All Things Bright and Beautiful - an Update.

We had a terrific long weekend in Heavenly Beverley. Next Monday, the rest of the country will celebrate the Queen's Birthday holiday. Needless to say, we're a bit different here in the Wild West. Last Monday, we all enjoyed WA Day. And we have our Queen's Birthday at the beginning of October....

So, as Molly Meldrum  might have said, "do yourself a favour and beat a trail up to Heavenly Beverley". Tomorrow, the weather will be glorious and sunny - not bad for the first week of winter.

We have an array of treats for all the family. The two pubs provide excellent lunches for visitors. The Red Vault Cafe, opposite our East End Gallery, is open from breakfast until late in the evening. I have it on good authority from some satisfied customers that their Devonshire Teas were delicious. Beverley is also the home of the Beverley Soaring Society and welcomes visitors to sit and watch or have a go. A glider in the sky, seemingly floating in the air, is quite a sight.

If you'd like to keep your feet on the ground, the Aeronautical Museum has a full-scale plane displayed on the front lawn. Dead Finish, as our other museum is named, was originally a hotel where patrons ran out of money for drinks. On Hunt Road, Dead Finish is set in gardens that are lovingly tended by our local gardening club and is open Sundays or by appointment.

Beverley town centre is  home to some beautiful Federation and Art Deco buildings. As there is seldom any traffic snarls here, visitors can safely stand in the middle of the road to take photographs!

The top end of Vincent Street is home to the Beverley Newsagency, run by a delightful couple, Barry and Pauline. Having a chat to Barry is like being able to confide in your hairdresser - he is laid back, non judgemental and easy going. Or going to the pub with Duncan!

Also up that end of town is "Lucky Find" a clothes boutique for men, women and children with luxurious extras as well. Open Wednesday to Saturday, Kylie and her Mum, Maxine are a lovely pair of ladies have a beautiful shop which always smells divine from the scented candles and soaps available for sale.

Marlene's rebadged and reinvigorated homewares, art and design premises is now called "Unique State". She is delighted to have secured a shop next to the fabulous Beverley Bakehouse, so that visitors have both delicious bread and food and original art, upcycled furniture and individual gifts right next to each other.

The Bakehouse is open seven days a week and "Unique State" is open Wednesday to Saturday.

The East End Gallery is open from 11am to 5pm, Fridays to Sundays and public holidays. We are very excited to announce that we will also be open on Thursdays from the very near future as we have had an offer of assistance to open an additional day. Those of you who have visited us know we are so much more than a gallery. We welcome kids and dogs - we even have a water bowl for canine guests - plus we have comfy chairs to sit, relax and enjoy the artwork. Our art speaks for itself. And any visitor who wishes gets "The Tour" - to view the awakening of our building from a derelict bomb to a restored labour of love. We have a slideshow on the laptop to see more of our story and a chance to still see the last forty-five square metres of "The Before" that was the entire building.

Down the street from us is Brett's Vintage Motorcycle Hub. A motorcycle enthusiast, Brett, his partner Larissa, their boys and their dog Shiloh open their haven for revheads when Brett isn't away working. We know when he's there. Every teenage boy in town can be found hanging around, breathing in the atmosphere of the two and four-wheeled vehicles to their heart's content.

Diagonally across Vincent Street from us is "Everything Beautiful", another hidden gem here in beautiful downtown Beverley. Mescal, who owns and runs this treasure trove, is ably assisted by her regular helpers, Pat and John. Entering "Everything Beautiful" is like opening Aladdin's Cave. Mescal has collected antiques, porcelain dolls, glass, pottery, table linen, furniture and delightful ornaments, old books and quality bric a brac. And unlike us, Mescal opens a little earlier for day-trippers - 10am Thursdays to Sundays  - who enjoy getting out and about in the briskness of morning.

And just to show you some of Mescal's wares at "Everything Beautiful", here's is a sneak preview!

So, come up to Heavenly Beverley this weekend and breathe in the air of an authentic country town.

A Mystery in the East End Gallery.

Sid is the chief gliding instructor at the Beverley Soaring Society. He is a genial, cheerful bloke who is also passionate about the joys of gliding. Not that he is ever going to get me up there in a tin cigar with very long wings and no engine. I suffer from a serious case of terra firma - the less firma, the more terra!

He has also, surprisingly, been the owner or guardian of a fairly large painting. Which Sid has presented to the Gallery. Apparently, it hung in the Dunsborough Pub for donkeys' years. Now I am on a quest to find out more about this painting, its history, its artist and its worth.

I know the title "Meelup Bay, Dunsborough". I know the painter's name - Chris Meinema. I know he is a reasonably well-known artist as I was able to google him. He actually has a Facebook page, but I have had no luck contacting him. I don't even know if he is still alive. The painting is about forty years old and is framed.

So, if any of you out there can give me some clues about "Meelup Bay, Dunsborough" I would be delighted. Or information about Chris Meinema. I only want to be a temporary custodian of this work. The painting is quite lovely and deserves to go to a new home.

"Meelup Bay, Dunsborough" by Chris Meinema

Subduing the Black Dog.

This year has been interesting, to say the least. Chaotic and very scary at times.The Black Dog has been present more than I would have liked. He's a sneaky bastard, that Black Dog. And he doesn't miss a trick. He looks for a chink in your armour and waits for the perfect opportunity to strike at your heart and your soul.

The materialisation of the Black Dog is always unexpected. Which makes him a formidable foe. My latest encounter with him seemed to come out of nowhere and very quickly reduced my ability to cope with life to zero. And then, after a rapid descent into my own personal hell, my recovery has been protracted and frustrating and bumpy. Because the Black Dog doesn't release his hold without a bloody good tussle. So, I've experienced multiple  roadblocks and detours on this road to wrestle back control of my mental health.

Finally (but don't tell the Black Dog), I feel like me again. I have worked with a fantastic and persistent  psychologist and a warm, witty and compassionate psychiatrist. My medication has been overhauled and my coping mechanisms are functioning reasonably well, more or less.

The best sign that I am mentally well is that I have recovered my sense of humour. It certainly went AWOL for a while. For me, that's the scariest facet of my brand of recurrent depression. When my humour vanishes, I know I'm in real trouble. I need my sense of humour!

This is because not much else has altered in our lives. After having a major tantrum about Michael's smoking, I burned a nearly full packet of cigarettes. That went really well. I also relinquished control of the fags for a day. After Michael smoked a dozen in a day, I took them back. I told him he couldn't be trusted and had no self-control. To his credit, he didn't disagree.

Vanessa's DSP Participation Plan requirements continue to irk me. She is working full time at her Honours in History course. When she is not studying, she volunteers in the History Department, so she becomes known for her intelligence and enthusiasm. I want Centrelink to recognise these aspects of her life as meeting her "compulsory activities", so she can continue to receive her DSP and be left alone. She actually wants to fulfil her obligations and become a taxpayer by completing the necessary qualifications to get into academic teaching. How hard is that to comprehend?

Alex, our autistic superstar, is pretty happy at present. He has gained PAID employment two shifts a week at the Friendship Cafe in Midland. He absolutely loves working there. He is still struggling to make ends meet as two-thirds of his DSP is swallowed by private rent. I had to renew his lease as Homeswest, our public housing flagship, has nothing available, in spite of the fact Alex has been on the Priority Waiting List for over two years. Ladies and gentlemen, what do you reckon his chances are of getting accommodation when his lease expires in five months...?

Callum, adored middle child, lost his management job at Zing Cafe, the day after Mothers' Day. So did everyone else working there. Choice, just choice. So, he is currently on the hunt for a new position. If you require a smooth, unflappable, tactful and clean cut young man working as a manager in your restaurant or cafe, give me a hoy!

Luckily, I have rediscovered laughter. And the funny side of life. Laughter makes the unbearable bearable, the lunacy of government departments become surmountable hurdles and provides me with the necessary courage to engage the enemy, whatever and whoever that may be. And laughter connects us all.

The Black Dog will look for his chance to derail my life again at some stage. Of that, I have no doubt.  Before and after, I will continue to keep him at bay by laughing at him too.

 The Black Dog's modus operandi 

means you have to work out recovery strategies

that work for you!

Food, Glorious Food!

Ruby is the epitome of a Beagle. She is ruled by her nose. When she smells something, anything delectable, she has a complete brain bypass. Her resistance is non-existent.  She proved this fact just after we moved to Heavenly Beverley. On a winter's afternoon, a delicious scent teased her into total submission on a walk with us. We were irrelevant. The other Stooges were irrelevant. The cat who had accompanied us on the walk by the filling Avon was irrelevant. All that mattered to Ruby was tracking down this irresistible culinary delight.

We lost her that afternoon and feared she had gone forever. We imagined her  drowning or being run over, given her habit of wandering aimlessly onto roads. We were distraught. Needless to say, she rocked up on the front doorstep, stinking abominably, cold and thirsty. She staggered into the house, drank an entire bowl of water, threw up all over the living room floor and retired to bed. She was fully recovered by the following morning....

This experience did not improve her nose - brain - stomach interface (great wank word there). She has continued to have appalling eating preferences and manners. Her favourite foods are dinner, the pre-rinse cycle, hard plastic, pigs' ears, cat pooh, chicken tenders, bird seed, bird pooh, any food she can nick (particularly if we leave food unguarded on the table or bench) and I regret to say, dog pooh, usually not her own. The piece de resistance is that she enjoys bringing dog pooh into the house to share the joy around, mostly on Pip and Sascha's bed, not her own.

And Ruby is  just besotted by food. She thinks she hasn't made this clear enough, so she likes to remind us, frequently. Even if she has just eaten, she is always looking, hoping, pleading. She is like an extreme version of Oliver Twist - please Sir, I want some more!

Last night was an instance that reduced us to tears. Of laughter. Ruby had demolished her dinner in her usual inimitable style. I had made Michael and me a beef and beer pie. I figured that the pie smelt quite good, but we were unprepared for Ruby's sustained and high-pitched conversation with the aforementioned  pie.

The leftovers of the pie were on the kitchen bench. Ruby lay on the floor, howling, cajoling, begging the pie to edge forward to the edge and take a leap of faith onto the floor. She could not understand why the pie didn't respond in the affirmative. She ended up worshipping the pie as a deity in the misguided hope that would move the pie to take action, do its duty and meet its date with destiny. Otherwise known as landing conveniently in Ruby's mouth.

Sadly, this was not to be. The pie cooled enough to be rehomed in the fridge. Ruby was devastated. Today she lived in hope again as I unearthed the leftovers for dinner. Alas, her dreams were dashed. She had to resign herself to being on cleanup duty of the pie dish with Sascha. She took her job seriously and completed the task with due diligence.

We sit, all of us fed, contented and comfortable. Sascha and Pip are lying in front of the fire. The cat is asleep, curled up on the couch as only she can. Ruby has retired to the doggy bunk beds in the laundry. By herself.

That is Ruby to a tee.

Ruby has always taken her duties very seriously...

...whilst Sascha is very alert...

...and Pip tends to be more alarmed...

...whereas the cat would prefer that they all sod off and leave her in peace.

The Unbelievable Arrogance of a Medical Specialist.

I was going to write a post on the unsatisfactory nature of Centrelink tonight. The post was going to be titled - "we're from the government - we're here to help you..." Then I started watching "Four Corners" about rampant bullying in the hospital/medical hierarchy. How registrars become like their masters. And so  I changed the focus of this post. Because registrars and residents aren't the only victims of bullying in hospitals.

Thirteen months ago, Michael nearly died from pneumonia. He nearly died in a private hospital in the affluent western suburbs of Perth. I compiled a seven-page complaint concerning the specialist, his registrars, the nursing staff and the hospital initially to HADSCO (Health and Disability Services Complaints Office). They could not proceed because the specialist "refused to participate in the process". End of story.

So I referred my complaint to AHPRA (Australian Health Practitioner Regulation Agency). Thirteen months later, I am still waiting for a response. I get "updates" every three months or so. In the meantime, the specialist continues practising. No sanctions whatsoever, despite the serious elements of my complaint.

I  want to reveal this specialist's name. But I will not do so yet. I continue to be appalled at the inaction of the complaint process. I will ring AHPRA tomorrow with my concerns. Just don't tell me to hold my breath. Here is our story  -

10 April 2014

·         After an appointment with our GP, Doctor F, at 12 noon at H Medical Centre, he advised us that Michael needed to go to hospital. As Michael’s Joondalup Consultant, Doctor C, was on leave, Doctor F assured us we would be well cared for by Doctor S at XXXX Hospital.

·         We arrived at XXXX Hospital at 1pm (approximately) with a letter for Doctor S from our GP Doctor F with requests for fluids, oxygen and a review for Michael.

·         Michael waited on Ward xx to be seen by any Doctor from about 1.30pm. He was given no fluids or oxygen. One of the nurses was about to insert nasal prongs when she withdrew, stating she could do nothing until Michael was seen by a Doctor.

·         I repeatedly asked for help for Michael and when a Doctor would examine him.

·         Michael was delirious and very dehydrated by the time Doctor S arrived with two Registrars at approximately 4pm.

·         Doctor S talked about Michael to the Registrars, rather than to him, ignored me, rolled his eyes at me and spoke about treatment information to the Registrars. He also made a pointed remark about Michael’s smoking history in our presence, which in my opinion, was unprofessional and inappropriate.

·         None of the Doctors inserted an IV whilst they were actually examining Michael.  A nurse then attempted to insert the IV into Michael’s hand after they departed the ward. She had two attempts; then she stated nurses were not permitted to insert an IV above the hand and left us, apparently to get the Registrar to insert the drip.

·         We waited for the Registrar for approximately another hour (about 5pm).  When she arrived, she commented she had been forced to curtail her time with three other patients to attend to Michael and then instructed me to step out of Michael’s room. I only did so when Michael asked me to do so as well, given he needed the IV inserted as soon as possible, as he was increasingly delirious.

·         I apologised to the Registrar when she came to tell me the IV insertion had been completed and Michael had been started on fluids and antibiotics (Saline and Gentamycin).

11 April – 13 April 2014

·        Michael was started on new antibiotic on 11 April (Tazocin) and was receiving nebulizers.

·        Michael was given one set of steroids for his lungs (either oral or injection – he can’t remember).

·        Michael’s IV fluids were ceased even though he was continually nauseated.

·        Michael rang me on the morning of Sunday 13 April as I was about to return to Perth. I had only left him on his own due to a planned family reunion at our house. He sounded extremely distressed and very unwell.

·        On arrival back in the ward, at approximately 1pm, I attended to Michael’s needs, fetched and carried for him and liaised with nurses. We were becoming increasingly alarmed and dissatisfied with the level of care by both nursing staff and doctors

.

·        Doctor S saw Michael on Saturday morning (12 April), not at all on Sunday 13 April.

·        Michael was started on yet another new antibiotic (Meropenem), on Sunday 13 April, as according to his drug chart, he wasn’t responding to Tazocin. Doctor S authorised this via a phone conversation, rather than in person.

·        We later discovered through the HBF representative that Meropenem wasn’t on the PBS and Michael can’t remember giving financial consent to receive this drug.

·        One of  the Registrars  divulged that liver function changes in Michael’s blood results were potentially caused by this latest medication.

·        One of  the Registrars told us that Michael couldn’t have regular Panadol to control his fever as this was problematic for his current liver function.

·        On the evening of 13 April, Michael and I discussed transferring to Joondalup Hospital if his care and his condition didn’t markedly improve.

14 April 2014 –

·         I rang Doctor  C’s rooms to enquire if he had returned from leave.

·         As he had returned, I requested a transfer back to Joondalup Hospital under Doctor C’s care.

·         Doctor C’s staff rang Joondalup Hospital Admissions repeatedly that day requesting a transfer for Michael. We were aware of a wait, possibly until the next day.

·         Doctor S and Ward xx were also aware we wished to transfer back to Joondalup Hospital.

·         Registrars saw Michael twice that day. I asked for chest physiotherapy (no response) and enquired about further steroid therapy (no response).

·         Due to inconsistent application of Panadol, Michael’s temperature was spiking episodically. Throughout  that afternoon, Michael was deteriorating before my eyes.

·         About mid-afternoon, I reported that he was unable to urinate. There was no action for this added problem.

·         I was informed that Doctor S would be in to see Michael that afternoon and repeatedly asked the nursing staff when this would be.

·         Michael expressed the desire to leave XXXX and go home – a trip of 150 kilometres. He had lost all faith in either the care on the ward or the care of Doctor S and his Registrars.

·         At 5pm, I asked (again) when Doctor S would be seeing Michael. I was told he would be in “shortly”. At that point, I told the nurse that the Doctor had 15 minutes to arrive before we left the Hospital.

·         I packed Michael’s belongings.

·         At 5.30pm, Doctor S arrived with the Registrars. He turned his back on me and asked Michael how he was.  Michael replied that he felt “dreadful”.

·         Doctor S then proposed leaving Michael on the Meropenem, despite the fact his own Registrars had told us the drug was probably responsible for the changes in Michael’s liver function.

·         Doctor S ignored my protests.

·         I lost my temper. I believe I called Doctor S an “arsehole” and a “prick” and told him to leave Michael’s room. I added I was taking Michael to Joondalup Hospital immediately.

·         Doctor S’ only response was to raise his hands, say “good luck” and leave the room, his Registrars in his wake.

·         We left approximately fifteen minutes later.

      Ward xx refused to send any documentation with us. All I had was Michael’s initial chest x-ray from 11 April.  

      We arrived at Joondalup Hospital Emergency Department on the first Monday of the school holidays at about 6.30pm. Every child in the northern metropolitan area seemed to have become sick or injured on that very day. We could see the Emergency Department was already crowded as I parked outside the entry. I found a wheelchair and loaded Michael into it, wheeling him straight to the Triage window.

The staff was outstanding from the first minute. I explained the situation of Michael’s deterioration over the previous five days. I also confessed that I had more or less kidnapped him from the other hospital and we had no information, given the nature of our escape.

One of the Emergency doctors organised Michael’s admission in the waiting room, as there were no beds in the Department. They initiated observations on him and began treatment immediately. With a cheerful grin to calm me down, the doctor cracked “Don’t do this at home!” as he gave Michael fifteen puffs of Ventolin through a spacer to open up his airways.

We waited, Michael propped up in a wheelchair for nearly two hours. Just when I was about to beg for a bed, we were moved into the Emergency Department and Michael was helped onto a bed. I felt we’d been saved, just in time.

After that, everything happened very rapidly indeed. The nursing staff gently removed the old cannula out of Michael’s arm and began continuous observations. Two physicians inserted a new line, took blood and started fluids and IV Panadol on a rapid induction. Michael’s specialist was phoned and new IV antibiotics were commenced. 

Suddenly, all seemed back in control. Michael slipped into semi-consciousness through total exhaustion.

We were told that Michael’s kidney function was satisfactory, which was all that saved him from being admitted into the Intensive Care Unit. Within an hour, Michael was on the ward, asleep after a terrible day.

Michael’s specialist and his team continued their excellent care over the following fourteen days. Michael was very, very sick with pneumonia on admission. He developed fluid trapped in the pleural sac, which felt like an elephant was sitting on his chest. While inserting the chest drain, his left lung collapsed, an unfortunate but not uncommon side effect of the procedure.

He was pronounced well enough to return home at the end of April. I had boarded with him in his hospital room the whole of his stay. In the last few days, he had a PICC line inserted in his arm, as he returned home on IV antibiotics for another  two weeks. He remained on oral antibiotics for another four weeks.

He took three months to recover.

And I am still waiting for an explanation and apology from AHPRA thirteen months later. Brilliant.

Dawn from Michael's hospital window, Joondalup Health Campus 14 - 28 April 2014.

Being The Best Person I Can.

I'm the first to admit the bleeding obvious. I'm flawed. I am also impulsive, loud, self-opinionated, easily distracted and medically eccentric. I love passionately. I loathe injustice and unfairness. I am ultra sensitive, which is completely unhelpful to my overall mental health. I genuinely believe in giving everybody a fair go. I like to think that by treating others as I would like to be treated, the world will be a better place for us all.

And I smile. I try to include a smile in my first greeting to anyone and everyone. And I adore humour - the side-splitting, the slightly off and the definitely suspect. Laughter is the universal connection for all of us.

If I'm not smiling, there is something seriously amiss with my emotional state. If I'm not laughing, my sense of humour will have already descended down my well and I will be emotionally in trouble. Which is why I allow others to vent, to be grumpy, to be petty, to cry. As well as the good stuff. I hope that if I offer this courtesy to everyone, then I will receive the same consideration.

Which, of course, is sometimes wishful thinking. There are some people in this world who are just not nice. Brenda, that does NOT include you. These are the takers, the users, the "gunnas". The ones who are "gunna" do this and that and the other. They often are slow to reveal themselves, which is why I usually get sucked in by them. Then I get stung. Often badly. I always take quite some time to recover from an encounter with one of these people. Because they  knock the stuffing out of me.

However, the last few days have reinforced that I am on the right track, that my approach to life creates more positive energy than negative. We are having fantastic visitors to the Gallery. We have been given a painting and the promise of thirty years of art resources. Which will greatly increase what we can offer and help deliver our dreams. We are gaining a reputation as a comfortable, friendly gallery where people can just come and put their feet up if they so choose. We tolerate children and love dogs as well in the Gallery.

I also feel that my writing is starting to pay a few dividends. My blog, Facebook, Wheatbelt Local and our website are all developing nicely and are taking on a life of their own. I wait to hear from Philippa, my lovely editor, on the progress of my manuscript.

This week, I finally spat the dummy about the ongoing insanity that is the disability industry. I deliberately call disability "services" an industry as I sometimes doubt whether they know who they are meant to help. I know that is a broad generalisation, but the ongoing dramas of my children's lives are yet to convince me otherwise. So, I wrote another letter - to politicians, a media outlet and on Facebook. Not expecting any response, I have been delighted that my voice has actually been heard this time, albeit by a limited audience.

Stephen Dawson, MLC here in Western Australia actually rang me. I nearly fell off the phone. We talked for quite some minutes. March Australia asked permission if they could  post my letter  on their blog in their ongoing campaign for fairness for all Australians. The comments I have received on Facebook have been universally supportive.

The greatest reward, though, of being the best person I can, is the unconditional love I experience from Michael, my children and my friends. Which is why I will keep on being who I am.

Just a very few of the people in my very fortunate life.

The Trouble with Middle Age...

The last two days appeared to have confirmed that we are sliding into MIDDLE AGE. And not particularly gracefully. We are retaliating by whinging long and hard and fighting the advancing years with all the humour we can muster.

Michael is now classed as "complex medical". This irks him beyond belief. It seems only yesterday that he was happily (or not) working physically from dawn to dusk, drinking and smoking too much and doing completely inappropriate manoeuvres in cars and on motorbikes.

Yesterday, we visited the GP, again, about his festering foot, again. The painful blisters on the ball of his right foot are not subsiding. So, we waited for the results of the last pathology with bated breath. Insect bite be damned. The latest findings suggest a fungal invasion!

New cream, new antibiotics. Plus enough other prescriptions to have felled an entire forest. The printed results of the current status of his foot. A referral to a skin specialist (if needed), hopefully before this part of his anatomy disengages from his body. And to top it all off, his winter flu vaccination.

Then it was my turn. I was simple, if somewhat cowardly. After my flu injection and the burning off of yet another spot, I told our GP he was a nasty man. After an initial stunned expression, he roared with laughter. I don't think he has many other middle-aged female patients telling him that he is not nice.

The day before had been a dreaded trip to the Big Smoke. As we are officially lunatics, we are both under the care of a psychiatrist. She is a gorgeous skinny doctor of Asian descent, with a fondness for wine, a direct manner with  plenty of wit and compassion thrown in for good measure. My session went well and I thanked her for assisting me in the retrieval of my sense of humour. We talked a bit about meds and then arranged for our next appointment.

What she is not is a mind reader. As she later told me, she can't alter or increase Michael's drugs unless he gives her a clinical reason to do so. So when he doesn't reveal the extent of his anxiety, the worsening of his reflux and the continual pain his foot is causing, she can do nothing. He is under orders to tell the Truth next time we see her. Sigh....

The final indignity was getting an X-ray on my stupid right forearm. It is currently being held together with seven screws and a plate, having been shortened last June. This had all stemmed from a work injury back in November 2013...

The films were not promising. Blind Freddy could tell that the bone isn't healing, after nearly twelve months. Is this another curse of middle age, that I don't knit well? Bummer. We see the orthopaedic surgeon next week. His parting words to us four months ago was that a bone graft may be in the offing. Oh goody!

And so I wait with breathless anticipation for the next exciting installment in the medical soap opera that is our lives. Will Michael's foot remain attached to his leg? Will my forearm start behaving itself? Will Michael tell our shrink the truth? And will medical appointments become an entrenched part of our routine?

I fear so. Thus, we need to rebel in all ways possible. We are already hatching the tentative plans for another escape to the Goldfields in Spring. Which, naturally, will include every drug known to man. but if our trips can keep us away from the dreaded quacks, even temporarily, then that will become our preferred course of  action.

Adventure before dementia!

We can't wait to get on the road again...

so we can ignore this....

catch up with old friends....

climb to the top of ridiculously steep hills....

be greeted on the way down...

discover new landmarks to explore.....

make new friends in unexpected places....

and avoid this fate for as long as possible!

Easter in Heavenly Beverley - A Biased Critique!

The Wheatbelt comes alive with the advent of autumn.The last gasp of the summer heat subsides with the glorious cooler evenings and warm days. In Beverley, the stirring of the start of the productive season is mixed with the exciting preparations for the Easter Weekend, the opening of our tourism period.

Those of us who live in Beverley know her secrets. This is a quirky, thriving, friendly little community, a stone's throw from the Big Smoke with every building on the main street either tenanted or being renovated. We have Art Deco and Federation on display all year. We have delights for residents and tourists alike, regardless of the time.

We have four distinct seasons. Summer is bloody hot, autumn cools our souls and signals the start of renewal, winter is cold, crisp and green and spring reverberates with colour, the noise of animal babies and the climax of our nurtured crops.

But Easter is special. The weekend festivities began with the Station Gallery presenting its annual art prize. The Exhibition was held in the Town Hall and  displayed outstanding works to admire and buy. Dozens of paintings sold and the Gallery acquired the inaugural Beverley Art Prize painting. Best local artist  of 2014, Pat Lane donated an oil painting which was raffled and best local artist of 2015, Marian Alexander will provide one of her works for next year's raffle.  

The Dead Finish Museum, always great for a visit, launched its World War 1 exhibition and received very favourable comments. Having wandered through Dead Finish myself, I can only assume that the WW1 memorabilia would have added to its marvellous existing atmosphere. Psst, the "Remembering Them" exhibition runs every weekend until September.

Avondale Discovery Farm delighted the public with its history, horses, buildings and activities. Comet and Robbie, the two resident Clydesdales always enjoy a bit of raz mattaz on open weekends and I have it (from the horse's mouth!!) that they love their upgraded stables.

The Easter Tennis Tournament was an absolute blast of fiercely contested tennis, great camaraderie  and ...a Bogan Sundowner. Having met one of the revellers on the street at the ATM, I can honestly confess that I was speechless. That does not happen often to me.

We had markets galore, loads of people on the main drag, magic weather and an amazing buzz. The East End Studio (now moved and rebadged as Unique State) provided its pretty homewares, upcycled furniture and artworks throughout the weekend. The Studio also hosted the Station Gallery's Artist in Residence for April, the extraordinary Luis Fuentes who had travelled all the way from Peru. We enjoyed meeting Luis very much and he was most taken with our East End Gallery.

And mentioning the East End Gallery, they came, they saw, they enthused. We finished the latest extension at the East End Gallery just in time  for the Easter long weekend. With seventy different art pieces, slumped glass and silver jewellery, we had something for everyone. We've had kids, dogs and adults through the Gallery, all giving us tremendous encouragement. We have never been so proud in all our lives.

After the fabulous opening night, complete with live music, we had leftovers to offer the next day. Late on Good Friday, I gave the remaining cakes from the Red Vault to Janet the caravan park manager. She was delighted as she was about to be inundated with grandchildren and hadn't had a chance to bake. A very happy visitor to the East End Gallery.

Our daughter Vanessa provided muffins all weekend. And she looked after the house, the animals and prepared dinner every night. She and her friend Jacinta had been the waitresses on Thursday night and they just kept our home ticking. We could not have done it without them.

Our son Callum  orchestrated the catering event of the century on Thursday evening, Opening Night.  A cafe manager, ballroom dance teacher and relief primary school teacher, he freely gave his time and gave me one less reason to have a nervous breakdown. 

We  had our artists popping in all weekend. Pat Lane, Denese Borlini. Murray Cook, Shane Moad, Michelle Rothwell and Chris Shannon came in to offer their support. We met other artists who had exhibited in the Beverley Art Prize. They were excited by the concept of having a permanent Gallery established in Beverley to complement the Station Arts Gallery and the East End Studio. We hope to include some of these artists in our Winter Exhibition.

All in all, we had a wonderful Easter weekend. I am so awestruck by Michael's vision and his ability to bring the East End Gallery into being. We have one-quarter of the Gallery still to renovate. Once Michael recovers his sense of humour and his well-being, we will be all systems go to finish the project!

In the meantime, we are open at the East End Gallery, 116 Vincent Street, Beverley on Fridays - Sundays 11am -5pm, public holidays 11am - 5pm and other mutually agreeable times. Check us out on Facebook or google www.eastendgallery.com.au