content

There's a lovely little gift shop in town called 'content'. Min, the proprietor, is delightful, nearly always stopping for a chat. I count her as a friend although we've never met outside of her little shop.

Apart from the gorgeous gifts for sale, I love the name: content. Does it mean content filling my home and life (and given to others of course - some of you have been the lucky recipients!), or does it mean content with my place in life? Or both? Content with the content surrounding me? I like both, and it's certainly a clever name for the shop.

Contentment is something I've been thinking about quite a bit lately. Somewhere I seem to have turned a corner. I've written previously (though I can't remember when) about my bewilderment with my present position in life - married to someone 15 years older than me and living in Tasmania?! How did that happen? I've turned it all over and over in my mind trying to figure it out, hoping that my soul will catch up with my body.

And it has. I've realised I'm happy, content, thankful for being exactly where I am. Perhaps the trigger for realising this was a recent spam email asking me to list four places I've lived (Warnambool, Ararat, Coonabarabran, London), four I've visited (New York, Dushanbe, Berlin, Cairo) and four I'd like to be. I couldn't think of anywhere else I'd like to be... this is my life - here in Tasmania. With Frank. I don't want to be anywhere else.

Content. What a rich, beautiful word sliding off the tongue. Does it get any better than this?