Never, Ever A Dull Moment!

The last few days have been yet another wild ride for the Beverley Hillbillies. Wednesday turned into a marathon of shopping, lunch and an urgent specialist appointment to look at Michael's lip.

This situation had been precipitated by a visit to our GP after the fun of the dentist on Tuesday afternoon. Doctor Susie had taken one look at the peculiar growth in the corner of Michael's mouth and helped us set up an appointment with a dermatologist the next day.

By the time we were admitted into Doctor Daram's inner sanctum, half past four had come and gone. He was suspicious of the lesion, believing Michael would need a fairly major procedure to remove the whole area. In the meantime, he biopsied the lump and sent the specimen off for urgent pathology. We finally left Perth behind at dusk, stopping for pizza and arriving home at eight thirty.

We were still exhausted the following morning so we lay low for the day. Friday turned out to be (thankfully) a wonderful anti-climax. Returning to see Doctor Daram, the offending tissue had turned out to be nothing more sinister than a wart. Which had been removed. We were so incredibly relieved that, in a second, we were grinning like hyenas, and hungry enough to eat a medieval banquet.

We celebrated by buying lunch, a beautiful bar of sandalwood soap and some new plants for our remaining empty terracotta pots. Home after tea and cake with Lucky.

Saturday I decided to open the Gallery. Up early and into front-of-house mode. Hot, sticky and uneventful. Three of our artists dropped in to chat. We ended up on a dinner date with Jan and Greg at their cool air-conditioned house. Bliss.

Christmas Day we repotted our newest arrivals of our "garden", and weeded three heavily grassed pots, rewarding ourselves with numerous scratches and substantial backaches. Dinner was another pair of frozen dinners, which were surprisingly yummy. We fell into bed.

Boxing Day was Lucky's 90th birthday in Toodyay. Family gatherings are often a combination of enjoyment, boredom, comedy and irritation. Everybody eats too much. Sweat, noise and over-the-top behaviour. We still had a wonderful day with Lucky and the other members of the family, but the assault on our senses was jarring. We really had turned into Beverley Hillbillies.

Today, the weather blasted through with a cool change. Once again, we were shattered. The day passed by at a very relaxed rate. Michael helped me clean our little home. How romantic..And all the time, we assumed the Beagle was snoozing under our bed.

She wasn't. She had absconded without permission. Again. We searched for her without success. We didn't know whether she would find her way back. We were apprehensive and anxious. Then, just around sunset, the naughty little dog came sauntering back up the hallway, her innocent Beagle grin splitting her face. No remorse whatsoever.

Tomorrow, we are planning another quiet day to recover...With the Beagle confined to barracks.

My lovely father-in-law on his 90th birthday

Who's that handsome fellow?

A nautical themed cake.

Lucky and the kids.

Ready, steady, blow.

Cutting the cakes with Wendy and Zoe.

 We still have a garden!

The pots that have now been filled.

And the defendant...

Steady as She Goes

We have been in our little temporary digs for ten days now. We have identified the real irritants and are working to resolve these issues. For instance, my "kitchen" has no water for washing our dishes. We thought we had fixed the problem by bringing in our 25-litre camping water container for ease of access. Genius, until we discovered the spout could leak without any warning, from a drip to a deluge.

Tomorrow, on our Santa Run to the Big Smoke, we intend to gatecrash one of the giant camping stores to purchase a more efficient and secure spout for the water container. With this addition, we hope to be able to fill our washing up basins without the fear of a tsunami across the floor.

Of course, we have a perfectly good spare spout somewhere in our packed belongings. Probably in the same place as my vacuum cleaner bags, which vanished somewhere between the House that Rocks and the Residence, a vast distance of at least 500 metres. Hence, after I buy new vacuum cleaner bags at Godfrey's, the missing ones will surely rematerialise.

Other improvements that are actually completed are new towel rails in the wet area and my custom made clothes line that Michael fabricated for me. At 2.4 metres long, it is capable of having flat queen bed sized sheets hung off it with room to spare. At 1.8 metres wide, Michael has threaded 40 metres of line from side to side. The final touch was a matt black finish. I am in love with my clothesline.

The fences will need to be constructed in the near future. Sascha has had a sudden re-birth of youth and has taken to night time wanderings. Two evenings ago, she was brought home from the pub, having just wandered in an open door. Last night, she left and came back on her own. Tonight, Michael had to chase her up the laneway. He commented that she was becoming defiant of authority in her old age. I responded, like father, like daughter.

Christmas Day is looming as our day to do absolutely nothing. After a packed schedule in Perth tomorrow, we are then opening the Gallery for extended hours until 7 pm on Christmas Eve. And guess what, we are really looking forward to having a quiet day in our quirky little accommodation.

The piece de resistance - we received planning approval for our house today. Time for a vino and a happy dance.

Only a Beverley Hillbilly would enthuse over towel rails.

The master fabricator with the clothesline.

Just off the verandah, is a sample of Michael's treasures...

Still life of spiders, caterpillars, bits and bots and Muriel on the left..

Surprise! More metal from the verandah around towards our courtyard.

Camping in the Residence.

Day Four of our innovative and somewhat primitive lifestyle. I have promised Michael that I will not refer to our temporary home as the Hovel anymore. Hence the title of the Residence. For hopefully only six months.That's the plan.

The pros are numerous. The two rooms and wet area are well ventilated, receive very little direct sun and has the internal wall of the workshop along the eastern side, which is the coolest part of the building. The floor is lino in the living space, which makes cleaning up the ongoing canine liquid surprises much easier. The cat has ceased to be feral, is exploring the outside world from time to time, but is wise enough to scurry back into the safety of inside.

Except for this morning. Madame Cat found herself behind the washing machine which is jammed next to the laundry trough. Miaowing plaintively, I cursed her stupidity and then hauled her out by the back of her neck. She was not amused.

Another plus is its proximity to  our town oval, which is rumoured to be the best in this part of the Wheatbelt. So far, we have managed to walk the Three Stooges there for the last three evenings. The grass is green, lush and soft - perfect for enthusiastic rolling - and the area is large enough to encourage all three of them to gallop madly. Even the Beagle. We have watched her in open astonishment, as Ruby's little legs propell her swiftly and even her stout little body appear to be leaner.

Cooking and washing up  continue to be challenging. Michael will set up the camp stove today so I can be persuaded to use it. Last night, we were saved by being invited to stay for dinner with the Moads.

There is no sink or water in the kitchen nook, which involves me creating one with our camping basin. Occasionally, this set-up does provoke a tad of displeasure to erupt from my lips.

However, there is no point in remaining testy. We are here for the duration until our house is built. I trust John and Lyndsey's time predictions. And building over summer and early autumn will be relatively speedy if we receive little rain. Once all the approvals are finalised, our building gurus predict we will be in the house in three months. Or so....

I can hardly wait.

And for entertainment value, here is a collage of our Residence...

Murphy was an Optimist!

Yesterday was meant to go smoothly. After a very hectic ten days, we were ready to return to Perth, release the Three Stooges and Madame Cat out of hock and motor home to Heavenly Beverley with the minimum of fuss.

I was up at the crack of dawn - 5.30 am Brisbane time - to expedite our departure towards the airport. With an 11.30 am take-off, there was not a moment to lose. Packing was completed. Husband was booted out of bed so I could wash the sheets. Breakfast was scoffed. Rubbish put out. Showers were undertaken. Blue Boy, our minuscule i20 was loaded with two suitcases, two carry-on bags, Michael's camera bag, my handbag, a painting and a mobile music speaker contraption. My darling Dad was farewelled and his Christmas present left with fabulous Coolum Beach Retirement Resort commander in charge Michelle. Promises to visit in July.

We made excellent time to the airport, parking Blue Boy outside Europcar at 10.30. We even scored a free luggage trolley. We were cocky and exceedingly smug with our progress.

Murphy must have been watching. The Arrivals lounge was in chaos. Two flights had been cancelled. The check-in queue was very, very long, as the staff were wrestling with additional bookings. I noticed the cheery sign informing us that we needed to have completed formalities half an hour before our flight. It was now 10.50. There was no way we were going to reach the front of the queue in ten minutes.

We were saved by terminal troubleshooter Sookie (that was her name). This very witty and efficient on-floor assistant moved us out of the queue to the counter with five minutes to spare. We were overweight and so were our bags. And the painting had to be dropped at Oversized Luggage. With fifteen minutes to go, we had paid the excess fee and watched all our belongings disappear.

Then we had the ordeal of going through the sensors with six (!) pieces of cabin luggage. After this task, we went in search of our  boarding gate. A wine tasting stall had been set up. Michael was asked if he'd care to try a glass. Stuff the glass was his succinct reply, give me the bottle. At Gate 24, we joined yet another queue snaking onto our plane.

We were flying on an airbus. These planes are big. We were in row 52 and there were more rows behind us. And the plane was packed. We stowed our bags, I took my sedative and we were off. Due to the wet day, take-off was a bit bumpy. Much hyperventilation and crushing Michael's hand were my coping strategies. Once in the sky, I intermittently dropped off to sleep. A quite edible risotto and a glass or two of vino assisted in restoring my equilibrium. I returned to Cloud Cuckoo Land, only waking on our descent into Perth.

The landing was turbulent. More huffing and puffing and the odd little shriek. Once on the ground, I could have kissed the pilot. Instead, we sat, somewhat shattered and waited for the crowds to clear before we stood up.

Once in the terminal, we found our monstrously heavy bags and retrieved our painting. Sandra picked us up in Kermit. We were beginning to be sure of ourselves again. Big mistake.

After tea and cake with Sandra and Lucky, we set off in Kermit to reclaim the animals. With profound thanks to Phil and Melinda at Hawkeview Kennels, we loaded us all  safely in the car, ready for the last hour of our epic trip. By this time, I had been up for over fourteen hours.

Kermit had a hissy fit, refusing to start. Bollocks. And with my brand new smart phone, I managed to call the RAC. The time was 5.40 pm. The oil pressure appeared to be failing to launch. Michael was gloomy. We required a tow.

Andrew, from Northam Towing, was able to assist us. Finally, with an unwell Kermit, the dogs, the cat and our luggage, we arrived back at the Residence at about 7.30 as darkness was falling. We unloaded the animals in the workshop whilst we ferried our belongings from Kermit into our new home.

We were too tired to eat. After a bourbon and coke, we collapsed into bed. What a day.

Murphy had the last laugh. Due to the stresses of the previous day, the dogs proceeded to wee all over the floors during the night. I was treated to Noah's flood upon arising. Oh goody...

This morning, I wiped up puddles, sprayed the ever trusty vinegar and water, vacuumed, washed the lino and put on two loads of wash. Then I proceeded to a spot of shopping, including copious amounts of alcohol to soothe my hot and sweaty bosom.

We opened the Gallery for a few hours. The heat was oppressive. We shut up shop, retired for an afternoon siesta and slept with the fan going full bore.

This evening, events have improved. In the relative cool of twilight, we took the dogs for a romp around the oval. They were ecstatic. We enjoyed the walk as well.

The moral of this story is clear. Never become too over confident. Never trust that bastard, Murphy. He and his Law have a nasty habit of causing mayhem when you least expect it.

Thus endeth another lesson.

Homeward bound.

Inside Brisbane Airport.

How we didn't spend our flight.

The view from our seats.

Kermit in happier times.

The piddling trio.

And the cause of all this strife.

And With Much Fanfare, Happy Happy Birthday, Darling Dad!

I would have to say that Dad's birthday was a triumph beyond all expectations. We have managed to stay in a celebratory mood for the final forty-eight hours of our visit.

Dad enjoyed opening his presents whilst still sitting at his breakfast table. He was delighted with his bird bath and bird feeder, his solar powered garden light, and his new spray fitting for watering his finished "garden". He continued to be showered with cards and good wishes for the entire day. Wendy, one of his neighbours in the villas, brought in biscuits, cheese and a wee glass of red wine. Bev, next door to Wendy, also made one of her very regular visits to Dad. I have charged both these delightful ladies in helping to keep a collective eye on Dad when I am absent.

David roared back onto the scene in his nifty i30, ably assisted by my canine nephew Kenzo. Michael (brother) and Simon both phoned with their birthday greetings and love. Lunch at Freddy Fudpukkas cafe in Coolum was yet another highlight of the day. Dad looked absolutely smashing in his new shirt. Then, he deviated from his usual order to keep David on his toes, reminding us all that Dad still has the ability to change his mind for no particular reason.

Another treat was the arrival of the final pot from the villa to Dad's terrace - a prolifically flowering poinsettia. The able Shane and Carlos delivered this blast of colour as Dad was actually sitting outside. He was thrilled. A final treat was given to Dad yesterday. He now has his own named mug, which will serve him well. He immediately requested a cup of tea and we sat together comfortably in the late afternoon sun, watching the world go by.

I feel I can return home, knowing the centre, the residents, the staff and his friends. Dad has soaked up all the attention and now has a smile almost perpetually on his face. The new room, his belongings around him, the creation of his outdoor terrace, his daily coffee from Ellen's coffee van and his birthday celebrations have all added to his demeanour and boosted his enthusiasm for life once more.

I will miss him very much and I know he will miss us. Having said that, I have also entered into an arrangement with the centre's administrative superstar Karen to print off my e-mails to give to Dad. I am hoping to pull my finger out and send him our news at least twice a week.

As I've sat here writing this post, my mind has drifted back to a conversation with Dad. He certainly is an original. I was telling him of Michael's loathing of shopping, any shopping. Dad responded, wistfully, that he loved shopping. I asked if he ever went out on the centre's shopping bus. No, he replied, they are all women. His soft round face split with delight when I promised him we'd take him shopping on our next visit. And we are investigating getting Dad a mobile. He would like his own phone. Goals for the future.

The whiteboard is proving to be a huge success, with its daily reminders. I feel all the changes have given Dad a reason to get out of his easy chair and join the world. Yesterday, as I arrived to give him his mug, he was already outside, watering his beloved plants. Awesome.

I would like to thank Michelle, Karen and all the Care Centre staff for their ongoing support and allowing me to wreak havoc on their orderly world over the last eleven days.

And lastly, for my darling Dad, thank you for your affection, your fabulous sense of humour and your rediscovered joy in life's simple things.

See you in July, Dad.

Birthday Boy

Chatting to my brother, Michael.

Some other random handsome fellow.

David, in typical cheerful humour.

 Kenzo joined us for lunch.

The birthday shirt.

 Coffee time!

Still life of Wendy, Bottle and Dad.

On his way to dinner.

Still life of Dad, Wendy and Cake. 

Blowing out the candle. 

 See you next time Dad.

 Gatecrashers in Dad's garden.

Suitably relaxed.

The bird bath, at an appropriately jaunty angle.

About to leave the party.

Dad at dinner last night.

Forget the Small Steps - We're Taking Giant Strides

Today has been one of those outstanding "red letter" days. I am happier and more content with Dad's circumstances than I've been since arriving last Monday.

Don't get me wrong. The staff are absolutely fantastic - approachable, agreeable and accommodating. The surroundings are beautiful. Dad's original room was pokey and cool with only a few straggly plants outside for company. When Dad had moved into care, I think Mum was so exhausted that she had neither the energy nor the will to work on the "homey" touches - that is, surround Dad with more of his favourite books and belongings.

All has changed. We have just completed the transition from the old to the new. Dad's updated digs are larger, brighter, warmer and inviting. His neighbour Joe, who is a sprightly ninety-six, has a bird feeder set up. This, of course, brings in the birds and Dad has already sat outside in his own outdoor chair, watching the feathered visitors with great delight. We moved books, pictures and a wall hanging into his room. His 2017 calendar went up on the wall.

He also has his own bed linen, his own pillows and his own blankets. All labelled. His desk in situ, a bookshelf and another table complete the furniture. I have restocked his wardrobe, with David's permission. And thus occurred today's first miracle.

Dad has been very self-conscious about shorts since he had his catheter permanently in place. He refused to wear them so Mum, understandably, tossed his shorts out. The staff begged me to try and find him some long shorts, which would be easier for them to help him dress and have access to his catheter bag. Two trips to Sunshine Plaza and we secured three pairs of long shorts. Dad gave them the tick of approval after trying them on.  This morning, Leanne, one of the carers dressed Dad in his new shorts, with his sandals and no socks.  I told Dad that socks with sandals were out - he was not going to resemble a Pommy tourist!

Second triumph. He's happy to go outside for short strolls and sit in the sun. Previously, getting Dad out of his easy chair was like prising open an oyster. Yesterday, he told me he'd walk to the end of the earth if I asked. I replied I'd walk over hot coals for him.

We went for a slow toddle this afternoon and we were rewarded with the sight of an eagle overhead. We were both thrilled.

Third change. I've set up a weekly whiteboard for the staff to use. Dad can be very stubborn but he actually enjoys routine and structure. I have filled in this week, supplied the staff with numerous whiteboard pens and told Dad the honeymoon is over.

Tomorrow we begin his new schedule properly. Apart from daily walks, I have prescribed sitting outside and watering his plants (Dad - you can water them, Kate. Me - they're your bloody plants and you will bloody well water them). And I have discovered the coffee van visits every morning at ten o'clock. We will be waiting out the front for Dad to have a proper coffee. Besides, I already owe the coffee lass $4.50 for today's coffee!

The result of all this upheaval in his life? Dad hasn't stopped grinning all day. He looks like the cat who swallowed the canary. And he is getting his wicked sense of fun back. At one point, I was being particularly bossy and he poked his tongue out at me. Excellent.

Tonight, Michael and I are going out for a celebratory dinner. Roll on tomorrow!

Dad in his new room.

Still life of Dad, his bed and my hat.

His desk looking outside.

Occasional furniture with new whiteboard.

Some handsome chap in his new shorts and no socks!

Dad's outside terrace and garden...

and his orchids, which are about to bloom.