To Middle Age (or Infinity) and Beyond!

Becoming middle-aged is definitely not for the faint of heart. Bits of my body periodically seem to stop working or fall apart or one then the other. Then, there's the joke about the elderly couple waking up one morning. The good lady is convinced she's dead. After some testy moments, her husband asks her why she believes she is deceased. Her response, "well I'm awake and nothing hurts". I rest my case.

The Boy Wonder, or in his mild-mannered alter ego of Mister Ben Kimberley, has been putting me back together far more often than I consider to be particularly seemly. In the last seven years, he has repaired both my shoulders, my left carpal tunnel, my right forearm, my left ankle and now my left knee. Twice.

During a year that I have been extraordinarily careless, I have fallen repeatedly onto my knees, causing two quite independent injuries, both of which have required grease and oil changes and bloody good cleanouts.

January was not a good start to 2017as my knees hit concrete pavers at speed, after tripping over the garden hose. My body weight following close behind did not help the situation. Worst still, I was stone-cold sober so the fall really hurt.

The repair in May by Ben and anaesthetist Anna was awesome. Having entered the Mount Hospital on crutches, I left, slightly lopsided, under my own steam. Suitably smug, I was given the all-clear to begin exercise again and hopefully improve my completely-lacking fitness.

Our Queensland Odyssey seemed like the perfect launching pad for more exercise and increasing the tone of my wibbly-wobbly muscles. First stop out of Bundaberg, at Monto, revealed the mystery of the Monal mining centre, which had just been abandoned when the gold ran out. We set out through the extremely hilly bush to visit and explore the remains of Monal.

The drive was challenging and the country spectacular. Inquisitive cattle watched our progress. After two hours, we reached our destination. And our jaws dropped. On a rocky ridge, mining equipment and machinery were strewn around. A gold stamper and several boilers were the most recognisable objects. Climbing onto one of the boilers to take photographs, I failed to navigate the open hatch and went down the hole like a sack of very substantial potatoes. Bollocks.

Initially, I hoped I hadn't further injured the long-suffering knee. The bruising up my left thigh was quite extensive and colourful and I had also taken a sizable chunk off my right shin. I crossed my fingers for the rest of the holiday and we returned home none the wiser.

As I had a follow-up appointment with the Boy Wonder, he organised an MRI to ascertain any further damage. Another quick dash for Dad's funeral and I eventually phoned through for the results at the beginning of October.

Ben had left a one-word explanation. Surgery. Bummer.

And so, armed with china mugs, freshly ground coffee, a plunger and my favourite teabags, we entered the Mount Hospital on Tuesday morning. Michael was boarding with me. The surgery went without a hitch although we did feel at times that our room was located at a major intersection. The traffic noise from Mount's Bay Road was clearly audible and we were also right next to the junction of the Wandoo Ward's doors and the shortcut to theatre.

Funniest of all was greeting Sue, manager of Salon Express in Midland, in one of the bays in Pre-op. She was also waiting for an arthroscopy. We wished each other a speedy recovery as I was wheeled out to the inner sanctum of the operating room.

Why is the theatre table so narrow? Wriggling my generous body from my bed onto a flat surface the width of an ironing board was somewhat inelegant. I couldn't help wondering about those who were more cuddly in shape than me having a similar difficulty.

Surgery over, I snoozed for most of the afternoon, enjoyed my dinner, snoozed some more and made an effort to stay awake to watch Gruen. The knee was surprisingly tender and I began worrying that I might have needed to bring my crutches into hospital after all.

Fortunately, good pain relief and some sleep fixed that problem. Getting enough rest in hospital isn't as easy as one might think. Between tablets and observations and trips to the loo, the night was fairly crowded with activities other than slipping into Cloud Cuckoo Land. But we survived with good humour and eventually exited the Mount yesterday morning.

After a surprising busy afternoon - shopping, a haircut for Michael and a cup of tea with Sandra - we arrived home around five. I had an early evening nap which galvanised me for dinner and TV.

Today, I am back in the Gallery and apart from being rather tired and having a clunky knee, I am feeling almost back to normal. I will be having an afternoon siesta prior to Pub Night as I intend to enjoy our routine Friday night date.

From now on, I have decided that I must pay far more attention to the position of my feet in order to remain upright. Falling is unpleasant. Particularly when sober.

First knee surgery in May. My right leg has the sexy support stocking and my left leg is under an ice pack.

Enjoying Audrey the bearded dragon's company in Bundaberg - late July.

Curious bystanders en route to Monal.

Another punter.

Monal Creek

The defendant.

Injury to my right shin.

Oh, woe is me!

Post op Wednesday 19 October.

The offending knee - with the arrow!

And X marks the spot of my pulse on my foot!

What a Heroic Weekend!

After an action packed weekend, I have recuperated enough to write this post. By yesterday afternoon, my feet were throbbing in unison and I was only able to focus on dinner preparations before succumbing to the vapours and collapsing on our sofa for the rest of the evening.

This morning, we woke to wind and rain after a glorious few days. What a relief that the wild weather had held off for the Beverley Heroic. I am sure that the participants would have risen to the occasion and behaved even more heroically in the event of foul weather. However, sunshine and warmth enhanced the enjoyment of all those involved and was the icing on the cake of a wonderful weekend.

For those who think I'm speaking gobbledegook, let me explain. A very long time ago, 1897 to be exact, a bicycle race was established between Beverley and Perth. This was tough cycling, over gravel roads and earned a reputation for being one the hardest races in the world at that time. The original "Beverley", as the race became known, ran until 1999. By the time we arrived in town in 2011, the "Beverley" had become a memory of a bygone era.

Enter Toby Hodgson, bicycle enthusiast extraordinaire and passionate believer in a rebirth of a new Beverley event, centred around bicycles of all vintages, fun, fresh air, family participation along with some semi-serious racing. The "Beverley Heroic" was launched in October 2014.

This most recent weekend featured a 100 Mile (160 kilometre) race, a 50 Mile (80 kilometre) race, a town race, a Cyclocross for both adults and children (with plenty of mud), a retro bicycle show and the customary presentation to finish proceedings.

Old and new bicycles, a penny farthing, outrageous hairstyles, suitably heroic outfits and all manner of cycling gear graced the main drag, with both the hotels, the B&B and the caravan park bulging at the seams.

We were lucky enough to have the penny farthing in the East End Gallery on display from Friday afternoon for the night and next morning. Heroic rider Collyn was most grateful to have a spot to park the penny farthing and we were delighted to be able to accommodate his need.

The East End Gallery was busy all weekend with Heroic riders, their friends and families. Occasionally, a bewildered day tripper arrived, wondering what outrageous event they had stumbled upon in a supposed quiet little country town.

The Heroic closing ceremony was an absolute hoot. There were prizes of course, all based on Heroic feats. Greg won the "Heroic Hair" category. Karl won for heroically completing an 80 kilometre ride when his previous longest distance had been 10 kilometres. A Perth team, the Escapados, won for matching Heroic riding clothes. One Escapados also won the ultimate "Heroic" for first to finish.

Shire President Dee and local pollie Darren West were also present to congratulate everyone involved with another fabulous Heroic and hand out the winners' cups. Both of them looked like they were having as much fun as the rest of us.

Toby himself was looking a tad worse for wear by the end. His moustache had moved to a jaunty angle on his top lip, his cap was slightly askew and his vintage bicycling outfit was a tad crumpled. All appearances aside, Toby was The Man. He'd pulled off another Heroic.

Roll on next year.

Still life of Michael, Collyn and Penny Farthing.

Yes, it really looks like that.

Countdown to blast-off...

three...

two...

one...

IGNITION!

Gathering for the finale.

Prez Dee with MC Toby.

The Heroic Escapados in matching shirts and caps.

Regional MLC Darren West with Beverley Shire President Dee Ridgeway

Still filled with passion.

One very happy winner!

Amazingly, Karl was still upright

and Greg's hair was suitably tousled and wild!

Collyn (minus the penny farthing) with a very sore rider on his right and one of many photographers on his left. The bloke in the bike shorts must have a memory deficit. He was already talking about the 2018 Heroic!

And a huge thank you to Sarah, Merieke and their team of volunteers.

The Kid from Katoomba and Other Tales from the Gallery

The East End Gallery is a cacophony of art and artists, guests and supporters, Michael and myself, our Gallery dogs, Pip and Ruby, who wander in and out and Red the Pirate Parrot.

Red is an Eastern King parrot, native to New South Wales and Victoria. His relatives are prolific in the Blue Mountains. Hence, the title - "the Kid from Katoomba". He was bred, along with his siblings, by our next-door neighbour Lorna, when we were living at the House that Rocks. Lorna was hand-rearing Red when she parted company with her third husband. He was offered to us and we accepted - the bird, not the husband.

Red is, is many ways, the archetypal Australian bloke. He has appalling table manners, is noisy, rude and argumentative, only chats when he chooses, is extremely handsome and incredibly vain. On leaving the House that Rocks last December, he rapidly became our Gallery bird as his ear-splitting squeals proved quite uncomfortable within the confines of the Hovel.

After wintering in Station House, Red has returned to his Summer Residence in the East End Gallery. Rather like the Romanovs, he moves from one location to another, dependant on the season. He will stay in the Gallery until next autumn, when the nights become too chilly and we will return him to the heating of Station House. Yes, I know. We are complete suckers.

We were preparing the Gallery for one of the major events on Beverley's calendar - the Beverley Heroic this weekend. We have placed new metal and wood sculptures by the outstanding artist, Andrew Taylor. "Renee's Ascent", "Renee's Descent" and "Summer Holidays" are extraordinary art pieces with a cycling theme.

This afternoon, we also welcomed Heroic participant Colin and his penny farthing. The size of this primitive bicycle and the skill of the rider are almost unbelievable. The penny farthing will be displayed in the Gallery until 1.30pm on Saturday afternoon.

Jan George has left only two of her precious hard cover books for a trial in the Gallery. "Glimpses from the Road" are available in postcard and A4 sized books with all the series of paintings with the associated haiku poems. As Jan's single postcards are $2 each, the hard cover books at $45 and $65 are very good value. If you come in to view Jan's books, you will be enchanted. Ideal Christmas gifts.

Latest artist Leah from Doodenanning, has produced a series of bath teas, which may also be used as pot pourri. Leah has used herbs from her own garden, as well as imported herbs from countries such as Egypt, to create  seven beautiful teas for rejuvenating and soothing tired, sore and unwell bodies.
At a special introductory price of $20 per package - equivalent to four or five baths - Leah's bath teas are exceptionally presented with all information and ingredients.

We now have fifty-three artists in the East End Gallery. At times, we can barely believe how far we have come. We are living the dream, sharing the passion and honouring our artists.

But don't just take my word for this. Take a day trip out of Perth and come and visit the East End Gallery.

Michael, Colin and penny farthing

Colin's "bicycle"

Some of Andrew Taylor's sculptures on plinths in the Giftshop

Young Red

Red Red with HelpXer Simon Hoff

"Punk Pink" by Jan George

Renee's Ascent

Creating New Memories

I have this great lump in my throat. Not just in my throat; the lump travels to my heart and to my eyes without warning. I find myself thinking Sascha is behind me or next to me or tottering her way through the dog door. Yesterday I swore I could feel her, smell her in the house. The suddenness of her demise is still hard to bear.

I found myself recollecting a James Herriott story about a young spirited little Poodle struck down by severe gastroenteritis. By accident, he had heavily sedated a sheep after birth whom he considered was dying. The sheep had slept for two days and completely recovered. James decided to try this treatment with the little dog when her gastroenteritis seemed intractable. Like the sheep, the dog slept for forty-eight hours, her body given a break from the terrible thirst and diarrhoea she was suffering. And recovered completely.

How I longed I could have offered this option to our beloved Sascha. But the reality was completely different. Sascha was elderly and very unwell. We could have stabbed her with needles and confined her to a cage and tried to rehydrate her and attempted to diagnose the cause of her obvious illness. Instead, we sat with her and cried over her and talked to her and loved her with every fibre of our beings until her spirit flew.

Today has been all about tiny miraculous memories without Sascha. Pip slept at my feet all night. This morning, he and Ruby sat together on the dog bed now in our bedroom whilst Ruby licked his back and sniffed his willy. Ruby doesn't lick anybody. What excellent therapy!

They have lain together under our desk. Together. We took them to our familiar oval this evening. I am sure Pip strained his eyes in all directions for his beloved Sascha, but then he ran with Ruby. They both interacted with a young German Shepherd during the walk. They have had a couple of playdates with their mate, Macca. I have asked Gary to bring Boof over next time they are together. I hope we can also meet with Tex and Woody and JB and all our other canine playmates. If anybody wants to visit us with their doggy child, now is the time, please.

As I write this post, the anti-social Beagle and the anxious Jack Russell are lying together underneath the desk. There have been the bonds of tolerance and friendship between them for over eight years. Now, with Sascha gone, I believe they are naturally changing their relationship to become closer to each other in her absence.

And blow me down. Madame Cat appears to be more affectionate towards them too. The Three Stooges are re-grouping.

I know Sascha's spirit is still with us. I know she will be content with the changing of the guard.

Goodbye to Our Great Big, Grey, Beautiful Girl.

This morning was different. Sascha, who has been in the habit of barking from dawn until she is given her pig's ear, was strangely silent. She was waiting behind the barricade with Pip and Ruby but was subdued and solitary. Initially, I heaved a sigh of relief at unbroken sleep, but then I realised Sascha was not herself. She appeared to be having difficulty sitting. I thought she was just feeling bolshy. When her morning treat held no appeal for her, my heart plummetted. Our beloved Sascha's life was drawing to its conclusion.

She had seemed indestructible. At fourteen-years-old, she had beaten mast cell tumours, a dog attack, splenic cancer and a benign lipoma. She had saved my life by her very presence back in 2006 when I had a catastrophic breakdown. She ran with me in Karrinyup, in Tewantin and in Marangaroo. She walked with me all around Beverley.

She adored people unreservedly. First Ruby the cat entered her life as her companion. They often slept together on the sofa and played, as much as a cat can play with a dog. But Pip, her shadow for the last eleven years, held her heart. Rarely were they separated. Pip will need plenty of love and support as I am sure that he will grieve for his life partner.

She tolerated the inclusion of the Problem Child into our lives in 2010. Just as well Ruby came with Michael, whom she accepted immediately and enthusiastically. As a young dog, she was skittish and nervous at loud noises, rattling signs and sudden movement. Not as destructive as Sophie, my previous Weimaraner, she still had her moments of madness, particularly in the garden.

A few days ago, she was still capable of a short burst of speed at the oval. Her other favourite activity was to throw herself delightedly onto the grass and roll with ecstasy. At home, she enjoyed lying on the warmth of the outside carpet, revelling at being a canine sun goddess.

Obviously descended from the pharaohs, one of her favourite position was to lie with her head up,  her front legs crossed, like a version of the Sphynx. Perhaps she knew, for at the vet, she assumed the position one last time.

I am comforted with the knowledge I asked her to stay alive until she could lie in the sun in and outside Station House. And she allowed us the privilege of being with her as her spirit left her body.

Tracey, the senior vet at Heartlands York, was exceptional in her care of Sascha and us. Thank you also to Amber, a junior vet, Steph and the lovely vet student whose name escapes me.

We are going to have her cremated and bring her ashes home. For anyone who knew Sascha, please ask the universe to embrace and love her as we have.

Farewell Sascha. Know how much you have meant to us.