Come on Baby, Light my Fire!

And that is precisely what we did. Yesterday afternoon was crunch time. The Fireplace in the East End Gallery had been restored to its former glory. The fire grate was in its place. The firescreen had been installed. All that was left to do was light the fire for the first time.

We have estimated that the fireplace has not been used for at least fifty years, possibly longer. Guests to the Gallery, who know the building, have confirmed that the fireplaces have been derelict for as long as anyone can remember.

The fireplace in Shop 2 was actually covered by plaster. This was Michael's first attempt at uncovering and repairing one. He succeeded beyond our wildest expectations. This fireplace now houses a lovely little tile firebox within its boundaries.

The Gallery fireplace (formerly Shop 4) was a completely different kettle of fish. Crumbling, flaking brickwork and plaster had to be removed by hand. The archway had to be rebuilt. An Oregon  mantlepiece was sanded and fitted above the fireplace. This process took six weeks of daily grind. This was when Michael's renovating sense of humour deserted him. He had had enough.

Somehow, he gritted his teeth and kept working. His reward for the hard slog is a beautifully restored functional fireplace. We knew it would draw when we covered the whole thing in plastic and observed how the fireplace breathed.

Still we had concerns. Would it really function as well as we hoped? Would we fill the Gallery with smoke? Would it heat the Gallery at all?

Along with Ryan, the first fire was lit. He had been an integral part of the firescreen's fabrication so we wanted him there too. Success! After a couple of false starts, the fire very satisfactorily crackled and burst into life. No smoke. And the Gallery gradually warmed. We were joined by Larissa for a glass of champers. Ryan bought a few celebratory beers and Michael, relieved and awed, indulged himself with a couple of glasses of cheap and cheerful vino.

Another Ryan (Phoenix Sheds) wandered in with Lucy. Mark Davis, extraordinary husband of one of our artists, Christine,  dropped by on the off chance we were open. We arranged to go to Narrogin on Wednesday to pick up more paintings for Christine's Showcase in the Gallery (to be launched next week).

By the time we left, the fire was still going. The Gallery had become satisfactorily warm. We were stoked. We were able to shut the doors of the firescreen and just walk away.

Bliss.

Metamorphosis of a Firescreen

The firescreen is in-situ. I am impatiently waiting for the metal artist to return from some male bonding out the back with Gary. As long as he's not having a fag, I can wait. Gives me some time to talk about the firescreen's creation. We have decided not to light the fire as the weather is turning foul again and we need to do home and get washing off the line.

Whenever Michael explains his next project, my lack of spacial awareness prevents me from seeing what he does. I usually smile and say "yes dear" and get on with whatever I'm doing.  Then, as the next piece takes shape, I spend the whole process in a state of awe and wonder.

The design and construction of this firescreen have been new experiences. Michael, having made square and rectangular firescreens previously, departed out of his comfort zone to produce one with a domed top. And as we are now perpetually broke, he had to recycle and fabricate every part himself.

The curved top was the first big challenge. A two person job to bend the steel whilst heating it. Michael asked me to help him with this task. After I fell off my chair laughing at his request, I seriously wondered if I would be any use whatsoever. I wasn't.

My contribution included bending the steel upwards instead of remaining flat. Then, even more scarily, Michael gave me the heat gun. After heating up the actual steel for too long, warping it out of shape, as well as trying to set fire to various sundry objects in the workshop, Michael admitted what I already knew. My fabrication skills were not up to scratch.

The next two days Michael had Ryan's help. Which meant the curved top was resurrected and completed with a minimum of fuss. Then the doors were constructed. Doors, what doors? The only firescreen I'd ever owned consisted of one rectangular piece that moved by being lifted out of the way of the fireplace. I had the first inkling that this was going to be rather more sophisticated.

Then the mesh was laid out, which had to be pop-rivetted to the door frames. Which began with drilling a multitude of holes for the pop rivets to be popped. There was definitely more to this firescreen building that met the eye.

And the hinges. Made by Michael and then welded into position on the edges of the frame. Then he decided to add bolts to the front so the doors could be secured. This was yesterday afternoon's job. Except, Michael temporarily lost his mind and attached the bolts to both doors. Which stymied being able to open the doors. At all.

The issue was rectified today. And the whole screen was painted in black. The finishing touches - drilling attachment points to the fireplace bricks. Fixing the fire screen in place. Admiring the finished product. Taking photos.

Wow...

In The Beginning...there was a Disaster...

then Michael began the Task of Resurrection...

 Some random fat woman in front of the nearly restored fireplace...

And behold, It was finished... 

But wait, there was more. First the fire grate...

The firescreen begins...with the curved top...

and doors...

 Ryan showing off the developing frame...

with recycled mesh and a slight issue with the hinges!

Checking the fit...perfect...

Painted and in place!

The finished product...

with the doors opened to full width.

I decided to show the bandaged (rather than unbandaged!) wound.

DONE!

Still Pinching Myself after Seven Years.

Yesterday, Michael and I celebrated our lives together - our seventh anniversary. Sometimes this feels like a long rollercoaster ride. Conversely, a moment that has passed in the blink of our eyes. The most exciting part of the day was watching "Rake" on the television with the marvellous Richard Roxburgh. With a glass of vino of course.

Thinking back, our relationship hasn't been all beer and skittles. We've had some really tough episodes. Doesn't everybody? But what struck me is the thrill I still feel when I see Michael walk into the room. The way our eyes meet. The way we still touch at every opportunity. The way we hold hands when we're lying in bed. Or curl into each other when we sleep.

I have never felt so loved. My life changed forever that Tuesday evening when some bloke called "Spider52" summoned up the courage to contact "Lunachick" online. His photograph was of him with Ruby. We met for a dog date at Whiteman Park to check the dogs would get on together. Our next date was "supervised" by well-meaning friends who didn't want me burnt by another disastrous affair.

Then there were the obstacles to our fledgling relationship. I was not permitted in Michael's house, even when his children were not on the premises. He would stay over with me three nights a week and we would meet in local parks for a glass of vino and walk with our dogs. Every time we parted, hurt like physical pain.

In that first six months, we were able to escape on a couple of occasions - down to the South West on a work trip and our first Goldfields excursion. I was so in love with Michael and constantly worrying the pressure would get too much for him. Christmas Day we spent apart. Post Christmas I was reminded by several of Michael's friends that I wasn't Joan (Michael's previous wife who had died). That was probably the lowest point for me.

After New Year 2010, Michael's health started deteriorating. In March, he developed his first really debilitating chest infection. During our second trip away in April, he was really struggling with the anxiety that was threatening to overwhelm him. At the beginning of June, his health completely collapsed - mentally and physically. He was suicidal by the time I managed to organise a mental health assessment with my GP. He was ill with another chest infection and his weight plummetted. He was grey and exhausted and lost in a private hell.

So I fought for him. He gradually started improving. I knew we had to get out of the Big Smoke and find a safe haven for him. We sold up and moved to Beverley. Michael hibernated for eighteen months, working on the House that Rocks. Letting go of his family home took another few years. My relief was tangible when the Beechboro house finally sold.

Then the challenge of the Forbes building. Michael fell in love with the derelict dump from the first moment. How could I refuse him? The restoration of the building coincided with Michael's continuing tentative recovery.

And now we are the ecstatic owners of the East End Gallery. As I sit at my desk, I am listening to "Brothers in Arms" being sung by Mark Knopfler. Very appropriate for us. Michael is persevering with a fire screen that is giving him the heebie-jeebies. He has yet another chest infection that is requiring antibiotic infusions to keep him out of hospital. And the Black Dog is never too far from either of our heels.

Yet we are so happy. We have the Three Stooges, Madame Cat and the Pirate Parrott. We have my children whom we share. And a grandkitten. We have our Gallery. We still have the House that Rocks, but we are more than ready for the house to sell, so we can begin building Station Cottage on the block behind the East End Gallery. Home is where we have each other.

Bliss.

Michael May 2009

July 2010 (with Lucky)

September 2010

October 2010

September 2011

January 2012

July 2013

June 2014

May 2015

April 2016

Sofoulis Family Reunion May 2016

Shiloh Signs Out

Shiloh became part of the Famous Five Fatheads last Friday. Her Mum, Larissa, alias Champagne Chick, had booked for a cruise off Fremantle. With her Mum (not canine) from Saturday to Tuesday.  We were quite happy to accommodate Shiloh, as she was a Weimaraner, a breed close to our hearts.

Except Shiloh was different. Larger, heavier, more flighty than Sascha, she was more like Sophie my previous Weimaraner. Shiloh wanted to be with us, in our faces, close to us at all times. And Brett, her Dad, had spoilt her. Shiloh had been allowed to climb on furniture all her life. This was almost impossible for us to counteract.

By the third night, Shiloh had learnt how to get on our bed, stealth mode. She simply walked onto her desired position quietly, leaving space between her and us, so we wouldn't recognise she was lying next to us.

She also fell madly in love with the Rottweiler pup behind us. She illustrated her undying affection by digging a massive crater on the edge of our garden, channelling almost to China in a matter of seconds.

On Tuesday, I was a tad frazzled. I knew about clay, but Shiloh was bringing in sand I didn't know existed on our property. There was sand on the floor and on the furniture. There was sand everywhere.

So I cleaned. By nightfall, the house was gleaming, vacuumed and with washed floors.I exiled the dogs behind the wooden child barricade. I kept them, more or less off the couches. The house stayed cleanish. I was stoked.

Shiloh, Larissa and Mac were happily reunited on Wednesday evening. All concerned were ecstatic. And we would look after Shiloh again in a flash. She is the epitome of the big, boofy, lovable dog.

Shiloh, Pip (preparing to launch into orbit) and Sascha

Shiloh ( with ears in propeller mode), Sascha and Pip

Two Weimaraners (Shiloh - left - and Sascha)

joined by Ruby on Shiloh's bed - naturally!

Further Adventures of the Famous Five (Fatheads)

Why do I never learn? Being smug and self-satisfied is always my final step before the inevitable comeuppance. I was so busy congratulating myself on the seamless integration of Shiloh into our household of mutts for her "holiday" that I took my eye off the ball. I genuinely believed that we were in charge of the dogs. As we discovered last night, the dogs really are in charge of us. Just don't tell them that...

The evening promised to be chilly, so Michael lit a fire. We are still learning how to load this new lot of wood (York gum) into our trusty tile firebox as it burns really hot. True to form, the living room rapidly heated until we started taking our clothes off. And opened the front door.

This second night of Shiloh's stay, she made it obvious she was missing her Mum, Larissa. When the door was open, she lay in our tiny entry, looking for any signs of her beloved family. She did settle again when we closed the door, but she needed comforting from us. We tried to keep her off the couch as we knew it would be open slather if we let her up. Shiloh retaliated by blocking our view of the television. And she is not a small dog. Eventually,  we relented and invited her up next to me.

Sascha and Pip took their cue. Pip was up and down like a jack-in-the-box. Sascha, feeling cantankerous about the young upstart in her midst, had to be coaxed up onto the couch next to Michael. Once there, she settled down happily for the duration. Pip was on top of her, like a sentry in the crow's nest.

Ruby, eccentric as ever, decided the fruit box loaded with metal spiders and covered with bubble wrap and hessian, looked like an ideal bed for the night. She climbed in and lay, contentedly whilst we dissolved into fits of giggles.

Our position of the three seater couch was becoming untenable. Michael and I were jammed between two Weimaraners and a Jack Russell. A major reorganisation was heralded by Muddy's arrival. Ryan, off to a party in town, felt the night was too cold for Muddy and left him with us in the warmth of the House that Rocks.

Ruby retired to Shiloh's bed in the hallway. Muddy lay at my feet and when Ruby relocated to her own bed, Muddy took her place on Shiloh's bed. The scene was rather like Goldilocks trying out which bed was the most comfortable in the Three Bears' home.

Shiloh decided the grass was greener on the other couch. We heaved a huge sigh of relief. We just about had enough room with Sascha and Pip still closest to the fire. Ryan returned and left with Muddy for their beds inside their bus. Our movie finished and we prepared for sleep. The dogs hadn't quite finished with us yet. Throughout the night, we would wake to find an enormous grey dog trying to make herself as small as possible on our bed.

The cat was not impressed and departed. I woke up to find myself pinned between Shiloh and Michael like a mummy in a sarcophagus. Struggling out to go to the loo, I discovered the Beagle once more on Shiloh's bed. That was the problem, so I booted Ruby back into her own bed and repositioned Shiloh onto the bed in our cosy hallway.

This scenario occurred several more times during the night. Except Shiloh realised she'd blotted her copybook with me and would stealthily step up onto the bottom of our bed on Michael's side.

The dogs were fine this morning and thoroughly enjoyed their morning treats. Michael and I were a tad worse for wear....

The morals of this story...

Never make generalised assumptions about the Famous Five's behaviour based on one night. 

Never doubt the tenacity of a house full of Fatheads.

Our big girl with Pip...

in their customary positions on the couch...

and at the other end, it's Shiloh...

who believes she's a lap dog...

whilst Ruby dreams of going to market...

as Shiloh swaps couches!

Wash up duty before bed...

and enthusiastic greeting of morning treats after an eventful night!

Riding the Rollercoaster

I'm sitting at my desk in the East End Gallery on an absolutely glorious Thursday afternoon. The change of season is accelerating with much cooler nights and fine sunny days interspersed with the best start to the winter rainfall Beverley has seen in years.

Nobody is here at present and I'm revelling in the quiet and a chance to catch up with writing. This week has been all about flying. By the seat of my pants.

Last Friday, our French backpackers, Bas and Pas, announced they would be leaving for their "Voyage en Australie" the next day. We waved them farewell in their newly purchased $3000 Landcruiser the following morning. Saturday and Sunday passed in the Gallery as per usual.

Monday was relatively stress-free. I  had a chance to connect with Facebook, attend to such much-needed housework and a mountain of dirty washing. The ironing pile stared beseechingly at me. I purposely ignored it. I knew that the End was Nigh and I was going to have to tackle the ironing sooner or later. I dreaded the Beginning as I had let the ironing stack up a tad. Like nearly erupting off the laundry bench.

Tuesday was another antibiotic infusion for Michael. We shouted ourselves lunch in York and enjoyed fabulous Roast Pumpkin Soup and Turkish bread at the Terrace Cafe. I headed for the dreaded supermarket to pick up some essentials after we'd eaten. Then home to continue attacking the mammoth pile of ironing. I set a Massaman curry cooking on the stove. Lub-dub, lub-dub. I wanted the curry to slowly simmer for more than two hours on the stove. There was now no excuse to not start the ironing. Bollocks.

Wednesday was a day in the Big Smoke, I hadn't slept well and we left early in order to have a rendezvous with Minister for Social Services, Christian Porter. The aim of this meeting was to save the Swan Friendship Cafe.

Fortunately, Joe Sorgiovanni was there with figures from the Cafe, its Strategic Plan and other useful documents. Minister Porter was courteous and polite. Just not warm. He reminded me why I have no desire to enter politics. I do not have the hide of a rhino or the utterly focused mind. However, he did offer welcome advice, suggestions and information. I was still relieved to escape back into the sunshine.

We went grocery shopping, bought emergency medicinal supplies of vino, procured some metal rod at Midallia Steel for our firescreen and headed up the hill to visit Lucky on our way out of Perth.

Michael's dad is 89 and is becoming frailer. This is a frustration both to him and to us. Formerly a very active man, Lucky feels he is being let down by his body. And he is increasingly dependent on other people and his doctor. At the moment, he is not particularly well. We are looking forward to having Lucky to stay for a few days when he is feeling a bit better.

Bas and Pas texted us from Shark Bay. We thought their Landcruiser had suffered a catastrophic failure. They asked us about coming back to get the Sigma. Which we had already sold to Brett and Larissa. After they spoke to Ryan, we discovered the issue was the amount of fuel the car was using. Which was to do with the age of the vehicle and the kilometres they were covering.

After all this, I was drained and exhausted. I was asleep by nine o'clock. Ten beautiful hours of sleep followed I felt alive this morning. What a change. Suddenly I was able to cope with the world again.

This day has flown. We launched our Artists' Group. Four extremely enthusiastic artists came and played together in our Artists' Space at the rear of the Giftshop. The brief was to BYO all their equipment, so we had easels and table easels and paints and brushes all flying around. I supplied the tea and coffee and some cupcakes. The conversation and laughter flowed as if they'd known each other forever. We are so looking forward to next Thursday.

Six hours after I started this post, I am winding it up. I am about to retire to our bed, ready for tomorrow. I am tired.

No wonder this year is disappearing so quickly!

Linda sketching...

Kerry blending...

Lynn creating...

Mitch elaborating...

Kerry finessing...

Lynn considering...

with Michael joining the mix!

Macho Michael and the Pirate Parrot.

Today, the task could be put off no longer. The Pirate Parrot's cage had deteriorated from mildly offensive to truly awful. I had no idea that one smallish bird could produce so much pooh.

Cleaning Red's cage involves removing him from the safety of this space and perching him on Michael's shoulder. We had the added excitement of an extra dog in the house. Muddy was really quite transparent. I caught him eyeing off the bird and licking his lips a number of times. Talk about pressure.

With him firmly attached to Michael's tee shirt, I began to open the front door to take out the revolting cage to be cleaned. The bloody bird had a rush of blood and attempted a bolt to freedom. With screams of "Shut the door" ringing in my ears, the cage was unceremoniously dropped and the door slammed. Searching for the little sod, I found him innocently sitting in my washing basket. On my clean washing. Muttering threats of a possible demise - "next time, I'll feed you to Muddy" - I invited him onto my shoulder and thence back to Michael sitting at the table.

Take two. Success. I managed to remove myself and the cage from the house. Setting up my accustomed stack of milk crates, I prepared to declare a war of cleanliness on the interior of the cage.

Remove sodden paper from cage tray. Check. Balance tray in a fork of the pepper tree and blast with the hose. Check. Retrieve tray from halfway across the garden due to the force of water. Check. Systemically aim full volume of water on the bottom of the cage and the accompanying metal shelf. Check. Fail to notice squirt of water ricocheting straight towards my glasses. Check. Wish for windscreen wipers for my glasses yet again. Check. Hose and hose and hose and hose until most of the nasty stuff had been removed from the cage. Check. Realise I have nothing to wipe the cage dry. Check. Leave thongs on the bottom step to enter the house and stand on a double gee...

After a few choice words, I strode into the kitchen, tore off a ream of paper towel and exited again. Michael and the bird were both watching me whilst I was inside. They appeared to be having a very pleasant tete a tete. I returned to finish the job and get the cage back in its rightful position.

Surprisingly, there were no further injuries. His cage back in the laundry, fresh food and water in his dishes and his bell reattached to the top, Michael returned Red to his home. Without a single squawk of thanks, he retired inside and immediately started munching out of his seed bowl.

I think Michael and Red may have set up some sort of Secret Men's Business in my absence. Either that or Red has realised he is living in the asylum. If looks could talk...

Red...psst...hey Red...

give us a kiss...

you have to be kidding me, you bespectacled lunatic...

Somebody save me....please!