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Category Archives: Gerard Oosterman

Christmas Cheer from the Indoor Bowling at Mittagong RSL

25 Monday Dec 2017

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Gerard Oosterman

≈ 21 Comments

Tags

Indoor bowls, Mittagong RSL

 

r0_17_1936_1295_w1200_h678_fmax

Photo by Josh Bartlett

Story by Gerard Oosterman

As you might know, I joined indoor bowling some months ago and little did I know that I would be in possession of a trophy within weeks. Yet, that has happened. I have a rather large wooden structure with two silver figures, a man and a woman in a pose suggesting they are ready to bowl. I have noticed that when it comes to handing out trophies and awards at sporting events,  there are often as many trophies as there are members of the club. Everyone goes home with either a trophy or a written card of acknowledgement  of high achievements.

 

We had our trophy night last Sunday at the Mittagong RSL. Our bowling is strictly social, and for fun, with laughter the aim rather than scoring points or killing to win. I have yet to introduce my own special method of competition in awarding the worst players the winners. I tried to get some interest, but some reckon we would never get home for trying to be the worst. Anyway, the evening was a winner. The club provided some food and included my favourite small sausage rolls, chicken nuggets, some fish things and the obligatory ham and tomato sandwiches. No alcohol, but that was compensated for by the club providing the chilli, tomato, mustard and barbeque sauces.

 

The all time winner of most trophies was ‘little Mary’ and at 93 years of age still beats all of us. She was for many years the NSW champion. She won the singles, the doubles, the triples, the whole bloody lot with also pocketing most of the ‘runner ups’ etc. It took two men to carry all the trophies back to the car. 

I am not even enrolled as a member. Even so, my trophy was for the men during 2017 having played better than the females! A hoot really, because most times men and women play together.

 

This little club is unique. We are all getting closer to the Pearly Gates with many suffering dodgy irritable bowels, lameness, carry spare legs or hearts. Yet, we plod on and keep each other company and look after each other.  I have never felt more welcome and take great pleasure in their company.

 

Who would have known?

 

Helvi and I wish all the patrons a happy Christmas and New year. Take it easy!

Gez

The wisdom of Lobelia.

16 Wednesday Dec 2015

Posted by gerard oosterman in Gerard Oosterman

≈ 17 Comments

« Christmas and Social Intercourse.

Lobelia

Lobelia

Seeking counsel from  Lobelia is simple, effective and very cheap. Just pull a chair up and sit next to her. Soon, most worries, heart-pain and general burped up dyspepsia combined with obstinate corns, will disappear together with anxiety and guilt of having forgotten some Christmas cards recipients. She will help you overcome.

When I think of all those books written for those suffering from  deep and clear-sighted despair and those that habitually sink in gloom or heavy thoughts, I can’t think of a better cure than to try and unburden yourself with Lobelia. It doesn’t take much time and it can be done at home provided you have a small garden or even a balcony. The books written on self discovery and finding happiness now almost outnumber cooking books. Yet, the cure is to be found within the blue eyed Lobelia. She is there at your behest almost all year around.

(How perplexing that words so often seem to offer themselves out of nowhere. Why did I write the word ‘behest’? I hardly know what it means. After looking in the dictionary it fits the sentence.)

I don’t know what it is. Lately when switching on TV, hoping for good news, we get someone stirring or tossing something and saying ; ‘oh how yummy,’  repeated again, ‘oh, really yummy’. It can be so exasperating. Do people that watch it, jump up, run into the kitchen and start cooking? Or, do they dip into the box of chocolates in front of them on the coffee table or even held in their lap? With the increasing problem of so much weight gain around, one would expect cooking shows to feature the tossing up of just a single spinach leaf or celery stalk infused with just a drop of virgin oil.

Am I the only one waiting for a heartfelt, ‘oh what a disgusting dish this was’. Surely, sometimes a recipe fails? Am I the only bad cook? All dishes on TV turn out yummy. That’s all worked out beforehand. Scores of people and programmers work and write those cooking shows. Nigella Lawson is always right on queue giving those seductive side-way glances while licking her creamed ladle. Don’t be fooled it is spontaneous. She fakes it!  A little man in the corner of her kitchen holds a  folder and reads out every word, every lick, smile and every gesture. There are endless re-takes and each show costs millions.

It is therefore so pleasing to have Lobelia. She is all true and without pretence or haughtiness. You just know,  that when life becomes too over or under whelming, one can find the help, solace and peace deep within the heart of a simple Lobelia.

 

Kathmandu and Barramundi fillets.

02 Wednesday Dec 2015

Posted by gerard oosterman in Gerard Oosterman

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

Bras N Things, Junk Mail, Kathmandu

 

IMG_0743

We thought of getting ourselves a break. Helvi had noticed a flyer that seemed to have floated around our letter-box even though we araldited a sign on our letter-box; NO JUNK MAIL.  Some other owners have added PLEASE after the ‘no junk mail’. We did not go that far which might explain why we still get flyers. Even though real adventures are the domain of the knickerbockers wearing youths including stout wenches, both with huge backpacks clambering to mountain tops, our adventures are taken somewhat calmer.

The flyer advertised all sorts of items relating to the outdoors. The shop was called ‘Kathmandu’.  Kathmandu we can do, even at this stage. We both strapped ourselves into the Peugeot with a somewhat reckless demeanour. I gave our neighbours of The Body Corporate a brave shout of deviance, before heading off to Kathmandu. There ain’t nothing we can’t do! The day was going to be hot with predictions of over 30C. No matter, we put the temperature inside on 19C and pressed the ‘automatic’ button on the Peugeot’s air-con. No sea too rough, etc.

It took us 40 minutes to get to a huge shopping mall at Campbelltown. It has been extended and is now so big it has it’s own climate. When we arrived there was a small thunderstorm with some hail near the David Jones outlet. Just perfect for us as we had prepared ourselves for any eventuality wearing RMW boots and trousers with leather belts. Both of us also wore sturdy hats, sunglasses and reinforced wallets. The Kathmandu shop was next to a shop named ‘Bras N Things’. I am curious what the N Things are.

We soon found the advertised item. They were trousers with an insect repellent ‘infused’ into the material the trousers were made off. Can you imagine? No more mozzies or ticks snooping around the legs or conjugal departments!  And…

good for over 70 washings! Reduced from $179 to just $79! I tried one medium pair, after urgings from Helvi. I hate trying on clothes. The taking off shoes and then getting the obstinate toes hooked onto the trousers, both with taking the old ones off and trying the new ones on, is just too much of an adventure at my age. The medium pair were too short and  too much of a Dr Livingstone look. A larger size was perfect. They have enormous multi storey pockets in which to keep passports, wallets and even a tablet for selfie taking. I can zip the legs off as well, making them into long shorts.

What an adventure the day turned out to be. We also bought two huge fillets of Barramundi. We wolfed one down after arriving back home. Tonight we will have the other one

Kathmandu here we come!

A normal day.

19 Thursday Nov 2015

Posted by gerard oosterman in Gerard Oosterman

≈ 8 Comments

A normal day.

After all the sardine excitement of a few days ago topped by the glorious rack of lamb yesterday, it was time to calm down, take a breather and try have a normal day. One ought to be on the guard of excessiveness, even if it involves sardines.  As I got up this morning I was so resolute. Before even the first coffee, I went to the front of our compound and picked up both garbage cans. Earlier on I had heard them getting emptied. I have seen those modern garbage trucks in action.

They are fitted with extendable hydraulic forks that clamp the garbage can, hoist them up while also tipping them upside- down. They disgorge their contents inside a covered truck.  All this is done flawlessly in one swoop by just a single person who also drives the truck. The empty can gets gently put back on the nature strip.

With a bit of squinting and fogging ones glasses one could just imagine it being a kind of ballet where the prima donna gets picked up, turned over and then gently put back on the stage. A kind of  modern Pyotr Tchaikovsky’s ballet of The Sleeping Beauty. Other aficionados of watching garbage trucks in action might well prefer and dwell over his version of the Nut-Cracker suite.

In the old days, the garbage cans were made of zinc and it took a whole army of men to deal with them. I remember a kind of large heavy gate at the end of the truck compressing the garbage. It was the norm to leave a crate of brown ‘long necks’ for the garbos at Christmas time. This was a particular difficult period for garbage- men. Especially afterwards when all the remnants of the festivities would rank darkly inside those cans. The hot sun relentlessly cooking the prawn-shells and heaven knows what else that had putrefied. A  tough period. A cold beer was very welcome. That has now all gone. No more gifts for the garbo.

After I picked up the plastic lidded garbage cans, I dressed and made coffee. The plan was to tackle the snails in the garden for which we had to shop. We also had run out of garlic. Lately we have made the decision not to economise on garlic and get the Spanish variety. The Chinese garlic, with all respect for Mao, doesn’t cut the mustard. We make up to the Chinese by getting their Bok-Choy. There is just nothing like blanched fresh Bok-Choy glazed with some sesame oil. It really is the most delicious vegetable and at 99cents a bunch at Harris Farm Market, is a top buy. Go and get it.

I do hope farmers make good money. They deserve it. I can’t believe when dieticians complain that the poor get fat because they can’t afford good food. How cheap are vegetables, including carrots, potatoes,  beans. A packet of rice or pasta? Tinned sardines or tuna. Even fresh Australian salmon,  four fillets for $12.90? It is far more the intrusion of the Macdonald’s and their rotten food quarter pounder outlets, KFC is another one. Why are they still given development application approvals when Australia has one of the world’s highest numbers of those Fast food and take-outs Per Capita? It is Capitalism murder on a grand scale now. It is! How long before action is taken? It kills more than Isis. Far more.

Take it easy now, Gerard. remember a ‘normal’ day.

The tuna dish.

25 Friday Sep 2015

Posted by gerard oosterman in Gerard Oosterman

≈ 11 Comments

The tuna dish.

wives waiting for their men at Scheveningen

We all know that fish is good. As we get older and start to stumble with memories and forget the name of a previous world champion runner or a failed Prime minister, it is time to call in the fishing fleet. As a child I used to watch this fleet coming in with the first herring which would be rushed and presented to the Dutch queen. Those first herrings used to cost a fortune. Our family would wait for the price to fall before able to buy them. The fishermen’s wives were waiting anxiously  at the peers for the boats to come in.

I was at the tail end of the herring fleet still being under sails. I might have been nine years or so. It wasn’t always that the boats would come back. It was a risky business and storms on the North Sea were frequent and dangerous. Many a husband would be lost. In those days the women waiting at the peer still wore traditional clothing, dark brown billowing skirts down to the ankle, and white head- gear. Perhaps they also wore a lacy scarf around their shoulders. It was all so long ago.

Now-a-days, fishing vessels are so large and so sophisticated they graze the ocean floor like never before. The whole area would be covered in miles of netting more or less depleting everything that swam. I remember two years ago a huge Dutch factory boat tried to enter Australian waters to fish. The local protesting fishermen were successful in fighting for their own rights to fish. The Dutch ship retreated and lost their case. Why has everything become so unromantic? I know losing your life while fishing isn’t romantic but so much of the past made and held memories. What memories will our grandchildren nurture in their old age? Perhaps in the future the Alzheimer will be cured by simply living along life’s path without anything remarkable to imprint on our memory’s storage. Memories will simply not be there anymore to lose!

Here is a dish to remember though. It is simple, cheap, healthy and guaranteed to refresh memories of failed Prime ministers and long time champions including Zátopek.

Its ingredients are potatoes, a good leek, onions, garlic, milk, herbs, a bit of butter, a bunch of bok-choy, tinned tuna in oil and little salt, pepper and chili. Also, young grated cheese.

Bok-choy

Simply slice thinly a few potatoes and in layers interspersed with all the above sliced ingredient, place in a oven-proof ceramic dish. Soak the whole lot in milk level with the top of the dish and bake for an hour or so at 150C temperature. Make sure you are generous with the grated cheese on top to make sure this is brown and crusty. You then eat it with your spouse without saying a single word, except at times, just say mmm and again mmm.

I do hope my grandkids will remember my pancakes made with buttermilk.

We will all be lucky to get out alive.

Loaves and Fishes. ( one fish, two fishes)

23 Friday Jan 2015

Posted by gerard oosterman in Gerard Oosterman

≈ 14 Comments

imagesLoaves and fishes

My fishes died yesterday! I was foolish to have left the care of my aquarium to a neighbour up the road. We were going camping. All this back in the eighties or so. She, the friendly neighbour, in her way thought it best to feed them in one hit as she too planned to go away but did not tell us that. What made it worse was that the aquarium held salt water tropical fish with life coral. It held 500 litres of ocean water with some beautiful and very expensive fish. (notice ‘fish’ as the plural)

Too much food for fish means that the water will go off, bacteria will soak up all oxygen and the fish will simply drown and die. I had planned to go back to Sydney half way through our camping holiday to check on my fish. The devastation after arrival came clear within seconds. There was by beloved Emperor floating sideways gasping for air with two blue Damsels as dead as could be. The air pump was going flat tack but with some fish rotting as well, it was an impossible and unfair battle. I knew what to do.

I transferred the still live fish into a plastic garbage container with fresh lot of sea water which I obtained down the hill of our street direct from the harbour, and transferred the air pump to aerate the water nonstop. I emptied the aquarium of the putrid water and buried the dead fish below the paper bark tree in the court yard… A sad day! I saved some fish and after clean sea water was put in the aquarium transferred the live fishes* back into their own home again. Fish are very intelligent and they knew I was in the room and would became agitated, wanting to be fed. I read that an aquarium holder of octopuses’ allowed his pets to go and wander around the house at night before going back into the water.

When I read how reefs are being plundered by money hungry tropical reef fish and aquarium traders, I stopped having them and now just have our JRT ‘Milo’. Even in the dog world there are stories doing the rounds of ‘puppy farming’. It just is never ending how so much is reduced to money. Anyway, Milo is just a street dog without pedigree and was sold by a very caring dog loving family.

I now have to explain the heading of ‘loaves’.

During the last war and my persistent memories of that period so early on I was given a loaf of dark bread by a German soldier billeted below street level in the cellars of our street. It was just a few weeks before it would all end in the capitulation of all German troops. He must have felt pity. It was when hunger stalked the street of Rotterdam and thousands were starting to die of starvation. You can imagine my mother’s joy of having a loaf of bread. It came from the enemy. A kind enemy.

I have never forgotten.

The Petrol Bowser.

30 Sunday Nov 2014

Posted by gerard oosterman in Gerard Oosterman

≈ 7 Comments

DSCN0064

We all have to do this. Fill up the car’s fuel tank at the petrol station. With the price of oil dropping by about twenty percent we would expect a similar drop in petrol. Not so, it has dropped, but not by as much as the Brent Crude oil price. It figures. The companies have to make up for the lower price by holding onto the higher price paid at the bowser for their dear life or dear profit. ‘Our Dear Brent Crude give us our daily Bollinger Oh la la French Champers;

The oil devout execs must be praying, eyes slanted piously upwards.

I can’t think of anything less inspiring than poking the fuel hose through the inlet opening of the fuel tank. In my car it has a spring loaded cover under which is a black cap with below it a dire warning ‘Diesel.’ It is about as far as my reading goes. Just one word, ‘Diesel’. However on the bowser itself are several items that one can read. ‘Please pay before moving car’ is one sentence, but there is more. Several options and grades of fuels with their different prices to study, but,… there is more, much more still. ‘Spend another five dollars you get another 4c off’ it states frankly but insistently.

Those words include vivid images of an ice cream called ‘Gay-Time’ and a slanting open soft drink bottle. (usually a 600 ml Coke bottle). The slant and the gushing out of the brown liquid is to invoke a kind of latent or hidden thirst in the petrol purchaser, almost imagining the fluid going down the throat and giving the two second joy as a decoy for true happiness. That’s what those images promise, true satisfaction of fake thirst sated and a more happy, happy feeling.

The problem is that once the hose is in the aperture one just has to watch the bowser tick over. This is when an overwhelming ennui takes over. I am desperate for a diversion, any diversion away from the maddening ticking over of the bowser. But I get drawn in each time. It is an addiction. I don’t want to miss out on the exact Fifty dollar amount that I always use as a limit and aim by the cent to achieve this. Don’t ask where this originates from. Perhaps the bombing of Rotterdam or maybe the Kipfler potato.

It is a small ambition, I know, but heaven help me out of this dreadful concentration of such a stupefying event. As I get nearer the fifty dollar mark my concentration reaches fever pitch. I slowly, cent by cent increments crawl towards the forty nine dollars eighty eight cents and then take a breather, surveying the situation calmly, collect my thoughts and try not to look down the floral blouse of the lady next to me, also bending and busy with bowser. I ignore the distraction and bravely continue on till the Fifty dollar is reached, right on the dot. Such triumph!

phototulips

I walk to the garage and hand over my previously extracted fifty dollar note that I have kept in my closed fist just for that purpose. ‘Receipt?’ ‘No thanks.’ I walk out, relieved it is over.

And that’s that.

PS: The pictures are mine and totally unrelated to the article.

Tags: Bollinger, Brent oil, Coke, Diesel, Gay time

Marc Chagall

12 Wednesday Nov 2014

Posted by Mark in Gerard Oosterman

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Marc Chagall, Scott Morrison

Marc Chagall

By Gerard Oosterman

imagesMaRC cHAGALL

Australia’s minister for immigration, Scott Morrison and his off-shore and on-shore detention policies have now caused four deaths and a considerable number of attempted suicides, fifty or so by children.

It is totally wrong for this man to remain in office.
.

http://www.theguardian.com/world/2014/jul/09/self-harm-asylum-seekers-detention-surged-serco-report

If you are concerned and want to be part of taking action; Please voice your concerns to:

Address:
Scott Morrison MP
Minister for Immigration and Border Protection
PO Box 6022
Parliament House
Canberra ACT 2600
Telephone: 02 6277 7860
Fax: 02 6273 4144
Email: minister@immi.gov.au

It is as wrong now to inflict terrible conditions and treatment on people that have done no wrong, as it was during the days of Buchenwald.

I’ll leave you this lovely poem inspired by Marc Chagall.

When I read this poem by Lawrence Ferlinghetti, I had to chuckle, according to the poet his work is meant to be read aloud:

Don’t Let that Horse.

Don’t let that horse
eat that violin
cried Chagall’s mother.
But he
kept right on
painting.

And became famous
And kept painting
The Horse With Violin in Mouth
And when he finally finished it
he jumped up on the horse
and rode away
waving the violin.

And then with a low bow gave it
to the first naked nude he ran across.

And there were no strings
attached.

Waste not want not. Just eat your lumpy porridge

07 Friday Nov 2014

Posted by gerard oosterman in Gerard Oosterman

≈ 6 Comments

untitled Bowral Creek

I was abused from an early age by having to eat lumpy porridge. It has left its mark and no psychologist or therapist has given me any insight into how this continues to shape me into the present dysfunctional personae, still grappling with life so fraught with fits of uncertainty as to its real meaning or purpose.(Phew)

The weeks just prior and after the end of WW 2, Holland was on its knees. Oats, Biscuits and Spam was fought over by people running towards the US, Canadian and English Lancaster bombers overhead, dropping food parcels. I remember my dad running on a field towards one and bringing home a huge metal box with rock hard but very nutritious English biscuits. The sky was dark with food being parachuted , raining down on Rotterdam. How glorious a liberation it was! Dancing in the streets.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Operations_Manna_and_Chowhound

untitled food at last

Despite the biscuits saving us from starvation, I still remember being very churlish about having to eat porridge with lumps and preferred the biscuits soaked in water. It was years later, when ‘easy oats’ came into being that could be cooked with milk without resulting in uneatable lumps. The porridge cooked by my mum then became silky smooth and with the Golden Syrup was delicious, a real delectable food. Even so, I have hardly touched porridge ever since. The lumps left their mark. That’s what a war does to you.

Walking around, pondering and practising a pensive thought or two is now a well earned pastime in advancing years together with offering adages and words probably so wasted on the much better informed. Together with Helvi and Milo, I traipse through our town forever hoping to find solutions to life and purpose. How this can be found by walking with a dog, hand-scooping his toilet habits in plastic bags, and drinking a latte in between is questionable but probably as good as studying Plato or taking Prozac.

images Food drops

But going back to lumpy porridge and hunger, we are surprised how much food can now be found just on the streets and parks. A half eaten hamburger here, bags of chips there. I sometimes, much to the horror of Helvi, lift a lid on public rubbish bins to see what has been discarded, much the same as I am curious about peoples washings on the line. Don’t ask, why? There is no hope. There is so much that can be gleaned from washing lines. Is the husband an office worker or tradesman? Are there children? How lithe and slim (or large) are they? What are the favourite colours etc. (Even that little joy is getting less with so many now lazy and using a cloth-drier).

But for discarded food…Only last week an entire ‘meat lover’s’ pizza in its specially designed aerated box was thrown out in the bin. Half full drink bottles, chips, steaks, even calamari rings, all gets thrown out.

It is nice to know that if ever I became destitute and homeless, food will not be a problem. I could probably make a living as well from sitting near a supermarket with Milo at my side, a cap with a few coins next to him and holding up a sign. “Help, I have still not found the purpose of life.”

There is hope where there is life!

The Possibilty of ‘fracking’ Governments.

06 Thursday Nov 2014

Posted by Mark in Gerard Oosterman

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

fracking

The possibilty of ‘fracking’ Governments.

by Gerard Oosterman

etching 'couple'

They, many eminent scientists say that when you put pressure on something the results is often a release of pent-up energy. It is now used to release gas locked up in rock formations. It is called fracking. Geologists come home tired and their wives now ask; Did you do some good fracking today dear?

Go and ‘frack’ yourself is an expression waiting to raise its head in parlance of the progressive world of slinky board riders and depressed gloomy hoodie wearers. I bet you it will take over from the ‘awesome’ and ‘oh, my god’. I think ‘stuff like that’ has now sunk into the furnace of lost expressions, the same as ‘bodgie and widgie’ did some many decades ago. It was used during the period when as a teenager I used to linger around Parramatta Delinquent Girls home. Friday night was ‘curler-night’. I remember seeing girls in trains wearing curlers! Men used to perv on Pix magazine girly photos showing knees and total naked feet.

I have just brushed up my very limited knowledge on Islam and ISis with all that goes with it; I can’t say I am much wiser. Previous knowledge did not go much further than Ali Baba and forty thieves. On the way over from Holland our boat stopped at Port Said where we all went off the ship. I was fifteen then and bought a fez and a small whip used for camel driving. I kept those mementos for years. Now they are lost the same as those past popular expressions. Forever gone!

I do know that bombing always ends up killing. With the latest be-heading no doubt the reaction will be more bombing more killing and more incomprehension by many, not least myself. Isis seems to have unlimited funding and an expert PR machinery going for it. Perfectly English translations of their web-sites and IT magazines beamed and downloaded all-over. It is there within seconds as did the latest beheading video, done by the same man speaking in a thick London accent.

http://www.abc.net.au/news/2014-09-24/analysis-campaign-against-is-could-take-years-or-decades/5764828

http://www.abc.net.au/news/2014-09-16/what-is-islamic-state/5748646

I don’t know what goes on. The last major conflicts in Vietnam, Iraq and Afghanistan were all undertaken at the behest of the US. All three conflicts seemed to have achieved nothing but hordes of refugees and endlessly ongoing murderous campaigns. We were lied to by our governments as never before. Vietnam did not result in hordes of yellow peril. Iraq did not have weapons of mass destruction. Afghanistan with the Taliban were Americas friends during that period they were fighting the Russians.

And now…again, Australia goes to another war. And talking about expressions, our Government calls this…not going to a war but… ‘a humanitarian MISSION’! Can you believe it?

http://www.abc.net.au/news/2014-10-03/war-not-a-mission-abbott-incorrect-on-iraq-action-fact-check/5772316

Governments need fracking I reckon. Get fracked Mr Abbott.

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