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Family

Your 50s Are Like Your 20s

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Posted in: Family

Ok, as they say, hear me out here. You know the way in your 20s, life is full of options and you’re not sure which way you’re going and what the impact will be on the rest of your life. Then you get into your 30s and 40s and it’s head down career, children, mortgage. I am speaking in generalisations here but I think it is broadly true for my generation.

By the end of this year (barring disaster in the Leaving Cert) all my children will be in college. I’m no longer worrying about elderly parents (because they’re dead, I’m not saying it’s all fun and games). I’ve taken time out of work which I know isn’t possible for everyone. But somehow for me and many of my friends (who knew all my friends were about the same age? Not me) all the cards are thrown up in the air again. I am finding it intriguing and rather exciting. Is it just me?

The Family Home


Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland

It’s my age but I know lots of people whose parents have died. With this comes the melancholy task of clearing out the family home.

I am lucky that my sister has bought my parents’ house so it hasn’t been a complete break with the past and in some ways the house feels just the same but in other ways not.

A friend of mine emptied out her family home with her siblings and she said that it was very hard but they did it over a long weekend and then they sold their house. A new family lives there now and she said philosophically “That’s the way it ought to be.” I suppose it is, as she very wisely said, “Without the people you loved who lived in it, it’s just walls and a roof.”

Easter Round-Up


Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Dublin, Family, Ireland, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess

I came home from America on Wednesday morning, March 29 so I did not totally welcome that it was school quiz night on Thursday evening March 30. I will not miss being on the school parents’ council. However, it all passed off peacefully enough. Because Ireland is small, the son of my mother’s best friend from college has a child in our school. I was chatting to him on the night and we were exchanging reminiscences from our childhood. I recalled that his mother had mentioned to me that he always went to Cheltenham. “How did you get on?” I asked. “I’m not telling you because you’ll tell my mother,” said he. Badly, I surmise. That’s what she thought too when I told her.

Months ago, I booked the play “The Ocean at the End of the Lane” for myself, Mr. Waffle and the boys. It was on the Friday night (March 31) at the start of the school holidays. What could go wrong? Little did I think that the school would completely scupper us by scheduling Leaving Cert orals – German on Saturday, Irish orals for the Sunday and French orals for the Monday. “Leaving Cert Irish orals on Palm Sunday in a catholic school?!” said my sister. You betcha. Anyway, Daniel decided he was too busy/nervous to go to the play but Michael came with us and enjoyed it.

The orals were stressful and Daniel, who is really good felt that he did not totally do himself justice but I am sure he will be fine. Michael was happy enough. My dentist told me that his son got to re-schedule his orals because he was playing rugby for the Ireland U-19s. No such facility was offered for the theatre going public, I fear.

To celebrate the end of the orals and the proper start of their Easter holidays I offered to take the guys to the Dungeons and Dragons flick, Dan refused but Michael and I had a good time. It was funny, even if you knew absolutely nothing like me but, of course, Michael got lots more of the in-jokes.

Herself came home for the Easter holidays on Saturday April 1, having raided the second-hand shops in Sofia to good effect. Her friend’s mother in London washed the haul she and her friend acquired. Twice. Then she said, “Come into my laundry room and smell.” Apparently it still smelt of cigarettes. Alas.

Anyway it was nice to have her home. We saw lots of her. Mr. Waffle’s sister and family were over from London and we had everyone to Easter lunch at our house. It was lovely to see everyone. I think we all had a good time.

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The youngest cousin brought bunny ears that she had got for Easter. We all got to try them. Big hit.

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Herself turned 20 during her time at home (full post to follow eventually) and she and I went out to spend the voucher for afternoon tea in the Shelbourne that my brother had given me for my birthday. Really very pleasant.

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We had a small birthday tea at home as well. I have some lessons to learn about large numbers of candles on cakes.

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But we got there just in time.

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Joe Biden came to visit and I had to travel through the city in the face of many warnings. I gambled and won as Joe and I had the city to ourselves all the other Dublin denizens having bailed out. I felt very much a part of the visit as helicopters hovered over my home making Dublin safe.

For our farewell dinner before herself went back to England, I booked an Ethiopian supper club. A set menu and a lot of eating with your hands. Latter was difficult but overall interesting. Something that looks a bit like a Breton pancake is the base layer of Ethiopian food and then various stews and dips are arranged on top. The Ethiopian national dish – the name of which eludes me – was the success of the evening.

The next day, we took herself to the airport to go back to England. She checked in on the drive to the airport. When we got there, the luggage machine told her that she was at the wrong airport. Further inspection revealed that instead of booking a Dublin to Gatwick flight she had in fact booked and checked into a Gatwick to Dublin flight. Miraculously a woman at the ticket desk was able to change her to a later flight that day to Gatwick for a change fee of €50 and no further cost. A triumph for Aer Lingus. We went off to Malahide for a breakfast celebration and then went home where her brothers were pretty surprised to see her back. She said that she had left home a couple of hours previously as a fully functioning adult but she had come back as a small child. In fairness, it was a most unlikely lapse. Her father went into work and I drove her out to the airport again. I felt like I spent the day on the road to the airport. And all for the purpose of sending away my beloved firstborn. Sigh. I hope your own Easter holidays were satisfactory.

54


Posted in: Boys, Cork, Daniel, Family, Ireland, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Reading etc., Siblings

I was in Cork during the week with my bike. God, it absolutely lashed, it also snowed and hailed. And it was uncharacteristically chilly. I had kind of forgotten the intensity of Cork rain, cosseted as I am in Dublin where it never rains much. My rain gear which is fine in Dublin proved inadequate for Cork. I was out and about a bit so it was put under some strain. Inter alia, I went to see Reggie in the Everyman – funny in places but pretty site specific as they say, can’t see it travelling outside Cork – Reggie was in Elec Eng the year ahead of me in college and I’d say that he has more lucrative ways to make a buck so he must really love it. He was a brilliant debater in college and the best bits of the show are when he interacts with the audience, he’s very fast on his feet. Something about his accent and some of his expressions really remind me of the Cork of my youth and my parents’ friends so I have a bit of a soft spot for him.

The purpose of my visit was to keep an eye on my aunt as my sister was away. To be honest she seemed pretty well minded without me and I was quite impressed by the trail of people in and out every day which my sister masterminds from her fastness next door. Still, my aunt was very glad to see me which was pleasing.

I found a box of my mother’s old papers from before she was married. There were loads of old letters and her diary from the year she spent in England. I had a quick look through it pending a more thorough perusal in due course and many days are marked in capital letters NO POST. My poor mother. That said, the box is full of letters sent to her in England so there must have been some post.

I came back on the train on Thursday. My rain gear completely gave up the ghost on the cycle to the station. My boots (still drying as I type) were super saturated as were my socks. My rain jacket and trousers leaked at cuffs, joints and hems soaking through all the layers I was wearing. I was, foolishly, not wearing waterproof gloves but my nice Paula Rowan ones that Mr. Waffle bought me one Christmas. I literally had to wring them out in the station. They will never be the same again. I was frozen and damp on the train home. Sigh. Don’t give me this “There’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing” guff.

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I derived mild pleasure from sending my brother this picture from the train showing snow in Tipperary as he is in Morzine next week and rain is forecast. Rain!

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I arrived home safely in time for my birthday celebrations. Mr. Waffle had made superhuman efforts as had all of the children. I got messages from all and sundry (why would you keep your birthday a secret? why?) and lovely flowers from a former colleague as well as great presents from Mr. Waffle, the children and my siblings. A triumph overall.

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Sadly Mr. Waffle was up to his tonsils at work and couldn’t take the day off. It was snowy but bright and sunny (Dublin weather) so I went to the park and took some pictures for myself. Sadly, I also got a puncture but into every birthday some rain must fall (though not, generally, in Dublin).

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We were invited to dinner at my oldest friend’s house. I have known her since I was born (our parents were friends). On the way over to her house I explained to Mr. Waffle how this was an important time as until April 20 (her birthday) we were the same age and she could no longer tell me what to do. Mr. Waffle said, “I think that was understandable when you were children but it’s a bit weird that you are still talking about it now.” I was extremely pleased that her birthday card adverted to this very fact.

I must say being 54 is not at all as I anticipated when I was 24. I am beginning to realise that everyone is still 24 on the inside.

Anois Teacht an Earraigh


Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Family, Ireland, Michael

Today is the first day of Spring and my mother’s birthday. I still really miss her, I suppose I always will. She was so full of enthusiasm and joie de vivre and she loved birthdays.

It’s also the feast day of Saint Brigid – Ireland’s female patron saint – and to celebrate the end of Covid, we are having a new permanent holiday on the books on the first Monday of February. My mother would have been delighted. Her grandsons currently sitting their mock Leaving Certificate examinations are also grateful to St Brigid for this relief.

And this is the poem I always think of today. Not a great translation but it gives you the idea.

Working Our Way Through the Schliemann Layers


Posted in: Boys, Cork, Daniel, Family, Ireland, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings

My sister and I cleaned out upstairs in our 93 year old aunt’s house. It was a bit weird because, as my sister pointed out, normally you do this kind of thing after someone dies but she was just downstairs. She’s moved her bedroom downstairs and doesn’t really come upstairs any more. Physically, she’s pretty well but she had a TIA a couple of years ago which means that mentally she is only alright. I mean she is alright, she’s living at home with support and she recognises us all and can chat and read the papers but her short term memory is pretty poor.

My aunt moved into the house – next door to my parents – about 40 years ago and, to be fair to her, she did a pretty thorough job of getting rid of stuff from the old house which was where she had lived with her mother and aunts and uncles. There were hardly any things left. My granny’s engagement ring, the (silver?) Douglas golf club trophy which my uncle Tommy won in 1930 and a couple of old photos and letters.

I remember my mother telling me that this was a picture of my father at school in South Pasadena, California in the late 1920s or early 1930s. I can’t find him in it but the clothes look right, I suppose, and that is certainly not Irish sunshine that the children are squinting into.

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There is a description my mother began writing of our last family holiday together. She seems to have run out of steam about the time we got on the ferry which is…disappointing. However, not before pointing out that she wanted to follow a particular signpost for the ferry in the port but my father said to ignore it as these things are made for idiots and the obvious way to go was straight ahead. Sadly, history does not reveal who was right but I feel, somehow, that it was unlikely to have been my father.

My great uncle Dan’s pretty well-photographed trip to the continent in 1924 has survived as has his graduation picture. Here he is feeding the pigeons in Venice. Stay tuned for his time in Zermatt.

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My great aunt Cecilia – some of whose things I have in my own house – is looking pretty jaunty in this picture from July 1921, an otherwise quiet time in Irish affairs etc. I was extremely keen to name the Princess Cecilia, even as a middle name, but was balked by husband’s point blank refusal to countenance such a thing. Alas.

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My grandmother and grandfather look very young and happy in this picture. Especially my granny who by common consent was hilarious, if you were a grown up. I only knew her as a child though – she died when I was 12 or so – and I found her a bit formal and remote. I am assured that she adored me but I think she was not particularly interested in children and found grown ups more entertaining. And who could blame her?

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I will not be taking questions on this at this time but for various reasons some of my parents’ stuff ended up in my aunt’s house. This, I assume, is why my mother’s piano exam results from 1946 has been preserved there. God, she hated learning the piano. She spoke about it with great bitterness; apparently the nun who taught her would rest her hands on my mother’s and every time my mother played a wrong note, the nun would dig into her with her nails. But look it got short term results – first class honours. Not sure that the long term legacy was exactly what her parents were hoping for.

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There’s a picture of me aged 15 with the exact same hairstyle as I have now but, you know, a bit more slender and fresh faced. I’ve cut my brother out as, I understand, the internet never forgets and I’m not sure he wants to be remembered in his bowl haircut and Ghostbusters jumper. When I showed this picture to Daniel, he was shocked, “I sort of expected you to be wearing the same clothes you wear now, not real 80s clothes.” There you go. I wasn’t making up living through the 80s.

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It’s so funny the things that survive and get passed down and the enormous bulk of things that disappear. I guess that’s the way it goes but it is strangely dismal how much is just gone forever.