To Dream Some Highly Unlikely Dreams.

Oh, the delights of normality. Today, I'm back! Sitting purposefully behind my desk in the Gallery, bopping along to U2, enjoying the peace and quiet of Heavenly Beverley on a lazy Friday afternoon.

Unfortunately, my current appearance leaves a bit to be desired. At a quick glance, one might assume I've escaped from the set of the "Bride of Frankenstein". A longer gaze might suggest that I actually am the Bride of Frankenstein!

Skin cancer surgery on my nose is not a pretty sight. This is the third time I have gone, not terribly willingly, under the knife just on my face. I've also had basal cell carcinomas lopped off my right arm and my left shoulder. Then there have been the biopsies, the frozen zapping and the inspections of my gorgeous physique at least once or twice a year.

Michael, on my insistence, has taken a few glamour shots to remind me of my past foolishness. To remind me that I must never step outside without a hat and sun protection. I am quite aware that most of the damage was done every summer until I was sixteen. Along with everyone else, we would barbeque ourselves by the pool or on the beach in the quest for that all important tan. However, I can still cause more unsavoury lesions through stupidity, if I so choose. Which I don't and hence the photos.

Wishing for no further skin cancers to emerge on my fair Anglo-Saxon skin is highly unlikely.  I was humming "To Dream the Impossible Dream" earlier and I drifted through a plethora of other equally unlikely dreams that I'd love to think are possible.

And so, in no particular order, here is a quick trip to my FantasyLand -

• that Centrelink would have to courtesy to phone and sort out once and for all the value of our assets
• that politicians would tell the truth, particularly during election campaigns
• that the poor, the unemployed, the sick, the vulnerable and the disabled would have as much of a "Fair Go" as anyone else in this Lucky Country
• that Sascha the Weimaraner would desist from going on early morning walks
• that our little unit's floors didn't look like tumbleweeds every day
• that summer days would always be like today and that winter be cool and wet with no frosts (that's a big wish I know)
• that Michael would be recognised by the wider world as a genuinely innovative metal artist
• that our money doesn't run out
• that Ruby the Beagle would refrain from her quite atrocious culinary habits
• and if the photos of my surgery save one other person from this rather painful experience, then my job is done.

One way of wasting a whole day by visitng Centrelink...

 Another way or wasting a whole day. Or several days as I am waiting for the Department of Human Services to ring me...

A fairly precise analysis of the State election...

BLAH BLAH BLAH

and more BLAH BLAH BLAH...

This is actually what WE want our politicians to ASK US...

SO THIS HAPPENS!

and whilst we are on the subject of dreams, this is Michael's...

whereas all I want is a self-vacuuming floor!

Glamour shot of MOHS surgery.

This is the real deal. Day 3 after surgery and my left eye is just opening again.

Please SLIP SLOP AND SLAP (hat, shirt and sunscreen).

A Day-Long Date with Doctor Daram.

Yesterday was D-Day. The Dreaded Day. The Day that could not be Denied. Yesterday was my Date with Doctor Daram to have the skin cancer on the left side of my nose Denuded. Oh goody.

In spite of taking a sleeping tablet, Tuesday night was not conducive to a Decent night's sleep. We had to Depart at the ungodly hour of six thirty and hopefully arrive at the Day Surgery by eight thirty.  I was awake before the alarm and my first task was to raise His Majesty from his slumber. He was not amused.

We were Doing well time wise until we hit peak hour morning traffic. Peak hour, as a phrase is a complete misnomer. The morning and afternoon road chaos continues for several hours, There are inevitable collisions, a great deal of horn honking and often some rather nasty language hurled between drivers. The ultimate top of the scale is referred to as "road rage" and is something we attempt to avoid at all costs. Road rage does not occur in Beverley.

Anyway, we eventually drove into the glamorously named South Bank fifteen minutes late. Finding the MOHS suite was rather like the entering CONTROL headquarters. One specific lift Delivered us Directly to the waiting room. A nervous wait, a quick check of my blood pressure and my Date with Daram commenced.

I had worked myself into a bit of a tizz over the local anaesthetic block that was to be injected into my nose. A bit of an anti-climax really. The needles still stung, but probably less than the injections for the previous biopsies. Then the Deed began.

Incision and excision one. Send off for pathology. Wait in my recliner for news. The whole growth hadn't been removed in the first go. Back into the Treatment Room. Top up of the locals. Second excision. Hole in my nose now the size of a Smartie. Pathology reported still more Dangerous cells lurking beneath. Back to the treatment room for another Dig.

By this time, Michael had arrived and was allowed to enter the inner sanctum to amuse me. I was so tired that I was not at all witty and Disappointingly Dirgeful.

Finally, we received the All Clear. Now I returned for a great Deal of stitching. Somehow Daram created a triangular flap from another bit of my nose to cover the crater. With a background of Seventies music, the Deed began. This was not a quick procedure. There are fifty internal Dissolving stitches and an unknown number of non-Dissolving ones. Which will be Dealt with by Daram over the next week or so. At three o'clock, we were ready to Disappear back to the hills.

I was told to expect some Discomfort. I suppose a swollen and black eye that feels like it is being pulled out of its socket could be Described as Discomfort. Add to the mix a Dullish headache and throbbing all down the ridge of my nose and you get the picture. Sod the Panadol. Two tablets didn't touch the pain I was in.

I perked up enough for a few quick Detours - the tile shop, the bottle shop for some Desired Drinkies and finally a visit to Lucky for a restorative cup of tea, two panadeine and one antibiotic. We arrived home as Dusk was falling. The idea of Dinner was about as attractive as the rest of the Day's events.

I retired to our boudoir before seven o'clock. I did not rise for over twelve hours. This morning  I appear Dishevelled with a Dreary Disposition. My left eye is almost closed and my nose feels about the size of a largish Dinosaur's proboscis. I am forbidden to Drop my head lower than the level of the heart and not carry anything heavier than five kilogrammes. Michael will be Mrs Doubtfire for the interim. At least, we should not experience any more Downhill Disasters for the foreseeable future....

And I now have to wear a hat on my Dome on all Days. However, if this action prevents any new Damage emerging, that will be a job well Done!

Our peaceful drive into Perth...

The Place

The Logo!

The process of MOHS surgery

What causes all the waiting.

How I hope I look like.

How I THINK I look like!

This too will pass.

It's All Happening (Again)!

We've had almost half of our annual rainfall in a few days. The river has burst its banks. The park next to the river reserve is almost up to the Flood Warning sign. But Beverley is dry. Built up above the Avon, there is still over a metre of room under the Beverley bridge. But the floodwaters are moving fast and hard. As we watched this evening, a tall eucalypt gave up against the raging waters and simply fell over.

Yesterday morning, we had news helicopters hovering above. Two of my brothers have checked that we aren't submerged. Little old Heavenly Beverley has hit the headlines.This has caused great amusement.

And that's not all. We also signed off on our building contract. The deal is done. We will have a new home in several months. And all our trees were lopped. Four will be completely removed to make way for the house. The tree closest to the Forbes Building has had a severe haircut, but we hope that it will resprout in due course.

Behind the Forbes Building looks like a bomb site. The earthworks include the removal of the foliage of the gum trees. But there is still a vast array of thicker timber to chainsaw into manageable pieces and stack for drying. This task is a tad daunting and will no doubt take some time. We are now relishing the cooler weather.

Last night, we relaxed with a joint performance of Famous Sharron and Barry Morgan. We laughed, we clapped, we cheered. Kim and Meredith braved the roads to come from Cunderdin for the show. The wine was good, the pizza awful. I asked for less cheese due to Michael's reflux. No attention was paid to this request. Michael suffered miserably, but he still enjoyed the show. Unfortunately, the effects of the pizza lasted much longer that the comedy of Shazz and Baz. We will not be frequenting the pizza outlet again in the future.

The rain finally appears to be abating. I have conceived a cunning plan to guarantee the speedy return of Wheatbelt summer temperatures. I have decided to buy some more ugg boots when I travel to Midland tomorrow. And pay yet another visit to Centrelink.

My black sense of humour is working overtime. After contacting Mia Davies' office (our state member) I was assured that I would receive a telephone call from the Department of Human Services to explain the calculation of our assets. So, whilst in Midland tomorrow, I shall enquire at Centrelink about this absence of contact. And produce the fourth assessment letter we have received in four weeks. And start handing in receipts for the house as I have been directed to do by Centrelink staff. I'm thinking this may take some time. Fortunately, I do have a handy picnic rug in the back of my trusty little hatchback. A newspaper and Facebook should help to keep me amused.

The most surprising aspect of this rather damp weekend has been the numbers of guests into the Gallery. I have just farewelled the last group at five o'clock. They expressed interest in two of Michael's sculptures and took one of our cards. Wonders will never cease.

Stay tuned for our next exciting escapade.

The Avon was ascending!

Whilst we were standing there, this tree gave up the ghost...

Obviously needed a Bex, a lie-down and a cup of tea!

Picnic anyone?

These shelters proved a tad ineffective...

Duh...

Now that was a haircut.

Preparing for excavations and groundworks...

A reasonable pile of debris!

Madame Cat was not amused.

On with the show!

Shazz with her "willing" participants,

With Meredith,

And Michael.

Mr Morgan and his organ...

The man

and his hair.

Quite fetching in his gold shorts and coat.

Mixing with the punters. All in a day's work for Barry Morgan.

The Great Flood Is Upon Us.

Having an outdoor kitchen usually works well in Heavenly Beverley during February. The rainfall average is a thimbleful, which usually is linked to a thunderstorm at the end of a very hot day. The first week or so had been rather mild with the highest temperature a relatively cool 35 degrees. This was a tad disconcerting.

I had felt that we were really getting into the swing of the Residence, having created an L-shaped space outside the back door to wash-up, thus giving us more bench space inside. The previous days of rain at the end of January had been irksome. We had been taken by surprise by that downpour and resolved to be better prepared if the rain returned before autumn. After all, February and March in Beverley are hot and dry.

So naturally, we've spent the last few days preparing for a tempest. Some inexplicable mid-level disturbance or cloud streaming down from one of those pesky tropical lows had resulted in the forecasting of a quarter of our yearly rainfall in a couple of days. Now that was a slight cause for concern.

I have reorganised our tiny kitchen nook and living space to make room for the washing basins and the drainer. I have stacked our outdoor chairs and brought the daggy cushions inside. Vanessa has retreated to the Gallery for privacy, sleeping and to give Michael and me space at night.

Yesterday Michael and I wandered down to the river with the dogs. We had been told that the flood gates at Yenyening Lakes had been opened to allow more water into the Avon River. So we went to have a look. Ye Gods, what a spectacle.

The Avon River in Beverley dries up completely on the northern side of the road bridge during summer. One can perform a Jesus impersonation on a dry river bed for fun. The southern side of the bridge is a permanent pool which becomes rather stinky during the summer months. This stretch of water is known as Smelly Alley and with good reason. Having visited the river yesterday, before the latest rain, convinced me that the river will be unlikely to dry up again this summer.

We have lived here for over 6 years. Our first winter was relatively mild (only 2 days of frost) and the river rose accordingly. However, nothing prepared us for the surging waters of a normally placid and often dry Avon River when we went for our walk last evening.

The Avon River in Beverley was producing swirling rapids. Islands that were visible all year round had become submerged. There was absolutely no smell. And the river was actually noisy. Lying in bed at Brooking Street, we had sometimes been able to hear the river during the depths of a decent wet winter. Now the river was a moving living being and with higher water than we'd ever seen.

As predicted, the rain began during the night. Today has been cool and rainy with heavy showers at times. I have been forced to layer up, which I haven't done for 3 months. I do not expect to be wearing three layers of clothes in February. That isn't supposed to happen.

Tomorrow is supposed to be warmer. That will be very pleasant. And when the rain stops, I will be setting up my outdoor kitchen faster than you can say Jack Robinson.

Looking southwards from the Beverley Bridge 8.2.2017

Rapids in summer!

Where have the islands gone?

Michael with Sascha paddling and Pip wisely remaining dry.

That was yesterday. What WILL the Avon look like in a few more days?

How To Just Stop

Today has been a truly wonderful day. Today I just stopped. I still opened the Gallery. I still welcomed guests. I still organised lunch for us. The difference was I chose to carry out only the activities I wished. And so I am sitting here at my desk in the Gallery. Michael has taken a break from cleaning bricks and is relaxing in one of our red club chairs with his feet up. Bliss.

We have gone back to basics, to what is important in our lives. Michael has worked out that we have about three times as many bricks as we' need for our al fresco wall. Hence, when we can afford to do so, we will have more than enough bricks for our carports and the back outdoor nook. Then we had a ridiculous argument about the cost effectiveness of western red cedar versus cement cladding. Plus the ongoing cheerful terror of building costs, with  Michael occupying the tensely morose corner and me in the enthusiastically optimistic corner. Michael has no doubt that we will struggle to keep within our budget. I have no doubt that we will finish the project with money to spare. And our minor squabbling is totally and utterly relevant to us and us alone.,

This normality is so sweet. For the first time in weeks, I have had a day off. I haven't had to focus on the interminable crisis that is Centrelink, Vanessa is settled into a new share house for her final semester, Alex's ongoing Homeswest saga will not become an issue for another two months and Callum and Bron did get their camping holiday, in spite of a last-moment family disaster. I think I've updated all our direct debits to CUA so I can finally close our last account with BankWest, that singularly unhelpful financial institution.

Vanessa had arrived and is Taking Charge. My bed is being made, the vacuuming will be done and we get to take a leisurely stroll around our beautiful oval. I've planned a roast for dinner and Vanessa makes the baked potatoes just the way Michael loves.

Jan, one of our artists and her faithful sidekick Macca dropped in as well. We just sat and chatted and shared a cider or so. The main street emptied of any remaining day trippers after four o'clock. I've enjoyed a gentle cool breeze drifting in through the Gallery doors and my outlook of the world through "Mindscape".

The Gallery is now closed. the bricks are sorted and cleaned and all is well with our world. Awesome.

Michael in the Gallery today...

After he realised I was taking his photo!

The view from my desk.

And the broken pallet all cleaned and sorted!

Smoke and Mirrors

I had just spent most of the day on the phone to Centrelink. The majority of this time has been on hold. Like right now.

I had hoped that the confusion and the anarchy reigning supreme at the Department of Human Services had mellowed in our case. We foolishly, oh so very foolishly, assumed that saga of our assets had been settled. We had received two lovely automated letters confirming that after all the angst, our pensions were only dropping by about forty dollars a fortnight. That loss we could absorb.

Then came this morning. I was demonstrating how to access the MyGov website to my darling husband. Lurking within his inbox was an ominous message relating to his Disability Support Pension. Another day, another combined assets figure and another pension adjustment. In the downwards direction of course. Somehow over three days, our assets had increased by fifty thousand dollars. Consequently, our pensions were dropping by another forty dollars each. WTF?

So far, I have tried to talk to "Complex Enquiries"First fail. The number only took me to the usual Disability line. First misinformation on an official letter from Centrelink. Then I rang Complaints. A delightful lady, Jeanene tried to help. Silly me. Customers can't get through to the Complex Enquiries section. Not permitted. She took my information away for clarification. This token achieved nothing. Their figures still came back suggesting we were property tycoons. Jeanene also dropped the term 'deeming credits' before we ended our conversation. She also requested an appeal for us.

Being vaguely aware of this phrase, I searched for meaning in relation to Centrelink. The Department of Human Services feedback on deeming, how it was applied, to whom and for what reason, did my head in again. I must have read the explanatory paragraph and its examples three times and it still didn't make the slightest sense to me.

However at the bottom of the page was a number for Financial Services. I was saved! Second fail. The Financial Services line had changed its name to the Older Australians line, which offered me a droning monologue by their fearless leader, Hank Jongen ( now there's an unhappy name).

Another call to the Complaints line. Matthew assured us we weren't subject to deeming. But as we dissected our assets piece by piece, we came upon the sale of our previous home at Brooking Street. Our previous principal place of residence....except their records had not included that teeny weeny vital information. The proceeds from the sale of our home had cunningly been counted as assets by the powers that be. And nobody picked up this mistake.

Which is why Centrelink being privy to their screens, as opposed to our screens is a disaster of epic proportions. If we don't know what is on their screens, how do we pick up if Centrelink has made an error? The onus is all on us to give correct information. But them? Matthew only tripped over the mistake by accident because I was insisting on adding up our assets one by one.

I have now been on hold for over forty-five minutes. And counting. This could be good or bad. I hope that this vindicates us. Or there may be another rule or policy to confound us. And I've already charged my phone once so far.

The phone call is over. One hour, twenty-three minutes and twenty-seven seconds. According to the new calculations,  we will still be losing sixty dollars each a fortnight. At least that's better that the previous figure. There was a bit of hemming and hawing as to whether our house had been inadvertently been counted as an asset.

But I am spent. I can't do any more today. I will wait with bated breath for the next automated letter generated for us. And wonder what Centrelink Bingo holds for us this time.

Waiting...waiting...

Then....on hold!

Trawling through the lack of information and misinformation...

Centrelink's secret identity...

Countdown to launch...

BLAST OFF!

And now, my brain hurts.

Self-explanatory.