They Call Him Mister Wick...!

Michael is generally the most genial, patient and tolerant of men. For example, this morning I found his very expensive bonsai branch cutters that I had left on top of an outside pillar for about the last six weeks. (I actually believed I'd accidentally thrown them out 😢). My relief that I was not a total idiot was tempered by the fact that they had been exposed to the weather and had had developed a reasonable smattering of rust. Fortunately, Michael's grinding wheel will take care of the rust and he will also give them a coat of clear lacquer to safeguard them from any further outdoor adventures. And no, he was not the slightest bit cranky with me...

An utter paradox of this persona is his immense pleasure in watching movies on the telly that are definitely not my cup of tea. He has been absolutely mesmerised by the "John Wick" franchise. Each of these movies is chock-full of violence, uber-aggression and non-stop, nonsensical action. The smell of the dominant male is all pervasive. The story-lines are just an adjunct to shooting, stabbing, fighting, bombing and of course, rocket launching. In my opinion, Mister Wick is a miserable brooding creature with no redeeming features whatsoever. Somebody really needs to end his suffering...

Yet, Michael loves this series and has watched most, if not all the Chapters. Because these movies are devoid of any rational plot, he usually forgets which he has seen and which he has not. However, quite frankly, Mister Wick is no longer welcome in Station House.

On Saturday night, I fell asleep during a far more pleasurable excursion to Midsomer, watching the ever-reliable John Barnaby and Jamie Winter solve yet another series of relatively grisly murders. Retiring to bed, Michael then gleefully switched over to "John Wick Chapter 73" and settled in for a gratuitous fix of violent action. And that's when the trouble began...

Michael eventually climbed into our bed sometime around midnight. Somehow, a series of unfortunate events then transpired during the rest of the night, which I think were caused by too much essence of Mister John Wick permeating our consciousness.  

I had an exceptionally vivid dream about having to break my string of lovely pearls I always wear around my neck. Which I did, whilst being sound asleep. Michael found the string bits during the night and tucked them under my pillow. Upon arising in the morning, two additional pearls that had been underneath my bottom, hit the deck and rolled under a bookshelf. Obviously, I am definitely not as sensitive as the main protagonist in "The Princess and the Pea"!

In addition, Michael's CPAP mask found its way onto another bookshelf, probably being tossed there by Himself at some stage in the wee small hours of the morning. Usually, if he removes his mask, it only ventures behind his head or onto his bedside table. He had no memory of having thrown his mask a reasonable distance and no explanation of why he had done so.

Finally, Lexi was in fine form in the early morning, finding Michael's old camera bag, opening all three zippers and removing the charger cord and plug, which she joyfully demolished on her bed. Not quite satisfied with those efforts, she then left an enormous wee trail by the back screen door. A touch of guilt, a hint of regret? No such luck. We woke to the repetitive CLUNK of Lexi launching the electric plug across the lino, chasing it, retrieving it, giving it another decent chomp and then beginning her game all over again.

That was the ultimate insult. The moon was not full, the date was not significant and we had not been disturbed by any other calamitous tiding. A different force was obviously responsible. In my opinion, the spectre of that dreadful John Wick had caused all these nocturnal shenanigans.

I have Put My Foot Down. Mister Wick is hereby banned from our home forever. In perpetuity. Until hell freezes over. With no reprieve. Rather an appropriate outcome, methinks!

I'll just put on the kettle and watch another episode of the far more wholesome "Midsomer Murders".

Until next time...

PS our new bonsai branch trimmers have just arrived!

 

 

Whoops. Wrong Mister...

 

 

What a surprise...John Wick with a gun...

 

 

John Wick with more guns...

 

 

John Wick looking over his shoulder...

 

 

John Wick needing a good shampoo and cut...

 

 

Trying to get me hooked through the dogs...

 

 

Not quite ready to give Mister Wick absolution!

 

 

Give me Barnaby, Winter and Paddy. They's all happy!

 

Our new branch cutters!

Mornings With Lexi... (And Stella)

There is a book that I have never read, but always loved its title. "Tuesdays With Morrie" is a memoir, a biography, a thesis, a comment on humanity. Conversations between a former student and a professor about life, the universe and everything, occurring in the last months before the professor's death. So, now I will have to actually read "Tuesdays With Morrie" and discover the world that was created by Mitch Albom and Morrie Schwartz. Maybe I'll even absorb a bit more wisdom and insight. And the universe knows I can use all the help I can get!

Mornings with Lexi is an entirely different proposition to my imagined gentleness of Morrie's and Mitch's Tuesday communions. Lexi is our eleven-month-old black Groodle puppy. For those who may not know what a Groodle is, she is currently a very expensive mutt with hypoallergenic tendencies. Groodles will probably be bona-fide pedigree dogs in about seven more generations. Lexi's mum is a caramel coloured Groodle (Golden Retriever/Poodle cross) and her dad is a standard black Poodle. Sourced from Apache Park Groodles near Newlands in the south west of WA, Lexi has been with us since last August. She has added a dimension of delight and hilarity to our lives, as well as being Stella's much-loved sister and buddy.

Lexi's mischief making usually occurs in the early morning, around sunrise. Before that, she sleeps angelically sprawled on one of our couches, usually with Stella. Between the pair of them, the dogs take up the entirety of a three-seater couch. Stella prefers the tucked position to keep her feet warm. Lexi's position is not for the faint-of-heart. Her preferred sleeping posture is on her back, legs splayed in all direction, her head lolling to one side or the other. There is definitely no primness about our Lexi.

Once awake, she energetically explores her options. She might try her paw at a spot of gardening, and is often particularly eager to dispatch any of my plants that may be displaying murderous intent. She also enjoys upending pots so she may munch on the plastic feet that keep the plants' roots from becoming waterlogged. She is rather partial to disused plastic pots left on the outdoor table but only the ones that have some remaining soil so that she may leave a trail of debris when she joyously carries them into the house.

If Lexi is not in an outdoorsy mood, she surveys the inside opportunities. Being a keen connoisseur of all plastic (preferably hard), she may liberate the dish drainer of both containers and lids, carrying them to her bed, breaking them up into small and sharp pieces very unfriendly to bare feet. Michael's water bottles are also a favourite target. Full of water still? No problem! At least I know she hasn't weed all over her bed from the lack of smell. Currently, she has also gnawed her way through two shire registration tags and I am hesitant to ask for a third one.

Important papers are no match for Lexi's chomping. Newspapers and magazines are another chance to test her fine motor skills, delicately tearing pages apart whilst holding them between her two front paws. Cardboard boxes? As she possesses the sixth sense, she is aware that we have far too many boxes already and is then forced to destroy any others with gay abandon. Sturdy document boxes with lids are easy prey if we are silly enough to leave them in accessible locations. Which of course, we have done.

She has embarked on some minor excavation of one of the couches, but has been mostly been foiled by the strategic placement of a foot stool. Lest we forget the extraordinary repurposing of our previous red couches and three club chairs. When Stella was a puppy, her destruction was definitely on a grander scale. Four sets of Michael's thongs were also demolished by Stella before he cottoned on and began putting them away. Now that Stella is a far maturer lady of five years, she does not display such behaviour, at least when we are looking. I have a distinct feeling that Stella joins in the fun once Lexi has begun, making sure she is demurely lying in the crate when we reluctantly rise from bed to investigate the latest carnage.

I do sometimes become cranky at both dogs. Stella believes she is the world's greatest watch dog and will bark furiously and continuously at any minor disturbance outside until our ears are ringing. Lexi dislikes rain and will wee and poo inside the screen door, rather than becoming wet outside. This is in spite of the fact she loves pools of water...Stella will paw visitors repeatedly for pats, tummy rubs and scratches around her head and shoulders. Lexi will howl piteously when we leave them inside to go to the clothes line. But when the chips are down, we wouldn't be without our Fatheads for quids.

I used to wonder how much affection and caring that Stella (the older) felt for Lexi (the young whipper-snapper). My slight concern was spectacularly quashed one summer morning at our local oval. Set upon to two larger and aggressive Staffies, I was battling to get Lexi away from them and into the safety of the back seat of the car. She was screaming in terror and I was bellowing like a bull. One of the attacking dogs attempted to get into the car. That was too much for Stella. In a shot, she jumped out the back window and faced off with these heavier dogs. As I thankfully heaved Lexi into the car, behind me was dead silence. I have really no idea what Stella communicated through her eyes at those dogs. However, I get the impression she may have intimated something along the lines of "Do you feel lucky, punk?  Do ya?" All I know if that we left safely and headed for home, Lexi shattered, me slightly less traumatised and Stella proving to be our fearless heroine.

We will be heading for the North West once more sometime in early winter. The dogs will travel with us, which Stella has previously enjoyed and Lexi will be on her maiden voyage. We are very much looking forward to our combined adventures. Two people and two dogs in a twelve foot A-Liner caravan. Cosy, for sure!

 

 

Lexi - August 2023

 

 

Early days...

 

 

When Lexi was shorter than Stella...

 

 

The clown emerging!

 

 

Nothing beats a good rub on grass...

 

 

Miss Lexi-poo - November 2023

 

 

Stella - November 2023

 

 First clip...

 

                                                                             Becoming buddies...

 

 Minor morning debris...

 

 

 

 

 

But before Lexi was Stella!

 

 So we really can't complain too loudly about Lexi's minor destruction!

 

 

 

Lexi and Stella - 17 May 2024 early morning.

 

First World Problem? Try A Jolly Good Smudging (Or Windex If Necessary!)...

The Universe was somewhat peculiar and a tad fraught over the last month or so... 

Way back in December 2014, we opened the East End Gallery with a vow to always maintain direction and our individual ethos. Our future plans for the Gallery were fairly fluid, but we knew what we didn't want. Anybody else dictating their wishes over ours. 

This self belief has served us well. We look back on our achievements - renovating a broken-down building with determination and intuition, opening our doors, our memorable first sale, surviving twelve months, then two years and three years..., winning a Wheatbelt Business Excellent Award, Sundowners and other fantastic functions, and most recently, our Celebration with pride and joy.

We are still frankly astonished to be into our tenth year of the East End Gallery. And now we are looking forward to the next ten years with positive energy and a clear vision.

The East End Gallery is a home for artists and artisans in the Central Wheatbelt. Every single one has a connection to the Wheatbelt, to us, or both. We continually strive to be the best regional Art Gallery possible, for our artists, our supporters, our friends and our guests.

Sometimes, long-held dreams are just that - dreams that should not become reality. After my first marriage ended, I moved back to Queensland to reconnect with my extended family, to build a new life as a single woman and to boldly go where I hadn't gone before...I realised almost immediately that I had made a terrible error of judgement. The fantasy became a nightmare and I returned to Perth and the bosom of friendship and support with my tail between my legs.  I dodged a bullet of despair and loneliness and rebuilt my life, especially after my beloved Michael arrived on the scene.

Fast forward to the present. During this short and sharp encounter, we embarked on another dream. Fortunately, we were able to sever the process before we faced an absolute disaster. Incompatibility, a continual moving of the goalposts, muddied ideas and entirely different outcomes brought the whole debacle crashing down. 

Whilst we have learnt a extraordinarily valuable lesson, we are emotionally and physically battered and bruised by this experience. We have both spent the last few days realigning the Gallery to better than before, but we  were left with a rather bad taste in our mouths and an aura of unpleasantness was permeating our art space.

How to return the Gallery's welcoming and warm ambiance? If we had been characters in "My Big Fat Greek Wedding", we would have reached for the trusty Windex. The bride-to-be and story-teller Toula narrated that her Dad Gus believed Windex to be the universal cure-all, and was responsible for the banishment of any and every ailment. Including unwanted zits on her wedding day.

Being married into a Greek family could have had me applying Windex to the entire Gallery. Instead, we remembered the White Sage Smudge Stick we had hanging off Michael's sculpture "Mindscape". Cleansing our art space's energy using a Smudge Stick was more practical as there would be no chemical smell (!) and we were sure that one application would do the trick.

We lit the Smudge Stick on Sunday night. Sage filled the East End Gallery. Michael carried our blessed Stick to every nook and cranny of all one hundred and fifty metres of the Gallery and some extended spaces that needed also required this ritual. We closed the doors of the East End Gallery and then enjoyed a fantastic dinner of pizza and vino with new friends Geoff and Amanda. Just what the doctor ordered...

I suffered from extreme Writer's Block during this whole episode. April saw me only produce one post, which has never occurred previously. Now I know why. I was in a state of turmoil and confusion and exhaustion for an entire month. At sixty-two years of ago, I can't afford to waste a month of my life.

The moral of this story...We forgot to believe in ourselves. We doubted our ability to carry on. We shifted our focus from our core values concerning ourselves and the East End Gallery. We will recover from this experience mentally and physically over the next little while. And we know the right path for us and our Gallery.

We should have been listening to Yoda...

 

 

                                                                      There's the problem!

In the beginning...Michael with fag, Bevan with dog...

 

  The opening of the East End Gallery...

 

 

First views...

 

 

Growing...

 

 

Michael - 2016

 

 

Brian's Windmill - Playdate with Michael 2022...

 

 

Michael's fridge magnet spiders...

 

 

Renovation of the Gallery fireplace plus grate and fire screen all recycled materials by Michael...

 

 

Lawrence, Jan and Guy at one of our world famous Sundowners...

In the East End Gallery September 2020...

 

Then, along came a bulldozer...friendly at first...

Which is why we felt like this...

 

 

We had to really think about our vision...

 

 

One reasonable option...

 

 This was close at hand...many thanks to Jodie Edom Nolf...

 

 

So, the smudging began...

 

 

 

The entire episode was not all bad. With the assistance of the indispensable Jef Ver Berne, Michael was able to return his Workshop and Studio to some semblance of order!

 

 

And an excellent Celebration, where we felt so loved by our guests, friends and artists...

 

 

We have also added more seating for guests...

 

 

Left some areas untouched...

 

 

And fine tuned the Gallery - 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now, back on track, we are still a bit worse for wear, but we know where the East End Gallery is going!