Voluntarily Confiined to Barracks

This post could take some time. I'm propped up in bed, with groovy red non-slip socks on my feet. Added to this model shoot are very my attractive white pressure stockings adorning my legs, a sexy stripey nightie, disordered hair without a hint of product and my new best friend - a zimmer frame I've named the Oracle. What a picture to contemplate!

Michael delivered me to the Mount Hospital yesterday just after eleven o'clock. He then turned into a pack horse, bringing in the computer bags, toiletries items, our essentials (coffee beans, grinder, a variety of tea bags, our mugs and his precious plunger coffee pot). We also have the medicinal chocolates and jellybeans. Finally, he staggered into the room with our clothes bag. Whew.

The delightfully friendly anaesthetist Anna Nagle had advised we bring in three sets of knickers and undies when I spoke to her at home. So we had thought we were armed with sufficient clothes and supplies until Monday. Now sitting on my bum, contemplating a possible lengthier timeframe, perhaps we should have brought more clothes in. I immediately resolved to phone Vanessa for emergency supplies of jocks, tee shirts and pyjama bottoms for Michael. She is currently at Station House to babysit the dogs and car overnight, as well as collecting her winter clothes out of her closet there.

Callum is coming in tomorrow for Mother's Day morning tea. Not that we can complain about the food here. The Mount is probably on par with the Joondalup Private Hospital. For example, lunch was a delicious chicken roast and parsley sauce with roast potato and veggies - even the broccoli was still crunchy. What was a welcome surprise.

On my operated leg, I am sporting a ProHart style splashing of pink from my groin to my ankle, an arrow to mark the correct knee and a small catheter tube that delivers local anaesthetic to my knee all the time. Anna's rationale behind this is simple. If I'm not in pain, I will do my physio. Good point.

That catheter is coming out on Monday. Other devices that have been removed include my oxygen nose prongs, the saline drip and the severe pain relief button I only used four times. Also gone is my bladder catheter so I have been able to take a trip to the loo and put knickers on for the first time in over twenty-four hours.

Waiting in the holding bay remains the worst part of yesterday. A close second was the unsuccessful first drip insertion. Anna was most apologetic and managed to insert a triple gin and tonic into that site, so I have no memory of the second successful IV being placed just below my elbow. I think I have a wispy recall of the spinal anaesthetic, but nothing overly unpleasant. I certainly didn't hear Ben's choice of music, which Anna reported was reasonable, but apparently a tad on the loud side.

I was compos mentis in time for the final episode of Harrow, before having a final cup of tea and off to sleep. In spite of the normal post-op interruptions last night, I was easily able to return to slumber.

Today, I have been a little worse for wear. I've been stabbed, x rayed, utrasounded and visited by all and sundry. I'm been exercised by the physios, been checked by Anna and amused by the Boy Wonder's visit in weekend civvies with all three of his children in tow.  So after lunch, I slept the afternoon away. I hope with some of the drugs I have been given will be reduced over the next day or so and the daytime snooziness disappears.

Michael has his own proper bed as we have been given a twin room. He has been admirably noble, helpful and understanding. I am so grateful for his boarding will me, as I would have had to call the nurses a great deal more without his help.

Between them, Jan, Greg and Vanessa are holding the fort in Beverley and we are so thankful. Jan admitted she had given the dogs twice their usual amount of food, so she is now Ruby's best friend. A nervous wee was located under the table but Vanessa has dealt with that indiscretion.

So any concerns have vanished and I am feeling relatively comfortable with my condition and being in the hospital. Our room is large and pleasant. The nursing staff, including Elsa, Sarah, Rose and Yusup have been outstanding in their care. Sarah even made Michael's bed for him this morning.

We have watched the Eagles win on the telly and are following the Dockers home game against St Kilda. Later programmes are promising.

In some ways, remarkably similar to a normal Saturday night at home.

I couldn't find a photo of Anna Nagle, but this is close enough...

The Boy Wonder...

Hopefully, Ben didn't end his day like this!

Front-of-House reclining in relative comfort...

The lady in red (socks)...

a bit weary...

With my beloved man.

Lights! Cameras! Action!

After an unexpected, albeit a rather pleasant lull in proceedings, we have returned to the virtual pile-up known as living in Heavenly Beverley. A quiet week or so has receded into memory. Once again, we have reverted to a "fasten your seatbelts for liftoff" pace of activity.

Pip, a vet's Worst Nightmare was actually quite well behaved when we returned to Doctor Graeme for his checkup. This may have had something to do with my warning bellow at full throttle and the exceedingly firm headlock in which he found himself after Graeme has checked his teeth. I parted company with another King's ransom to keep all the animals' teeth in tiptop condition with an additive for their water and brought Pip's vaccinations up to speed.

Both Rubies also visited this particular money chasm - the Problem Child for her vaccination and checkup and Madame Cat for ongoing monitoring of her blood pressure and renal condition. The Fickle Feline is rarely amused with these ongoing appointments and has developed a look of such displeasure that would cause Medusa to blanch.

Last Monday was Knee Day. After a delicious lunch at Royal India Restaurant with Michael's siblings and hangers-on, we entered the hallowed chambers of the Boy Wonder. Mr Ben Kimberley, who has been putting Michael and me back together again for the past eight years, was not complimentary of my dodgy knee. In spite of all our best efforts, a catastrophic drop into the bowels of a boiler last August had done me no favours. And I declared myself Over the discomfort, the cracking, pinging, popping and stabbing sensations that this troublesome joint has been causing me. My previous arthroscopy in October had not lived up to the task. I had tried rest, exercise, massage, Pilates and goldplated orthotics, with no long-term success. We were all in favour of giving my old knee the boot.

So tomorrow is New Knee Day. I have every confidence in the Boy Wonder. I am also delighted to be in the hands of anaesthetist Anna Nagle. She had been present at the scene of my first and satisfactory arthroscopy in May.  I had been very nervous indeed and had asked for a double Bailey's on the rocks. "Coming right up" was her cheerful reply and the last thing I remembered before I entered Cloud Cuckoo Land. And anybody who rescues and nurtures odd or mutant sheep ought to be included in my eclectic bunch of friends and associates.

The timing of this event has, unfortunately, thrown a spanner in the works for Mother's Day. Michael was going to take me out to lunch at "Alice @ the Palace" in York on Sunday. This has had to be canned. I'm just so touched that he and Vanessa had concocted this scheme and we will go to this lovely restaurant another day. Instead, I hope to be fit enough to be let out of the Mount in order to enjoy Mother's Day in the big Smoke and catch up with the kids there.

This week has also seen us being shorn by Famous Sharon at Midland Salon Express. Streaks and a new base colour have allowed my hair to be fit to be seen in public once more. Michael has lost the maniac Julius Sumner Miller style, clipped his beard and is looking remarkably dashing.

And out of nowhere, work has resumed on Station House's exterior. The finished wall is now the beautifully bespoke enclosure of our charcoal pavers.  The guest room's carport frame is cut, painted and installed. Next week, the second carport will follow and the pavers will be cleaned and sealed. Once the plans are through the council, the front porch can also be constructed. As soon as these tasks are finished, the concrete pads can be poured, the last bits of brick paving done and we may have Station House completely finished within twelve months. That would be a terrific feat.

The arrival of new art pieces has also been thrown into the mix. I am finding myself quite looking forward to a Bex, A Good Liedown and a Decent Cup of Tea over the next few days.

And I vow to never quibble about a slowing down of our action-packed lives ever again.

Hang onto your hats - it's all happening!

Pip, in his mild-mannered persona...

Pip at the vet...

The cat, showing her usual contempt for us mere mortals...

The cat at the vet's...

And the Problem Child - whatever...

 In the beginning, our wall bricks were actually underground...

Which was never going to stop Michael...

from excavating a bloody huge underground water storage tank...

View upwards...

Going down...

And further down...

and hurling bricks to the surface for an entire month!

SHAZAM...

Four years later, these same bricks now form an absolutely stunning brick wall!

Meanwhile, this is a normal knee...

and this is my knee.

Tried this...

and tomorrow - this!

Back to new works in the East End Gallery -

"Black and White" by Jenny Couper

"Bucket List" - Andrew Taylor

"Lynn's Miro" - Lynn Isaacs

Recycled bowls - Craig Robertson (Red Nut Rustics)

"A Little Bird Told Me" - Neil Elliott

And Michael and me for the next few days!

Storytellers all...

One of those golden moments occurred in the East End Gallery this morning. Brian Aylward's beautiful pastel, "Beach Path" was collected by its excited owner. Whilst she was enjoying a well-earned coffee and her busy little daughter was colouring in a masterpiece, Brian himself arrived, to swap over his remaining paintings. What a photo opportunity!

The loveliest part of their meeting was. of course, that of the artist with the art lover, connected by the art piece. They were each given a personal memory of the other to carry and treasure for the rest of their lives. A really wonderful story to add to all our other stories that are being gathered by and within the East End Gallery.

Storytellers surround me.

Claudia Woeltye's "Victorian Times/Australian Trilogy" is reminiscent of the Heidelberg School; the Australian Impressionists who captured landscapes as they exist here, rather than in the different scenes of Europe.

Jennie Couper is enamoured of all the wild birds and animals, reproducing their everyday glances in loving detail.

Shirley Gillis' paintings are all about the quiet paths of the bush and the old vehicles, not left to die but to gracefully and gradually return to the earth.

Shane Moad's journey spreads over twenty years, from raucous birds to majestic landscapes.

Gracie Courtney is like a flower bud slowing opening, with a subdued beginning before bursting into a glorious and long-lasting blossom.

Brian Aylward celebrates intimate views of his life and the surrounding countryside, showcasing colour as his hero to thrill and delight.

Andrew Taylor's whimsical autobiographical stories in clay, wood and metal are simply exquisite in their detail.

Jan George - diva, painter, sculptor, poet, singer, musician, jewellery maker and designer - is there anything this woman can't do?

Greg Burley, who combines being a quiet achiever with an exceedingly quirky and sometimes mildly unsettling stance.

Sharon Ellis, whose mind and dreams tell of protection and protectors, dark places and ultimately safety and highlighting the vulnerable and their guardians.

Beverley V weaves silk and felt into beautiful hats, scarves, wraps and broaches with minute attention to detail and hues and patterns for all tastes.

Kenneth Irwin and Arlene Puddy-Beatty, gently recording the past of the Wheatbelt and the Goldfields through their intricate illustrations and descriptions.

Echoes of an Africa affectionately and richly remembered by Denese White.

There are jokes abounding in the Gallery - "Fish Slice" made out of fish slices, "Pi" in the shape of a pie, a fishing dingy fashioned from a discarded iron base, the motorbike "Bat Out of Hell", who components all are not those of a motorbike, Watson and Holmes out for a drive and a "Sketch in Steel" that is the three dimensional version of a doodling drawing composed during a boring meeting.

Extraordinarily gifted card makers, wood turners, jewellery designers, metal sculptors, poets, photographers, ceramic, glass and textile artists all have their own stories to tell.

A beautifully crafted distressed 2.4-metre jarrah topped sideboard needs to go to a new home. The artist has poured his heart and soul into this lovely piece of furniture.

I know his story. I know all our artists' stories. And these stories should be spread far and wide, like the gentle ripples a small pebble creates when skipping across a pond of water.

Brian Aylward's "Beach Path"

The art lover and the artist

"Victorian Times"

"Just Checking"

"Flower Power"

 

"Painted Desert 1"

"Came to Rest"

"My Studio"

"Bucket List"

"Darkness Disconcerts"

"Love Hurts"

"The Bride"

Beverley V

Kenneth Irwin/ Arlene Puddy Beatty

"Lake Kariba"

"Fish Slice"

"Pi"

"Gone Fishing"

"Bat Out of Hell"

"My Mate Watson"

"Sketch in Steel"

Steve Adams