Us (And Them)...

Pink Floyd's haunting "Us and Them" highlights the pointlessness of war, of divisions in society and of arbitrary actions by some towards others.

Although this song in primarily about war, and suffering by many people in general, I feel connected to some of the meanings throughout our fifteen years living in Beverley.

Don't get me wrong. We have some wonderful friends in town who seek to help us, some generous acquaintances here  and elsewhere who support us along with Sue the Magnificent, our volunteer who is running the East End Gallery at present.

I also have my family who I have spoken about in many of my posts who mean the world to me. 

And I am so lucky to have my beloved husband Michael who has supported me through my frailing moods and demons which has coloured so much of our lives over the last two years. 

Desperation over living day to day, wondering how to pay the bills, of the wretched subdivision, the fear about the NDIA's funding model and how that could hurt Alex's ability to live a safe, happy and fulfilling life and my longing for returning to happiness. 

If we had known what the seemingly never-ending subdivision would mean, if we had the permanency of a tenant in one of our shops, instead of those who flutter in and then out, if our tenant in another shop wasn't in dire straits and could pay more rent (which she can't) and if the locals actually either knew that we exist or actively support us, we might have a chance of breathing somewhat easier. 

This is where "Us and Them"  seems to impact our lives. We live in a town of 1000 people and only a fraction of those have ever come into our Gallery. We have seen people whilst they are waiting for a toastie from the cafe across the road, or whose partner in the the chemist or the toilet. 

Then we have the hostile indifference of another organisation who seems hell bent on seeing us fail. We have received and advertised their occasions for years and their fearless leader has only crossed our threshold of our Gallery on a handful of occasions.We have decided that enough is enough and we wish to have nothing to do with them in the future. Another premises behaves the same way. Occasionally we will gratefully receive a busload of tourists and some of those will buy from us.

We do greet other artists and artisans from time to time, some of whom are very dear to us as we try to support them. We hang onto any sales in the hope that the buyers will tell their friends and family. These links do occasionally occur and we are grateful for them.

But most of the time, we are just 'Us'. We love the sanctuary of our home and garden, of our 'girls',. Lexi and Stella who are the dogs and our exceeding annoying cat, Chop, named due to losing a small portion of his tail to an infection.  

As spring is continuing and we spend more time outside. we breathe in the blue sky and sun of some of the the days and revel in the quiet  of the evenings,  we are usually content in each other's company and we support each other. That is a bit of a fib - at the moment Michael is caring for me.

Michael also has the outlet of his his amazing workshop with an abundance of his glorious collection of found metal items at his disposal. He is an extraordinarily talented and gifted sculptor, who brims with ideas and uses his thoughts and instincts to create innovative artworks. At the moment, he is focusing on garden art which he can produce relatively quickly and is less expensive for guests. Without his escape of his mind in his space, his life would lose so much meaning. 

So that is the situation in which we find ourselves, We have our home, a car, enough to eat and the pleasure of sitting and enjoying a glass of wine together.

This is 'Us'. 

 

 

On our most previous trip around Marble Bar,,,

 

 

 

Heading home - somewhere between Newman and Mount Magnet - a good day...

 

 

 

Lexi and Stella...

 

 Chop...

 

 

 

Callum...

 

 

 

Bronwyn, as they move into their new home!

 

 

 

Alex with Sunil, his fantastic support worker. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gratitude

+-+

Twelve days after returning home from, definitely, the Trip That Shook Me Out Of My Self Imposed Misery, I am finally turning Station House back into our home.

The people who rented the house so we could afford to go away, treated it with utter contempt and left it in dirty disarray. Eight hours to clean my kitchen. Tenacity by our wonderful cleaner to remove most of the scum that covered the floors (I also had to scrape away baked on grease). An entire week to clean our house. Washing every single item of linen and throwing pillows out.

They rendered our dishwasher non functional (after I had verbally told them and write down not to use it), left a nasty stain on one of our mattresses (eurgh) , mould and moss (!) on my window frames and a strong damp odour throughout our house. .

Michael has assured me he will tackle the air-conditioning filters and the ceiling fans in due course, all of which are caked with dust. Needless to say, we had left them clean...

My volunteers who visited the house whilst we were away told me the blinds were always closed so they could play video games. These were people who told me they could look after our home and garden which I had left pristine for them. Instead, they treated our house as a rubbish dump.

Neither the parents of one of the people or the people themselves have responded to my messages or phone calls asking for an apology and the amount of a week's rent for compensation. Those actions have cemented my belief that they are ill mannered and ultimately selfish, never to be trusted by anyone ever again. Karma will eventually sort them out.

Yesterday was beautiful and sunny with the stirrings of spring. Today is a bit overcast and windy, but still with the promise of warmer days. Michael has been absolutely peerless, tackling all the washing up whilst I was sleeping in. He has completed the last of his designated tasks - tidying his desk and tossing out all items he no longer needs. Michael really dislikes change, but even he admitted that after this job was completed, he now knows what is in his desk drawers again.

I intend to tackle the washing, sweep my courtyards and tend my beloved plants over the next couple of days. The sunny warmth is calling me outside as this week will become lovely. My deciduous plants are beginning to bud and my geraniums and succulents are already blooming.

I have almost weaned myself off the damaging antidepressant. My balance has improved substantially, the panic is gone and I use self talk for my anxiety episodes. I still have the odd wobbly day but I am determined to pick myself up, lift my head and just get on with rediscovered confidence to minimise these episodes.

My beloved Michael and I are holding hands again, enjoying cuddles and kissing with no angst and re-learning to banter once more. Do we still bicker? Absolutely. But we continue to explore the renewed positivity of our relationship, in order to return to an even keel.

Michael's rounds of the kitchen during the trip paid timely dividends, so our marriage would continue. I had to pull my socks up and choose to join his world again. Once I had actually decided that path, my demeanour was surprisingly easy to change. 

And he has taught me gratitude again. Gratitude for our home, our garden, our now-settled dogs and the autocratic cat. Simple pleasures like taking the dogs to our local oval for a well deserved romp with their canine buddies. Watching our favourite television shows. Listening to music. Enjoying Wordle and Mahjong for myself, rather than as a competition. 

He also comes up with practical suggestions to ease my anxiety. When I was bemoaning the wet weather, he reminded me to use the clothes airer in front of the air-conditioning. Saving me from cooking by producing one of his world famous pizzas. Helping me with food prep for dinner. Driving whilst I find my confidence again.

I occasionally become envious of others' disposable income, particularly when we have been on the bones of our bums for so long. With the never ending subdivision. With a beautiful Gallery that makes no money. With the seemingly never ending gnawing worry about bills. 

But then I remember what we actually have, our home, our battered building that contains our Gallery and Michael's Workshop and Studio, our fabulous volunteer Sue (and Jan helping out) our vehicle, our ever-trusting, ever-loving dogs, Lexi and Stella, cheap cask wine to unwind in the evenings, watching the seasons, spending time with our family and friends, listening to the birds and the peace and our own personal escape, far from the madding crowd.

Plus, my breath is always taken away by the extraordinary talent of Michael. He is utterly true to his art, even as we struggle to have his sculptures recognised after forty-five years of creating these individual works. He will never succumb to commercial and repetitive pieces as that would kill his artistic soul. And I could never suggest otherwise.

Michael is the light and love of my life. We belong together. I vow to never jeopardise our relationship again. And I remain so grateful for his being and his presence.

 

 

Michael at Marble Bar...

 

 

 

Me fossicking near Meekatharra on the old railway line...

 

 

 

Us at the kids' house...

 

 

 

 

Number One son, Callum and our lovely daughter-in-law Bronwyn...

 

 

 

Number Two son and Autistic Superstar, Alex...