My Personal Dot Points Now I Can Have An ACAT Assessment!

I have reached that fabulous age when I can officially apply for an ACAT assessment to gauge my suitability for assistance at home. I think I will pass with flying colours - I frequently fall over ("She's  had a fall...", I have difficulty keeping my house tidy without help, carrying the washing basket is now beyond me, changing the bed sheets are too heavy, my back hurts most of the time and my balance is stuffed.

Fortunately at present, we are enveloped in the magic of Onslow. We met a thirty year resident on the beach the other day. She are I shared our views on small yapping dogs, small children (she described them as "little shitheads" - her words not mine, but she tolerates the increase of both by escaping to the beach twice a day looking for glass the ocean has thrown up. Even though Beadon Bay is north facing, the beach has been transformed by the recent encounter with Cyclone Narelle.  The loss of much of the sand has thrown up a huge increase in shells, coral, tormented metal, fascinating rock pools, the remains of infrastructure with the ever-present rotation of the tides. 

Today is much cooler and cloudy but I have still retreated to the roomy shelter close to our caravan. Michael is busily washing and sorting our collected treasures, Will is relatively tidy, the washing and the washing up are both soaking and after a rocky start, the day has improved out of sight.

Not that I am suddenly cured of being a lunatic, or that I won't cause Michael more exasperation or irritation, but I feel better today than I have for a very long time.

 What really worried me recently was that my sense of humour had completely deserted me. I have summoned Danshari back as I needed to create another compartment to hopefully store my mental health a tad more successfully until we return home and a shrink can work out what the hell to do with me!

I also decided that I needed to inject some joy and laughter back to aid the return of my sense of humour. In my increasing ag-ed state, I will be bearing all my beliefs and values that I now present as the Gospel according to Kate. If you are easily offended by profanity and questionable opinions, I suggest you look away now.

• I am not a morning person, have never been a morning person, mainly because my two boys were night wakers and I didn't sleep through the night for six years. Believe me, I love my bed and I loathe having to set an alarm. Plus, I detest all those gorgeously effervescent (mostly) young women who leap out of bed with perfect make-up and coiffures and beam at the camera because they are "Instagram influences" set my teeth on edge.
• I am at the point of giving up wearing a bra forever. After fifty years of  searching for the perfect "over the shoulder boulder holder," I have had enough. And if  anybody want to take a gander at my saggy tits, good luck to them. They will be sorely disappointed.
• I have come to the conclusion that I will ever svelte again. Apart from my boobs heading steadfastly towards my knees, I have  wobbly upper arms, and a neck resembling a bull frog. Fortunately, I do not have a muffin top. Instead, I have a pronounced overhang that a family could shelter under if caught in a sudden thunderstorm.
• I have begun wearing panty liners as a matter of course. I don't suffer from "LBL" - light bladder weakness, I can summon a full blown flood that would seriously impress Noah. Sneezing and laughing or just suddenly needing to have a wee right now are the trigger points. And of course, if the panty liner is not placed correctly inside my knickers, they do fuck all anyway. 
• I fart - a lot. Loudly, with expression, or a series of little pop- offs. Long bouts of farting that could see me as a member in a symphony orchestra is farting was introduced as an instrument. And then of course, there is the dreaded fear of follow through - when a fart becomes a shart. Not an experience I recommend. 
• Bowels have become a regular conversation piece or eager comparison. When I was a student nurse, I had to ask each poor patient if they had moved their bowels on that particular day. In an open ward with every other patient listening in. Now, talking of poohs  is a great way to start each day.
• I hate hospitals and I hate inattentive, unprofessional or boorish nursing stuff even more. Since 2014, when Michael nearly died due to actions of an incompetent nincompoop, I never left him alone in a hospital. And I question everything and expect full explanations in plain English so that we know what is going on. 
• The night nurse nurse at Michael's last admission for his hernia operation deserved a decent clip around the earhole of a kick up her arse for loudly broadcasting the results of Michael's blood sugar results to all and sundry. An extremely gormless nurse gave Michael countless sweet biscuits throughout the afternoon because there were nothing else available between lunch and dinner which caused his high blood sugar reading. I also had to explain Michael's meds and I ended up dispensing them which, of course, was STRICTLY FORBIDDEN. Needless to say, my complaints was swept under the carpet of that particular private hospital.  
• I used to be a social person. Now I get irritated by the antics of ill bred, ignorant, arrogant  and annoying people. Take this morning for example. We are staying in a dog friendly caravan park which means there are a lot of dogs around. Some dickhead complained about Stella's barking at him yesterday morning as she was fully aware he was not a dog person. In that case, what the fuck is he doing staying in a dog friendly caravan park and stirring up trouble. In a perfect world, he either would  have spontaneously self combusted or I would have turned the dogs on him.  
• I have become totally bored of the gaggle of caravaners who form tightly knitted groups, do stuff all such as exploring the beach or the museum or the Op Shop or the Visitors Centre or the Community Garden. Instead, they sit on their arses under their awnings and exchange phone numbers and talk complete and utter garbage.
•  I have become amused by monstrous caravans and the equally monstrous vehicles that are required to pull them. Usually equipped with every gadget possible and filled with screaming kids and harassed parents, their gear spews out around them and takes them an entire afternoon to organise the van, the awning, the table and chairs and every expensive gizmo to place in its correct position.  We were particularly gobsmacked in Carnarvon when the caravan and rig in the next site literally could not fit in. Plus some of the titles of some of the vans left me in stitches. I shall display some of these ridiculous names in my photos.
• Have I mentioned I dislike most small children? Particularly the ones screaming past our van on bikes without a parent in sight. The ear piercing shrieking of little girls, the aggro of little boys. Really, the only children I have time for are our granddaughters Immy and Violet.This is entirely the result of Callum and Bronwyn's parenting. Immy and Violet are becoming individuals in their own right.  Immy loves art and science, dancing, swimming and outdoorsy activities. Violet has a bit of a minx about her, with explicit opinions and enthusiastic playing in their back yard, Callum and Bronwyn also converted their outdoor al-fresco undercover space into a  "Mud Kitchen" for the girls to explore the natural world in and out of their backyard, In wellington boots and beanies to bare feet and hats, Immy and Violet have greater fun than continually in front of an electronic device.
• And so in conclusion, I has decided I prefer the company of my darling husband, Michael and my beloved family. We do have some special friends and we treasure them. The last two days have involved sitting under the shelter, listening to music, catching up on our computers and having icecream and chocolate sauce for lunch on both days, the dogs being relative well behaved, and the lure twice a day of the beach. There is a sea eagle's nest perched on a tower close to the caravan park, but I don't if many of those staying here would have seen this wonderful sight. There are also the patterns on the beach made by crabs which are industrially rebuild during low tide every single day. These are the reasons we have come to Onslow. We are not sure if we return again, given the huge expansion of what used to be quite an intimate park, but at least whilst we are here, we have the sea, the sky, the afternoon breeze to cherish every single day. And bugger those who appear to be here for no other reason, except to escape the cold weather further south.
• We will return to the bay this afternoon which will provide much enjoyment for the dogs and more beachcoming for us.
• And just wait until I undertake my ACAT assessment. I hope that they will have ever met somebody quite like me.

Until next time! 

These images reflect my life - 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And here are some of those caravan titles I promised -

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

And now we are in Onslow -

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now We Are Six(Ty-Five)

 'In spite of all that has gone before,

Joy and regrets and love and more,

I think I am glad to be alive

Now that I have reached sixty-five.' 

Danshari went out the window yesterday, sixty-five years since my birth. I couldn't understand why I was in tears on and off during the day after a wonderful evening at the resort the night before,

To say that I am a pain in the arse to my long suffering Michael is the understatement of the century.

I have kept asking myself what the hell was happening to me. I have often considered that there is no hope for me - that I am going to pivot between rage and despair for the rest of my life.

Except for a few trusted people, I wear a mask in public. I have decided to 'come out' with this confession as somebody I knew, who I trusted, was aware about my vulnerabilities may share this information about me.  That person used us and betrayed Michael and me in a dreadful way. 

So being me, I had to search my inner self for answers. There was nowhere else to look, no power from outside knowledge. Just exploring the concealed vestiges of my mind.

There are the usual suspects - a Subdivision that should have been finished a long time ago, monies that had to be dragged out, the worries about Alex's NDIS funding, our exhaustion, Michael's chest infections and other long term health issues, a Gallery that sometimes consumes me, a scam that is unrecognised by ANZ, a struggle to exit the Mailchimp app that costs $31 a month. I am so close to being broken about the constant worry of living hand-to-mouth for so long.

The only way we could afford to go away was to rent out our house. Michael would probably be as happy as Larry if he wasn't burdened with me.

Don't get me wrong, Onslow is such a beautiful place and I am most at peace on the beach  looking for shells with Michael and watching the dogs career around us. I also spent a very happy hour at the Op Shop today and hope to return on Wednesday afternoon.

The Ocean View caravan park is continually packed but as we have the site on the end, we only have one neighbour and a stunning vista across the ocean.

I intend to find a shrink on my return as I am so tired of bouncing from pillar to post. I need to pinpoint what is happening to me, sort out my meds and have a path forward. 

So what has caused this latest bout of negativity, which was most probably triggered by my birthday. These are issues that can never be resolved as there is no ending point.  Out of seven children, four died before or soon after birth, And my only living daughter, who also took Michael's surname, became estranged from us is 2022. She lied to us in her supposed quest from independence. How do I know? A quick search in LinkedIn gave the information that she was employed when she claimed my blog was preventing her from gaining employment.

So I only have my two sons left out of seven children who I birthed. I am so lucky to have Alex, my Autistic Superstar who embraces every day with positivity and confidence. He is currently in holiday in Sydneyhaving a fabulous time in art galleries and museums, the zoo, the Hillsong Conference, all off his own bat. I love him so much and he has overcome such adversity from the moment he was born - a cardiac condition, three surgeries for that complaint, multiple procedures for other issues, an acquired brain injury from open heart surgery, a diagnosis of Autism, low muscle tone, right sided weakness, scoliosis, abnormal gait, sleep apnoea etc etc. And yet he remains the most cheerful man with an incredible work ethic and enthusiasm for life. He takes my breath away with pride.

The there is Callum. He was born after I had been destroyed by the deaths of his older brother and sisters. He was the antidote to grief that I thought would be erased. He was a beautiful, happy and an engaging baby, toddler and boy. He faced his own challenges, brave to stay a primary school when he was ruthlessly tormented, followed by similar experiences in high school. I moved him to another school at the end of year 10, which was better but not perfect.

After my stupidity of spending four months in Queensland, I returned to Perth, bought my duplex and was overwhelmed to have Callum back with me.

He met the glorious Bronwyn in 2009. She was a more than a match for Callum, with her stunning long red hair, her straightforward  attitude and her love for Cal. They were a match made in heaven. I have always also loved her and even more since our estrangement with Vanessa. Together they have built a life together, a house, their teaching roles, a rather irritable cat (except with Bron) and their children, Immy and Violet, who are now three and six years old.

Along with Michael, Alex, Callum, Bronwyn and our adored Grandies are the lights of my life.Yesterday, I was serenaded by Immy singing me 'Happy Birthday' with Cal.

Over the last months, I have made awful mistakes, hurting others that I should never have done so. I acknowledge full acceptance of disastrous lack of judgement. All I can offer as an explanation if that I had and continue to have psychological overload, which caused me to make some dreadful mistakes. To those I have hurt, I am truly sorry and I hope one day everybody who I have wronged can forgive me. 

This is a deeply personal post but one I needed to write. My recovery can only start with me recognising the ghosts of my past and my challenges of my present. I have promised Michael that I will give my all to climb out of my well and love the warmth of the sun once more.

Again no photos as I hope my words will be enough. 

 

How To 'Danshari' My Brain...

 Danshari is the Japanese word for decluttering, which actually consists of three components  - 

Dan (断): Refusing to bring unnecessary items into your home.

Sha (捨): Discarding or letting go of the clutter you already own.

Ri (離): Detaching yourself from materialism and emotional dependency on things.

 Another useful Japanese phrase is  the aesthetic of "Ma" (間)—creating meaningful empty space between objects to allow your mind and eyes to rest.

I have been thinking about the comparison between the removal of unnecessary items around me and instead applying this process to my brain.

Let me explain. My mental health issues were still causing chaos, disordered thoughts, hyper-sensitive emotions, inability to problem solve and feelings of worthlessness. The whole nine yards. 

I had to change my reactions to the stresses that was threatening to derail this much needed break. I couldn't change the circumstances but I could change my responses.

Hence the idea to use the principles of Danshari to 're-calibrate' my brain. 

So I set about creating compartments to disentangle myself from the circumstances I couldn't control.

The first compartment was for the trials of using Mailchimp. This internet tool began as free and I used Mailchimp for years to send over four hundred emails of my Gallery newsletter every month or so. Then Mailchimp began charging a fee, not huge, but living as pensioners, every dollar counts. Plus I had never really understood all its functions, such as adding more contacts to the mailing list. And, the time of writing the newsletter, adding photographs with captions was taking anywhere between three to six hours. I decided that I needed to delete my account.

And that process was a disaster. I believe Mailchimp deliberately makes account deletion almost impossible. After trying to reset my password three times (as naturally I forget passwords as a matter of course), I was a mess. 

Since then, Mailchimp has sent me detailed instructions how to complete deletion but I decided I will tackle that process when I am ready. Which is not at the moment. So we just have to stomach paying for a service I will never use again. 

I apologise to those readers of my newsletter but I just don't have the energy for this task anymore. 

The next compartment is for the  seemingly endless Subdivision of our building, now in its fourth year. Delays and changes have caused a never-ending tale of woe. Michael and I have both suffered from mental health issues as a result and taken turns trying to understand all the players, the processes and the timeline.

The completion date for this Subdivision is next April. I was becoming so anxious that any of my thoughts concerning the Subdivision would leave me in a distressed heap. Hence the need to lock this situation away whilst we are on this break.

A third compartment could be for the reporting of a rort we fell for back in May. We paid $125 for an online consultation with a supposed specialist who never materialised. At the time, I reported this issue to ANZ, gave them the details of the date and time, the amount, the account that took our money and then waited for our refund.

ANZ's responses could be an episode of the "Keystone Cops" if it had not become so frustrating. They have repeatedly asked for 'more documentation'. There is none. This farce resembles the infamous days of the KYC debacle. Vicky Brady, if anybody brings our measly $125 refund plus $25 for pain and suffering, we would be sincerely grateful. I am pretty sure that ANZ could afford to grant us this refund, given their profit margins. However, I doubt our refund will ever happen. 

So, instead, I am not even giving this situation a compartment. I am throwing this directly into a virtual bin, as that is exactly where ANZ's behaviour deserves to be.

As ANZ doesn't have a compartment at all, I am using one for my daughter, Vanessa. I have not spoken to her for four years (if my calculations are correct) and I do miss her dreadfully. But she is on her own journey which I can't share. If I think about her too much, I am consumed by  grief and guilt, even though I have no idea what led to our estrangement. That is why I am so bloody grateful for my boys. 

There is a final compartment which is quite difficult to explain. My brother Michael was recently admitted to hospital after his daughter (I assume that was Rebecca) found him on the floor of his unit. Michael is nearly sixty-nine years old. Apparently, he has since been discharged from hospital, but this situation has really shaken me. 

Michael was so much more than a brother to me when we were children. He was my playmate, my soulmate and my protector. Our mother was chaotic and often just unreachable. If I was frightened or sad or worried, I would go to Michael, often during the night as I was truly scared of the dark. The thought of waking up our mother was untenable.

From my point of view, I believe our mother harmed us all, Michael the most. He left as soon as he could, ending up in Far North Queensland after a stint working around Australia. A marriage and a long term relation, children, moving around, building a house outside Cooktown and supporting a granddaughter, along with his partner Jenny seemed to provide him with purpose. 

Then, over time, his life fell apart. I am not saying that Michael was blameless. I think he was his own worst enemy and if he could, bear some responsibility for the the littered lives around him. I just don't believe he can think that rationally anymore.

My greatest shame is that I have lost touch with him, along with two of his his daughters and one of his grandchildren. I assume he is still living in the unit in Cooktown, but as he has no computer and often no mobile, he is almost impossible to contact. I once phoned the local Cooktown police to undertake a welfare check on him so I could find out if he was alive and talk to him.

I have seen him a few times over recent years, once is Melbourne (when his partner Jenny was dying) twice in Far North Queensland, the second time for Jenny's funeral. 

However, even if I did have regular contact with him, what would we talk about?  My life and his life are poles apart. Apart from his eyes, there is nothing left of the Michael I once knew and loved.  That has made me terribly sad.  

Hence, I have had to place his life and my grief for him in a final compartment. All my life, I have believed in the concept of loving families. Except for Michael and me, time passed almost imperceptibly and was the unrecognised villain. And I use that word quite deliberately.

In my opinion, we all need to share in the lives of our families. If we ever have enough money, I would like the chance to touch base with David, Simon and even Michael, just to let them know they do matter to me. Along with my children and grandchildren, who with my beloved Michael, are the essence of my life. 

No photographs with this post. Just my thoughts and my beliefs. 

And hoping I can use Danshari in my brain whenever I have the need once more.

 

 

The Good, The Apalling, The Itcy And (Finally) A Lovely Spot And Some Welcome Sunshine.

Little did we know that our rather chaotic stay at the Midland Caravan Park (picking up my new CPAP mask, Michael's glasses, an adapter for our Dune fridge and attempting to reorganise the van and car for the very first time) was actually in a rather agreeable location. 

We had been hoping to spend a couple of nights within an hour of Joondalup, but all the caravan parks in three locations did not accept dogs. In addition, we were absolutely exhausted with the mad flurry of leaving home and were incapable of travelling further than Midland.

Three days later, we set off full of enthusiasm for Dalwallinu. We remembered an attractive caravan park just out of the town with clean facilities. Perhaps we should have left straight after arriving at the Dalwallinu caravan park. 

Firstly, they had lost our booking. Then, they offered us an uneven site next to the waste dump, Eventually, Michael asked for on a site that was right on the end of a row with a scrap of neglected weed ridden grass next to the van,

And the ground was littered with rubbish, broken glass and other detritus.  I kept picking up and disposing of offending items in the nearest bin, until that disappeared a day into our stay and never returned. 

The amenities blocks ware not cleaned at all over two days.The camp kitchen was truly disgusting. Water continually seeped from the floors of the block of individual toilets. The bin outside of the camp kitchen was overflowing, The lighting to the toilet block at night was abysmal.

After two nights we fled. Then began my useless quest to obtain a refund for this horrid experience. There was huge confusion who actually owned the Dalwallinu caravan park. We thought the park was Shire owned, with the on site manager. Then we were told by the Shire that the park was actually owned AND managed by those at the park. Then I discovered that the receipt listed another name, Apparently, he had been the previous lessee, finishing up in 2024. So, the Dalwallinu caravan park was still using the name of the previous lessee on the official receipts nearly two years later.

I had no luck attempting to get the Dalwallinu Shire or the Dalwallinu caravan park to take responsibility and issue us with a refund. Neither would negotiate and the Shire keep insisting that the manager had contacted me. Which he hadn't.

My considered comment about the Dalwallinu caravan park is don't ever go there, unless you have full facilities - kitchen, shower and toilet, only stay one night and never venture outside. 

Our experience was so bad that we will never visit Dalwallinu again. I think I would give the caravan park zero out of 5 stars. As for the Shire claiming they make periodic inspections, I very much doubt that. The staff on our arrival were, in my opinion, completely inept, had no concept of cleanliness whatsoever and had little if any interest in service. The last straw for me, which caused us to leave a night early, was finding pooh on the seat of a toilet in the Ladies, after I stood up. I kid you not. Not a spider, pooh...

We arrived in Yalgoo with intense relief.  The caravan park was pleasant, even if the bathrooms were somewhat dated, At least they were clean. We had hoped to enjoy days and days of fossicking in our favourite spots. The weather was pleasantly sunny for the first two days, although the boggy tracks cramped our ability to fully explore. Then the rain arrived, for five very long days. 

We were unable to move on due to a lack of funds for nine days. We did have clearing weather for the last two days, but by this stage, I was covered with sandfly bites or their wee or whatever they did to me. I out spotted even "Harry the Dirty Dog". The only upside was taking advantage of any break in the rain and exercise the dogs at the excellent Core Stadium oval. 

Finally, we were able to leave Yalgoo. The sandflies caused me such a severe reaction that I shall hesitate before returning to Yalgoo again. Plus, I tripped over a rock on a town track and am still sporting a large bruise on my upper left arm.

We are currently on our last night here in Northampton. The town is quite pretty although all traffic, including the thundering road trains make their way down the main street. And we have had a beautiful leafy site with grass and sun for the dogs We have really done stuff all. We have been on a couple of walks, sampled a cake and tart in the bakery, revelled in an IGA open seven days a week, discovered the golf course was the official dog exercise area and taken a few photos of the Northampton ewes display. Michael was fortunate to meet a lovely lady named Marlo who provided him with very rusty and desirable plough discs!

And we have come alive in glorious sun and warm temperatures that have seen us in teeshirts, jeans and thongs, We still use our little fan heater at night but we have been buoyed by waking up to the birds and the gentle movement of the leafy outlook. And the bathrooms are utterly divine.Another source of wonder has been the complete absence of sandflies.

We leave for Carnarvon in the morning, just south of the Tropic of Capricorn. Today, I packed away most of our warm clothes in our of the van's hatches and looking forward to mild to warm days and only cool instead of frigid nights. 

Until next time.

And here are some random photographs of our Northern Break Time so far.

 

 

 

 

Stella and Lexi at Midland Caravan Park in their coats. 

 

 

En-route to Dalwallinu... 

 

 

 

Emus around Yalgoo 

 

 

Metal, metal and all metal! 

 

 

The local mullah-mullah.. 

 

 

Michael fossicking around Yalgoo...

 

 

 

The dogs at Core Stadium in Yalgoo,,, 

 

 

View over Yalgoo from the lookout... 

 

 

St Hyacinth's Church, Yalgoo... 

 

 

St Hyacinth's history... 

 

 

The ruins of the Yalgoo general store... 

 

 

Entry statement... 

 

 

Stamp head battery, Yalgoo... 

 

 

 

Images of Northampton - 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mascot of the local pharmacy! 

 

 

 

 

Off On Our New Expedition (With A Few Hickups!)

 Hello again. I have written NOTHING since 27 May. Prior to leaving, I cleaned the house from top to tail for our tenants, did not prepare Chop the cat for our departure, organised, organised and re-organised all our gear multiple times.

We left home on 18 June in the mid afternoon with three months worth of Michael's Alkaline water (270 litres!) as we were unsure whether we would be able to find his water anywhere else on our travels.

We had packed plastic crates of non perishable food items and nibbles for travel, dog food and treats, clothes and footwear for the cold and the warmth, medications (including the Colostrum for my gut), toiletries, distilled water for our CPAP machines (yes, we both have these devices) two fridges with perishable food and frozen meals, solar panels, dog crate (on the roof), crockery (yes, Michael wanted ceramic plates). cutlery, all the kitchen paraphernalia small heater, pillows, sleeping bags, hand-towels, tea-towels, spare sheets and another light quilt, an ongoing tangle of cords for computers, phones, hot spots and our CPAP machines. with us, our girls Stella and Lexi and us, all crammed into 4 metre caravan called Will and Lily, our trusty 4WD.

Our first three nights were at the Midland caravan park whilst we worked out where the hell all our stuff was, picked up Michael's Polaroid multi focal glasses from our favourite optometrist, Doctor Ernie Hawes, optician Mrs Helen Hawes and other optician Duran.We also picked up a new CPAP mask for me and an adapter for our Dune fridge.

Plus a lot of tears from me. We had longed for this break for so long. I didn't realise the consequences of all that stress and anxiety I had been carrying for so long. I found myself tripping over familiar words, forgetting where I had placed items and being frightened all the time. Initially Michael was exasperated with me and slowly, he began to understand my distress. Thinking I was actually succumbing to dementia, my only option was to research what was happening to me.  I discovered that I was suffering from psychological overload, which with my ADHD, was overwhelming me when I should be enjoying myself.

Our experience at Dalwallinu caravan park did not help. Dirty and badly run, we fled after two nights. We are still attempting to obtain a full refund of $110 dollars. The lessee I have discovered is not the manager. Perhaps 'silent partner' springs to mind.

 Onward to Yalgoo. The caravan park here was a blast of fresh, clean and well maintained air. Even so, I was still traumatised. Yesterday was the first day I have felt better. I have also started speaking out loud where I have placed items, watching where I am going, enjoying the companionship of our dogs, Stella and Lexi, and looking at the sky and listening to the birds.

I also really loved fossicking alongside Michael for the first time.

Michael, my beloved husband, I can't thank you enough. You have ridden the wave of despair with me, coaxed me back out of my well and have gently looked after me and you are responsible for beginning to restore my self esteem and quest for happiness and hopefulness on this trip which promises to be wonderful.

Still working out how to load my photos on this new laptop, Apologies! 

 

Inside Michael's World of Wonder

My beloved husband, Michael has been sculpting for forty-five years. He has been welding even longer, having completed intensive courses at the age of seventeen as part of his apprenticeship. In fact, one of Michael's sculptures, named 'Screwed' (!) is the story of a project during the third year of his Mechanical Fitting apprenticeship.

Michael's love of stories began as a result of his first business, during which he began creating decorative metal sculptures. Prior to that, he had gone to Port Hedland to work, aged twenty-one and fell in love with the Pilbara landscape.

Later, involved in shutdown work in the Goldfields for ten years, he fell in love once more with those landscapes. To this day, the Pilbara and the Goldfields are his favourite places after our home in Heavenly Beverley.

So, where does Michael find his inspiration? The journey always begins with the metal artifacts we discover between Beverley and the Pilbara as often as we can go, usually once a year. We load up our quite small willing and able 1998 A-Liner Caravan, nicknamed Will and tow him with our nine year old double ute named Lily. We set off with the dogs, Lexi and Stella, and follow a path through the northern Wheatbelt, the Murchison, the Gascoyne and up to the Pilbara. We stop anywhere that interests us, which might be the remains of an abandoned building or a ruin or a disused tip or a deserted mine site. Then, we fossick.

We dress  sensibly - jeans, steel capped boots, shirt, hat and gloves. Each of us carries a canvas satchel with snacks, water, insect repellent and plenty of room for treasures. Mobile phones are normally useless unless we are under the umbrella of a mine site. So, I keep our car in line of sight at all times. I also look for a landmark that will guide me if I can't actually see the car.

Fossicking is like meditation. The only time I ever shut up is when I am fossicking. Michael will call out to me quite frequently so he knows where I am. Time can and does stand still. In a glorious location, with metal surrounding us, we hear the birds and wind, feel the sun, and we are sometimes grateful for cloud cover or shade if the day is warm. 

We might stop for a light lunch and share our treasures.  Whilst we are fossicking, the dogs sit or lie in their crate, which we tie to the back of the ute. They can see us and have water, toys and treats. We look for shade for them or point the car into the sun to create our own shade. 

From the objects we collect, Michael's mind begins to turn. A theme or a story will usually begin its genesis as we fossick or will germinate after a few days or weeks. We usually unpack the ute several times during our adventures, which gives Michael a chance to view the similarities, contrasts and the pieces' sheer beauty.

Fossicking time is precious to us. We focus completely on the ground around us, whilst being fully aware of the our surroundings and its inhabitants. As we have aged, we no longer move every night or even every week. From June, we are spending lengthy spells in Yalgoo, Onslow, Point Samson and Marble Bar. Even the ocean can throw up precious items that Michael can incorporate into his works. We relax into being one with the environment, whether it be fossicking or resting or watching the sun, the moon, the waves, the rivers or the beautiful landscapes of the Wheatbelt, the Mid West, the Murchison, the Gascoyne and the Pilbara. 

And when we return home, we add our our new artifacts to Michael's collection.  Recently, a very dear friend or ours, Henry (Hank) Kordas, who is an amazing photographer, spent some fantastic time with us, and created wonderful images of Michael's thirty years old cornucopia of found metal objects. 

We were blown away by Hank's photographs as he presented Michael's artistic collection in beautiful detail. 

We like to think that this snippet into Michael's world illustrates his skill, his original thought and his drive to push his boundaries further to create the most glorious and individual sculptures that continue to tell their stories. Any less would be unacceptable to his vision as an artist.

Come to the East End Gallery in Heavenly Beverley and see for yourselves... 

 

 

Kate fossicking at Marvel Loch...

 

 

 

Michael around Marble Bar...

 

 

 

Locals...

 

 

 

Another local...

 

And another - who you really don't want to hit with your vehicle! 

 

 

 

Always good to remember! 

 

 

The landscapes... 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Coongan river at "The Bar" outside Marble Bar... 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

Treasures in expected locations... 

 

And here are Hank's photos of Michael's Studio, Collection and us!