Farce, Fiasco and Frustration

November 2017 will be bookmarked as a month to remember, and not for all the right reasons. I can't seem to lessen my anger at the unfairness manifesting in our lives at present. And even when we have cause for celebration, my natural positivity and enthusiasm are sadly lacking.

Yesterday should have been a Momentous Day. After five months of battle, Western Power was due to install our Green Dome, move the offending powerline from above our house and place a new power pole to deliver electricity safely and legally to the workshop behind our house. A flurry of activity had been visible over the last ten days. Holes had been dug and refilled, witches' hats had festooned various spots and the cable laid in readiness to hook our dome to the Great Electricity Grid. A scoping manager had visited the site to ascertain materials and manpower that would be necessary. All was on track for Blast Off. We could hardly contain ourselves.

Thanks to our guardian angel at Western Power, the work had been scheduled for a Saturday. The traffic management blokes arrived first. The rest of the Western Power crew were supposed to be onsite at nine o'clock. This time came and went and I began to experience that old familiar spectre of doubt.

The crew eventually arrived with a flurry of trucks, equipment and much fanfare. One of the crew began work on the connection of our green dome. That was such a relief.

However, the minutes ticked past and there was no action on the rest of the work. Conversations with Michael and Richard (owner of the workshop) were lengthy. The position of the power pole to service his business had already been moved twice in planning. Now, with the workers on site, a serious problem had risen. The Western Power crew, due to raise a power pole, had become extremely anxious as the position of the underground fuel tanks. Nobody appeared to know exactly their location in relation to the pole.

So, after several hours, with their trucks idling in the laneway, work on the power pole was abandoned. There was no point in blaming the crew. Electricity and fuel don't mix. Our green dome had been installed, which was marvellous. But somehow, six men had been sent to site on a Saturday with insufficient information. They would still be paid and I hope the work is rescheduled soon. But I was stunned by the sequence of events, all created by a lack of communication or planning or both.

We have no choice of electricity providers in Western Australia. Western Power is it. And after five months of dispute over delay, price and design, we had hoped all would go smoothly with the scheduled operation. It didn't.

Don't misunderstand. We are delighted with our green dome. Tomorrow, the electrical contractors who wired our house will finish the domestic connection. The living room air-conditioner has been ordered. At last, we will have the means to keep the house at a steady temperature. This improvement will be far better for Michael's lungs than the inadequate situation we have at present.

Those of you who read my blog may recall our previous dealings with the Water Corporation. After months of insisting their water main did not run along our boundary, the team from Northam actually agreed with us when they eventually inspected our site. This precipitated the sinking of a new, second water main down the middle of the laneway, where it should have been in the first place. The bad news was that the compacted, relatively dust-free gravel lane of the northern side of our house, was seriously disturbed and thus was transported an environment similar to Saudi Arabia. We have been unable to open half the windows in our house as a result.

So I approached the shire at the beginning of November. I explained the urgency of returning the lane to its previous less dusty incarnation due to Michael's health conditions. I asked for three possible solutions - using the water truck to dampen the dust on a weekly basis, closing the laneway until winter or bituminising the surface. I was told to write to the Shire President, which I did the same day.

My detailed explanation about Michael's health, in relation the dust problem, did not Move Mountains. Council Protocol had to be followed. I had hoped that a discussion and decision could be reached between council meetings. Alas no.

We have endured the inundation of fine dust into our home for almost a month. Michael can't dispell fine dust from his lungs. He has had several episodes of raspy throats and coughing, leading to increased reliance on Ventolin. We have also added another preventative medication to his regime to try and keep him as symptom-free as possible. And still, we wait for our situation to be discussed at the Council meeting.

The piece-de-resistance was Vanessa's rejection by the GradAcsess programme. My daughter has spent the last ten years of her life on a quest to make her employable. She has studied Arts/ Humanities/Politics/World Economics and International Relations to Masters level. She has studied at arguably the best university in Western Australia. She is tremendously focused in the fields of research and analysis.

Vanessa wants to work in a profession that will use her skills, intelligence and tenacity.

Instead, she has had six months of knockbacks.

I'm trying to remain optimistic and cheerful as I sit in our Gallery. Last week we sold nothing. This weekend, we sold one of Michael's metal spiders. So, we have received $40. We are bulging at the seams with beautiful artworks and amazing artists. We have artists waiting to join us. We are very aware that we are not in a location of wealth. We aren't in Floreat or Fremantle or Yallingup or Margaret River. We have to wait for the money to come to Heavenly Beverley.

As I look back on recent events, I am so frustrated by the farce, the inanity, the meaningless and the obstructive that I just want to scream. I feel trapped in a very bad remake of "Catch 22" or "It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad  World".

I have had enough.

I'm dancing as fast as I can...

 This is my family -

Remedies to try -

Michael, enjoying what he does best - 

This is the East End Gallery -

This is an award we won this year. Thankfully, there was no mention of monetary turnover -

And these are some of our artists -

Brian Aylward

Andrew Taylor

Andrew Taylor

Beverley V

David Lillico

Jan George

Sharon Ellis, Jan George, Manon Chatnoir and Asta Landa

Greg Burley

Jan George, David Lillico, Denese Borlini, Jenny Couper and Samantha Connor

Kim Allison, Paper Mountains and Denese Borlini

Michael Sofoulis

Shane Moad

Paul Kendall

Kenneth Irwin

 Gracie Courtney

Christine Davis

Neil Elliott

Jenny Couper

Gary Waters

Steven Adams

Giftshop Window -

Murray Cook, Paul Kendall, Gary Waters, David Lillico, Michelle Rothwell and Michael Sofoulis.

(It's So Funny How) We Don't Talk Anymore...

This morning has been a return trip to Dante's Inferno. What was worse was that the increasingly complicated and incomprehensible ride was totally unexpected.

I blame smugness. Whenever I have that gleeful, satisfied feeling of a job well done, somebody conspires to wreck that pleasant sensation and thrust me back into the insane asylum.

What's worse is that usually there is no way to prepare ourselves for the next unmitigated disaster. The last five months have taught us that utilities are a law unto themselves, that there is absolutely no communication between any of them in shared cases (like supplying water and power to a new house)and that there is a Cone of Silence existing between agencies that offer separate arms of the same service. Even installers or suppliers have caused us grief. Give me strength.

We have felt like hungry sparrows waiting to be given the next crumb by a benevolent bird-lover. Except there is no benevolence. There is only added stress and disbelief that just as we were confident in the process, another spanner has been chucked into the works.

Yesterday, our Date with Destiny was confirmed. Western Power is connecting us to the electricity grid on Saturday. Hooray. One stipulation was that an electrical contractor had to be on site to carry out energisation (what a fabulous word) from the green dome to our house. We stupidly assumed we could use our local contractor to finish this job and link us to the fantastic concept of single phase power. Alas, no.

The electrical contractors who wired the house are the Chosen Ones. We discovered this fact after a series of increasingly surreal phonecalls. We certainly hadn't been given that information at the time the wiring. So, we set about organising them to be on site this Saturday at the same time as Western Power.

Except the electrical company doesn't normally work Saturdays. They would for $1000, which naturally, we don't have. Back to Western Power to ascertain whether the two service groups were able to work independently of each other.

Yes, They Can!  Eureka. So, Western Power will honour us with their presence on Saturday and the other mob on Monday morning. After teetering on the brink of another nervous breakdown, we foolishly congratulated ourselves on averting another potential catastrophe.

Surely, there could be no further obstacles.  Surely, there could be no more UXBs waiting to ambush us. Oh, such optimism.

Then, Synergy - the energy billing arm - rang Michael. Before they could issue us with an electricity account, they needed the titles of our properties. Michael tried to explain that we were in the process of receiving new lot numbers and that we wouldn't be issued our new lot numbers until we had completed certain conditions - like the provision of power to our house. On the very edge of what was left of his sanity, Michael patiently tried to clear up any misunderstanding with our heroine from Synergy. After a very long fifteen minutes of verbal table tennis, Michael achieved the Breakthrough. Synergy would use our old street address (which only they have as Lot 420 Railway Parade) until we are issued with our new titles.

After four hours of this madness, we are now thoroughly exhausted. Any thoughts of travelling to the Big Smoke this afternoon have been shelved.

We had just eaten two outrageously fattening pies from our local bakery for lunch. I predict the rest of the day will be spent having a Bex, a cup of tea and a decent lie-down.

Introducing the Three Amigos -

Thinking? What Thinking?

Is that like Thunderbirds are GO?!

Somebody lit a fuse?

The usual form of communication within and between these organisations, which inevitably leads to...

losing one's cool... -

and temporary, but serious malfunction -

Which is why, this afternoon, I am advocating this...

and as the sun falls below the yardarm -

Hi Ho Silver AWAY!

Emotions

Emotions can be soft and gentle, like a welcome breeze in my face on a sunny afternoon. Or they can be brutal and savage and unpredictable, with all the power of a rogue storm coming out of nowhere. Or squeeze my soul until I struggle to breathe. Or a sun shower, providing both sorrow and happiness all in that one spontaneous moment in time.

This past week has challenged me, teasing me with quiet satisfaction intertwined with the menacing presence of the Black Dog. I have been wrung out like a sodden rag. I have won the good fight but been left utterly spent. I have been caught unawares by visions and memories. Rage and sadness have snuck up behind me and bitten me on the bum. Happiness has been fleeting and fluid.

I need to write about this week. In doing so, I am choosing my words very carefully. I am over angst. I hope not to attract dissatisfaction or accusations in return. I just want to express my thoughts and feelings and responses.

So, why on earth do I have this urge to share all that is present in my own head? Why is this task so important?

For connection? For tolerance? For understanding? For acceptance? Alice Adams has provided me with my own personal answer -

Because it takes me out of my own head, away from my troubles.

Because it gives me a shot, however remote, at creating something sublime and transcendent.

Because I burn with rage at the world, and it seems like a better outlet than gratuitous violence.

Because I long to capture things that are ephemeral before they evaporate into nothingness: the quietly ecstatic feeling of being in a garden at dusk in summer, the mossy scent of a lover’s jumper.

Because putting something into words forces me to articulate my thoughts and shape them into a narrative, and that gives meaning to my life.

Because purging myself on a keyboard is compulsive and addictive; I sit down to bang out a few hundred words and look up hours later to find it’s dark outside and I am damp with perspiration, limp in my chair but full of a queer satisfaction, emptied and stilled and sated.

Monday, we travelled to the Stoneville house, the scene of countless cups of tea with soya milk, Lucky's extraordinarily bespoke cakes, love, family and laughter. Now with both Judy and Lucky gone, I could hear and feel the echoes of their home. There are still a mountain of photographs to be sorted in the future. They have been boxed up for now. Each photo has its own set of reactions, like the ripples caused by a pebble tossed into a pond..

Michael and his siblings travelled to Perth city to complete another forest of paperwork in order to address the terms of Lucky's will. We had real estate agents also assessing the property. Immersed in the memories, I packed up years of manchester into neat bags. I touched every rug, every sheet, every towel. The same with their leftover kitchen items. Would Michael like this? Would I? Decisions made by instinct.

Tuesday, Michael returned to spend another day of clearing up at Stoneville. I entered into the continuing stoush with Western Power. At the very end of my tether, I was passed into the hands of one of the Complaints Team. I encountered a remarkable woman who was actually sympathetic, helpful and proactive. The invoice for our domestic connection was generated and e-mailed to me within a couple of hours. My newly-discovered angel promised me a date would be announced for our connection the following day.

Tuesday was also the first anniversary of Mum's death. That in itself caused a deluge of conflicting memories, of detachment, of sadness and of struggle. And then Pip started barking frantically at the front window. Upon investigation, I received a flash of our great big beautiful Sascha gazing back quite nonchalantly at me. Really? Who is to know.

Wednesday, we received the news we had been chasing for five months. Our electricity was to be connected on 25 November. Initial works were to start as soon as the scoping team had investigated. I was elated and exhausted. During the afternoon, I received the gloriously therapeutic reward of a massage. Vivid lights and colours dominated behind my eyes.

Thursday and Friday were hot and sultry. the skies matching my mood. The Gallery badly needed some TLC. I was unmotivated and ambivalent. I had to push myself to attend to detail. In spite of multiple visitors, we had no sales at all, which just added to my sense of dissatisfied gloom.

Yesterday was a day of reckoning. Michael cleaned the house and washed the floors. I finished the new labelling and some movement of our pieces, gearing up for Christmas. I cleaned and polished all the furniture. The Gallery was re-energised and I was carried along, buoyed once again with determination and pleasure.

I didn't go home until evening. We were sitting together at the table. Michael's phone signalled a text. He read the message and then gave his phone to me, unable to speak.

Michael's youngest daughter married during the last year, we think. We only know this information through the extended family as we did not receive any notification from his daughter. Needless to say, we were not invited. Michael's daughter had struck out on her own in the fallout of her mother's death and her inability to accept her father's relationship with me. Prior to that, their relationship had been, at times,  stormy. Over the last seven years, we have never heard from her at all, except when she taunted Michael at the family home and voiced her negative opinion of her father on Facebook. After that episode, I blocked her.

Last evening, her husband (whom we have never met) sent Michael a text out of the blue. She was applying for a passport and had discovered that her own documentation was inadequate. Hence, she was seeking a copy of Michael's birth certificate. He sent the message on her behalf.

We were both in shock, overwhelmed by this approach. And particularly the motive behind the approach. For some minutes, Michael was defenceless in the deluge of emotions created by this contact. We sat in stunned silence, as if we'd both fallen down the rabbit hole.

Eventually we shook ourselves off. I located Michael's birth certificate. He responded to his son-in-law ( how weird that feels to write) in the affirmative. Of course we would send a copy of his birth certificate to them. And  that we would like to meet him someday. The young man signed off "thanks mate".

Today, I'm sitting with Michael in our Gallery. He still feels as if his breath is caught in his throat. He wonders whether his daughter and son-in-law have ever thought of him at any other time. If she has altered her opinion. Whether his son-in-law is willing to give Michael the benefit of the doubt and make his own judgement.

"I wonder if they ever think what it's like to be me".

Lucky and Judy 2.1.2012

That would be me.

Our thoughts on this week.

 

The grey ghost who still walks in my heart.

These have come in very handy.

Back in the saddle.

Makes no difference who you are...

Maybe, some of Michael's will come true someday.