An Early Welcome to 2015

I am rarely punctual. So I thought I'd scare everybody and compose my take on 2014 and my hopes for 2015. Early. Just for emphasis.

We are just over twenty eight hours from the New Year here in Heavenly Beverley. Today has been an absolute stinker - forty four degrees Centigrade - and we have spent as much of the daylight hours as possible in air conditioning.

We have just ventured out into the garden in the last couple of hours, in order to revive our frazzled plants.We have been lucky. Only one smallish bush appears to have carked it and our tomatoes are sizzled on the ends, but live to fight another day. The capsicum,which was drooping rather sadly, have picked up happily with a dousing by the hose. For the first time since we installed the reticulation at the beginning of December, we will run it in the early morning to replenish the moisture lost today.

So, now is the time for reminiscing on our standout moments of 2014 -

• January saw us sell the Queen, our little rental house here in Heavenly Beverley. Once again, the canny Helen Stubing assisted us in realising our real estate dream. We needed to reduce our debt in order to go forward with our plans for the Forbes building and hopefully achieve Michael's fervent wish to have his own gallery. Particularly since I was unable to work, due to a wrist injury sustained on the job.
• excavating the underground water storage tank behind the Forbes Building during March. This was a formidable undertaking - recovering two rows of bricks over four metres in diameter and nearly four metres deep. This was necessary in order to retrieve more bricks for our renovation project and to develop the area where the water storage tank had been. Without falling into a very large hole.
• this project came with an almost deadly consequences. Michael nearly died from pneumonia in April. Most of this month was spent in and out of hospital. In the middle of this drama, I managed to pull off a Sofoulis Family Reunion, with a great deal of help from willing participants.
•  And then another month was needed for Michael to recover at home.
• June saw us go bush to the Northern Goldfields, for Michael to regain his strength. We had the most wonderful time away, in spite of the second degree burns I suffered whilst at Big Bell. The worst aspect of that accident was falling into a magnificent camp fire stone old sober!
• The rapid restoration of Shop 3 dominated Michael's agenda in August. Our tenant in Shop 2, the fabulous Marlene Willson, held a workshop to coincide with the Beverley Show. Due to overflow numbers, she requested use of Shop 3 for the day. Working at a very rapid rate, the shop was finally finished the day before the workshop was due to begin. Whew!
• We opened the gallery with just Michael's sculptures in September, to coincide with other  tourist events in town. The weekend was cool and rainy, but we took great pleasure in finally opening the East End Gallery and receiving a smattering of interested visitors.
• Alex, our autistic superstar, also visited for an extended holiday. having sprained his ankle and being told to stay off it. I transported him up to the House that Rocks for rest and recuperation.  He returned to his flat in Yokine, fully recovered, with brand new orthotics and shoes to keep his feet on the straight and narrow.
• After three springs in Beverley, I attended an annual event in October, Wild Women of the West. I wasn't sure what to expect. Some of the speakers were ho hum; the tour de force that is Tomas Ford was right up my alley. I had a good time. but probably won't attend next year. Not quite wild enough for me...
• November was noteworthy for three reasons. I held a retreat for eight friends @ the House that Rocks. A great girls' weekend was had by all. A day later, Michael was admitted to hospital with bronchitis. We spent four very scary nights whilst he struggled to breathe. A diagnosis of asthma in addition to his emphysema explained his increased breathlessness. Another nine days in the Big Smoke.Then, Ziggy the Volvo cooked his motor on the edge of Northam on the 27th and died peacefully by the side of the road. 
• With some financial help, we were able to buy a brand new, bright yellow Accent early in December. OMG. Michael has never had a new vehicle in his life. To say we were excited doesn't even come close...We named her Goldilocks. Curvy, feisty and able to outsmart any wolf  on the road! On the down side, Michael's teeth caused a nasty surprise this month. An abscess, an extraction, a temporary plate and antibiotics did not help Michael's general demeanour. An implant is planned for early in 2015.
• This month, Michael's workshop was also launched as a place of his own to create, to build, to construct. Insulated, painted, clad, tech screwed, a monumental thirteen metre brick wall and ninety one square metres of concrete floor have transformed the area from a Black Hole of Calcutta into a creative paradise.
• Then on the 19th, we held our inaugural Christmas Exhibition. Working until literally the last minute, we opened for the artists at 6pm and gathered for the "Last Supper" in the rejuvenated workshop. We had artists from Perth to Toodyay, York to Shackleton. And Beverley. We have so much artistic talent  here in Heavenly Beverley.
• What a year. What a whirlwind of events. And our home and garden continue to flourish. Christmas has come and gone and the New Year is looming. Summer has unleashed its blast of genuine heat and I find myself already looking forward to the cooler, wetter months. How is that for weird? Hmmm...
• Roll on 2015!

The Christmas Exhibition @ the East End Gallery.

At the same time as the renovation of Michael's workshop and studio, we decided we needed a couple more challenges. I wanted to mulch the garden in the wake of the disturbance left by the Red Gecko retic team. No biggie, I thought. I'll get that accomplished in a day or so.

We had also met the fabulous artist, Tim Burns, and found ourselves organising a Christmas Exhibition with him. Tim had contacts in Perth and promised to deliver art pieces to the gallery prior to 19 December -  E-Day. He also kindly offered to put several of his own pieces into the Gallery. Little did we know the magnitude of  his works.

A willing accomplice was found in Murray Cook, a ceramic sculptor from York, who jumped on board and became our third cog in the wheel. Sam Connor, Toodyay visual artist, disability advocate, Bolshy Diva and our friend joined the party. As we scratched the surface of Beverley and surrounds, artists appeared from everywhere. Pat Lane, Colleen Sleer, Denese Borlini (all from Beverley) and our daughter Vanessa all signed up to exhibit their works. Francine Tressider and her daughter Ariel Evans, indigenous artists who lived opposite Tim Burns, were keen to show some of their intricate dot paintings. Murray added his sculptures, as did Jon Denaro, John Grono and Mark Grey Smith. Bec Juniper, Annette Orr and Peter Fitzsimmons offered two paintings each to the list. The amazing Eleanor Davies gave us a mesmerising series of Pelican studies. Tatjana Seserko sent four confronting, outrageous mixed media pieces up with Tim on the opening day!

Wine and champagne was donated to the cause. After four days of mulching, I threw myself into the preparations and drove to Midland to pick up supplies for the BBQ, more wine and salad ingredients.

In the middle of the last frantic, furious, few days, Tim had to cope with a disasterous personal tragedy. He still came through with the art pieces, in spite of this crisis. Michael almost single handedly hang and mounted most of the pieces over this time prior to the opening. Our hearts were in our mouths whether we'd actually pull it off and be ready.

The final day was absolute chaos. Art pieces were still arriving, people were arriving early and the day was a beastly forty one degrees. Somehow, with Vanessa's help, we produced name tags for most of the exhibits, put together an approximate catalogue, stocked the fridge, set up the tables and chairs and the BBQs. We took it in turns to fly home for showers and a change of clothes.

I was second to the shower. The opening night was officially underway, but I craved a few minutes of peace and quiet @ the House that Rocks. I arrived back at the Gallery, frocked up, with a bit of lippy, just before 7pm.

The night was a triumph. We had artists from Perth, Toodyay, York, Beverley and Shackleton. Everyone appeared to have a great time. The drinks flowed, the food was plentiful, the workshop rocked. Michael and I each heaved a private sigh of relief and joy and relaxed, both of us enjoying the event. Our event.

We look forward to more of these informal gatherings of local artists. We think the artists are looking forward to more of the same too. Wheatbelt style. We certainly hope so!

Come up and see the East End Gallery. The Christmas Exhibition will run for the next three weekends until the middle of January 2015 and by appointment.

Michael's dream of participating in an artists' gallery has come true.And this opening Exhibition has taken my breath away.

The Christmas Exhibition @ The East End Gallery, Heavenly Beverley, Western Australia.

Another Brick or so in Michael's Workshop Wall.

Our building was an extraordinary mish mash of nooks and crannies when we started the renovation.

Behind Shops 3 and 4 and adjoining the tiny residence was a huge and gloomy area, whose usage had ranged from garage to storage to additional partitioned bedrooms. The floor was a jumble of warped floorboards with holes and numerous trip hazards for the unwary. Doors, archways, an ancient and heavy safe and graffitied walls added to the mix. The roof and one of the external walls were corrugated iron sheets, which leaked in winter and created a hot and airless hell in summer. At one end was a very large roller door, which was old and cranky, disliking going up or down. Needless to say, the power was non existent.

Having owned the building since 2012, this space was left as it was, whilst we pondered other more pressing problems. The external wall had to be reinforced, the shops needed to be renovated to provide us with an income and the residence had to be restored to something superior to a hovel so our friend Gary would have somewhere to live.

With the passing of time, Michael realised that his shed @ the House that Rocks was untenable in the long term. Not big enough, too hot in summer and too cold in winter, difficulty in managing light levels and airflow meant he needed another better workshop to create his own artwork and finish his two current commissions.

Suddenly, that disused and dark area behind at the back of the building had a purpose. But it needed major work to change from a shambles to a studio. Michael, TA Gary and canine sidekick Leo started the process. The end north wall next to the roller door was insulated, clad in second hand material, painted and had an access door inserted for easy movement. Then they started sealing, insulating and inserting a ceiling, more tin sheets obtained for free from Gwambygine Homestead.

Halfway through this process, Michael became unwell with bronchitis and developed asthma on top of his emphysema. A nine day sojourn in hospital seriously cramped Michael's style but was necessary for him to recover. A few more days recuperating at home and he was champing at the bit to get going again.

On top of the work on Michael's workshop, we had met and connected with the extraordinary Tim Burns. An artist of immense talent, who had lived in New York for many years, his home had changed to a massive shed in a disused granite quarry ten kilometres south of York. His work encompassed a variety of materials, sizes and styles. He embraced the idea or our gallery and Michael's studio, and before we could draw breath, we had agreed to a Christmas Exhibition in what was to become the smaller gallery - Shop 3. And the workshop was going to be the venue for an informal gathering and dinner for the artists and partners on the same evening - 19 December.

We needed to finish the workshop. Pronto. The insulation of the ceiling and the eastern wall was completed. Two whirlybirds assisted the airflow to keep the area cool. Six hundred and fifty (or thereabouts) tech screws secured the new ceiling. The plumbing for the workshop toilet and shower was installed, all 91 square metres of the concrete floor was finished, and the thirteen metre brick wall was built in three days. Finally, Dave, our trusty electrician, who had been with us from the very start of our life in Heavenly Beverley, toiled for a day and a half to add a myriad of lights and powerpoints.

With a day to go before the opening of the Christmas Exhibition and the Gallery already starting to fill, Michael's workshop had been transformed from disaster to a dream come true. We now had a perfect, airy, well lit space for the Last Supper - our planned dinner with the exhibiting artists, invited guests and partners.

Four trestle tables and thirty chairs were hired from the Platform Theatre. A donated fridge was hastily cleaned and painted, the BBQs brought from home and the round table in the outdoor patio readied as a preparation bench.

And then, after a marathon job, the Workshop and Studio was finished. All 91 square metres of it was ready for the dinner, hopefully the first of many such occasions.

From this.....

(cat pawprint in the brickwork)

 to this.

Keeping the Black Dog at Bay.

The Black Dog has been my intermittent companion for most of my life. A close relation of The Bitch, he is sneaky, ruthless, demanding  and can overwhelm my resolve to live my life well. I try to keep him on a short leash in the shadows, but every now and then, the cocky bastard slips his collar and returns to my heels, nipping at me so I know he's back.

I never know when he'll try to reassert himself. But when he does, I have to fight him with every fibre in my being. Sometimes, he'll undermine me so rapidly that I don't seem to have time to counteract his advances. For no particularly good reason, he reappeared this week, in the aftermath of a ridiculous spat Michael and I had. Neither of us can actually remember how this episode started and I began to spiral out of my carefully constructed control.

First the Black Dog whispered in my ear. A low, quiet growl, reminding me I was useless, worthless, a waste of space. Then he started snarling loudly in my head. You stupid cow, you can't do anything right. We mounted the emotional seesaw together and I was swinging wildly between anger and despair, longing and grief. Finally, he catapulted me down into my own personal hell, that dark, deep well that threatened to suffocate and drown me. My misery was all encompassing.

The shell of me that was left struggled to make sense of it all. I started by trying to describe these feelings as clearly as I could to Michael. I'd talk and cry. Then talk and cry some more. We went to bed and I slept and clenched my teeth and dreamt and used Michael's presence as a life buoy so I had a foundation to hang on to until morning.

The next day was filled with a heavy fog and tentative steps out of the well. I tried to finish the registration of our business name online. I was so muddled by the noise in my head this took forever and repeated phone calls to ASIC.  I didn't care that I broke down on multiple occasions with their reps. I just needed someone to help me finish this task. In the end, it was all for nought. The Internet decided to go down and threw me off and my precious ASIC transfer number couldn't work a second time. I threw in the towel and rang Michael to come home. Which he did.

I pulled myself together enough to work n the garden with Michael. He wasn't feeling flash with the abscess in his tooth and I needed to be in the open air. A branch off one of our trees had come down and needed to be sawn up, collected and delivered to next year's burning pile. We also kept a stock of large pieces to dry as firewood.

The exercise was the boost I needed to haul myself out of the top of my bloody well. I pondered what had happened. I knew my mood swings had been getting a tad more frequent. It was time to take action. I tied the black mongrel back up and started the job, again, of putting him back out of sight. Where he belongs.

I'm recovering from the Black Dog's latest onslaught. In the light of day, I am annoyed at myself for allowing him under my defences. But that can't be changed. All I can do is arm myself better against him. So, I've been to the doctor and I'm on some additional meds and I'm doing a lot of thinking and talking and sharing. I'm getting lots of the physical attention from Michael, which I'm craving and he's freely giving. We are both really trying to be aware of each other's needs.

And yesterday, we went to the "Stellabration". Meeting and being with such an eclectic bunch of people all thrown together in remembering a passionate young woman. Most of us had never known her. Didn't matter. Just being there gave me renewed purposed to stop waffling. And never forget to live the best I can.

And now, risking that I could be labelled a pompous wally, here are my latest tips for trying to get my equilibrium back. And keep the chaotic canine menace in the background, out of my life.

• Practise being proud (thank you Stella).
• Talk with your friendly, GP, shrink, naturopath or witch doctor about strategies/ drugs.
• Share with your significant other or a close friend(s).
• Get outside.
• Escape if necessary. I drove around the block the other night. When I told Marian (the quack) that I'd also drunk a bottle of wine, she raised one eyebrow and suggested that next time, I go on foot.
• Do something that gives you pleasure, even if it's only a temporary reprieve. 
• Do not tell anybody who is going to react over the top. Causes embarrassment on top of distress.
• In moments of lucidity, recognise that this too will pass.
• Hang onto any positive - a golden moment - to give you the energy to fight.

And I try to remember (courtesy of "Anne of Green Gables"?) that tomorrow is another day with no mistakes in it yet!

Okay, fellow lunatics, you may all groan now. And hopefully have a good day.

Cowabunga!

Musings of a "Stellabration".

I knew of Stella Young. Of course. She was a disability advocate,  comedian, writer, media presenter, and a fierce, feisty woman. Stella was born with OI (Osteogenesis Imperfecta), which to this layman, means she had lots of broken bones. She died last Sunday, at the age of thirty two.

We accepted an invitation to go to her wake, or her "Stellabration", being organised by the bolshiest Diva I know, the fabulous Samantha Connor. We were going to the Big Smoke yesterday anyway. To catch up with the kids at the "final" (not!) inspection of their soon to be completed house in the wilds of Banksia Grove. To stock up on vino. To replenish supplies of  the Three Stooges' barfy burgers (raw patties). To see Sam's photographic IN Exhibition. To collect the remains of Ziggy, our beloved Volvo, who expired in spectacular fashion last week.

Then we journeyed to the Niche, on the outskirts of the monolith that is the QE 11 Medical Centre. Sam's exhibition was displayed there and Stella's wake was being held there as well. We found a magically easy parking spot in the grounds of the building. Hand in hand, not knowing what to expect from the afternoon, not knowing how'd we react, we went in to find Sam.

Sam, still affected from adventures with her dodgy pancreas, had the bad grace to look stunning. And put us to work. We hung snowflakes and an award banner. I poured champagne. And tried not to get in the way of fellow guests in wheelchairs or using canes. Which I failed miserably. But the best thing was that didn't matter. Nobody seemed to care that a clumsy klutz was in their midst.

I met all these people I'd only spoken to on Facebook.  Amazing people. Don't smote me, Stella. They weren't amazing because of, or in spite of, their disabilities. They were just fantastic people. Michael, never at ease with people he doesn't know, was mingling and talking. I was asked to give my tribute to Stella, whom I've never met, by someone else I'd never met. So, I just did.

Then came the formalities, such as they were. An expose of Stella's life, coupled with recordings of her. I thought I swore like a trooper. Stella, at thirty two, made me look like Mother f*#@ing Teresa. I found out she was a fellow a pisshead, who loved dancing (in her wheelchair) and music. She also introduced me to a new term "Inspiration Porn".

What a brilliant explanation. People who have disabilities are supposed to inspire others. Stella, at fifteen, was invited to receive a community awareness award. Her parents quipped "Why? Stella hasn't done anything exceptional!" She was doing well at school, had a part time job and liked Buffy the Vampire Slayer and (OMG) Dawson's Creek. Like most fifteen year olds.

Stella didn't deny her disability. She just didn't seem to believe she was exceptional or interesting or noteworthy because of her disability. She lived her life as best she could with the limitations of her physical body.

She appeared in a hilarious video, recounting being on the train without a ticket. She noted that all able bodied passengers, on the train without tickets, would avert their eyes at the appearance of the railway guard. Stella wanted to be fined for not having a ticket. She would tell the guard she didn't have a ticket! The result? The guard  would avert his eyes...and give Stella a ticket! That was a perfect example of Inspiration Porn. Just because she was in a wheelchair and was short and travelling on public transport, she found that others' perceived opinions kept her from being treated in the manner she truly wanted. As a person, not an inspiration.

I realised, in one of those lightbulb moments that she was also describing parents of children who have a disability. I have lost count of the times I've cringed when I've been described as special or exceptional or giving as a parent. What a load of rubbish. I became the parent of two (now young) adult children who have autism by sheer bad luck and genetics. And I've sworn and smacked and carried on just as well as the rest of them. I was also bloody tough, at times probably excessively so. But I loved them all and I did my best. And by a miracle, they have all turned out to be pretty good people. I've known parents, like Michael, who have done everything they could for their children, only to end up with selfish, arrogant and thoroughly undeserving toads.

One of the highlights of the afternoon was the presentation of the Stella Young Snowflake Award, which was given to a disability organisation that perpetuated the worst of the worst of untruths about people living with disability. The (un)worthy nominees were the MS Society, The Cerebral Palsy Alliance and some crowd that were making autism out to be the kiss of death. The lighter side was a video clip make by some people actually living with Cerebral Palsy, sending up the crap that appeared in the original ad. On behalf of the Cerebral Palsy Alliance, the Honorable Rayna Lamb, splendidly clad in a fetching purple frock, accepted the award, with a suitable amount of blubbering, as well as a sincere thank you to Baby Jesus. She brought the house down.

We finished the event with a reading of Stella's favourite poem and a blast of her favourite songs. After helping reduce the quantity of vino, we took our leave and faced the peak hour traffic to come home to Heavenly Beverley. Quite unexpectedly, we had just shared a brilliant event with terrific people. And Stella.

Waterwise Wizardry in our Garden.

This week, we've had a couple of miracle workers in our garden. They were an unusual dynamic duo. Jon Martin, mild mannered, unflappable Big Chief and Fearless Leader of Red Gecko Landscaping and Reticulation was joined by his faithful sidekick Jaden, a 23 year old, cheerfully scary electrical bull in a china shop, who is already married with a little girl.

They arrived on Monday morning with a  Cunning Plan to transform our watering regime and reduce our water bills. Jon was resplendent in khaki pants, long sleeved shirt, dark glasses and hat. Jaden (foolish lad) initially rebuffed the wearing of a hat. By the third day, he was wearing a hat. Either my nagging or the fierce sun here convinced him that covering his head and face was a good idea.

They started out with a tour of the grounds. Then the excavations began. Very impressive, mobile, mini ditch witch created a myriad of trenches across our property. Then came the hardware - big poly pipe with galvanised risers and brass sprinklers in the back to foil the Beagle and drip system to front gardens (where the Beagle isn't permitted!).

Finally the Control Box next to the meter box and the weather sensor was perched jauntily on the edge of our roof.. Whoa. I felt like I've been dragged, kicking and screaming into the 21st century.

Jon and Jaden worked like navvies for three days. I fed them lunch and and a roast lamb dinner on the first day. On the second morning, they suffered extreme digestive discomfort and financial destitution eating breakfast at a local cafe that should be ashamed of itself. Lunch was not desired by either of them. They recovered enough for a bbq on the second evening. I cooked them a better, cheaper breakfast on their third morning.

We had to leave them to their own devices on Wednesday. A GP appointment for Michael and picking up my hot little buzzbox in Northam was a full day of action. Our timing went out the window, as per usual, and we didn't mange to pull into the House that  Rocks until 3.30pm.

Jon and Jaden had completed the mammoth task. And quoted to retic Colleen's lawn behind us.  And packed the ute. And cleaned up. Jon had even showered and changed into civvies. He explained the intricacies of the system to us.  Then we waved Jon, Jaden and the Red Gecko ute goodbye as they roared off into the late afternoon.

Would the system work? Would the system self destruct after 10 seconds? I waited with bated breath.

The retic was supposed to activate automatically at 5am. I suspected the retic didn't rise to the occasion. Concerned, (panicking) I rang Jon. He told me to chill and set my alarm. The retic then came on at 5pm. I'll have to ring Jon to see how to differentiate between am and pm!

We  actually had a few spots of rain yesterday. But we decided to run the system manually anyway, so we could check all the fittings and make any adjustments needed. We discovered there were only two plants in our entire garden that weren't getting  water. All that will require is an extra riser. And we are waiting for Jon to get back to us with an additional quote for our lawn area.

Even without automatic watering of the lawn, this system is going to revolutionise our lives. No more standing outside for two or three hours hand watering.  No more worrying about the garden if we aren't here. No more restrictions on timing to go away to our beloved Goldfields.

Was the reticulation expensive?  For us, absolutely.  Was it worth every cent? Yes. Will it save time, money, hassle and worry? You bet. We are utterly delighted with the result. Thank you to Jon and Jaden, a couple of waterwise wizards from Red Gecko.

Now, we only have to mulch....

Michael, Jaden and Jon at the  job's completion

Jaden and Jon with some random fat woman.

views of the work in progress in our back garden.

Part of the garden - evening. Yes, still watering the lawn. For the time being...