Heavenly Beverley : November 2024

Saturday, 23 November 2024

That Fickle Finger Of Fate!

Those of us who are a certain vintage may remember that weekly comedy feast entitled "Rowan and Martin's Laugh-In". Launched early in 1968, "Laugh-In" was, in some ways, quite progressive for its time. Who recalls their segment known as 'The Flying Fickle Finger Of Fate"? Dan and Dick would be featured with the Flying Fickle Finger of Fate statue to be presented to organisations making dubious decisions, spending outrageous amounts of taxpayers' monies or renegging on promises previously made. Think of the Flying Fickle Finger of Fate being a past version of the Pub Test. Frequent awardees of the statue included the Pentagon and the entire U.S. Congress.

Not that much has changed...

The Urban Dictionary described the Fickle Finger of Fate as -

1. An unseen and unforeseeeable force that controls the direction of all living things

2. The fickle nature of the universe and how it seems to bestow bad luck on some people more than others

3. A series of very unlucky or unfortunate events...

The Fickle Finger of Fate seemed to strike actor Judy Carne, one of the mainstays of "Laugh-In", with regular frequency, particularly after she uttered the phrase "sock it to me" repeatedly. A visual gag would then have her being doused with a bucket of water, struck by an oversized mallet or unfortunately falling through a 'hidden' trapdoor.

I hadn't realised how much of the "Laugh-In"vernacular had entered our everyday language. "Go to your room", uttered as a response to a very bad joke, was used extensively by my darling Dad. "Very interesting...", "You bet your sweet bippy", "Here comes de Judge!" and "That tickles my fancy" are all quotes that I still use often.

Anyway I have digressed...again. The Fickle Finger of Fate has featured in my life, both in good ways and bad, for as long as I can remember. That this week, for example. I have lost my list of attendees for our Celebration next Friday night, along with my favourite pen. I have no doubt that these items will turn up, in the fullness of time, probably next Saturday morning, in some farcical position.

Then, of course, there is our irrational dishwasher. Being a Euro brand and manufactured in Italy, the dishwasher began having hissy fits earlier in 2024, refusing to co-operate by engaging a normal cycle, all whilst beeping loudly in a most argumentative manner. Every now and then, when the dishwasher responds positively to the Fickle Finger of Fate, all will be forgiven...for one cycle only. The glasses cycle...Usually, the dishwasher's conversion back to good humour occurs every few weeks or so, without any rhyme or reason.

My irritable bowel, which has been behaving itself lately, returned to a state of fury this morning, after I had mentioned to Jodie yesterday how happy it had been. Smugness, uttered without thought, inevitably leads to both the bone being pointed at me along with the Fickle Finger of Fate pointing upwards most aggressively.

The Fickle Finger of Fate also loves to toy with us. Getting injured when we shouldn't have been injured or the complete reverse. My dexterity at breaking camping equipment is legendary- pulling the spout off the 25 litre water container, leaving a chair too close to a fire, bending tent pegs into interesting angles or abusing zippers until they seize are just a few of those memorable moments of 15 years camping.

Michael has fallen elegantly backwards off a camping stool, slipped off a ledge in Karijini and landed squarely on his feet (!), been attacked by a myriad of creepy crawlies and managed to steer Will off the North-Western Coastal Highway after the caravan tyre exploded, creating a scene similar to that in Apollo 13, when stuff vented into space through the hole in the ship. We lost a jack, a lamp and other sundry items out the hole onto the highway and then came to a rapid stop as a gas cylinder decided to jam itself onto the remains of the tyre. And start leaking. How we didn't have a more spectacular explosion of the van and possibly the car must have been due to the stars aligning in that instant with the Fickle Finger of Fate.

Positive effects of the Fickle finger of Fate have included finding a 1922 Penny between my feet at the Yalgoo tip, an enamelled Federation medallion face down in a creek bed, decorative bed frames in a grove of trees right next to where we were planning to camp, getting lost and discovering an 1890s transport depot with horse paraphernalia everywhere we looked and at least 24 broken bicycle seats of different times left for us to find at Leonora.

Then there have been the fabulous characters we have encountered by sheer chance - Bruce the Menzies tyre fixer, Para and Jug who were prospecting in Kookynie whilst their good ladies were shopping in Adelaide, Andy and Bobbie, those goldmines of local knowledge in Sandstone, Kath the Marble Bar tourist park manager, Margaret at the Marble Bar Visitors Centre. So many more we know by face.

The greatest legacy of the Fickle Finger of Fate was meeting my beloved Michael in May 2009. That led to a 12 year love affair with the Forbes Building, a 10 year love affair with the East End Gallery (now evolving into the East End Arts Precinct) and a continuing love affair with our artists, our guests, our supporters, our friends and members of our families.

We are now part of a wonderful community taking in all the other artisans in Beverley and beyond, the Beverley Station and Platform Theatre and our resident East End artists - Sue, Jodie, Rebecca and Marion.

And we plan to lift the roof off the Forbes Building with intoxicating joy at our Celebration on Friday evening. Here's to the next 10 years!

How lucky are we...

Dan Rowan and Dick Martin...

Do yourselves a favour and have a laugh!

Ruby the Beagle was our pre-rinse cycle!

The fear is real!

Vital part of our supplies...

Which is why we go to Onslow for two weeks every year...

And now, in no particular order, is a montage of the last 15 years in the WA outback -

And lastly here is the East End Artists Precinct - November 2024

Sunday, 17 November 2024

Michael Versus The Grinder, Kate's Latest Claim To Fame And Further Tales...

Here we are in the middle of November...already. Christmas is an alarmingly close 38 days away and the entirety of 2024 will be over 7 days later. Honestly, I have only just come to terms with being in this year. Wasn't 2000 just the other day? And how the hell could I possibly be 63 years old?

Remember when we were kids, counting the days until the next holidays, particularly the long summer ones. The three terms seemed to stretch interminably into the far distance. Holidays would be embraced with clothes of our choosing, activities of our own choosing, unconfined by the school walls... Even as a fish-out-of-water teenager, holidays brought relief and rejuvenation. I could catch up on sleep, become relaxed and daydream of a happy future.

With marriage, work and study, life settled into a different routine. Then came motherhood, a crazy juxtaposition being frantically busy one minute, then spending long nights awake with a grumbling baby or toddler. Alex added an added dimension after he turned four - his routine of appointments, intensive home programme, OT, physio, speech therapy, daycare and pre-primary meant days just ran into each other with me trying to stay afloat in a sea of semi-controlled chaos.

The years passed, my family grew up, my first marriage ended and I embarked on a single path. An affair with the Sicilian Sociopath was followed by a series of hilarious first dates, a four week romance with a very nice, very acceptable and exceptionally dull bloke which ended just after Christmas 2008. All of which convinced me that there really wasn't that special someone out there for me after all.

Then, at the age of 47, I met the love of my life. The last 15 years have flown past at the velocity of a speeding superhero, particularly after we moved to Heavenly Beverley and climbed into the roller-coaster.

Yes, our lives are not all beer and skittles. I remained enraged by the immovable stubborn and recalcitrant juggernaut that is the NDIA. These people would be incapable of organising a piss-up in a brewery. All those bureaucratic organisations that have erupted spontaneously in the wake of the NDIA are supposedly there "to help". They become bogged down by their own protocols, which are inevitably not user-friendly. Some are decidedly dodgy.

And medical practitioners fall into two categories - the pompous pricks outnumbering the patient doctors by a wide margin. Our local GP is possibly not the greatest quack on the planet, but he listens and explains, treating us accordingly

Take Michael's Watusi Quickstep with his grinder a couple of weeks ago. On a stinking hot day, Michael was working in his studio, in a teeshirt and work pants with an industrial fan blowing for cooling purposes. In an instant, the fan blew his teeshirt into the grinding wheel, which became entangled and then went rather out of control. Without uttering a sound, Michael managed to turn the grinder off when his teeshirt firmly jammed to a halt. He then appeared into the Gallery, announcing "I think I need medical attention!".

The grinder had gashed him from his navel to the top of his trousers. His left forearm had also been caught in the mayhem and was bleeding fairly profusely. I stopped the bleeding, poured the drops of death (Betadine) all over him and bandaged him up using metres of Fliximol. Neither of us considered he may need to see the doctor until the following morning when his belly had become rather tender.

Michael escaped from this latest mishap remarkably lightly. He avoided a tetanus injection, was placed on antibiotics and the wounds redressed more suitably. Some pain relief and a few glasses of vino fully restored his equilibrium. Two weeks later, I can barely see the remnants of this encounter. Since then, we haven't needed to use that fan yet either...I shall wait with bated breath.

As for me, I have seen enough cardiologists for the foreseeable future. What would one call a group of cardiologists? Having researched some collective names for a flock of quacks, I think a Fibrillation of Cardiologists, a Stenosis of Cardiologists or a Bypass of Cardiologists are the most appropriate terms. Over the last few months, I have met cardiologists with the personality of either an empty room or a stationary stonefish. Informative communication would be the bottom of their list of achievements. And spare me from those condescending buffoons who give a pseudo-sympathetic response, belittle my fears or tell me downright lies.

There are of course, exceptions to this rule. Alex's cardiologist, Doctor Luigi D'Orsogna, was his physician for over eighteen years. He diagnosed Alex's heart defect in-utero and then had the guts to tell me so I could prepare for the extraordinary ride after Alex's birth. I have yet to find a cardiologist for myself that has the calibre of Luigi D'Orsogna. I live in hope...

We are lucky enough to have a handful of courteous, thorough, knowledgeable and approachable doctors whom we highly value. One of them is Scott Claxton, who began as Michael's respiratory specialist in April 2014. He now also treats Alex and me. Perhaps we could receive a family discount?!

Anyway, I have digressed. Following 12 months of start-and-stop respiratory and cardiac testing, we met in Scott Claxton's office last Wednesday. After a suitable period of irate huffing and puffing (pretty sure to his amusement), Scott utterly redeemed himself by slowly, carefully and clearly explaining the outcomes. Finally, I had a definitive diagnosis.

Known for my ability to hit the jackpot, long COVID was probably responsible for me developing Small Airways Disease. In short (!) my teeny weeny airways are narrowed, causing reduced airflow. Totally unrelated is developing Exercised-induced Pulmonary Hypertension. The pulmonary arteries travel from the heart to the lungs. When I exercise, the blood pressure in these arteries spike abnormally.

Personally, I think these terms are rather dull and do not explain the inconvenience of these two conditions. Small Airway Disease should be renamed The Totally Unsexy and Most Irritating Heavy Breathing Contest. As for Exercised-induced Pulmonary Hypertension (EiPH!), my alternative title is Up Shit Creek Without A Paddle In A Very Dark Tunnel.

The good news is that neither will likely kill me now I am being treated. My drug regime is increasing but I am actually starting to feel better after an entire year of breathlessness. I have absolutely no intention of going anywhere. I have far too much to do!

In other reports, Jef, our fabulous Belgian backpacker, has returned to the bosom of our family for the last three weeks of his current stint here in Australia. Come December, he leaves the country, completes his visa application for his third year in Australia and then waits for its approval. His car is staying with a mutual friend and his job will remain available for him upon the granting of his visa. We will look forward to that day.

Meanwhile, Sue our artist resident in Station Studio, has been opening the Gallery on Mondays and Wednesdays in the lead-up to Christmas. Her generous volunteering, along with Marion and Bec in Studio 116, means that the East End Gallery is currently open 6 days a week. Absolutely fabulous.

Speaking of our beloved East End Artists Precinct, our collective space is looking positively spectacular. We have set up 3 Christmas tables specifically for easily finding that special gift. We are bursting at the seams with the individual, the edgy, the thought-provoking, the hilarious, the astonishing and the beautiful art pieces.

DO NOT FORGET TO RSVP (BY 22 NOVEMBER PLEASE) FOR OUR 10TH BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION ON FRIDAY 29 NOVEMBER BETWEEN 7PM AND 9PM.

Rebecca, our caterer, is planning to have an entire Grazing Table of canapes

Michelle will be in charge of the bar with quality wines, sparkling water and a non-alcoholic punch.

TICKETS ARE $10 PER PERSON, PAYABLE AT THE DOOR, WHICH INCLUDES THE GRAZING TABLE AND YOUR INITIAL BEVERAGE.

FOLLOW-UP VINO WILL BE $5 PER GLASS AND PUNCH WILL BE A GOLD COIN PER GLASS. WATER, EITHER SPARKLING OR TAP, IS FREE OF CHARGE.

In this year of our 10th anniversary, we are already focusing on the next ten years. We look forward to seeing many of our guests, friends and supporters on Friday 29 November or until we close for our summer recess on Tuesday 24 December.