Family

Still Putting the Fun in Funeral: December Round Up Part 3

7 January, 2025
Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings, Twins, Work, Youngest Child

December 26, St Stephen’s Day

Mr. Waffle and I accompanied by our first born (the other children having elected to stay in bed) climbed the Sugar Loaf. It was very foggy on the drive to Wicklow but when we got to the peak of the (pretty tame) mountain it was peeping through the fog giving me an opportunity to take some excellent photos.

A problem we always have with our outings is that we never seem to be able to leave before 11.30. This means that we are always on our walk at lunch time. I believe that lunch should be a moveable feast, Mr. Waffle very firmly does not. He brought a spiced beef and cranberry sauce sandwich up the mountain with him for this very reason. Herself and myself spurned the sandwich option with contumely. Ladies and gentlemen, was that how we felt on the mountain? It was not and I must record Mr. Waffle’s nobility in sharing his slender supplies with his womenfolk. Possibly the best one third of a sandwich I have ever eaten.

You would not think it from the photos but it is actually a very easy climb made considerably easier by the rocks/steps that have now been put in place to avoid erosion. I remember once when the children were younger going up there one summer day and feeling quite proud of huffing up to the top with my three youngish children to find a whole class of kindergartners at the top accompanied by a couple of minders. I remember vividly that one of the little girls had one of those bags with wheels and she had just carried it up the mountain with her.

As we sat at the top, herself looked around and said, “This is the only place in Ireland where you don’t see fat people.” She paused and looked around again, “Except for you two, I guess.” Oh sharper than a serpent’s tooth etc.. Sensing that her addendum was not entirely welcome she added encouragingly, “Isn’t it good that you two are still just on the right side of overweight and can climb to the top?” I see.

When we got down, on a theoretical level, I was delighted to see that all of the usual hostelries we might frequent after a walk up a mountain were closed; people should have a break at Christmas. On a practical level, we were not delighted to be driving around trying to find somewhere to eat. We eventually got a table in Johnny Fox’s outside in the stable yard under a heater and a canvas awning. It’s grand, a bit touristy (though not, I concede on St. Stephen’s Day), lots of Irish stuff on the walls, you know the kind of thing, cosy inside, in fairness, but, heaters or no, a bit on the cheerless side in the stable yard. Look, it could have been worse but I can’t say it was a culinary thrill. Herself always enjoys the letter on the wall written by some misfortunate courtier in Buckingham Palace saying “The Queen regrets that she cannot join you for your hooley night…”. They invited her when she came to Ireland. Chancers.

On our way home I commented again that this was the first time in my whole life that I hadn’t been to Cork over Christmas. Then Mr. Waffle got a message from a friend that another friend’s father had died. In Cork. Turns out I would be spending part of the Christmas season in Cork after all.

Friday, December 27

The funeral was at 10 on Saturday morning (the man only died on St. Stephen’s Day so even by Irish standards this was a quite spectacularly quick turn around). Mr. Waffle and I decided to drive down to Cork and stay just one night in my brother’s house. I started to feel sick before we left home – comment from herself pre-departure “you look terrible” – and just felt worse and worse on the way down and by the time we got to Cork, I was dying. We got in to Jacob’s on the Mall for dinner but I was honestly in no position to enjoy it. After dinner we walked back to my brother’s place and I thought I was going to keel over. He was away (Tenerife, was pleasant I understand) and when we got back I just crawled into bed shivering and sniffing. I had a quite terrible night. It is so miserable to be sick away from home. My sister (who lives next door) had a veritable cornucopia of medication which she dropped in but I was beyond medical help.

Saturday, December 28

I felt like death and looked worse; like some diseased creature dug up from underground. Mr. Waffle said that if we were living in Cork I wouldn’t dream of going when I was so ill. This is true but having driven down I was determined to attend. We were off with the lark. The funeral was full of people who I hadn’t seen in years (Ireland is small and Cork is smaller still). I was glad that I was looking my best. To be clear, I was not looking my best, I looked like the creature from the Black Lagoon. We spent a good while outside the church chatting to friends and acquaintances with the particular and familiar Cork damp rising through my boots. A group arrived as the mass was finishing having been let down by the 7 am train to Cork from Dublin. One of them (the daughter of my first teacher in primary school – see what I mean about Cork?) shocked me to the core of my being as, having basically missed the mass, she was skipping the lunch also and off to meet some school friends. Maybe my brother is right, maybe you don’t have to attend the mass, just be seen afterwards.

Mr. Waffle’s friend gave one of the best eulogies I have ever heard. She was really close to her father and will really, really miss him. He was 89 and had an excellent life, so most people were celebrating but the family were, of course, very sad. Mr. Waffle’s friend (who is from Cork and whose parents were at college the same time as my mother and whose father was known professionally to my father – have I mentioned that Cork is small?) said to me sympathetically, “This must bring back memories of your own father’s funeral at this time of year”. It did, of course, but poor Daddy’s funeral was a Covid funeral with just 8 people in attendance and I couldn’t help comparing it to this lovely celebration of a man’s life.

But I thought about it and I realised that her father and mine had both had great lives; long and happy and really pretty good all round. I said to her, “Honestly, maybe the lives of the 20th century Cork doctor – masters of all they surveyed – were the best lives, lucky them.” And we both laughed.

We didn’t go to the cemetery as I thought I would die if I didn’t get indoors so we went off early to the local golf club which would be hosting the post-funeral lunch. There was a group of elderly (though spritely) neighbours of the dead man there already (doubtless also felt unable for the graveyard) and we joined them. I have to say, I thought they were a complete delight. One older lady reminded me so much of my own mother’s golf pals that I asked her whether she knew my mother but, alas, no. We did however establish that the sister of a friend of mine from college was her neighbour on the estate so we were both pretty pleased with that.

After lunch we hot footed it back to Dublin. Mr. Waffle nobly drove the whole way while I sat moaning faintly in the passenger seat and worrying that I might have passed the bug on to the elderly mourners. We got back about five and I crawled into bed and stayed there until midday the following day.

Sunday, December 29

I got up. This was my big achievement for the day along with finishing the jigsaw puzzle that I got for Christmas.

Monday, December 30

I did not leave the house. I felt ever so slightly better.

Tuesday, December 31

I left the house briefly. I felt like an explorer of a brave new world. And I finally started to feel better. Mr. Waffle was felled. He was completely dying. He is never sick and had completely forgotten what it was like. I chose to help him recover by saying things like: “How do you feel now, dying right? Well, imagine you’re standing outside a church on a damp winter’s day with the damp rising in your boots and 250kms to go before you can sleep in your own bed?”

It was a quiet new year’s eve. There was some plumbing problem I don’t want to speak about. Mr. Waffle is the plumbing person but I did my humble best and then updated the post it I had stuck on the downstairs bathroom earlier.

Wednesday, January 1, 2025

Recovering apace, I went out to the Turner exhibition in the national gallery. They come out every year in January as part of the Vaughan bequest. This year, for a change, we’ve swapped with the Scottish Vaughan bequest pictures. Enjoyable.

Thursday, January 2, 2025

My recovery continued and Mr. Waffle started to improve as well. To celebrate I took herself to Kildare village. I have written before about my rather conflicted views on outlet shopping but here we were again. In an effort to somehow make it better, I suggested we might take the train rather than drive. It’s a good 20 minutes walk from the station to the outlets we discovered. Herself was entranced to find the original Millie’s pharmacy in Kildare town. She buys a lot of her stuff from millies.ie and says they’re terrific. I had a lot of questions for the girl on the counter (not Millie). She said that there are two shops, one in Kildare town (the original) and another in Naas (Co. Kildare) and the warehouse is in Newbridge (also Co. Kildare). “And is Millie from Kildare herself?” I asked. “Well, her name’s Joanne but yeah, she only lives up the road.” Good woman Joanne.

We purchased various items including – exciting- bath mats and I was very close to buying a new suitcase when I remembered that I didn’t have a car and it was 20 odd minutes walk to the station (a literal road test, I guess). Overall a mildly pleasant day out but I couldn’t recommend the train approach, I regret to say. We did get to walk through the ruined monastery beside the centre of commerce. A plaque informed us that it was – no surprises here – dissolved by Henry VIII. “That psychotic murderer, ” I remarked mildly. Herself stopped me in my tracks by saying, “Well, I know he was very bad, of course, but I can’t help liking him, because, you know, he founded Christ Church and I was so happy there.” I knew no good would come from sending her to college in England.

We hot footed it back to Dublin to get herself home in time to meet a friend for dinner in one of the distant seaside suburbs with which Dublin is so richly provided. I got a migraine on the way home because the gods decided to punish me but at least I wasn’t driving, I suppose.

Friday, January 3, 2025

Mr. Waffle and I were both restored to health. Feeling that the drain/sewer situation still needed work he summoned Mr. AJ Drains to the house. Michael stayed in bed and the other pair and I headed out for breakfast leaving Mr. Waffle to meet AJ. Truly, the lot of the head of household is not always a happy one. On our return, all was well and AJ had gone, his important work complete, leaving only an unpleasant odour in his wake.

To celebrate (and to give the odour time to dissipate) we went for a walk in the park.

That evening we watched Gosford Park which I saw when it came out. “It’s a murder mystery,” said Mr. Waffle to the children. “Is it really?” said I. I can remember nothing.

Saturday, January 4, 2025

A quiet day with many slightly dull chores achieved. We went for tea in Bewley’s – tea shop and tea merchants – in town. They didn’t have lapsang, Earl Grey or rooibos tea. “The closest I can suggest is afternoon tea,” said our hapless waitress (hardly her fault). And they didn’t have cherry buns either. Truly, this life is sometimes a bed of thorns. That evening we went to see “We Live in Time” in the cinema. Spoiler alert coming, so look away if you plan to see it. I had thought that everyone knew that the heroine dies in the end. Look, you don’t, and the children were quite grumpy about my revealing this before we went in. It was grand. But we got sodden on the way there and back so not a total win.

Sunday, January 5, 2025

The return to work on Monday and the departure of my first born (also Monday) loomed, there’s no two ways about it. She and I ventured out to the suburbs to visit a friend of my mother’s from college which was amusing in a mild way. My mother’s friend is very funny. In college, she had stepped out with the younger brother of the man who we buried the previous weekend so we brought her the funeral missalette for a look. Not having seen the deceased in about 60 years, she thought he looked a lot older. Unsurprising.

Monday, January 6, 2025 – Women’s Christmas

When I was growing up January 6 was still a holiday, the last hurrah of Christmas. It was known as Women’s Christmas or Little Christmas and the idea was that women who had worked non-stop over Christmas would get a little break. Now alas it is, more often than not, the first day back at work after the holidays; just not as beloved as it once was. To add insult to injury, herself went back to England. Weeping, rending of garments etc. Despite the apocalyptic weather warnings her flight got off no bother and she returned to England without incident. That evening looking at the weather warnings I got a bit nervous myself. About 8.30 in the evening I drove in to the office to pick up my laptop and I texted staff not to come in – Tuesday is our anchor day. The thrills never stop.

Tuesday, January 7, 2025

I worked from home and held the first team meeting of the new year online. The sun shone, the weather was beautiful. There was absolutely no need for anyone to work from home or indeed for me to make an emergency trip to the office last night to pick up my laptop. Deep sigh.

On the plus side, I was able to direct activities on the home front in a way that wouldn’t have been possible had I been in the office. The children, who might have had other plans for the afternoon, were deployed to take down the Christmas tree and put away the decorations.

OK, that’s definitely the end of the Christmas season. More news as we get it.

December Round Up – Part 2

5 January, 2025
Posted in: Family, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings, Twins, Youngest Child

Christmas Thrill

In mid-December, a colleague and I did a mock interview for the recently graduated son of a friend. He was a lovely guy and we both thought he stood an excellent chance of success. To my mild horror he sent me chocolates and a card in thanks which his mother assured me was off his own bat. I was then on tenterhooks until he was actually successful at the real interview. Go him. A pre-Christmas thrill.

Christmas Miracle

Herself went on holidays to Morocco with her boyfriend before she returned to me safe and well. When they were there their hotel was so scary that they moved to another. “What can we do to get our money back?” she asked me. “Nothing,” said I. Her boyfriend’s mother who is from New Jersey is made of sterner stuff and gave guidance on cutting a deal with the hotel which he duly did while herself cowered in the room (definitely her mother’s daughter). But then the boyfriend insisted that they eat the breakfast already paid for while the owner glowered at them (definitely his mother’s son). They visited the Pasha’s palace and to get their student reduction they both showed their student IDs. The attendant exclaimed in excitement over her boyfriend’s ID (Oxford) but treated hers (some would say from a well-known university also – though not the man selling tickets at the Pasha’s palace clearly) with cool indifference. They also went quad biking because she wants to send me to an early grave. But nevertheless she returned safe and well and is home until January 6. Hurrah.

Christmas Outings

Myself, herself and Mr. Waffle went to an Anu production of James Joyce’s “The Dead”. Overall very enjoyable with tons of audience participation but the venue (a big house on Merrion Square) was just a little too grand for the story. But seeing the well know actors and actresses so close up and interacting with them was good fun and would recommend. Pricey mind. Tickets were €65 a head and we are not on Broadway here. Still completely sold out early on for a longish run so I guess they know their market.

I am always booking things for our family with varying degrees of success. I booked the winter lights in Collins Barracks and myself, Mr. Waffle and Michael went along. It was cold and drizzly and an outdoor event. Enthusiasm levels were lowish but it was excellent. Only 15 minutes which may have been part of the reason for its success. It was clearly set up for much larger numbers which they didn’t get. A pity, I do hope they do it again next year all the same.

Michael went to Cork and Mr. Waffle went to a long Christmas lunch so the rest of us went to Smithfield to investigate the Christmas market. I would not totally recommend, but look we got a – not at all healthy – dinner and another trip on a big wheel. I’ve had worse.

We went out to see Love Actually on the big screen in the cinema. I didn’t think there would be any demand. More fool me; sold out. So we came home again and Mr. Waffle bought Christmas Eve at Miller’s Point from a streamer. I had been really keen to see this – it got great reviews but it hadn’t got a Dublin release. I found it…baffling. It’s a largely plot free adventure; it’s just a big Italian American family party and various personalities but nothing much happens. The reviews said it feels like being at a party. And kind of but like someone else’s family party where you don’t know anyone and just want to go home.

I got tickets for the Snowman in St Patrick’s cathedral. No one really fancied going but despite inclement weather in I went. I discovered that it’s a show for very young children – an actor reads out the story; a choir sings; an orchestra plays and loads of small children run up and down the aisle while their older siblings hiss furiously at their parents that they want to go home. I mean sweet but not for me. Good venue though.

While Michael was in Cork, the rest of us went for a walk up to the Hellfire club in the Dublin mountains and a cup of tea afterwards. In a mild way, a particularly successful outing.

Christmas Prep

I sent loads of Christmas cards. I got a reasonable haul in return but always a few from people one has missed. Sigh.

Everyone put up the outside Christmas lights on the road and we had mulled wine and mince pies with the neighbours. To think there was a time when I turned up my nose at outdoor lights. More fool me.

We laid in essential Christmas reading.

And the Christmas tree which the cat continues to regard with some suspicion.

One of the children had Christmas lunch for friends. How much did I enjoy laying the table for that? Very much indeed. How glad was I that I wasn’t the one creating a vegetarian wellington? Very glad indeed. Apparently it was excellent, thanks for asking.

Herself spent 45 minutes queuing at the cheese monger for me while I was at work. I gave her detailed instructions. She was to get Conté, Brie, Brillat Savarin, Tomme and a Camembert. She dutifully made her order gamely parrying alternative suggestions. The cheese monger asked if she’d like to try some. “No,” said she, “I don’t like cheese.” Her sacrifice is noted; I’d say he was a bit puzzled though.

I got my annual haircut. I didn’t get as much taken off as usual, I hope this isn’t a terrible mistake.

Hobbies Corner

I had my annual Christmas afternoon tea in the Westbury with my Sunday afternoon bookclub (booked in September) and our Kris Kindle gift exchange with the Monday bookclub. God I love my book clubs.

The 21st birthday of this blog passed by on December 10. It can now drink legally in America. It’s given me a lot of pleasure over the years. Here’s to the next 21, I guess.

Christmas can be a Sad Time

You may recall that my father died on Christmas Day in 2020. And I do think of him on Christmas Day but more I think of him on the winter solstice. He loved the summer and the sun and he was always delighted when the year was on the turn and the days were getting longer and warmer and celebrated it every year. And Christmas is, I suppose, a time when you do think of your dead relatives and all that has changed over your life time but I think particularly of my parents. I said to Mr. Waffle that this would be the first year in my whole life when I wouldn’t be spending part of the Christmas holidays in Cork.

Christmas Eve

My sister was coming for Christmas Eve. She came last year and it was super and low key and everyone enjoyed it. This year I went all out. I found it a bit unnecessarily stressful. As herself said (unhelpfully but I fear truthfully), “It was less work last year but everyone enjoyed it more.”

Mid afternoon we sat down and watched “A Muppet Christmas Carol”. We nearly forgot under the pressure of other work. I’m not sure Michael was delighted by my regular hopping up to check on things in the kitchen. I don’t think he felt it was in the Christmas spirit but I was basically doing a Christmas dinner on Christmas Eve. True to the informal spirit of the original idea, however, I had kind of forgotten until quite late in the day that a starter might be good, so that was challenging. Also, we had a vegetarian Finnish friend of Michael’s who was in Dublin for Christmas coming to dinner which created its own difficulties. As I was in the middle of prep, Mr. Waffle invited our neighbour in to induct her in the mysteries of the Aga which she would be using as part of her cooking for 13 the following day. We are still married.

Still notwithstanding the logistical difficulties it was lovely to see my sister and we all enjoyed chatting to the Finnish friend and dinner was broadly successful. Herself had the genius idea of lighting the fire in the dining room though (which we last did when we were getting the kitchen done and we had no back wall on the house – dark, chilly times) and it was lovely – really festive and not even too warm for the people with their backs to it which was a slight fear.

After dinner we all went to midnight mass (held at a punishingly early 8 pm) even the Finn who was an atheist but had Jewish/Lutheran grandparents so with the best will in the world was not fully up on the Catholic side of things but was willing to try anything once. The singing was beautiful and the mass was a reasonable length. I have passed another milestone remarking on the way home from the church that it was a “lovely mass”.

Christmas Day

Reasonable happiness all round with Christmas presents. I think that the stand out present was a hoodie for Mr. Waffle (who knew that that was what he wanted all along?). I got lots of nice things but was particularly impressed by the weather vane which demonstrated considerable planning work. Mr. Waffle did his now legendary Christmas treasure hunt for the children and they absolutely loved it. This time he wrote it in the form of a Sherlock Holmes short story. Genius.

Herself made Christmas breakfast with me as her dutiful assistant. It was excellent.

We then made our way to Mr. Waffle’s brother’s house where we were being hosted for Christmas dinner – I mean hurrah. It was a beautiful day and we had a short walk on the pier before lunch.

The in-laws hosted Mr. Waffle’s uncle and aunt as well as us and I have to say, Mr. Waffle’s uncle was the star of the show, he was completely hilarious. Though it was very sad that my nephew wasn’t there; however, he was off in Austria ski instructing having the time of his life and he did call right after dinner so, you know, not the worst thing either.

And then Michael drove us all home. Herself began the drive hyperventilating never having been driven by Michael before and about half way home she whispered to me, “This is incredible, he can actually drive.” Good man Michael. Has yet to sit his test though. Let us remain optimistic.

I’m not finished yet. More December to come.

A 20th Century Person

28 November, 2024
Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland, Mr. Waffle

I was born in 1969 and although, if everything goes according to plan, I will live most of my life in the 21st century, I am completely and utterly 20th century in my way of being. My four grandparents were born in the 1890s. They were children at the start of the 20th century and I feel through them I have a direct and tangible link to what life was like then. My parents were born in 1925 and 1936 and through them, I know an earlier Ireland when times were pretty tough but there were definite compensations for middle-class people like my parents who sat near the top of the social heap.

The 20th century is familiar but the 21st century is constantly surprising me with weird things. Mr. Waffle likes to say that I had the last Victorian childhood (didn’t everyone rush to bring father’s slippers to the drawing room when he came home?) and in some ways it was a bit old fashioned. My parents were older and when I was a child we lived in a reasonably big house. My parents had to join a formal dinner so my brother and sister and I ate separately in the kitchen with Cissie who minded us, cleaned the house and lived in a bedroom up the back stairs. The gardener came two days a week and we all loved him. Cissie would make him poached eggs and he would sit and eat them in the kitchen and I was not encouraged to come in and torture him with my chatter although I was keen to do so as he was a very kind, gentle and patient man. It was a time when people said all the time “Children should be seen but not heard.”

My parents had yielded to Cissie’s entreaties and ours and in the playroom there was a small black and white portable television on a high stand (or so it seemed to me) and, inadequate though it was compared to my contemporaries’ set ups, I loved it. I don’t ever remember my parents watching television in the 1970s – can this be true? It was not the 50s but in lots of ways, looking back, it felt a bit like it. Ireland was more detatched from the rest of the world then too. Air travel was still glamourous and exotic and ruinously expensive. So just to say, I may only have been born in 1969 but I feel I definitely had a link to a slightly earlier life. Sometimes, it seems so far away and alien to me; can that have been me kissing the bishop’s hand and receiving a 50p piece when he came to visit?

I suppose the really important thing is that I was 31 at the turn of the century and some of the most formative moments of your life are lived by then. Tell me, are you a 20th person or a 21st century person?

Early Adventures in Literature

26 November, 2024
Posted in: Family, Reading etc.

I was thinking recently about “Stories for Eight Year Olds” which I presumably first read when I was eight. I remember it being quite a hard read the first time but enticing. It’s a great selection – with many scary and strange stories. Still occasionally I think of the story of the little girl who had a magic fishbone (if memory serves) which she could only use when the family were down on their luck. Her father kept wanting her to use it and asking anxiously “You have not lost it?” “No papa.” “Or forgotten it?” “No indeed papa.” After all these years I still remember her refrain and her capably finding solutions to problems while her father despairs. She uses it in the end though, I think the consequences were…good.

I still love to read but nothing, I suppose, will ever match the intensity of my love for those early books from the “Cat in the Hat” to the “Famous Five” and the Narnia books. I remember disappearing into the spare room and spending the whole day reading “The Swiss Family Robinson” under the bed (where I, presumably, was unlikely to be found and told to carry out unwelcome tasks).

I loved to read and it was such a gratifying habit as everyone seemed to feel it should be fully indulged except late at night when reading under the blankets was frowned upon. My parents were slightly down on comics, however, which I also adored. Cissie who minded us used to bring me a comic when she came back from her day off. It was about a pet lamb called “Lamb chop” which my parents found hilarious for reasons I did not at all understand at the time. My best friend got Mandy and Bunty and I burned with envy.

What did you like to read as a child?

I forgot

23 November, 2024
Posted in: Family, Mr. Waffle, Twins, Youngest Child

Saturday was a busy day.

We went to mass with the in-laws for my mother in law’s anniversary. The church was near the in-laws’ house and they had kindly asked us for a bite to eat after the mass.

When we accepted we hadn’t quite realised that Mr. Waffle’s brother would be in the pub (channelling his late father who always enjoyed both a celebration and running, he headed off to the pub shortly after mass for the annual drinks of the mountain running association), his niece at a party and that his sister-in-law,fresh from a work trip to Canada, would be cooking dinner for all of us and none of her own family. Never mind, we brought flowers. Did we leave the flowers behind us at home? Yes, yes we did. And (oh happy day) they are going to have us for Christmas as well.

Michael drove us home perfectly competently. I do hope he passes his driving test in January.

Anyway, I came home, went to bed and woke up in the middle of night with the realisation that I had forgotten to update the blog. I will backdate this. I am not even sorry as the young people say.

Post Script

11 November, 2024
Posted in: Family, Ireland, Princess

I began my working life in 1991. That is a long time ago.

One day, I remember a male colleague asking whether I had a stamp. People used to borrow stamps, it was a thing. I did not. He was disappointed. He went off to look elsewhere. “Married women always have stamps,” he said firmly as he set off on his quest.

I am not sure whether he succeeded in finding a stamp but I remember the line. And now that I am a married woman I do, in fact, always have stamps. I can’t remember the last time someone asked to borrow a stamp though.

When I was in my 20s I wrote many, many letters but now my only correspondents are my daughter in England and my friend in America. I think they both regard letter writing as a quirky – though not unwelcome – habit on my part.

I was slightly horrified to find, after she died, that my mother had preserved all my letters to her. You might think I would welcome an insight into my thoughts in my 20s but this is not the case. I did enjoy some of the letters between her and her mother which also came my way as well as a couple of letters my grandmother had written home from America while she lived there.

I do miss letters.