Father by committee

Ok, it's incredibly difficult. You think you are on top of it, but it's not possible.

• There's the putting your parent into a nursing home and his off-again on-again illnesses and dementia. The decisions about his health and care and what to do if he gets worse.
• There's the hoard to be cleaned up, sorted and dispersed to everyone's satisfaction. We are only just beginning and there are already issues.... some to do with decisions that were made before my father became less than competent.
• There are the old grudges and current lack of trust and respect between siblings.
• There's the emotional upheaval of having to say goodbye to childhood - and the good and bad memories that stirs up.
• There's financial worry and responsibility - which is all on one person (not me thankfully).
• There's prioritising with two or more other people involved....

I guess we will all appear to be vultures no matter what we do. 'Things' are big in my family and my father impressed upon us the importance of his things to him and that he wanted to pass them on. So we are doing what he wanted and something has to be sorted out sooner rather than later, but it's still squabbling over an inheritance before he's even gone.

Did I mention 'to everyone's satisfaction'?

I'm trying to be real, really I am....

Every time I try to be a growned-up, Real Graphic Designer I seem to end in the same morass.

Perhaps it is fate telling me it's better to be poor and do some art? I am not cut out for the Real World. It never seems to mesh with me.

It's usually this time of year that I take on extra graphic design work, other than my three-day a week job. It doesn't come in on time, so I accept more design work from another source. I never want to do it, but think I need the money, and I somehow feel obliged (by my inner adult?). Waiting. Something I abhorr. The design jobs never come in on time so I feel chained to the computer; I feel like I am working, yet am doing nothing to earn money.

Then everything comes in at once and all things social begin to happen (with the drinking and staying up later than normal), and family commitments occur (with the stressed-out feeling that only your family can give you and they don't even have to try)....

Also, it is this time of year when sitting at the computer means your hands and feet are freezing. It's inevitable that the stress and cold combined lead to some sort of illness.

By the end I blame it all on the work and say 'never again', but by May next year I will have forgotten and do it all again. Just shoot me now.

Flew down to Spain

From an account by my father.

Flew down to Spain. Six Junkas. Found them one day. Fighter bombers, too fast for us. Lost seven planes a year at that time. We got away – it was good for moral. Gave the Squadron a lift. First three to four weeks he was there (Germans/Junkas) they lost three aircraft.

Intel. told only two Junkas returned. One was badly damaged.

So were we - lucky though. Hit throttle cable, not engine. Big holes two foot across. 20mm shell through side – hit flare tube. Used the flares to mark ships in disaster or bombing site for subs.

The Sunderland was a big aircraft - 30 ton 100 foot long. Four engines, eleven crew, three pilots, one navigator, two wireless. There were two engineers - sat engineers bench or gunnery if needed. Three airgunners.

Wasn’t in the tail when attacked – went to nose turret. Frank Calligan was in tail. Wireless op was in mid upper. Guns at galley hatches. I didn’t do anything that day. They didn’t come near my gun. I had an excellent record and could’ve accounted for myself.

They didn’t hit any vital parts – pilots or controls. Three engines went full bore – controls cut by fire – put fourth up to get pitch. Flew hour west. Fought for twenty minutes. Got in cloud, came out – they were there several times. Back into the cloud until all clear.

Three hours to fly home. Three boys patching holes under waterline. Missed two holes – under floor. On the way home I manned the mid-upper turret – watching all the way. Sharpens your eyes an attack like that. Saw black dot twenty-five miles away dead ahead. Went into cloud again. Ten to fifteen miles from home put into water and were towed into harbour while those not wounded bailed.

There were three wounded including the Skipper, in the foot. Water was gushing in under floor. I put my fist into the hole and yelled for the others to bail. They were using the teapot and saucepans out through the little porthole. Someone used a saucepan to hit the window. It was perspex so it bounced off. Tried again and window, pan and all went out. Freezing – pushed overalls into the hole and a bit of wood eventually to hold them and get hands out. Lot of water. Twenty ground staff came aboard to help bail. Made it to the buoy. Tried put trolley under back – too low. Navy came with suction hose. Camels – floating canvas six foot long with air were tied around craft for towing to dock.

I was left with the mooring. Took three months to repair the boat. Shortly after, it was the one (destroyed when) washed up against the rocks near the billets in the gale.

Posting into the ether

Years ago my friends and I had a group diary/writing experiment. It was blogging in the 80's. The first entry was lost as the books travelled through time, but was about a frog. Things got better, and worse, from there.

Dear Diary/ Depressed Press entry no.?

What play is this? Cloe the frog hopped her hop a long while ago - now we are old. It doesn't matter what you imagine life will be, all that does matter is that Life is. That is how you know that you are Old. And Wise? Perhaps. Wait until older still to decide....

It's sure to help

Ok, I had a Monday. And the fact that I've had rather a lot of very nice wine that I am completely not used to... well, I'm sure it helps. But when the last bottle of wine on the shelf is the eleven year old french bit of dry red then.... Bad thing is, I may have to find more expensive French red wine, dammit. And a need to buy local propels me to think I may have to try some Australian wine this old and see if the French do really have something. Which I fear they might.... Either way, I really can't afford it. Wish I could drink the rest and damn the consequences - sometimes you need to do that. Generally it's a very good wine doesn't shatter you. Yes I know it is poison, but such nice poison and anyway - it is only tomorrow that I will know that.

Mmmm, morning coffee. So good you just want another cup. But.

If anything puts me off escalating my daily ration to three cups it’s reading New Scientist. Apparently my two cups of coffee cost the world 280 litres of water to make. Glad I don’t take milk and sugar.

Just to rub that in: 1 kilo of coffee = 20 000 litres of water.

Next on the list is junk food followed by clothes.

We need to get real. Eat less; consume less. Businesses need to be based on reuse before recycling. Forget capitalism and keeping the economy going. We can survive economic collapse if we look out for one another. We can’t survive global warming, falling water tables and continued consumption at this rate.

The article I read was by Fred Pearce

His book:
When the Rivers Run Dry: Water-The Defining Crisis of the Twenty-first Century

I'm waffling here about lack of empathy in people

Don’t disdain what other people do in art. Striving for excellence is a great thing, but it’s not a battle that should be fought without some thought and empathy. If your perspective is valid surely the other side can be brought around to agree with a bit of subtlety and logic.

Plus, if you look at history, it’s probably not a good idea to go around offending people. It’s easy enough to create opposition by stating your case too forcefully, and artists - while often dysfunctional - are very effective people and exceptionally committed to whatever they do. Imagine a world where Hitler had received less criticism and more support from his peers, perhaps becoming a successful artist or at least feeling better about other people. Then again, he might have been going to be offended no matter what. However, given the behaviour the ‘art world’ is known for, it would be worth a shot to go back in time and try a little empathy. He might have turned out only slightly disgruntled.

It’s interesting that we get this bit of Hitler’s history to think about. I have a tendency to think that art is a release for many problems and that if he had ended up an artist his manifestos would have been about colour theory (... hmm, but what to do about Pol Pot).

Art is very like religion in the way its proponents often only allow themselves one way of seeing things. There is no one way to do anything – assuming there is will only make other people feel resentment. Empathy and not taking yourself too seriously is the way, People.