connections, tenuous as some of them are

It is now nearly a year since I have attended church, and, for much of that time, I have not missed it. However, lately I've noticed a little, I don't know, forlorn loneliness creeping in. The break has been fantastic, and stepping out of the irritating infighting has been life giving, but all of a sudden I need to meet more with other people who follow Jesus. That too is life giving. It's as if I have had my time out, a season for withdrawal, and the time for re-engagement is coming. I wonder what that might look like?

This lonely feeling has put me to thinking about connections. Yesterday I realised the importance of a seemingly insignificant one. When I head out to the school I work in, I often drive past a bent over old lady. She must be around 80, and each morning she goes for a rather brusque walk. A couple of weeks ago she I noticed her sporting a plaster cast on her arm, which worried me a little - old people fall so easily! I hoped she was OK, until yesterday I realised I had not seen her for a while. She being old and fragile (though admittedly strong enough to exercise more than I do!), I worried she might have died. I've never met this lady, but I feel some kind of a connection just because I drive past her. It's a one way connection - she doesn't even know I exist - but still, she matters to me.

Thankfully, today I saw her again, head down, powering along the footpath. I was so excited I almost stopped and hugged her with delight. That might have been a little crazy, so I just drove by and grinned a little to myself.

In the meantime, instead of making tenuous connections with phantom friends, I might try and reconnect with a few real friends. That would be a lot more meaningful!

little ole wine drinker me

We've just enjoyed a Christmas BBQ with our 'Curious' discussion group. The conversation flowed freely along with the wine and we had a great time together. (Thanks guys!)

As I cleaned up the last of the lingering wine glasses and bottles (oh dear... that makes it sound like we did nothing but drink. Seriously, we ate too - sausages, steak, vegetable kebabs, tabouleh and fennel salad, tossed salad, tiramissu, fruit salad), and pushed chairs and tables back into their usual position I noticed one of the wine bottles (come on, it wasn't that bad, there were only two bottles all up) had a few drops in the bottom, so I decided to swig them down.

Bad move. I cannot safely swig wine. Instead I managed to choke and shudder my way through the gigantic mouthful that slid so willingly past my lips.

It appears that at this stage I am not capable of stashing a bottle in a brown bag and sitting in the gutter swigging on it.

Phew. What a relief to know that!

on the up

I don't like to be so easily swayed by circumstances, but after a day sprinkled with little moments of niceness... I feel better now. Still tired and prone to overreacting, but a little more cheerful. This is what cheered me:

A boy at school insisted on giving me his spare school photo which his mum told him he could do what he wanted with. It's sitting on my work computer and I feel weepy every time I look at it. That boy is so precious, but I don't think he knows it because not many people in his life tell him.

My new Super Natural Cooking recipe book arrived in the post. Now I just need to source the super natural ingredients to churn out the super natural food.

A group I ran with some Grade 5/6 girls went super well - they were engaged the whole time and really got into the discussions about friendship.

A special friend texted me to say she was thinking of me, and a friend in the UK facebook messaged me with a word of cheer. Thanks guys!

Frank came to school to help me run a group with several Grade 3/4 boys. It's a wild group, but I love running it with Frank.

I went to visit a new workplace for my third job. The people were delightful and I thoroughly enjoyed chatting with them over a cup of tea.

Now about that tiredness thing... I'm off to bed right away!
Sleep tight!

life in a small town ii

Living in a small city is sometimes a chore and at other times a delight. Take tonight for instance. I phoned the Avon lady to place an order. (Before you judge me too harshly for ordering Avon, I order small amounts infrequently. This Avon lady is so nice I feel obliged to order occasionally to acknowledge her niceness. Thus my order tonight.)

So I phoned up and our conversation roamed over religion, mosquitos, the Koran, airport travel, euthanasia, living sustainably and donating to charity - and that was before we even made it to the order. I confess I slipped into an old habit of offering well timed 'aha's as I cruised around the internet. I don't know how long she we talked for in the end, but it was over half an hour. Somewhere in there I believe we completed the order correctly!

It's like that here. Some of my best friends are shop keepers. If you return to the same homey specialty store over and over again to fulfill the endless requirements for life's little essentials (since I am trying to avoid money hungry corporations I find myself more and more often in these homey stores) quality, personal service comes with a gentle progression of relationship. First all is politely professional. Then a hello with a hint of recognition siddles its way in. This progresses to remembering first names and asking how one is (an exchange no doubt aided by repeatedly seeing a name on the oft presented credit card). The final stage of the cash register friendship is intimate conversation over the fruit and vegetables or meat or carefully selected gift. I have attained this level of relationship with the green grocers, butcher, beautician, Oxfam manager, grain grocer, second hand bookshop proprieter, restauranteur and purveyor of fine gifts. With friends like these, who needs real friends?!

Truly, life on a small island is charmed. Naturally contained by the ever-so-close shores but none-the-less charmed. And this new relationship with the Avon lady? So it skipped a step or two, but really? It makes me chuckle and feel happy to live in a small place where people still care and have time to be friendly. Very friendly.

facing up to facebook

I may not be able to vote in the US election but that hasn't stopped me lodging my preference on my facebook status. (The suspense, the suspense. Do you realise how painful it is to be twenty four hours ahead and have to wait, not for the 4th November, but the 5th?)

Ah, facebook. Good old facebook. Where would I be without facebook?!

At first I didn't really get the whole online social networking thing. In order to protect my identity I registered using my maiden name, which is kind of still my name, since I work under it at the hospital. The unexpected spin off is that old school friends have been able to find me very easily - noone who knows me now can find me, but those old school friends? We are right back where we left things, um, twenty years ago.

Which is one of the nicest things about facebook really. While the whole 'please be my friend' thing is irritating (what am I... in primary school, waiting to see if people will like me, approve me, befriend me? Or was that high school? It's all such a blur now!), it has been nice to reconnect with all those people from yesteryear.

But how much of a friend is a facebook friend really? Last count, I had 250 friends. I know this because in an effort to catch up with my brother's hefty friend list I check every few hours to see if anyone new likes me. I interact with maybe twenty or thirty of these friends, but mostly I just enjoy the vague sense of connection and knowing I could easily get in touch if I wanted to. Hardly friendship really.

I have to be careful on facebook because it's easy to take offense with the whole friend thing. A couple of girls refused my online approach. I don't really blame them, since at the time of our real friendship I was little more than a boring prude crushed beneath the repressive regime my father enforced. Another old school friend heartlessly cut me out of her friend list. I was a little miffed, but really... we were never close anyway, especially not after she told me her brother thought I would be beautiful if I bought the Avon she was selling. Since I would have done anything to get his attention I bought the Avon. Sigh. More recently I realised a local nursing colleague had chopped off our online alliance. I got all incensed and thought all kinds of indignant, injured thoughts before I realised I haven't seen her around (in reality or on facebook) for a long time. Chances are she ditched me long ago and I never even noticed. Obviously we weren't such great friends. Which all goes to show just how artificial facebook really is.

The jury is still out - facebook has its benefits (This evening I've swapped messages with a work mate and right now I'm using it to chat to a friend) and I love keeping up with the more intimate details of people's lives. But real friendship on facebook? About as remote as my current status making any real difference in the US election!

Ah well. All things in their place. Use it as a tool, just don't let facebook take over my life I suppose.

today i observed...

... free-range-home-grown eggs produce luminous frittata. It was a little off putting but tasted delicious.

... parking under street lights on warm evenings leads to a plethora of stunned insects sitting on the car bonnet, which is rather distracting when driving.

... evening BBQs at the gorge might not be nice on the mossie front, but they sure are good for hanging out with friends.

... nothing tastes better than coleslaw made with home grown cabbage. Except maybe spinach and feta pie made with home grown silverbeet.

... how hard it is to say goodbye to a good friend.

... murder on the driveway. Bantam roosters have a terrible, strident crow that does not sound well at 4am. I think the visiting neighbour might have wrung its neck and I am not particularly sorry as it turned up from nowhere yesterday and annoyed us silly. Our Rhode Island Red rooster is much easier on the ears.

life in a small town

It's a funny thing living in a small city - at once warm, friendly, comfortable and yet restrictive, frictional (yes, that is a word), awkward.

I remember when I first moved here, walking through the mall with a new friend. I could not believe how many people she knew. Every which way we turned she was bobbing her head in greeting, waving or calling out a cheerful hello. Coming from a large city where I might bump into one familiar face every week or two, I could only shake my head in wonder at her obvious popularity.

Of course now I know differently. After a few years of small city life I too walk down the street and bob my head every which way in greeting as I cross paths with friends and acquaintances from multiple social arenas. I doubt I would win any popularity contests, this is just life in a city populated by only a small pool of people. And it is nice - seeing people I know in the shops, supermarket, gym and park gives a wonderful sense of belonging. Warm, friendly, comfortable.

The down side is managing those fractious relationships that one finds everywhere there are people. In London they might have created barely more than a ripple - turn away from the heat of disagreement and thousands of people crowd around, fill the space, distract the mind from the hurt. Where I live now, turn around and you just might bump into the partner or best friend of the one with whom you exchanged words. Even more likely, you will spy them across the street when you least expect to. That is the way it goes. Restrictive, frictional, awkward!

My mind drifts back again to my arrival in this place. The mother of my 'popular' friend described what she considered to be an effective coping mechanism for life in a small town. "People have a lovely way of ignoring past altercations. When you bump into each other at the supermarket you smile blandly, exchange pleasantries and move on as if nothing untoward ever happened."

Being someone who values truth and honesty, I was horrified. Ignore the past? Pretend nothing happened? Exchange pleasantries despite failing to see eye to eye? How artificial! Dishonest! Almost criminal and certainly lacking in integrity! One should confront the issue, resolve it and always approach the supermarket with a clear conscience.

Ah the idealism. If only life were so simple.

Here I sit some years later able to recognise some issues are just not reconcilable. As I wade through the situation I spectacularly created in my workplace I cannot avoid meeting people I know at the butcher, the greengrocer, on the street corner. In truth even in London the issue might hang in the air, only there I could change course and walk towards a fresh relationship uncontaminated by disagreements. Here there is not so far to walk and it would not take long to run through every person in town in search of the perfectly peaceful friendship. So while I despise my disingenuous attitude, I too now reconcile where possible and where it is impossible, I ignore the issue, smile and exchange pleasantries. And if they choose to look away or pretend they do not see me - I will call out no greeting and make no effort to cultivate an artificial conversation. It's easier that way. More honest somehow. An acknowledgement all is not right and perhaps never will be. A concession to the truth we are all just broken people muddling our way through the best we can.

Perhaps my friend's mother was right. Pretending is the best way to survive life in a small town. Certainly it is the easiest.

where's cecily?

So we swallowed our carbon footprint conscience, and jumped on a plane. Thirty two hours, three flights, two train rides, and plenty of hanging around airports later we stepped out in London.

I find plane travel an incredible experience. Incredibly tiring, drying and tedious and yet incredibly amazing to traverse the globe in little more than one day. How can this be, that I woke up in Australia and fell asleep in England? However it happened, it did and so I was able to attend my friend's Golden Wedding Anniversary celebrations. Ah. I'll endure sleeplessness, DVTs and boredom for that any day!

Ten years ago I lived in London for three years (I know, I hardly look old enough), so I installed myself as our official tour guide. We took in the usual sites and sounds before branching out under the guidance of our friends into the lush green countryside of Kent to visit the former home of Winston Churchill and a lovely ruined castle. We also marvelled at Canterbury Cathedral (No photos due to technical difficulties sorry)

Along the way I have made a number of discoveries:

• England is not in drought (yes, that means it rained nearly every day of our visit)
• Karval is wonderful, we should have it in Australia (nasty cold with incredibly stuffy nosed relieved by Karval capsules sprinkled on tissue)
• Frank is not a backpacker at heart (nearly killed me catching a taxi to our accommodation in Hamburg the other night)
• Hamburg is a beautiful city. It helped that the sun was shining

And right now you will find me in Frankfurt (Main) Germany staying with a dear friend. Incredible.

there is a god! mmcdlxii (or 'i am very excited')

My excitement has just reached fever pitch.

Not because yesterday I planted seeds for my winter crops and now the weather has turned so hot they cannot fail to germinate, though that is certainly an excellent state of affairs.

Not because we are finally able to go overseas, with all the necessary leave booked in with various employers, and circumstances aligning perfectly to allow us to go. Certainly this does make me smile (we've been trying to get away for over a year now), but it has not turned up the heat on my excitement.

You might think I'm thrilled because yesterday I booked our tickets, and (despite booking only two months out from peak season) they weren't too expensive. I am certainly pleased we have a good price and the dates seem to have worked out nicely, but that's not the real reason for my incredible joy.

No... I'm over the moon because the couple who became like a mum and dad to me when I lived in England for three years are holding a Golden Wedding Celebration... and I can go! The date for the do just happens to be the day after we arrive in London!

Yesterday when I booked our tickets I had no idea. I felt sad that we could not make their celebration planned for July. Today I received an invitation with the amended party date... and we can go! How good is that?!

Yay, yay, yay. I'm so excited!

smoke screen

I suppose there's a first time for everything but some things, like buying a packet of cigarettes, will never feature on my list of must-does before I die. Still, today I ended up buying my first pack of smokes. Well, they weren't really my packet, but I did buy them.

I can proudly... no, no... sheepishly profess to never having taken so much as a puff on a smoke. In fact I was one of those kids who yelled sanctimonious health advice ('every cigarette you smoke takes five minutes off your life') across the street at the youth who surreptitiously smoked behind the old cinema. Only last week I indulged in a patently artificial cough when the neighbour's cigarette smoke filled my face and seeped into my freshly washed clothes as we simultaneously hung out our washing. And I wouldn't be a true nurse if I didn't warn every patient of their body's inability to heal when flooded with toxic chemicals from a cigarette.

So purchasing the demon sticks has not even so much as danced across the outer reaches of my consciousness. (We'll forget for now that there was a time when, as a powerless, poor teenager, I could describe in detail the box of every brand and strength thanks to an unscrupulous employer)

Today everything changed. I joined the class of 'cigarette buyer'. Sigh.

It all started when I blithely phoned a fellow nurse to confirm a coffee date, only to be greeted by tears. She was unwell. Bleeding from places one does not normally bleed from. In pain. Scared.

Of course I would jump in the shower quickly and come over. If need be I would take her to the hospital. I would do whatever she needed. Anything.

"What? (Gulp) You want me to buy you a packet of cigarettes?! I've never bought a packet in my life! I... I... I wouldn't even know what sort to get."

Peter Jackson silver. (And yes, I remember the pack)

So I skulked into the shop, head down, forked out my money and (before I could blurt out that the cigarettes were most definitely not for me) ran to the car. On arrival at my friend's place she fell upon me with gratitude, confessing her guilt at the dirty habit as she sucked in the toxic fumes.

This is friendship, no? Not necessarily agreeing with another person's actions, but offering support regardless. (Incidentally, my friend did not need to go to hospital and, whether due to the cigarettes or my excellent company, she calmed considerably)

I seem to be coming up against this almost daily at present - loving and valuing a person at the same time as being unable to support their behaviour. A father caught up in abusing his wife and child, a bullying Christian, an unwell smoker. Each of them a friend, all demanding an appropriate, dignified response.

Suddenly purchasing a pack of smokes seems a minor infringement - there is more at stake in the world than the sullying of my pristine, smoke free past!

I only hope I can step as easily over and through the other difficulties.

Blogging boosts your social life? We knew that!

Here's a toast to you, my friends of the blogosphere!

cheers everyone!

I've scraped myself of the wall, thanks to all your kindness and nice thoughts and a good dose of sunlight. Thankyou, thankyou to all.

Yes, wouldn't it be nice to hive off somewhere, skip Christmas and chill together. I was just saying to someone this morning that I find Christmas with friends much less stressful than Christmas with family because there isn't the weight of expectation. Friends tend to take you as you are.

Since we can't all hive off, skip Christmas and chill, Frank and I are heading off for a week shared between my Mum and his Mum, with hopefully lots of r&r to boot. (Note to self and anyone who will listen: never take leave before Christmas no matter that it is impossible to get leave over Christmas or in January... it just isn't restful)

Anyway, if there's a blogging silence, you know why. I shall return and comment like crazy after my late shift on Christmas Day. Have a good one!

nablopomo indecision

Now that I'm in the swing of daily blogging (and even Frank is getting used to it) I'm having a little trouble discriminating between what is blog worthy and what is not. For instance, today I would like to tell you about the letter I got from the would-be politician outlining her three-typed-pages response to my letter asking for her take on world poverty and the environment.

But I'd also like to share how moved I am by my friend who is a rough, rough diamond. Her clothes aren't always clean, she comes from the wrong side of the tracks, and she's as rough as guts. On the surface she might not strike you as a particularly good parent - sometimes she yells at her kids in public, they are most often unruly and uncontrolled, course language flows from all their mouths and they don't behave appropriately in church (meaning they fail to follow our bland social norms). But my goodness, her heart... her heart is all mellow softness and kindness. And now, when someone has done wrong by her children and she is struggling with the devastation, her mother heart is coming to the fore. As we talked tonight her sentences were punctuated with love, concern, righteous anger, sadness, longing and faith. She peeled back the exterior shell to reveal fierce tenderness and a determination to help her children through this time.

But it's been a long, hard week and I don't feel too much like writing such a moving post. So maybe I'll tell you about the episode of 'House' I watched tonight (I've never seen it before) and how I sometimes wish we could all talk to our patients like that. And that if I have a thing for any actor it just might be for Hugh Laurie. (He is hilarious. And the contrast of his role in Sense and Sensibility with that of his film wife makes the movie for me!)

But that's a bit trite I suppose. So I'll settle for telling you about Frank and his current cold. He caught it last weekend at camp and has been coughing and complaining since. Complaining nicely I might add. But he does make me laugh! This morning I woke up to find him in bed beside me wearing his puffer jacket - apparently he decided (in the middle of the night) that his cough is worse when his neck is cold. Tonight he has swathed his neck in a scarf and has resorted to hand signals in an effort to rest his poor sore throat. I love my Frankie, but he's such a boy when he's sick! (I ran this past him just in case and he... silently gave it the thumbs up)

facebook

The trouble with Nablopomo is narrowing down the field of topics - with something to write every day it's not long before every thought, facial expression, conversation or event becomes potential grist for the mill.

So what will I write about today?

The asparagus spears peaking through in my seedling box?
(Exciting, exciting but I'll save this one for later)

Recent Tasmanian nurse's industrial action called in response to the government's appalling lack of respect for us? (I'm furious with the government but I couldn't be bothered giving them the respect of a slot on my blog right now)

Church Camp and all the fabulous fun we had? (I haven't downloaded the movies yet so this will have to wait)

The reason I chose a vegetarian option at the Bombay Cafe tonight? (This is definitely going to feature soon, but I need to think about it more)

Like I said, so much to write, so little time. But I can tell you about one very exciting thing that happened to me. (apart from waking up beside Frank, having enough food to eat, the sun warming my chilled bones, and a favourite friend dropping in that is)

I finally saw the benefits of Facebook!

I personally dislike Facebook. Almost every day a work colleague or two list me as an online friend while doing nothing to cultivate the friendship in real life. It seems an empty exercise in bagging friends in the interests of gathering the biggest collection. And what's with the online drinks, aquariums, gardens and pets? Please - I have more important things to do with my time. So I ignore most of the requests and gifts I'm sent.

And then, today, it happened. A long lost friend left a message in my Facebook inbox!

I was a bridesmaid for this girl when we were both 19, but over the years we gradually lost contact. When I was living in London we briefly exchanged letters before descending once more into silence. A few months ago I found some photos of the wedding and I set to hunting her down once more. Using my highly refined online investigative skills (white pages) I discovered a listing I thought was probably my friend living in country NSW, but didn't have the courage to phone up out of the blue. The grey fog of friendship lost fell again.

Until today, there in facebook she was, asking to be my friend! And now I'm a Facebook convert. I wrote back right away and am delighted we've been able to link up again!

Nablopomo and Facebook - arghhhh. The virtual world is sucking me in.

laughter the best medicine

I don't like it, but sometimes life gets me down and I find myself looking out on the world through jaded eyes. Beauty passes unnoticed, day may as well be night and my fellow human beings seem little more than hindrances as I struggle through each week.

Which is why today was so refreshing. There was no way I could be jaded in the face of another person's delight.

Over the last year or two Frank and I have cultivated a friendship with our local Indian restaurant proprietors. In February they had a gorgeous black haired, brown eyed baby boy named Yesh. While his Mum and Dad slave away over a hot stove producing the most delicious Indian food in Tasmania, he sits nearby in his pram keeping himself entertained. Well, as much as a baby can keep himself entertained.

The problem is that as Yesh grows, the less entertaining he finds his pram parked in the kitchen. While other babies are lying on the floor gurgling, curiously exploring their surroundings or playing with toys, he lies still, following his parents with his eyes, becoming increasingly frustrated with the restriction. At night he falls asleep to the sound of clashing pots and pans, by day his eyes drift closed to the bubble of stewing meat. His parents are doing their best to survive - play is a luxury they cannot afford for their child or themselves.

Today I visited my friends to say hello. I like to think they feel less alone in the world because Frank and I care about them. They seem to appreciate our visits.

Yesh was a little grumpy when I arrived - wouldn't drink his milk, wasn't grinning like he usually does - and his mum and dad needed to cook up some base dishes for the night so I offered to take Yesh for a walk in the park and they agreed.

I felt quite weird at first - conspicuous with an orange pram and Indian baby, yet enjoying the feel of a baby in my care; hoping nobody confused me with Yesh's mother (unlikely!) but wishing it was my own child I pushed along.

As we rounded into the park (I love the parks here - they are lush, beautiful squares of green peace in the busyness) and edged towards the fountain, Yesh started laughing. He laughed and laughed and laughed. As we circled the fountain he chortled at the water pouring over the sides of the sculpture. When we sat to rest he bounced up and down on my knee, twisting to see the fountain, the flowers, the sky, drinking it all in. And keeping on keeping on with his laughing.

Ah, what a delight to hear! The pure, unadulterated joy of a baby revelling in being alive, experiencing the world with fresh, alert eyes.

If I never live to have children of my own I will never forget that moment of Yesh's laughter. I won't forget how he saw the beauty and wonder of the world.

May I find the determination to notice that beauty and wonder for myself, staving off the jadedness that snaps hungrily at my heels.

what to do, what to do ii

There's another rally against the pulp mill this Sunday. It will be held near the mouth of the Tamar River, on a beach that will be affected by the mill's dioxin filled effluent.

Frank and I did our bit delivering promotional leaflets. (Hello to the two boys on bikes who responded so enthusiastically when informed the leaflet was against the mill)

Now this is the dilemma. Sunday is not a good day for us to attend a rally on the best of occasions - church consumes a significant proportion of the day. But this Sunday is a particularly bad day. Frank has a meeting at 2pm... and now we've been invited to 'the first BBQ of the season' for lunch.

Dilemma, dilemma. Anti-pulp mill rally or BBQ lunch with friends?

That choice alone is tricky, but it gets worse. The identity of our BBQ hosts are none other than a politician strongly in favour of the mill and his wife. Frank and I have met with him formally and informally to express our views. Without result. (Nothing new there - no politicians are listening to anyone who doesn't want the mill)

So do we go to the anti-pulp mill rally or lunch with someone in power who supports the mill? The poisoned edge of the wedge. Double whammy. Ethical dilemma of ethical dilemmas. Relationship over principle? Environment over friendship?

It's too hard. I don't know what to do...

I suppose I could just say that I can't come because I already had another appointment. Or go to the BBQ but wear my 'eat money' T-shirt?

tripping out

If you count on your fingers, Tuesday to Sunday is only five days, but to me it seemed much longer! Days stretched into years as last week's study jaunt transformed into an exercise in time travel.

Not only did I journey to another state, I travelled to another time.

Nine years ago I left Newcastle to see the world, but surely it was just yesterday that I boarded that plane and flew away? Wasn't it last week I said goodbye to my friends and moved on? Surely it was just the other day that I launched out on my own?

The local radio station (good old KOfm!) only confirmed my delusion - same hosts, same songs, same sound. At the beach the same youths hung out at the girl's change room door, jockeying for attention with their skateboards and tanned torsos. Cicadas chirped, flies hovered, mosquitoes stung, beetles... beetled, magpies warbled, galahs squawked, rosellas flitted, hibiscus bloomed, blue bottles threatened, waves broke. So much flora and fauna I'd simply forgotten about in my time away - and there they all were in NSW, just as they always have been. And the space, the wonderful space - hours of driving with no end in sight. So much room to move - I'd forgotten that feeling.

So many memories flooded into my mind - wearing cicada nymphal skins on our jumpers as a gory badge; avoiding the swoop of aggressive magpies without falling off our bikes; school friends; university days; the hospital on the beach where I commenced my nursing career; swimming with friends in the surf; favourite haunts about town; family outings before we were torn apart. Everywhere I looked another picture of the past flashed before my eyes. It all felt rather surreal and I gloried in the memories, breathing deeply of long gone days.

Yet at the same time, everything was different and slightly uncomfortable. The hill where I walked home from school had shrunk; roads seemed wider and they didn't lead where they used to; new buildings replaced old; friends had children - and not just babies, grown children; trendy cafes adorned every corner; new suburbs had cropped up. It was all familiar, but not quite the same.

I ended up feeling quite disorientated. Where was I? What year was I in?

At one point I walked into McDonalds and there I stood at the counter, observing other customers and waiting my turn. As the orders flew back and forth I looked on in amazement - everyone could speak English! They even had Australian accents!

Oh - that's right, I was still in Australia.

So now I'm back home in little Tasmania... only now I'm not sure if this is home. Sigh. So wonderful to have a home everywhere, but so confusing! I'm rather thankful I have the hope of a forever-home when I die - no more moving around and no confusion then! For now I'll keep drifting back and forwards, enjoying the best of everywhere, catching up with wonderful friends, reflecting on memories, creating new ones and appreciating the many beautiful places I've been able to experience.