We had some correspondence with the children’s old school recently about going in to give a career talk. Mr. Waffle, whose Irish is much better than mine, nobly volunteered. I was copied in on the email correspondence. It was in English and I hadn’t noticed at all that it was originally written in Irish and seamlessly translated by Gmail until I came to the end of Mr. Waffle’s missive. It was google translated as “Bring a greeting” and I was stumped for a moment until I realised it was translated. I switched to Irish and saw that the Irish version featured “Beir bua” which, yes, is literally “bring a greeting” but translates as “best wishes”. Some work still needed.
Ouch
Regular readers will know that I have been learning Ukrainian since 2022 with little progress, I fear. But I struggle on. My teacher is now insisting that I finally progress to the “vidminki” these are the noun declension endings and I hate them already.
Meanwhile, the Ukrainian priest in the church in Dublin has taken to saying mass in Irish. He taught himself Irish on YouTube and he is really good. I know because he was broadcast to the nation saying mass as Gaeilge on Raidió na Gaeltachta. For a range of reasons, I will never be broadcast saying mass in Ukrainian. I am torn between delight at this development and crippling envy of an t-Athair Vasil.
22!
Herself is 22 today. We’ve come a long way, baby. She’s in England but coming home tomorrow. This is the first time she hasn’t been home for her birthday.* That’s the way it goes, I guess. Still, she will be back tomorrow. Thrills.
Maybe a birthday post will follow, if I’m feeling strong. Stay tuned for updates.
*Updated to add: Herself reminds me that she spent her first birthday away from us when she was 14 and staying with her French exchange. Even Homer nods etc.
Why?
I have a basket on the front of my bike. Something about the wicker is extraordinarily tempting to the litter louts of Dublin. Nothing is ever left in my back basket (wire) but I will often return to an empty coffee cup or drink can in the front basket even when (especially annoying this) there is a rubbish bin right beside the bike. Does anyone else have this (slightly niche) problem?
Celebrations (Various)
I forgot to cover Valentine’s Day. We don’t usually do much but we had dinner out this year. And Mr. Waffle bought me roses. I was slightly discombobulated.
Proof of love, of course, but not as much proof as this cheeseboard that he put together for me one evening when I was exhausted. Tea and cheese, the perfect combination. Fight me.
Hot on the heels of my birthday comes Mr. Waffle’s. Everyone’s a bit exhausted from the celebration of mine but we rally. He seemed reasonably pleased with his presents (an enormous pile of books) and I took him out to dinner.
Mr. Waffle and I went to England for the St. Patrick’s Day weekend to visit herself. Low levels of celebration of the national saint but a good time had by all.
After all that goes before, Mother’s Day (where should that apostrophe go? an abiding problem) is generally a bit of a damp squib. As Mr. Waffle put it – there are only a certain number of chips to go around and I have definitely cashed mine in on my birthday. Noble Mr. Waffle bought me flowers and chocolates all the same. A better show than the priest at mass; it was the parable of the prodigal son and he said, “There’s a lot of talk about the father in this gospel reading but no mention of the mother.” Thanks Father. I thought of my own mother who died in 2019; it seems a long time ago in some ways but in others not so long at all. Time is funny that way. I do miss her.
Seasonal Update
First holy communion season is upon us and at the Botanic Gardens at the weekend families were out photographing their first holy communicants amid the flowers. And why wouldn’t they? The flowers were looking lovely as were the children all dressed up.
I am, however, less sure about this new development which I saw in a shopping centre in town. An odd souvenir surely?
