Kate's Voyage Around October

October has been rather the month to remember. I must admit that I have felt surprisingly like Odysseus, wondering what the hell is just around the corner. On this final glorious day in October, I am pondering my navel between guests in the East End Gallery. What a joy to be in one layer of clothes, be warm and throw the front doors open so we can welcome visitors. Beverley has been jumping this weekend, and without an actual scheduled event.

Since the opening of our intrastate borders in 2020 following the first COVID 19 shutdown. Beverley has been discovered by tourists. Most weekends, the town has recreational visitors in the caravan park and free RV site, in the pubs and the Beverley Bed and Breakfast. The caravan park is bursting at the seams and the RV friendly site has plenty of takers.

Visitors are enjoying the multitude of activities available here in Heavenly Beverley.  Realising the potential of our town, the Shire has been very proactive with building our fabulous Moort Wabiny (Family Play) skatepark, pump track, basketball court and playground. Now the Vincent Street redevelopment has commenced with power going underground and beautification of the main street with shade and gardens. Both our pubs have new owners, the Red Vault and Bakery continue to cater to families, new art enterprises such as Jodi's Rustic Chic,  Marion and Rebecca's Art and Jewellery Studio and  Sarah's Inspiration have sprung up. Mandy operates fantastic workshops at her Art Garden, we continue to expand at the East End Gallery and the Station Artist-in-Residence program has become an overnight sensation after fifteen years! Kylie's Lucky Find is the best frock shop in the Wheatbelt, Nex Dor has a wonderful array of garden gifts and those magnificent men in their gliding machines fill the skies at weekends. For history enthusiasts, the Dead Finish Museum and Ferguson's Vintage Machinery Collection will fascinate and engage.

With the mild weather continuing, November will still be perfect for day trippers and travellers. We already have the Landslide Fleetwood Mac/Eagles Tribute next Saturday 6 November from 6.30 pm, along with our Community markets, which are held in the morning. Then on 19 November, a classical guitar recital featuring Don Neander will be held at St Mary's Church from 7.30pm. Proceeds will be added to the restoration fund for St Mary's.

Please be aware that if coming for the weekend, the Beverley IGA closes at 12 noon on Saturdays and is not open on Sundays.

Anyway, I have digressed. Back to the various odysseys I have untaken, some with my beloved Michael and some on my own. We started the month delightedly staying with Callum, Bronwyn and our adored Miss Imogen Ivy. Approaching two years of age, Immy kept us entertained over forty-three precious hours whilst her Mummy and Daddy gave us a much needed mini break. 

We roared through the next couple of weeks. Another of our famous Sundowners was a night of nights. The unofficial Beverley Heroic was held by a bunch of dedicated bike riders who thumbed their noses at bureaucracy and kept a marvellous event going, albeit on their own.

Our first welding workshop featuring Michael as facilitator was an absolute triumph. Held over two days, participants played with MiG welders, grinding wheels and Michael's trusty forge. Excellent fun was had by all. Stay tuned for details of our next workshop.

Then disaster. Michael fell over transporting an anvil out of the workshop and grazed his left arm. Next, he dropped a painting when his hand gave way and nearly fell off the high ladder. He followed those catastrophes up with falling backwards off a stepladder. Marooned on the floor, guest Kaz and I helped him up.  Without being sure what he had really done to himself, his already injured left arm quickly blew up and became very painful.

We spent a day in Emergency. Inconclusive X ray. A trip to Stephanie, GP to the Stars and to Ben Kimberley, Boy Wonder orthopaedic surgeon. Bloods on Monday. An MRI last Tuesday.  Waiting on results. The bloody arm is still very painful...

And in between all this, I continue of my voyage of discovery with the NDIS. Despot springs to mind with thinking about the NDIS. Despot had its origins in the sixteenth century, from the French "despote", translated via Latin from the Greek "despotes" (δεσπότης), which meant "master" or "absolute ruler".  There are times I believe the NDIA/S behaves in a despotic manner.

The NDIS has its own rules, protocols and practices that are often a mystery to those it proclaims to be assisting. Alex has an NDIS Plan and funding, which he doesn't understand. Until meeting with an Advocate in Jeanette and finding an efficient Plan Manager in Kathryn, I was in the dark regarding the operations of the NDIA/S.

After over a year trying to fund airconditioning from his plan in Alex's Housing Authority unit and being told "not enough medical information" and "not value for money", I learnt from Jeanette that they would never have funded the airconditioning as Alex lives in public housing. This is in spite of an NDIS call centre staffer advising me to have an occupational therapist conduct various assessments in order to provide evidence for installing airconditioning in his unit...

I have been informed that Local Area Coordinators insert data into set forms which may or may not address a participant's needs.

I have been informed that I should not write in paragraphs as they will not be read any text of length.

I have been introduced to a whole new world of jargon.

I have learnt that Alex's funding is insufficient through no fault of his or mine.

With the help of Jeanette and Kathryn, I now have some direction. Which involves much more work towards a "change of circumstance" in a third plan this year. However, when I actually know how to communicate in NDIA/S lingo, I might be able to access better outcomes for my boy.

We are approaching four o'clock on the last day of October. There are still people and cars buzzing around on the main drag. Tomorrow will be the first of our free days. There are the normal household chores waiting, but I have a hankering to get into my courtyards and tend my pots.

Until next time!

Miss Immy...

With Mummy...

With Daddy...

Memories of the Heroic...

Cyclocross October 2021...

October 2021 Sundowner...

Our musos...

Welding workshop 13 - 14 October...

Images of Heavenly Beverley - 

Visitors' Centre...

Gliding...

Did somebody say sheep?

Freemason's Tavern...

*Sigh*

The East End Gallery - 31 October 2021...

Hang On! Help Is On Its Way...

The Little River Band released "Help is on its Way" in April 1977. As a fifteen-year-old enraptured by Countdown, shown live by the ABC on Sunday nights, they were one of a myriad of Australian and international bands I followed during that great era orchestrated by Molly Meldrum. How many watched Countdown through its tenure? I don't know if any weekly music show since has captured the spirit of Countdown, of its cheerfully ineffectual but musically brilliant host and the audience of mostly young girls who clapped and danced their way through every episode. We are culturally poorer in this country without our weekly dose of Countdown.

Since the passing of the sublime and sadly missed Perth ABC radio broadcaster Russell (Rusty) Woolf early on Tuesday morning, I have been playing rather a lot of one of his favourite genres, Yacht Rock. Think Alan Parsons, Boz Scaggs, Christopher Cross, Steely Dan, Chicago, Toto, George Benson and one has the essence of Yacht Rock.

The Little River Band would probably not be described as Yacht Rock, though "Reminiscing" could  partially fall into that category. "Help is on its Way" is much more Pop Rock, given its guitar reliance and lack of subtlety. Now, don't get me wrong, "Help is on its Way" is still a great Australian song, reaching number one in the charts and was the impetus for this post.

Those who read my regular ramblings will be aware of my relationship with the NDIA/NDIS. If I professed any affection toward this agency and its scheme, I would be lying through my teeth. The NDIS/NDIA would have to be the most monstrous, the most unfriendly, the most obstructive, most secretive and the most unwieldly bureaucratic nightmare I have ever had the misfortune to encounter. To ask a question at their call centre is to invite six different responses from six different staffers. Rivalling Centrelink with their ham fisted efforts, I have been suffering from extreme frustration, disbelief, anxiety and uncertainty in my dealings with them over the last couple of years.

Expounded as the next best thing to sliced bread for the disabled, the National Disability Insurance Agency/Scheme currently does not deliver. In my quest to divert some of Alex's funding towards reverse cycle airconditioning for his well being, health and functionality, I have been stymied at every turn. Not enough medical information, not value for money, not the correct form have been some of the excuses with zero feedback in my quest to make my Autistic Superstar's quality of life better. Their internal review of their decision completely exonerated them.

Then, an almighty breakthrough. After being thoroughly dissatisfied with Alex's Plan Managers (based in Melbourne), I have become a client of Your Choice Plan Management in Perth and have met the scarily knowledgeable and terrifying efficient Kathryn Salt, along with an absolute powerhouse in NDIS advocacy Jeanette Barnesby. Between the pair of them, I have been taken by the scruff of my neck and given a NDIS 101 pounding. And I am so bloody grateful to them both. I now receive invoices to approve, have been given copious information and firm guidance and have actually started to understand how the NDIA/S operates.

They don't read paragraphs. Use point form.

Research their vocabulary, so the information is in their lingo.

Use an advocate who knows the ropes.

Do not accept a plan if dissatisfied with its outcomes.

Get the plan deciphered by an advocate or support coordinator.

Insist on service agreements with all parties. I think I am still waiting for one with Paraquad where Alex works three days a week.

As a parent and NDIS participant myself, I am supposed to receive all correspondence from the NDIA on Alex's behalf.

Alex does not understand his Plan. His LAC (Local Area Coordinator) has been putting documents in front of him to sign that he may have no comprehension. 

Local Area Coordinators follow a NDIS formula, which may not be in the best interests of the participant.

This is what I have learnt in less than two months after years of NDIS fog. Do not let this agency treat its participants like mushrooms. Rest from time to time if necessary, but keep trying. The NDIA appears to thrive on its client base giving up.

On Wednesday night, Jeanette introduced me to a whole new world of providing information to the NDIA/S. Last night, my homework continued as I added to the base that I am providing Jeanette. Between the pair of them, Kathryn and Jeanette are providing me with a new and structured frame to navigate the NDIS.

Maybe, just maybe, I can learn enough to improve Alex's outcomes, his health and his life.

This is Alex, very pleased at the opening of the Lego Shop in Karrinyup...

A legend in its own time...

Countdown with its live audience. The band is Skyhooks...

                                        

Yacht Rock...

Cover of the single, "Help is on its Way"...

The Little River Band...

Definitely not Yacht Rock...

*Sigh*

As a parent, I didn't have a hope of navigating the NDIS on my own...

With any luck...

How To Laugh In The Midst Of A Bittersweet Symphony?

I was having difficulty with the intensity of my emotions today. I have just finished watching a stream of this morning's ABC radio breakfast show. With Nadia Mitsopolous ( what a fabulous woman) running a three hour tribute to Russell Woolf the day after his unexpected death. I am mourning a man I didn't know, expect from off the radio and the telly. That he was four years younger than me and died without warning is also scary. And a reminder that life as we know could take a terrible turn in the blink of an eye.

I am also worried about Michael. That his wrist isn't broken is a relief, but we are waiting for the results of yesterday's MRI to learn the actual damage to his left wrist after forty years of physical effort, I also suspect that he has been consuming more of his depression medication that prescribed. Not intentionally, but he was convinced that he should be taking a higher dose. This discovery could answer a few queries about his unsteadiness that led to his falls and raised his blood pressure. I have taken back control of the drugs crate (!) and am monitoring his low mood, his sleep disturbances, his declining short-term memory and his lack of motivation. 

So, there we were, Michael still struggling with the figures of the latest power bill and me vacillating about housework when we decided to open out our kits from the National Bowel Cancer Screening Program. Not really wanting to use them but just to view the contents. Ladies and gentlemen, from that moment, the plot has been lost for the rest of the day as we examined the offerings of the kits and read the information booklet. 

What a glorious and vaguely inappropriate gift for us today. As we curiously opened the envelope, we were greeted by another sturdier package that presumably held all the necessary parts. Rather like Pass the Parcel, except we were a bit unsure whether we wanted to explore the inner workings.

After slight trepidation, we took the bull by the horns and ripped the cardboard package apart. We were greeted by the instruction leaflet, two small vials with some sort of liquid in them, two toilet liners, a sealable bag with small pad, the participant sheet and a reply paid envelope. And after reading the instruction leaflet, this was when my sense of humour took full flight into unexplored territory.

Apparently, one is supposed to place the toilet liner (writing facing up) across the seat and deposit a sample on the liner. I saw immediate problems and possible catastrophes. What if, comparing myself momentarily to anti vaxxers, I want to place the liner with the writing downwards? What if I don't want to use the liner at all, particularly if I'm prone to floaters? What if, like me, you generally widdle at the same time as pooing? I can see a disaster reminiscent of rising sea levels and sinking islands - what a hideous vision! Then there is the obligation to carry out this operation twice and keep your first poo in the fridge until your second jobby. What is some village idiot mistakes poo in a vial with pate and consumes it? What if the liner falls down the loo and one has to retrieve the sample from the bowl? What if one is struck by either diarrhoea or constipation? Or one then the other? How many days can a lonely poo stay in the fridge when waiting for its companion? And then there is the potential embarrassment of posting one's samples back. Country mail collections may not be as efficient as the city. Which means actually going into the Post Office. How does one go presenting their poo in the vials to the post master...Ye gods, the machinations of this procedure are just eye wateringly hilarious. Multiple failures are probably a quite realistic option during this whole process.

I have thoroughly enjoyed letting my imagination run wild with this post. I would welcome any musings in return. I would be particularly interested in those who have successfully completed bowel cancer screening and can provide feedback on any potential problems. All I can see is the possibly of this turning into a trip up Shit Creek without a paddle...

And I bet Russell Woolf and Eion Cameron are snorting with laughter too somewhere in the cosmos.

Nadia and Russell...

Living with IBS...

poo kit...

Really?

The sadly missed Mister Eion Cameron!

A Bittersweet Symphony...

We had to be out of Station House by nine o'clock this morning to see the Boy Wonder - orthopaedic surgeon to the stars - and discuss Michael's troublesome left wrist. I thought the day had taken a definitely weird turn when some geezer knocked on our front door at eight-twenty and enquired when "the man" was going to attend the servo across the laneway from our house. Completely blank for a second or two, I then realised that the chap assumed we ran the workshop and fuel station that is actually Richard Jas' property...I regaled him of this fact and suggested he could get fuel from the Dome up the road. It was his turn to look confused but I firmly and politely closed the door on him.

We launched forward before nine and headed west. The weather was deteriorating and intermittent rain spattered on the windscreen. In spite of our best intentions, the traffic was dreadful and we were running late. My mood was not helped as we learned that Russell Woolf, ABC radio host extraordinaire and four years my junior had died suddenly during last night.

Although I had never met Rusty, I'd regarded him as everybody's big boofy brother. I had listened to him for years on the radio and loved his persona as the ABC News weatherman. Today, I discovered that like a true showman, if he couldn't blind them with brilliance, he'd baffle them with bullshit. He was always saved with a lack of preparation by his quick wit, his razor-sharp intelligence and an outstanding work ethic. He seemed interested in all and sundry and would find fun in the most mundane topics. Starting in radio in Esperance, he graduated to Kalgoorlie and Karratha before arriving in the Big Smoke. He performed in most timeslots with aplomb. My one regret is missing his latest gig - Breakfast on the wireless. I hope that the sublime Eoin Cameron is waiting for him to show him the ropes in the universe before they settle down to listening to music, engaging in lively conversation and indulging in a drink or two. They don't make them like Rusty and Eoin anymore...

Lately, I have rediscovered Richard Ashcroft, the Verve and "Bittersweet Symphony". The opening lyrics - "Cause it's a bittersweet symphony, that's life. Tryna make ends meet, you're a slave to money then you die..." His amazing song describes the despair that so many feel in their everyday life. As relevant now as in the late 1990s, we sometimes all struggle with limited income, juggling bills, putting enough food on the table and attempting to maintain a positive mindset. And although I  have strongly identified with "Bittersweet Symphony" in the wake of Rusty's death, I doubt the man himself would have even been so pessimistic.

Following Rusty's passing, those who adored, admired or idolised him may find themselves in their own version of a bittersweet symphony. My heart goes out to his family, who will be dealing with an enormous emotional blast zone. I can only hope that we all learn to live with his absence and can remember those sweet recollections that even out the bitterness. 

Tonight, I want to cuddle with my beloved Michael like I will never let him go. We seldom know when our own lives will come to the end, thus tonight, I want to send my love to my family, my friends and anybody who reads this post. Hold on tight to those we cherish.

Vale Russell Woolf.

Russell Woolf...

Eion Cameron...

Richard Ashcroft...

The lyrics.

When Spring Has A Distinctly Quirky Sense Of Humour!

We are in the last week of October and the spring weather has been disconcertedly weird. We seem to lurch from cold fronts with wind and rain to warmer and sunny, before returning to frigid conditions. Today, I thought I would be comfortable in leggings, tee shirt and overshirt. The temperature fell sharply by three o'clock and we emerged from the doctors' surgery decidedly chilly. And I'd left my cardigan at home.

The Dome café didn't provide much respite. As the morning had been warmer and a trifle muggy, the ceiling fans had been activated. Although I enjoyed my ricotta slice and tea very much, I was relieved to climb back into Lily for the trip home in a cozy environment.

I must admit to being thoroughly tired of wearing multiple layers and worrying about our lack of firewood to warm the Gallery. Which seems quite ridiculous, because usually by this time of year, the universe has flicked a switch and Beverley welcomes the short late spring advent before the summer heat hits. I remain concerned that we will be suddenly catapulted this year from heating and jumpers to airconditioning and singlets.

The upside of the rain and cool has been the abundance of water still apparent. Local rivers are still flowing, dams on farms are full to overflowing, low lying paddocks have turned into marsh land and twice a day watering has not yet materialised. 

The wildflowers, particularly the orchids, have been magnificent. In our local Brooking Street Bushland reserve, the above average rain has seen orchids blooming for the first time in over five years. Our Community Garden, once an ugly town drain, is bursting with flowers and produce. The recent Beverley Rose Show was a triumph for our proud-as-punch Rose enthusiasts.

And yet, I do feel some trepidation. Neither of our two frangipanis are showing any signs of buds. I am really concerned that the rain and prolonged cool temperatures may have sounded their demise. I can only cross my fingers and hope that they show some proof of life soon.

There are consolations, of course. The days are now longer than the nights. The wet and blustery days do make way for glimpses of sun and warmth. We are able to throw the windows open sometimes and enjoy the sunshine and a breeze. The dogs are sunbaking on the glorious days. The cats, oppositional to the last, are sleeping more during the day and playing with gay abandon all through the night!

And the Gallery is looking stunning. Officially, Christmas Day is only two months away and guests in the Giftshop are already looking for festive items. Hence, I am amply stocked with cards, earrings and decorations. Thursday promises to still be cool on our first day back in the Gallery for this week. And then, once more, the sun will shine warmer and brighter, I shall reduce the number of layers I am wearing and we can fully open the doors.

Looking for an outing this weekend? Turn your vehicle of choice in the direction of Heavenly Beverley and come and see us.

This is Spring?!

All roads lead to Heavenly Beverley...

Inside our Visitors Centre...

Up, up and away!

Did somebody say lambs?!

Hi there!

Beverley Rose Show...

Santa arriving Christmas 2020

Inside the East End Gallery -