On Your Mark...Get Set...GO!

Yesterday, I waited with bated breath for the arrival of Stacey Dowding, Fearless Leader and Manager at the Greendale Community Centre. along with her merry band of Feisty Seniors. Two or three times a week, Stacey organises events on a mammoth scale to keep the residents of Dale Cottages happy and engaged. They have been to pubs a-plenty, the aquatic centre to keep fit and journeys further afield to the Wilds of the West.

The oldies are generally a cheerful lot, but woe betides if I'm slow on the uptake getting the urn hot and can't organise the tea and coffee quickly enough. I have been on the receiving end of the odd critical comment by a dissatisfied elder. There is nothing fragile or gentle about most of these folk. Particularly if I'm between them and the afternoon tea...

Stacey and I have been friends since her Adam was a boy. We met at an organisation named HeartKids as both our youngest sons had been born with congenital heart defects. Later, we expanded our group of Disabled Mothers to include an eclectic bunch of weirdos whom I am proud to call my friends to this day.

Stacey and I didn't see each other for some years, but with the assistance of Facebook, we had remained in touch. Back in 2015, she contacted me about bringing up her first load of intrepid travellers to the East End Gallery. "Poor frail old things" was my immediate response and yes, of course, Stacey rocked up with her version of Rent-A-Crowd.

And then they arrived. Michael and I were nearly mown over in the stampede.  At that moment, I realised my fundamental mistake. Never make assumptions about the elderly amongst us. They are actually us, just a few years further on. This lot is mostly sharp and astute, their sense of humour sustains them, they have firm opinions and definitely enjoy a bit of fun.

We are usually shattered after their departure...

On this visit, they arrived about a half-hour late. Like a swarm of amiable locusts, twenty-five or so descended upon the afternoon tea. I had planned never to run out of sweet treats ever again, after my initial disaster of not-enough-scones. They ploughed their way through a carrot cake and a Madeira cake, drank four litres of tea and only disdained the chocolate muffins. Which surprised me...

Given our precarious state of finances, I took courage in hand and asked for gold coin donations towards the cost of their afternoon tea. They gave generously, which warmed the cockles of my heart. Not big on purchases in the Gallery, I found an alternative way to earn some much-needed money, without any pressure.

They piled back into the buses and were gone in an hour.

As ever, we sat back, in a daze of stunned and amused exhaustion. Once more, the inmates of the Greendale Centre had shared our lives, albeit briefly, with affection, humour and interest. Most of them took a tour of at least part of the Gallery. Some found the step up into the Giftshop a tad daunting, but the majority were able to negotiate the obstacle with assistance. They were animated and enthusiastic in their complements.

Stacey did not put in an appearance. She pleaded some rubbish about being in meetings all day. What I suspect was that she needed a day off from her energetic and joyous charges. I suppose I can forgive her for that...

Until next time. As Lionel's Dad would say in "As Time Goes By" on the telly - "Rock on!"

This is not a typical senior anymore...

This is a senior!

Armadale Aquatic Centre, which the Greendale bunch visit regularly...

And after exercise, they become hungry...

So, one day a week, they invade an unsuspecting premises...

Such as the Mount Henry Tavern!

I suspect this is their mantra...

And whilst we slaved, Stacey spent all afternoon in meetings...

The Worthiness of Websites, the Familiarity (or Farce) of Facebook and Other Internet Issues

I have had several "bollocks" moments this month, due to a distinct reduction of creative activity. Normally, I revel in my writing, often cranking out a thousand or so words a day. However, November has been witness of a more laissez-faire approach - as I contemplate a burst of get-up-and-go, or more often than not, I'm settling on a far lazier yeah-nah attitude.

Anybody else suffering from this affliction? After much navel-gazing, I think I may have the answer to my flaccidity of energy. Without straining my brain too far, I believe that the speed of daily living is the culprit for my lack of enthusiasm. I have been hijacked by a loss of spontaneity, of consideration and of the freedom to daydream.

Take my typical day. Beginning with failure to launch as I reluctantly emerge from Cloud Cuckoo Land, I attempt to introduce some semblance of planning to carry me through until I can gratefully return to nigh-nighs. Thoughts inevitably turn to the bank accounts, the weather, emails and both my personal and Gallery Facebook pages.

Opening online bank accounts mostly cause gloom to settle about my person due to our continual lack of funds. The weather dictates how much we water our garden pots and what we wear. Sorting through the tome of e-mails invariably involves some gnashing of teeth, frequent use of the "delete" button and only minimal enjoyment.

Then there's Facebook. I signed up to this particular social media whirlpool to keep in touch with the kids and far-flung friends. Then I started the East End Gallery page. I have become an expert in scrolling. I still don't use all my fingers to type on the keyboard, but I do manage to churn out the latest inanities fairly quickly.

I also use Mailchimp for my monthly Gallery newsletter and last but not least, we also have the Gallery website.

All this hoo haa takes great swathes of each day. I promised myself faithfully that I would update the website every week after my last frantic catch-up. Guiltily opening the "dashboard" a few days ago, I discovered that I hadn't added any posts since September. The addition of ten or so new posts took most of a day. There was material to write, photos to find and irrelevant posts to toss out into the trash. The difference between two entities like a website and Facebook that the website does not automatically grow in all directions as there is usually only one poor sod trying to keep updates flowing.

And has the World Wide Web actually improved our lives? I think not. Back in the days prior to the arrival of cyberspace, there were encyclopaedias, the dictionary and thesaurus. They contained facts and information. We knew that Mrs Brown next door was full of opinions which were not necessarily true. We didn't have to put up with the trials of American spelling. When we wanted to contact another person, we used the landline telephone, wrote a letter or if urgent, sent a telegram. Games were played outside or in a cubby house made out of Mum's best sheets under the desk.  Even when my own children were very young, the internet was in its infancy. We read books, sang songs, watched the telly, splashed in the bath, climbed trees and visited friends on the other side of the street.

We didn't suffer from bad backs, poor posture or an alarming tendency to walk into stationary objects. That is completely the fault of the mobile phone. We could also spell and hold conversations. With texting came the decline of language and writing and difficulty in having meaningful social engagement.

There is no pause in the avalanche of information and opinion. We don't often have the opportunity to draw breath. And we are also stymied by the overwhelming unfriendliness of websites and pages. Somebody once claimed that computers would revolutionise the world and give us back so much time. That person obviously never tried to negotiate any government website.

Facebook isn't giving me the same enjoyment anymore. I have to search for the fun post, the humorous illustration, the latest hilarious storyline from the NT News. Otherwise, I might drown in a sea of spin and lies.

I need to take control of my own life. I am going to (try to) restrict my online time to an hour a day and another hour for writing. Starting right now after I post this piece on my blog!

For Teagan

All of those who read my posts are aware that I usually try to see the lighter side of life. Having had my share of misfortune, I do, more often than not, attempt to accentuate the positive spin. There are times, however, when my natural optimism is not appropriate.

This is one of those times.

Teagan Hudson was a lovely, happy, good-natured and adoring mum to Micah and wife to Damian. She had just turned thirty-five. She was a member of the Salvation Army. She strived to help the community. She was an avid attendee of the Beverley Swimming Pool. She worked with disadvantaged children. She was a Tupperware devotee and distributor. She was treasurer of Beverley Playgroup. She was expecting her next baby and had held a gender party last weekend. This baby, due next year, was a much-anticipated brother to Micah.

Teagan was killed in a single-vehicle crash just outside Beverley last Wednesday evening. Being a country town, local volunteer fire and rescue and ambos were first on the scene.

I am in awe of these volunteers. They were called upon to assist a young woman whom they knew, in dreadful circumstances. I can't begin to imagine what went through their heads; what is still going through their heads. All I can do is offer my profound gratitude. Nothing more.

Teagan's death has affected me deeply. My beliefs have been significantly shaken. I view God as part of the universe, a loving and caring supreme being overseeing us all. How can I reconcile that view when people like Teagan die and there are so many other drop-kicks who still live?

I guess there will be other doors waiting to be opened, somewhere in the future. But at present, my heart goes out to Damian, who is riding that monstrous and unpredictable wave of raw grief. Finding himself a single father to a toddler and having to care for him whilst his heart has broken. Eventually, the wave becomes less daunting. However, grief will ebb and flow forever more. That is the nature of being human.

We are so lucky to be living in Heavenly Beverley. The town has rallied around Teagan's family. Two GoFundMe campaigns have raised funds for her funeral and other current expenses for Damian and Micah. Food has been delivered for Damian, Micah and any visitors to the home. The Beverley Swimming Pool has its flag at half-mast for Teagan. Stories and tributes have poured onto Facebook.

As for me, I cherish my memories of an invariably cheerful and bouncy young woman who always waved as she passed the East End Gallery. Who would drop in her Tupperware pamphlets from time to time. Who was bursting with pride and love for her little boy. And had also coped with her fair share of adversity. First, the possibility of never having her own children. Then a pregnancy loss. Finally, Micah's birth, a baby who is like God. Then this year, a promise of a sibling for Micah and another baby for Teagen and Damian to love.

The tragedy of Teagan's death has acted as a sudden brake for me. A chance to reevaluate and ponder. What is really important in my life? What is really important in all our lives?

Over the last days, I have contacted all my brothers. Two conversations in twenty-four hours to Michael in far north Queensland. Messenger chat with Simon whilst he was reporting on a nearby bushfire! Facebook post to David this morning, just to send him love.

And being reminded to love my children will every fibre in my being. Wishing them every happiness as they journey through their lives. Not missing opportunities to see them or speak with them.

As for my beloved husband, I cherish and adore Michael like there is no tomorrow. Listening to the occasional snore coming from our bedroom, whilst he nanna-naps after a series of brutally hot days. Enjoying the mundane of the washing machine and dishwasher carrying out their respective tasks. The simple pleasure of watering our garden and relishing the summer growth and flowers. Leaving bowls of water out for birds so they can cool off and have reliable drinking sources.

To quote Nikki Gemmell, "I hope my kids remember those humble...nights gathered around the telly watching 'The Masked Singer'...when their swamped parents put a brake on everything and gathered them in their arms, and laughed. Together."

Or perhaps more simply, Emma Thompson in 'Last Christmas' - "Love is the best tool you have."

Please hug your children. Talk to your Mum and Dad. Let past mistakes go. Connect with old friends. Sniff the flowers. Eat the cake. Wear your best undies.

Live, love and laugh. As Teagan did.

With Damian

Her family...

At play...

As a Salvo...

At work!

Now with her God.

Another Artist in the Family

We have now had Stella's company in the House of the Beverley Hillbillies for three months. She continues to delight, amuse, annoy and confound us. That she is intelligent is apparent for all to see, as well as expressive, loving, hilarious, playful, optimistic and occasionally naughty. She has returned joy to Pip's life and profound irritation to Ruby's existence. However, we had no idea of her artistic flair when we first brought her home. Only slowly did she reveal her hidden talents.

Give a paintbrush to an elephant or a seal and they can attempt to produce a masterpiece. Allow birds or cats to use their paws or claws and the result may be pleasantly amateurish. However, Stella has shown us that she is exceedingly multi-ambidextrous, which is the secret of her stunning capabilities.

If truth be told, we should have known. Michael, being a sculptor, was bound to pass on some of his technique to pique Stella's extremely vivid imagination. Plus, we had witnessed her making full usage of her front paws, almost as if they were hands.

She has demonstrated a wide range of movements. A paw can be used to poke a sleeping member of the family into unwilling consciousness. Or to remind the cat of her presence, by a gentle prod or an accidental thwack of her tail on Ruby's head. Or to engage in a madcap game involving all paws, her body and her mouth with Pip.

Plus, she has mastered ingenious ways to keep herself entertained. A grab of the ball, a giant leap over the couch and then drop the ball over the edge of the couch. Repeat until exhausted or bored. Even better is to use her balance to steer her body across the kitchen floor in pursuit of the current ball. Occasionally, she does become unstuck and ends up sliding in all directions, much to our amusement.

However, I have digressed. I think I hinted at her sculptural skills, which become more sophisticated by the day. I think we should call her style "minimalism".

She is developing new and innovative ways to make her art smaller. With the careful use of her teeth and "hands", she can skin a cheap tennis ball in a matter of minutes. She has reduced my expensive Croc thongs into abstract art pieces, defying anybody to guess their original purpose, and leaving skerricks of her creations all over the floor. She was particularly enthusiastic incorporating plant life into her latest artistic endeavours until we wrapped the majority of our pots up like Stalag 13 to prevent their disassembly. Whilst on a garden theme, she continues making obscure patterns with pine bark mulch all over the floor, which of course is the impetus for unrehearsed modern dance when one steps on a piece of sharpish wood.

Her Piece De Resistance has been a concerted effort to prepare our couches for their debut in a future avant-garde exhibition - yet to be announced. Her dedication to this mammoth task has truly taken our breath away. We believe that she may be close to concluding this exercise as the rate of reduction has abated. We remain eminently grateful that Stella has left enough of the couches for us to actually be seated in relative comfort in front of the telly.

Artistic talent?

Correct technique?

Artistic temperament?

Lacking crisp detail?

In the Beginning...

Creation of a hiding space?

Exploration of the inner frame...

Demonstrating her action...

In full flight at the rear of her artwork...

The outstanding work ethic...

In her quest for minimalist perfection!

The Artist in Meditative Pose.

Random Acts...

Confession time...I have not written a word on my blog since 31 October. Such poor form. And the truth isn't that I haven't succumbed to the dreaded Writers' Block or another literary calamity. I've had any number of posts swirling inside the nebulous depths of my hyperactive brain.

The reality is that I just don't have enough time each day to complete the myriad of tasks I set myself.

I have written about the weirdness of time previously. There are no set rules. Time seems either to gallop at breakneck speed or drag unspeakably slowly, depending upon my fortunes. There appears to be a direct correlation between enjoyment or satisfaction. That's when time moves into overdrive. On the other hand, longing for a particular resolution - school holidays, the birth of a baby, arguing with power and water utilities, building a house - causes time to slow down to such an extent that we feel like we are treading water.  And where's one of those thingamajigs like Hermione had in one of the "Harry Potter" movies, so she could seemingly complete all she wanted to do in a single day.

There really ought to be some sort of higher authority to whom I could complain to about the inconsistencies of time interfering with all I want to accomplish.

Anyway, I've digressed from the focus of this post. Which is all about random acts...of love, of kindness, of generosity, of friendship.

We are continuously given so much. Last Wednesday, Ian and Lindy Kay rocked into Heavenly Beverley in their ancient landrover. Stacked to the vehicle's ceiling with their own and others' artworks, they also had a skeleton of a tree tied to the roof. I'd seen the elderly jalopy passing in front of the Gallery and assumed that the occupants were heading off on a camping expedition, complete with their own firewood.

Wrong.

After unloading all the art they had brought, they took us to lunch at the Red Vault Cafe across the road. Entirely unexpected. No fuss or fanfare. And Ian, with Michael's assistance, set up "The Owl and the Pussycat" against the chosen wall space. What a day.

Jane Gates, the "Sunshiny" half of "Dark Sunshiny Days", a studio that had existed in York had re-entered our lives with three wonderfully quirky and cheerful paintings of fairytale imaginings. On hearing I wanted one of her paintings, "Lacey", to offer to my son and daughter-in-law, for their baby's nursery. she gave the painting to me.

Just like that.

As events unfolded, the kids literally didn't have room for "Lacey" in the nursery. Bollocks. So what I'd really love for Jane's Christmas is that somebody else loves "Lacey" as much as I do and takes this beautiful piece of original art to a new home.

Brian Aylward, pastel and mixed media artist extraordinaire, has agreed to undertake a pastel demonstration on the afternoon of our birthday party on Saturday 14 December. Brian would have to be the grooviest eighty-year-old I know. And he is still producing vibrant and vivid paintings, some of which are on display within our Gallery.

Alex, our Autistic Superstar and I haven't had the easiest of rides lately. However, we have realised that love conquers all. I asked Alex to post a morning message to me every day, so we can keep our close connection as wonderful as ever. Yes, I know Alex's messages will come. No, I have no idea of their content. This morning, I laughed out loud. A dog licking their loved one in bed. I had been similarly assaulted by Stella a few hours earlier. Awesome. Go, Alex!

This afternoon, Michael was walking Stella-Bella and Mister Pip past the tennis courts. The teacher of a bunch of kids asked if Stella liked chasing balls. When Michael confirmed our puppy's adoration for all things round, he found himself with three more balls for Destructo Dog to chomp.

Brilliant.

We are sitting together after dinner. The TV is blaring, Mister Pip is sitting with his Master, Stella is sound asleep on the other couch and all is well in our world.

Ian Kay - "The Owl and the Pussycat"

Belinda Kay - "Cauldron"

Jo-Anne Maire - "Robots"

Marcaela Faithfull - "Baubles"

The tree...

Tapas plates...

More tapas plates....

July Willock - tapas plates with dichroic detail...

Jane Gates - "Lacey"...

Brian Aylward in full flight...

Brian Aylward - "My Studio"...

And from Alex to me.