My Dad’s Back
the boat now belongs to us
No. Unfortunately, I don’t mean that my father has returned. I’m not sure how I’d react to that. I mean his back. Literally. My bro-in-law sent me this pic of Dad this morning. Every time I see pics of Dad it makes me cry inside. I get a lump in my throat and a kind of anxiety in my guts - thinking, “No - it can’t be so. Dad is really gone?”
I particularly remember the curve of Dad’s back - how his shoulders were slightly rounded.
After he died I dreamt about the curve of his back and shoulders many times. I’d put my hand upon it, comfortingly. It was strange. About a week after Dad died - he seemed to inhabit my dreams. Part of me thinks he was visiting me.
He’d appear, all nervous, in the backseat of dream cars while I was making a film - or in one case, he was outside my bedroom window. As if he wasn’t really supposed to visit me in a dream. I knew what he wanted. A hug from his Son.
I’m still, one year on, dreaming about my father and I don’t think I’ll ever get over his appauling and unfair demise.
Fuck you, God.
“Yes!” is not a word - it’s a sentence.
working for yourself sounds like fun, but are you really your best boss?
Ever had one of those days when everything comes crashing in on you? Where the early seeds of “Yeah, sure. I can do that for you,” grow to full maturity within the space of, what seems like, a few days?
I’m in the middle of doing a soundtrack for a Curtin Uni 2nd year student film, “Shirtless”. Perhaps because it’s music, I’m finding it very relaxing - and rewarding. It’s a metaphysical experience, but I’m half expecting Anna Brockway to drop around to record some dialogue with Mum for Shivering Geoff (right). Plus - some time this week I have to write several doco treatments for DADAA, finish shooting two or three documentaries and mark about 100 student assignments which have just arrived in my inbox. We make our beds.
I’ve been here before …
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Shivering Geoff - Episode #1
What’s important? It’s amazing. You spend years working on stuff and it goes unnoticed. You labour away and when it’s all finished and done - you wonder whether it was worth the bother. I’m talking about making films. These days, it’s called “producing content”. I’m but one of a million unknown filmmakers. When I made the “film” (top right) for YouTube with a couple of actor and writer friends, I had heaps of fun. It was grass-roots filmmaking as it was meant to be. It only took one working day to make Shivering Geoff. The shortest shoot-to-production I’ve ever been on.
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Herniated Lumbar Disc
When Dad was 47, a motorbike fell on him in the yard. He was a vehicle inspector for the police department. He slipped a disc in his spine and was in debilitating pain for years. It was all about pain management.
Well. Something similar has happened to me. I do believe the initial pain was caused by lifting a heavy tire above my head at bootcamp. Now, a good month later and a few doc appointments, I’m standing at the kitchen work table writing this because I can’t sit down for more than 20 minutes or so. I probably have a lumbar disc herniation. A lot of people have distorted or swollen discs naturally and so my sciatica is not uncommon.
What is a bit weird - is that I’m following in my father’s footsteps. I’m feeling the pain he felt when he was alive. Back pain has a mercurial aspect to it. People who complain of back pain are often considered malingerers. But I can tell you now - it’s a bloody annoying thing because you can’t really do anything in particular for more than about 20 minutes - which is why I’m cutting this BLOG short.
Two ducks.
I’m housesitting at Mum’s. Once mum and dad’s. It’s nice and peaceful and I can get on with my marking, writing and faffing on the net. Two mallard ducks regularly visit. They’re so used to me doing my washing and feeding the cat. They swim around in the pool without a care. Even the cat ignores them.
I think I have a problem. I don’t believe in anything. I don’t believe in religion or ghosts or fairies - or anything that can be proven with a smidge of evidence. I believe UFOs exist because of the mass of suspicious data right here on the internet. And therefore I believe in aliens. But I don’t see that as a real concern. Animal-butchering aliens who wish to remain anonymous doesn’t help my plight here on Earth. I’d like to believe in life after death - one that explains our increasing population, poverty and war. Not the middle class, hoity-toity “I used to be King Richard” bullshit.
So why visit my Father’s grave?
I’m not sure why I did that yesterday. But I did.
I was coming home from bootcamp and I had some things to “show” Dad. New pressure (spots) pants; stories about my new musical life; bootcamp; my film work; working with mentally disadvantaged people; my uni teaching. I even showed Dad my new training shoes.
Then I cried. I miss Dad very much and it felt like I was telling him all these things - just a bit too late.
I heard a noise and turned just in time to see two ducks swoop in - landing not 2 metres away from me. I nearly jumped out of my skin - thinking it was Dad winging in in with a new form.
But it was just two Mallard ducks.