In Belgium at 5 or 6 years. ( to put on weight).After the war.
With the weather blowing down large trees on top of cars with boats and houses being swept into raging rivers and stormwaters, we decided to stay put and hover around our computers. You know, with that cold listless and all persuasive lack of motivation I ended up clicking aimlessly here and there, waiting for a thought to bubble up. It wasn’t easy. Even Milo was uninspired laying under the table with a depressing view of all the cables knotted up plugged into an assortment of electric multi plug boards that are supposed to save us from getting an electric shock during thunderstorms. I don’t know what goes on during the night but all those computer leads are now knitted and twisted into one another as if also in anxious dread of what might come next.
Our state had a storm that has cost lives and our premier will appear on TV soon to put at ease the people that have been affected by this huge storm. Politicians only now appear to alley our fears and dread. Last week it was an ice epidemic then an Isis related terrorist teenager with intend to behead someone.
Sometimes good things happen. Last week on a walk we went into one of those markets that seem to pop up without us knowing anything about it. This is no wonder because we don’t really are involved much with the local community. Even though we walk daily through this town, we don’t have the pulse on the latest of events or happenings. Most of social life seems to be centred around the churches and its parishioners of which many are sprinkled around the neighbourhood. I do tend to read their latest messages of a profound insight such as ; “Jesus carries the only safe arms” or, “Jesus loves confessing sinners.” They also often put on a good sausage sizzle no doubt to lure in hungry sinners. But, we are not church goers and yet I confess, will callously eat the sausages.
This latest market was put on by a Uniting church who also give out warm and healthy meals to anyone who walks in. Anyway, we too walked in and scrounged around, always ready for a bargain. Helvi bought a bag with an imprint of Newspaper articles on the outside cotton material, looking very smart. I scanned for something in the nature of food which is sometimes resented by H. “Can you think of something better to look at and do then just eating.” It is the ‘just eating’ that has the sting in its tail.
At the bottom of where the churches stall was being held are several large sheds. They are being used solely by men and are called logically ‘Men’s shed.’ I heard about the movement of ‘men’s shed.’They sprouted up as a result of many men being affected by depression or anxiety,trauma from wars or marital whiplash, unemployment, loneliness or just wanting company. The government sat up an organisation called http://www.beyondblue.org.au/where amongst many other forms they would try and help men whereby it was hoped men would feel more comfortable in sheds and make things, work with tools or play with computers, or just sit around, perhaps have a coffee, feel free to unburden to an uncritical and supporting network of only other males.( no females!)
After going in to see what the shed was about, two friendly men greeted me warmly. They were selling some stuff as well, saw benches, electric planes, wood working machinery and some bicycles given by the police. I told them I was interested in buying a bike if it could have brakes. I did not want to risk riding home down-hill on a bicycle without brakes. They promised it would be fixed by next Tuesday which is today. I went there and noticed many men working the machinery, but no bike and no one seemed wanting to say a hi or just give a look. Everyone was steeped over what they were making. One man was making a rabbit hutch. I knew because he had a large rabbit in a small wire box looking on. I coughed a bit, swirled around some , trying to catch attention, hoping for a response. I remained invisible. I went outside at the back where they stored all sorts of wood panelling and odds and ends but no bike or man. In again I went, but no talking or a look. The rabbit looked at me, a bit concerned but not its owner.
My paternal grandparents
It struck me then if it would have been a women’s shed the talk would be there. I am sure that many men seem to not want to talk, even when together. It is all such a serious business being a man. I love talk but can’t force other men to talk. There are no women sheds. I suspect because women are natural talkers and givers of recognition and acknowledgments to other people. They don’t need a shed to make things in order to unburden themselves or talk with each other.
Perhaps I am wrong and talk too much!
Oosterman Treats Blog 