Poppalina

Dressing the Part

 

The Scene: a mortuary van on the move, somewhere in outer-metropolitan Melbourne.

 

Shula:    

"This uniform business. The white shirts are a mistake. How are we supposed to keep them clean? It doesn't make any sense."

The Boss:

We have to look clean. White shirts look smart, respectable...

Shula:

Unless we get messed up. Then we'll look like smart, respectable, homicidal maniacs.

They drive in silence for a time.

Shula (persisting):

"We should be wearing black."

The Boss (horrified):

"Black?!"

Shula:

"Yes!  Black from head to toe. Chisel-toe boots. Designer shades. All black, except for midnight-purple silk ties. Nick Cave meets The Shadows. Who says mortuary drivers can't be cool?  And.....(she adds, pointedly).... black doesn't stain."

Shula is deeply satisfied by this combination of aesthetics and practicality. Inspired, she wanders happily, in her mind, through a world where ordinary people gape in awe and admiration at a Vision of Cool: the slow motion approach (to the soundtrack of something suitably Tarantino) of the impeccably shaded, retro-suited demi-gods who have come to take Grandpa downunder.

The Boss (patiently):

"Shula, we can't walk into someone's house wearing black. People will totally freak out. They'll think we're the Grim Reaper."

More silence, while Shula ponders this unwelcome snag in her Death Industry Makeover Plan. Then, in a sudden Flash of Realisation, she jabs a thumb towards the cargo in back and exclaims triumphantly,

"DUDE!  What the Hell are you talking about?

We ARE the fucking Grim Reaper!"

Mosaic Monday

 

 

1. freeee, 2. Untitled, 3. the offering, 4. Black and White Colobus Monkey (Colobus guereza), 5. Cotton flavour., 6. Spring Surprise!, 7. Almost Beth, 8. what the world looks like, 9. What 'choo lookin' at??, 10. heaven is a place on..., 11. green robot- torso, 12. Polished cotton, 13. Schaukelpferd, 14. Löwe, 15. Sneak Peek WIP, 16. 106::365 - not to put too fine a point on it, 17. Untitled, 18. MotoMan?.....I need help naming this guy, 19. Paper artdoll: Irina, 20. Stella and Soleil babies, 21. mr. finch, 22. flowers, 23. towradgi beach today at sunset, 24. the face as a story, 25. do traje

In which Shushu Behaves Like a Total Girl.

Looking back, I guess it was only a matter of time before I hit The Wall at New Job.

So far, I have learnt that I can handle death, that I can handle violence, that I can handle bodies, body parts and even body fluids (as long as I'm wearing gloves). It's a little on the Earthy Side, but if I grit my teeth I can do it.

I can handle most things.

But not everything.

What I cannot handle, I have recently discovered, is decomposition.

A girl's gotta draw the line somewhere.

Confronted by a body that's several days old, unrefridgerated and rapidly becoming gelatinous, and then expected to physically bag said remains, I will not cry, carry on, or run screaming in the opposite direction. I will do what any normal, reasonable person would do, under the circumstances.

I will gag, uncontrollably.

Uncontrollably enough to affect my concentration, rendering me as good as a man short.

The Boss went easy on me afterwards, and I didn't exactly get into trouble. I was gently but flatly informed that I wasn't cut out for Crime Scene Work and would have to be found Other Duties to do, instead. Constitutional Tolerance for the bagging of rotting flesh is not something that can be learned - you can either do it or you can't, apparently - and an employee hurling onto the lounge room carpet (which I didn't do, but it was close) is not a Good Look for The Company. The Boss is nothing if not professional. In my defense, if I had hurled, I wouldn't have been alone. Everyone in the room but him was Dangerously Green.

After considering my demotion for approximately 0.3333 seconds (recurring), I could barely conceal my relief. I never signed on to do zombie work, and did suspect it was going to be a problem. But it comes with the territory. You deal with it as you find it. Personally, give me nice, clean, refridgerated bodies, in bags, that I can trot around from pillar to post, patting them gently on the head in blessing as I send them on their way (I am a yogi, after all). I like driving. Driving doesn't give me zombie nightmares, or leave me unable to eat, or have me washing myself like Lady Macbeth for fucking days after.

I'm still frightened that he'll change his mind and I'll have to go through it all again. And that the next one will be weeks old instead of days. In which case they'll have to lay me out on the spare stretcher and slide me into slot #2 to get me home, because I'll be out like a light, for sure.

And then I will go get a job in a cafe for half the money. I promise.

In other news, The Creative Genius is on fire at the moment (creatively speaking), winning art prizes and bringing home work that actually distracts me, momentarily, from the B-grade horror flick currently playing on the big screen of my imagination.

 

I'd be lost without her.

Mosaic Monday

1. potholder, 2. cucpake wrappers, 3. eye open like the sun, 4. WAWAYAelephant, 5. More for baby, 6. bats in the basement, 7. sparkling rose water, 8. DSCF5670, 9. heirloom bean seeds, 10. feijoa season, 11. my square detail - hair embroidery, 12. voluptuous & slender, 13. lipslikeaheart, 14. Pin cushions with blue, 15. wishing I could be in Japan, 16. TP01, 17. 3-D Nest 5, 18. Macabre Tree - Shrouded in Mist - Dundee - Tayside, 19. ...you can see where this is going, 20. Happy (belated to aussies) Easter, 21. Untitled, 22. dogwood blossoms, 23. home made, 24. IMG_3449, 25. Round III of WrestleMania of The WWKF - The Worldwide Kangaroo Federation Championships!

In which Shula turns into a Squarehead

This knitting in the round thing is curiously addictive.

Or perhaps it's just the round and round in circles that's appealing to me to right now.

 

Hard to tell.

I can tell you that I have two pairs of sensible, tailored, navy wool slacks,

and that I'm ironing white shirts for the first time in living memory (thank you Joke, for the tips, my technique is slowly improving).

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm deeply grateful to have been offered permanent employment at New Job. I know how lucky I am.

It's just that's it's hard to be Rock and Roll

in a burgundy polyester vest with matching prefab velcroed cravat and scrunchie.

Yes, I cool it up as best I can with the sunglasses (Givenchy),

and the boots (R.M. Williams chisel-toe cuban heels),

but the ugly fact remains that I look and feel like a 1980s hotel concierge,

and every time I catch myself in the mirror, the urge to shriek is just too much to bear.

So.

I want you to promise,

that if you ever hear me praise the music of Andre Rieu without the faintest trace of irony,

if the words 'mortgage' or 'two bedroom unit' should cross my lips in any context, whatsoever,

or if I should show the faintest interest in organised sport (with the possible exception of World Cup soccer, but totally including golf),

that you will intervene immediately, en masse, remove me to the nearest chickenwire bar,

and get me leglessly drunk.

 

Thank you in advance.

Still

All quiet on the Northern Front.

Took a little time out to re-group, smell the roses, read a book (Rabindranath Tagore's Gora, in case you were wondering), do a little knitting, eat well, sleep much.

Changing my yoga practice to accomodate New Job. Less focus on the physical, on 'progress', more on inner strengthening and stillness.

Thinking a lot about what matters, what doesn't.

How distracted one can become by activity for the sake of it, the obssesion with always trying to move forward, to achieve.

Staying still has it's own challenges.

How loud the clamouring in my head had become.

Much better now.

 

Back to work tomorrow.

Underwater Sculpture

I had to show you this.

It says more about my mindset, at this moment in time, than words ever could.

via Sandra

Mosaic Monday

 

 

1. Untitled, 2. Vintage doily garland, 3. JuliayCaro, 4. necklace, 5. 200912Apr_9219, 6. Oregon bighorn sheep, 7. Echidna, 8. buttons, 9. for the senses..., 10. Chicks, 11. stunning, 12. Little Swirl, 13. new hat, 14. Musing on Empress Woo - Detail, 15. Danger, 16. bridal chanin, 17. Icelandic "Arc de Triomphe"., 18. "Villa Wisteria", 19. Untitled, 20. seams like a ninepatch, 21. Cavalo voador, 22. Café Cristal, 23. priscilla's things, 24. flop-body crocheted by my daughter clara, 25. what's for dinner mum? Created with fd's Flickr Toys.

So tell me, Jack Sparrow, do you fear Death?

Truth is, New Job is quite difficult to talk about. Partly because I'm bound by law to not discuss individual cases, so I can't tell you what I did last night, and partly because I'm so busy processing the information myself, I'm not sure I could discuss it even were I at liberty to do so.

Which might give you some idea of how confronting it really is. Having said that, I also think that it's the kind of job that everyone should have some experience of. I CAN'T BELIEVE how carefully we hide death from ourselves in this country. The lengths we go to at work to keep what amounts to the Simple Truth from the General Public border The Absurd. And I wonder how much this contributes to what I see as an inherent shallowness, certainly in Australian Society, a reluctance to tackle subjects of substance, a preference for the mediocre, the trivial and the inane. How much can you possibly expect to understand about the miraculousness and profundity of Life if you're afraid to look Death in the face?

So, those people who are waiting with bated breath for gory details - you know who you are - are just going to have to content themselves with philosophical platitudes and random musings on the meaning of Life, The Universe and Everything from the perspective of one who works in the constant presence of Death. I can't tell you what I did at work, but I can tell you how I feel and what I think about it.

Right now, apart from feeling shatteredly tired, and decidedly whoopy most of the time, the good news is that I'm so acutely aware of my own mortality 24/7, and so astonished that I manage to wake up alive every morning, that a simple breakfast of hot cross buns, or a cursory examination of my budding vegie garden is likely to put me in a state of wonder. Appreciation of the gift that is my daughter (which has always been intense, anyway) has taken on new and dizzying heights of gratitude. The dog jumping on my bed and waking me with big meat-scented kisses in the morning is not only less annoying than it used to be (though any smell other than meat would be preferable), but actually makes me laugh (despite the sheet-washing that will inevitably ensue), inter-species devotion being a source of considerable amazement to me at the best of times.

Because we're all going to die, dudes - you, me, and everything living under the sun. It's not morbid, it's the Way of Things. You can hide from this fact, immersing yourself in yet another season of Australia's Next Top Model or AFL football, you can work yourself into the ground trying to pay off your mortgage, you can squirrel away your money for the future so you feel more secure, or shop till you drop. You can keep so busy distracting yourself that you never think about it, but it makes not a jot of difference. Die you will, sooner or later, in 50 years time or maybe this afternoon - you just don't know - and every minute you spend hiding this fact from yourself you lose the opportunity to appreciate just how amazing it is that you're here, thinking, feeling, experiencing anything at all. God knows, Life is short enough.

And I have to tell you, Death isn't as scary as you might think. Death is simply Absence of Life, and to witness it is to understand that we exist within our bodies, but are not of them. It's the way in which this simple fact blows away all the trivialites of our daily lives that we insist on hiding behind, exposing the essential truth that we are here, right now, in this second, and isn't it Just Fucking Mindblowing that messes with your head, and has you re-evaluating every last corner of your everyday life. Just ask someone who's recently had a Near Death Experience.

So, as long as I'm doing this work - maybe for a week (I could be sacked any minute, I'm making so many mistakes), maybe for Quite Awhile (in which case I'll be debt-free - yay!), I just want you guys to know that although I may be surrounded by Death in all it's brutal glory at work, it's Life that I'm actually learning about.

Well, that....

 

and how to strap up and transport a body without it breaking in half before you reach your destination (an error guaranteed to get you into trouble with The Boss).

In Which Shushu turns into an OCD tyrant...

New Job is going okay,

But there are one or two unexpected consequences.

I have developed an uncharacteristic aversion to anything tamasic. Food that isn't Seriously Fresh, dirt on the front of the washing machine, ooky dishes, dog hair on the floor. I can't bear it, I must clean it immediately. Everything must be clean, yo, before Shushu can relax. My yogic commitment to non-violence is null and void when it comes to flies in the house. If the dog leaves the back door open one more time and lets the flies in, I'm going to have him adopted.

I can only eat very simple food, and not a lot of it. If I wasn't a vegetarian before this, I sure as Hell would be by now. At the risk of sounding judgemental, meat and death are closely connected, folks, and that's a simple fact. I am not a Moralising Vegetarian, in fact I fall into the category of Embarrassed Vegetarian, but my digestive system is currently marching the streets, arm in arm with Chrissie Hynde, chanting "Meat is murder!" and not a thing to be done about it. The smell of meat cooking (and I cook meat for my dog every night) has me outside so fast you'd swear I had magical powers. Or was pregnant. Which I am not.

I shower often. And wash and sanitise my clothes scrupulously. Especially my work clothes.

My mother would be delighted....