Happy & Home

Well I am back. 

My only half dead orchids greeted me upon my arrival.  As I had suspected the cleaning fairies neglected to look after the glasses in the sink – so I busied myself and loaded the four of them in the dishwasher.  It took me a mere 30 seconds.

I know, exciting blog.  Get on with the point already.

This time there isn't one.  Except that when I walked through the door I knew that I was home.  Everything felt right.  It seems that one can have more than one "home".  

It has taken me a while to find a fit.  There has been a lot of sacrifices and a lot of hard work and tears along the way – but it seems that I have I finally found what it was that  I was looking for.  (I know that sentence is wrong, but I am not going to change it.) And you know what is most amusing?  What I thought I wanted and what I really wanted were and are two totally different things.  It is amazing what one can find if they take a chance.

..and another Canadian band, Marianas Trench.  Warning though the video is in true quirky Canadian form :)

I have to admit, Desperate Measures ^ shows up on my most played list - but I had to include this one too, because well, you'll know what I mean when you give this sexy, jazzy tune a play...

I came. I weighed. I conquered.

I bought lemons today. Oh yeah. I rocked this whole Austria thing big time. For months I have been terrified of the produce section – but today no longer.

This past week I shared with someone from the office how intimidated I was by the produce department. The weighing in and tagging prior to the cashier hadn’t worked out so well for me in the past and lead to some pretty embarrassing moments. He took his time and explained the process. Produce on the scale. Type in number that is displayed on the items sign. Sticker comes out. Place on bag with produce.

Got it.

But first I needed cash and I had none so off I went to the bank machine to use my Austrian bank card for the first time.

Not good. The English language button was nowhere to be found and my attempt to logically select the right buttons was failing miserably. The machine kept spitting my card back. No money. This was a bit of a problem. I needed food and a pair of shoes was calling my name. So I did what any other person in my predicament would do. I went to my favorite bakery and ordered a cappuccino to go and pondered my options.

That’s when I heard “hey American girl!”

Seems walking around with a coffee is not a very Austrian thing to do. Nonetheless, that cappuccino proved to be the perfect Segway for a little bank machine tutorial. Money now in hand I decided it was time to head to the busy Interspar and stock up my weeks groceries.

First stop produce section. I circle the area. I decide to only try one thing just in case I did it wrong – one oops is much less embarrassing than 10. So I decide on lemons. Just three little lemons. I bag them and begin searching for the machine. Instantly I panic. There is a line up at the weigh scales. I nearly bail, but instead go back to the lemon sign and double check the number. “You can do this,” I silently assure myself.

My turn arrives. Place on scale. Check. Push button. Hmm…where is the tag? Nonchalantly I start examining all sides of the machine. I start looking for an enter button, something, anything that I could have overlooked. Nothing. Just before I am about to walk away I notice the sticker. I place it on the bag and head to the till. Reading the label I think whatever it happens to say does not look much like the word “lemon.” Should have taught us lemon in German class I think.

In the end, my lemons were accepted at the till. It was a euphoric moment for me. I paid for them with the money I took from the bank machine.

Today there is an extra bounce in step as well as a renewed sense of pride. And I will likely share this anyone and everyone who is misguided enough to ask me how my day went. And why not? I conquered the heck out of it!

Heading Home

This evening as I was packing up, I announced “I can't wait to get home.”

Truth was I was tired and happy that the day was coming to an end, but my comment was met with raised eyebrows. My co-worker had assumed that I was on the next plane back to Canada. In that moment it hit me, I was calling home a teeny tiny hotel room when I was in actual fact homeless.

Of course this caused me to ponder the facts. My home in Kelowna was about to become someone else’s and I was still in the process of securing a flat to call my own here in Austria. Since I had arrived here with only four bags of stuff, I would be faced still with making my new residence, home.

When I think back to my beautiful town back in British Columbia, I think of home. It’s where my friends and family live. However, as I made my way back to my hotel, I also had to admit that it too was home to me. If only just for the moment - and that when I made it into my new flat, it would also become my home.

So I got to thinking, what was “home” exactly? It was clearly a place of emotional attachment because no matter when I say “I am going home” it makes me feel warm inside. It could be back to my roots in small town Ontario, or where my loved ones reside or where I climb into bed each night – even if it is a teeny tiny hotel room.

But is home just a place? I started to think not. If it can be so many different places, then it must be a feeling. When I see my son or speak to him on the phone, I am filled with feelings of peace, warmth and love that resonate even stronger than the sense I get when I head to a place that I geographically define as home. And, when I am in the arms of a special someone I know that there is no place I’d rather be. That special moment is home to me.

I’ve decided that there is absolute truth to the old adage “home is where the heart is.” But it isn’t geographical. Sure it can be a place you seek solace in at the end of the day, or a place you consider during a tough time - but it can also be sound of your childs laugh and the arms of someone you love the most. And that to me is an even better kind of "home."