Heavenly Beverley : February 2021

Friday, 19 February 2021

Another Thong Bites The Dust...(Here Is The News)

These are very interesting times. Becoming even more so by the day...If the pandemic isn't enough to keep us on our toes, then we have the ludicrous spat between corporations like Google and Facebook and the government of Oz fighting over how our news is delivered and the cost of its deliverance. What does all this mean for the average punter? Maybe there will be a resurgence of print media; an opportunity for actually independent hard copy news to make a reappearance and fight the might of the tabloids. We need balanced alternatives to the biased coverage of some papers, which have become grubby and substandard.

In the spirit of providing topical and hard-hitting reporting, here is the Breaking News from Heavenly Beverley...

LOCAL HERO STOPS INVASION!

Beverley resident, Mister Michael Sofoulis, horrified by the advancing hordes of meat ants situated between the lemon tree and water meter, decided on a spirited solution to eradicate these dangerous fiends. Tired of being bitten on the big toe whilst navigating the ant super-highway. Michael's brave response involved the novel use of acetylene gas, a whiff of oxygen and his trusty flint.

Clad in the best safety footwear (thongs), decidedly holey workshirt and aerated jeans, Michael set up his equipment and stealthily approached the enemy camp entries. Allowing the acetylene to venture into the deep recesses of their underground lair, Michael cunningly added just enough oxygen for the purpose of complete demolition.

Lighting up his handy welding jet, Michael then turned his wrath to the peace-wrecking intruders. Down the hole with the flame produced some pleasing noises, akin to the explosion of firecrackers, we watched with glee at the pyrotechnic show.

A minor snag - Michael forgetting the welding handle might become a tad hot - resulted in a brief adjournment whilst he utilised the assistance of the nearest cold tap.

Due to the rock-hard nature of the ground, Michael also employed his hardy drill and sizable drill bit to enable further excavation of the hostile forces' headquarters. This reporter, viewing from a seated and safe distance involving a plastic chair, a milk crate for my feet and a glass of vino, was able to appreciate the noble perseverance of Mister Sofoulis, in his quest to rid the property of these unwelcome six-legged thugs.

A few refugees wandered about in confusion at the conclusion of the operation and this investigative journalist was able to report that the remaining survivors had fled the scene of the crime by the following morning.

REPEATED INTERVENTION BY EXTRAORDINARILY DEVOTED DOG TO REMOVE RISKY SAFETY GEAR!

Miss Stella Sofoulis, canine bitch of 6 Anzac Lane Beverley, has shown true courage above and beyond the call of duty. Over the last eighteen months or so, Stella has attempted, on four occasions, to neutralise the threat of inadequate safety equipment. Distressed by the repeated failings of her hapless human, Mister Michael Sofoulis, to dispose of this potentially injury-inducing footwear, Stella has had no other option but to take decisive action.

Eat Michael's thongs...

So far, she has been disappointed in her quest to dissuade Michael from the Wrong Choices. Of course, she has had to wait for opportunities to carry our her clandestine operations, due to this reporter's uncanny insistence on placing them out of her reach. Hence, part of her cunning plan has been to watch for signs that she will be able to spring into action. Usually, the sequence of favoured events will begin with our reporter toddling off to bed whilst Michael watches inane rubbish on the idiot box. Add to the mix a few glasses of vino and the scene is set...

Upon Michael's retiring for the night, he has been known to leave the less than satisfactory safety gear unguarded. This is the signal for Stella's chance to Protect the Dumb and Defenceless bloke once again. Out of her undying unselfishness, she seizes the target and proceeds to immobilise its lethal intent.

Unfortunately, Michael has been a tad slow on the uptake and has yet to recognise her valiant efforts to protect him. In total disregard for her ongoing endeavours to save him from himself, Michael has wantonly replaced the offending articles time after time...after time...after time.

When will he ever learn Stella is only dismantling his thongs out of the goodness of her heart?

Signing off from Heavenly Beverley, stay tuned for the next riveting bulletin from Yours Truly.

From Heavenly Beverley...

Action Man, unfortunately wearing the sad excuse for safety footwear

Exterminate!

Bollocks! The handle is a tad warm...

Stella's latest effort to remove ill-advised safety footwear...

Some village idiot who hasn't learnt yet...

But Dad...!

I was only trying to help!

Stay tuned for the next exciting instalment!

Sunday, 14 February 2021

A Wednesday Road Trip to the Deep South

How hard is being a tourist in your own backyard? We often lament our lack of "get up and go" in this regard. After four days in the Gallery, the washing basket is threatening to erupt, the house closely resembles a tip, our bed is chockers with dog hair and we have tumbleweeds across the floors. Last night, Stella helpfully added to the general detritus by attacking the blanket on her dog bed and ripping a sizable hole in the fabric. So now we have white fluffy blobby bits drifting about the bedroom.

Last week, we set ourselves a goal. Damn the torpedoes of domestic damage control and head for the South. Wednesday was designated as a launch to visit Di at her Studio Gallery in Pingelly and Chris in Narrogin. We hurtled out of Station House at the surprisingly early hour of eleven and turned Lily in a southern direction.

Di, her husband Steve and canine child Brynn recently moved permanently from Fremantle to a little cottage in Pingelly. Dilapidated at the time of sale, they spent less than eighteen months whipping their country estate into shape. We enjoyed a fabulous lunch with Di and Brynn before vacating the house to check the progress of Di's Studio Gallery.

Pingelly is another hidden gem in the Wheatbelt. Just over one hundred and fifty kilometres to the Big Smoke, Pingelly has a main street with some lovely old buildings, an IGA supermarket that is open seven days a week, a cafe, a rip-roaring restored pub and Di's Studio Gallery. Pingelly's other secret attraction is the PRACC (Pingelly Recreation and Cultural Centre), a superbly crafted building which houses a restaurant, sports facilities, a pavilion for functions and events and may be used for visiting services or as an evacuation centre.

Due to officially open around Easter, Di has been in her new space most days and the door is always open, often with an enthusiastic greeting from Brynn as well as Di. With assistance from mutual friend, artist and curator Belinda, Pingelly's latest venture is sure to entice many guests through Di's door. We collected two of her paintings for our Giftshop and another has been promised.

After a very happy couple of hours, we headed further south to catch up with another friend and artist Chris, as well as Casey from NEXIS (Narrogin Exhibition Space) for more Southern Wheatbelt Art Directories. These comprehensive brochures, completed after three years and just before the COVID 19 lockdown, feature fifteen shires from Beverley and Quaraiding down to West Arthur through to Lake Grace in the Eastern Wheatbelt. Narrogin is a very attractive town with a bustling main street, gardens, pubs, cafes, accommodation and a great art scene.

Our friend Chris lives with her grandson, an engaging young chap by the name of Wyatt, with her three grown-up children gatecrashing from time to time, in a fabulous old home with extensive grounds. On a corner block, and protected by walls, one could be oblivious to the procession of school buses that roar in and out twice a day. Widowed after Mark, the love of her life died, she longs to return to her painting but is currently heavily involved with the clearance of her Mum's house in nearby Wickepin. She still delightedly teaches art full time and is grateful for that role, which offers ongoing satisfaction and sanity. She adores Wyatt, who at seven years of age, has become a wonderful companion and Chris jokes he is far more mature than his Dad. We have a number of Chris' beautiful works in the Gallery, on display there and in our Giftshop.

Heading home in the late afternoon, we congratulated ourselves on our adventures. Pip and Stella had accompanied us and thoroughly enjoyed playdates with Brynn and Scruffy, one of Chris' two dogs. They conked out on the floor for the evening and we reminisced on an excellent and thoroughly entertaining road trip.

Must do that again sometime soon...

Swapping this...

For this!

Ideas galore for day trips, weekends and getaways...

So, what are we waiting for?!

Off to Pingelly...

Home of the numbats...

The amazing PRACC...

And on Pingelly's main drag...

Introducing Di's Studio Gallery!

Sneak preview of inside...

Stella with Brynn...

Kissy, kissy...

And onto Narrogin...

Chris with her beloved Beatle...

Paintings by Christine Davis, available from the East End Gallery...

Friday, 12 February 2021

Pontifications On Ageing

Let's begin with some eternal truths. We experience ageing as we age because we never would have coped with the realities of ageing when we are young. Ageing is all about developing unpleasant maladies we'd rather passed us by. I never considered, in my wildest dreams, discussing my bowels openly. Plus, I fart just like Mum. Who knew that farting could be hereditary? We check ourselves for skin cancers, most of which turn out to be "senile" spots. Beautiful. Upon waking pain-free, I assume I have carked it during the night.

Even worse is the horrifying fact that we are turning into our parents in other ways. Remember shuddering at their conversations that revolved around medical appointments or their latest health issues? Becoming obsessed with thoughts of the next meal? Or wandering into a room holding a particular item, with no idea of purpose. Leaving in disgust and then remembering. The irksome task of thinking when putting down keys, or purse, or phone or list.

I am caught by the curse of the bloody list. I need lists for shopping, errands, prescriptions and important dates. Even if I'm just venturing up the main drag. And woe betides if I lose the current list...

Take the last couple of weeks for example. I dislike discomfort of any sort. The presence of pain definitely cramps my style. And slows me down. Both of which are not part of my plan. So when I began to experience tiredness beyond the call of duty and weirdly placed sharpness in my chest and upper right tummy, I was not amused. Initially, I justified my symptoms as part of being old, fat and probably post-menopausal. Blood tests all came back normal(ish), even my long-suffering liver. A trip to Beverley Hospital last week was damned inconvenient as we were in the middle of reorganising the Gallery. Sent off for a date with a CAT scan, I waited with bated breath for the conclusions.

Monday afternoon, I visited the local GP for the results, who I had previously seen whilst beset with chest pain. I figured that if I was having a heart attack, driving seventy kilometres to our usual doctor was not a great idea. Which is how I ended up in Beverley Hospital for an afternoon, boobs on display, machines that went "ping" and a cannula in my elbow. Ouch.

The CAT scan revealed that I am in rude health, at least within my entire abdomen. I even have a "grossly normal uterus", (uber-boring) but at least I have been given another delicious phrase that I shall have to tuck away for future reference. And that I am, astoundingly, in pretty good shape for an old bag of fifty-nine.

The closest guess that the GP should summon was that I had suffered a particularly nasty bout of reflux. Joy. He suggested Gaviscon if this occurred again. Fabulous, more bloody medication.

So then I turned my thoughts to other possible causes for fatigue. Duh. Take our sleeping arrangements, for example. We sleep with two dogs between us for starters. Stella is proud of her chief guard dog status and lets us know with both barrels if a flea is moving outside. However, she is also responsible for removing those who would stop for a fag on our bench seat outside, so we are loath to quieten her enthusiasm. Pip is the main purveyor of nocturnal noise, through his snoring, reverse sneezing, hacking or general grunting. Due to his advanced years, he has redeveloped appalling breath in spite of our best efforts to feed him vet-supplied "dental" kibble. So, if his cacophony doesn't drive us mad, then the awful smell being emitted from his mouth will surely cause our poisoning in due course.

Michael is not the heaviest of sleepers at the best of times and both his reflux and his somewhat bizarre and active mind cause wakefulness during the wee small hour. Due to my extremely efficient central heating system, I can also spend long periods throwing off or pulling up the bedclothes. No wonder we often suffer from Failure to Launch come daylight hours.

On top of all this, I think of us as the living epitome of a three-ringed circus. Drama is never far away. Apart from my sojourns to medical establishments, Michael has been given the rounds of the kitchen by Stephanie, our straight-shooting GP. The good news is that Michael's liver hasn't konked out yet. The bad news is that he has been told that this organ of his has been releasing copious amounts of enzymes to illustrate its unhappiness.

Michael should quit drinking altogether, however that is not likely to happen. Ordered to cut down, not guzzle and not drink after I've gone to bed has definitely slowed his consumption. After distorted thinking on and off for years, Michael has decided he would really like to stick around and has finally discarded with his death wish intentions. And his hand is definitely allowing him to work again, so his good humour is more on display.

Our Autistic Superstar Alex has just been diagnosed with a nasty condition called bronchiectasis to add further excitement in his life. This means his airways may have permanently widened, leading to chronic productive cough, shortness of breath and chest pain. Oh goody.

On top of this, his lovely GP mistakenly referred him to a respiratory specialist who we believe nearly killed Michael back in 2014. Alex has had his fair share of specialists who can't relate to him at all, and this geezer was going to be another disaster. Plus, I could never trust this quack to be involved enough with Alex's care.

After another disturbed night, I rang Alex and his GP and the situation was swiftly resolved. Alex has a new referral to Scott Claxton - who we know well and trust. The bad news is that Scott is in such demand that Alex's appointment with him isn't until May. The good news is that I have never told Scott to piss off, or words to that effect, a phrase I aimed with furious intent at that other ineffectual doctor nearly seven years ago.

The usual suspect of financial insecurity also adds to our stress. I try not to worry, as anxiety about monetary matters is pointless as we can't change our circumstances. Mostly, I succeed at banishing those midnight mental conniptions, but every now and again, I can't help myself and sacrifice a decent sleep to mull over our current cash crisis.

Enough gloom and doom. Surely, there are positives to ageing. Absolutely. There is no way I'd like to return to a fifteen-year-old body or twenty-five-year-old energy. Or a perpetually boring and anxious thirty-five-year-old. Even forty-five was not that crash hot as I was embroiled in a disastrous love affair with the Sicilian sociopath. As I approach sixty, I am endlessly grateful for the experience of ageing. My sense of humour continues to broaden. My curiosity has grown and my appetite for knowledge has ballooned. I am much more confident in myself and my opinions. I am definitely not tolerant of fools or bullies. I choose to believe the best of all those I meet unless proven otherwise. And, as Front-of-House in the East End Gallery, I enjoy giving a warm greeting, a smile or a compliment to our guests.

When my parents aged, there were times I found their existence stupefyingly dull. Misery was often my mother's greatest companion. As a Difficult Woman, her friendships could be fleeting and she thrived on the chaos within the family. She ended up being very lonely, mostly due to her own actions. For me, family and friends are vital to remaining engaged and curious and tolerant. Relationships remind me to listen to everybody's stories. In order to be interesting, we all need to strive to be interested.

I am hopeful I still have relevance to the kids and they don't consider us to be too ancient yet. Michael and I know we still surprise each other, often with hilarious results. Brilliant.

So eat the cake. Have the glass of vino. Enjoy a cappuccino. Spend the day in jarmies. Wear a frock or favourite shirt for the hell of it. Find passion. Search for a tribe. Be open to different beliefs and values. Seek out joy.

I happen to be really lucky. I am married to my best friend. That doesn't mean we don't annoy or upset each other sometimes. However, we both genuinely want each other to be happy. Doesn't get much better than that, does it?

Here are a few of those I care about -