Monday, April 11, 2011

Does Rolf Harris do fecal murals? Does he take commissions?

So, where was I....?
OH!
Yes, that's right, I'd gallivanted off into the sunset (or early morning PRE Crack 'o' Dawn in our case and BOY! is Dawn's crack frigging ugly at that hour) to our magical happy place, Dunolly.

Cos shit is hitting the fan in all sorts of hues and consistencies -I tell ya, don't go the prunes/weetbix/apricots/roast lamb/sawdust/any food at all after/before/with dinner, it's a doozy to deal with at 2pm,3.30am/pm and 4am- and so, dear reader I dragged the feral furry offspring (yes, he shaves on a semi-regular basis now and has facial fur happening) off to Central Victoria.
To relax, unwind and generally indulge in the many wonderful things that Dunolly boasts and the added extras that were on offer during the heritage weekend.

Then....the phone rang.
I did think twice about giving my beloved spouse my mobile phone number - cos dropping off the face of the earth is always tempting - but rang he did (Yes, Yoda) to share with me the fecal murals he was dealing with.
Cos, y'see, fecal muralling bypassed the feral child - which fact would never have left my brain unless I've somehow magically blocked it out - and this artistic talent has been blessed upon my father.
And, now I get to imitate my Goddess Kelley....and Talk Shit.
I wanna see Rolf Harris do a portrait painting of Queen Liz in fecal mural style.
How about the next Archibald...."New rule! Medium must be warm, pliable and ultra organic! One shade only! Judges decision is final and no toilet paper will be entered as a canvas"
I betcha the NGV will simply die to hang up one of these new-fangled fecal murals.
No, literally, they'd die before they'd give it wall space.

So many shop keepers took one look at Dad today and, not having seen him for just over a week and after picking their jaws up off the ground they pronounced him as "looking like death warmed over".
Yep, that precise medical term fits in with my description...although mine also involved the words "holy" and "fuck", with the odd "shit", "a ", "brick" and not forgetting "where the fuck did you lose my dad cos this sure as shit is not him?!"

Sadly, it is.
Tomorrow we visit the Gp for a no holds barred discussion of What We Are Going To Do Which Does Not Involve Heroics, Hospitals or Hoses, then a discussion with White Lady Funerals - no, for the last time we are NOT having pole dancers, strippers, circus performers or nekkid trapeze artistes hanging from the chandelier, Dad! - for a suitably boring-as-batshit cremation.
Where I might light a sparkler and wave it about with a random "woop".

7 comments:

Cazzie!!! said...

I have had my fair share of "artists" in my time as a nurse. I do know how difficult it is to nurse such a patient.. but I do not know how the hell I would cope with that at home 24/7. I do know that I went beyond and above when Nanna lived with Hubby and I and our two toddler sons at the time. That's because I loved her and that's because it just had to be done by someone... and I am guessing that is the adage with which I work too.. as a nurse, and I am sure you will agree, you just DO things because why the F@ck would anyone else do it?!
Hugs.
Oh, and I am sure I would be one of the first to line up to look at such art in the gallery.. the only thing is I could say I have seen this all before too many times :( Bedrails, linen, dentures and side tables all caked in it- literally!

Valerie Foley said...

Nope, still not offended into silence.

I could be off on this one, but to does sound to me like your Dad lived a pretty wild life... and he's going out with as much wildness as his body and brain can muster.

Not that any of that makes it easy to live with, through, around.

Hell, the gift you got was words. It would be offensive of you NOT to write about it.

But, that's also just me....

Mad Cow said...

No words, except to say I think you're amazing to look after your dad on your own. I don't think I could. Strength to you xxx

Ðéví said...

You could get different shades by varying the diet. Just a thought that popped into my head and should have been squashed.

The not involving heroics is a brave choice. It's the way it should be, letting go when the time is right, rather than holding on desperately cos you know the loss is going to tear you into tiny pieces. *hugs* You are a wonderful daughter.
And what have you got against circus performers, anyway? Huh?
*big OMG I haven't had to deal with this and am so scared for you HUGS*

River said...

Did you photograph the fecal murals? Because you could hang enlarged prints of those in the national gallery without offending anyone's sense of smell.....

You do realise I'm kidding?
Sorry to hear your dad is at this stage, I can't even begin to imagine how hard it must be for you.

Nikki aka Widdle Shamrock said...

An artist's work is always worth more post mortem.

Your father is one lucky man to have you for a daughter.

And I think you are being a party pooper for not allowing pole dancers etc.

What about Russian Midgets?

JahTeh said...

Do the funeral thing now before it gets worse and it will, unfortunately.
When the end happens, just one phone call hands it to someone else and you get to fall in a chair and go to pieces and you deserve that fall.

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