Strange Days...(Apologies to The Doors)

This post has been swirling inside my overloaded brain for over a week, with changes to the title and content. As ever, I have been searching for that silver lining, that absurd moment, that witty observation. In my quest for spotting the upside, I have scoured cyberspace, in particular, my Facebook buddies' posts to preserve what is left of my sanity and sense of humour. However, I have realised that the bulk of my "feel good" stories are based right here in Heavenly Beverley.

For starters, Michael's delusions of grandeur have reached new heights. Whilst watching the current live update by our pollies, Michael noticed a Facebook comment that he read as "Darren West is watching you", rather than "Darren West is watching with you" (!).

Darren, our Labor Agricultural MLC (and local superstar) has been our knight in shining armour during a couple of crises and he and Michael have enjoyed a blooming bromance over the last few years. Darren refers to Michael affectionately as "MacGyver", given Michael's practical assistance over a pesky car matter late one afternoon. But, I do suspect that their relationship has not quite escalated to the loftiness that Michael mistakenly assumed!

My phone is causing issues by playing with its settings without permission from me. Maybe, my trusty mobile has taken issue with the number of notifications I have been asking it to download and responded accordingly to reverting to SILENT whenever it damn well feels the urge. Alternatively, the phone may have taken lessons from Madame Cat on attaining solitude and becoming a God. Give me strength...

Back to Michael. Last night, I was awoken by his arm in the air, poised to descend with some force onto my beleaguered head...Quick as a flash, I enquired the purpose of this action. Rabbits, he responded, there were rabbits in our bed. I asked for clarification. Were the rabbits planning a meeting with Mister Carrot, the delegate from the Salad, who had appeared to Michael in a previous visitation? Or could the rabbits be persuing Mister Carrot in order to eat him? I could see the headline..."Carrot Carnage in the Country"! Michael's response was that Mister Carrot was nowhere to be seen, only rabbits.

And I live with this man...

Ten days ago (that seems like a bloody century!), we farewelled Len Zuks, Beverley Artist-in-Residence, friend, mentor and all-around Good Guy. He and Michael had spent two weeks basking in each other's company, boys in mansuits, playing at the old tip or experimenting with abstract painting. They shared coffee and wine and food, whilst sharing memories spanning nearly forty years. That final evening, I retired to bed at a reasonable hour, whilst Michael, Len, Celeste and Marylou partied on. These were fabulously quirky days that we will cherish as we move through the uneasy and uncertain near future.

COVID 19 has certainly thrown us all in the Deep End. Interestingly, I am not as panicked as I thought I'd be. Calm and rational decisions, not my forte, have been surprisingly easy to make. The Gallery is closed. Michael is in isolation. We are somewhat enjoying this forced retreat from the masses. I think that we have spent so much time in each other's company over the years that we cope with close quarters better than most.

Only when I consider the Worst Case Scenario does my head threaten to implode. Or explode. Or both. The chances of Michael securing an Intensive Care bed if he catches COVID 19 are less than Buckley's. In other words, zero. So, my current Mission from God is to keep Michael well. We are doing everything possible to maintain that goal.

To finish this weird and rambling tome, in no particular order, are some of my strategies for living in this Mad World of ours -

1. stop, breathe and focus
2. prioritise what is really important
3. stay in touch with family and friends
4. start a project
5. spring clean the Venetians (!)
6. listen to music or read or play 
7. go outside/ on your balcony/courtyard/garden and enjoy the open air
8. exercise daily as far as possible
9. eat well
10. catch up on all that missed sleep and dream for the future.

Stay safe everyone.

Mister Darren West...

With wife Lesley...

Darren had an issue with the Beamer...

Who you gonna call?

Michel channelling his Inner MacGyver...

I think my phone has defected to KAOS!

Michael, Len and his adoring girlfriend, Stella...

Boys in mansuits...

Len's work, whilst Beverley Artist-in-Residence -

Len with Jenny Broun (Station Arts Prez) and Ai Ting at his farewell...

with old mate, Murray Turle

Meanwhile, where was Mister Carrot?

Apparently, in our bed!

And not just one or two...

A legion of the little buggers!

Moving right along...in view of COVID19, here is a message from the sponsors.

Stella's Progress Report Card

I started writing this post in my head days ago. I began putting words on my laptop yesterday. My initial efforts were as boring as batpoop. *sigh*

Sometimes my posts flow as easily as electricity. Other times I feel like I'm pulling teeth. When my writing remains stubbornly un-fluid, that's when I should just walk away. If I persevere at those instances, all I produce is a stultifying pile of un-entertaining tripe. So early this morning, I rejigged the post in my head and my fingers are now flying across the keyboard far more happily. I hope...

Stella has now been part of our home, our lives and in our hearts for over six months. More than a school semester. Time for an interim report card -

Her name - A+

When we first met our Carnarvon Special, she had been given the rather obscure name, Melu. Even though the name had come from her foster carer's Kiwi niece, my research indicates that the name is European by origin and given to boys. No wonder the name didn't suit a pretty little black puppy. I toyed briefly with the idea of naming her Mellow, which she seemed to be, compared to her more boisterous sister, but was howled down by all and sundry. In hindsight, that name would have been a disaster.

So I toyed around with names I liked - Bella, Ella, Milly, Molly. Except every second dog had a name like that. I wanted individuality for our latest addition.

Eventually, a brain wave. Michael's Auntie Stella had been an agreeable and warm lady who particularly enjoyed feeding starving teenagers. I thought that would be a rather lovely tribute. Later on, I discovered the significance of bellowing "Stella!" from the television series "Seinfeld" and that there had been a long-running British series "Stella". The less said about the character Stella in "A Streetcar Named Desire" is probably best. Even if our Stella and Pip enjoy a bit of noisy rumpy-bumpy most evenings.

And until now, I have only met one other startlingly similar-looking dog called Stella. So, she has the tick of approval for a relatively interesting name.

Nature and Character - A

We believe that we came very close to winning the jackpot with Stella. She has a beautiful temperament and loves cuddles and attention. She is fiercely protective of us, the house and the Gallery, which often causes her to engage in ear-splitting barking. Which is one of the reasons she can't score an A+.

Other less than desirable habits include a fierce intolerance of bicycles, gophers and skateboards. Off lead, she was almost skedaddled a few weeks ago chasing a bike across the road in front of a car. Unfortunately, Pip shares her hatred of gophers and had to be severely reprimanded for attempting to eat the wheels on Sue's machine outside the Gallery yesterday.

Stella adores Pip and he has reciprocated. A checkup with Graeme the vet last week revealed that our thirteen-year-old Jack Russell is alert and active, not depressed, has no residue of his cruciate ligament injury and certainly no evidence of arthritis. He endured his yearly vaccinations and temperature taking with as much dignity as he could muster. The days of Pip's projectile diarrhoea, used as a WMD aimed at the vet also seem to be, thankfully, over.

Apart from these few character flaws, Stella has been reasonably easy to Raise By Hand, except for her anxiety-producing furniture destruction. In hindsight, we probably should have sought HELP from our fabulous Veterinary Team much earlier. In a single consultation, Graeme demonstrated how to neutralise her jumping tendencies, supplied us with behavioural strategies to deal with her anxiety and without a qualm, to medicate her. He also suggested that Stella's anxiety would be lessened if she were confined during our absences and both she and our furniture would be much safer.

I had not been keen on "crating" initially until Graeme and Lisa explained the process. In the last ten days, she has become used to the borrowed crate, even sleeping inside early this morning. Today, I took courage in hand and lured Stella inside with a rawhide bone, tossing Pip in after her and shutting the door. We have come a long way in a fairly short timeframe.

Trainability - A

Stella has shown herself to be highly intelligent and inquisitive. She is interested in all new experiences. Last Thursday, there was a major bowling competition in Beverley. During our walk, Stella paused to watch the action, paws up on the limestone wall so she could get a good view.

She has been quick to master basic commands, particularly on the lead and with doggy treat reinforcement. Off the lead, and with minor temptations, she is less obedient. Her nose frequently leads her into trouble, discovering smelly and delectable substances and devouring them with gusto, whilst completely deaf to her name.

On the other hand, her delight in most foodstuffs means giving her medication is a breeze. This morning's capsule, her newish anti-depressant, was consumed in a small sandwich of cheese, one of her favourite foods. Cold meats, pate and peanut butter are also highly favoured, although we are pretty sure that peanut butter gives her the runs.

Care and Cost - B+

For a born and bred country hound, Stella should have the constitution of an ox. She doesn't. She actually has rather a delicate gut and has been known for explosive diarrhoea and spectacular spewing with no warning whatsoever. Fortunately, with her diet of (expensive) hypoallergenic dog log and kibble, along with Greek yoghurt and fish oil, her digestive wobbles are becoming history.

The finer things of life are certainly right up Stella's alley. Pate, cold meats, cheese and pistachios are firm favourites, as a lady of her station expects. Only whilst walking do her baser instincts come out and she is drawn to utterly revolting goodies to consume.

Plus, she is now on anti-depressants. The good news is that Stella's medication is also mine. So when Graeme had no stock, there was no problem. Stella and I are currently sharing Fluoxetine, albeit at different dosages. I just have to remember who has how many capsules...

The bad news is the majority of our family now take anti-depressants. The Fickle Fairweather Feline is obviously too superior for such drugs and Pip, who used to be our Nervous Nelly, is definitely Not Depressed anymore, due to Stella's presence.

Prospective Improvement - A

• Future wreckage - definitely on the decline with the arrival of the Holy Crate of Station House.

• Relationship with Madame Ruby the Cat - armistice approaching. Ruby still heartily dislikes having her faced washed by Stella's enthusiastic tongue (whether she needeth it or not), however, No Man's Land has not been crossed on our bed by either feline or canine.

• Travel potential - both Stella and Pip will accompany us on our winter escape this year. Neither suffers from carsickness and both enjoy the back seat. That we will have the crate is just a "peace of mind" bonus. 

The future for us all is looking very bright indeed. Due to Stella's juvenile energy, walking her every day is a non-negotiable must. Thus, our latest Dynamic Duo and I are pounding the pavements in the mornings and occasionally in the evenings if I can persuade Michael to join us. I may even lose some weight!

All is well in our world.

In the caravan - August 2019. Michael is under the sleeping bag...

Stella in the caravan, wearing the Cone of Shame, due to her sterilisation

With vet nurse Renee...

I'm free - late August 2019...

With Pip...

Madame Ruby leaving the building...

Turkey tug-of-war...

In the beginning, was minor damage...

Followed by the unleashing of Destructo Dog!

Ye Gods, what a disaster...

In Banksia Grove...

February 2020 on a very hot day...

Introducing our Saviour - the crate. Needless to say, Pip beat her inside...

Tentative exploration...

Both in...

Stella perfecting her leapfrog for the Olympics...

This morning.

Strange But True...

Six days ago, the East End Gallery hosted our first Sundowner for 2020. I have been attempting to write a detailed account ever since, but life has a habit of getting in the way of creative endeavours.

(Quick interpolation to "Logical" by Supertramp) -

When I was young, it seemed that life was so wonderful
A miracle, oh it was beautiful, magical
And all the birds in the trees, well they'd be singing so happily
Oh joyfully, playfully watching me...

Now according to the song, we then were sent to school and taught how to be logical and sensible, cynical and presentable. Possibly becoming radical (always on the cards) or liberal (unlikely), with a sticky end as a vegetable. (I'd really prefer to morph into the slender shape of a carrot rather than a cuddly capsicum.)

What the song doesn't mention is the myriad of sometimes pleasant, occasionally irksome and often hilarious results of aging that I am experiencing. These strange but true details just don't seem to get enough of a guernsey and should be required information for all of us as we approach fifty.

Believe me, that's when the sticky brown stuff really hits the fan.

For example, what about staying up to be productive during the evenings. After dinner used to be when I was often at my wittiest and most eloquent. I would park in front of the laptop and pound out a tome, whilst keeping my left ear and left eye pointed towards the telly so I could multitask.

Or walking the dogs after I've been in the Gallery all day. Or having the kitchen spick and span before collapsing into bed. Hanging a load of washing on the line. Catching up on any watering not completed in the morning rush. Some nights, organising din-dins is a bloody huge effort and then I'm cactus afterwards. When I actually ask for help in evening meal preparations, Michael understands that I have Hit the Wall and usually springs into action. The spectre of Not Eating is always enough to spur him rapidly off the lounge.

Falling asleep in front of the telly is another irritant. Particularly when watching "Endeavour" on Fridays. I have just about given up on "Project Blue Book" as I am inevitably tucked up in bed by the opening credits. Even the new format "Q+A", featuring the delicious Hamish Macdonald, whom I am thoroughly enjoying, is a bit of a stretch to remain conscious.

I was never going to become my Mother, in any way, shape or form. Pleasingly, I actually adore Immy, our grandbaby, who is three months old today. Mum was never particularly enamoured of grandchildren or children or most people, come to think of it. However, the snoring in front of the TV, the discussion of ailments and medical appointments, visits to the dentist and podiatrist, the inability to hold a decent conversation after nine o'clock at night are all exceedingly tiresome and Just Like Mum!

These occurrences call for drastic measures to circumvent the effects of turning into Old Farts. As a result, social occasions start earlier and finish earlier. Last night, we had a lively impromptu get-together at Station House of ourselves, Celeste, Romola, Jan and Greg. We were all in hysterics concerning Celeste's inability to access her MyGov account. She has thirty-seven passwords, none of which work and the boffins in the Department of Human Services haven't had any success in opening her account either. My latest quibble with our financial institution is failing to take a direct debit at the required time, in spite of funds actually available and daring to post a "failure" on my online banking page. AJ from CUA was supposed to get back to me today. He hasn't.

In our younger days, these hijinks would have been treated with far more seriousness. Now, all of us approaching sixty, we can roar with laughter at the insanity of the online systems that are all supposed to be efficient and time-saving.

So, drinks were enjoyed, nibbles consumed and we were all done and dusted by seven o'clock. Great night.

Late afternoons in the Gallery often provide the chance to Open the Bar and indulge in a snort or two with good friends. Our Sundowners kick off at five-thirty as I am always ready to retire by eleven, at the latest. I still have no idea how Michael stays upright with Lawrence until two in the morning. However, he is often wrecked for several days post Sundowner and I am usually not very sympathetic.

I never pass up the opportunity to engage in conversation with anybody. One never knows; we may just become bosom buddies. I also never pass up the opportunity to hang up on any person I can't understand on the phone. I do hope that I don't sound potentially racist but my ability to decipher weird accents is just beyond me. As a result, I don't engage with many call centres at all.

Our TV aerial in Digger the caravan is still notoriously unreliable, but I am actually looking forward to less dependence on the Idiot Box when we go away. The radio will become our friend (just like the Olden Days), however, I will have to make sure Michael is in the vicinity of a working telly to watch the footy on the weekends.

Oh, my giddy aunt, I'll have time for reading and writing!

In the meantime, I have decided upon some ideals for growing older - disgracefully or otherwise -

• never waste time
• be interested in others (until they bore you to tears)
• engage in new activities
• adopt a dog (or cat if you must)
• have a comfortable bed, sofa or armchair
• cherish those you love
• do not mince words (particularly when talking to banks, welfare agencies, insurance companies or telecommunication outlets)
• use profanities if desired
• expand your vocabulary
• remember the simple pleasures.

Thank you for your attention. Now we are off to the pub for dinner.

Scenes from Saturday's Sundowner. We may be getting on, but we still know how to party!