A Bucketful of Anniversaries.

July tends to be a fairly eventful month of our calendar for significant anniversaries. A couple of these dates almost snuck past, due to my busy schedule of rearranging the Gallery for the Winter Wonderland exhibition.

Today, I have the time to catch up. We are in the Gallery waiting for lunch, the fire crackling, the Beagle snoring contentedly, and Michael sitting by the warmth of the fireplace. A Mexican wrap and pea and ham soup sound just perfect for a cold Saturday afternoon. And I don't think we will attract too many more guests brave enough to venture out to visit us.

My birthday, which falls on the 17th, raises all sorts of ambivalent emotions inside me. Getting older doesn't worry me at present, so that's a positive. However I don't tend to enjoy winter as a season and I happen to have been born right smack in the middle. I am already growing tired of perpetually cold feet, a dripping nose and the multiple layers I find myself wearing for insulation purposes. And I resent the minutes wasted dressing and undressing just for a ten-second pee.

I also have very few visual memories of myself as a child. My family tended to take slides rather than photos, and as these have deteriorated or vanished, I have few tokens of my younger life. Somewhere stashed in our cupboards are old photo albums from my late teenage years. Maybe it's time to haul them out and take a peek.

This year, my birthday bash will be at the Gallery - an open house of sorts. For a start, the Gallery is almost twice the size of our house and we can set up the BBQ, undercover, in Michael's workshop. Between the fires and the gas BBQ, the venue will be warm and welcoming. Bliss.

Another momentous decision in July 2010 sent our lives onto quite a different tangent. My beloved Michael, very unwell in both mind and body, resigned from paid employment after thirty-six years in the mining and ancillary industries. He was broken, spent and needed to recover his health, as far as possible, in a private retreat from the rest of the world. And so, we moved to Beverley.

This is our second winter since he nearly died from double pneumonia. Last July, he battled the Bitch for most of the month, ending up for a spell in hospital on IV antibiotics to tame the illness. This year, his fight with the Bitch started much earlier, culminating in three months on antibiotics, including a month of IV infusions given by our GP three times a week, instead of being hospitalised yet again.

Michael is relatively well at the moment, delighting in the challenge of creating Dory, his newest sculpture. The joy is mixed with intense concentration, as this piece is testing him to the limits of his artistic skills. And I have no doubt, that on Dory's completion, she will be quite beautiful.

On 6 July 2012, we become the proud parents of the Forbes building. We celebrated the usual way - with a BBQ. Our friends and families just assumed we had lost our minds. She was a dilapidated disaster of a dump, full of gaping cracks, holes, rising damp and fretting brickwork. Walls were moving ways they shouldn't, the roof was one huge colander and the whole building was bitterly cold in winter and liable to cause heatstroke in summer. Mortar on supporting external pillars was missing and we were in danger of the eastern wall collapsing. And minor nuisances - no power, very little water, no sewerage.

We have so had the last laugh. On a cordial budget, Michael and Gary (when we could afford to pay him) dragged the building kicking and screaming to a lovely example of an exquisite restoration, with perseverance and lots of sweat, a fair bit of blood and many tears. The only work done by outsiders was by Dave the Brave our electrician, Guy, our international man of mystery handyman, Dan, brickie to the stars, a motley crew of plumbers, Don and his trusty excavator and Sandy, master concreter. And we thank these noble tradesmen from the bottom of our hearts!

Six months before we opened the Gallery, Heavenly Beverley was born on 8 July 2014. Callum, computer savvy, technological smarty-pants, complained I was using Facebook as a blog. Whatever a "blog" was. Facebook, he informed me, was for short posts, images and thoughts. A blog could become my ongoing record of the insanity of my life. Fair enough. So Cal and my intended daughter in law, Bron set up a blog page for me, including my most revered totem - a glass of vino.

And so my writing took on a whole new dimension. Very rarely do I regard writing as a chore. Most days, a thought, a feeling, an image or a story ignites the wordsmith in me. Some days the posts are stacking up in my head, waiting patiently for their turn to tumble out onto my laptop or into my journals.

And this July will see another event ready to add to the anniversaries. In spite of no money, we are going away for six days just after my birthday. Our pension cards are providing the train ride to Kalgoorlie, one of our favourite places, respite funding is paying for accommodation and our wonderful friend, Lynn Isaacs (one of our artists) has been fundraising to add $70 to our kitty. This money will go towards hiring a car for a day or two. And the kids are going to cough in towards a massage for each of us. We can hardly wait.

Last night, wrapped up on the couch, we talked about being with and caring for each other. This is an ongoing wonder. We don't like being away from each other, we touch with our hands when we're sitting or walking, our eyes meet at every opportunity and we love to entwine our bodies around ourselves. For the anniversaries we share - the good and the not-so-good - all are better because we found each other.

Michael and Ruby - May 2009

Kate and Michael - June 2009

Michael - April 2010, two months before his health broke down

At Gnomesville - June 2010, when he became seriously ill

Struggling - July 2010

The House that Rocks - his sanctuary to heal

The garden we created at the House that Rocks

The Forbes Building - July 2012

Michael's plans of the building - only one drawing in existence

Shop 1 - before

during....

and after renovation.

Shop 2 - before

during...

and post renovation.

Shop 3 before...

with a tad of plastering here and there...

and after renovation.

In the beginning @ Shop 4

Any charm? At all?

Welding with bare legs...

reports and injuries...

replacing the floor - front of Shop 4

nearly there...

temporary wall going up

the Dynamic Duo securing the temporary sheets

Phase 1 complete April 2015

Ye Gods, here's the back of shop 4...

Gary and backpacker Simon in action. Michael was ill...July 2015

Round the corner we go - January 2016

The temporary wall comes down!

The Bionic Fireplace

The Expansion Exhibition - March 2016

Lawrence Jones playing his heart out for us on Opening Night

And the latest - Winter Wonderland - July 2016

What a ride!

Finding Dory

Quite a few years ago, we found a beautiful little metal broach in the backyard of the House that Rocks. This was not surprising as we have unearthed a variety of items whilst we created our garden. Whole bottles, rock borders of buried garden beds, rusty metal (of course) and myriad other objects that some would view as junk. In Michael's eyes, and to a lesser extent, my eyes, very few found pieces are ever categorised as rubbish.

And Michael has been mesmerised by this little broach, which is shaped like a fish in profile. We displayed it on our kitchen windowsill for months, then attached it to my hat when we attended Gina and Andrew's Steampunk Wedding of the Century. Promptly forgetting its location, Michael flew into a panic a few weeks ago. He had long dreamed of making a sculpture based on the broach.

Fortunately, he had photocopied it and created a few drawings. Armed with these, he set himself the task of revamping its initial sketches into a full-scale model. Drawn with chalk on a door. Which wasn't big enough. So he added scrap pieces of wood to finish the job. As ever, I was in awe of his vision. Except I assumed the sculpture would be 2D.

I have no spatial awareness whatsoever. Michael's sculptures always delight me as I can never envisage the end result. He sees them from the very beginning in all their glory. Like taking on the renovation of the Forbes Building. All I could see was a total disaster that needed to be bulldozed. Everybody else who saw the building in her original condition thought we were mad. Michael for wanting it and me for following him with very little protest. Four years later, he has had the last laugh and I will never doubt him again.

Back to the sculpture. Michael's explanation of its final appearance was beyond my comprehension. "That's nice, dear" was my automatic response. Until he started on her domed shaped. Dory was being born.

And they are both having a difficult time of it. Given the curve of her body, Michael is having to cold bend the rods. He had made all the fifty-three circles that are to be her scales. The sculpture is being worked on multiple planes. And although he is finding Dory stretching his artistic and practical talent, he is loving every minute of bringing her to life.

We were asked yesterday how long Dory is going to take to be completed. Michael shrugged. How long is a piece of string? She will take as long as she takes. And when we have guests in the Gallery, they are always fascinated to watch him work. As am I.

Here are some progress photographs of Dory. They so do not do her justice. Feel free to drive up to Heavenly Beverley to take a peek of her in Michael's workshop behind the East End Gallery.

And we located my hat and the original broach!

Dory's Progress this far.

The Night was Dark and Full of Terrors...

...however, the dunny was lit up like a battleship!

On Saturday evening, after a busy day in the Gallery and the end of the longest election campaign in history, we were, thankfully, off to attend the next exciting event on Beverley's social calendar.

Well, not quite in Beverley. We were bound for Mick and Sue's "Game of Thrones" bonfire night on their property in Bally Bally.

Negotiating our way in the dark - Michael's sense of direction and memory was keen - we arrived at our destination by spotting the cardboard knight at the gate. Except it looked like a robot. Or a Dalek. Which pleased us no end. Being two of the only people in the universe never to have watched "Game of Thrones", we were decidedly at a disadvantage in the costume department. We had dressed for warmth and nothing else.

The bonfire was visible from the road. The party was in full swing. Our hostess, Sue, was resplendent in a medieval frocky outfit, with a flammable red wig on her head. Excellent addition when in close proximity to a fire. Mick the lord and master, cut a dashing figure in his leather, black top, dyed beard, boots, and stockings. Think of "Men in Tights" and you have the picture.

There was a young princess, her dress highlighted by exceedingly medieval thongs, plenty of faux furs, a lot of black smeared over faces and an extraordinary young man, naked from the waist up, decorated with paint, sporting a curved sword on each hip, facing in the direction of his private parts. Fortunately, the night was not entirely freezing, so he was able to manfully expose his chest for a good deal of the party. And he won first prize in the costume competition, probably for extreme bravery or complete foolishness.

The food was excellent - nibblies, soups, and a period-perfect sausage sizzle. The bonfire was the star of the show, allowing us to guide our food and drink to our mouths, engage in conversation with others and have a fair idea of what they looked like and minimise the spilling of vino. The conversation was lively, the surroundings beautiful and as an added advantage, we didn't freeze. And we had the delight of watching a new-fangled drone flying above us and annoying small children and dogs.

We reluctantly took our leave before eleven. We had to negotiate our way home and be bright eyed and bushy tailed to open the Gallery the following morning. Sometimes, having our "weekend" begin on Monday can be somewhat awkward if we want to go out on a Saturday night.

But we would not have missed Mick and Sue's bonfire night for the world. We had an absolute blast. Even if we still have no idea of the plot or characters in "Game of Thrones".

A daytime drone's view of the venue of "The Night was Dark and Full of Terrors"

Our host lighting the bonfire, medieval style.

the bonfire is lit! 

a sensibly dressed guest...

Some random lunatic and our princess...

hunting dinner?

view of the bonfire...with the dunny light in the background

Nice sparks... 

 and a few more sparks! 

An absolutely marvelous night. Thank you to our hosts Mick and Sue x

Twas the Night before Election Day

Twas the night before election day
and all through Australia
we were jumping for joy
every girl and every boy
for the campaign was a miserable failure!

And thus, dear reader, is my excruciatingly awful poem to end the most boring, dirgeful, dishonest and interminable election campaign that has been my misfortune to live through.

There must have been one of two truths muttered around the block, in a windowless room in the bowels of CONTROL, probably within the confines of the Cone of Silence. I was in the loo and didn't hear them. And I was having far too much fun laughing at the abject lunacy of some of the candidates, whilst hiding from the narrow-minded, nasty, vengeful and self-serving bribes the others were spouting.

Elections bring out the best and the worst in us all. Politicians assume we have mysteriously materialised into "Dumb and Dumber". And unfortunately, some of our fellow citizens do suffer a total brain malfunction, thinking and saying really awful opinions that have no link to common sense or logic.

And let's face it, the two main parties are machines. They don't think up original and innovative ideas (there are exceptions to the rule). They do what they are told by their funding bodies - the rich, the powerful and the influential. Anybody becoming a politician needs to remember that fact, to have a thick skin, be able to lie with a straight face and not try too hard to be an individual. I remember a Ms. Katie Hodgson-Thomas, a Liberal politician with a heart. She was my local member, she cared about my situation and she supported me. I think she stayed as long as she could bear it. Never heard of her since. Katie, you'd still have my vote.

Today, our darling daughter rang me out of the blue for advice on How to Vote. After floundering for a second or two, I remembered what was important. Get knowledge, become informed, read about the parties, policies and candidates. Make your vote count, I told her.

And for what it's worth, this are some of my hopes for the aftermath of the election. I am actually hoping for a hung parliament with a powerful force of Greens and Independents in the Senate. However, I am a realist....

• that asylum seekers are processed quickly, compassionately and fairly
• that we stop interfering in other countries' affairs and thus do not add to the refugee crisis
• that we grant a living wage to all
• that we cease to believe in the fantasy of full employment and value volunteering again
• that we have a fair health system
• that we continue to strive for better education for all of our children (in a similar vein to "Revolution School")
• that we embrace and encourage the arts. When Winston Churchill was asked to cut arts funding, his response was apparently - "Then what are we fighting for?" 
• that young adults who want to engage in a gap year are offered a raft of volunteer programmes that benefit their own or other communities
• that all communities honour themselves - have a street party in each community once a year and the whole town/estate/suburb meet for a long lunch
• then each community formally engages mentors (refugee, indigenous, young, retirees) to support us all at a grass roots level
• that whistleblowers are protected by law
• that the poor, the vulnerable, the chronically unwell and the disabled are cared for in a fair, speedy and logical manner
• that all government departments have enough trained staff to answer our questions on any given day.

the two pretenders to the Throne

the rest of our candidates?

where I was when any truthful promises were made...

By hey, we have alternatives to the duopoly -

Tony Windsor in NSW

Richard di Natale of the Greens

Nick Xenophon

check out the Sex Party's policies

and don't forget Ricky Muir.

Want democracy? Vote for the Independents!

"The 100 Homicide Torture" and other Gruesome Tests of Endurance.

For those of us who grew up in the sixties and seventies, the Australian police drama "Homicide" was a fixture in most of our homes. Hector Crawford, a prolific television producer, churned out episode after episode of "Homicide", 'Division 4", "Matlock Police", "Bluey"and "Cop Shop", with regular and recognisable characters - the police, the villains, a young thug or two, the informers, the matriarchs (or abused cowering wives) with the usual car chases, a bit of shooting and definitely no blood. My personal highlight was watching all those hats staying on the heads of the suited detectives as they ran in hot pursuit of the criminal or leapt out of moving cars to apprehend a fleeing guilty party.

Those were the days, the super glued headgear, the ties and the suits. As fashions changed hair grew longer, trousers changed shape, ties grew wider, shirts became louder and shoes higher. And eventually, God forbid, the police detectives stopped wearing hats altogether.

But, as time has passed, those classic series became rather quaint, daggy and excruciatingly laughable. The original advertisements were probably worse. Who else has the jingle pop up unexpectedly in their heads..."don't wait to be told, you need Palmolive Gold!" Or remembers..."why is it we always leave the party first? and she responds "It's my girdle, can't move, can't breathe". Not to mention "Ooohhh, it does get in!"

Although we  loved these old television shows, we have buried them where they belong - dozens of VCR tapes gathering dust and spider webs in Granny's TV cabinet. One of these ancient tapes would only be exhumed as the ultimate punishment for a heinous misdemeanour. This would have to be..."The 100 Homicide Torture". I have never met anyone who has undergone this hideous torment and survived to tell the tale. This is a fate worse than death. The victim is tied to a chair, with their eyes taped open, forced to watch the same episode of "Homicide" (with the accompanying commercials) one hundred times. In black and white. No wonder this fearsome reel of tape is only spoken of in hushed tones.

Imagine being forced to sit through hours of drivel, gobbledegook, inane commentary and nonsensical dialogue. The terror of this scenario is, tragically, with us as we speak.

Filling our heads with mind numbing rubbish, incomprehensible mantras, and appalling fairy tales, we have been enduring the Federal Election Campaign for an interminable two months.

Day in, day out, our fearless politicians have perfected saying nothing about their own policies, pointing the finger at the other team, avoided answering direct questions at all costs and the absolute best - the #Faketradie advertisement supporting the Liberal Party, which was shot down in flames within hours and went viral for all the wrong reasons. In no time at all, a bunch of politicians and their media advisors confirmed they were indeed living in an alternate universe  to the rest of us.

And our esteemed Prime Minister had the last brilliant word. He confirmed that promises made in election races were not to be trusted, that they were only for the benefit of dumb voters. That has been the only real moment of truth in this long winded fiasco. Except I presume the Prime Minister wasn't meaning to be funny....

The only light at the end of the tunnel is the media blackout which begins tomorrow. We will have twenty-four hours of blissful respite from the endless political bombardment. Like "the Hundred Homicide Torture", even federal election campaigns eventually splutter out. Until the next time.

This is a television programme, marketed as drama...

the cast of "Homicide" - they were actors!

 

So were this more modernised "Homicide"cast - note the absence of hats...

then there was "Division 4" also drama...

and Matlock Police.

and I was always astonished when Bluey survived each episode without having a coronary!

Is arrogance the defining trait in "successful" politicians?

or are they just plain stupid to put up garbage like this?

The #faketradie replies universally panned this ad.

And a Tale of Two Politicians...

Jovial at the beginning

and frantically limiting foot in mouth disease towards the end.

Ladies and Gentlemen - the End is within sight. 

Please give thanks to whichever god or universe you follow!

And may the force be with us.