><div>A human sweetness with the thought</div><div>Of travelling through the world that lay</div><div>Before me in my endless way.<br /></div><br /><div>(Photo: <em>Wings in the Wind</em> by A. E. Marty)</div>carlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10889058576333972227noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6150148939727200355.post-20442888246128635492009-02-24T17:19:00.004+10:002009-02-24T19:03:20.220+10:00Words of WorthLast night one of the units in our complex caught on fire. Nobody was hurt, and the damage was minimal, but it had me considering which of my possessions were worth rescuing.<br /><br />The only thing I could think of? My little old book of Wordsworth's poetry. Published somewhere between the late 1800s and the mid 1900s, and written circa 1790-1845, I bought it for $2 at a Lifeline Bookfest and it's now one of my dearest companions.<br /><br />It really hit me that most of our "stuff" is so meaningless and unnecessary. All I need is Neil and a few lines of verse, and the world is mine.<br /><br /><blockquote></blockquote>Wings have we -- and as far as we can go<br />We may find pleasure : wilderness and wood,<br />Blank ocean and mere sky, support that mood<br />Which with the lofty sanctifies the low.<br />Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know<br />Are a substantial world, both pure and good:<br />Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood,<br />Our pastime and our happiness grow.<br />-- From 'Personal Talk' by William Wordsworthcarlahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10889058576333972227noreply@blogger.com1