Business teacher: Â It is well known that buyers must be careful. Â There’s even a phrase “let the buyer beware” or “carpe diem”.
My first born: Â Sir, I think you mean “caveat emptor”. “Carpe diem” is “seize the day”.
She is rotating from Business to Woodwork on Monday. Â Probably just as well.
I have a colleague who is on Wikipedia; it’s all glamour where I work, I can tell you.
I was chatting to him about this the other day and he told me how he was talking to his cousin and his cousin asked whether he had checked his Wikipedia entry lately. He had not. He went to read it and going through it anxiously saw that it covered his career and accomplishments accurately. It finished up: “He is married with four grown-up children: Anne, John, Mary and Jane*. Jane is his favourite.”
I think she’s mine too.
*Not their real names. Protecting the guilty here.
My sister is 40 today. She had a party at the weekend in Cork (when all of my children were clean at the same time) but today is the actual day. When your younger sister turns 40 it doesn’t seem as old as it once was.
I was six when my sister was born and for years, I was just way older than her and had no interest in her concerns. When she was six, I was starting secondary school. When she was twelve, I was in college. She and my brother were great buddies uniting in opposition to my will. I was loftily above their concerns.
When she was very small, she was quite hard to understand and I do remember that my brother and I – who understood her with no difficulty – undertook to translate her utterances to our parents. This was a very frustrating experience for her as we said “No, she doesn’t want any cake, she says we can share it.” Perhaps as a consequence of her siblings being so vile, she became very good at hoarding things. Her sweets lasted longer than ours. She was a great saver. It was a running joke in the family that she still had her communion money – until quite recently, actually. But she was always really generous. She shared her sweets when we had finished ours.
She was very stubborn. Once on a camping trip to France when she was a small girl, she announced that she was going home in response to some spat with my parents. She stalked off furiously. My father looked up from his paper and, pointing in the opposite direction said, “Cork is that way.” She turned on her heel and walked determinedly that way. I am not quite sure how my parents got her to come back. She was also very responsible. She learned to cook early and she is still a really wonderful cook. From a very young age, she was in charge of cooking and shopping when my parents were away. I might have been in college but she was competent (though when the cat had kittens in the hot press while my parents were away, I was still the one who had to deal with it – I didn’t abrogate all responsibility).
Nearly seven years is a big age gap until your 20s but then we started to do things together. We went on holidays. I visited her in Plymouth where she had her first job. I remember having a lovely time. We took a sea tractor and went to Burgh Island for dinner. We had cream teas and we went swimming a lot [she hates going to beaches but she is very obliging].
As the years have gone on, I have appreciated her more and more. I speak to her almost every day. She gives great advice, she is really helpful and kind. My children love her and not just because she is extraordinarily generous to them. She is immensely reliable and obliging.
I know that people who haven’t sisters lead perfectly happy and fulfilled lives (like my firstborn) but I think I am very lucky to have my sister. I love to see her, I love to talk to her and I have great fun with her. We have a lifetime in common and a shared understanding of all kinds of things. She has a unique position in my world and it would be so much poorer without her.
So a very happy birthday to my wonderful sister and may she have many, many more of them.
Tá an Banphrionsa ag labhairt Gaeilge ar feadh 24 uaire. Chuala mé à ag caint ag ceathrú tar éis a 7 ar maidin agus tá sà ag caint trà Ghaeilge fós.
NÃl fhios agam cén fáth go bhfuil na dathanna don t-léine cosúil le Ryanair. Nà cheapaim go bhfuil seirbhÃs trà Ghaeilge le fáil ar Ryanair.
Bhà sé deachair go leor dúinn. NÃl fhios agam conas a d’eirigh le na 500 duine sa Mheiricá a rinne an rud ceana (sin a deirtear, ar aon nós).
NÃl sé easca scrÃobh as Gaeilge agus tá Daniel ag seinm an feadóg stáin ag an am cheanna agus cúpla noiméad ó shin dúirt Michael dom go bhfuil foiche suas staighre agus tá orm rud éigean a dhéanamh.  Sin é i gcomhar an blog Gaeilge.
Beidh an seirbhÃs trà Bhearla ar ais amárach.
As part of the new dispensation at secondary school, herself has got an iPad (I know). This has brought unexpected benefits. Before the iPad came into our lives, I used to send emails to my children and they went into the void. Now at least my emails to her are answered and she sends me some of her own.
I got this from her today.
To: Me
From: Herself
Subject: Rosa ist nicht eine MädchenfarbeRosa ist eine Mädchenfarbe
It’s from her German textbook. I was pleased that my consciousness raising work has not been wasted. I showed it to her father this evening and he said, “In this context it would be Rosa ist keine Mädchenfarbe“. Arguably, he is missing the broader point. I must, however, concede that here in the house of pedantry we regularly interrupt compelling arguments to point out grammatical errors which often goes over poorly with those making the compelling arguments.
In other news from herself, she has a new gym teacher (part of the general rotation of teachers and subjects, apparently). They did yoga today. She tells me that it is “extremely physically taxing”.
Picture the scene, we are all in the car driving to Cork. We pass Kildare Village off the motorway, lit up for Christmas.
Herself: What’s that?
Me: It’s one of those outlet shopping places where they sell off things cheaply.
Her: Like a shopping centre?
Me: They can be but this one is like a little town with streets and fingerposts. Except it’s got nothing that a real town has except shops. It’s a bizarre, sterile environment; a monument to the triumph of capitalism. I really disapprove of it in principle although, I have to say that, in practice, your aunt took me here once and it was quite pleasing. I got those navy cords.
Her: How do you mean sterile?
Me: Well, nobody lives there, every shop is a chain, there are no museums or pubs or monuments, it has no history and no identity beyond commerce; it’s soulless. It’s in the middle of nowhere, so people have to drive there in their cars. There are no beggars, no buskers, no…
Her: They round up the beggars and take them away?
Me: Well, no, I assume not, it’s just not very handy to get to if you haven’t got a car.
Her: Hmm. They’re like Nazis then aren’t they? Rounding up the beggars, that’s how they started.
Me: That may be a little harsh.