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Archives for July 2023

It’s the Circle of Life

2 July, 2023
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Dublin, Ireland, Michael, Princess

A friend of mine has not one but two colleagues who are expecting twins. For both women it is a first pregnancy and they both want to breastfeed. She asked me would I meet them and give some advice. I, of course, was utterly delighted to do so – there is nothing I like more than doling out advice. Unfortunately, I retain almost no memory of those first six months of utter exhaustion but, never mind.

My friend (mother of four) came to lunch as well and her colleagues were suitably grateful for her advice and mine. The pregnant women are both professionals in their mid-thirties and they have clearly no idea what is going to hit them despite being thorough researchers with health professionals and, you know, mothers in their families. I offered by way of comfort that I really didn’t think two was a lot harder than one. I did say that one was pretty hard in my experience. One of them said, “I am prepared for breastfeeding to be difficult and painful for the first week.” My friend and I almost laughed. The problem is that it’s really hard to imagine what it’s going to be like until you actually have a baby. One of them said, “My husband will sleep in the spare room as he will have to go out to work and will need his sleep.” My friend and I were firm that her marriage was unlikely to survive this kind of arrangement. Both of us said that it was much easier to go out to work than to stay home with a baby or two and, in fact, she would need any extra sleep that was going. I think she thought that we were crazy.

It really brought me back though to those early miserable days when I was so tired. But, as my friend said to me afterwards, “We got through it and our children are now almost grown ups, we did it!” In fact her youngest is only 12 but I still know what she means and in any event her 12 year old would (in the manner of youngest children) buy and sell the lot of us. My friend said that she gathered her four children together to tell them some good news recently (a promotion) and then had to step outside for a moment before making the announcement. From the hall, she heard her 12 year old confidently inform her older sisters in a stage whisper, “No it can’t be that, she’s definitely started the menopause.”

Birthday Excitement

3 July, 2023
Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland, Siblings

My sister’s partner had a big birthday and she arranged a mild event for him at the weekend which passed off very well until the moment I realised that I was the oldest person at the lunch table. I mean everyone else was still having a good time but I was, as the young people say, shooketh.

She also brought me more papers from my parents’ house which I have been dutifully sifting through.

Here is my father in 1946 looking very slender in a picture from his time as a college debater in UCC. More women than I would have expected (expectation – none).

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I also found this menu from Jammet’s from 1946. I enjoyed the “It is illegal to serve butter with lunch or dinner”.

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On the back, it’s signed by a variety of artistic luminaries and some people unknown to Wikipedia (Lady Cornelius McGillicuddy anyone?).

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Where did this come from? I am not related to any of the signatories as far as I know (and I feel I would know). Did some relative of mine disturb these people at their dinner? In fairness, that seems very unlikely. It also seems pretty unlikely that any relative of mine would be running with such a lofty, arty crowd. At best, we were much more commerce than art. A mystery, probably not one which will ever be resolved at this point.

I also found my mother’s French copy book from secondary school in the late 40s/early 50s. I have no idea why she kept it, as honestly, it is a record of academic misery. It didn’t seem that bad to me – I mean super handwriting and some difficult topics covered in the text – but the marks were less than stellar. I asked Mr. Waffle to have a look and having seen the teacher’s handwriting he asked whether the teacher was French. I think she was actually, as my mother’s school was run by an order of French nuns and I have vague recollections of her talking of her ongoing struggles with the francophone nuns (some of them were definitely Irish though including the fantastically named Mother Borgia of whom my mother was very fond and who came to visit us a number of times – she taught physics, however, which was where my mother’s strengths lay). Anyway, those nuns, they set high standards and my mother’s French, imperfect though it may have been served us in good stead on holidays in France in the 70s and 80s.

More news from the archives as we get it.

Further Adventures in Gardening

4 July, 2023
Posted in: Boys, Cork, Daniel, Dublin, Ireland, Michael, Princess, Siblings

When my father came home from work to see that my mother had spent some time wrestling with the hedge he would say regretfully, “Ah, the hedge hating peasantry”. A wonder she didn’t hit him. I have inherited her hedge clippers and did some damage to the hedge myself today. I also cut the wire on the extension lead. Sigh. It tripped the relevant trip switch and obviously the extension lead no longer works but otherwise, mercifully, no harm done. I can’t help wondering whether more modern models might be a bit safer.

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The extension lead was not my only victim. My agapanthus has only put up two flowers this year (still buds at this point). One of them was knocked off by a careless family member some weeks ago, the culprit has still not been identified. While I was wielding my clippers of death today, Michael was cutting the grass. When I paused in my labours he said laconically, “You’ve cut your flower.” No agapanthus this year then.

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Lest you think Daniel was idle while Michael was mowing, fear not, he was on “pick up the clippings” duty. Herself cut me to the quick (cutting appears to be the theme of today’s piece) by saying recently that one task just conceals another so the reward for completing one task is getting another. This is, sadly, true. So, I sent the boys upstairs to sort out the schoolbooks they no longer want. No sign of this task actually being completed so I can keep it in reserve for emergencies, I guess.

An old friend of mine – a great gardener – once said that every garden has at least one thug. My garden has several but I was resigned to this until I saw something growing like crazy. I became convinced it was Japanese knotweed. I was filled with gloom and despair until Mr. Waffle made me do a google image search and it turns out to be Alpine Enchanter’s Nightshade. Welcome, welcome to your new home remarkably hardy and charmingly named Alpine Enchanter’s Nightshade. No haters please.

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Plum season has begun. Shortly we will be in intensive jam production phase.

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Until I was 12 or so my family lived in a very big house that came with my father’s job (I have covered elsewhere the trauma of moving from this to a semi-detached Edwardian number). The garden was big. We had a big lawn with a dozen apple trees and a large vegetable garden. There was a gardener who came very regularly but maybe not every day. His name was Michael Lyons and he was genuinely one of the kindest people I have ever met. He worked really hard, I remember him bending down to weed – from the waist, like a tent – and never having a bad word to say to us children as we ran in and out through the potato plants. In retrospect that cannot have been good for them but I remember them being large and providing excellent cover in hide and seek. He came in at lunch time and Cissie (who lived in and minded us and cleaned and tidied and whom we loved – when we moved out, my sister who was small used to say, “I’m going back to my own Cissie” when the rest of us annoyed her, i.e. frequently) made him two perfectly round poached eggs which I was transfixed by. He was unmarried and, naturally, he had a little Jack Russell dog. He was always very quiet and gentle. We used to visit him at home around Christmas and he always seemed pleased to see us – a niggle, was he really? My mother loved sweet peas and he grew masses of them on a fence for her. This year, for the first time, I have grown my own batch of sweet peas. I thought they would remind me of my mother. And they do, of course, but every time I pass them and smell their beautiful summery scent, I think of Michael Lyons.

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Avondale and Other Thrilling Cultural Adventures

8 July, 2023
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Dublin, Ireland, Mr. Waffle, Reading etc., Travel

I dragged the guys out to the birthplace of Charles Stewart Parnell. I would say mildly successful. We did the walk through the forest treetops (tame) and the slide (impressive looking but surprisingly tame also). I hadn’t planned to do it myself but the bored teenager at the top told me the youngest person down it was 14 weeks (in a parent’s arms) and the oldest 96 so I reckoned I would be ok.

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There was no queue which, honestly, was a big part of the attraction. Generally the queue lasts for hours. Yes, really, like a Disney ride.

The house itself has been lovingly restored and it’s worth a visit but the guided tour was a bit too long.

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We got to see Kitty O’Shea’s wedding ring made by the man himself from gold panned in the Avoca river.

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Mr. Waffle and I went to see a truly awful film called La Syndicaliste mostly because we heard a really amazing podcast about the story it is based on. It was on the regularly excellent Doc on 1 series. It’s about a trade unionist in France who gets attacked. The main character’s name is Maureen Kearney and she’s Irish. They didn’t change the name or delve into the back story in the film. The main character is played by Isabelle Huppert who has a very French accent when she speaks English which is just weird. In the podcast one of the things that strikes one is that even though this woman is married to a French man, has French children and has lived there for years, she is still a foreigner and that element is obviously lost. It’s not a fatal flaw. The fatal flaw is the script which is a real shame as it’s such a good story. I seriously recommend the podcast.

I took Daniel to a GAA match for the first time in ages.

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I was traumatised to discover that it was the exact same place that I had taken him the last time I went to a match with him where I got soaked. Did I get soaked again? Yes, yes I did.

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But at least I’m not sporting the same kind of injuries as he is.

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Further Garden Related Excitement

14 July, 2023
Posted in: Dublin, Ireland

Hold on to your hats now.

Look at this vase of flowers all of which I grew myself.

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And let us admire the amazingness of the iphone camera which I used to take pictures of this bumble bee on the buddleia in the lane. Yes, I know Apple predictive text isn’t up to much but it has its strengths.

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That is all, I’m afraid.

Bike Related News

15 July, 2023
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Dublin, Ireland, Mr. Waffle

I parked my bike in town the other day and noticed this exciting bit of van parking.

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When I came back, another van was parked there. It’s clearly a regular spot. I suppose it could even be legal but, if so, the city fathers would want to have another look at their bike lane provision.

Daniel parked his bike in town for an hour and came back to find his lock in this condition but crucially, it held and his bike was still there. A win for the €40 bike lock, I guess.

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Yesterday, in my infinite wisdom, I decided that the weather wasn’t too bad and I would cycle 10kms to the physio (tennis elbow, alas). This was a huge mistake. Here I am awaiting entry and disrobing at the physio.

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And then I had to cycle home after. My shoes are still wet.

Mr. Waffle and Dan went to see Dublin v Monaghan in Croke Park today and after my experience yesterday, I was keen to drive them but they gambled and won. They cycled there and back unscathed by bucketing rain. And Dublin won. You win some, you lose some, I guess.

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