Left of Tomorrow

by Wendy J. Lyons

  The right moves

  After Graham’s death I had plenty of decisions to make. It no longer seemed such a good idea to move to Warburton as we had planned. I did not want to be alone on that large block of land, with an hour’s drive separating me from family and friends and all my activities. It was far better if I continued to live in our house that had been our home for forty years. It held many memories for me and I was not ready to move on and leave it all behind. I needed to consider that Alli would marry and move out. It was important that if I lived in the house alone I needed to address a number of safety issues.

  With help from the rest of the family Alli and I began to renovate the house. The first item to go was our carpet to expose once again our beautiful Australian hardwood floors. We had them polished for twenty years and then covered for twenty years – now it was time to see them again. We found that changing the house gave us an opportunity to find ways to work through our grief. Alli’s method was to forcefully tear large strips off the wallpaper that decorated our hallway. ‘I hate this damn wallpaper!’ Little by little the hallway walls were cleaned and ready to paint.

  I decided to prepare the timber floors for re-polishing. My two sons-in-law had lifted off the old vinyl tiles only to discover that the tar paper under them had been stuck to the floor boards for forty years. It seemed a fitting penance for me to undertake. On my hands and knees on the floor patiently and gently scraping at each floorboard with the head of a small screwdriver to remove the sticky tar without damaging the surface of the timber. I had survived my stroke, but Graham with all the expectations that he was cured had not survived the assault on his body.

  Over the next two years Alli and I worked hard to update the house. We changed the bathroom layout to include a walk in shower incorporating anchorage points for future handles. This would be much safer for me when I was alone instead of having the shower over the bath. I found climbing over the high edge of the bath could be quite hazardous. We also replaced the bath with another with a large bench around it so that I could sit down on it if I needed to.

  The kitchen was next on our list. The cupboard doors below the bench height were removed and large drawers were installed instead. I was now able to see the contents of each drawer and remove items without fear of dropping everything. I no longer needed to keep replacing all the crockery that I had broken. The only remaining cupboards in the kitchen were at eye level allowing me to see my hand at all times. We had new lights installed to illuminate the dark corners and the ageing plumbing was updated. With a fresh coat of paint masking the old mission brown statement our house moved from the seventies to the new millenium.

  part 15

  Sunshine

  I returned to Samoa as Graham and I had promised to do and visited the big island, Savaii, this time with Sandra, Kim and the grandchildren. We walked over the lava fields of the 1911 volcanic eruption and clambered over the ruins of a village church that was destroyed by the river of lava. The lava flowed through the front door of the church and out the other end burning everything in its path. Embedded in the basalt were the remains of the corrugated iron roof, twisted and gnarled.

  We visited the volcanic cone of this latest eruption and gazed down at the evidence of the molten rock as it coursed its way to the sea. The family and I climbed down a ricketty ladder made of tree limbs to reach a still pool in a crater one hundred feet below ground level to swim in the cool waters.

  We enjoyed ourselves playing tag with some green turtles and chased them around the warm pools. Our accommodation was in the native style huts or fales as they are called. These are thatched shelters built on a stone base and had woven mats of banana leaves for the walls. I enjoyed myself with the family and was thrilled when the three granddaughters dubbed me Groovy Gran.

  It was wonderful to be part of their lives again and I enjoyed helping out at their local school. Sandra and I visited the local markets and it was good experiencing their life on this tropical island. I was pleased that I was forging new relationships with my granddaughters even if we rarely saw each other.

  Highland fling

  I had always wanted to visit Scotland and from an early age considered that the sound of the bagpipes was music to my ears. It was such a familiar sound and warmed my blood rather than assaulting my ears with a series of discordant noises. I had been to see the live performance of Brigadoon when I was eight years old and knew that I needed to go back to the homeland. I promised my mother and grandmother that when I was grown-up, at age sixteen, I would take them both with me. However, it was not until fifty years later that I actually made the trip myself.

  I had always felt a connection to the place, particularly to the Highlands. Both sides of my family had emigrated from Scotland in the 1800s and it seemed to me that I belonged there. I told my family of my desire to visit and that I was determined to follow my dream. However, because I wanted to visit the old family sites, I would prefer to travel with family members and not with strangers. In 2005, Fiona had just finished a year of teaching as a professor at the Berkeley campus of UCLA and was available to travel. Alli and I flew to London, met up with Fiona and continued on to Edinburgh. We had planned to go on a bus tour, but as this was cancelled, we decided to hire a car and drove ourselves around following our own itinerary.

  Walking up the Royal Mile to Edinburgh Castle was magnificent. As we reached each doorway or close or byway I felt compelled to explore them all. It was amazing to wander through the archways and down the steep flights of stairs and see the houses clinging so precariously to the steep sides of the rocky outcrop.

  We visited the magical Isle of Iona where St. Columbus had arrived in 542 AD to bring Christianity to the heathens of Britain. We followed the street of the dead to the graveyard where the ancient kings of Scotland and Norway are buried, including Macbeth.

  There was quite an ominous feel to the atmosphere at Glencoe. This area which contains the oldest landmass of Britain was formed by the upheaval of the ancient rocks by volcanic action and then carved out by glaciers. It reminded me of Hanging Rock near Mt Macedon and one could believe anything mysterious or evil could happen here. It was the setting for the dreadful massacre of the MacDonald clan by the treacherous Campbells in cohorts with the English in 1692. A force of a one hundred and twenty Campbells were sent to Glencoe by King William’s adviser and were courteously accommodated in the village by their hosts. After a week of friendliness and good spirits the visitors arose early one morning and murdered all of the MacDonald clan.

  We travelled over the sea to Skye, not by our bonny boat, but instead by the sweeping arched bridge that joins the island to the mainland at Kyle of Lochalsh. A great day was spent touring this picturesque island and exploring many of the castles there. Driving north we passed Loch Ness but unfortunately did not get a glimpse of its favourite inhabitant. Then on at last to the ferry to sail to the Orkney Islands where our ancestors had lived.

  The Orkneys are a series of small islands of red and yellow sandstone. The largest island, the Mainland was where our ancestors had farmed since the thirteenth century. We were able to visit the area where they had lived and worked. A day’s drive around the island took in all the sights. We walked around the Ring of Brodgar, a circle of large upright stones, and visited a Pict village and its neighbouring broch – a beehive shaped building used for defense. The island was also home to the best example of a Neolithic village in Europe.

  The ginger coloured highland cattle with their thick shaggy coats and long fringes covering their eyes were a favourite with us. They looked quite ferocious with their large horns, but every time we tried to take their photos, they would turn tail and thundered away from us. The black faced white sheep were more friendly towards us but invariably we could not tell if they were facing us or looking in the opposite direction.

  In Kirkwall, the capital city of the Orkneys, we spent some time in the thirteenth century cathedral exploring this wonderful red and yellow building made
of the local sandstone. Each stone arch around the heavy oak doors was decorated in a different chequered pattern of red and yellow. Inside the cathedral were many death stones. These are similar to grave stones, but these marble blocks were installed inside and away from the harsh elements. Only the very privileged were offered space inside to record their family records. We found three with the family name on them and read with interest the stories they told about our relatives’ lives in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.

  The eldest three sons of the family had all been members of the Black Watch and had all seen service in Canada fighting the French during the 1770s. On arriving back in Scotland the eldest son returned to take over the family farm while the other two settled in Perth to try their luck as civilians. And it was one of the latter who was my direct ancestor, a many times great grandfather. We needed to head south to follow the trail.

  Back on the mainland we travelled over the mountain pass and were nearly swept away by the wind when we ventured out to take some photos. As we drove through what would become the ski fields in a few weeks time we almost experienced a whiteout. The temperature dropped alarming and visibility was reduced to a few metres. We were out of mobile phone contact, our car was the only vehicle on the road, so we kept going and were soon out of the cloud cover and into bright sunshine. On reaching the valley, Balmoral Castle was resplendent with the rich colours of Autumn and the birch tree stands were magnificent.

  At Perth we visited the local Methodist church that the forefathers had been instrumental in building. We found the street on which they had lived in 1800, but the street number was only a doorway leading to a carpark. The original boarding house no longer existed.

  It was a wonderful trip in tracing the path and following in the footsteps of those that had come before. And what made it even more special for me was that I had shared it with my daughters.

  Part 16

  Brush strokes

  We were always looking for new activities to stimulate and challenge our members at our weekly stroke support group meetings. It was hard to find something different that we had not tried before. In May 2003, Peter, a member of our group, suggested that we offer the members the opportunity to do some individual paintings at our meetings and see if they were interested in participating in the program. He had found it to be a very rewarding pastime when he was recuperating from a bad accident. Peter collected and primed some small pieces of masonite and brought them to the group along with paints and brushes and we decided to try it out at the next meeting.

  Each person was given a small canvas to paint on and sets of brushes and paints were handed out. Everyone was thrilled with the concept, but I noticed how hard it was for some of our members to make a decision on what to paint and what colour to use. There were just too many choices in front of them and it all became rather intimidating. I found it difficult to concentrate also. It took a while for an image to form in my mind – a sunny cliff top with small low mauve bushes scattered around in the foreground, and sandstone cliffs dropping down to the turbulent seas below. It reminded me of views along The Great Ocean Road and Port Campbell in Southern Victoria. When I finished the painting I was horrified. I had added far too much grey to the white clouds in the sky and it now appeared as if there was a threatening storm bearing down on this peaceful scene and bringing destruction and desolation with it. Was it prophetic or not? I do not know, but eight hours later my husband, Graham died. The scene that I had painted, I recognized when I visited the Orkney Islands and basked in the sunshine on the high cliffs surrounded by purple heather.

  We tried again with having one experienced painter seated at each table who could help with suggestions and techniques to create their masterpieces. This certainly helped but still the stark blank canvas was off-putting for most of us. I decided to bring along a blue painted canvas on our next art day. Every member was encouraged to make two thumb prints in a V shape and two little finger prints beside them to make the shape of butterfly wings. The decision making was reduced to which coloured paint we dipped our digits in.

  It looked more like a production line than an art group. Fingers were dipped in the paint and pressed onto the canvas. Then into a bowl of warm water scrubbed clean and finally dried off, and on to the next person. After the paint was dry we added black bodies and antennae and our Butterflies are free masterpiece was completed. Everyone enjoyed themselves with this activity.

  Our next challenge was with a much larger canvas and we had six people working on it at a time. We only used four colours – pale pink, light blue and aqua and a donkey brown. Over forty members of our group contributed, each choosing their own form and shape to add to the whole. It was quite amazing to watch how the images evolved. Henry painted a fruit bowl, but the next person to take his place at the table decided it was a bird and added wings and an eye to it. Someone else painted on some words – hope, share and courage onto the canvas. To complete the piece we dribbled paint from our brushes all over the individual images creating a fine network of lines linking them together and making it a cohesive piece of art.

  At almost every meeting I was asked when were going to start our next masterpiece. I was able to find some large wooden letters and everyone had the opportunity to colour and decorate them as they desired. When they were all finished the letters were put together and formed words, COURAGE, FRIENDSHIP, SUPPORT and CARE, all those attributes we had found within our group. Some of our members who had not been motivated before, became most enthusiastic and wanted more opportunities to express themselves with the art.

  Before we started a new painting I would speak to the group about the theme or emotion that we wanted to express in the work. For our next venture, four of us painted a background of a blue sky with grey storm clouds above green hills and everyone was invited to add colourful flowers to the hillside, reducing the size of them closer to the sky. We acknowledged that the storm clouds of stroke were behind us and we were celebrating being alive and enjoying the sunshine together. Each week I would bring along the canvas and more and more flowers were added as the members’ enthusiasm grew.

  We were invited to send these three paintings to Sydney to be exhibited in a National Stroke Foundation art exhibition held at the New South Wales Parliament building. We packaged them up and sent them on their way. We were thrilled to learn that our butterfly painting was chosen to be a part of a travelling exhibition around Australia for the next twelve months.

  Polka dots

  Our quest to produce more artworks continued on its journey. We had found that it was very difficult to hold a paintbrush and be able to control it effectively. Most of us as survivors could not tell if we were pressing lightly on the canvas or if in fact we were crushing the paintbrush against it. No matter how small it was, we always ended up making a much larger mark than we had intended. We had to think outside the square and find another way of transferring the paint to the canvas.

  With the next canvas painted in differing shades of red, a number of us covered this background with our handprints. Then the rest of the group using the ends of chopsticks dipped in paint made trails of dots to join them together. It took many weeks to create this masterpiece with thousands of little jewel-coloured dots meandering around the canvas.

  Flora, an eighty-nine year old and wheelchair bound was a very enthusiastic artist and loved to make her mark on the canvas. Although her hand shook continuously it did not stop her from filling in her area of the picture. This project turned out to be stunning and we were all thrilled with what we had achieved. To have produced such a cohesive work with over forty people contributing to its creation was pretty amazing. We had all worked together with a single goal in mind. Our handprints represented the helping hands we found at our group meetings and the trails of dots stood for the connections to each of us that bound us together.

  Each week I would be asked what was our next project and many people came forward with suggestions for other creations. We used the e
nds of toilet rolls, other cardboard tubes and lids of jars to cover another canvas. Small sponge rollers were applied to another piece with many shades of paint creating an abstract image.

  At this time we also introduced painting silk scarves. We had quite a production line going with every one wanting to decorate a scarf to make as a present. Instead of using small brushes to apply the dye to the silk, we used eye-droppers and squirted the dye onto the wet scarf. Then we sprinkled rock salt over it all to create abstract patterns on the scarf. Over time we have produced more than one hundred and twenty colourful scarves and we all have a wardrobe of them to wear or to give away.

  Our latest venture has been applying polyfiller to the canvas to create a rough texture to the surface. Next we set about making patterns in the thick texture. We used combs, forks and spatulas to roughen up the textured surface. Then using kitchen sponges and scrubbing brushes, and four or five paints we covered the whole area giving a mottled effect. The final process was dipping our fingertips in metallic paint and highlighting points of the texture. These pieces have been well received and every one wants to try their hand at them.

  Show time

  The amount of art was piling up and I thought we should try to exhibit our work. It took two years before we were able to find somewhere to hold an exhibition. Every where I had gone I had been knocked back. I was told we needed to find a place suitable for those who were mentally challenged. It was only when I brought some examples of our artwork to the attention of the curator of the Maroondah Art Gallery that I was taken seriously. However, in September 2007, we were lucky enough to be able to have an exhibition in the foyer of this beautiful gallery.