morning haze

This 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.

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."

Then I opened my eyes to a different scene. Remembered Macrgregor and Rochedale South are a day - not a car ride - away.

And the thought of a marble cheesecake from Mrs Robertson's made me feel a little bit sick.

where the heart is

Something 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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I don't want to go home yet, because, I love this home.

The Curious Case of Carla

My brain malfunctions when I try to imagine my life if I were still in Brisbane.

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.

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.

A book reviewed in this weekend's Guardian 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".

Let the curiousity continue!

Beautiful Brisbane

"The true journey of discovery exists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes." - Marcel Proust

I took these photos last year when my sister Emily and I decided to be 'tourists' in our own town - to see Brisbane with new eyes. Today as I wandered along the river with my mother I felt a similar sense of grasping Brisbane in a fresh way.

This post is dedicated to the bits of Brisbane that make us love it. The buzz of Southbank; the bohemian chill of West End; the wired vibe of the Valley. Not to mention the sprawling 'burbs with their old Queenslanders and big backyards - with Hills Hoist, sprinkler and trampoline.

As a way of welcoming new blog readers, I'd invite you to comment to this post with a brief description of the things that, through your eyes, make little Brizzy great. If you're on facebook, just click over to the real blog here at http://carla-steppingwestward.blogspot.com/ and share your view. Thanks!