We're All Going On A (Almost) Summer Holiday!

The family clan is together again. We are insitu in a charming little beach house in Coolum, close to Dad's retirement village. We flew from Perth, faster than a speeding bullet. The flight, 3746 kilometres in distance, usually takes about four hours. Due to a strong cold front and a blasting tail wind, we landed after only three and a half hours. Later that afternoon, Michael (brother) was located by us at Brisbane Airport having caught a Virgin south after a propellor job from Cooktown to Cairns. His description of flying through mist and cloud reinforced my firm belief that small planes are not my style whatsoever.

We then turned Lily the hire car in the direction of Coolum just before four o'clock and immediately ground to a halt. The combination of Friday afternoon traffic congestion and the inevitable roadworks led to a start-stop trip for about the first forty kilometres. When we eventually moved into thinning traffic, the call of nature struck the Michaels and we needed to stop at the facilities. Bollocks.

Back to the highway. We arrived at our digs - Coolum Home Base - just after dark. After a minor foul-up working out how to unlock the front door, we entered our home away from home. Friendly, casual, comfy and close to Dad's retirement "resort".

We chucked our bags in our rooms and set off to visit Dad. He was snoozing in the TV room with a cup of tea. Once Dad opened his eyes, he was overjoyed to see us. We had a quick hug, chat and promises to come back in the morning. A delicious Thai meal and a couple of glasses of vino later, brother Michael had showered and gone to bed. We weren't vertical that much longer.

After a very long sleep, we woke to a gloriously warm morning. What an introduction to our holiday. We had a very late breakfast. bliss. David roared into the environs to join us, having driven from the Gold Coast. Laughter and loudness emanated from Coolum Home Base. After midday,  I walked to the retirement centre. The boys drove over. We spent a delightful hour and a half with Dad, watered his garden and gave him the gift of his service records (which David had sourced). Dad was ecstatic.

Mike and Dave left to book the local cafe for our family lunch on Sunday. I wandered the long way home to join all the lads. The afternoon passed with more companionship, the odd beer and a few glasses of vino. The conversation became livelier and more raucous. An absolute blast.

This day has been perfect. Blue sky, warm sunshine, a gentle breeze and a marvellous atmosphere.

Roll on tomorrow.

Photographs from the aircraft -

In Queensland, they have yellow traffic control!

My brothers with Dad today.

A Tooth (...Horse...) My Kingdom for a Tooth (...Horse...)!

Richard III really did get a bum deal. Not every woman's dreamboat, with that unfortunate back and accused of killing his nephews, he then lost his crown and life to Henry Tudor. And I actually think that Henry VII was far more likely to have knocked off the Princes in the Tower than Richard, given that they were far more of a threat to Henry's sovereignty.

At the Battle of Bosworth Field, Richard met a sticky end - all possibly because he lost his helmet and his horse, thus becoming fatally vulnerable on the ground. And after all that struggle, he only lived until the age of thirty-two.

Richard's realisation that the loss of a four-legged utilitarian animal, his horse, could mean the difference between life and death was highlighted by William Shakespeare - in Act V, Scene IV of his play "Richard III" - those famous words "A horse, a horse! My kingdom for a horse".

Now I understand that the loss of his horse didn't actually cause Richard's death, but certainly played a factor in the plummeting of his self-esteem and personal self-worth (to say the least). Not that Shakespeare cared a jot. Will did not paint Richard favourably at all.

How we feel in the company of others can make a huge difference in how we present ourselves to the world. Richard III had the handicap of his disability, considered a murderer by some and was an unlikely and uneasy successor to his brother Edward IV. He really didn't have much of a hope of a long and happy life.

Fast forward about five hundred and fifty years and not much has changed. Relatively unimportant manifestations can have quite an impact on how we perceive others view us. Such as having a missing front tooth.

This is the story of Michael's tooth. A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away, Michael lost his front tooth in an act of complete idiocy. Holding a kite string is your mouth isn't the smartest idea. Which ended in predictable disaster. Breakage of that tooth. Michael was saved by a post and the remains, which was used as building blocks. The result was supposed to last about ten years. He was incredibly lucky that the tooth lasted about twenty-five years. And then the post broke.

We have spent the last two years waiting to complete another resurrection. More succinctly, an implant (which he required) does not come cheap.And the process takes more than a couple of visits to our friendly dentist. Back in 2015, we had the required cash but Michael had a prolonged chest infection. By the time he was better, we'd run out of money. So Michael was missing his front tooth with no timeframe to rectify this situation.

He has not been a happy camper. He has suffered from extreme embarrassment, in spite of the fact the lack of his tooth actually enhanced his persona as a Beverley Hillbilly. Every day was a reminder of the lack of his tooth for him. He truly did not feel whole.

Finally, at the beginning of this year, we began the process. First the titanium screw into his jaw. Then that had to heal and be absorbed by the surrounding jaw bone. Then a metal post. More recovery time. Then the awful conclusion that Michael needed a custom made post. Bollocks! Then the Rolls Royce post. More recovery time. At the beginning of July, he endured moulds the size of the Antarctic continent in his mouth to gauge the right size and shape of his custom made porcelain crown.

Monday was the nightmare of his up and down oscopy. Thursday was the launch of his New Front Tooth. If spite of overnight discomfort, Michael was as happy as a pig in mud. He had his tooth, his smile and his confidence restored.

All is well in Michael's world. And as a result, all in well in my world. And I think I have treated Michael's plight with a bit more empathy than Shakespeare did of Richard III.

Richard III did not have a happy life...

This says it all!

The cause of all the fuss.

How Michael felt about his tooth.

How he thought he looked.

The implant process.

Hiding his smile.

At last! His tooth.

One very happy bloke.

A Somewhat Stressful, Surreal, But Ultimately Satisfying Birthday (over two days)

I love birthdays. Anyone's birthday. The anniversaries of our births are a celebration of life. We are complicated creatures by nature - emotional, moody, self-centred and irrational - so birthdays are a perfect opportunity for personal indulgence. And be able to get away with a day of pure bliss, if we so choose.

We are all special. Hence the importance of birthdays, in my humble opinion.

Unfortunately, my birthday this year was hijacked by an unpleasant but necessary procedure being administered to Michael. Endoscopies and colonoscopies are not fun. The actual bodily assault is not the issue. Any embarrassment is avoided by sedation, allowing the lucky patient to drift off peacefully into cloud cuckoo land for the duration.

The preparation is truly ghastly. Three days of a restricted diet - white, white and white are allowed - followed by the inevitable atomic bomb constipation cure of tablets and then three litres of the dreaded swamp juice over a timeframe of fifteen hours.

Michael was not a happy camper. There is nothing dignified in having to dash for the loo at a moment's notice. In the end, Michael could only stomach two of the three litres of the colonic clean out. However, hilariously, mention was made of his "excellent lavage" in his discharge notes. I'll leave that phrase to your imagination...

My darling husband presented his birthday gift to me after a fairly sleepless night. We were already shattered. Off to hospital with an emergency toilet roll and a change of clothes. Thankfully, not needed. Once admitted, the expected strip and into the gorgeous hospital gown. Then twiddling our thumbs for an hour. Finally, off to the theatre at a quarter to one.

He'll be back around two o'clock, they said. We'll ring you, they said. They didn't.

So after consuming a fairly ordinary savoury muffin, I managed to buy myself a birthday treat of new walkers. And the supermarket shopping. Nothing else. And by two-thirty, I was too panicked to think of any other amusement than returning to Northam Hospital to see if Michael was alive.

Anxiety Girl was in full flight.

He was not in any bed in the day surgery unit. Where was he? I eventually tracked down Godfrey, one of the lovely nurses who informed me of Michael's location. He was in the loo. Long exhale of breath.

He'd had sandwiches and a drink. Then the staff were going to call me...

Michael was raring to go. I just wanted to clear one of the findings with Matt the gastroenterologist. And change the referring doctor from a previous chap who had disowned us. I cornered Doctor Matt between patients. He was, in turn, startled, confused, then conciliatory and kind. No, Michael was fine. No, I didn't need to worry about him. That was all I needed.

The rest of my actual birthday was a fizzer. After trying, unsuccessfully, to find a cafe kitchen open in Northam between three o'clock and five o'clock, we settled on a small take-away pizza. Not an ideal meal for the starving man with a delicate tummy. The beef korma we consumed later didn't help his gut either. The only upsides were Vanessa's extravagant gift of one of my favourite alcoholic beverages and a long phone call from Callum. For the second night in a row, Michael retired miserably to our bed. I joined him before eight thirty.

Twelve hours in the horizontal position did wonders. We were determined to extend my birthday and enjoy the positive. Thus, we headed for the Big Smoke. I was pampered. Colour, foils and trim by the fabulous Sharon at Salon Express Midland. Admired Tara's gorgeous little puppy, Marley. In ecstasy over Niamh's head massage. Heaven.

Michael's hair was also made respectable. And he purchased new walking shoes for his troublesome feet. I added new knickers and some shirts. The elusive shoe racks were the final tickets of the spending spree. Happily content without being frazzled, we set off for home. A quick stop for noodles in Mundaring and a glass of vino. Then we turned Goldie in the direction of Station House.

Last evening was spent in front of the telly with a couple more glasses of vino. Finally, I felt that I'd had the best birthday. It only took two days.


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Michael, incognito, prior to his haircut.

I wasn't any better!

A fabulous haircut and a few kilos off. Happy happy joy joy.

Michael's surprise at his sleek new look.

Who LIKES shopping for knickers?!

However, this is true.

The kind of shirts I love. 

And a perfect end to a lovely day.

The Condemned Man Very Much Enjoyed His Last Meal...

Being middle-aged and beyond is not for the faint-hearted. I understand that we are living longer and that medicos are having a field day in keeping us alive. At sixty-one and almost fifty-six, Michael and I are discovering that even when the spirits are willing, the bodies are often quite uncooperative.

Given the amount of medication we take, one could be forgiven for thinking we are on death's door. And bits of us have become seriously dodgy or require regular intervention of some sort. Ben Kimberley (orthopaedic surgeon to the stars) is known to us as the Boy Wonder. Over the last seven or so years, he has put us together again on a number of occasions. Our visits to the GP are lengthy and legendary. Off his own bat, Michael has collected a respiratory specialist, a vascular surgeon and a gastroenterologist. We have both used the services of a wonderful shrink and a gorgeous dermatologist. Finally, we both regularly are grateful for the expertise of our dentist to try and keep our teeth intact.

Next week, Michael is facing the Good, the Bad and the Ugly. Twice. Thursday should be a shoe-in as Michael gains his new front crown, two years after the process began. Monday is one of those procedures we all endure as we age. Michael is having his three-yearly uposcopy and downoscopy. If having a tube popped down his throat and up his bottom wasn't bad enough, the preparation is just as unpleasant. As of yesterday, Michael is on a marvellous diet of white - chicken, fish, bread, pasta and rice.

Which is why we enjoyed a hearty meal at the Top Pub on Wednesday evening, rather than our usual Friday timeslot. Michael enjoyed tempura prawns with chilli jam and (*sigh of delight* salad). We were the only people in the beautifully toasty dining room, with our dinners washed down with a particularly delicious bottle of red.

Tomorrow is his last day of diet intervention alone. Sunday begins the Mother of all Cleanouts. The good news is that the derby between Fremantle and West Coast will be on the telly. The bad news is that Michael needs to swallow three bowel bomb tablets, followed by two litres of utterly revolting "prep".

Sunday is made even more miserable by a severely restricted diet as well. The piece de resistance is yet another litre of "prep" to be swallowed on an empty tummy on Monday morning. The actual procedure, under sedation, will be pleasant compared to the previous insults on his gut.

Monday is also my birthday, so I am crossing my fingers that Michael emerges from his sedation and the check-up unscathed. And hungry so we can have a congratulatory dinner.

In the meantime, gastroscopies and colonoscopies are important for us all. A few days of an ordinary diet and becoming best friends with the loo is still far superior to the alternative.

Stay tuned.

How To Render Me Speechless...

Those of you who know me well are quite aware that I am not a shrinking violet. I have a voice like a foghorn, and being the youngest of four children, I used a great deal of volume, very frequently, in order to be heard above the general rabble.

Being socially comfortable has helped me in my role as Front-of-House at the East End Gallery. I have to practise being welcoming without being suffocating. I like asking our guests where they are from, either local, Perth, Western Australia, interstate or international. Most people want to browse when they first enter. Many of our guests enjoy hearing the story of the Forbes Building and the creation of the Gallery. Then there is the tour of Michael's workshop if they so desire. Add the two couches and four club chairs into the mix and the Gallery becomes a place to relax for a while and absorb the light and space.

I usually work out our guests' intentions by their body language, or through my brief introductory chat. My customary opening is to welcome guests to the Gallery and ask what has brought them to Beverley. Then I always promote the number of our artists, that the majority of them are from the Wheatbelt and our wide range of art pieces. I finish by asking if they would like a catalogue or just wish to look. Then I leave them be.

Occasionally, I completely stuff up. This morning, I greeted a lady with my normal booming voice and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Or I have had complete mental blocks regarding names or faces. Or I have misunderstood which art piece a guest was enquiring about and caused great confusion about the item or the price.

The East End Gallery is all about passion. And a dream come true. The only dampener is that we seldom make any money. Today, we earned three dollars in commission. Yesterday we earned twenty-five dollars. We are certainly not in the Gallery to make our millions.

Which is why I was especially surprised when we received an invitation from the Wheatbelt Business Network to apply for a Business Excellence Award. Having received the initial email, I fell off my chair laughing and then promptly forgot all about it. About four weeks later, I was contacted again on my mobile, to ask if the East End Gallery had entered an application. This time, I felt compelled to open the email and take a look.

The submission process was about as awful as most others I have participated in and, as a result, I kept putting it off. Eventually, having attempted to finish the application in one afternoon (!), I begged for an extension. This was granted and after two days of hard slog and brain draining, I managed to email the completed project. Thank you so much to Caroline, Lisa and Tori for bullying me into entering the awards.

Some time later, we received news that we were a Finalist in the awards and that the presentation evening would be in Quairading. We nearly didn't go as the dress requirement was smart evening and we don't possess many clothes in that category. Swallowing hard, we paid our fees for the evening and the Op Shop saved Michael in the form of a three dollar wool dinner jacket. Which he wore with jeans.

Dressed for warmth rather than glamour, we set off for Quairading last Friday afternoon. We worked out that the venue was the Lesser Hall behind the Town Hall, but incredibly for us, we were early. That problem was quickly solved by a trip to the pub, operated by Amanda, who we had known in Beverley. A gin and tonic, a bourbon and coke and the Q's pot belly stove removed the chill from inside our bodies. The evening was freezing.

Returning to the Lesser Hall, we enjoyed drinks and nibbles, a buffet meal, delicious desserts and an excellent speaker from Dunsborough named Jim Winter. And we were thrilled to be a Finalist. There were quite a few contenders for the micro business award. Loose Stitches was the worthy winner and we cheered them enthusiastically. Then, in competition with about thirty other businesses, the East End Gallery was announced winner of the Wheatbelt Business Network Choice award.

Get out of here! I was struck dumb. Us? The Gallery? A business excellent award. There was no way I was going up the front to accept the award alone. My beloved Michael had always been the catalyst for the creation of our Gallery. He had worked so hard to restore our building to her former glory and regain his artistic edge as a metal sculptor. As a result, he had been hospitalised on three occasions and injured on a fourth.

Michael, my darling, you are the man.

My thank-you speech was disjointed, disordered and full of profanities. I talked about the passion, the dream and the daily thrill of our own business. I think I rambled on for about five minutes. Another milestone for the Beverley Hillbillies.

We enjoyed a few more glasses of vino before setting out for home. The whole evening had been like a fairy tale ending for us. We felt vindicated and so proud. An unlikely vision involving a broken down building, boundless enthusiasm, a punishing renovation and sourcing our artists had actually been achieved.

And we had been noticed. Wow.

On arrival...

Mr Jim Winter as guest speaker...

Announced as a Finalist...

My rather incoherent thank-you speech!

What a night!

Assault by Deadly Bookshelf

After Vanessa's stupendous loading of Goldie with two additional Kallax shelf units for us and a couple of wire storage units for herself, the flat packs (five) were manhandled inside with the help of the "put-to-work-under-false- pretences" visitors Jan and Ross. They came to Station House for a late afternoon drinkie and ended up being slave labour. They may think twice about dropping in for a vino next time...

Buoyed with confidence after the completion of the Micke desk (with its twenty-seven steps), Michael was quite sure that construction of the Kallax units would be a breeze.  And the twin to our existing eight cube unit only caused minor irritation before being proudly put into position.

He and Vanessa then began the task of piecing together the bigger unit - all twenty -five cubes of the largest Kallax item available. Rather like a repetitive three-dimensional jigsaw, the process was lengthy. We halted proceedings for visitors. A couple of glasses of vino persuaded Michael to complete the Final Push.

All was going well until the unit was turned over. A misunderstanding between Michael and Vanessa caused Michael's middle finger to become wedged between the edge of the unit and the floor. Naturally, Michael's reaction was to attempt to wrench his finger out of danger. The end result was not pleasant. Vanessa was distraught.

Initially, I thought Michael's finger had been severed. Then we all quickly realised that the finger tip was still intact, but that there was a substantial crush injury along with a major laceration.

I rang the local hospital. At just after five o'clock, the medical practice's GP was still in town.I drove Michael, in increasing pain, up to the Emergency Department. This is not a large trauma centre. Two beds. Fortunately nobody else was there.

Michael immediately asked for pain relief. This was not forthcoming until the doctor arrived. A jab in Michael's bum and then the true state of his finger was revealed. The good news was that he had not torn off any flesh and his finger could be stitched. The bad news what that his finger was to be stitched.

Michael has a very high pain tolerance but the finger block injections were clearly very painful. All I could do, so inadequately, was to massage his head and remind him to breathe. That was the worst of the procedure. Michael's finger could then be thoroughly washed and examined. Then the actual stitching began.

This was long and slow. The GP was working against time to finish before the local anaesthetic block wore off. With the help of a tourniquet, fifteen stitches were inserted with the numbness still present. The nurses, especially the awesome Sheralee, should be congratulated. Michael's finger was dressed and we gratefully left, armed with a "starter pack" of pain relief and antibiotics.

Cooking dinner was out of the question. We indulged in takeaway fish and chips and several glasses of vino. Michael's pain relief was uppermost on my mind. I dosed him up and retired to our bed.

Yesterday, the defendant was raised into its position with the help of our ever faithful builder, John. Michael was slow to rise, so we didn't return to the hospital for a dressing change until after nine-thirty. He returned to bed for an afternoon kip and then took life very gently as I filled the now hopefully-reformed unit.

Today was spent chasing the scripts for additional antibiotics and pain relief medication. And more unpacking. As of this evening I was astounded that all but a basket of toiletries remained of this job. Given the state of Michael's finger, our couches (currently in the Gallery), our fridge and dining table ( in the residence) will remain unmoved until his hand is significantly on the improve.

Vanessa has been apologetic all day. Actually, I could not have achieved all I did without her help. So we are mutually grateful.

In the persona of Nurse Betty, I redressed Michael's wound after his shower. I would like to promote my skills as second to none. Unfortunately, the result looked like a very large untidy champagne cork on the end of Michael's finger. I hope that Sheralee doesn't laugh too loudly when we visit the hospital in the morning for another dressing change.

I also am praying that the Kallax unit has given away its murderous ways and becomes a law-abiding pillock of society. At present, it appears docile and benign.

We'll keep you posted.

Redressing time!

With the nurse fantastic, Sheralee.

Taking down the bandage.

WARNING - GRAPHIC CONTENT!

First - the antibiotic non-stick webbing.

Followed by the non-stick gauze.

Than the wrapping.

Thank you, Sheralee!

Living to fight another day.

The non violent and peace abiding units..

The defendant. Probably now unable to cause more carnage...