Family

Stockholm – Part 1

6 September, 2022 Leave a Comment
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Family, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Travel

Monday, August 1, 2022

Mr. Waffle and I made a list of things that could go wrong with our complex travel arrangements.

1. Our taxi mightn’t come.

2. Lufthansa luggage check in wouldn’t work in advance and would there be a problem at the airport in the cold early hours of the following morning?

3. For reasons which seemed good to us at the time, we booked to travel to Stockholm via Frankfurt and gave ourselves an hour to make our connection in Frankfurt.

4. There was a good chance our luggage would get lost.

5. Herself was travelling to Stockholm from London separately and it was quite possible that we would be stuck in Stockholm without her or she would be stuck in Stockholm without us.

Over dinner that evening we mulled over our various problems. “And I’m not looking forward to the 6.15 start either,” I said gloomily. “What’s wrong with 6.15?” said Dan. Pause. “Wait, is it 6.15 in the morning?” To be fair, airport chaos wasn’t the issue it became when we originally booked the flight and we didn’t expect to have to be at the airport three hours before take off.

Tuesday, August 2, 2022

We made it safely to the gate, high as kites at having overcome obstacles one and two on our list. As we went through security, I saw Daniel and Michael chatting to a beautiful, tall, blonde stranger who, on closer inspection, turned out to be a girl from their class in primary school. She was off to a musical festival in Romania. Would you look at the young people?

Our connection at Frankfurt was tight but we made it and arrived safely in Stockholm. Our delight was tempered by the fact that our luggage, sadly, did not make it. But on the plus side, herself was there to greet us. She had been scheduled to fly via Copenhagen and arrive a bit later but when she got to the airport in London they put her on a direct flight instead. Mysterious but not unwelcome.

Stockholm airport is undergoing some redevelopment and signage for hire cars leaves a lot to be desired. This was not the Nordic efficiency we had hoped for. We schlepped for what felt like miles and then got a bus and we travelled in relative uncertainty that we were going in the right direction. At least we weren’t weighed down by our luggage.

We hired the Kia Sportage which has a very distracting instrument display which in no way showed how to turn off the wretched radio. We consulted the manual and the internet (we were not the first people to have this problem with the Kia Sportage) to no avail and ended up having to mute the wretched thing every time we got into the car for our week in Sweden. The standard handy bar under the front seat to move it forward was replaced by an automatic lever which moved it up/down and reclined the seat but never really got my little feet quite as close to the pedals as I would have liked.

I drove while Mr. Waffle played with the various buttons, bells and whistles. The built in sat nav introduced us to the concept of “turn half right” which was not something we were familiar with (slide right, is I think the more usual usage) and I found it trying enough as I navigated the tunnels of Stockholm. We were staying on the archipelago about 40 minutes drive from the city. As I stuggled with Half Right Helga (as we named the sat nav) and the various beeps (the Kia Sportage is a very judgey car, it beeps if you indicate you would like to change lane and there is another car beside you) and controls of a new car, I began to feel very warm. “Did you press a heating button?” I asked my husband accusingly. “No,” he said. My seat was feeling dangerously warm, like, uncomfortably, burningly warm. “Are you sure?” I yelped. “Oh yeah, actually, sorry, there’s a heated seat button here that seems to be pressed,” he said. It was a trying drive.

I am pleased to report that our hired house was delightful when we got there.

I was pretty impressed by the huge bank of solar panels out the back.

They had fake old plugs with USB ports. A bit weird but you know, very cottagecore.

We made a quick raid on the very expensive (dear God, Sweden is expensive) supermarket nearby and made dinner. At bed time we put everyone’s clothes in the wash – except for herself who had not lost her luggage and filled us all with sickening envy. Wasn’t it well for her? However she cooked dinner which was v welcome indeed, so much was forgiven.

Wednesday, August 3, 2022

Mr. Waffle has an admirable habit of turning off his phone about 8 in the evening and not turning it on again until he gets up the next day. On balance this is a very good thing. However, he woke up to a stream of texts indicating that our luggage would be sent out to us that very day if we confirmed in time. Gentle reader, we did not confirm on time. We were therefore fated to go another 24 hours without luggage.

We made a raid on the local shops for clothes. Did I mention that Sweden is expensive? We found a H&M (still expensive) and kitted ourselves out with some t-shirts, underwear and swimsuits.

The pool in the house was very satisfactory. We were delighted with ourselves. The only problem was the wind chimes on the porch which made a sound eerily like my work phone. My work phone that I had handed back to my employer with a skip in my step at the end of June, I might add. Nevertheless the chimes provoked an unpleasant Pavlovian response.

We had a walk down to the local beach.

Daniel volunteered to cook dinner and he picked up smoky barbecue ribs from Lidl. On inspection these appeared to be from from Watergrasshill which was a surprise. I mean I know, globalisation and all that. I bet I was one of the very few Swedish Lidl consumers that could tell you that driving through Watergrasshill before it was bypassed was always a bit exciting in winter as it was high up and likely to be icy even when nowhere else was. Fascinating, you say.

The children explored the joys of the trampoline.

Note her dress which she bought in a second hand shop in Berlin. She tells me that it comes from the DDR. You don’t get that much any more.

Thursday, August 4, 2022

On the hottest day of our trip to Sweden we drove into the city for the day. Look, this was not our best move but that’s easy to say with hindsight. The Swedes do not approve of driving into Stockholm which is an instinct I applaud. However, to support this laudable ambition, the cost of parking is terrifying. We will not speak of it.

We had booked ourselves on to a water bus tour. Stockholm is all islands and, if memory serves from the tour, has 57 bridges. We had loads of time to get to the quay from which our tour departed but somehow we whiled away the time – lunch, tea in the park, strolling around, buying phenomenally expensive peaked caps – and found ourselves undertaking a forced march around the harbour in the blazing sun at the hottest time of day.

We made it in time for the tour but I am not sure that we enjoyed it as much as we might have done as we were roasted and continued to bake in the open topped boat. The children told me that my face was like a tomato. Thanks guys.

We went home and had a restorative swim in the pool and a nice walk down to the seashore. And, let joy be unconfined, our luggage arrived.

Further Adventures

1 August, 2022
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Family, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings, Travel

Monday, July 25

I spent a good part of the morning doing logistics with herself for her trip to Paris in September. She was in Berlin, I was in Armagh. It seems extraordinary how much one can do online now (old crone speaks). Anyhow, eventually we finished up and Michael and I went out for a look around Armagh. We went to the county museum on the Mall which was small and contained the charming, slightly random, exhibits I associate with local museums.

We found a cannon from the Crimea. Mr. Waffle says that they must have brought home a boatload when they were coming; apparently the one on Dun Laoghaire pier is very similar.

We went to the Robinson Library which both of us really liked. Coincidentally, I think the Piranesi books we saw in Dublin were actually on loan from the Robinson Library. Archbishop Robinson was the big cheese locally and established both the library and the observatory and was determined to make Armagh a university city to rival Dublin. This did not happen but it was not for the want of trying on his part.

The librarian was lovely and very helpful. And then she left us alone with all the books without so much as a velvet rope to impede access. She also left a pair of magnifying glasses.

There was Swift’s own first edition of Gulliver’s Travels where he had made slightly irate amendments to the text which the publisher had changed without Swift’s permission; I think because the publisher didn’t want to go to gaol. Archbishop Ussher was also a big name locally and a first edition of one of his works was displayed. He’s the man who worked out that the date of creation was 22 October 4004 BC.

Michael retired to the house after our cultural odyssey but I went into town to see whether I could find a paper (yes) and a cup of tea (definitely not). It was 4 in the afternoon and the only suggestion the woman in the newsagent’s could make was that I could get a takeaway tea from the Spar. I mean, really. I took myself back to the house with the paper and made my own cup of tea. An economy, I suppose.

Tuesday, July 26 – Feast day of St. Anne

We were up with the lark (9 o’clock) to see Andy Pollak talk about whether the South is ready for re-unification. He thinks not, if I may summarise. It was funny because, aside from the obligatory man from the Department of Foreign Affairs, Michael and I were the only two Southerners there and it’s always interesting to hear what your neighbours are saying behind your back.

We found a nice cafe beside the cathedral and had breakfast and then went to have a look around the cathedral which had been closed the day before.

Mildly interesting and we had it to ourselves which I always enjoy.

And then onwards to the Jan Carson talk which was the reason we went on the trip in the first place.

“I’ll just double check the tickets,” I said to Michael. “1.30 is an odd time, maybe I have it wrong.” It was 1.30 but on the day before. I was furious with myself. Alas. We went to the Planetarium instead. It was fine in its way but aimed at a younger audience. It included an impressive exhibition of large lego dinosaurs (if that’s your thing) but our hearts weren’t in it when we should have been at the the talk.

We dutifully went to Archbishop Robinson’s observatory but you can’t get inside so we had to imagine what the Archbishop provided. Very impressive, I’m sure.

We cut our losses and drove home. It’s only an hour and a half away so we were home by late afternoon which was very pleasant too.

Wednesday, July 27

Mr. Waffle took me out to to breakfast to celebrate our 21st wedding anniversary which actually falls on the 28th but, look, we cut our cloth according to our measure.

Herself moved on to London on her European tour – her kind aunt and uncle let her stay in their place and she is pleased to be luxuriating in their empty house rather than sharing a dormitory in a Berlin hostel.

Our Ukranian cleaner came to our house with her sister who is visiting her. I decided to try out my fledgling Ukranian (one completed duolingo course, thanks for asking). It turns out I can only say certain set phrases. My comprehension is alright, actually, but my production is almost non-existant. I found myself listing the months of the year which, you know, isn’t a fantastic conversational gambit but the months of the year are weird in Ukranian, they’re named after plants and natural things and completely different from all the other Slavic languages. Also, to me, March (березень) and September (вересень) are almost identical (birch and gorse, I understand, in case you’re wondering). They were quite sympathetic but obviously baffled by my idiocy. To add to my difficulties, my cleaner’s sister has lived in Italy for many years. She speaks no English but good Italian. I also speak Italian and it’s much better than my Ukrainian, I can tell you. So we slipped and slid around English, Italian and Ukrainian for quite a while until I had to leave much to everyone’s relief.

Leaving Michael at home to recover from his exertions, I drove over to my friend’s house in a distant suburb to return the key to her Armagh house; give her a small present; and tell her about our doings. Then I drove to another friend’s new house in a different distant suburb; admired her new house and had a late lunch. I felt a bit guilty about not cycling but I have to recognise my not inconsiderable limitations. I could possibly have done with slightly fewer appointments but enjoyable all the same (world’s tiniest violin screeches). I actually still have my Covid wheeze although it is improving but I wonder am I absolutely 100%.

Thursday, July 28th

Michael and I went to Cork. In retrospect, the timing might have been better. We were barely unpacked from Armagh. But we took our bikes on the train which is a restful way to travel. We were staying in what I will have to get used to calling my sister’s house. I went in to the solicitor and signed the transfer in the afternoon. To be clear I am absolutely delighted that we are selling the house to my sister and not to a stranger; I know I can still stay there; and I have no need for a family home in Cork but it still felt a bit sad to be signing the papers. The end of an era, I guess. I feel that my links to Cork grow more and more tenuous and it is still very much where I am from and I miss it. To paraphrase James Joyce (whose father was from Cork, I might add) “When I die, Cork will be written in my heart.”

This is my 21st wedding anniversary and I am still pleased with my choice of husband. I am a genius. Yes it is all about me, thanks for asking.

The people organising Daniel’s course emailed that there was a chance to talk to the tutors on Friday. This is always a feature of the last day of this course – which herself did before Daniel – and I have never been able to go before because of work. And this was my last opportunity but, I had forgotten and Mr. Waffle was going to go again because I was in Cork. Such a waste because I am really interested in my children’s academic performance and he’s very much a “so long as they enjoyed it” man so our questions rarely overlap.

Friday, July 29

Michael and I had a look around the Crawford Gallery and the market. We visited my 93 year old aunt who was pleased to see us. My sister’s partner took Michael to spend an evening playing Magic The Gathering (if you don’t know, you’re better off) with a bunch of fellow enthusiasts and my sister and I went for a walk in the park. Tame pleasures but enjoyable.

In Dublin, Daniel had his last day on his course. It was great for him and he really enjoyed it. They have lots of quirky traditions one of which is formal Friday (worse when the weather was hotter but still odd, Dan says that many of the boys wear three piece suits, I mean how many boys have three piece suits?). Anyone else think that he looks like a Mormon missionary? You might like to note that his hair has been growing for two and a half months.

Saturday, July 30

Michael and I arrived back in Dublin in the late afternoon a bit exhausted from our excursions but, as I said to him, two full days with nothing planned before our trip to Stockholm. He was strangely uncomforted.

We are off to Stockholm on Tuesday and then onwards to Berlin. There will be no updates until the end of August when we get back from our holidays unless something really exciting happens. While we are away, my brother is staying in our house in Dublin along with herself (she is coming to Stockholm but leaving us when we fly to Berlin as she has had enough of Berlin for one summer) so the really exciting updates are likely to be Dublin ones.

More of It

31 July, 2022
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Family, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess

Tuesday, July 19

I had a headache all day, possibly due to the stifling heat and impending thunderstorms. All I was able for was to languidly turn the pages of the paper. There was an article by Jan Carson saying that she would be speaking at the John Hewitt summer school in Armagh. I think she is an absolutely brilliant author. I said to Michael, “Will we go?” We decided we would. I have a friend who has a second house up there (long story) and she kindly said we could stay for a couple of nights. We booked ourselves in to the Jan Carson event and a talk by Andy Pollak on whether the South is ready for reunification.

I went to bed early and woke up in the middle of the night, head still pounding, freezing, as temperatures had finally dropped and Mr. Waffle felt he needed all of the duvet, aurally assaulted as the seagulls who have taken up residence on our roof squawked dementedly (clearly trying to open a portal to some kind of seagull hell), and temporarily confused and unnerved by the recharging electric toothbrush in the corner flashing its green light on a regular basis. Look, at least the weather broke.

Wednesday, July 20

I awoke feeling the picture of health and chirpiness notwithstanding my disturbed night. I had lunch with a work friend in town and he complained bitterly about various work disasters and I truly sympathised and tried very hard not to appear smug.

I went in to Cos where there was a grumpy French shop assistant. “Vous êtes français?” I asked him. He was. Although not allowing himself to actually compliment my French (against the French honour code) he did ask me whether I was French too. I explained that I had lived for a long time in Belgium. He slightly unbent and told me that he had been to Eyeries in West Cork on his holidays. As a friend of mine used to say, “I’d say it’s the middle of nowhere but it’s not that central.” Anyhow, the shop assistant enjoyed himself and visibly thawed before my eyes as we chatted (there was no one else in the queue, you should know). As I finished up he said to me, “Vous n’avez pas perdu l’accent Belge!” Which, to be clear, coming from a French person is mildly insulting. I mean not for me, I was delighted.

Meanwhile, herself appeared to be enjoying herself with her friends. Here she is swimming away in Lake Geneva which she tells us she found delightful. I imagine it would be, particularly in a heatwave.

After her pleasant interlude on the Franco-Swiss border, she packed up and went to Berlin. A friend of hers from primary school is in Berlin. A group of primary school friends went over to visit her. I have known this young woman since she was 5 years old and she is a truly lovely person but slightly…vague. It was therefore not entirely surprising to find that she had booked herself a week in Ireland for the very week her friends were coming to Berlin. “We can meet for lunch in the airport,” she said cheerily. The others were not cheered though they seem to have had a good, if very warm, time clubbing away in Berlin. Herself remarked that even though her French is far better than her German (which is grand in fairness), the French took her prowess as par for the course and the Germans spent their time complimenting her on her excellent German.

Thursday, July 21 – Belgian National Day

It was Belgian National Day. Michael and I added the Brabançonne to our summer playlist to celebrate. We had the Marseillaise on the 14th which we found rousing so we thought we should continue to mine the rich seam of national anthems.

We drove to Kilkenny. It is an hour and a half from Dublin and quite delightful. We had a lovely time. I truly recommend Kilkenny Castle which is satisfyingly castle-like.

The town (technically it’s a city but it’s got a population of 20,000) is a joy to wander around and very lively. The medieval mile museum is excellent and the remains of the plinth from Nelson’s pillar are in the garden beside the design centre. Curious but not uninteresting.

We were so charmed that we intend to drag Mr. Waffle and Daniel here for a day out in the autumn.

Friday, 22 July

Our neighbours went to Copenhagen for the weekend to dine at Noma. Lads we are never ever going to keep up with these Joneses.

We picked up the English relatives from the ferry (surprisingly painless). Apparently when my five year old niece told her friend that they were going home to Ireland by ferry (a long way from London but actually with airport chaos etc not as long as you might think), her friend said, “Fairies aren’t real.” This created a lot of confusion all round but it now appears to be resolved.

Saturday, 23 July

We took the English relatives to Phoenix Park in the rain. Given the weather that they have been having, I’m not sure they even minded. As Mr. Waffle said, “Our first climate refugees.” Very depressing. When it was 40 degrees in London, they covered their windows with tin foil. They conceded that they looked crazy but it worked.

We had the cousins around for a barbecue and there were 11 of us in total (6 adults and 5 children). Did the weather clear up in the afternoon? It did. Did it start to lash just as the guests arrived for the barbecue? It did. We all squeezed into the kitchen and it was very nice to have all the cousins together (except herself) but slightly stressful.

Sunday, 24 July

The Dublin cousins went to Sicily and the London cohort decamped to their house. Not before my niece and I had finished making a couple of jars of jam. I spoke too soon when I said that the plum harvest had failed. She was very interested in the process. Mr. Waffle remarked that this must be what it’s like being grandparents. Not sure how I feel about that.

Michael and I packed ourselves up and went to Armagh in the afternoon. I felt very daring going to Northern Ireland in July but it was grand. Plenty of flags mind.

I will say this that Armagh is not the place to go if you are hoping to eat out on a Sunday evening but it is very pretty. And the burial site of Brian Boru. I mean, who knew?

My friend’s house is charming and has an excellent view of the cathedral.

We took ourselves off to the cinema that evening which was a two minute walk away. We saw the new Top Gun film which was grand and probably about the level we were able for.

Stay tuned for further adventures.

I Always Wait for the Longest Day and Then Miss It*

21 June, 2022
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Family, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Work

So yesterday was my first day of not working. The weather was lovely. I was able to sit in the garden. I could chat face to face with Mr. Waffle and the boys from a safe distance. I could take my meals in the garden. I felt much better. My face got slightly sun burnt. Not normally a cause for rejoicing but it was a surprisingly pleasant day. I still, alas, have a cough and a runny nose but everyone else remains infection free. Today is a bit more overcast so I am dividing my time between the garden and the lovely isolation bedroom. I can see this becoming quite tedious. I think I will try another Covid test in the morning in the hope that maybe I am no longer infectious.

The view from my perch yesterday. A massive improvement on the day spent in the bedroom.

We had a long chat with herself yesterday. Logistics seem broadly sorted for her return from England; she won a mild prize (£50 book token) for an exam – not the end of year ones which she just finished but I have to hope that this is a promising sign; she has exhausting and exhaustive summer plans; and she should be home next weekend. Hurrah.

I ceremonially put on my work out of office and dealt with a few last emails.

My favourite aunt – my father’s sister – is 93 either yesterday or on Wednesday. My grandmother and the hospital disagreed on the date and the matter was never satisfactorily settled. I spoke to her on the phone. She seems perky I am pleased to report.

I got a message from Daniel at 8 this morning telling me he was on the bus to Offaly to spend the day with his friend from there. Rome, Edenderry, he’s covering all the exciting locations this week.

Michael and I are thrown on our own resources. Mr. Waffle was able to spend a good bit of time at home yesterday but today he is more tied up at work. Michael is finding working as my chef close to a full time job and he is not hugely enjoying it. But he is resigned. We played charades for a bit in the back garden – something than allows for distance – but this is all we could come up with.

Still, I am enjoying not being at work. Lots to look forward to, I feel.

*Small prize (honour and glory) if you know where this quote is from. It used to be one of the Princess’s favourite books and she would often quote from it.

What will I be doing when I’m not working? A catalogue of indulgence

18 June, 2022
Posted in: Boys, Cork, Daniel, Dublin, Family, Ireland, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings, Work

I was talking to a friend about my year off, my sabbatical as I think of it and he asked would I be travelling. Not really. Doing a degree? Nope. Writing my novel? Again no. “What are you going to do then?” he asked. “A bit more around the house,” I said. “My husband does a lot of the domestic stuff because he’s around the house more; I’ll learn how to use the washing machine,” I said. “So you’re taking a year off to do more washing,” he said. I think I need to find less snarky friends.

Here are my thoughts on what I will be doing. Almost as an aide memoire to myself. If I get none of these things done, then so be it.

On matters domestic:

More organising, sorting handymen, getting things done around the house that have been put off because we just haven’t had time: sorting the shed; the utility room; getting the house painted; re-doing the floors; taking the children to appointments; more (though not all!) domestic admin including making arrangements for powers of attorney now that the Assisted Decision Making Capacity Act is finally being commenced (so worthy, you cry – we promised to do it when we were making our wills but were waiting for the Act, this is our chance); more gardening; finally getting the brass lacquered, the furniture repaired and the clocks fixed. I will go for those blood tests the GP is so keen on (not because I’m ill but because she wants to do a general check up – good idea, I suppose).

Recently when I was giving Daniel an emergency last minute lift to GAA practice because I had forgotten that he had training and come home late to make dinner and therefore he hadn’t time to cycle, I said, “When I take my break from working I will remember when all your training nights. I will be on top of all the detail.” “Mum,” he said, “are you sure you want to spend all your break acting like a glorified secretary?” Good point. I will need to watch out for that. Maybe I won’t know when he has training after all.

Community stuff:

I’ll keep up the school parents’ council and the church but I might have time to volunteer a bit more for the tasks being doled out rather than cravenly shirking them. I have not spent all this time learning Ukrainian on Duolingo to have it be completely useless although judging by my recent encounter in the lane with our new 9 year old Ukrainian neighbour who until 2 months ago spoke no English, it might be. Maybe I should learn basic Russian as well.

Immediate family:

More time with the boys; a chance to meet them after school; pick them up if it’s raining; hear about how their days are going; help them if they can face it. More days out with my husband. More weekends away with him. Finally learning to cook or to slightly enjoy cooking. Maybe more bread making? Maybe not. More trips to England to visit herself (though her suggestion that I might drive over to England, pick up all her stuff and then drive home alone again while she goes to the end of term ball and on to London found little favour with me when put forward and was subsequently revised).

Cork family:

Helping to sort out my parents house; seeing my elderly aunt; travelling with my sister (she has mentioned Iceland, I said no initially but now I think, why not?); bringing the boys to Cork a bit more; maybe just spend some time thinking about my parents and writing a bit about my mother’s life ( I wrote about my father for his funeral and I want to do something similar for my mother).

For fun:

I think I might try this sea swimming thing – my friend from Clontarf goes every day, is this crazy? June seems like a good time to start that. Gretchen Ruben visits the Met every day. In a small way I might do that myself, go into the National Gallery most days, finally cash in my membership gift card. I’ll possibly rejoin the tennis club. I will continue to lunch. If you are willing to go at odd hours and take your chances you can get really good meals from the TUD catering college (I think it’s now the BA in Culinary Arts). I’m keen to test it out.

I mean it all feels amazingly exciting and delightful. I am so lucky to be able to do this. I think it’s the absence of stress as well. Christmas and summer holidays will be better when there are no calls from work and when the weeks leading up to the break are not absolutely frantically busy.

Yesterday was my last day at work until October 2023. Oh yes. And though I was broken by the run up to it, I am pretty pleased now.

Let the good times roll.

Anniversary

15 June, 2022
Posted in: Family

Today is my mother’s anniversary. It’s hard to believe that it’s 3 years since she died. I’m glad she missed Covid. I miss her though.