The Great Storm of Heavenly Beverley - 29 January 2011.

The day had begun like all the other days, hot and humid with northeastly winds coming from the desert. We’d had thunderstorms before, so we figured that was becoming a routine weather pattern for the time being.

My old friend, Janet, had driven from Northam to drop in on us. The house was tidy and the clothesline was full of clean clothes. We expected the washing to dry almost immediately, such was the heat. We’d heard the forecast and all eyes were on a cyclone moving down the coast toward Perth. Maybe we’d get some relief from that system if it turned inland.

We spent a very pleasant few hours showing Janet around Heavenly Beverley and the House that Rocks. We were certain that a thunderstorm would follow that evening as the day had become intensely oppressive. As it was only mid afternoon when she left, we were confident Janet would be home before the cloudburst.

Soon afterward, Michael’s brother rang us from Toodyay, a hundred kilometres away. The town had just been hit by a dust storm, followed by heavy rain. The temperature had dropped dramatically and the storm was heading our way. We weren't worried and were looking forward to some relief that night.

Then the power went out. Eyeing the dry washing, Michael suggested I take the clothes inside before the rain started. He was busy moving gear undercover into the new shed, just in case we had squally wind.

We weren't hurrying. The dogs were pottering outside with us whilst I was folding the washing to fit in the basket. I glanced between the shed and the house and stopped in disbelief.

A monstrous wall of red was bearing down on us from the North. I quickly hurled all the washing into the house and flew back outside to help Michael. We were still securing items when the storm was upon us.

There was no time to reach the shelter of the house. We chucked all three dogs into the shed and shut the door on them. The cat had taken to sleeping in the shed during the day, so we hoped she was already in there as well. Luckily, the shed verandah offered us some protection as the storm was approaching from the other direction.

Huddling together, we watched the fury engulf us. The noise of the dust storm was deafening. We were covered in red dirt, in spite of being on the lee side. At one stage, the wind briefly lessened and Michael stuck his head out for a quick look. He was immediately sandblasted by a fresh coat of airborne particles.

 

The storm continued, with a deluge of rain behind the dust. The wind mounted in strength once more. We watched trees being torn out of the ground and debris flying around us. The sun blinds on the western windows were frantically flapping and snapping up and down. I was worried they might rip off the side of the house, taking a large chunk of window frame and wall as well. Thankfully, the blinds held.

We could see the roof of the original shed rippling with the force of the wind, but at least it didn't come off. The storm was as terrifying as any I’d ever seen. We estimated the wind at well over a hundred kilometres an hour.

Finally we made a dash for the house with the dogs. The cat would have to wait to be rescued if she was in the shed. We looked out the front windows. Our garden windmill was spinning as though deranged. Michael was determined to save it before it disintegrated and turned into a lethal flying object. 

He went outside to see to this task and move the cars out into the open. In hindsight, this was a good idea as the cars were parked under trees for shade and we’d already seen and heard trees being uprooted all around us.

After Michael parked the station wagon, he opened the boot for some rope. Another blast of heavy rain hit him. He was immediately drenched. He persevered and managed to halt the windmill’s attempted launch into orbit.

Mission accomplished, he returned inside. We were both streaked with red dust and our clothes were filthy. We had grime in our eyes and ears and up our noses. As the weather was finally abating, we took long showers to sluice the dirt off our bodies. Then the comfort and joy of fresh, clean, non gritty clothes.

Sascha, the biggest of our dogs, had retreated to the safety of the linen cupboard, her eyes like saucers, panting like a steam train. Pip, her faithful Jack Russell companion, was with her. Ruby the Beagle emerged from under our bed. Ruby the cat was released from the confines of the shed before she cooked in the pressure cooker atmosphere.

The storm moved on. We later learned it had carved a trail of destruction from Geraldton eastwards and then turned and traveled into the Wheatbelt, before eventually petering out a couple of hundred kilometres further south near Narrogin. 

Overall, we came through the storm relatively unscathed. We had lost two mature trees. The old shed's steel girders had to be reworked after being bent inwards by the force of the wind. Insurance paid for reinforcement of the shed's roof, replacement of all the hardiboard sheets down the side of the house and a new watertank.

The locals called it the storm of the century. We were very amused by the timing. We'd only been in the house for three weeks before the storm had hit. Come to Heavenly Beverley and be blown away!

Uh, anyone lost their watertank?

Unnatural airconditioning.

Even the church couldn't save this power pole.

Brand new sports club roof modified by the weather!

The only tree in a neighbour's block - lying down on the job.

The doors of Michael's old shed refashioned by the wind.

On Getting Older.

Life after fifty is different. Maturity, surprise, shock, aches and pains, freedom, unexpected ill health, understanding and laughter have all been my companions in the last few years. And longer in Michael's case, as he is six years older than me.

I was almost forty eight when I met Michael. He was working full time in the mining industry, specialising in the storage and transportation of bulk materials. I was employed as a special needs education assistant, working part time. so I could be available to deal with my and my children's inevitable disasters at a moment's notice.

Michael had shunned doctors for years. He was aware of his lung status - he'd been diagnosed with pre-emphesema changes in 1998. The knowledge wasn't strong enough for him to quit smoking. So, by the time I met Michael, in 2009, he was getting closer to the chest infections that would become very familiar to him.

He was spiraling towards both physical and emotional breakdown in the twelve months after we commenced our relationship. His body was worn out from hard work in often appalling conditions. His children had ignored him, abused him and left him. I am ashamed of their behaviour, all four of them.They certainly contributed to Michael's decline in his already precarious health. 

Suddenly, Michael's health collapsed in June 2010. He started on a cocktail of medication to restore him to an equilibrium of sorts. He slowly became better. then other issues intruded. He has had surgery on both shoulders and both wrists. He was diagnosed with fatty liver disease. And high cholesterol. And high blood pressure. His work on our shops have led to compulsory physiotherapy to keep him from seizing up completely. We compare ourselves to Humpty Dumpty and his Missus.  And in April this year, he nearly died from pneumonia with associated complications.

I am in awe of Michael's ability to bounce back after physical and emotional adversity. He now has a respiratory specialist, a gastroenterologist and a new GP. He continues to grapple with a number of health issues and now approaching sixty, will probably always do so.

I have had my share of "after fifty" body adjustments. I've had surgery on my shoulder and my wrist (both as a result of work injuries), my stupid ankle and various gynecological procedures. I find myself surprisingly exhausted from time to time. I work hard in the garden and pay afterwards, when various parts of my anatomy seize up. My own emotional breakdown in 2006 means I will always be medicated to keep me on the straight and narrow.  I have the usual suspects of high cholesterol and racy heartbeat. 

In spite of these complications of becoming older, we are both  happier than we have ever been. We have a complimentary, close and very complete marriage, based on love. We talk about everything and share everything. We try to live in the now, because we never know what tomorrow may bring.. We have discovered that life after fifty is a blast. Much of the angst and insecurities of being younger have just disappeared by becoming irrelevant. .

That doesn't mean we don't fall off the wagon from time to time. When Anxiety Girl and Obnoxious Man rear their ugly heads, neither of us cope well!  Fortunately, our alter egos are usually short lived and leave us feeling  only slightly embarrassed and  somewhat ridiculous. 

Our lives in Heavenly Beverley are pretty good. We have each other, the Three Stooges, the cat, the pirate parrot, the House that Rocks, our garden and the shops. Every now and then, the ogre of Lack of Money rears its ugly head, but somehow, we always muddle through.We have decided that working for ourselves, in our gallery, even if we earn nothing, will be bring its own rewards.

We  have discovered that life after fifty is to be savoured, experienced, enjoyed and definitely not to be taken seriously. Life in Heavenly Beverley continues to be an adventure, And we're just the people to do it.

Our family, warts and all. Michael's and my wedding day 2.1.2012.

Alex's Holiday @ The House that Rocks.

Alex is the youngest of my children. He is an extraordinary young man. I say that even though he drives me to distraction at times. At twenty three, he has survived about two dozen procedures, surgeries and anaethestics. Through all of this, his innate cheerfulness has shone through. He and I have spent many, many days and nights sitting in hospital rooms or waiting to see yet another specialist. We share a lifetime of unusual memories and an equally strong bond.

Alex was diagnosed with a complex heart defect whilst in utero. My last two pregnancies were very closely monitored as I'd had a number of "obstetric adventures" after Vanessa had been born. Finally, after losing three babies in a row, Callum was delivered earlier than planned, but he was pink, alive and breathing. He spent a nerve racking (for us) first night in neonatal intensive care and was in a "headbox" for five days. Then, wonder of wonders, I was able to take Callum home.

My then husband and I never agreed on a permanent method of contraception. I was ecstatic with my final outcome of two children at home. And my marriage was rocky and I was having counselling. And that's how I ended up expecting another baby - my seventh.

The pregnancy was horrible for the first trimester. I was nauseated the whole time and had an almost five year old and a toddler who wasn't sleeping. Even so, I was really happy with this unexpected gift. I was sure that this baby would be a reward for all the dreadful pregnancies that had ended in disaster. I hung grimly on, waiting for the unpleasant symptoms to pass. Then the second trimester brought the suturing of my cervix and referral to the major women's hospital in Perth. My GP had nearly fallen off his chair laughing when I'd wanted to go to the local suburban hospital.

Because of my history, which had included a baby with a very serious heart condition (Christopher hadn't survived), I was sent to see a new paediatric cardiologist who had set up practice and could interpret foetal cardiac ultrasound. I first saw this lovely, compassionate man when I was nineteen weeks pregnant. The ultrasound was highly specialised and took about three hours. He asked me to return for a follow up scan in another two weeks to confirm the "four chamber view".

Which I did, just before Christmas in 1990. At the end of another marathon ultrasound, he delivered the stunning news. My baby had a very complex heart defect and would need open heart surgery, at least twice. My vision of a normal baby vanished before my eyes.

So, armed with this awful knowledge, I endured the rest of the pregnancy. After many anxious and stressful tests and alarms, Alex Christopher was delivered by caesarian on 11 April 1991. He went immediately to Special Nursery, where Luigi his cardiologist, announced him to be as well as he could be. Alex astonished us all by feeding well and easily and we went home after only nine days.

I used to joke that life with Alex became more exciting with each passing year. In hindsight, his heart defect was relatively straightforward and three operations later, Alex's heart was as good as it would ever be. By then, other problems had begun to emerge. All the tubes in his head - tear ducts, ears, nose and throat - were narrow and needed various ongoing procedures. His jaw was small and his chin receding. He had major dental and orthodontic work over ten years. Even more daunting was his diagnosis of autism just after he turned four.

From then on, I became Alex's advocate as well as his parent. I worked with and often challenged the education system and disability services. We undertook an intensive behavioural programme full time for two and a half years prior to him starting year one. He attended speech therapy, occupational therapy and a physiotherapy group. We added daycare to this mix. When he entered primary school, I set up and co-ordinated a social skills group for two years - until I burnt out! Fortunately, his speech therapist introduced groups into her practice. Alex participated in speech related activities (individually and group) for thirteen years.

Alex's post school years have not been easy. A passion for cooking and three hospitality TAFE certificates have not resulted in any paid employment. He volunteers at a cafe in suburban Perth with other young people who have disabilities. After a rocky start, I secured recurrent funding for him to receive domestic and social support and attend a Saturday social outings group. He is an enthusiastic member of the Baptists and enjoys his gym programme.

Alex sprained his ankle at the beginning of September. His GP told him to stay off his foot, use crutches to move and see a physio. Although Alex and Callum are close and Callum is his unofficial carer, I quickly realised this was part of my job description to collect Alex and bring him up to Heavenly Beverley, whether he wanted to or not.

Initially, after some resistance, Alex thoroughly enjoyed his nearly three weeks with us and declared that it had been a worthwhile holiday. I We attended physio and discovered that his peculiar gait was the reason he kept rolling his ankles. As I had long suspected, he needed orthortics for his feet. Whilst waiting for his orthortics to be made, Alex joined us at the House that Rocks - and had a surprisingly good time!

He and I had several long talks about his life, his opinions and his hopes and dreams. He was open and honest and much more adult than his intellect would have suggested.  As well, I galvanised him into helping me around the house and with the cooking. He was always agreeable and willing to assist us both, even if his comprehension sometimes caused some confusion. Eager to complete stacking the wood for Michael in our wood shed, he successfully buried both Michael's axes under half a tonne of timber. Michael didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Alex, armed with his brand new orthotics, waved me goodbye and caught the train back to Perth three days ago. His support worker picked him up from the station and took him home. Although we are pleased to have the House that Rocks back to ourselves, Alex's stay confirmed to us that he has become a wonderful young man and a worthy addition to the universe. Vale Alex. Love from Mum.

Alex in his element - the cup cake challenge at his high school. Naturally, he and his partner won.

Alex, Callum and Michael. Our wedding day - 2 January 2012.

Introducing our Lawn mowing Contractors

With the arrival of spring, every plant in our garden grows. At a very rapid rate.

Deciduous trees that I would have sworn had turned up their toes and departed to plant heaven, suddenly bud. I was sure we'd lost our Crepe Myrtles to God. Having nurtured them in big pots in the front of our house under the eaves, we chose to put them in the ground at the beginning of the hottest summer on record. Beautiful timing! Yet, even they are slowly putting out the tiniest of new growth. There is hope for these beautiful trees.

Beverley is very difficult for gardeners as far as both soil and climate are concerned. We have learnt through bitter experience never, ever to put any plant in here that likes free draining soil. They look lovely for about five minutes until their roots hit the clay. End of story.

Anyway, I've digressed. Or interpolated. I'm never sure which one. The major drawback to spring's arrival is the explosion of Weeds. We have spiky weeds, soft leafed weeds, weeds that spread tentacles, weeds with vast tap roots, weeds that reproduce at an outrageous rate and weeds that turn into specimens rivaling Jack's beanstalk in height.

I have been undertaking the Great Annual Weeding in the half of our property that is our garden. This involves taking a plastic milk crate out with my large weeding tool, wheelbarrow for chucking the excavated weed corpses, my sexy straw hat with string (to keep it on my head in the wind) and water for hydration. Once I pick a starting spot, the aforementioned milk crate is upended for sitting and I begin the task at hand.

The Great Annual Weeding has  continued for the best part of this September. We only have the lawn to go through and remove the pesky survivors of the weed n' feed drenching a few weeks ago. And keep on top of any new arrivals who dare to show their heads above ground. Once the wheelbarrow is full, we deposit the pile onto our "donut" around the Mulberry. This has a two fold purpose. The weeds break down into excellent mulch and the ring of decaying organic matter keeps the tree's roots cool during the heat of summer.

Which leaves the other half of our block that has its trees and our burning pile in winter. We weighed up our options as we watched the weeds imitating the 100 year old forest in "Sleeping Beauty". Michael didn't want to get the block mown because we'd have to repeat the exercise later in the year. Unfortunately, Lorna didn't have any spare sheep for us to borrow, as we had done in the previous two springs.

I happened to mention our dilemma to Marci, our neighbour across the road. Shane and Marci built Mt Beverley (the nickname for their house) in 2011. They began a menagerie of epic proportions soon after they moved into their home. They have geese, ducks, chickens, dogs and ....sheep! I had only remembered Rosemary and Thyme, their sheep residing in their back paddock. However, their other sheep had been farmed out to the family who owned acreage on our corner. The solution to our weed issue had been discovered.

So, with open arms, we have welcomed Bertie and Lamby into our paddock. A nifty placement of a water bucket in an old sink serves them with their fluid requirements. Bertie is big and boofy,  has chocolate brown tightly curled fleece with the deepest baa I have ever heard. And fairly substantial wedding tackle. His breed saved him from the pot, as Marci wants him to provide the necessary male supplement to create more lambs with her ladies.

Lamby is smaller, female and a traditionally white Merino. She belongs to Marci's grandson, so we had to promise faithfully to look after her whilst she is with us. She is quite shy of people and doesn't announce her presence to the world as loudly as her sheep companion.

They have taken to their task with gusto. Our lawnmowing contractors have been studiously munching their way across our paddock for the best part of a month, reducing the size of the weeds to a more manageable level. They have become round of girth and very very content. Once or twice, I've had a fright when I couldn't see them, only to find them snoozing blissfully under one of our eucalypts, wondering what all the fuss was about.

Today is the first hot day we've had since last autumn. The two of them have spend a decent proportion of the day wisely in the shade. And they didn't even turn a hair when we drove Kermit and the trusty trailer into their paddock to load some rubbish to take to the tip. Although sheep have the reputation of being the stupidest animals on the planet, I have to admit I've unexpectedly grown very fond of  them both  I may even miss them once they have completed their lawnmowing duties and return to their home paddock across the road at Mt Beverley.

Bertie posing in front of their day bed behind a fence.

Hard at work.

Shy little lady - Lamby.

A Word or Two on Fossicking.

Before I met Michael, I had never been fossicking in my life. I'd never even heard of fossicking. Naturally, I had no understanding of  how pleasurable or addictive this particular activity could be. The idea of walking very slowly whilst searching the ground around me was an alien concept. Particularly as Michael and I look for rusty pieces of metal. Occasionally interesting rocks. Or ancient bottles. And different styles of crockery.

Michael first took me to the Goldfields in October 2009. This trip was a revelation for me. He had the talent of a master storyteller and he brought the places we visited to life. He educated me about the abandoned mining centres, the absence of trees (because all the wood was used for the boilers or the steam trains), the lack of ruins (all the usable materials were dismantled and taken elsewhere) and the treasure trove of rubbish left behind (because items were used until they either wore out or were no longer required. Then rubbish was burned, buried or just left. There was certainly no rubbish collection!).

He introduced me to the remains of blacksmiths' shops, house slabs, old mining shafts with their magnificent Oregon framework, the ruins of hotels, the astonishing spectacle of Niagara Dam and the surprisingly diverse bush. We visited places where nothing was visible above ground, but hid long forgotten items waiting for us to discover them.

I  have come to love the pristine Goldfields wilderness and its treasures. The birdlife, the animals, the beauty of the bronze bark gimlet eucalyptus, the outstanding landscape and the peace and stillness. And our arrival at a desired location always fills us with excitement and glee. Because we are not prospecting for gold, we rarely see other people at the most of the places we visit.

Fossicking is a skill I have had to learn. As I am a tad hyperactive, I have had to practise fossicking, otherwise I miss finding that special something. Fossicking is all about slow, methodical observation. Our eyes are fixed to the ground whilst we walk for a few steps, then stop and scan, searching for the unusual shape, outline, design or colour. This how Michael discovered his Federation medallion and the horseshoe with "Carnegie" stamped on it. These are his most treasured possessions. I have found less spectacular, but still equally loved objects that grace our garden, our kitchen and our verandah.

We don't just fossick in the Goldfields. The Beverley tip is old and has expanded over generations. The disused area of the tip holds tremendous appeal for us and we have been fossicking there on  a number of occasions. Even bush close to Beverley, where we have gathered firewood, has thrown up unexpected delights.

Last week, we were invited to Dorothy and Ted's house outside of Beverley. They had bought an old property a few years ago, which held a multitude of old tools, machinery and discarded bits and pieces. We had a wonderful morning looking, gathering, deciding and loading. This is what fossicking was all about. We filled the trailer before we left, with objects that were priceless in our eyes. How lucky we are to have friends like them, who understand our passion.

Kate fossicking at Marvel Loch.

The East End Gallery is open for business.

We made an executive decision this week. Shop 3 at the Forbes Building, being finished and operational for Marlene's workshop, was at a loose end. An influx of tourists were arriving for the choir extravaganza at the Railway Gallery just across the railway line this weekend. In a few days, we cleaned Michael's sculptures, the desk and other objects and moved them into the shop space. Yvonne had donated a tea set. I set up tea, coffee and biscuits for visitors  Shop 3 became the East End Gallery.

We opened yesterday. I updated and printed Michael's artist profile and mounted the information on one of the walls, along with his personal history and all the site and induction cards he had collected from his years in the mining industry. I wrote a notice for ordering purposes of his red back spiders. These Michael can produce fairly quickly for clients. However, each spider will still be individually made with its own rare earth magnet, which can hold over half a kilo on the fridge.

I had a variety of people walking into the gallery over this weekend. Some visitors, some locals, all interested. I so enjoyed sharing the stories behind Michael's sculptures. They are all individual pieces and will never be replicated. Most of them are constructed from found metal objects or recycled metal. Some of them represent Michael's resilience and fortitude. "Gears" took a year for him to create. All are a labour of love.

He will finish the building's renovation in due course, but he is craving a break from the relentless dust and sweat of the hard physical work. So he has returned to his life's passion - producing metal sculpture. He has started on a piece commissioned by a local lady. In addition, he has begun a sculpture for us, for our gallery. Its provisional name is "Unhinged". I'll leave its appearance to your imagination. For the time being.

Copper ice bucket with stand, caterpillar, "Figment", Bicycle Express", the "Mask" and the "Tree of Life".

"Mindscape".

Spider coffee table and "Gears".

"Gears"

"Figment", "Bicycle Express" and the "Mask".

Happy Birthday Michael.

I was lucky enough to meet a gentle, kind, patient, funny and agreeable man five and a half years ago. He would say that he was lucky to have met me. That just makes me love him more.

Spider52 contacted Lunachick on Oasis Active (an online dating site) on 19 May 2009. We engaged in a conversation via the internet for a couple of hours. I was worried that Spider52 was taking an inordinate length of time to respond to my questions and comments. The reality was that he was just slower at typing than me. How I laughed at myself when I found out the reason for his apparent hesitancy.

We met with the dogs at the Whiteman Park Dog Exercise Area the following Saturday. I was smitten on the spot. I had been on a lot of first dates - with the Wide Mouthed Frog (who had a leery grin from ear to ear whilst oggling my breasts), with Dave the Brave (who disliked dogs, and still contacted me in spite of my VERY specific profile) and with the Chilean Stallion (short, fat with no neck and a admiration for General Pinochet). I had almost stopped believing that there were any decent men left in the universe. Then I had a first date with Michael.

We have celebrated quite a few birthdays together since then. The first two of Michael's birthdays with me were in my dinky little duplex in Marangaroo. Then we moved to country Western Australia and became the Beverley Hillbillies.

This week, in the days prior to Michael's 59th birthday yesterday, were staggeringly busy and complicated. Perth, Northam, York - we went everywhere over two frantic days, due to a sick Beagle, an injured son of mine and our own scheduled appointments. And then, Michael's birthday turned into a topsy turvy day as well.

I can't think what possessed me when I booked an air conditioning salesman to come and quote for us at 9am. I don't think Michael has actually forgiven me yet for this indiscretion. He recovered somewhat when I cooked him his favourite breakfast of bacon and eggs. He made a quick sojourn to our shops before I phoned him to come home for his haircut by our fabulous mobile hairdresser.

He was off colour when he came in and retired to our bedroom. My antennae were on high alert. He recovered enough to have his haircut and then returned to bed. I dosed him with an anti nauseant tablet, turned on his electric blanket and put a heat pack on his feet. He slept for a while and emerged, somewhat refreshed. He was well enough to polish off some soup and a hot bread roll. We don't know what caused this sudden onset of lethargy and sickness or why it passed with rest and warmth.

Some aspects of his birthday were quite special, in spite of everything. Alex and Vanessa were at the House that Rocks, trying to assure Michael of their love. None of his four biological children contacted him, for reasons that I don't understand. I have tried to communicate with all four of them with no success. All I can think is that their rejection of their father is their loss.

We had a lovely afternoon in the garden, followed by a delicious roast chicken dinner with the kids. Michael was delighted with his presents - a hammock, Tee shirts and a book from me and a BBQ set and an electric shaver and beard trimmer from Vanessa.  We watched some TV together before bed.

And so, my beloved Michael has turned 59. He is alive after a torrid year that shows no sign of completely resolving anytime soon. He has his good humour and he works, bloody hard, when he is well enough.

We still hope to have an official opening of the East End Gallery in early December. That's what I live for, to keep Michael well, so he can achieve his dream and have his metal art gallery.

Michael with two of his favourite loves - Ruby the Beagle and red wine!

Another one of those days...

Relative peace has returned to the House that Rocks after another action packed day. I am sitting, with a delicious glass of New Zealand sav blanc,  (purely for medicinal purposes, of course) updating today's events.

After a reasonably quiet hiatus yesterday - I only drove Alex to physio in Northam (140 kilometres) - we were thrown back in the deep end today. Here is a summary -

•  I rang the vet at 9.30am. Yes, Ruby had recovered enough from an acute enteritis to come home with antibiotics. Yes, they could see Sascha and Pip for their minor ailments at the same time we picked up Ruby and hopefully get us out the door by 2pm.
• We hurtled out the front door with Sascha and Pip in tow to load them into Ziggy the Volvo. Michael's brilliant idea of confining them in the station wagon's boot was shot down in flames as 2 defiant Stooges repeatedly hopped into the back seat. After I stopped laughing and suggested his quest was hopeless, we left at 10am. The dogs happily ensconced on the back seat...
• Arrived at physio right on 11am. Michael finds a shady spot to park Ziggy with the dogs safely inside. Alex, our physio not my son,  puts Humpty Dumpty and his missus back together again. I end up with a wad of Rocktape across my lower back to hold me together. Alex remarks that whilst Michael's back should behave like a spring, his back actually behaves like a pole! And the part of his back that wasn't sore had all the flexibility of a plank.
• Onwards and upwards at 12.05pm. Michael returns to Ziggy, gives the dogs a wee break and picks me up after I've settled the bill.  We roar down towards Midvale on the outskirts of Perth. Ziggy ate up all traffic between us and our next goal.
• We arrive at the vet at 12.57pm. Register at the front counter. Cross our fingers that we will be finished in an hour.
• Michael leaves to fill Ziggy up with fuel (again), attempt to get a refund on the fried wood saw (again) - this time with the receipt - and bring us back lunch.
• Very unhappy client waiting claims he has been sitting there for over 90 minutes with his dog. Ruby gets discharged and is delivered to me, rejoining Sascha and Pip in the waiting room and reuniting the 3 Stooges.
• Michael returns with refund and lunch. We devour our sandwiches. Ruby and Sascha are keen to assist us.
• We are called ahead of very unhappy client. I cringe. 
• Sascha is prescribed drugs for her leaky bottom and gets her head lump drained of serum. The lump has some hard matter.We are put on a watch for her lump...
• Pip has to be muzzled so he doesn't bite the vet. Vic the vet drains his anal glands (choice!) and checks his infected toenail. Pip squirms, thrashes and carries on like a pork chop. Michael and I restrain him and end up looking like we have terminal dandruff. An antibiotic injection completes his humiliation before he is released.
• Ruby is given an anti nauseant injection to prevent carsickness. She is calm and composed. Or maybe, Ruby is just a far more laid back dog than Pip.
• Michael takes the dogs outside for a pee. I pay a King's ransom and pick up medications for all 3 Stooges.
• The dogs do not need a second hint to get in the car. We leave Midvale at 2.05pm!
• En route to York for our scheduled GP appointment, we stop for a toilet break - for us. The dogs hop out too - Ruby wanders off, Sascha locates and chomps something despicable and Pip wees nervously on every bush in sight. We corral the animals back into Ziggy.
• Arrive in York at 3pm. Our GP, Shalinder is quiet, calm and composed. He freezes a multitude of suspect spots off my leg and hands, writes our scripts, discusses Michael's latest results and writes a referral for Michael to have a full nuclear medicine CT. Then an aortogram...brilliant!
• I buy some chicken schnitzels for dinner and we head home, arriving about 5pm.

We've had dinner and wine and made our bed with fresh sheets. I am now going to join my husband outside on our back verandah. In spite of everything, he is going to have a great birthday tomorrow. I will see to that.

In our natural habitat. Lovers then, lovers now. 

One of those days...

There are some days that I realise, (usually in hindsight) that I should not have left our bed. No, I should have pulled the covers over my head and closed my eyes and put my fingers in my ears and sung "lalalalalala" very loudly to stop any attempts to raise me from my sanctuary.

Yesterday was one of those days.The awfulness of the situation had actually started the previous evening. Ruby the Beagle went down like a sack of potatoes, flat, miserable, panting, shivering, slobbering and off her food. Unheard of for our Beagle to refuse her dinner. After consulting the after hours vet, we gave her a couple of tablespoons of yoghurt and half an antibiotic. Which she threw up on our bedroom floor sometime in the early hours of the morning.

Ruby was no better later after sunrise. Then I discovered her with a mouthful of dirt. Alarm bells, alarm bells. My previous Weimaraner had developed pancreaticitis on several occasions and an initial sign was her grazing on dirt. Don't know why, she just did.

With that reality, we decided. She needed to be taken to our vet in Midvale, 100 kilometres away. My other tasks that day were to collect Michael's computer from rehab after its alcoholic episode and obtain a refund for a wood saw that had seized in the warranty period.

After a lightening shower and a quick cup of tea, I was off with Ruby. She sat, pale, drooling and shaking on a towel on the front passenger seat. Halfway to Perth, I stopped and offered her the opportunity to relieve herself. There was nothing to relieve, so she sat, looking at me with sad, sunken and weary eyes. I jumped back in to the driver's seat and roared onward to our destination.

Once at the vet, she had no energy to walk. So I carried her in, with my right wrist in my splint that wasn't supposed to carry more than one kilogram. One of her fellow patient's parents opened the door for me. I registered her, whilst I balanced her on the front counter.

We waited for our turn. Once Vic, the vet, called Ruby's name, I struggled up with her in my arms again. Vic took her from me. I accepted gratefully. Twenty minutes later, Ruby was admitted. Vic started her on antibiotics, anti nauseants and pain relief before she left the consulting room. I left her in good hands, knowing I'd hear from the vet after they'd taken bloods and started her on fluids.

While Ruby and I were waiting to be seen, another task was added to my already packed day. Alex had fallen over and twisted his ankle on Saturday. Callum had taken him to the GP that morning (Monday). The verdict was a sprain, crutches to assist him, no exercise and physio. I knew Alex didn't have a physio, for starters. Not to mention, this was above and beyond the call of duty for Callum. There was no way Cal could look after Alex, even if he wanted to, as he worked three jobs. That was definitely in my job description.

Stopping in Dan Murphy's carpark to walk across to Hitech Computers, I was not going to waste such an opportunity. I swiftly procured 6 bottles of white. I should have left right then. At Hitech, the startlingly tall, lean, blonde computer technician, Daniel and his sidekicks Shane and Aaron all searched in vain for the computer battery that had supposedly been dispatched along with Michael's replacement keyboard. After a fruitless twenty minutes or so, I left minus the battery, promising that I would dispatch the supplier with a large garden gnome if the battery wasn't forthcoming shortly.

The lads at Hitech did provide me with the name and number of a glass cutter. Whilst I had been gathering my wits for the next onslaught, Michael had asked me to order and pick up a piece of glass for the door he and Gary were installing into the workshop area behind the shops. He gave me specific measurements and I phoned up the local glass business. Several awkward questions about different types of glass later, I crumbled and bailed out. I rang Michael to ask him to complete the glass order. He rang me back shortly later to confirm he'd sorted the order and I'd pick the piece up as I left Midvale to head home.

I arrived at the flat, used the facilities, helped Alex finish packing and loaded him and his gear into Ziggy the Volvo. We successfully picked up some Tandoori chicken pieces for dinner and stopped at Bunnings for a few little seedlings and soil conditioner for the garden. I was starting to feel cocky....

Big mistake. Having ascertained that Ruby would be staying at the vet hospital overnight, I only had to fill Ziggy with petrol, pick up the glass piece and get the refund for the wood saw. My favourite petrol station was surrounded by emergency vehicles with flashing lights. Strike one. I drove on to Just Glass. The piece of glass was duly exchanged for money. I breathed again. Last stop, Mitre 10 hardware. No refund because no receipt. Michael hadn't thought to give me the receipt as he'd given all the details to the store earlier in the day over the phone. Strike two.

Fortunately there wasn't a Strike three. I don't think I would have coped with any more hassles. I filled up with petrol at Sawyer's Valley and bought an icecream for Alex and me. The petrol cost more but I didn't care by that point.

Having left home just after nine, I arrived home in the early evening at six (ish). I'd driven over 300 kilometres in that time. And then I put on a load of wash, shook out our bed and cooked dinner. Alex made us a salad. I knew I couldn't have coordinated my hands to cut up veggies!

Bed never felt so good as it did last night. Thank God for the House that Rocks in Heavenly Beverley.

The 3 Stooges hard at work Marangaroo 2010

It's Batdog!

Pre rinse cycle. Ruby's dedication to this task was second to none.