Please Read - What Should I Call This Post?

I have been banging around with titles for this post all day. Ones that have jumped into my head have included - does anybody give a stuff/shit/f#*k? So, I am throwing this title out to readers' suggestions who may give a stuff/shit/f#*k. I would be delighted if this post is viewed by more than 10 people. I would be ecstatic if this post actually captured the attention of the mainstream media. I think I am living in Cloud Cuckoo Land, given the amount of interest I hope to receive as opposed to the reality I am anticipating.

This post is all about lack of information sharing, disregard of appropriate and timely responses, appalling decisions and lack of continuity. I could link these issues to the death of Aishwarya Aswath in the Emergency Department of the the Perth Children's Hospital. A little girl died by a litany of failures committed in a state-of-the-art health facility. She may have been beyond saving, but due to her treatment, we will never know. 

We all are filled with outraged horror at this outcome and vow these incidents should never occur again. Except, these incidents do occur, every day. This kind of casual contempt may not actually lead to death, but has major implications for those living with chronic illness and disability.

Let me give a few examples of this behaviour that has caused Alex and me extreme stress over the last week -

• Alex's sleep study report confirming severe obstructive sleep apnoea was not forwarded to his respiratory specialist.
• Alex's MRI results related to his frontal lobe damage have not been forwarded to me, despite Alex and I presenting a document to his GP last year that he gives permission to release all reports to me.
• In fact, none of Alex's recent reports have been e-mailed to me. When I protested to his GP's office, the excuse I was given was "But there are so many reports!" Give me strength.
• The commercial arm of the Sleep Study organisation sent Alex what I would consider a "sales pitch" of CPAP devices and service . Given his difficulties with processing large chucks of written information, he immediately descended into panic.
• No medical professional has attempted to find a connection with all Alex's diagnoses. He has a number of obscure conditions, which in my brief research, appear to have a genetic component. If this is the case, the NDIS needs to recognise Alex's issues as conditions rather than "illnesses" which should alter his funding model. The funding is not the issue. The funding currently has such a narrow scope of delivery that we can't fund the services or devices that Alex requires.
• The NDIS has maintained its persona as the Department of Stealth and Total Obscurity. Documents are routinely lost, responses are non-existent or nonsensical, emails and phone calls are not returned, and service delivery is patchy. In the three and a half years that Alex has been a participant in the NDIS, we have yet to receive a satisfactory plan. 

Here is a current list of Alex's diagnoses as sent to Minister Shorten this afternoon -

• Tricuspid Atresia (a congenital heart defect)

• Asthma

• Pseudomonas infilltration of his lower left lung

• Frontal lobe damage caused by a stroke as an infant, only discovered through MRI last year

• Low muscle tone

• Scoliosis

• Autism

• Difficulties with processing of language, both verbal and written

• Chronic Anxiety

• Keratoconus (a disorder which causes conical corneas and may have a genetic component)

• Severe obstructive sleep apnoea (which may have a genetic component).

   

  I have also repeatedly requested increases to Alex's Support Coordination, with tangible reasoning. Given Alex's level of anxiety, he often requires the assistance of either myself or his Support Coordinator to defuse a potential panic attack. Alex currently has either eight (8) or twelve (12) hours per annum for Support Coordination contact, the conduit between us and the NDIS. Please think about those figures for a minute and consider if a young man with his complex needs has enough Support Coordination. The service provider that manages his Support Coordination has only ever known one case with lower funding. 

  Here is a further excerpt of my letter to Minister Shorten -

   I have been told by a NDIA Local Area Coordinator that Alex is far too complex for a base LAC and this should be reflected in the amount of Support Coordination funding he receives. His previous Support Coordinator Ms Shannon Kirk repeatedly requested more hours to be funded, including dot points to illustrate how thirty-nine (39) hours per year would be utilised for Alex’s needs.

   And this about the NDIA's record of lost documents and failure to respond to legitimate queries -

    I was recently contacted by Jayne Jones, who purported that she was from the NDIA, supposedly checking the effectiveness of Alex’s current plan. She asked me to submit a Carer Impact Statement again. My previous statement, submitted in 2021, was nowhere to be found. She also asked me to resubmit Alex’s MRI reports again, as they were nowhere to be found. I am yet to receive any feedback, including if she received the documents, which I asked in writing that she do.

  Two or so years ago, I repeatedly requested the NDIS fund reverse cycle airconditioning in Alex’s unit, due to multi-factorial issues including inability to recognise his temperature, the serious risk of severe asthma and chest infections if he became too cold, the link between cold and his experience of cardiac arrhythmia, a significant drop in his daily functionality due to cold and his uncertainty over appropriate clothing.

  We were rejected three times and in my opinion, the explanations were totally arbitrary. Fortunately, a benefactor paid for Alex’s airconditioning. We are now in debt to that wonderful person for the sum of $4000.

  We are now contemplating his urgent requirement for a CPAP machine for his severe sleep apnoea. We currently have no idea if the NDIS can fund this device, which is essential for Alex as soon as possible. 

  We are really lucky that Alex has the services of an superb independent support worker on Saturdays. We would like to access more hours for Alex's needs to relieve my ongoing stress, but so far, this has not been possible. We live in hope...

  So, there is the reality of the situation for Alex and I day in, day out. Unlike Aishwarya, Alex is unlikely to die tonight. However, with untreated severe sleep apnoea, and his other life long conditions, I do worry about waking up and discovering he has died because of disjointed services and lack of information sharing.

  So, can anybody out there go in to bat for Alex and me...
  

   This is Alex -
  

  
  
   

  
  

  
  

 

In And Out...And In And Out...

Ah...retirement! Beautiful one day, medical appointments the next! Another day in paradise right here in Heavenly Beverley. Summer has hit us like a Pan-galactic Gargleblaster, without the velvet. We all moaned about the extended cool spring, so the universe has had the last laugh, with most recent days hovering around the old century mark. I used to love the hot weather. Now, I am in love with ceiling fans and air-conditioning in the heat and heating in the cold.

Yesterday, we launched forward towards the Big Smoke with two tasks to complete. These were somewhat tiresome appointments that illustrate becoming older beautifully. 

The first errant was to a lawyers' office in West Perth. We needed to have our wills renewed as our needs have changed to some extent and our previous solicitor may well still be in jail. We'd never considered him to be criminal material and neither apparently did any of his other clients. Our latest, and hopefully law-abiding pillar of the legal world, noted that the clients he had inherited all just considered the fellow to be a little odd or eccentric. 

Our meeting was painless to all except our hip pocket. Because of Alex's special circumstances, our wills have ballooned from a simple and straightforward three pages to a thickness akin to a dictionary. That was an "In". The only "Out" was the removal of a previous beneficiary.

The second item on the agenda was Michael's CT scan on his abdomen to search for any nasties that we sincerely hope aren't there. We have reached a certain age where one test seems to lead to another. And we are paying for all the indiscretions of our younger selves. Michael is aghast at being reduced to one glass of red wine a night for six weeks to give his fatty liver a rest. He is even more aghast at the concept of consuming three or more serves of veggies every day. His idea of enough is plenty of potatoes with as minimal green stuff as possible. The boom has been lowered.

As for me, I am cheering at the delightful thought of another removal of a skin cancer - this time from my noggin. The biopsy performed by the delicious Doctor Daram confirmed the result - another BCC (basal cell carcinoma) hiding under my hair. Who would have thought that barbecuing oneself every summer until I was fifteen would lead to such a later fun activity? Fortunately, my head is being assaulted in early March when I can still get away wearing a hat.

Michael's CT was efficiently performed with absolutely no clue as to the results. The dye went "In" and the immediate sensation suggested warm fluid was heading "Out" Luckily, we are both aware that the feeling one has peed oneself is just a side effect of the test.We now wait with bated breath for the Report.

This morning, I enjoyed a most lively conversation with Pam, Receptionist to the Stars at the Vines Medical Centre here in town. Yesterday, she had left a message that since the COVID boosters were not "In" the practice yet , our stabbings for tomorrow needed to be postponed. Funnily enough, the boosters came "In" this morning, meaning they can be injected "Out" into our upper arms tomorrow after all. If a miracle occurs during our visit to the quacks' office, Michael's CT results may be "In" as well!

For some obscure reason, the Who's "Squeezebox" jumped into my head as I was considering where the hell this post was going. Probably all the references to "In" and "Out". Pardon my complete ignorance, but how was I to know that a squeezebox was slang for a woman's vagina as well as for an accordion? Without a clue at sixty-one years of age, one of my favourite songs is all about quite explicit sex!

Who remembers a quaint and mildly amusing movie named "In and Out", about a teacher who is outed as being gay, when he does not believe himself to be so. Inspired in part by a speech in the uber-serious Philadelphia, the movie explores sensuality, sexuality, exclusion and triumph in a reasonably light format. I had no idea that Joan Cusack, the lead female actor was nominated for an Oscar. Now I will have to watch the movie again.

Finally, how many others are enjoying the fabulous adventures of Bill and Sheila, along with their guides to "free camping and good stuff". Artist Michael Jones has created an iconic retired couple in a series of wonderful mini paintings. They are camped somewhere in their caravan on a secluded beach, though they are close enough to a town for Bill to be retrieved from the Bowling Club by the local coppers. Bill, whilst giving great impressions of his manly virtues, seem to spend most of his time on a lilo, asleep under the newspaper. Sheila is the responsible one, alerting Bill to snakes, spiders and the high tide, whilst she performs rather a lot of the hard yakka at their site. Do yourselves a favour and grab a peek of Bill flat "Out" on his back whilst Sheila jumps "In" to carry out the necessary duties.

 

 

I love my Nannie naps!

 

 

This is our ongoing mission!

 

 

How I'd like to compose my will...

 

 

Rather than a tome heavier than "War And Peace"!

Well hello CT!

 

 

Bummer!

 

 

Am I the most gullible person in the known universe?

 

 

Is he in? Is he out?

 

 

 "Is This Yours?"

Bill and Sheila forgot about the king tide...

When The World Remains Mine Oyster ...

I have had to undertake a spot of research for this post. The phrase "the world is my oyster" popped into my head whilst contemplating the accidental breakage of a New Guinean clay pot that was at least fifty years old. "She's finally flipped her lid", I can hear some of you tut tutting. I'll see if I can explain what actually happened in a sea of memories, observations and conclusions that followed the unfortunate demise of the pot.

Needless to say "the world is my oyster" is a misinterpreted Shakespearean quote from "The Merry Wives of Windsor" , a play of which I have no knowledge at all. Being utterly unfamiliar, I consulted Google and am relying on the Readers' Digest version of the plot. The story follows a con man, Falstaff and his unsavoury companions who want to fleece money from a couple of honourable married ladies. having hit hard times. From what I understand, the play descends into a farce of costumes and trickery, with incomprehensible dialogue, young love triumphing and the bad guy being taught a lesson.  

Back to "the world is mine oyster". In Shakespearean times, oysters were eaten out of the river and, being notoriously hard to open, a knife or sword had to be utilised in order to gain access to the inside meat. One of Falstaff's "associates" Pistol uses the phrase when the former will not lend him money. There is implied violence that Pistol will take whatever he wishes, with his sword as his weapon of choice.

However, a flip side of the coin is the analogy that an oyster may contain a life-changing pearl, a reward for all our good work. Thus, "the world is mine oyster" has been altered to mean that positives are possible, as long as we keep up the hard slog. Therefore, "the world is your oyster" is one of those patronising phrases that might be churned out as parents farewell their offspring from the bosom of the family.  My children were not given such platitudes - they were just informed that Michael and I were moving to Beverley and they were not invited!

And, whilst gazing at the corpse of the clay pot, I pontificated a completely different interpretation. If being inside an oyster with a valuable pearl is meaningful, then maybe leaving the oyster could be viewed as a negative step. After all, if stepping out of one's comfort zone means facing all the uncertainties of the outside world, a vulnerable, a less adventurous or even manipulative person might want to stay where all beliefs and values are unchanging and predicable. 

How is everybody coping with that bit of alternate philosophy? But wait, there's more. Surely, I would have been distraught about breaking a pot that had been in the family since the 1970s and I was the last custodian. What I actually experienced was a vague sadness at its loss and the sense that a final chapter had been closed.

The pot had been bought in New Guinea, just after that country's independence, by my darling Dad. As part of his role as a liquidating accountant, he spent the best part of a couple of years flying backwards and forwards to Lei in the Highlands, salvaging the remains of a defunct regional airline. He persuaded Mum to bring me along on one of his trips. I was excited at the thought. Mum was not. I still have no idea why we went. Mum had a bee in her bonnet about security concerns, so she and I sat in a mouldy motel room for several days. On our last evening, we were invited to a BBQ with some other expat families. I ate some less than well cooked pork and by the following morning, I was still pretty unwell. The only commands that Mum dished out was not to behave like I was sick, otherwise we wouldn't have been allowed on the plane .I still have no idea to this day if that was just another of Mum's febrile projections.

Hence, the pot really didn't have many great memories. Over the entirety of her adult years, Mum sat with her pearl, her opinions and beliefs becoming narrower and narrower and her behaviour self-centred and calculated. Dad loved his computer, so Mum sold it. Dad went to yoga on his own; Mum stated she couldn't manage without him. Mum would get into terrible disagreements with neighbours, so we were always on the move. Mum used money as a weapon; Dad was powerless.Mum would play us off one against the other; Dad was incapable of intervening to help us. We endured a chaotic four weeks when Mum decided she and Dad would live in a granny flat on our property. Needless to say, in Mum's eyes, we ended up as the Bad Guys.

Don't get me wrong - this is not a defeatist story. Because of  Mum, I have taken my pearl, left my oyster and spread my wings in directions I never would have thought possible. I have met fabulous people whom she would never have approved. I have delightedly accepted hand-me-down clothes she would have rejected. I have shared joyful tales over camp fires or inside pubs with "undesirables". I have discovered to never judge a book by its cover. I am neither thin nor rich - qualities she wholeheartedly followed at the detriment of all around her. Never happy, always frustrated and often mean-spirited, she died alone in her beautiful retirement villa, with Dad having been banished into the low care on-site centre. Which he thoroughly enjoyed for another nine months after her death.

So, the destruction of a clay pot actually had a really interesting conclusion. Dad, wherever he is in the universe, no longer has the pull of a domineering wife.  I no longer have a domineering mother. I am living an imperfect life, full of happiness, uncertainty, frustrations, challenges and many wonderful surprises. 

Now that was a convoluted tale! Till next time.

 

 

 

A similar clay pot to the one I broke...

 

  

 

Yet another curious quote by Mister Shakespeare!

 

 

  

 

Eating your oysters too! 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Look out world - my pearl and I are on the loose!

 

 

Wonderful Weekend Intelludes

The last week or so has been a bit torrid for the likes of the Beverley Hillbillies. Our home is our haven, our sanctuary, our relaxing zone. We love having friends at Station House, but when unexpected visitors turn up, maybe with their own agendas, we tend to become rather stressed and uncomfortable. And whilst giving support and attention to others is natural to me, and Michael would have to be the most  empathetic and patient of listeners, there are times that we just need to be on our own. Or with like-minded family and friends who are just delighted to inhabit a space of belonging alongside us. 

Our Autistic Superstar, Alex, arrived in his Support Worker to the Stars Pascal's very classy and clean charcoal vehicle, just before lunch on Saturday. Alex was wonderfully enthusiastic about the timing of their touchdown. A short time later, we decamped to the Red Vault for a spot of luncheon. Alex cheerfully demolished two hash browns, a strawberry milkshake and a large wrap. He filled me in with his latest exploits, bemoaning the lack of sleep during his sleep study (!), totally blase about his brain MRI, informing me of his upcoming appointment with his respiratory specialist and falling into fits of giggles when I just mentioned inserting large garden gnomes into doctors who repeatedly fail to send me his reports. 

I have often wondered if I could bottle Pascal, or maybe clone him. This bloke is intelligent, intuitive, flexible and knowledgeable. Because he knows Alex's need to be busy, Pascal explores new options and activities for them to attend on Saturdays, along with the boring cleaning and shopping. Having seen one support worker sitting on his bottom on Alex's couch watching the cricket, instead of engaging with him, I know the difference between mediocre and excellent. Pascal is, naturally, the latter, and we thank the universe for him every week. We still live in hope he can find more hours in his hectic schedule to give an additional session to Alex on another day.

Anyway, after lunch, Alex and I departed on a very brisk walk down to the Community Garden. When he was  young and his right sided muscle weakness was very apparent, I would walk ahead of him, bellowing "chop! chop!" at him. He would respond in an aggrieved voice - "I'm chopping! I'm chopping!" Needless to say, Alex has had the last laugh. With aged muscles and incomplete recovery after my knee replacement, Alex zoomed ahead of me, whilst I plaintively pleaded for him to wait for me. 

Fortunately, we slowed down to sub-sonic pace to admire the garden and I was able to catch my breath.  Beverley's Community Garden has been a love affair by volunteers to create a beautiful setting out of a disused piece of land with a completely charmless drain. Fast forward a couple of years and the garden is packed with fruit trees, ornamentals, roses, veggies, herbs, vines and plenty of shade. As we are approaching the end of summer, some of the plantings are looking a tad weary, but new ground is being prepared for autumn and the promise of rain.

Launching forward onto Forrest Street and then turning into Vincent Street, we hurtled back into the East End Gallery before I succumbed to exhaustion.  Pascal was most sympathetic. We chatted amiably for another half hour before Alex declared they were leaving for the retail juggernaut of Midland in the hunt for a new washing machine. Imagine Pascal's horror when he discovered a local feathered fiend had poohed on his pristine car bonnet. 

Anyway, after that shattering experience, they parted for the Big Smoke. Unfortunately, they were unable to find the washing machine he wanted, so that purchase had to be put on hold. With Pascal's able assistance, Alex has recently bought himself a new fridge for his unit. Alex's life, experiences and coping with changes are increasing in leaps and bounds. Now I just have to contact his new Support Coordinator to gain his details, so Alex's assistance team can be enhanced. Shannon (Captain) Kirk was so good as a Support Coordinator that she was inevitably promoted...*sigh*

Anyway, after we we waved Alex and Pascal off, we shut the Gallery early and retired for a snooze in our boudoir. The late afternoon and evening was unfortunately interrupted so our watering regime was thrown into chaos. We crossed our fingers that our beloved garden would not succumb during the night.  And I was tired. Again. I somehow stayed awake for "Call the Midwife" before heading for bed.

Yesterday (Sunday) became another fabulous episode of warmth and belonging. The morning began as  bittersweet; we farewelled a friend who has had endured some unpleasant trials whilst being in Beverley. We hope that all becomes well in time. Over lunch, we welcomed new artist Val Burns, who left us two landscapes with promises of more of her oils. She declined to have her photo taken so guests will have to wait for her biography to be added. Val's oils will be hung this week and available from this coming Thursday.

The Gallery was slow and lazy on a slow and lazy afternoon. Michael decided that he could not put off cleaning the windows a moment longer. With all his perfectionism on show, he proudly completed one side of the big (and I mean big) windows at the front. One down...three to go!

With guest attendance non existent, I walked up to the Station Gallery to finally spend some time with the Artist-in-Residence Mutsuko Bonnardeaux, a "Kumi-E" artist. I was completely unprepared for my astonishment as I saw her work for the first time. Born in Japan, married to a Belgian chap and having lived all over the world, she now resides in Perth. How lucky for us that she came to Heavenly Beverley.

Her work is jaw-droppingly amazing. She begins by making her own paper from the Japanese Mulberry. This is a complex and time consuming process. She also formulates her own paper dyes and uses specific acid-free paper for creating faces. Once prepared, the paper is then torn and built piece by piece into incredibly intricate collages. She rarely draws, using her intrinsic skills and superb inner vision to complete these wonderful pieces that both invite the viewer to be drawn in and then out. 

We are hopeful that she will leave a few of her works with us when she finishes her Residency tomorrow. Do head to the East End Gallery to view her art. These collages will take your breath away.

Anyway, once I had recovered my voice, we invited Mutsuko, along with Jan and Greg to drinks in Station House. She arrived with this fantastic appetizer - bread topped with Miso paste, avocado and lemon juice. The taste was sensational. Finally, I have found an excuse to buy myself an avocado (and Miso Paste) as Michael believes avocados give him indigestion. I think it's a figment of his fevered imagination...

We spent a very happy couple of hours around our table, before we all went our separate ways. Once again, I didn't last long after dinner. I was overjoyed to see the new episode of "Death in Paradise" before toddling off to bed once more.

    And thus ended a most satisfactory weekend. 

 

 

An unusual guest...

 

 

Alex at the Red Vault

 

 

With Pascal

 

 

Alex @ the Beverley Community Garden -

 

 

 

 

"Yenyening Sunset" - Val Burns

 

 

"A Quiet Sunrise" - Val Burns

 

 

Mutsuko

 

 

Mutsuko's collages using Kumi E

"Like 'Home and Away' Without The Car Crash!"

The Australian television soapie 'Home and Away' is the stuff of legends. Premiering in 1988, the show has continued unabated for thirty-five years. Originally, the story-line followed the Fletcher family and their foster children, who moved to the fictitious town of Summer Bay after buying the local caravan park. Since those early days, 'Home and Away' has morphed into a juggernaut tackling topics from self-harm to autism, cyber-bullying to miscarriage and eating disorders to witness protection. There have also been repeated natural disasters such as floods and bushfires, along with shootings, accidents involving all types of vehicles and some moderately strong violence, which may have caused a few raised eyebrows, considering the programme airs at seven o'clock four evenings a week.

'Home and Away' could also be viewed as a nursery for budding actors keen to get a foot in the door. Chris Hemsworth, Naomi Watts, Heath Ledger,  Isla Fisher, Guy Pearce and Melissa George all cut their teeth on 'Home and Away' before moving onto quite stellar international careers. There are only two original cast members from the first series, although some others, such as Kate Ritchie, stayed in character for twenty years.

Summer Bay, with all these hair-raising events, could be thought to be unrealistic and over-the-top. After the previous week here in Heavenly Beverley, I could affirm that truth is sometimes stranger than fiction. Hot weather and funerals have made strange bedfellows this month and left some of us (including me) shaking our heads in disbelief. Let me explain...

Unfortunately for all involved, Beverley experienced three funerals and wakes over three consecutive days. Two of these were perfectly well-mannered and sedate affairs, showing the deceased persons the dignity, love and respect they deserved, without any ruckus.

The other funeral was an utterly different matter. A split family, with two wakes, degenerated into a free for all, with police in attendance. Additionally, others chose to engage in appalling behaviour which degenerated into fisticuffs and an alleged threatened knifing. One of our pubs became a war zone, which resulted in frightened staff, angry publicans and bewildered guests. One worker who was staying the night commented that the pub had become "like 'Home and Away' without the car crash!" Not a flattering analogy. 

We all read the papers and watch the news, tut-tutting in the assurance that we would never see that type of disorder in our suburb or town. Heavenly Beverley has just won the State Award for Best Heritage Street Walk, our Wine and Tapas bar  will open shortly with art, music and theatre developing strongly, along with fun for all ages from littlies to families.

As a community, we can't allow a minority of idiots to spoil our future. Because Heavenly Beverley does have a promising future, unlike some other towns which are dying or have expired. As a community, I believe we need to come together to lift our game, be innovative and cooperative and remain a fabulous town where all are welcome. We have a moto-cross and off-road clubs, along with a multitude of sports and other activities. For those who choose to be disruptive, then clear and consistent rules need to be initiated as a matter of urgency in our pubs and other venues. There must be a firm message that whilst having a good time is fine, anti-social behaviour will not be tolerated. 

I don't want to sound like an aggrieved kill-joy. I enjoy a drink as much as anybody and I loved the recent live band that attended the Hotel Beverley a few Saturdays ago. I have had more than my fair share of hangovers, and will probably continue to overdo drinks from time to time. But alcohol and aggression go hand-in-hand for some and the rest of us shouldn't have to put up with that. 

Sorry for the serious tone of this post, however, I am sure that I am not the only person who doesn't want Heavenly Beverley's glorious reputation to slip because the grown-ups didn't step up. 

Constructive suggestions, anybody?

 

Further Revelations That I Forgot To Add!

We are already one month down in 2023. I am bidding a hearty welcome to February as the state's school-aged urchins returned to their respective educational facilities yesterday. Frazzled parents can settle back into a routine, new kindy attendees will hopefully keep their wide-eyed innocence for a few years, and the rest of the returning students will be suitably content (or not) with another year's learning ahead of them. Though I must admit, we didn't have many boring moments at Beverley's fabulous Moort Wabiny play space and skate park. This wonderful park, which also boasts free BBQs, water, shade and night illumination was well attended all holidays from littlies right through to twenty-something skateboarders and loads of family groups!

I can't continue without wishing my son Callum and daughter-in-law Bronwyn every success as they return to their teacher positions for 2023. Bron's tenure is only of short duration as she will begin Maternity Leave in two weeks. We will all then be excitingly awaiting Pumpkin's arrival sometime in March. As for Callum, he was champing at the bit to start his new role as Arts Specialist at Ballajura Primary School. Ever the enthusiastic perfectionist, his classroom was all systems GO for yesterday's first day and he had thoroughly enjoyed the staff bonding experience at mini golf. As one of multiple new staff, he will have plenty of camaraderie with them and the remainder of the existing teaching cohort. Just for him, here is my typical subdued and measured reaction - you rock, Cal!

Alex will be honouring us with his presence in Heavenly Beverley, along with Pascal (who will supply the wheels for the expedition) on Saturday week.  After years of struggling to procure an innovative, calm and intelligent Support Person/ Guide for Alex, we have hit the jackpot with Pascal. Every Saturday, he and Alex may go on an outing, attend an activity, get some exercise, complete his weekly shopping or assist him with any number of ordinary life issues. That Pascal is a friendly, well spoken and accommodating bloke is the icing on the cake. Alex spent many years surrounded by females and needed a male companion to balance his life. Whoo-hoo for Alex and Pascal!

Michael proved himself to be The Man today. With only some minor direction, he has vacuumed and washed the floors at Station House whilst I opened the Gallery. Plus he has promised to make pizza for dinner to give me a break from the kitchen. Whilst having lunch with me, he made me a cuppa with minimal hinting. Oh my giddy aunt, how wonderful is my husband!

Anyway, I've digressed...What this post was supposed to express was new (and otherwise forgotten) discoveries that still show I have much to learn, which is pretty good as far as I am concerned. Otherwise, I may run out of anecdotes to add to this blog - (highly unlikely, I know.) 

And so, in no particular order, here are my latest musings about life, the universe and everything -

• never try to wear a strappy, velcro-attached sandal when one has a foot the size of an elephant's. As  I attempted to limp in an attractive, rather than pathetic way, my sandal disengaged from my right foot and flew off at high speed of its own accord.

• better to swallow one's pride and visit the disabled toilets following a knee replacement, rather than believe in the ability to haul one's arse off the seat without railings. I had an unfortunate and painful episode when I was almost marooned in the Ladies Loos at Mundaring Village shopping centre.

• always remember to wear one's glasses when moving around the house which is also home to a geriatric piddling Jack Russell. I don't think I need to embellish the illustration.

• remind one's partner not to leave chocolate within reach of the Kelpie's mouth. This entailed me chasing Stella around the living room this morning to remove a largish chunk of Kit-Kat out of her gob. She was most put out as I retrieved the stolen chocolate and I am convinced she arranged for Pip to wee right in the path of my spectacle-less route to the bin.
   
• doctor's instructions may be taken with a pinch of salt. On our way home from the Big Smoke yesterday, I took over driving from Michael as he was practically falling asleep. Later, he had a most satisfying nanna nap which revived him enough to stay up after I'd retired to bed and leave chocolate out for Stella...Apparently, I shouldn't be driving until six weeks post op. Yesterday was twenty-three days and I was fine. Just don't tell Kon Kozacs...

• please use my body as a pin-up example of why one shouldn't barbecue oneself as a teenage. Last week involved a six-monthly recheck with the delicious Daram Singh, who uttered those truly tragic words "Down to your bra and knockers, Kate". He then inspected every inch of my wobbly bits and found yet another BCC (basal cell carcinoma) under my hair on my head. A biopsy was swiftly performed and I have to return to our gorgeous skin specialist in March to have more whipped off. Daram cheerfully quipped "Just another one for the collection!"
   
• don't pass up the opportunity to explore cheaper vino options in Aldi, particularly in the state of pauperdom.  Wine is, at times, a tad expensive through the Usual Suspects and Michael had a particularly rewarding excursion whilst I was tackling the horrors of supermarket shopping.

•  persevere with one's gut feelings, particularly in relation to health. I understand that we shouldn't rely on Doctor Google implicitly, but knowledge is power and some reputable medical sites do provide good information. Doctor Google helped me to recognise Michael's post operative delirium and more recently, suggested that my disgustingly cracking and peeling feet may be due to Moccasin Tinea. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, there is such a condition, and with encouragement from our podiatrist, I no longer use copious volumes of moisturiser  with zero effect. Four weeks of over-the-counter tinea cream applied to my soles has transformed my life. No cracks, no peeling, no agony, no misery. May Doctor Google, the universe and our podiatrist Kath all receive my eternal gratitude.

I think that may be enough of my profound ramblings for this post. I would welcome any further tips that may improve the quality of all our lives, or at least, help us avoid geriatric dog wee in the kitchen.

 

Until next time. 

 

 

 

Callum with Immy January 2023

 

 

Bron and Immy January 2023

 

 

Michael with our lovely adopted daughter Paula

 

 

Bron, Alex and Cal 

 

 

Very useful device for toileting after a knee replacement...

 

 

 How I imagined myself at the wheel...

 

 

Closer to the mark! 

 

 

I promise I won't drive for six weeks. Kon!

 

 

Looking for a BCC...

 

 

If you have a foot that looks a bit like this, you can get treatment!

 

 

Very useful items when avoiding dog piddle,,,

 

 NOT Pip - he never looks guilty!

 

 

Quickly becoming my mantra for 2023.