All About Michael (How did I manage to cut my mouth with a crumpet, darling? And other stories...)

Michael has proved himself, time and time again, to be patient, tolerant and fluster-free. Take this morning, for instance. As I continue to be somewhat out of commission with my bung knee, Michael made and served my breakfast. A couple of crumpets with plenty of jam and honey. All was proceeding to plan until I caught a sharp edge of the crumpet in the corner of my mouth. This involved a sharp scratch, a microscopic pinpoint of blood and a loud expletive. Then the obvious question.

Michel did not laugh at me or call me silly. Instead, he sat with a mildly puzzled expression on his face and responded "No Kate. I have no idea how you did that to yourself." And went back to eating his crumpets with no further fuss.

Over the last eight years, I have repeatedly been the source of surprise (and often exasperation) in my husband's life. I have broken a spout off a water container, set fire to a camping chair, set fire to my thongs, set fire to myself, produced inedible cannonballs out of previously tasty rissoles, turned tent-raising into a test of endurance, tripped over quite visible obstacles on innumerable occasions, lost my glasses on the beach, in the bush and in our garden. I have blithely blundered into obvious disasters without a care in the world. Following which, Michael usually has to pick up the pieces. Or me bodily...

I knew, immediately, that Michael was an unusual and extraordinary man from the moment I met him. Even our first "date" was a bit different. As I owned two dogs and Michael had his own dog, our choice of venue was the Whiteman Park dog exercise enclosure. Whilst the dogs introduced themselves and we walked and talked, very little else happened. But his beautiful dark eyes had already drunk me in. A gentle and quietly spoken man, he didn't touch me or try to hold my hand or kiss me after three seconds.

What a change from the Wide-mouthed Frog, the Chilean Stallion, Dave the Brave (who didn't like dogs), the Creepy Technician (who assumed I would have sex with him as he'd paid to see my profile on RSVP), the Sicilian Psychopath or a sad, anxious Kiwi who earned his nickname in a most unfortunate way. Michael was definitely a vast improvement.

So began our relationship. Friends were on the lookout for my welfare and put Michael through the Third Degree. My parents approved of my choice of partner for the first time in my fifty years. His children threw difficulties in our way, but we weathered those storms. We fled Perth to find a place to call home. We found sanctuary in Heavenly Beverley.

Michael introduced me to his beloved Goldfields, observing my reactions and gauging my moods. I fell in love with him, his stories and the places he took me. By the end of our first trip away together, I had become fascinated by the metal artefacts we collected and the places we stayed, which all whispered tales of the hardy folk who had settled there during the Goldrush and beyond.

Up to this day, I keep discovering more about Michael, particularly about his passions. Photos of him in his twenties, working in steel fabrication and moving towards decorative metal art and then into sculpture. The early stirrings of his story-telling through his art has led to his unique style of multi-faceted pieces. He loves manipulating his art to create shadows, as well as art that can be viewed from either side. The only multiple pieces he produces - Magda our redback spider magnet - are still individuals, given that each is hand made by eye.

Approaching another anniversary, we find that our relationship is still strengthening. We are content in each other's company. We love our friends, but we also treasure our alone time.

Hopefully, within a month, we will be moving into our new home, Station House. We plan to mount "Dory" onto our outside golden wall and our van Gogh colours reflect our hard-fought happiness.

And I have no doubt that Michael will continue in his calm ( if slightly bemused) acceptance of my ongoing disasters.

Love you, darling.

"Forgotten Tracks"

"In the Mix"

Within the chapel at SJOG, Subiaco

ladybird

caterpillar

"Spider on a Wall"

Adjacent to Mercy Hospital, Mt Lawley

Building a grizzly

Michael with his first business partner, Bevan Kipps

Please god, let this weld hold...!

"Child's Play"

"The Black Dog is Back"

"Starbirth"

Firescreen and fire grate

"Flowers in my Garden"

"Kangaroo Paw"

"Magda" in production

"Sketch in Steel" (Doodle!)

"Mindscape"

We are at LOCK-UP!

I have been rather tardy with my posts over recent days. The latest catastrophe was a worsening of my sore left knee, which I injured in an unseemly fall a number of weeks ago. Tripping over a hose when stone-cold sober is not a good look. I remember thinking  - bollocks! This is going to hurt. Managing to strike both knees, my left shoulder and lastly my forehead onto exceeding unforgiving concrete was the first tragedy. Skinning my left knee (isn't one supposed to stop doing this kind of thing in childhood?) masked the lurking problem Underneath. After initially improving over some time, I realised that a short brisk walk with Callum on Tuesday was perhaps not my brightest idea. By that evening, I was finding weight bearing was almost impossible on my left leg. The unfortunate body part also began to swell up like a balloon. Most annoying of all was that my beacon of logic, Vanessa, was going to be proved right. Again. After my tumble, Vanessa had gloomily predicted that I had done myself some real damage. I had hoped that by ignoring the obvious, I could magically make my knee better. Apparently, I have torn some sort of ligament or tendon in this troublesome area. Poop. I see the Boy Wonder, our orthopaedic surgeon on Wednesday.

Onto much more pleasant subjects. Our concrete pad was poured in the second week of March. Here in the first week of May, we are at lock-up. Actually, we are Beyond Lock-Up. Over the last two days, the Wonderkid that is Lindsay Doyle has been installing our kitchen, our kitchenette in the Studio (our upmarket  name for the third bedroom), our laundry cupboards and trough, ably assisted by John the builder extraordinaire, Hans the awesome tiler and all-rounder Elliott, who looks about twelve (with a beard) but is actually old enough to drive a car.

All our expectations are being blown out of the water. My new kitchen is totally different from any previous kitchens. Although compact, I have plenty of swish matt-black cupboards, a dishwasher, a brand new built-in microwave, two glorious multicoloured benchtops, glass cooktop and a sparkling oven. Holy cow!

Tomorrow will bring Hans back to tile his heart out, Lindsay to complete tasks at his usual speedy rate and Michael to begin painting the skirtings in our bedroom. As for me, I will be lurching around on my crutches, driving to Northam to collect Vanessa. And after she finishes laughing at me, I will be thrilled at her arrival. If vacuuming the Gallery today was any indication, I probably need to stay off my feet as much as possible for the time being.

Luckily, the progress of Station House continues to delight and distract me from my other woes.

Stay tuned.

My deluxe store room 

pantry and microwave

oven, not quite in-situ

a dishwasher that isn't ME

bench top and cupboard backs

laundry

still life of Beagle and kitchen

Ye Gods, what is she thinking?!

kitchenette and studio bathroom

Alex has a Forever Home!

We all know the old saying - "good things come to those who wait". If this is the case, Alex and I must have the patience of a couple of saints.

Yesterday was one of those days when dreams do actually come true. After eight years on the Homeswest public housing waiting list (including four years on the Priority List), Alex signed up for his forever home. He is the uber-proud lessee of a one bedroom villa on one of Perth's main drags. Two houses from a major shopping and cappuccino strip. Bus at the doorstep, so he can easily make his way to all his weekly activities.

Alex's house boasts both front and back courtyards, with a side path and a clothesline outside his laundry. These areas are a bit sad at present due to the proliferation of weeds. However, somebody had created garden beds and some of the plants are still alive and kicking. Can't wait to get into his little garden with the secateurs and a hose. There is even a little pond in the front. Clean it up and add goldfish? Not sure at this stage. The yuccas are certainly doing well in their positions. I discovered this fact as one stabbed me in the forehead as I was poking around. I am now sporting a tender lump on my left temple to remind me that my disaster genes are fully functional.

His property is fully fenced. Step inside to an open plan living/dining/kitchen area. Newish lino and a brand spanking new gas upright stove and oven. Nice bland tiles and only one burn mark where a previous tenant didn't know that hot saucepans and laminex benchtops don't mix well. A functional gas heater is in the living area. All his windows are screened. Bathroom and laundry are combined. Shower, loo, sinks and linen storage. There are actually cupboards everywhere, except in the kitchen! Never mind.

Alex's bedroom is at the front, large and with built in robes. The traffic is ever-present but this will not worry him in the least. He quite likes the hustle and bustle of busy areas and once he's asleep, he is impervious to most noise. And an added bonus - no air-conditioning. Others may not agree but as long as Alex is warm, he remains happy. And the beach is only a short bus ride away.

Julie, the allocation officer at Homeswest seemed as delighted as we were. Pascal, Alex's indispensable support worker was also there to share in Alex's triumph. Next week, I hope to organise another clean of Alex's home - the floors really need a good scrub, amongst other jobs -  and we will move him the week after that.

At long last, my autistic superstar has most of his life's goals. A place to call his own. Friends, outings, the Baptists (I love them for what they have done for Alex), the Bible College, studying for his Diploma in Hospitality, back in the Warehouse Cafe where his love affair with food really took off.

Last on his agenda will be a part-time job in food! And with Alex, the sky is the limit.

Alex in the Masterchef Challenge at the Duncraig Senior High School kitchen.

With Poh Ling Yeow at the official opening of the Warehouse Cafe in Shenton Park. She ate all Alex's cupcake!

With Adrienne at the BeFriend Ball.

With one of his best buddies, Chris.

Alex's new bedroom, flooded with afternoon light.

built in robes!

Living area (with gas heater) looking towards the front door and courtyard.

His new kitchen, 

Lack of cupboards is made up for by a pantry. And his gorgeous shiny stove!

Bathroom (decent sized shower in the right) and laundry leading outside to the side path and his clothesline.

BLISS

Another Date with the Delicious Doctor Daram

Getting older sometimes sucks. My body no longer functions as well as I would hope. I do not leap out of bed anymore. Kneeling is uncomfortable and returning to a vertical position is slow and cumbersome. Bending over my rounded figure is becoming more difficult. My ankles crack, shoulders creak, muscles ache after surprisingly little effort and my back stiffens and cramps, often without warning.

As for my skin, this is a consistently faulty organ. Back in the time of the dinosaurs, I barbequed myself every summer until I was sixteen. My Anglo-Saxon skin had two colours - pale and scarlet. I remember nights when I was so sunburnt that the heat would radiate off my body and sleeping was almost impossible.

As a result of my self-inflicted idiocy, I now suffer the consequences. I have had spots burnt, biopsied, scraped and scalped off various parts of my body, primarily my shoulders, upper arms and face. I have had ordinary general practitioners, plastic surgeons and dermatologists inspect, poke, prod and stab.

The good news is that although I am growing older, the specialists are getting younger. And some of them are quite delectable. Take my newest quack. I share him with Michael but I am pleased to say that Doctor Daram has taken more bits out of me than my husband. Hence I get to spend more time in his company.

Young, with curly black hair, a good looking face, trendy glasses, a sense of humour and a love of dogs, Daram is pretty close to perfection. He even makes scrubs look like a fashion item.

Except, much to my sorrow, he is capable of lying through his teeth. Take my latest visit yesterday. After pronouncing my nose as well healed, he then took a critical look at the rest of my body. There is nothing quite so soul destroying as stripping to my bra and jeans and exposing my roly-poly body to a gorgeous young thing. A few superficial lesions were burnt off. Worse was to come. Daram spied a suspicious spot on my right shoulder. No problem, he said. I'll just shave that off. Great, I responded. No needles? Only a very small one, he assured me.

Hence my disappointment. The needle was not small, in my opinion. And he stabbed him on multiple occasions. That's not a small prick, I roared. That's a big prick! And I don't like you anymore.

Michael and Daram were in fits of giggles. I was not amused. The job was done, a band-aid was dispensed and I informed Daram that due to his propensity for both lying and causing pain, I could not possibly leave Michael for him. He grinned back at me.

Having a doctor like Daram is like giving birth. I will dutifully return for my next appointment in a couple of weeks and drink in his cheerfulness and good looks.

However, Michael need not fear. He will remain my man. Daram is far too young for me.

An approximation of Doctor Daram (without glasses)!

Conversations with Alex

My son Alex has just turned twenty-six years old. He is polite and amiable. He loves cooking and is a volunteer at the Warehouse Cafe in Shenton Park. He is studying for a Diploma in Hospitality externally. He also attends Perth Bible College, to become a well-rounded person with better communication skills. His words.

He has lived by himself for eighteen months in a privately rented unit in Yokine. He has just been offered a unit through Homeswest after a marathon eight years on the public housing waiting list. He is delighted and can't wait to move in. This will hopefully be his "forever home" at a rent less than through the private market.

He attends personal training sessions at a Perth gym, attends church and young people's groups and has a busy social life. He studies at home for his Diploma most Fridays. He is an earnest young man with a very positive manner.

He also has significant health issues and a diagnosis of autism. When I talk about Alex, I am very aware that some may view my comments as "inspiration porn". I am very proud of his achievements as I believe he has overcome many obstacles to become the fabulous young man he is.

I am also very proud of my other children. I continue to be thrilled that somehow I produced a ballroom dancer such as Callum. He also has a gorgeous partner (my intended daughter-in-law), their own home and my grand-cat. Vanessa is about to complete her Masters. She taught for three months in a very isolated part of China (she was the only European in the town). She is a talented artist and a tenacious researcher.

The world is not a fair place. I would be ecstatic if disabled people were able to live as they choose. But to quote Stella Young - "no amount of wishing will turn that flight of stairs into a ramp". So I was relentless in moulding (?), shaping (?) or altering (?) Alex's behaviour so he would be fit better into this world as I see it. And Alex responded. Between June 1995 and February 1998, Alex underwent an ABA programme using Discrete Trial Training techniques. Most weeks, we averaged between twelve and fifteen hours one on one with his therapists. We added occupational therapy, speech therapy, physiotherapy, play therapy, day care and then pre-primary to his programme. In June 1995, Alex was non-verbal, was not toilet trained, couldn't dress himself, feed himself, did not sleep. Two and a half years later, he was ready to enter Year 1. Did he appear to suffer? On the contrary. Alex appeared to blossom, to develop a sense of humour, to be able to express fear, to tell me if he was sick and play with his pre-primary classmates.

So, am I encouraging "inspiration porn" when I am thrilled at my son as he is today? This is a fine line. Who Alex is, what Alex does, how Alex lives should be accepted regardless of his level of functioning. In my experience, this is not the case. And so, I am caught between celebrating Alex as he is and encouraging him to behave as mainstream society would have him.

And Alex's essence, his soul, his humanity is unchanged. He is less frightened by the world. As I see him, this is a wonderful by-product of ABA. He is more confident. more adaptable and more comfortable. He is also bolshy, opinionated and exceedingly stubborn. That was evident long before ABA. Alex and his autism are intertwined. And I would not change that connection, even if I could.

Which brings me to the subject of this post - conversations with Alex as he emerged from silence. Our earliest chats were usually one-word replies from him. "What did you do today, Alex?". "Jigsaw". Or watching him playing with another child "Catch me! Catch me!" Or driving with him - "Mother is that driver a lady or a man?" "A lady, Alex". "Then why does she have a moustache?" Or telling his first joke in therapy when our dog stuck her big head between him and his therapist "Sophie is not teacher!" and bursting into repeated peals of laughter. Or a mind blowing moment - "I remember when I was four". "What was that like Alex?" (He was non-verbal at four) After a long pause "It was really hard".

Last Friday, in spite of an incredibly stressful day, we still managed to have marvellous conversations. He chatted about a church conference he was going to attend on the weekend. "Alex, you can celebrate your Homeswest unit!" "Mother it's a conference. I can't celebrate" "Why not?" Further food for thought. And then, talking with Keryn, the Homeswest goddess - "I shall probably go to heaven on Alex's shoulders" "You can't Mother" "Why not?" "Because you haven't given yourself to Jesus".

From Alex's point of view, that was a fair comment. However, in this real world, anybody not associated with Alex's church could question his beliefs. And to give him credit, he did not kick up a stink when I disagreed with him.

I told him I believed in Jesus, that I though Jesus was a pretty cool dude, that he saved the day at the wedding in Canaan, that he provided for some additional guests at a picnic (with a few loaves and fishes), and that he helped the sick, the poor and the vulnerable.

And, God bless him, he didn't contradict his nutty mother. And he was able to understand my answers, even if he didn't agree with me. And although the day was very very intense, Alex remained reasonably composed. In the Homeswest office "Mother needs a drink of water". No, I actually needed a wine. But he considered me before himself and I was very touched.

I suspect that there are some "neurotypical" young adults that would not have the same consideration as Alex does for me.

And yes, I think of Alex as a superstar.

Round and Round the Garden...

Friday unfolded like a deranged episode of "Yes Prime Minister" or "Utopia" with a good dollop of "Max's Dragon Shirt" thrown in for good measure. I was sure that I could hear John Clarke's laughter in the background all through those furiously frustrating daylight hours. By the time darkness was falling, I could have written an entire series based on the repeated insanities I had experienced. And I just thank the universe that there was actually a happy ending.

The events that became Friday had their genesis the day before. After eight years on the public housing waiting list, (including four years on the Priority List), Alex was offered a property by the Housing Authority, otherwise known as Homeswest. I sent Alex and his support worker, the invaluable Pascal, to check out the property. From Beverley, I had repeated amiable conversations with a Homeswest representative, Narelle. The unit was deemed perfect by Alex, a few faults were noted and photographed and as Alex returned the key back, he delightedly announced to the entire Homeswest office that he was accepting this property. He needed to return the following day to fill out and sign all the necessary paperwork for his forever home.

During a couple of phone calls between him and me, I asked Alex if he would like my company for this very important task. Initially, he responded he would be able to manage the process himself. I could almost see his chest puffing with pride. Later he thought better of this decision and asked if I would come to Perth to see him through the piles of paper. We arranged to meet at Homeswest Mirrabooka at around 9.30 am. I warned him I may be a little late as I would be having an early start from Beverley.

An enormous agricultural machine taking up the entirety of Waterhatch Road and the ongoing saga of roadworks in Mundaring slowed my progress. As I pulled up outside the Homeswest building, I could see Alex straining to catch sight of my car. I waved, parked the car and went to meet him on foot. His agitation was palpable. Waving a Centrelink income and assets statement in my face, he continued his descent into a panic. The statement showed an "asset" of $38,100, dated 4 August 2016. Alex was distraught, stuttering that a Homeswest officer had told him he may not be eligible for his property due to his financial status.

For the first time since Michael had nearly died three years ago, the world turned red. Instantly I knew my ex-husband (Alex's biological father) had his fingers all over this transaction. Years ago, I'd had to go to the tax office as Alex's voice to get a previous family trust disaster removed from Alex's record. And now, it appeared that the same tactics had been used by my ex all over again, with no regard for the consequences that Alex may have to suffer.

Alex was adamant he needed bank statements to prove his innocence. My mind was whirling in response to his distress. We decided to go to the library across the road to print off the documents. In hindsight, we should have just gone and done this deed at Centrelink. I just wanted to act quickly to reduce Alex's confusion and fear.

Around the same time, I received a phone call from the ex himself. He was somewhere overseas and the line was terrible. I was only catching every second word and his flippantness was enraging. With as much composure as I could muster, I asked him to get his accountant to ring me to sort out this mess. What I really wanted to do was to smack him out of his complacency.

My handling of printing off the required bank statements was the stuff of bedlam. The library was packed with families preparing for story time. I needed to fill out a membership form and show ID to use their computers. In the midst of this chaos, the accountant's office rang. The accountant responsible for the ex's affairs was in a meeting. I stated the accountant had better get out of the meeting and fix this disaster. In my anger, surrounding by masses of mums and small children, I denounced the ex and used a particularly colourful metaphor to describe him.

A librarian suggested I take this conversation elsewhere. I hung up, took a deep breath and apologised to all those present shorter than me. We were able to print off Alex's bank statements without further ado and then set off for Centrelink. I doubt I could ever return to Mirrabooka library.

After standing in the queue and waiting for assistance, the very polite and pleasant Centrelink officer was unable to alleviate Alex's misery. She told him he needed a document that stated this asset was not assigned to Alex. Almost unable to bear the dazed and disbelieving expression on Alex's face, I decided then and there that I would secure the desired notation from the accountancy firm before the end of the day.

In the meantime, we returned to Homeswest to clarify the situation. At last, a gem named Keryn provided us with a glimmer of hope. Even with this imaginary farce of an asset attached to his name, Alex was just under the threshold and would be able to take possession of his Homeswest unit. And his rent, until he was able to remove this asset from his financial record, would only be very slightly higher.

For the first time that day, Alex smiled. We waited whilst Keryn completed yet more paperwork, which Alex duly signed. All his information would now be given to a housing officer, who would process the application and contact Alex when all this was finalised. Alex could then pay the necessary rent, collect his key and move into his unit in due course.

After a quick bite, we were off to the accountancy firm in Osborne Park. I had arranged to pick up a letter stating that Alex had not received this asset and that he was no longer part of the family trust as of 30 June 2016. Whilst speaking to this smarmy accountant, I managed to wipe her air of amused confidence. She had queried the amount of the asset distributed to Alex and the date of that distribution. I responded that her understanding was irrelevant as both the tax office and Centrelink thought otherwise. She was silent so we hung up in mutual loathing.

En route, we stopped at Alex's proposed home. We could not get inside but I was pleased with the location and the layout. Boasting a front and a back courtyard with a side clothesline, security screens and doors and an open plan layout, I was pretty happy. Yes, it was still a Homeswest property and needed a great deal of spit and polish - somebody had attempted to set fire to the benchtop - but I was sure that some elbow grease and cleaning products would do the trick. And Alex was so proud.

Onwards and upwards. The letter received from Carbon Accountants (with a big C) was so grammatically untidy. I was highly amused. However, at least the letter stated the bleeding obvious. As a final port of call, we tried to lodge the letter at Centrelink. The staff were unable to receive the letter as they were engaging in an afternoon of strike action. At that point, I nearly broke into hysterical laughter. Alex and Pascal would have to undertake this task next week.

I dropped Alex back at his current digs, attended to a monetary disaster of my own making, performed the minimum shopping and turned Goldie in the direction of home. Having left at 8.30am, I was ecstatic to sight Beverley just before dark. A quick toilet break and we retired to the pub. There was no way I was cooking dinner at the end of this memorable day.

And I have lived to fight yet another day! Stay tuned.

One of the modes of communication I used frequently on Thursday and Friday

Welcome back!

Repeatedly...

At last, a saviour at Homeswest...

which positively encouraged me to keep going

And after many hours followed by a fortifying vino at the pub, I felt a sense of quiet achievement. 

At last.