Melbourne, December 2, 2017
I am standing on the tiled roof of our home. The westerly wind is getting ready to blow a gale. There is rain on the way. (Or, as the media and Bureau Of Meteorology, have been saying, a ‘rain event’.)
I am on the edge of the roof, holding onto one branch while sawing another. But the horse has already bolted, so to speak. On the ground is a heavy roof tile, nudged and pushed by a branch that had had the wind behind it. A few minutes earlier, inside the house, Julie and I had heard a scrape and a thud while standing in the family room.
And now I’m up in the weather, grasping a saw (it may as well have been a straw) and looking at a hole in the roof. I’m thinking rain, I’m thinking possums, I’m thinking Handyman, wherefore art thou?
Not up here, that’s for sure. This is not my forte. But there’s a rain event on the way. Gotta do something. I climb down, collect the (surprisingly unbroken) tile, climb up again. Try to fit it back into place. Harder than it looks. The tiles are bulky and awkward, I’m crouched on a 45 degree angle, and the wind is blowing.
I need another pair of hands. I need a shot of confidence. I need a roof tiler.
I do what I can. Cover the hole. But the tiles are not interlocking, not neat and precise. Why is life like this? Why is life itself not neat and precise? My domestic inadequacy triggers a minor existential crisis. That sense of uselessness, of incompetency. It leaves me restless, a storm of its own kind.
The rain arrives and the roof survives but I am no better for it. The next day I’m surly, a little haunted by the view of life from the roof. I get out of the house for a few hours. (What did Jackson Browne sing all those years ago: Don’t confront me with my failures, I have not forgotten them.) I go to the library. I know I should start reading a long, long novel but no books appeal to me. Hundreds of books and none say Take me, I’m yours.
So, as I’ve done before in times like these, I write a letter. Pen on paper. In the library. Dear Paul, it begins, I am standing on the tiled roof of our home. The westerly wind is getting ready to blow a gale. There is rain on the way…
A few days later Paul replies with a poem,its ending slightly skewing my story. To give me hope, I think. He gives me a song too, and so much more.
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Perfect feelings of inadequacy. Human traits are just that – human.
What did Mark Gillespie sing, in another context – ‘We’re only human…’
Melbourne writer and true man of letters Vin Maskell gives me far more credit than I deserve for this little gem of his.
What he lacks in carpentry and home renovation skills, Vin more than makes up for as a writer – with words of grace and precision.
I ‘skewed’ the truth of his experience in the last lines of my little ‘poem’ by way of encouragement.
The Irish poet Seamus Heaney wrote: “Whatever is given / Can always be reimagined, however four square /… it happens to be.”
Vin found himself on the roof, despondent and discouraged. I know that feeling.
Go easy, Vin! We’re all perched on a rickety roof. At least enjoy the view: the vast world above; the wind and rain; the mystery of it all.
Paul Bateman
I’m no good with tiles or poetry.
True, bro, but you can sing and play guitar. And arrange songs. And make fly-wire doors from scratch. And you make me laugh.
I’m no good at guitar playing or tiles, & completely unable to get up a ladder past step 4, let alone step onto a roof on a calm day! I am as useful & useless as the next person. Who gets to judge? The person under the leak in the ceiling in bad weather I guess. Ahhh what a metaphor for life right there.
I always appreciate those little gems in your stories Vin. Another great one, about everyday things. My favourite kind. Also love this song – & the excellent video. I find something very soothing in the sound of Billy Bragg’s voice. Thx.
Another great little story Vin. Never heard the song till now, i do like it.
Cheers Luke.
Great story Vin (and epilogue Paul). I know the song well as it speaks to me. I got over my lack a long time ago with the pithy explanation that i have no handyman skills and even less interest. Don’t beat yerself up, know yer strengths and shrug off yer shortcomings. Cheers
Love this story!
Your post has been added to “Your Song — A Community Collaboration page”. Thank you. I know others will enjoy it as much as I did.
Thank you for sharing this vivid and introspective story. I agree that the mix of practical frustration and existential reflection adds a unique depth to the experience of trying to fix the roof. It’s interesting how the narrator’s sense of inadequacy on the roof mirrors broader feelings of life’s unpredictability and imperfections. I love the way this piece weaves together the personal struggle with a kind of poetic resignation, reminding us how even the smallest tasks can trigger bigger reflections on our place in the world.
Thanks for your eloquent summation of the story. Much appreciated, If I lived in Tallahassee, where you run your handyman business I’d book you for all sorts of jobs. Including the roof! Alas, it would be a long commute for you to get to Australia! By the way, how did you come across the story? Cheers. Vin.