Back to the Future

We have been very lucky. Our first Helpxer, Madlen, was extraordinary in her enthusiasm, energy and positive attitude. She was a joy to have in our home and as her departure date approached, we were apprehensive in our expectations about our next volunteer.

We needn't have worried. Simon from Bordeaux is another gift from the Gods. He is smart, witty and works like a trojan. Having arrived on Tuesday afternoon, he has been immediately been chucked into action. Gary, Michael and Simon have cleared the remaining forty-five square metres of Shop 4, taken up the floor and begun marking and digging for the new steel members to be brought in for the foundations.

This morning, Simon washed the dishes for me. I will have to ask him to give housekeeping lessons to Michael, who always seems to turn up just as I finish washing up. He is also clean, tidy and eats everything, even though he is not fond of onion. And his only vice appears to be that he has the occasional smoke. Michael is secretly delighted as he now has a partner in crime to brave the elements and have a fag.

So we are revisiting the reconstruction of the second phase of the new floor. Surprise, surprise, the current state of the floor looks as bad, if not worse, than the front half of the floor that we replaced in March. There is a distinct lack of visible means of support, the remains of the cellar walls are decidedly dodgy and wobbly and the yellow sand appears to be the only substance holding the brickwork approximately in place. In other words,  a disaster.

Fear not. The Three Amigos are riding in to repair the mess. Hopefully, with three of them, there will be less blood, sweat and tears. And maybe Michael will emerge unscathed from this exercise, unlike last time. And having a young fit bloke on the job means that Michael will be able to do less physical grunt work, more supervising and hopefully stay out of hospital!

I can only wish...

How to throw a young Frenchman in the deep end...

present him with this...

give him some electric tools...

and look...

floor going, going...

just about gone.

Thank God two blokes of almost sixty have a young gun to assist them!

The Changing of the Guard

Today was Madlen's last day with us. We will miss her so much. I have already told her that if she gets into any difficulty, she is to RING us and we will help her. Not to mention a short fat woman with dangly earrings and dyed red hair will have words with anyone who doesn't look after OUR Madlen.

She is leaving for Yalgoo tomorrow. The weather will probably be warmer there, which will be a bonus. And she will be on a sheep station in the Gascoyne and will probably have a blast of a time! Did I mention we will miss Madlen?!

Yesterday we welcomed Simon to our home. Simon is a twenty-two-year-old from Bordeaux in France. He has been in W.A. for two weeks and is hoping to improve his English whilst he is with us. We have already worked out that he is willing and able, has a brilliant sense of humour and likes red wine! We are crossing our fingers he stays a while. We would really like to take him to the Goldfields for an outback camping trip in September. We suspect the Goldfields will be like nothing he has ever seen.

So, Simon has proved himself handy with the electric screwdriver today. And he has cleared the back half of Shop 4 in the Forbes Building. He also helped Michael begin to take up the poor, neglected floorboards.

Madlen has worked on the scaffolding in Shop 1 again, plastering. As ever, she had her wonderful smile on her face and worked like a trooper. Tonight, she is packing her backpack ready for an eight o'clock start for the seven-hour drive to Yalgoo. Did I mention we were going to miss Madlen?!

So this is our farewell to Madlen and hello to Simon. He is already fitting into the house fine and we have no doubt that he will prove to be as invaluable as Madlen. However, did I mention we would miss Madlen?!

I am hoping that saying goodbye to Simon and future Helpxers won't be quite so difficult!

Madlen 26.7.2015

Simon Hoff enjoying an easy life in Beverley...

Why is this old bloke standing over me?

Thank God he's left me alone.

Up, Up and Away.

Our backpacker Madlen has embraced us, and Heavenly Beverley, wholeheartedly. She has captured our hearts and souls and we now regard her as another of our daughters. She has dug out and filled gaping cracks in Shop 1, constructed scaffolding, painted Shop 2, collected, moved and stacked firewood, put out and brought in washing, cooked, washed dishes and served meals. And that's what I can remember of her three weeks with us without really thinking about her contribution to us and our projects.

She is also a delightful young woman, with a radiant smile and a fabulous attitude. We have tried to make sure she's had some fun, as well as work her bum off. So she's fed a baby euro (kangaroo), been to the pub and gone out with a local lad to see the sights. This afternoon, she joined one of our artists, photographer Dave Mizon to photograph County Peak and (maybe) a comet.

Earlier today, Madlen ticked off one of her "big ticket" items. She took a glider flight out of the Beverley Soaring Society with Sid, our friend and chief gliding instructor at the club. Michael took her out and photographed her flight from the ground. She had an absolute ball. Her smile on landing said it all. To top it off, Sid had looped the loop in the glider at full speed. Madlen was thrilled. She commented that although gliding was was bit less expensive in Germany, only high society partook in the activity. Well, we fixed that.

She returned home after dark with Dave, her smile still lighting up her face. She had been to County Peak, to Yenyening lakes and yes, they had photographed the comet. The three of them, Michael, David and Madlen, poured over the photos whilst one of the lesser mortals - that would be me - cooked dinner. After dinner, she asked to retire to her bedroom so she could Skype her little heart out. Dave stayed for dinner and only left reluctantly as he had to re-materialise as a solicitor the following morning. We look forward to seeing him again very soon.

We are in countdown until Madlen leaves for further adventures on a station near Yalgoo. She has scored a lift with Sancia, who just happens to be driving onto Cue, so she doesn't have to face the dreaded bus again! In the meantime, she'll be back working with Michael filling cracks in shop 1, with her enthusiasm, her energy and her positive nature on display for all to see.

Takes skill just to get in...

being buckled in ...

take off...

up...

up...

and away!

coming in for landing...

almost down...

back on earth...

does Madlen look happy?

Sid was pretty pleased with himself as well.

Great day!

There's Cracks in Them Thar Walls...

Never buy an old building. Do not be tempted even if you fall in love with the building.Walk away. Run for your life. Don't look back.Or do what we did and purchase a hundred-year-old building that leaked like a sieve and  had fretting brickwork, rising damp, rotting timber, no plumbing, electricity that was a farce and cracks you could put your hand through...

Well, we have spent three years renovating the Forbes Building. Michael has plastered litres of bitumen paint and silicon  up on the roof. Naturally, we couldn't afford a new roof. We have rewired, connected to deep sewerage, sanded floors, added a floating floor, created Michael's workshop, restored the Residence, (well almost) undercoated and painted and painted and painted. Not to mention fill a lot of cracks...an awful  lot of cracks.

This has been an ongoing - tedious - process. The building is old. Now we have fixed the leaks and the building is drying out and contracting. And we live in a seismically active area. We have about one hundred and fifty tremors a day. We don't feel these, but the building does. Then there are the trains that thunder past twice or three times a day. So our building is continually moving.Whether we like it or not.

We have filled the cracks in three and a half shops. They were the old cracks. Now we have new cracks. We have revisited Shop 2. The cracks have been repaired and the walls repainted. We have new tenants. John and Pat have filled the shop with pre-loved furniture and collectables.

 Michael and Madlen have moved into Shop 1. This was the shop Michael did not renovate personally in 2012 as he was still recovering from shoulder surgery. We knew the cracks would come back. We didn't quite realise just how dramatically.

The cracks are stupendous. We are so lucky to have Madlen here. She has helped Michael beyond description. The cracks are being opened and filled. She is smart, eager, reliable, resourceful and a smashing cook. Ladies and gentlemen, Madlen Witte is a star. If you want a willing worker, she is your Helpxer. PS she is also looking for paying jobs between Yalgoo and Darwin from September. We are losing her to a station near Yalgoo next Thursday. Our loss, their gain. Lucky people!

Madlen, we already miss you. Here is a tribute to Madlen and Michael's efforts in Shop 1 -

Madlen on the scaffolding...

Michael on the ground...

Madlen still up the scaffolding...

Michael down below...

Michael going up...

Feeding our backpacker...

because she works bloody hard. Pip waiting for crumbs.

Ode To Our Tile Fire.

T'was the Night before Last
and all through the House
Nothing was mobile, except for a BLAST....

of thick, grey noxious smoke, billowing out from the base plate on the ceiling at the top of the tile fire's flue.

Action Stations!

First, we leapt up to open the front door, the back door and kitchen window in order to stop the bloody smoke alarm from announcing its presence, loudly. We needed to do this in order to stop Pip from having an extreme case of the heebie-jeebies and shooting through the fence into the blackness of the night.

Next, Michael cranked up the tile fire's heat to burn the wood that was already inside the firebox to reduce the amount of smoke that continued to billow out from the ceiling. Once the immediate catastrophe had been averted, we recognised the repercussions of the situation. We needed to clean out the flue. Oh goody.

This task was undertaken yesterday afternoon. Michael and Madlen secured the ladders up to the gutters then lying flat on the roof, which is steeply pitched and very slippery. Next he unscrewed the chimney and passed it down for Madlen to chisel off the accumulated gunk. Madlen had never seen anything like this and asked for photographic evidence as she cleaned the chimney. It was completely caked with soot and resin. Better still was to come. The flue itself was jam-packed with debris from winter fires. We tried to remember when we had last cleaned out the flue. Last winter? Maybe?

Germany, with its eighty million people, has regulations governing wood fires. Our tile fire, second hand, with no additional filters, would never have been allowed. And the council undertook cleaning of the flue and chimney so a middle-aged man like Michael didn't have to clamber around a roof on a ladder.

Emptying the flue and cleaning out the top of the fire was hilarious. A never ending shower of glossy black pieces of residue erupted from the flue as we disengaged it from the firebox. Just when we thought there was no more debris, another rush of black would descend out into the living room. A few helpful bangs with a block of wood on the flue itself finished the process.

There was black everywhere. in our hair, on our hands and covering our clothes. Cleaning up was long and tortuous. Michael's ancient vacuum cleaner was employed as the chief sucker and would periodically become blocked, then requiring major surgery to clear its passageway. Michael gave the flue opening handle a few good whacks with a hammer to loosen its movement. Madlen and I were out with the broom, the dustpan and brush and later the good vacuum cleaner. She single-handedly emptied the firebox of rubbish back to an acceptable level. By the time the job was done, our green wheely bin had been filled by at least a  quarter.

Michael went back on the roof to secure the chimney into position. The ropes and ladders were removed and put away. The tile fire was then ceremoniously lit. Only then did we realise how pathetic its performance had been prior to its cleaning. The flames roared into life and no smoke emanated from the flue or the base plate. Within minutes, we were hot enough to start taking our clothes off. I ended up in my leggings and bra only....

The tile fire had been successfully resuscitated beyond our wildest dreams.  Roll on winter!

Still life of Madlen, wheely bin and chimney...

cleaning out the black, tarry goo...

just about done.

And when the day's work is over, all you need...

is a pirate parrot whispering in your ear and eating your hair!

On Judgement.

My friend Samantha Connor - woman, advocate, parent, artist, diva and all round good guy - wrote a very thought provoking piece on Facebook at some ungodly hour this morning. Two of her sons are autistic, her daughters are younger versions of their mother and I think her other sons just go with the flow. Safer that way. The family also includes her husband, who occasionally gets a mention, two unforgettable bulldogs and an indeterminate number of eccentric cats.

Sam's primary form of transport - other than her very fast Beamer - is her wheelchair. She can walk with crutches "like a Thunderbird", but the wheelchair has become her legs for any distance. She tells absolutely side-splittingly funny stories, sad stories, angry stories, frustrated stories. She works tirelessly as a voice in the disability wilderness. Apparently she sleeps from time to time.

What I find astounding is others' judgments of her, particularly the hateful, hurtful comments made out of sheer stupidity or ignorance or fear. Some appear not to be able to grasp the fact that she is a parent, a carer and critic of the disability "industry" and has multiple medical conditions herself. And, golly gosh, she doesn't want to be cured...she just wants the rest of us to be supportive and thoughtful and not add to the discrimination that slaps every disabled person in the face every day. Doesn't seem like she's asking much to me.

I experienced a similar reaction from the general public after my series of pregnancy losses. I  had six pregnancies, involving seven babies, with three surviving children. All but one of my babies died after twenty weeks gestation. From different reasons before and after birth.

So when it became clear that I wanted to attempt another pregnancy after my twin girls were stillborn, I became a pariah. Their voiced opinions took my breath away.  I had one live kid - I should be so grateful. All I was doing was bringing another poor little soul into the world (who would either die or have some ghastly Defect) , wasting taxpayers' money and clogging up an obstetric bed that should be saved for a more deserving woman. How could I even contemplate such a ridiculous and selfish idea?

My final two pregnancies were amongst the most stressful events I have ever lived through.  Callum was delivered at thirty-six weeks, due to foetal distress. He was hauled pink and roaring out of me. He was alive and he stayed. Vanessa had a sibling to boss. I had the relieved joy of a wriggling, breathing baby again.

Alex was never meant to happen. And I was nauseated from the moment I was one second pregnant. This lasted until I had an ultrasound at seventeen weeks. All appeared well. As my first born son, Christopher had been born with a complex heart defect, premature lungs and other problems that killed him, I was referred to a cardiologist for a foetal cardiac ultrasound. Three days before Christmas 1990, I was told my newest baby had congenital heart disease and I was asked if I wanted to terminate the pregnancy.

I chose to continue the pregnancy. I would be damned if I would cause this baby to die. Even knowing the consequences.

And so the comments and the looks started again. How could she...? I gritted my teeth and hung on until the pregnancy was over and Alex was born.

He was hauled pink and roaring out of me as well. And yes, until we took out private health insurance, he cost the taxpayers for his treatment. And then, horror of horrors, he was found to have developed Autism as well.The hardest part for me was learning all the new medical jargon.

I can't imagine a world without my two sons. Or my daughter, who is also autistic. And not a day goes by that I am not advocating for them - all. And for my husband, who has multiple health issues. I have recurrent depression. OMG, I'm one of them, a disability carer who has a mental illness. I'm another of those outspoken vocal critics!

Getting back to Sam and the particularly dreadful judgements cast in her direction, I hope this one blows her naysayers out of the water. Sam, who has a disability herself, must have had sex at least six times in order to have her children....Now that's food for thought.

Two of the people who float my boat - the legendary Samantha Connor and my beloved Michael.

PS did I mention Sam loves frocks, classy shoes and bright hair colours?

Dear Indiegogo readers...

I know it's a big ask, but, I'm going to ask anyway. There are 31 days left in our Indiegogo campaign and I'd really do just about anything to boost contributions to the East End Gallery.

It's a tad nippy to masquerade starkers on Vincent Street and I certainly don't have Lady Godiva's hair. I'm extremely uncoordinated, so juggling knives is also out of the question. I have demonstrated fire breathing once, but that involved citronella oil, a cigarette lighter and the bravery obtained from  giggly drunkenness!

So I'm open to suggestions. My singing is pretty woeful, my jokes terrible and I'm completely unadorned by height or beauty. What you see is what you get. 

I can tell a good story. I'm passionate about our building, our artists and our dream. I can talk about that until the cows come home. I can also take you on a tour of our building, show Michael at work either renovating or creating and offer a decent cup of tea or coffee, with a muffin. I can tell you about our brilliant, quirky little town with its many attractions. We have comfy chairs, a sofa, the newspapers and our local newsletter where you are welcome to sit and watch the world go by.

We welcome dogs and children. One of our art pieces is a garden art miniature horse made out of half a tyre, wood, raffia and loads of ingenuity. I have photographic evidence of one of our younger patrons enjoying a horse ride in the East End Gallery with a metal spider clutched in his other hand.

We have a dog water bowl and I am quite prepared to look the other way if your canine companion snaffles a muffin. By the way, we have apple muffins and lamingtons available for sampling in the East End Gallery this afternoon.

If everybody who reads this post could contribute a few dollars to our campaign, we would be a step closer to completing the East End Precinct. We would then be able to offer artists the chance to live, work and display their art in the best-kept secret in Western Australia's Wheatbelt.

So do yourselves a favour, get in the car and drive up to Heavenly Beverley and drop into the East End Gallery. In the meantime, enjoy the photos of Wyatt, our young visitor, in full flight on one of our pieces of art!

Best wishes and have a great day,

Kate.

 Ride em cowboy...

a horse and a metal spider fridge magnet. What more could a lad desire?

www.indiegogo.com/projects/east-end-gallery-supporting-wheatbelt-artists/x/11068363#/updates

A Great Birthday in the East End Gallery.

As I sit here in the Gallery, I am bopping along to music from "Priscilla, Queen of the Desert". I am feeling particularly loved today. What else could a birthday girl wish for?

I have been inundated with birthday wishes on Facebook and through e-mail. I have had phone calls from Callum and Vanessa (who is currently roaring her way up to Beverley in her white charger with one of my adopted daughters Jacinta) and Brenda, I have been spoilt rotten by Michael, my lovely sister in law Sandra, Judy and Lucky and Callum and Bron. Gorgeous Val was waiting for me this morning outside the Gallery and she, Shane and their kids gave me a book of love quotes.  I suspect Vanessa will be arriving with a pot of gerberas. Callum has been particularly inventive. He is known for his rippingly great presents, but this year, he has outdone himself. He and my lovely intended daughter in law and my grand kitten contributed $50 to our Indiegogo campaign.

I am stoked. I have always loved celebrations - birthdays, anniversaries and Christmas - but the years keep getting better and better. Michael is the man of my dreams, the man I hoped for, the man I dared not think would love me. I keep waiting to see if the thrill of being with him ever lessens. And it doesn't. Every day I wake up next to him is the best day of my life.

And this birthday, we have been sent an extra member of our family. Madlen, our German angel, is working away on the spectacular cracks in Shop 1. She is as smart as a whip, eager, reliable and resourceful. She only needs to be shown a new skill once. Michael is thrilled. He has taken to setting her a task, wandering away to make more spiders and then returning when she finishes the current job. At last, he feels like he is moving on with the renovations again without becoming exhausted. And having time to be creative as well.

We have had a number of visitors in the Gallery during the day. It's quiet now and I shall soon shut up shop and head for home.

Tonight, Michael, Vanessa, Jacinta, Madlen and me will be dining at the Freemasons' Pub. I will be surrounded by some of the people I care about and loving those by long distance who can't be with us. What could be better for my birthday than this?

Still smiling... Madlen in shop 1

Finished crack in Shop 1

We're turning her into an Australian. Note the bucket she's sitting on

In full throttle at the Gallery yesterday

Michael relaxing after a hard day's work with his two Rubies - the fickle fair weather feline and the mind-bogglingly food focused Beagle!

Entertaining the Seniors.

Today was a rip-roaring, manic paced, wild ride in the East End Gallery. I knew we would be busy; I knew we would be crowded. But I had no idea of the scale of the operation of which I had innocently agreed to be a part.

Give me the D-Day landings. Give me the Siege of Troy. Give me the Hundred Years War (which actually lasted 116 years). These would have been a piece of cake compared to the logistics of this morning's event. As I write this, I am home physically shattered after the onslaught. And Stacey does this every day...!

I haven't seen Stacey Dowding for twenty years. She and I were buddies when both our youngest sons were diagnosed with congenital heart defects. James and Alex are now adults, living independent lives. Stacey hasn't aged a day. She is exactly as I remember her.

I caught up with her on Facebook. I have laughed out loud at her posts of "having a Chardy at the Kardy". Now I know why she drinks....Stacey works as a seniors' co-ordinator/ superwoman  at Greendale Community Centre in Armadale. I have seen numerous photos of her dress ups at clients' lunches and some of her costumes have been unforgettable.

A couple of months ago, Stacey asked me about bringing a busload of her elderly clients to Heavenly Beverley. No problem. I'll do morning tea. Couldn't be difficult. Surely.

The troops arrived en masse at about a quarter to eleven. I was already a bit worried as Stacey had indicated there would be around thirty-five of the frail old dears. I hoped they would not all want a muffin as I only had twenty-six of them. Never mind, I thought, I'll just top them up with biscuits.

They erupted off the bus. They just kept coming. They scattered to the public toilets and into the Gallery. I already had one kettle boiled, but I had failed to realise that I would need more boiling water. A lot more boiling water.

A stampede would have been gentler. As soon as I'd emptied the kettle and filled it again, they were closing in on me like barracudas. "Where's the hot water" and "I think it's boiling" and "you should have a big kettle on your fire" were some of the comments flying around. The muffins vanished. The biscuits were consumed. After three kettles of boiling water, everyone had finally been given a cup of tea or coffee. I don't think I have ever worked so hard in my life.

I raced up the street to the CRC to ask them to open the Aeronautical Museum. The oldies had already beaten me to it. The Museum was open and they were in. I walked a couple of ladies up to "All Things Beautiful and "Unique State". They found their own way to "Lucky Find".

They had lunch at the Freemason's Tavern. Apparently, the meal was very good. At around half past two, Stacey somehow ensured they were all back on the buses. She left with a blast of her horn announcing their departure.

Frail aged? I don't think so. These were not gentle old dears. Feisty, opinionated, witty, forward, brave and very sharp. They came, they swarmed, they left. I loved every minute of it. But I am so glad I will not be having another busload in the East End Gallery tomorrow.

I had a final conversation with a fabulous lady named Joan. She was the last one on the bus. She had a walker. We chatted about where she could travel next. I offered to take her camping to Eulaminna in September. Her eyes lit up. She had worked in the mining industry, participated in the Sydney - Hobart yacht race, restored a pioneer cottage near Esperance and travelled through the Himalayas. She was alive and kicking. She may well just decide to pack up her walker and come with us...

Her final comment was priceless. She didn't use computers much since the departure of floppy discs! But she was still savvy enough to go online, so I suggested she check out Michael's photos of the Goldfields. Joan, in case you haven't remembered, just google "spider52".

I have one regret about today. I didn't take any photos! Stacey, please can you send me some?!

The oldies' sedate speed around Beverley....

and how I think some of them travel in their minds!

We've Hit The Jackpot!

On Friday morning, I picked up a young German backpacker named Madlen off the Perth bus. Madlen is our very first helper from the Helpx website.  She had texted me, quite upset early in the morning, that she had become confused about the time of the bus departure from East Perth. Thus, she had arrived at the bus station at sparrow fart, only to discover there was no 6 am bus to Beverley. Shortly afterward, she sent me another text to say she had booked a seat on the 9 am bus. For a twenty-year-old who had only been in Australia for eight days, I was pretty impressed at her presence of mind, her persistence and her positive reaction to unexpected challenges.

Madlen was last off the bus. She was young and pretty with a wide smile, sensible boots and jeans, a decent sized backpack and her camera bag. I had brought the trolley from the shops to wheel her gear back, so we could walk and look at the main street. We chatted as we walked. She was from a town about the size of Beverley in the middle of Germany about two hours from Dusseldorf.

I very quickly learned that Madlen is a very determined young lady. She had worked in a variety of manual, boring jobs for a couple of years to save the money to come to Australia. She was already setting up her next hosting from the end of July, on a remote station reasonably close (in Western Australian terms) to Yalgoo. Her English was very good and she seemed very keen to just fit into our lives and our projects.

Back at Shop 2, introductions were made. Madlen was quite happy to begin work under direction straight away. We were somewhat gobsmacked at her eagerness. After a pretty rough night and early morning with little sleep, we had just assumed she would want to relax.

So, after dropping her bags and finding a painting shirt at the House that Rocks, we returned to the Forbes Building. Michael steered her into the shop and set her to work painting the front ledge "Milk White". The afternoon flew past with plenty of visitors in the East End Gallery, so I wasn't really paying attention to the renovators. When I looked, they had accomplished a tremendous amount of  work. Michael was thrilled.

After we closed the Gallery for the day, I drove around Beverley with Madlen, showing her the town. She was struck by the amount of space and the open country. She was highly amused at the concept of our Tractor Pulls, held by all the revheads at the old racecourse. When we passed the Gliding Club, I asked if she would like to go up in a glider. She was almost beside herself at my suggestion, commenting that kind of activity was very expensive in Germany. All I will need to do is have a word with Sid, chief gliding instructor, and get her up, up and away on a flight.

First night, she was tired. I was not surprised after the day she'd had. She slept in on Saturday morning and only woke just before I left for the Gallery. She and Michael were still down ready to work at noon and he set her up with painting the walls of shop 2. Over the course of the afternoon, we discovered that she could paint very well and also knew how to fill cracks, which would be part of their next project in Shop 1.

Second evening with us, she was chatty and charming and we learned more about her and her family. Apart from having all the skills we were looking for, she was also a very bright young thing and wanted to study chemistry with a view to continue onto archeology. I have no doubt that if this is what she wants, she will achieve her goal.

This morning, Madlen was up before us. We were slightly embarrassed. She also admitted that her room was cold, which I knew, but hadn't realised quite how cold. I resolved to bring her the oil heater home from the Gallery. We can't have our backpacker freezing at night...she might leave!

Today, she has continued to work with a fantastic attitude. The painting is finished and the floors are thoroughly vacuumed and mopped, ready for our new tenants. We've just had lunch at the ridiculous hour of four o'clock in the afternoon and she is returning to shop 2 to clean the skirting boards.

Michael is like a pig in mud. Whilst I've been manning the Gallery, he has been able to direct Madlen and made a start on some more spiders. At quarter past four, the visitors have stopped. I will wash up today's dishes and tidy the Gallery in preparation for closing.

Shop 2 is like new, Our tenants are moving in tomorrow. And now, Michael has her assistance to be able to tackle the new cracks in Shop 1 and repaint after the repairs.

We have been sent an angel and we have her for three weeks!

Shop 2 - with just Michael

Nerve centre of Shop 2

Madlen day 1

Madlen - Day 1

Shop 2 - after 3rd day with Madlen

Shop 2 - view after Madlen's 3rd day.

An Open Letter to the Universe

Dear Universe,

My emotions are rather higgledy- piggledy. I'm in the Gallery, listening to Russell Morris belt out "Sharkmouth". We had a great day, yesterday,  with visitors to the Gallery, at least ten groups coming through the door. Some of them stayed and had a cupcake and a cuppa, some were just there for my scintillating company (!), some were friends and some were just curious. They all seemed to enjoy the experience of visiting the East End Gallery.

So what am I feeling and why? Is it frustration? Is it anger? Is it resignation? Is it guilt?

My beloved husband is in bed today. He had an absolute blast of a day yesterday when he and Guy ventured out to enjoy "Sets, Bugs and Rock and Roll" in the Big Smoke. He caught up with old friends, enjoyed the documentary and had a thoroughly satisfying man-date with Guy. Even a kebab for lunch.

So, now he's paid for his outing with a rotten night. His chest infection isn't dramatically worse, but he's not improving either. He's been wiped out by the sweating and discomfort and chose not to get up at all before I left the house. That is highly unusual for Michael. I am enraged by The Bitch.

My feelings here are pretty straightforward. But, I dislike feeling angry because it is often accompanied by sadness and guilt - the hallmarks of my recurrent depression. I think that's part of the reason I'm in such a state of flux. I do not want to go there again.

Don't think for one minute I regard myself as special or precious. In fact, I have come to loathe sympathy in all shapes and forms. Back in the Dark Ages, when four out of my seven babies died (that's right - they died. They didn't pass away or  go to a better place) and then I found myself , most reluctantly, the mother of two autistic children, I used to grit my teeth at the ridiculous comments made when I divulged this information.

God chose you for a special purpose.
You only get given what you can live with.
You must be so strong.
Have you tried faith healing?

Or my personal favourite (on having my girls both stillborn at twenty-six weeks) -
Well, at least you have Vanessa!

If you had seven children and four had to die, which ones would you choose? Give me strength....

So I don't feel special or gifted or strong. A woman like me deals with what happens. Sometimes well, sometimes badly. I am solution oriented. I thrive on confronting the issue and seeking an answer to the problem. Doesn't always work, but I try never ever to give up.

Which is another reason I am feeling topsy-turvy. I have two campaigns active online. One is on the HelpX site, We need volunteer labour to help us finish the East End Gallery. So far, I think I have one young Pom turning up in the next week, working for us in exchange for food and accommodation. But I have been assured by at least three other couples that they are coming. And they don't. So our hopes rise and then get dashed again.

I really hope this young bloke turns up. It will renew my faith in human nature.

The other campaign is an Indiegogo campaign to raise $30 000 by 17 August, so we can finish the East End Gallery. I didn't enter this campaign lightly. I thought about it, I wrestled with it, I composed it. After I read about two architects raising $150 000 for the fit-out of a cat lovers' cafe, I thought I might as well give Indiegogo a bash. But I am also very aware we may be viewed as begging.

Here's the reality. Michael is on a Disability Support Pension. He has asthma, emphysema, reflux and anxiety. I am his Carer which is a bit of a black joke due to my own depressive episodes. We look after each other. We have spent all our money, super, savings, borrowed money on saving the Forbes building and establishing the Gallery. I was pretty useless before I was injured at work. Now I am totally useless as I have a fracture in my right forearm that isn't healing.I do not blame the child who hit me. I blame the Education Department for not accepting liability because there were no witnesses.

So I can't work and Michael is exhausted. We need to finish the building is the shortest time possible, so Michael can get back to what he loves best - making metal sculptures. We are not eligible for any grants or loans as we are private operators. I accept that, I understand that, but three years ago, when we bought the building, Michael's fitness was still pretty good.

My birthday is fast approaching. I will be fifty-four on 17 July. How bloody ancient! I am completely uninterested in presents. I have always found giving far better for the soul than taking.

What I'd really like for my birthday are two wishes.

One - that Michael recovers from this latest visit from The Bitch
Two - that our Indiegogo campaign picks up and we reach our goal.

We are in this together. And we are in it for our artists. We just want to finish the dream.

Love,
Kate.

PS is it too early for a glass of vino?

PPS - here is the link -

https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/east-end-gallery-supporting-wheatbelt-artists/x/11068363#/story

An Unwelcome Visit from The Bitch

Michael has been relatively well for quite a few months. Not one hundred percent, as he hadn't been able to bounce back after our trip to the Goldfields in May. I had been concerned by his level of fatigue but hoped that his vim, vigour and vitality would return in due course.

Early last week, he began to feel off-colour. A scratchy throat was bothering him, along with additional weariness. I went for a doctor's visit on Wednesday and mentioned to our GP that Michael wasn't very well, with sweating, tiredness and a sore throat. His response was unequivocal. I was to start Michael on antibiotics immediately. I knew we still had a script of his mega amoxicillin at home, so congratulating myself that I'd caught his illness early, I gave Michael his first dose.

By Friday morning, I knew he wasn't right. He alternated between very flushed and very pale, was nauseated and producing green phlegm. The sweats were becoming frequent, making him feel even more miserable. I came down to the Gallery, leaving him at home to have a long shower, get dressed and do nothing else.

He drove himself down to sit with me and have a cup of coffee. By now he was silent and hunched and when pushed, admitted he felt pretty rotten. That was enough for me. I rang the doctor and secured an afternoon appointment for him.

Lunch was a non-event due to his nausea. Concerned that he may be sent to Perth for a chest X-ray, I packed his drugs, my drugs and a change of clothes and undies. I watched our GP spend a long time listening to Michael's chest, particularly his left side. Even more alarming was Michael's tongue, which had turned partially black. The Bitch was back, lurking in the shadows.

The expected diagnosis was confirmed - Michael had a chest infection in his left lung. Fortunately, our doctor still felt it could be controlled with antibiotics. He added another antibiotic bomb to Michael's regime and advised Panadol to help with the fevers. We drove home, I made us some Osso Bucco to lub-dub on the stove, dosed him with his new antibiotic, an anti-nauseant and Panadol and then we went for a rest. We were both asleep in seconds.

This morning, Michael woke to see if he felt well enough to go the Perth to view a long-awaited documentary about Parkerville Amphitheatre - "Sets, Bugs and Rock and Roll". I think he'd made up his mind that he was going, no matter what. As our friend and international man of mystery, Guy, was accompanying him, I couldn't deny him. Parkerville Amphitheatre had been a venue from his youth, where Michael had collected booze, drugs and ladies' knickers after performances by bands. Very excited and very flushed, he left after breakfast, promising to let Guy drive if he ran out of energy.

And now I'm waiting anxiously for his return. I will never underestimate The Bitch. She is a sneaky, vicious creature who delights in causing havoc in Michael's body. The overnight bag is still in our bedroom. I will not unpack it until I know Michael has fully recovered.

Wish us luck.

Michael, sleeping with his lover, on Wednesday afternoon.