An English In Kentucky


















Tuesday September 18th 2012    Tim Candler

    The Artist has called forth an "Outhouse," which for those in the Antipodes might be understood as an "outside bog."  My first consideration was, "Indeed, a fine example of the pioneer spirit, which I guess should be nurtured because it belongs to heritage and heritage I am told is romantic."  Which was probably why I suggested a good view of woodland, that might be further secured against surprise by partially surrounding it with a  fence of some kind.  And I thought of this with some fondness, because  I have always found the act of defecation is more satisfactorily accomplished when squatting, with knees just inches from the forehead.  A position the porcelain toilet no longer permits those of us who lost the necessary agility and good balance to a door-less policy and peer pressure some time ago.  A tragedy I prefer to  blame upon the centuries old conspiracy between manufacturers of  products like Metamucil and the random ideas of sanitation engineers, rather than relive what in the end became thirteen odd years of potty training.

    However, too often I have also been made confused by the creative mind, its brilliance, its vicissitudes, and the suddenness of its inspiration, because this will be no ordinary outhouse.  It will be happy with color, probably yellows, greens and pinks. Combinations the fashionable like to consider Caribbean colors, but which we all know is actually an example of how not to waste unwanted, or to render invisible surreptitiously acquired, cans of paint.  The 'house' will have a blue bottle tree sign post to point the way, and this already has at least some of its bottles.   Then when you reach the destination there'll be a seat upon which to sit, which I think is a shame.  Nor will any kind of creature that slithers, or has whiskers, or can hang upside down and stare, be permitted access to what will be enclosed space with hinged door.  Yet, when the mood strikes I have a wilderness of opportunity upon which to squat, and the outhouse will require a magnificent and lasting and deep hole in the ground, which is always enough to get my fevers high and running with enthusiasm.  And I'll manage the rest, by thinking of it as an adornment to the honest work of shoveling.

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