A Year in Heavenly Beverley

I am really looking forward to 2016. I wasn't so sure during the countdown of the last few days.. I had barely become used to 2015. I still believe that 2000 was only a couple of years ago. How could it possibly be yet another new year?

What has changed my attitude? A combination of thoughts, emotions, hopes and dreams almost realised. Over the last year, we have opened the East End Gallery, expanded the space and we are due to finish the last forty-five square metres in the next couple of weeks. After three and a half years of renovation, the Forbes Building is almost completed. Michael's vision has come alive.  Tonight he is celebrating with Gary. I just hope he is capable of walking home!

The kids have had milestones of their own. Vanessa graduated from her degree and has gone on successfully to Honours in History. The year has been stressful but she persevered through every challenge. That under her belt, she is now embarking on her Masters in International Relations. She is still happily living in her share house in Nedlands with a bunch of other female students and a cat. And I am now the mum of a fabulous thirty year old!

Callum and Bron now have their own piece of suburban paradise, wih our grandkitten Ragnar. They are so proud, so pleased, so delighted to have their home, garden and feline child. We stayed with them in August when Michael was ill. They went out of their way to make us feel welcome. Bronwyn is about to become a fourth year teacher. Callum is manager at Bravo's, a chic little bistro in Victoria Park.They are outrageously busy, but luckily they both have the energy of youth.

Alex has had a couple of frustrating moves this year and also had a stint in hospital at the same time as Michael. They happened to be in the same hospital, but at separate ends. So I spent twenty-four hours trundling from Michael's room to Alex's ward and back again. Yet in the latter part of 2015, our autistic superstar achieved one great personal goal - a unit of his own. He continues to work at the Swan Friendship Cafe athe the Warehouse Cafe, attended Perth Bible College with great success, had an absolute blast at the BeFriend Ball and knows how to summon Uber.

The Beverley Hillbillies have had a topsy-turvy year. The first few months passed in a blur of the expansion of the Gallery. The Autumn Exhibition and extension was launched. We escaped for ten days in the Goldfields. Unfortunately, we crammed far too much into that trip and Michael was still weary when we came home.

Winter was cold. Michael developed a chest infection. We persisted with oral antibiotics for two months. He wasn't getting worse but he wasn't getting any better either. All Perth hospitals were full to overflowing. After Scott, Michael's specialist was unable to find him a bed, we returned home with additional antibiotics. Two days later, we were admitted into Joondalup Hospital through Emergency. Fours more days, after a course of IV antibiotics, we were discharged and tottered home.

His recovery was, as ever, slow. We were still determined to go away again and have a less hectic trip. We celebrated his 60th with an amazing weekend long party. We were both shattered at the end. We left for the Goldfields on 20 September after the Steampunk Wedding of the century. Although the trip was carried out at a much slower rate, we discovered three new truths.

We need a caravan in the very near future.

The Goldfields are only cool from May until the beginning of September.

We will need to get away from the six coldest weeks of winter and head north.

Spring lasted about five minutes and then summer erupted in full force during October. We settled into a routine of Mandy and me in the East End Gallery and Michael out the back. He rebuilt the fireplace over six weeks, filled, plastered and undercoated the wall to be painted, repaired the skylight and began putting up the tin walls with Gary.

Today, New Year's Eve, the Dynamic Duo turned the corner onto the last wall.

Wow.

Postscript: this has been an epic over three hours in the writing. Michael did manage to get home in one piece. He wisely refused dinner and fell asleep on the couch. Unfortunately en route to bed, he performed a Barry Mackenzie all over our bedroom. Cleaning up took an hour and a half. I put Michael to bed in our guest room with a bucket. That was sheer genius on my part as a very miserable 60 year old used it again about an hour ago. We are staying up to see if he has finished before we try his night meds. Looking good.

This is the only reason we are seeing in the New Year. 2016 is all up from here!

Alex

Bronwyn and Callum

Vanessa

Michael at his 60th

and an extremely serious curator of the East End Gallery!

Alex's Latest Adventures @ the House that Rocks

Alex arrived three days ago in a chauffeured white charger, the TransWA bus from East Perth. Loaded with the essentials - dirty washing, his laptop, phone, an extremely sandy beach towel  and games - he launched forward onto the street. Except I wasn't there. The bus stop had supposedly moved onto the main road. What's where I was with Callum and Bron. Alex rang us, so we headed back into town to find him. There he was, with his usual beaming smile, walking down towards the main drag.

First order of the day was setting up his room, dumping several tonnes of Scarborough Beach onto my laundry floor and then announcing he was hungry. What a surprise. Alex's appetite is legendary and exceedingly punctual. Breakfast is at seven, lunch is at noon and dinner is at five when he is on his own. Dinner time tends to go a bit haywire when he's visiting us, so he compensates by eating all day.

Michael took him down to town to get some fresh bread. They returned with a sandwich for Alex and no bread...Needless to say, I made some bread in the breadmaker later that day.

And I concentrated on trying to produce dinner before eight o'clock, which is always hit and miss in regards to any specific time. I was making risotto using our heroic turkenduck as a base. I actually managed to get dinner ready by about seven. The meal was gargantuan. Alex had a very large serve and asked for more. I responded to leave enough for me. He left precisely one tablespoon in the pot.

The following day was one of our truly searing days. Alex ate and helped me with the washing, ate and helped me put out the recycling, ate and emptied the rubbish bin, ate and went for an hour swim. Due to Alex's unusual circulation, he enjoys swimming only on very hot days. He was quite happy, splashing and entertaining himself in the early evening.

Dinner was another turkenduck triumph - with apple, red wine, jam, herbs and sweet potato. Alex met his match. We gave the final leftovers to the dogs.

Michael and I decided to go to Midland yesterday for supplies for the Last Push in shop 4 - foil insulation, earth wool, wire and pool chemicals. He was armed with two Bunnings vouchers, gifts from the kids. Which he promptly forgot about and left in the car.

Bunnings was packed. Michael does not do crowds well. Add to that mix some clueless staffers and the expedition turned into a ninety-minute fight for survival.

Whilst Michael was in one - one- location, I charged my way through Spotlight (vino glasses, non-slip mat and new shower curtain), followed by the chemist (as many drugs as I was allowed on the Safety Net), then two new books in Dymocks (a huge thank you to Vanessa for the gift voucher), the liquor store (thank you Alex for the gift card) and finally the supermarket. I was certainly flagging by the end.

En route to Michael's Dad's, we stopped at Dome in Mundaring for a coffee and to finally meet the stunning, gorgeous, free spirit that is Susan Wilson. I drank up listening to her adventures. Susan is definitely an international woman of mystery and boy, do I look forward to our next encounter. In the meantime, Facebook will have to suffice.

We then spent a very pleasant hour with Lucky and Sandra and drank three stubbies of his birthday ginger beer. Leaving in daylight (!), we returned home loaded with parcels and discovered Alex had already eaten. He did ask permission and it was after five o'clock.

The fridge had been full when he arrived. On his last morning, he had a thick piece of toast with two fried eggs. He had ploughed his way through turkenduck, the rest of a packet of hot chips, two bags of frozen veggies, half a dozen pancakes, nuts, two cans of tuna, muffins, chocolates, about a litre of ice cream and basil dip. He is a connoisseur when it comes to basil dip.

Thank God we put him back on the bus this afternoon. Our fridge is now emptier that Mother Hubbard's cupboard. Are we complaining? Absolutely not. As ever, he has been a joy to have in the house, polite, affectionate, cheerful and willing. Yes, he occasionally needs direction to keep him on track. And yes, we would have had to go shopping if he'd stayed any longer!

But Alex, our autistic superstar, would have the be the nicest twenty-four-year-old young man I know. Happy new year, Alex! And may you have a brilliant 2016.

Alex in relaxation mode, December 2015.

Being Compared to a Wildebeest!

Michael has been known to have the odd bizarre dream. Very bizarre. Usually, his dreams also induce a rambling semi-consciousness, so I may find myself having extraordinary conversations with him quite unexpectedly in the middle of the night. How's that for spontaneous?

He often wakes with no memory at all of these midnight chats. Occasionally, his memory can be jogged if I can remember enough of our antics in the morning. He will begin by staring at me as if I'm talking gobbledegook, then as recollection dawns, he will be at a complete loss to offer any logical explanation for these occurrences. Which is endlessly amusing.

Last night's dream and subsequent communication were a bit beyond the pale. After a nocturnal encounter with wildebeest - and I have absolutely no idea of the context - I found myself being compared to one of them. Apart from the obvious weirdness, I didn't know whether to be offended or complimented.

From my knowledge of wildebeest, they are quite social beings, live in large herds and look after their young. All good so far. On the downside, they are not particularly attractive creatures - rather like a cross between a moose and an antelope - with large heads, hairstyles by powerpoint and faces rather like the south end of the north going camel. Sure their offspring are quite cute, but unfortunately, they grow up into most ungainly looking creatures like their parents.

And they seem to have a curious predilection for crossing rivers swarming with crocodiles. Or alligators. I'm not sure which. But we've all seen those wildlife documentaries about migrating herds of wildebeest crossing swollen rivers and some not quite making it to the other side...

Which does not appear to speak volumes about their logic or adaptability. So, there we were, in bed in the darkness, having the strangest discussion about wildebeest. And some obscure similarity to me.

I am still struggling with any possible hidden meaning. True to form, Michael stared at me with blank, confused innocence as I regaled the latest bedtime story. After some time, I did notice the lightbulb moment when he did actually recall the dream.

But an explanation from the deep recesses of his mind? He has no idea and I am left closely watching myself for any increase of facial hair, additional appendages or a mounting fondness for vegetables.

Don't go in there...

Not model material...

On the other hand, maybe Michael was comparing me to a wildebeest baby. Which are somewhat more attractive...

Contemplating a New Word for the New Year!

Today is hot in Heavenly Beverley. Bloody hot. If God is having a lend of us, thanks very much God, can we please have a reduction in temperature tomorrow, so we can't cook a lamb loin in Matt Moran's car? (For those who aren't Australian, chef Matt Moran demonstrated the dangers of hot cars by cooking meat inside his car).

Because of the heat, I think my brain is wandering in rather unusual directions. When the heat outside is like stepping into a blast furnace, there is not much to do except finish the dishes (done), clean the kitchen (done), vacuum the latest spiders and webs on the ceiling (done by Michael) and abandon taking out the washing yet.

We have water in bowls everywhere throughout the property so the birds have somewhere to cool off. The garden itself is gasping, but it is pointless to splash water around yet. Either at dusk or after dark, we'll emerge to man the hoses to attempt resuscitation of our plants. Undoubtedly, there will be corpses after the last couple of days.

Anyway, I've digressed, so back to what I laughingly refer to as my mind. I have been pondering creating a new word. As least I think it's a new word. I look forward to being corrected if the word already exists!

We had hot turducken with veggies on Christmas Day evening as the temperature was surprisingly mild. This is one of the delicious delights I enjoy at Christmas - along with the eggnog, rum balls and apple spice muffins. Washed down with copious amounts of vino. Of course.

Turducken is chicken inside a duck inside a turkey. All wrapped in bacon. Stuffing on the inside. Holy cholesterol, I hear. Yes, but we only have it once a year. Yum. And we are still eating it, as the rolled poultry, which cost a hair-raising forty-five dollars, has been the base for three meals so far.

The only disappointment about the turducken is its name. What's special about it? It sounds boring and beige and not particularly exciting. Which is very unfair, as it is one of those unforgettable Christmas foods that I wait for, with bated breath, every year.

A name change for it is in order. I propose "turkenduck". Note to self, add turkenduck to Grammarly at the end of this post so it stops flashing a red underline under the word each time I write it.

For me, turkenduck flashes images before my eyes of a sort of  Lawrence of Arabia, Hagia Sophia, Sahara or James Bond in "From Russia with Love" kind of poultry character. A swashbuckling hero, fighting his way to the dinner table, so we can sample his exotic wares. Draped in a turban and flowing white robes, turkenduck exudes the sense of a thrilling adventurer, with a dashing turkey face, a feathered Douglas Fairbanks heart-throb adored by legions of lady turkeys, ducks and chickens. Boldly going where no boring, beige bird has gone before.

Can you think turkenduck will catch on as a new name? With marketing like mine, I have no doubts!

Turkenduck...three superheroes in one!

Enjoying a sleep in together...

Preferred mode of transport...

Is this Turkenduck in his mild-mannered alter ego?

No, definitely this is Turkenduck incognito...

Sending lady poultry pulses skyrocketing!

A Christmas Card from Heavenly Beverley

Tis the season to be jolly...fa la la la la la la la la la!

Christmas greetings from the Beverley Hillbillies to you all, wherever you may be.

The day has passed peacefully and gently, Beverley style. We have stayed put, eaten far too much, will be drinking far too much later and have rested during the middle of the day. I am in no pain as I have consumed my first two glasses of eggnog. Bliss.

This morning started with the usual complaint from Madam Cat demanding to be let in. First photo opportunity. I snapped the pile of loot and the Christmas tree before the beginning of the attack. Stockings were opened; tea and coffee were drunk. Then it was on for young and old.

I scored exceptionally well. Beauty products for my hair, body and feet were revealed. Is my family trying to tell me something?  One of the lovely little books by Bradley Trevor Grieve entitled "Tomorrow" which advises readers how to remain sane in a world of change, conflict, confusion and seeming madness. Right up my alley.

DVDs, a Dymocks book voucher (yay) and enough little jams to have on toast all year. Earrings, of course, and a candle. My mum and dad sent me gardening gloves (in pink) and a ginger grater. Oh, happy day.

Michael is cheerfully munching his way through his Christmas pack of black jellybeans (Ewwww) with a beer. He's had a wonderful day, not going to Toodyay, not having to sit with a fake smile on his face, not having to put up with his son's behaviour whilst the rest of the family stay silent. This is where we belong.

No Christmas would be complete without a family member being sick. Pip chundered gleefully on the living room floor this morning, right in front of Michael's ottoman. Methinks it may have had something to do with the gluttonous amount of leftovers consumed by the Three Stooges last evening. Needless to say, it was my responsibility to clean up.

We retired to bed in the early afternoon and slept for a couple of hours. Vanessa followed soon after, tired after her marathon cooking effort last night. We have enough food to feed the Fifth Battalion. She had been woken by Santa on the Volunteer Fire Truck this morning and had been exceedingly displeased. An afternoon nap did not immediately improve her mood. However, she has been restored to a more positive disposition after discovering my load of washing is covered with glitter from a previously sticky Christmas stocking...

Callum and his delightful lady Bronwyn are arriving tomorrow for a couple of sleepovers. Then, Alex, our autistic superstar will arrive on his charger (aka Trans WA bus) and stay until New Year's Eve. Vanessa will return to Civilisation in due course. She does not do Dirt or Heat.

She has taken photos of Michael and me in our element - on Facebook together around the dining table. She has declined to have her own photo taken. I shall have to remedy this situation before she roars back to the Big Smoke.

Best. Christmas Day. Ever.

Let me in or I'll slash your throat...

Merry Christmas (note the slightly lopsided star at the top)...

The big fella has arrived...

Michael in his element this afternoon (still life with Beer)

Big dog...

Alert as ever after a good spew, Pip?

Any food?

Happy Christmas from the Three Stooges (note Ruby with ribbon malfunction)

The blogger at work...

And us...

Merry Christmas from us to you.

Having a Very Melting Christmas

Today was hot. Yesterday was hot. The day before was hot. When we have a few scorchers in a row in Heavenly Beverley, we become rather frayed of temper. Last night I didn't turn off the aircon and open up the house until the early hours of the morning. I closed up again by nine o'clock.

I dispensed with my bra. That way, the sweat had free access to roll down my front and back, without getting dammed up under my boobs. At some stage during the afternoon, I discarded my sandals, trying to reduce the temperature of my feet on the relative coolness of the concrete floor.

The day wore on. Vincent Street became deserted. The East End Gallery was supposed to be open under seven thirty. I posted cheery updates on Facebook and Twitter counting down to the drawing of the Christmas raffle. The winner was delighted to be rung.

I pulled the pin just after six. I had turned into a round, moist human splodge of grease.I was not having fun anymore. I figured if anyone was desperate enough to view the Gallery tonight, they would ring us.

Two hours later, I have been restored. I have been in the pool. I am wearing knickers and a towel in our air-conditioned living room. Bliss.

I had hopes of making eggnog and wrapping presents tonight. I may get to these tasks because I actually want to! Or I may just admit defeat and go to bed...

hoping for a thunderstorm...

not tonight. Still 33 degrees at 8.24 pm.

A Bad Attitude to Middle Age

Today did not go as planned.  I had hoped to sleep well, wake up with reduced pain in my stupid shoulder, leap energetically out of bed and catch up on all the jobs that await me on a Monday morning after a weekend in the Gallery.

Fortunately, our darling daughter Vanessa had been up and had emptied the washing basket, tackled a mountain of ironing, assisted with the Sundowner and vacuumed our dog hair laden floors, repeatedly.

In spite of my optimism, the day did not get off to a great start. My shoulder was not improving. In fact, pain had woken me several times. And I was trying to cope with Panadol only for pain relief. Now, I know I am wimpish in the face of discomfort, but 5 Caesarian sections and multiple other surgeries are testament to a bit of courage on my part.

I just hate narcotics. They make me hallucinate and chunder, a very unpleasant combination. Which is why I could never become a drug addict or anorexic...

By mid morning, my pain tolerance was very low. I was miserable, nauseated and every time I moved my left arm, I descendended into a hell that was unfamiliar. I had an appointment with the York GP at 5.45 pm, but I knew I was not going to cope with my body until then.

So we set out for the Northam Regional Hospital. I had swallowed more Panadol at midday. I survived with eyes shut, attempting to doze on the way. We arrived on a quiet afternoon in Emergency.  First upside to the day. I was triaged and on a bed fairly rapidly. The nurses were wonderful, the doctor was thorough and pleasant. I was given an anti-inflammatory injection with an anti-nausea cover, x-rayed and ultrasounded.

We were released around five in the afternoon. I filled my script for Panadeine Forte, picked up some pizza bases (for MasterChef Michael to cook) and left for home. The diagnosis? Bursitis with severe arthritis in my cervical spine. Bummer. Middle age sucked this afternoon.

I need to see Suzy, my York GP for a follow up and referral to Ben, the orthopaedic surgeon in Perth. The Northam Hospital doctor has suggested he could do a cortisone injection to ease my bursitis if we wish after seeing the GP.

And now. I am sitting in front of the laptop, with my left arm propped up and the patient bracelet still on my right wrist. No bra. I have had Panadeine Forte ( and two glasses of vino) and am relatively pain free. Much better!

The end of an unexpected day...

gazing up at my saviour/chef!

Happy Birthday, East End Gallery!

Today we celebrate. I am so proud of Michael, who had the dream of the Gallery, who persevered with that dream and who, after three and a half years of hard slog, is also the resident metal artist in the East End Gallery. We opened twelve months ago and we're still alive!

We haven't quite finished of course, but we are tantalisingly close. The final forty-five square metres of the Gallery is almost complete. The floor has been replaced and the skylight is clean, repaired and operational. Michael spent two days inside the skylight, on the top of a ladder which was perched on top of his scaffolding. The ceiling has been restored to its former pressed tin glory. The walls to be painted have been filled, sanded and undercoated. And just yesterday, the Gallery was coated in fine dust (again) as Michael and his trusty offsider Gary installed the first two panels of tin along the back wall. In the last year, we have expanded the Gallery into the front of the original Shop 4 and when the temporary wall comes down, we will open up the full one hundred and fifty square metres of Gallery space.

I'm planning on opening the Gallery this morning as soon as I've had a cup of tea and a bite of breakfast. The Sundowner starts at five this afternoon. Needless to say, this occasion will be faithful to the East End Gallery style - the best plastic wine glasses, the best plastic trays and the finest cheap and cheerful vino and bubbly!

The weather is divine. This time last year, we had a scorcher. Today is breezy, benign and beautiful. Perfect.

So now ladies and gentlemen, I am going to close this birthday post and get my skates on. Tally ho!

Preparing to open...

Christmas Exhibition 2014...

Michael's workshop, the scene of the Last Supper!

Extension time - Autumn Exhibition.

From little things, big things grow...

Selfie of the curator...

The metal artist and curator...

Crikey! I'm a curator...

Season's Greetings from the East End Gallery.

Shopping at Christmas Time...!

Yesterday, the Beverley Hillbillies bravely ventured away from the safety of the House that Rocks to complete all the shopping we had been going to do on Tuesday. This had not happened as we had fled back to our home after the fiasco at Judy's wake. Michael's self-esteem and mental health had by battered once more by his biological children, particularly the encounter with his son. He needed a day at home.

And so we prepared ourselves for a Return Bout in the Big Smoke. We had the List. We had the MasterCard. We loaded up with refreshments to get us through the day. We departed at the astonishingly early hour of 10 am.

First stop Bunnings. Time to invest in the company, if we had any disposable income. KA - CHING. Buckets of plastering goop, bondcrete, undercoat and some pool chlorine began the day. Then onto lunch with Cal at Bravo's in Victoria Park. Callum had just finished his shift at this lovely little bistro, reserved a table, greeted us, made recommendations, provided witty conversation and then paid for our lunch. What a star.

I was also able to divest a present Callum had bought in Beverley weeks ago. I had forgotten to give him this present on a number of previous occasions, so was pleased to unload it to him. After I left it in the car. Again.

A Kings' ransom was spent at Pet Meat Supplies. We loaded up with 25 kilos of Barfy Burgers (don't laugh; they are actually called this), 50 pigs' ears and 2 packets of chicken tenders for Pip. With a sigh of relief, we turned Goldie eastwards toward Midland.

This is where the fun really started. Rissoles and sausages for our Sundowner at the East End Gallery on Saturday evening. The bottle shop was jammed with customers - at 2 o'clock on a Wednesday afternoon. My success there was spectacular as I stocked up for the wine part of our Wine and Cheese and BBQ Sundowner.

With courage in hand, I tackled the Supermarket at 3 o'clock. I had hoped it would be quieter with Mums supposedly picking up their urchins after school. Michael chickened out. The supermarket writhed with the swell of humanity all trying to get in and get out in one piece. People were remarkably courteous. I was impressed.

Lining up at the dreaded checkout. I struck up a conversation with a young woman behind me. Her trolley was erupting in all directions.She looked done in. We pondered whether to shift lanes or not. An elderly lady in the next checkout appeared to only have a few items. I chanced moving checkouts as the very personable lass said she'd hold my place. And she did. As the senior citizen was fluffing about, I returned to my original spot and  thanked her profusely. Now that was a stunning random act of kindness.

I survived the supermarket. The health of my MasterCard was looking a tad shaky. Fortunately, we only had one more stop at Spotlight. The last Christmas presents. Clutching the catalogue in one hand and the 15% additional discount card in the other, I launched into the heaving melting pot of staff, customers and merchandise. I had all my items in 15 minutes flat. Michael's new ottoman was proving difficult to manoeuvre in the pull along trolley and I dropped other, thankfully nonbreakable, items repeatedly The check out was relatively quiet. Two operators and only two in line ahead of me.

Then naturally it all went to hell. The lady in front of me had been overcharged a very obscure amount. She and the operator were attempting to find the mistake. This was proving arduous, messy and drawn out. The line was building behind me. Another operator was summoned. My turn. Hooray. I staggered out with two bags and Michael's ottoman. I decided in a split second it was too difficult to conceal. Merry bloody Christmas, darling Michael. He was very pleased with his early gift.

We arrived home, shattered at 6. I hopped out at the East End Gallery to open for a couple of hours of late night trading. The school presentation night was in full swing so I was not surprised that no guests came into the Gallery. I closed at 8 o'clock.

Two very large glasses of vino (where's a straw when you need one...?) and leftover pizza hit the spot. I retired to bed not much later. I was beyond it. I'd taken pain killers for my stupid shoulder and Michael took  a sleeping tablet. We were both out like lights.

We had successfully negotiated Christmas shopping in the burbs. And both of us had a good night's sleep. Bliss!

Ho ho ho...

Parking at Midland Gate...

What Michael would have preferred to be doing...

What he was actually doing...

But rewards do come to those who survive Christmas shopping.

"But it's Christmas...

is not a valid reason to force someone to do anything."

A timely reminder from one of my favourite postees on Facebook - the Bullshit Fairy, Autistic Artivist - this morning. Needless to say I shared this post, as it has tremendous relevance for us at present.

Yesterday was Judy's funeral service and wake. The placed was packed. Michael, Sandra and Darryl supported each other with love and courage. We all supported Lucky and Wendy and I supported our husbands. The service was beautiful and reminded us all of Judy's absolute passion for her family. Sandra's eulogy of her mother was honest, funny, priceless and heartbreaking. As it should have been. Darryl put together an amazing slideshow of Judy's life, which included us all, as a family. I finally felt a bone fide member of the Sofoulis clan. Wonderful.

But then the exclusion started. Michael's daughters by his first marriage were there. Looking like proper hip suburban mums, they ignored their father. Never spoke to him, never acknowledged him. Come on! These young women are in their 30s (!), their mother took them to Holland for 7 years as children, they returned to Australia, and shit continued to happen. How long until Michael is punished enough for his perceived crimes? In another 10 years? Or when he dies? All the while, Michael has 4 little grandchildren he has never been given an opportunity to meet. How long is this torture meant to last? When will they ever draw a line in the sand?

Michael's other daughter was there from his second marriage. The one who abused him in his own home, threw a pottery bird feeder at his front window and only contacted him when she needed money. This last time was for an MRI she said she needed to have. Pretty, vivacious, vacuous and hollow. Ignored him as well. Give her a clap, everybody.

Michael's son arrived at the funeral, dressed as a street urchin. He is almost 25 now, on New Year's Eve. I know how old he is. He chooses not to know the first thing about me. I could forgive him anything if he reconnected with his dad. We don't even know why he won't speak to Michael anymore. Is it because of Michael taking him to counselling, supporting him when he couldn't work due to depression, or giving him only $2000 of $2500 ( we used the rest on a professional clean of his family home) when he finished his apprenticeship. Or when he threatened to "cut your fucking throat, bitch". The cops were called over that one. Michael was the one who stopped him being charged that day. Or is it because. out of the blue, he tried it on to get a plane ticket home when he ran out of money in Europe?  Congratulations, young man. You are a pillar of society.

He and Michael met outside the loos at Judy's wake. Michael said "hello...." There was no response. Jesus wept.

We chose to drive home last night. We had been going to stay at the old family home. But Michael was traumatised by yet another miserable encounter with his so-called children and wanted to flee to the safety of the House than Rocks. So we did.

Two of my biological children (who were included in the list of Sofoulis family members - thank you to Sandra, Darryl and Wendy) were there supporting Michael. What a contrast. Vanessa brought a rose for Judy, packets of tissues for us all and love for her adopted Dad. Alex, God love him, who has autism, came neatly dressed in his Warehouse Cafe uniform. He touched both Michael and Lucky throughout the service and only had to be reminded once not to hug too hard!

Today, Michael is quiet, physically shaking, pursued by his anxiety. He finally left bed at 10 am. He will probably retreat there later again. I hope all four of his biological children are really proud of their efforts. We discussed whether I would post this piece. We have tried dignified silence for over 6 years. It's time to share how it is.

We are also going to reconsider a decision about Christmas Day. We are supposed to be going to Toodyay to Darryl and Wendy's house. If Michael's son is there, he needs to behave in a civil way. We need an assurance. Otherwise I get to pick up the pieces of Michael the next day.

Enough is enough.

Ho bloody ho.

December 2015 Catalogue @ the East End Gallery

116 Vincent Street Beverley

www.eastendgallery.com.au

December 2015 Catalogue

1 Michael Sofoulis                        Candlesticks

$150 each

2 Michael Sofoulis      “Sketch in Steel”                      $400

3 Michael Sofoulis                        “Caterpillar”                              $400

4 Michael Sofoulis                        “Copper Illusion”

$600

5 Michael Sofoulis                        “Candlestick”

 $300

6 Catherine Gordon                      “Eagle’s Nest”

$1125

7 Michael Sofoulis                        “Bicycle Express”

$1600

8 PJ Widdup                   “A Special Afternoon at June’s”

$500

9 Our Mystery Man                        “Midnight Conversation”

$2300

10 Michael Sofoulis                       “Gears”

$4500

11 Shane Moad                     “Fire Out at Westdale”

$2000                                             101 cm x 76 cm

12 Shane Moad                     “Road Past Three Boulders“

$3000                                             120 cm x 92 cm

13 Shane Moad                             “Happy Bower Bird”

$3000                                             120 cm x 92 cm

14 Tina Hinchcliffe                       “Lost City 1”

$500

15 Tina Hinchcliffe                       “Lost City 2”

$500

16 Mick Cotter                               Desert Timber Art

Various Prices

17Jenny Cotter                             Jewellery

Various Prices

18 David Mizon                              “Scorpio Rising, Salt

$660                                                               Lake Dreaming”

19 David Mizon                      “Wandoo Forrest, Mount Dale”

$880

20 Mandy Evans                            “Mandy’s Dream”

$450

21 Chris Shannon                         “Reflections”

$395

22 Michael Sofoulis                      “Tree of Life”

$300

23 Murray Cook                             “Nursery Rhyme”

$450

24 Michael Sofoulis                      “The Mask”

$1500

25 Michael Sofoulis                      Coffee Table

$450

26 Murray Cook                             “Figurehead”

$350

27 Michael Sofoulis                      “Moondance”

$250

28 Michael Sofoulis                      “Mindscape”

$4000

29 Murray Cook                             “Macabre Barbie”

$400

30 Genny R                                    “Nude”

$95

31 Michael Sofoulis                      “Figment”

$700

32 Our Mystery Man                     “Floral Fireworks”

$2100

33 Vanessa Kate Sofoulis           “Backgammon”

$50

34 Mandy Evans                            “Earth Mother”

$200

35 Mandy Evans                            “Three Men in a Boat”

$200

36 Mandy Evans                            “Beverley Scene 2015”

$250

37 Mandy Evans                            “Beverley Scene 2015”

$250

38 Chris Shannon                         “Canola Road”

$395

39 Chris Shannon                         “On the Road Again”

$525

40 Chris Shannon                         “Wandering”

$450

41 Chris Shannon                         “Out of Water”

$525

43 Sam Connor                              “Inlet”

$165                           

44 Sam Connor                              “Tide”

$165

45 Colleen Sleer                            “Leaning”

$55

46 Tina Hinchcliffe                       “Glass Bottom Boat”

$400

 47 Colleen Sleer                           “Little Frog” 

$55                       

48 Colleen Sleer                            “Bouquet”

$55

49 Colleen Sleer                            “After Harvest”

$100

50 Colleen Sleer                            “Canola Sky”

$100

51 Colleen Sleer                            “Wheatbelt Sunset”                   $80

52 Colleen Sleer                            “Brothers”

$80

53 Mandy Evans                    A Selection of Framed Prints

$55 each

54 Ceramics by Marci –

“Castle”

$24

“Vase” x 2

$35 each                                       

“Turkey”

$27

                                                       

“Pterodactyl” x 1

$30                                                 

“Chess Set”

Pieces only $100

“Brontosaurus Drinking” x 2

$24 each

55 Charlie Colbung               “Mother and Coolingah’s 2”

$500

56 Charlie Colbung               “Mother and Coolingah’s 3”

$500

57 Charlie Colbung               “Mother and Coolingah’s”

$800

58 Tina Hinchcliffe                       “After the Storm 1”

$500

59 Tina Hinchcliffe                       “After the Storm 2”

$500

60 David Mizon                              “Yenyening Lakes”

$660

61 Michael Sofoulis                      “Mini Magda”

$50 for 1

$90 for 2

$120 for 3

62 Jeanette S Couper                  “Red Dog”

$285

63 Colleen Sleer                            “Pemberton”

$100

64 Denese Borlini                “Transformation”                                $250

65 Mandy Evans            Assorted Cards and Prints -

$10 (Cards)

$15 (Book of Postcards)

$25 (Small Prints)

$40 (Medium Prints)

$60 (Small 3 Panel Prints)

$75 (Medium 3 Panel Prints)

$85 (Large 3 Panel Prints)

$90 (Long Single Panel Prints)

$100 (All Large Prints)

66 Denese Borlini                 “Heart of Mine”

$200

67 Denese Borlini            “Bring on the Empty Horses”

$100

68 Tatjana Seserko                      “Centralised Composition $440                                                          in Circles”

69 Tatjana Seserko                      “Machine for Contacting $440                                                            the Dead”

70 Pat Lane                            “Mt Bakewell”                                   $500

71 Pat Lane                                   “Freemasons of Old”            

$800

72 Denese Borlini                         “Water Gatherers”

$125

73 Denese Borlini                         “Market Day”

$125

74 Pat Lane                                   “Araluen”

$800

75 Steve Pease                             Sterling Silver Jewellery

See Pricelist

76 Michelle Rothwell                    Slumped Glass Pieces

See Pricelist

RAFFLE

Limited Edition Print                     “Still Life”

Value - $300

In Stock but not on Display

 Our Mystery Man                          “Estuary Moonrise”

$2180

 Our Mystery Man                          “Flying Together”

$2180

 Our Mystery Man                          “Dragonflies”

$2600

 Our Mystery Man                          “Country Conversation”

$2300

A selection from the current catalogue @ the East End Gallery.