It feels good to be back on the other side of the highway. Even though I werk on the posh side, know that shopping strip about as well as I will ever know any in Melbourne, living there was, somehow, not exactly right. I grew up in the western suburbs of Sydney for gawdsake. Little wonder I never quite belonged.
Home, of course, is the country but for the foreseeable future we will still need a place in town from which to operate and the last place was a horror story. The tiny, badly appointed kitchen turned out to be the best thing about the place; the bathroom walls running with water whenever it rained was ultimately soul-destroying. Rent may have been ultra-cheap, but it cost us dearly in mental energy. Last week we moved to a place we now own. Run down but quiet and shady and very private.
Schmoo and I went for a walk on Tuesday, a short one, exploring new/old haunts. For years we lived in Caulfield and we know these pathways well. Familiar garden styles - less polished, un-designed - and lovely rambling houses, streets with funny doglegs and dead ends, yeshivas and proper milk bars. Flats everywhere. Autumn leaves left in piles where they fall. I very nearly cried.
The new kitchen sink is wonderful. WONDERful! I sleep deeply in the bedroom and wake, refreshed, early enough to get loads done before I tram to werk. The bathroom is dry where it should be, in need of some work but the bath is perfect, a delicious place to soak and float ones feet.
Dust settling, brain slowly coming back...all is good. Breathe in. Breathe out. Back to normality at long, long last.