Truly Madly Deeply... A Christmas Love Story

Another Christmas has been done and dusted. On this second last day of 2019 and a week into our summer break from the East End Gallery, I am enjoying what is colloquially known by us as a slob day. Eventually, I will change out of my jarmies and dress appropriately for a late afternoon walk with the dogs and a sunset soiree with friends Adam and Gem. But not quite yet. I am very happily reflecting on a remarkable family Christmas, both here in Heavenly Beverley and at Callum and Bron's home in the wilds of suburbia.

Christmas Day was hot, as has been most of December. We were already up carrying out the usual hot day drill of watering our potted garden paradise. Stella and Pip were delighted to see her. After a most pleasurable exchange of gifts and a hearty breakfast, Michael retired for a well-deserved midday nap. A late Christmas lunch was hastily rearranged into an evening Christmas dinner.

We were joined by Greg, Jan and Macca as well as two waifs en route to Esperance. Yury and Betty had decided upon Beverley as a stopover on their way from Jurien Bay. No family, no festivities, so we promptly invited them to dinner. A fascinating Ukrainian and Indonesian couple, they were currently working as a GP and an accountant in Jurien. Needless to say, they had plenty of interesting anecdotes which led to a lively evening.

Plus Jan gave me two new outfits to add to the gorgeousness of my wardrobe. How lucky am I that I can inherit very nice clothes from a bloody awesome friend and my number one backup for the East End Gallery.

We have been welcoming strays to Christmas for any number of years, both here and previously in the Big Smoke.  The most memorable was hosting nineteen people and seven dogs plus Santa at my house in Manangaroo which fortunately had a very large pergola and a swimming pool. Only two of the attendees and two of the dogs were actually related to me...

Everybody should have the opportunity to be included in a holiday celebration, regardless of their circumstances.

Boxing Day was quietly amusing, with the Pirate Parrot joining in the hijinks by flying into the Christmas tree. I believe his landing spot was an act of desperation rather than choice as he was being pursued by Stella the wrecker, who was intently determined to catch him. Fortunately, there were no injuries or reports and Red did not succumb to an anxiety-induced coronary.

We were all excited to join a rendezvous in Banksia Grove the following afternoon. We arrived, fatheads in tow at around three o'clock. Thus we had a lovely couple of hours to see our beautiful little granddaughter, Imogen Ivy, on our own with just her adoring parents.

What followed turned into a Day of Wonder. Alex arrived later in the afternoon. Imogen did very little except squawk and squeak and feed and snooze, intermittently filling her nappy, much to the delight of her besotted Nanny Kate.  However, we were all in love with her and in her own baby way, peace and harmony descended under a roof in the suburbs.

Which meant no arguments, no grumbles, not one single whinge. Michael and I walked the dogs with Alex. Alex's joy was evident all over his face as he cuddled Imogen in complete awe and love. Michael's new role as Grandpa saw him as gently relaxed as I have ever seen him. Bron was ecstatic for the luxury of a long and leisurely shower and Callum, master of ceremonies, watched over his family with his usual genial charm.

All brought together by our Christmas baby. Imogen Ivy would have to be the most precious gift of this Christmas season.

And I now understand the unmistakable brouhaha of becoming a Nanny. I am looking forward to many more happy occasions when I can be within her orbit.

Christmas tree up in early December...

A most unusual reindeer...

Christmas morning...

Stella's first Christmas...

The Pirate Parrot...

Pip and Stella en route to our second Christmas celebration...

Grandpa...

Backyard antics...

A Daddy and his girl...

Do I look like a happy Nanny?!

My handsome younger son Alex...

Uncle Al...

Let sleeping puppies and babies lie...

And her Supermummy, our darling Bron.

Belief...

This evening is 2019's final meeting of Country Expressions, our writing group that we established earlier in the year. For fun. For peer support. To be astounded by the creativity of the characters who belong to our quirky bunch. A drinkies group with a bit of writing on the side. And a chance for grammar nuts like me to be given open slather to correct particularly awful writing offences.

The set topic for this get together was "Belief" and I intuitively sailed through my memories to my darling Dad. He and I were intrinsically linked by his beliefs and my belief in him that has led to the formation of many of my own beliefs. Which continue today and beyond. Who knew that belief could be hereditary?

Dad taught me so many valuable lessons. The importance of family, demonstrated by our mutual cups of morning tea from when I was about four. Of patience, of perseverance, of honour, of dignity. Of unconditional love, which held him to his adored wife, my Mum, even when she was irrational and unreasonable.

Of the love of language. The rules of spelling and grammar. The joy and wisdom of an encyclopaedia, a dictionary and a thesaurus. Dad read to me every bedtime until I was ten. He had done the same for my brothers. He introduced me to literature great and simple. Only after we stopped did I realise just how much that private world and daily ritual meant to me.

He was not a hands-on practical or sporting Dad. He didn't play with us as such. This was never done out of malice; he just preferred to be in Mum's orbit. Much later, when Dad was in his seventies and beyond, we would go out together when I visited them and recapture that early intimacy.

He was also adventurous. A bright pink shirt rescued from the St Vinnies' bag, awe and enthusiasm with the internet, yoga that kept him flexible well into his eighties. He was interested in everyone and everything. He adored shopping, especially for clothes. When he could no longer travel, he did so with his mind, through his passion for books.

His honesty and loyalty were legendary. He barracked for his beloved Melbourne Football Club all his life. As far as I am aware, he never lied or fudged the truth. Ever. That was why he remained with the love of his life, even when she sometimes treated him with such indifferent shabbiness.

Dad hated confrontation and kept his own counsel, uncritical unless he felt forced to act in the best interests of others. There was a simple order in his love and his life, Mum first, us, extended family and friends.

That Mum eventually left him alone actually provided him with a silver lining in the last months of his ninety-two years. He was reunited with my brother, Michael, as were the rest of us. I will never forget Dad's face lit by unrehearsed happiness when Michael strode into his room. He was granted his greatest unspoken wish - to be with all his children before he died two years ago.

And I think that Dad's tenacity to live for this goal provided my most powerful beliefs of all. Do not waste time. See and hold and love your family and friends. Be as kind as possible. And always enjoy an evening glass of vino.

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...

Dad with Michael...

Still witty...

All the ladies loved him!

With David...

And Dad's last birthday...

A Thoroughly Biased Report Of Our Gallery Sundowner!

The Great Heat has departed, albeit temporarily. The day is cool, the East End Gallery has ceased to resemble the interior of an oven and I have become alive again. On this first day of our last week before we shut for Christmas, being in the Gallery is pleasurable once more.

Saturday night was an entirely different kettle of fish. The day was most unpleasant - 42.8 degrees or 109 degrees Fahrenheit is bloody hot in anyone's language. We had every fan and the air cooler cranking. The portable air conditioner was set up next to the wading pool in the Giftshop with chairs in a circle. In the end, we just ignored the temperature as best we could, paddled in the pool, sat next to the cooling devices or congregated outside when the day's fierceness eased after sunset.

In spite of the conditions, a glorious Sundowner was enjoyed by all. Guests brought food and drinks to share. The BBQ out front was a popular point for street drinking, as was the middle of the road later in the evening. Unfortunately, I forgot to defrost the rolls to go with the sausages, but nobody was upset.

The musos were a varied and joyous bunch. Thank you so very much to Jan, Guy, Red, Paddy, Michelle, Nick and Lawrence for providing the backbone of the band. Others took the microphone at different intervals and the dancing was reminiscent of a balmy spring night, rather than a roasting summer evening.

All sausages were consumed with gusto. Guests revelled as the air cooled ever so slightly with the darkness. Steve and I took the three dogs Brin, Stella and Pip on a moonlit walk to wear them out.

Santa made the briefest of appearances and departed before she melted. However, Stella was somewhat bemused as to the identity of the person in the jolly red suit. Once she realised Santa's true persona, Stella even posed for photos.

The coppers paid us a visit halfway through the evening but were quite genial about our gathering. We did announce to the assembled populace that their skipper should be driving home as the police van was clearly visible up the street, poking out of the supermarket carpark.

Lawrence, eminently reliable but notoriously unpunctual, arrived about nine o'clock. Paddy on the fiddle continued to rock on after some of the other musos had run out of oomph. Michelle and Muz, having provided us with a case of wine, helpfully in ice, were invited to stay in our airconditioned guest room, rather than the back of their car. As always, they were gone before we staggered out of bed the next morning.

Michael, once more,  was led astray by Lawrence after the party. Or maybe it was Lawrence being led astray by Michael? Either way, they proved, again, that they are just boys in men's suits. After falling into bed next to me in the pre-dawn light, Michael took all day and an additional four-hour nanna nap to recover. When I asked him what he'd drunk, his slightly slurred response was "Everything..." I rest my case.

Now fully restored, we can both appreciate another wonderful sundowner and the last blast for 2019. All in all, a fabulous fifth birthday for our beloved Gallery. I don't use the term "blessed" very often, but we continue to be so blessed by our artists, our musicians, our friends and our supporters. Who would have thought, that from our extremely humble and haphazard beginnings in December 2014, we have grown to promote and exhibit the works of nearly one hundred artists?

How lucky are we?

Scenes from the Sundowner...