Bridge(s)

This post has taken me several efforts to write and I needed to edit it so it's not so pretentiously 'woe is me'. Here goes another attempt to finish and get my post actually out there...

According to a venerable Google search, a bridge is a structure that will be familiar all of us.  Personally, I dislike being on a bridge, especially in a vehicle and over a river. Being Anxiety Girl, every shake or shudder means that I will be entering a watery grave sometime soon. I also can't understand the reasoning of BASE jumpers, who cheerfully jump off bridges willy-nilly and hope their parachutes open before unfortunate landings. Any sort of jumping at the age of 65 usually results in a change of knickers anyway and that sort of jump would be extremely detrimental for my personal hygiene. 

However, I am rather enjoying another sort of bridge. I have started playing the card game Bridge with a lovely group of ladies on a Monday afternoon. I haven't done so since I was about thirty years old (maybe earlier...) but I am thoroughly enjoying the experience and my brain is definitely responding. I find Bridge challenging but I also enjoy pushing my boundaries. One of the other participants has given me great encouragement by taking chances or risks with my bidding. The following quest is to win the "contract".

I have also started playing online bridge and I must admit to being particularly incredulous at both the bidding and the playing. The bidding is often nonsensical and the playing...well, throwing out all your aces and losing control of the contract is not sensible. As a result, I am bidding and playing quite adventurously in both the online and real world bridge. This tactic swings wildly between an amazing triumph or going down in a blaze of glory. 

 Another step to "test the water". I started have 'Kate's Club' on Wednesdays at the Red Vault Cafe opposite the East End Gallery. I will be sitting in the Cafe between 12 noon and 2pm until Christmas, waiting for kindred spirits, great conversation, our stories and hopefully a lot of laughter. Upon an excellent suggestion from a friend, I have included an "ice breaker" to get the party started. 

This week's ice breaker was - what did I want to be when I grew up? As a child, my brothers always told me I was going to be a monster, so that's the reply I gave to relative or well meaning older ladies. The facial expressions (of course I didn't know why) were priceless. I believe Beverley needs a friendship group for those - male or female - who are not into sport or other organised activities.  So. give Kate's Club a go!

Unfortunately, next week, we have yet another medical appointment in the Big Smoke, but I intend to be at the Red Vault on Tuesday between 10am and 12 noon,  just for next week. Next week's ice breaker is a prelude to Christmas - were you/ are you naughty or nice...

After being a bit off the planet for several months, I have tentatively stepped onto another bridge that is leading me back into our East End Gallery on Thursdays and Fridays. So far, I am really  motivated and "getting back on the horse" is working well. I am not in the Gallery on Saturdays and Sundays (except by special arrangement) as the weekends are when my family is free.  Saturdays and Sundays are carried by our volunteer, Sue the Magnificent.

Plus, a flurry of activity by both of us, the East End Gallery is now even brighter and roomier for spring and early summer guests. 

The Gallery exists entirely through word of mouth and social media. I am no longer writing newsletters as such. I found this process time consuming, confusing and exhausting. So this Blog and my Facebook pages are my "go-to" resources. My posts about the Gallery on Facebook tend to shorter (and hopefully sharper) with the emphasis on the photographs we or others take on our behalf.

In our quest to stay as viable as possible (hahahahaha), Michael has stepped into a different zone as well and spreading his wings. Maybe he is blowing raspberries at the bridge and flying overhead? He still adores creating his large sculptures, particularly his story-telling panels, but he is also branching out into garden art. Again, he does not believe in repetition and is creating glorious and innovative pieces, perfect for the Great Outdoors. These works are already rusty, but they have stood the test of time and will certainly outlast us all. They are also extremely reasonably priced, the largest currently at $400. 

He is also taking courage in hand, entering three of his sculptures in the Northam Art Prize and applying for the Brookton Sculpture Awards and Trail.

Here's a plan. Turn your vehicle of choice towards Heavenly Beverley this weekend to take in the East End Gallery's terrific makeover and additions. For a bite to eat visit the Red Vault Cafe, the Freemasons Tavern, the Hotel Beverley or the Beverley Bakery (open Saturdays) The spring weather, although changeable, is perfect for a cruise to experience the delights offered by the East End Gallery. This weekend will be cloudy with the chance of rain, but a bit of precipitation never hurt anyone. We currently have our SPRING SALE underway and some fantastic Christmas present ideas. We are delighted to welcome new guests and old friends.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Michael at work as a sculptor 

 

 

 

 

No words needed! 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Changes...

I have been struggling with this post for over three days now. I think I know what and how I want to write, but my previous attempts have sounded pompous and pretentious, which I strive never to be.  So. let's get down to brass tacks.

Change is forever an inevitable and part of life. How we handle change is an individual choice. Sometimes we argue with change or resist change or reject change, which may be solutions but do those reactions end as we would hope?

For example, our beloved girls, Lexi and Stella are in the midst of change. Lexi has started to challenge the older Stella, growing into a personality of her own, rather than her sister's shadow. Having said that, Stella is still the leader of sniffing expeditions around our oval, with Lexi dutifully trotting behind her. How the dynamics of their relationship are changing is a chance to watch this growth with each other and us.

Michael and I are also changing, some of these caused by age. We feel the same as we did when we were younger but the mirror doesn't lie and our bodies sometimes cause us grief. As a result, we have begun to pace ourselves, although try telling Michael that when he is absorbed in a new work and really pushes his limits, sometimes to the detriment of his body.

We are lucky to have forged wonderful memories along with the difficult times.I have been reminiscing about some of our decisions over the years, particularly our move to Beverley at the beginning of 2011. Perhaps we could have stayed longer in my dinky little duplex in Marangaroo and been with my children for more time. Maybe we could have found a property with a large workshop/studio for Michael on the outskirts of Perth, but how could he have displayed his art? Or we could have tried to find a town closer to the Big Smoke that met our needs.

In the end, these thoughts are just supposition. Michael longed for the bush he had known as a child and a place to call his own and create his art. The Gallery was an adjunct. We didn't plan for that extension at all. It just happened.

We chose a town within ninety minutes of Perth. Although that time has blown out to almost two hours, this trip is still viable and needs to be for a number of reasons. Shopping for items we can't get in Beverley or attending medical appointments may be tiresome but necessary. However, what I genuinely love is to see my sons, my daughter in law and our granddaughters. 

Alex has a very busy life so seeing him is not always easy. Being an Autistic Superstar, he doesn't adjust to changes in his routine well and sometimes I just can't be with him when he chooses. We are very lucky that his fantastic support worker Sunil brings him to Beverley about once a month. And we do talk on the phone.

Callum, Bronwyn and our grandies have recently moved to a new home which has much more space for them. I am so happy for them! I am hoping we can see them more frequently, as I do miss them, all four of them for different reasons.Time never stops and they will change.

We have changed over our fifteen years in Beverley and Beverley itself has changed. Essentially, I believe Michael has, mostly, loved his personal changes - gaining a large space to call his own, rediscovering his passion for his sculpting and having our wonderful home and garden and our pets. He seems reasonably content with his life at present. 

I have had a rough time with my demons over the last few years. I am quite convinced that some of these were of my own making. I retreated from our beloved East End Gallery, though I hope to test the waters again, slowly, during this month. In fact, I removed myself from a great deal of my previous life this year and now is the time to reassess.

So, I am choosing to make a change and see what happens. I have become quite lonely due to my retreat. The time has come for me to step out of my comfort (or uncomfortable) zone and take a punt.

A long time ago, I used to attend the Kalparrin Centre  Mothers' Weekends, which were held twice a year to give mothers of children with special needs forty eight hours of respite. Eventually change occurred to those weekends and I realised that the Kalparrin Centre was no longer for me.

However I do remember the mantra that was the soul of these weekends - 

• Make no judgements
• Make no comparisons
• Delete the need for understanding

I am hoping that there are like minded people who might like to join me at the Red Vault Cafe in town (115 Vincent Street Beverley) from this Wednesday from 12 noon until 2 pm and every Wednesday at those times until Christmas. 

The idea behind this group is for anybody who attends can express themselves as they wish. I know from my experience that people may shy away from self expression for fear of being misunderstood or judged. 

Needless to say, religion or politics have no place in such a group, so please don't attend if that intention is the reason for attending.

I am damaged and full of baggage. That has made me who I am. I would like to create an environment for people to feel free, regardless of their circumstances. No pity. Just understanding, sharing and empathy. And hopefully, a lot of laughter.

If nobody shows, that's fine. The time will give me one day a week devoted to writing. Needless to say, I would be more than happy if I closed my laptop to chat.

I might see you on Wednesday.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

Us (And Them)...

Pink Floyd's haunting "Us and Them" highlights the pointlessness of war, of divisions in society and of arbitrary actions by some towards others.

Although this song in primarily about war, and suffering by many people in general, I feel connected to some of the meanings throughout our fifteen years living in Beverley.

Don't get me wrong. We have some wonderful friends in town who seek to help us, some generous acquaintances here  and elsewhere who support us along with Sue the Magnificent, our volunteer who is running the East End Gallery at present.

I also have my family who I have spoken about in many of my posts who mean the world to me. 

And I am so lucky to have my beloved husband Michael who has supported me through my frailing moods and demons which has coloured so much of our lives over the last two years. 

Desperation over living day to day, wondering how to pay the bills, of the wretched subdivision, the fear about the NDIA's funding model and how that could hurt Alex's ability to live a safe, happy and fulfilling life and my longing for returning to happiness. 

If we had known what the seemingly never-ending subdivision would mean, if we had the permanency of a tenant in one of our shops, instead of those who flutter in and then out, if our tenant in another shop wasn't in dire straits and could pay more rent (which she can't) and if the locals actually either knew that we exist or actively support us, we might have a chance of breathing somewhat easier. 

This is where "Us and Them"  seems to impact our lives. We live in a town of 1000 people and only a fraction of those have ever come into our Gallery. We have seen people whilst they are waiting for a toastie from the cafe across the road, or whose partner in the the chemist or the toilet. 

Then we have the hostile indifference of another organisation who seems hell bent on seeing us fail. We have received and advertised their occasions for years and their fearless leader has only crossed our threshold of our Gallery on a handful of occasions.We have decided that enough is enough and we wish to have nothing to do with them in the future. Another premises behaves the same way. Occasionally we will gratefully receive a busload of tourists and some of those will buy from us.

We do greet other artists and artisans from time to time, some of whom are very dear to us as we try to support them. We hang onto any sales in the hope that the buyers will tell their friends and family. These links do occasionally occur and we are grateful for them.

But most of the time, we are just 'Us'. We love the sanctuary of our home and garden, of our 'girls',. Lexi and Stella who are the dogs and our exceeding annoying cat, Chop, named due to losing a small portion of his tail to an infection.  

As spring is continuing and we spend more time outside. we breathe in the blue sky and sun of some of the the days and revel in the quiet  of the evenings,  we are usually content in each other's company and we support each other. That is a bit of a fib - at the moment Michael is caring for me.

Michael also has the outlet of his his amazing workshop with an abundance of his glorious collection of found metal items at his disposal. He is an extraordinarily talented and gifted sculptor, who brims with ideas and uses his thoughts and instincts to create innovative artworks. At the moment, he is focusing on garden art which he can produce relatively quickly and is less expensive for guests. Without his escape of his mind in his space, his life would lose so much meaning. 

So that is the situation in which we find ourselves, We have our home, a car, enough to eat and the pleasure of sitting and enjoying a glass of wine together.

This is 'Us'. 

 

 

On our most previous trip around Marble Bar,,,

 

 

 

Heading home - somewhere between Newman and Mount Magnet - a good day...

 

 

 

Lexi and Stella...

 

 Chop...

 

 

 

Callum...

 

 

 

Bronwyn, as they move into their new home!

 

 

 

Alex with Sunil, his fantastic support worker. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gratitude

+-+

Twelve days after returning home from, definitely, the Trip That Shook Me Out Of My Self Imposed Misery, I am finally turning Station House back into our home.

The people who rented the house so we could afford to go away, treated it with utter contempt and left it in dirty disarray. Eight hours to clean my kitchen. Tenacity by our wonderful cleaner to remove most of the scum that covered the floors (I also had to scrape away baked on grease). An entire week to clean our house. Washing every single item of linen and throwing pillows out.

They rendered our dishwasher non functional (after I had verbally told them and write down not to use it), left a nasty stain on one of our mattresses (eurgh) , mould and moss (!) on my window frames and a strong damp odour throughout our house. .

Michael has assured me he will tackle the air-conditioning filters and the ceiling fans in due course, all of which are caked with dust. Needless to say, we had left them clean...

My volunteers who visited the house whilst we were away told me the blinds were always closed so they could play video games. These were people who told me they could look after our home and garden which I had left pristine for them. Instead, they treated our house as a rubbish dump.

Neither the parents of one of the people or the people themselves have responded to my messages or phone calls asking for an apology and the amount of a week's rent for compensation. Those actions have cemented my belief that they are ill mannered and ultimately selfish, never to be trusted by anyone ever again. Karma will eventually sort them out.

Yesterday was beautiful and sunny with the stirrings of spring. Today is a bit overcast and windy, but still with the promise of warmer days. Michael has been absolutely peerless, tackling all the washing up whilst I was sleeping in. He has completed the last of his designated tasks - tidying his desk and tossing out all items he no longer needs. Michael really dislikes change, but even he admitted that after this job was completed, he now knows what is in his desk drawers again.

I intend to tackle the washing, sweep my courtyards and tend my beloved plants over the next couple of days. The sunny warmth is calling me outside as this week will become lovely. My deciduous plants are beginning to bud and my geraniums and succulents are already blooming.

I have almost weaned myself off the damaging antidepressant. My balance has improved substantially, the panic is gone and I use self talk for my anxiety episodes. I still have the odd wobbly day but I am determined to pick myself up, lift my head and just get on with rediscovered confidence to minimise these episodes.

My beloved Michael and I are holding hands again, enjoying cuddles and kissing with no angst and re-learning to banter once more. Do we still bicker? Absolutely. But we continue to explore the renewed positivity of our relationship, in order to return to an even keel.

Michael's rounds of the kitchen during the trip paid timely dividends, so our marriage would continue. I had to pull my socks up and choose to join his world again. Once I had actually decided that path, my demeanour was surprisingly easy to change. 

And he has taught me gratitude again. Gratitude for our home, our garden, our now-settled dogs and the autocratic cat. Simple pleasures like taking the dogs to our local oval for a well deserved romp with their canine buddies. Watching our favourite television shows. Listening to music. Enjoying Wordle and Mahjong for myself, rather than as a competition. 

He also comes up with practical suggestions to ease my anxiety. When I was bemoaning the wet weather, he reminded me to use the clothes airer in front of the air-conditioning. Saving me from cooking by producing one of his world famous pizzas. Helping me with food prep for dinner. Driving whilst I find my confidence again.

I occasionally become envious of others' disposable income, particularly when we have been on the bones of our bums for so long. With the never ending subdivision. With a beautiful Gallery that makes no money. With the seemingly never ending gnawing worry about bills. 

But then I remember what we actually have, our home, our battered building that contains our Gallery and Michael's Workshop and Studio, our fabulous volunteer Sue (and Jan helping out) our vehicle, our ever-trusting, ever-loving dogs, Lexi and Stella, cheap cask wine to unwind in the evenings, watching the seasons, spending time with our family and friends, listening to the birds and the peace and our own personal escape, far from the madding crowd.

Plus, my breath is always taken away by the extraordinary talent of Michael. He is utterly true to his art, even as we struggle to have his sculptures recognised after forty-five years of creating these individual works. He will never succumb to commercial and repetitive pieces as that would kill his artistic soul. And I could never suggest otherwise.

Michael is the light and love of my life. We belong together. I vow to never jeopardise our relationship again. And I remain so grateful for his being and his presence.

 

 

Michael at Marble Bar...

 

 

 

Me fossicking near Meekatharra on the old railway line...

 

 

 

Us at the kids' house...

 

 

 

 

Number One son, Callum and our lovely daughter-in-law Bronwyn...

 

 

 

Number Two son and Autistic Superstar, Alex...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Great Expectations/No Expectations

I set off on this trip with Michael with such great expectations. This break would be my silver bullet, my panacea, lightness of spirit and hope bursting out of my very soul.

What a load of bollocks. I spent most of the trip in abject misery, afflicted with panic and anxiety. whilst the love of my life, Michael wondered what the hell to do with me.

And I was having falls. Lots of falls. Mostly onto rocks, spectacularly onto glass , tripped up by the dogs' leads, the steps to the caravan, inside the caravan 

And I was terrified of losing items, of forgetting words, of being afraid all the time. I was dropping items, spilling food and drink on me, on Michael and inside the caravan. I spent most of this time enveloped in self-pity. Fucking hell, I was such a pain in the arse.

Then, I had met a retired doctor called Tim urged myself to spoil myself, to be kind to myself and not have too many expectations, Michael had been trying to support this idea of no expectations, but mostly I rejected him, caught in this inexplicable cycle.

Then, two moments collided to make me rethink this horrible state. Tim revealed there were many "self haters" in the world (which was a revelation) and if I couldn't love myself, perhaps I could make an effort to like myself...hmmm. Still I couldn't surface out of the fog...until Michael and I had a blazing row which was entirely my fault. Jealousy at him having fun with Tim and Lizzy, not being totally in my orbit all the time  and making me wait before we walked the dogs on a sweltering Marble Bar evening.

He had just had enough, Tired of me crying all the time, tired of  me not being responsible for my actions, tired of being cooped up with me in an 11 foot caravan and having nowhere to go, He was ready to go if I couldn't get my act together.

Suddenly I was dumbstruck. My ever patient, ever tolerant, ever caring and adored husband was being serious. I thought of his anguish and hurt with his previous wives and stupidly, I was going down the same path as them. On that fateful evening, I knew he had called my number and the onus was on me to change my appalling attitude.  

I knew I had to change. But I also wondered if there was another trigger that had contributed to this emotional anarchy.

Knowing me, I consulted Doctor Google. I had a hunch that the very expensive anti-depressant that I had begun taking over twelve months ago could have been, at least partially, the culprit. I was gobsmacked by my research. This drug caused panic and anxiety and dizziness leaving one susceptible to  falling. I also wondered I was atypical, due to the fact I had been told to cease taking my very reliable SSRI, because I might get fat! By a cardiologist who was only interested in prescribing as many drugs as possible. Fortunately another cardiologist had conducted a "tabletectomy" on most of the medication that she had prescribed.

But still I remained on this bloody anti-depressant  and even was prescribed more (mostly due to my short sighted insistence) plus a mood stabiliser.

Had these drugs been helpful at all? I began to doubt this entire drug regime. So, I made a decision. I was going to wean me off this destructive stuff and before I introduce any more drugs, just looking for who I used to be,

Michael is concerned I will turn into a loony as a result of a drug-less state but I have to try...before I introduce any other drugs.

I have only had one more wobbly day and I am determined not to be overwhelmed again. So I gritted my teeth, thought of my wonderful husband and had an afternoon nap, Upon waking, I regained my equilibrium. 

I have also started reducing my meds. I plan to see a new GP  and talk through what I hope to achieve in the future, both immediate and long lasting

Plus, I will reunite with my beloved Barry,  my thigh throbbing exercise bicycle and return to the "dog park" at the Beverley oval, seeing my doggy friends and their parents, all on the day after coming come. And of course, Chop our cat. I just pray he doesn't give us the hairy eyeball for too long..

The last six months have been a hell of a ride. Not any more.  I have far too much to lose.and I an not going to go down that path again.

Dedicated to you and love to you, Michael. And I will work at having no expectations.

That is all.

 

 Bugger me, I have had a light-bulb moment (or two)!

 

Revelations, Reflections and Realisations

We have been away from home for nearly seven weeks. We have both acknowledged that this trip has not been restful and relaxing. And that is the first revelation for me.

I worked for weeks like a navvy preparing for this trip. I packed and repacked, sourced more than enough alkaline water for Michael, organised scripts and more non-perishable food than would be needed for an Antarctic expedition. I cooked some meals to be frozen, cleaned and dusted the house from top to bottom, ironed every piece of clothing and washed and changed the bed on the day our house renters were to arrive. The house was neat as a pin, the caravan and car were both groaning and we didn't actually leave until after three o'clock on a winter's afternoon.

And that's when all my preparation led to exhaustion, disillusionment and hollowness. After discovering that the caravan park north of Perth didn't accept dogs (as we were on our way), we changed tack and ended up in the Midland Caravan Park.The place was serviceable but no more.

The other two days we spent there were no more relaxing. We collected Michael's dark multifocal glasses, an extra CPAP mask and accessories that were an eye watering price and spent the next day trying to make sense of all the stuff we'd packed.

That was when Michael and I began to bicker. This was not the dream start to the trip I had been imagining. Then we encountered disaster after disaster. The caravan park in Dalwallinu was dirty and dusty. The bathrooms were disgusting. We fled onward to Yalgoo after two awful nights.

Yalgoo had received a lot more rain than usual. We were hampered by muddy tracks that could not be traversed. The rain continued on and off for a week. We were eaten alive by midgies. We began to feel trapped as we could not leave until we received our  Centrelink pensions and rent for the house.

We gratefully left for Northampton. This is a pretty town and we manged to snag a spot under some trees at the edge of the park. We moved onto Carnarvon, and as I had booked a cheaper park, we were soon covered in dust every time any car went past us. At least the weather was better. 

Worryingly, Stella began to bark relentlessly at people, dogs, bicycles and gophers. This was when my imagined bliss about the trip well and truly began to fall apart. Michael was perplexed by my despair. I kidded myself that by applying "Danshari" principle to my brain, I would be alright.

Except I wasn't alright. Moving onto Onslow (where I had such fond memories) left me aghast. We were placed in the hottest and windiest position in the new "upper" caravan park. There was no shade at all and high winds for over a week destroyed what was left of my well being. Even the beach was different where sand had disappeared in the wake of the latest cyclone and left sharp rocks and mountains of shells. Only at low tide could we find some mud flats for the dogs to be able to run and play.

Onslow looked like a building site - "they paved paradise and turned it into a parking lot." A hundred caravans were crammed into the upper level with only one laundry and one camp kitchen that was eight hundred steps from our van. The two washing lines were filled by nine in the morning. The reticulation line behind our van blew apart in the middle of the night and scared the shit out of me and the dogs. The mess left by this explosion of water took a day to clean up. We had booked three weeks and could not move to Point Samson officially until 4 August. The place was filled with cliques of people travelling together and very few people talked to us.

So we collected shells and walked the dogs, mostly at low tide. Stella was becoming quite aggressive to other dogs because she was leashed most of the time. By this stage, I could not speak without crying. Michael took photos of me walking hunched over on the beach, consumed by this over whelming sadness. I was wondering what the hell was wrong with me. Michael was just as perplexed and I grew terrified that he would leave me because of my emotional state.

We were scammed on the last Saturday night before we left Onslow. Suddenly. I could only use my credit card. And I dented the car on the same evening. I just sat at the pub and wept and wept. 

I was having flashbacks of most of my life. Then came the next revelation. My dreadful mood was all to do with my mother. She was a mercurial, manipulative woman who could be quite vicious towards us all. She used punishment as standard procedure. Her mood, her self obsession and her actions meant I was always a lonely child who was never allowed to have friends to our house. Not that I had many. All of us went through stages where we believed one of us was her current 'golden child'. She never consulted any of us and certainly never considered our feelings. 

Her legacy was one of chaos. She would end communication with me if I had offended her in some way. Which happened frequently. At one stage she didn't speak to me for six years. Michael asked me why I didn't contact her.  I reflected long and hard about his question. I realised that I had always been afraid of her, even after her death. I had thought that I was dealing with the grief and sorrow well that she had caused by this time in my life.

I finally came to the revelation that my fear of her had coloured how I reacted throughout my life.. Suddenly, over the last few days, with the assistance of my GP, raising the dosage of my drugs and organising an appointment with a new and recommended psychiatrist. And I have come to the realisation that not only had I disliked her lack of understanding and attention of me ( and my brothers) I had lost any remaining feelings at all for her. And that understanding has been huge for me.

I know I have a long road ahead of me. I am tired of these episodes of despair. I need a plan to deal with my emotions when a flashback arises and I feel guilty and worthless. 

I am so lucky that Michael has stuck by me. I suspect that without his continuing love and my beautiful dogs,  I may have committed suicide. But my mother has not won. I have started calling her 'the Witch'. Which rhymes nicely with Michael's relationship with his nicotine addiction who we refer to as 'the Bitch'.

We are onward to Marble Bar on Friday. Mostly to collect my new debit card that has been sent to the Marble Bar post office and engage in a bit of fossicking. We are not sure how long we will remain there. I also do not want to be travelling and miss my appointment with my new psychiatrist. 

We are both feeling that home is calling us. This has been such a fraught journey for both of us that we need to rest and recuperate at its closure. We have also made the decision to sell our Aliner, named Will because he has always been willing and able. He is just not for us any more.   

 This trip has been a cathartic experience but one I had to face. I have so  much gratitude to my beloved Michael and our 'girls' for helping me back from the brink.

Thus ended this rather lengthy tome. And enjoy these photographs of Stella and Lexi.

 

 

                                                                                                                                          

 

A 

 

And of course, this amazing, tolerant and compassionate man I am so proud to call my husband.

Love you with all my heart, Michael.

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Life In Songs.

 At birth... 

"Seven Seconds"

 The title and refrain of the song refers to the first moments of a child's life; as Cherry put it, "not knowing about the problems and violence in our world".^[

^{As a small child...} 

^{"Save all your kisses for me"}

 The song's final line provided a twist that the aforementioned loved one was his three-year-old daughter.

About my brother Michael...

"He ain't heavy, he's my brother"

Even though not technically correct, he was the first love of my life... 

About being a lonely teenager...

"What about me?"

A small child waiting at the counter, which was me longing to be noticed 

When Michael left and I was all alone

At Seventeen...

"At Seventeen"

No description necessary... 

The beginnings of taking prescription drugs...

"Mamma's Little Helper"

 a 1966 satirical song by the Rolling Stones about the widespred prescription prescription and abuse of 1966 satirical song by The Rolling Stones about the widespread prescription and abuse of tranquilizers like Valium among suburban housewives 

(Sorry about the yellow)

 Getting married very young...

"Chapel of Love"

Married for life with a man I loved... 

Baby/ Child loss..

'Beam me up"/"Tears in Heaven".

Who could I cope with 4 deaths of my babies...

"Lost that Lovin' Feeling'

The end of my first marriage... 

My first breakdown...

"Breakdown Dead Ahead"

Affair with a married man and the subsequent aftermath...

"Won't be Fooled Again"

Meeting Michael...

"Begin Again"

Love at first sight...

Our relationship dealing with his children...

"Miss Sarajevo"

Gelling married again...

"Love Shack"/"What a Wonderful World"...

to the light of my life...

Having so much fun together...

New horizons together

"We've Only Just Begun"

Happiness seemed assured...

Building our our home...

"Our House"/"You've made me so very Happy"

Creating a dream coming true...

"Taking Chances"

Risks about making our Gallery a reality...

Living hand to mouth,,,

"Hand to Mouth"

Being worn down by lack of money every single week...

Four years of hell...

"Hanging On"

That someday we won't

have to worry about money...

And most recently... 

"Demons" 

Confronting my inner chaos and the fear of letting people see me fall apart...

My fear of losing Michael ...

'Will You Still Love Me tomorrow"

Because I am such a pain in the arse.  

"New Beginning" 

Hope that I become the person I long to be again,