We did manual training at the hostel yesterday, and I was the guinea pig for the hoist exercise. Being lifted in the hoist involves 2 carers sliding a sling sheet under you, hooking it up to the hoist, then using the electric control to raise you off the floor. Before we started, I went and got some of the residents to come and watch - we figured they'd get a good laugh out of it, and also be able to see the procedure in case we ever have to use the hoist for them.
So as I reach mid-air in the sling, with everyone laughing and carrying on, we suddenly realise that little old Greta is watching with tears pouring down her face, sobbing. "She thinks you're hurt!" said Heather. I waved and smiled, "Hey Greta, I'm all right, it's just a game!" Greta just sobbed louder, then started singing a grieving song in her language (Mardu), crying and crying. We didn't know what to do! We quickly got me out of the hoist and I went over and held her, telling her everything was OK. She was so sad! I started sniffling, then Janet our instructor got all teary, then it was on for young and old and we emptied out half a box of tissues between us. Finally Greta stopped crying and seemed to understand that things were OK, hugging me and sort of poking at me (to check that I was really alive?) - something about the situation must have brought back an old, upsetting memory. Anyway, it was a most unusual training day and I suppose there aren't many people who can say they've heard their own aboriginal funeral song.
Janet, our instructor, had flown up from Perth. God knows what she thought of our aged care facility, with half of us darting out to check on the gidgie-wood fire ("It's for the chewing tobacco!") having to extricate Kiticat from the meals on wheels van ("He likes going into town!"), and Don wandering in and out ("Has anyone seen my pants?").
Anyway, it's been an entertaining week with much mild madness going on. In the hospital corridor I passed a bloke who greeted me with "Hi Mrs. Gary!", then had to go and help the radiologist take x-rays of Nita's foot - I was dressed up in a lead apron and everything, that's how short-staffed we are at the hospital! Then Gary rang and said that St. Barbara mine were getting rid of the 120 king-single sized bed frames and mattresses at their old camp, so I tracked down a couple of the mine guys and we got 4 sets of beds, we're not sure why. Out here if it's a freebie you grab it first, then stand around the back of the ute wondering what you're going to do with it, then put it in the shed and forget that it's there.
Gary's been grading the Wiluna road again all week, so I've been in charge of organising our expedition to Perth & sorting out his surgery appointment & tests. Gary has to take his teeth out when he talks on the phone, otherwise he sounds like he's drunk, so he's been going around with his teeth in his pocket, taking them out to show people occasionally. "Look! My new teeth!" With so many toothless blokes around town, I said he could probably rent them out by the week or for special occasions; this caused much hilarity at the pub, with offers of up to five dollars per hour. I'm sure the new teeth will make a fine conversation piece on our new coffee table, which is an old mine cable spool.
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