The tree came down on our brand new house on 23 June 2014 but only now has the phoenix finished rising from the rubble, branches and leaf litter. With the roof, the Vergola, the windows and a dozen other things finally fixed or replaced our glass-peppered leather lounges were carted off just the other week, the last of the insurance company’s responsibilities. We are now officially back to where we were eight months ago but with new lounges! Of course we were quite happy with the old ones and had also rather counted on the tree remaining in place but ‘the best laid plans o’ mice an’ men gang aft agley!’
Our amazing landscaper, Ray and his apprentices Jacob and
Josh, worked on throughout the repairs to complete and recomplete their tasks
so all planned structures are now in place and Tony, Peter and I are working
away at various other outdoor projects appropriate to older gentlemen. A lot of that has involved preparing and
planting, something which I have found extremely satisfying. The bones of the garden are now in place with
some infill to come over the next year or two.
It has been an absolute treat to create something from
scratch – a living, growing and producing garden, not a glossy magazine monoculture. We have all kinds of trees and shrubs:
natives; exotics; veggies; fruit trees; ferns; and flowers. There are also family favorites from a
generation or two back including leculias, lilacs and a free-standing
wisteria. The two ponds are bursting
with plants and creatures as well and we're lovin' Annie's magnificent water feature. It
wasn’t my intention, but what we seem to have created is a permaculture of
sorts. The paths and retaining walls
have formalised it but there are mixed plantings galore with plants
that support one another and us – just like gardens used to be.
It’s a wonderful distraction from Tony Abbott’s Flying
Circus. Who’d have ever thought I’d miss
the ‘good old Howard days’. I’d sooner Menzies at the helm than this egocentric thug!
Since Scott Morrison was moved to Social Services from
Immigration and Boarder Protection, having done all that he could possibly do
to asylum seekers short of harvesting their organs, it has been made extremely
clear that Peter and I do not have the same rights as other Australian
citizens.
With some money left over from the change in houses, I
decided to take Peter on a trip to the UK which will be my first ever visit to
anywhere in Europe. It wasn’t long
before I discovered that disability benefit recipients can only be absent from
the country for 28 days in any 12 months – Heil Scott Morrison! This means only three weeks on the ground by
the time you subtract travel and the inevitable recovery time given that Peter
does have a brain injury! All benefits
are means tested which is fair enough, so Peter only gets a small one but it’s
the difference between watching what goes in the shopping trolley and living a
normal life. It also gives us the card
which saves thousands each year in pharmaceuticals – the precious card
that is craved by all Australians of pension age.
To cut a VERY long story short, by
having Peter declared permanently disabled and incapable of work – which I
thought he already was – we can stay away for longer and without penalty. The madness is I only want an extra week and
for that we have to go through yet another assessment with more reports and
more time and money wasted.
It was then that a thought occurred to me. I have, by the Grace of Gough, enjoyed seven
years of free tertiary education which provided me with all kinds of opportunities
including the wherewithal to navigate systems and also stand up and confidently
speak my mind. I had the privilege of working with the Benevolent Society some years ago, designing and
delivering courses to public housing residents – all good and decent people who
didn’t necessarily have that confidence, people who I witnessed take things
like this on the chin.
So I took the matter of voiceless people up with our
local member, Philip Ruddock, at his electoral office. It was the week after Abbott had his post
spill vote tanty and sacked Ruddock as Chief Government Whip so he had time up
his sleeve. All in all it was a positive
exchange and Philip is arranging for me to meet with the appropriate minister
to discuss the shocking lack or rehabilitation opportunities and carer support in
our community. They exist for people
injured in motor vehicle accidents because of an insurance scheme but Julie
Gillard’s luminary Disability Insurance Scheme, designed to assist the rest of
us, has been put on a very low back burner.
I shall go down fighting!
Moving ‘home’ has proved a good decision, feeling
right from Day 1. Despite Hornsby Shire Council being tightly tucked up in bed
with property developers, Peter and I shall be dead by the time five storey
apartments reach Hornsby Heights so for now we are enjoying the peace and
space. I fact we have named our house
Manoah which means rest and quiet.
Manoah was the father of Samson and no, I haven’t had a
religious revival. Manoah was the name
of my grandparents' original property and it predates their ownership. Our land is the only remaining block of that parcel
still in family hands so it seemed appropriate to
carry on the name. Having made that decision
though I discovered several nursing homes that are similarly styled – I suppose it’s
the rest and quiet thing that also
appealed to us.
Our five chooks have been a particular joy and are
extremely therapeutic. Each is named
for a significant woman with all but Sylvia, who was named after a dear late
friend, having earned a secondary name based upon their unique
personality. The two black ones –
Oodgeroo Noonuccal and Truganini – became Darth and Vadar (collectively ‘The
Dark Side’) on their very first weekend but have settled down considerably
following some chook-whispering and behavior modification. Margaret Whitlam is clearly the brains behind
the bunch and has been extremely good at organising ‘Chicken Run’ style
breakouts. Her secondary name is Little
Miss Naughty. Hazel Hawke bounces with
excitement every time you go into the chook yard. She reminds me of an adolescent Labrador, so
she in Bouncer. And Sylvia remains
Sylvia, reliable, steadfast and gentle just like her namesake.
Do look out for a report on ‘The Circumcision – Part 2’
next month. Some 60.5 years on from my initial ring-barking I’m going in for multiple snips in a different location. And circumcision is exactly what it
has been likened to but this time it will be oral. It seems that 30+ years of
blood pressure medication has caused my gums to become fibrous and begin to
grow down my teeth so I’m up for a rather messy ‘gum-lift’. I am NOT looking forward to this one little bit although a
couple of nights in a small private hospital that is a repurposed Walter Burley
Griffin will be an architectural experience.
I have been known to drive around Castlecrag in order to lust after his designs,
now I shall bleed inside one of them!
We have the usual spread of appointments but
hope to find a week or so to head north later in autumn. It’s been a couple of years since we visited
Armidale and friends there and who knows, we may even make it as far as the
Gold Coast so put the kettle on, Aunty Joan!
