Letter From The Other Side;
from Cynthia. Tunnel Vision.
Dear Del
A few days ago a friend of mine
remarked as we stood chatting in the main street of town, that men are
afflicted by tunnel vision. She made this observation while watching her spouse,
a keen fisherman, look with devotion at a fishing rod displayed in the sporting
goods store window.
This remark of hers made a memory stir
restlessly in my mind for a few days. One that I don’t think I have ever shared
with you. I think it has been on the outskirts of much of my thinking while our
home has been subjected to the hours of work Teddy has spent while making a
solar hot water panel. All else has been ignored while the weeks of
construction of the Mark. 2. model of this panel has been in progress.
Mark. 1. was demolished some time
ago much to my relief because it was taking on such large proportions that I
felt if our roof wasn’t reinforced before it was put in place, the structure
would come crashing through into the living room. This would not only spoil our
television viewing it would most likely upset the finely balanced relationship
we have with our home insurance company.
I knew when we married all those
decades ago that I was marrying a man of high intelligence. I wasn’t quite
prepared for some of the small eccentricities that sometimes accompany such
intellect.
Within a few weeks I was given
quite a few examples of what I could expect and the degree to which my patience,
humour and tolerance would be stretched.
For example, we had been living in
our first small flat for about four weeks. The night had been wet with the sort
of lashing rain that Melbourne
It was Teddy’s habit to walk to the
shops, pick up his morning paper, read it as he walked along the footpath all the
while trusting the other travellers to keep his footsteps on the right course
as he made his way along and through the underpass to the station while
concentrating on the newspaper.
One morning as was usual, I made
his packed lunch and after a peck on the cheek at the door, waved him off with
a happy smile. That’s the sort of thing we women were shown to do in the 1960’s
magazine articles entitled, ‘How To Keep Your Husband Happy.’
Some time later, after I had tidied
the small amount of second hand furniture which adorned out little nest and
washed up the breakfast dishes, I heard a noise at the door.
Feeling a little apprehensive I
opened it slowly. Teddy was revealed sitting on the doorstep with his boots off
and ringing out his soaking socks. His overalls were wet up to his thighs and
there was an assortment of wrapping papers and grit in his wet hair.
‘What on earth happened to you?’ I
asked.
‘Hmmm…….Well.’ He giggled a bit. I
learned over the years, little things don’t upset him easily.
He began, ‘I bought the paper and
opened it to read while walking along with the others as I always do…then after
a time I realized no one was walking with me and my feet were really cold. I
lifted the paper up and looked around to see I was up to my knees in muddy water
and floating things. The underpass tunnel was filled right across the paths and
road. None of the b…..blokes told me! They were all just standing behind me
pointing and laughing at me. Then,’ he continued at last showing some
exasperation, ‘some coot with a great sense of fun planted his foot on the
accelerator of his car and drove through the water fast enough to dowse me with
a wave of the muck.’
I sighed, the first of many to come
and handed him a towel, some dry clean socks, a clean, dry pair of overalls,
and shut the door firmly.
Despite my best efforts life has
gone on in much the same way for five decades. Now, after much hammering,
sawdust, metal pieces and piping made of various materials we have our own
solar hot water.
‘Buying one from the solar shop
would be far too easy and not as much fun,’ he told me the other day while I
was removing another small handful of screws and metal objects from the bowels
of my washing machine.
It’s too late to miss the tunnel
now isn’t it? I wonder what it next has in store for us?
Cheers Cynthia.
