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Plague Diary – Part III

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

Friday, March 27, 2020

I dropped into the office about ten to pick up some papers but there was much grief and heartache and I ended up stuck there until ten to six with only a vile chicken tikka wrap from the Spar to sustain me.

I find I’m a bit tired all the time and every evening I have a nasty tension headache. I suppose it’s the uncertainty and general worry.

Our cleaner can’t come any more, obviously, and I told the children that a cleaning rota would apply from this weekend. This was met with a very lukewarm response.

I spoke to my 90 year old aunt on the phone and put Michael on to her as I thought it might cheer her up. I rethought matters when I heard him say to her, “If you stay at home, I’d say your chances of survival are relatively good.”

My sister got a call from the hospital at 8.30 in the evening and got a nasty shock when a nurse said to her, “I’m calling about your father.” However, it turned out that he was out of credit on his phone. I don’t see how he can use up his credit but my sister thinks it’s mostly from calling her and accidentally putting her on hold.

The Taoiseach announced that we are all going on further lockdown. All feeling a bit grim. Herself showed me the Italian mayors video and it cheered me up enormously.

Saturday, March 28, 2020

I went out to the garden to admire my compost bin in its new location. Stretched on the ground adjacent to its old location was a dead rat the size of a small rabbit. This is on top of finding a rat in the utility room a couple of weeks ago. I am beginning to wonder should we call in Rentokil. Would they come? Mr. Waffle says that a man from a nearby road is a rat catcher (who knew?) and he walks down the lane at the back of our house every day with his terrier. All I can say is that they are not doing a great job. We have had major building work on the other side of the lane and perhaps they were displaced? Anyhow, this one had clearly been killed by the cat so that, at least, was welcome.

Daniel and I went out to play tennis. It was within 2 kms of our house and it was brief (we only played a set) but I wondered whether it was allowed. However four guards passed us while we were there – two walking and two cycling – and they all nodded approvingly at us. So, ok, I suppose?

Aer Lingus cancelled Daniel’s flight to Paris and, unsurprisingly, won’t refund us but we can have a voucher to use on flights in the future. I suppose there will be a point when that will be welcome.

I was on to my friend in Paris whose daughter has asthma and she is really worried. The hospitals in the Île-de-France are full. A 16 year old girl has died. They haven’t left the house in 10 days. They get their shopping delivered; they hand a cheque through the letter box (curious, online payments do not seem to really have taken off in France) and the delivery is left outside. They take it in; wash their hands; put the cold stuff in the fridge and leave the rest for a couple of days before using it. Her husband has lost his job – he works for a small firm so not a great time, I suppose. I’m sure he’ll find something when this is over but how long might that be?

Meanwhile my friend in America who is a doctor is very gloomy. When I asked her how things were in her hospital, she said, “Dire and getting worse.” Her husband, also a doctor, will be 50 on April 1. Not a great time as she pointed out.

On the plus side, Mr. Waffle managed to get flour in the supermarket and we made not one but two kinds of bread. They both look a bit burnt but they actually tasted quite nice.

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Our next door neighbours with chickens called to say they had left eggs on the doorstep and when we got there, there were 8 eggs. We need never be short of an omelette in the crisis. Particularly since we already had a dozen in stock.

Sunday, March 29, 2020

The clocks went forward. Hurrah

Notwithstanding this, it was a grumpy kind of day. I had pinned up the rota of household tasks and myself, the Princess and Mr. Waffle dutifully did ours but the boys stayed in bed until 2 and when they got up went into a joint online dungeons and dragons thing. When they had finished, Daniel said he had to do lots of homework and couldn’t do his jobs. I was cross and had some harsh things to say about his organisation of his time. Michael offered to do Daniel’s work as Daniel was very stressed about homework. I thought that perhaps my rigid approach was not making anyone’s life happier especially poor Daniel who, to be fair to him, is a hard working and obliging child.

Mr. Waffle and I went out for a walk around the block. When we came back, everything was a bit better. I think there’s probably a moral there.

I had an online meeting with my Sunday bookclub which I really enjoyed. We did not discuss the book but we did cover what everyone is doing for alcohol in the crisis. As a non-drinker (largely), I was tempted to say that I am still off sweets and biscuits for Lent and it is killing me. But somehow, the moment didn’t arise. They’re all doing fine for alcohol, you will be pleased to hear.

The hospital said that they might discharge my father tomorrow. His temperature is normal. Hope springs eternal.

When we were out, we ran into the next door neighbours (not literally, social distancing etc) and thanked them for the eggs. I mentioned the dead rat. “Ah,” they said, “we should have said, we have Rentokil coming on Wednesday. We’ve found a couple (!) of dead rats and so have the neighbours on the other side. We think they’re displaced from the building site behind the lane and they’re attracted by the food the hens kick out of the coop.” The hen giveth and the hen taketh away. Anyhow, Rentokil will be dropping in on Wednesday. In the interim, herself tells me that she has heard a definite scratching noise under her floorboards. Oh Lord, could I ask that we be delivered from a plague of rats in the midst of our Corona virus lock down? Would that be too much to ask? I am still maintaining my Lenten fast, I would like the universe to know that. Meanwhile, Mr. Waffle is contemplating setting up a rats whatsapp group.

In what has undoubtedly been the best WhatsApp message since this started, someone pointed out that the ISS was clearly visible in the sky this evening. We all stood together in the front garden and watched it pass through the clear evening sky. It was lovely.

Plague Diary – Part II

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Posted in: Cork, Dublin, Family, Ireland, Mr. Waffle, Siblings

Sunday, March 22, 2020

Mr. Waffle pointed out that yesterday was the Spring equinox and from now on days are longer than nights. Just as well.

It’s my first mother’s day without my mother. Here we are looking arty in 1969.

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My sister visited the grave today and planted some flowers but she fears that the dandelion is king. Alas.

Still no Sunday mass. It’s so strange. Daniel and I went to play tennis instead but all the courts were occupied with two sets of people waiting to go on. There were four young people playing football on one court but I lacked the moral courage to do anything about it so we just gave up and went home.

Mr. Waffle and I swept the patio and cut back the foliage; something that made me ludicrously happy. Welcome to the land of middle aged thrills.

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We went for a walk in town dutifully socially distancing. Temple Bar was the emptiest I’ve ever seen it.

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On our return home, my loving family made me afternoon tea and gave me flowers. Very satisfactory. Herself made brandy snaps. I love a brandy snap.

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Mr. Waffle is reading Daniel Defoe’s “A Journal of the Plague Year” and I am contemplating re-reading my book about the fall of Paris which I remember as being impressive on life under siege in 1870. I feel sure I will find some bons mots with which to enthrall you all. So far, all that has happened to plague diary man is that he can’t decide whether to leave London or not.

My father continues to improve in hospital and if he doesn’t catch this wretched virus, he should be discharged home safely shortly.

In other news, my hands feel like scaly lizard mitts from constant washing.

Monday, March 23, 2020

I went into work. Town was absolutely deserted. The office was pretty empty also. We’re on a rota.

Behold a city centre street at 8.15 on a Monday morning:

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Brown Thomas (department store) was encouraging us to pull together in Irish.

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My father was tested for Coronavirus and came back negative. The hospital said that he could be released home. My sister did Trojan work with the discharge co-ordinator. My brother was already in self-isolation in my parents’ house after coming back from France the previous Tuesday. Even though he had tested negative, the hospital said that my father would still have to go into isolation. My sister said she would move home and mind my father and she and my father and brother could divide the house between them into separate self-isolation zones. My sister pointed out that neither she nor my brother would be able to go and give my 90 year old aunt her pills and her carer has, ominously, a cold. So, unless, they could find someone else to cover, I would need to come to Cork, stay in my sister’s house, not see my father or my brother and sister and check on my aunt every day. I stood ready, given how much my poor sister is doing but I was relieved when they found someone locally.

Britain went into lockdown and my three year old niece in London who has always been pretty dubious about outside as a concept was the happiest child in England. Her parents are sending us regular footage of her ongoing delight at being indoors with both parents all the time which are very entertaining.

Tuesday, March 24, 2020

I worked from home in the morning. The technology continues to work really well although I am already tiring of the video conferencing. Mid-morning, herself and myself walked up to a local shop to buy nice bread (no joy) and the owner said that he was closing the following day for an indefinite period. I hope he comes back.

I was in work for the afternoon. There was much running around and reading the runes after the Taoiseach’s speech further shutting down the country. Was everyone’s presence in the office essential? Could we all be set up to work from home? Apparently we could. Then possibly we could but some presence was essential (as someone said, “my indecision is final”).

Meanwhile, my sister managed to get a radio and headphones into the hospital for my father. He had been having a miserable time as the light was too poor for him to read and he was too deaf to listen to the radio without blasting everyone in a 2 mile radius. Our woman on the inside (my aunt’s cleaner who also works as a hospital cleaner a couple of days a week) went and set him up and put on his headphones. He was delighted but now there is no chance of him ever picking up the phone when I call.

I noticed that I was beginning to lose track of the days of the week without the anchor of regular schedules.

The libraries which have been stellar in the crisis (audiobooks, ebooks, you name it) reassured punters that it didn’t matter when they brought back their outstanding loans. In some ways, not as reassuring as they may have intended.

I used up the last of my dinner candles. And (unrelated) still no flour available in the shops.

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Wednesday, March 25, 2020

Herself began to paint her ceiling.

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I did not think that the city centre could be emptier than the day before but I was wrong.

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It was finally decided that we did not need a full-time presence in the office as everyone was tooled up to to work from home and the technology worked like a charm.

It was my father’s 95th birthday and, notwithstanding headphones, I managed to get hold of him and wish him a happy birthday. He was cheery at the prospect of discharge on the following day.

Herself completed her ceiling painting. I understand that further decoration is to follow, if the paint ever dries. She is currently marinating in paint fumes.

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We got a communication from the school that they were engaging with the insurance company to get back the money paid for the school trip to Barcelona. I know this is very #mymiddleclasshell but here are the things we have booked and paid for this year which it appears after some engagement with insurers will not be refunded:

  • Ski trip last week (very bitter);
  • Daniel’s trip to Paris at Easter to stay with friends;
  • The Princess’s aforementioned trip to Barcelona at Easter (if Mr. Waffle can get no money from the insurers, I have no confidence that the school will be successful);
  • A weekend in Northern Ireland in April for myself and Mr. Waffle (actually, I think they might let us change to later in the year);
  • A fortnight in Germany for herself in the summer;
  • Family holiday to NY and LA in the summer (is there some chance this might go ahead? I am not loving our chances at the moment).

Still, as a young colleague pointed out to me, everyone has something. Another colleague told me dolefully of how he and friends had flown to Vietnam only be turned around and sent straight back to Ireland on the next flight.

A professional singer who sang in the adult choir at our church has died. He was in his early 70s, I’d say and very sprightly although a bit superior. Funerals are now small family affairs so we didn’t attend and I don’t know anyone who did. In the current circumstances rip.ie (a resource without which etc.) now has a load of comments under condolences and I see that the poor man seems to have died from Coronavirus. Grim.

I made the whole family watch “Daybreakers”. Only two stars on Netflix but who doesn’t like a high concept film about vampires that’s slightly schlocky (Mr. Waffle apparently).

Not having watched the news in years, I am now avidly consuming the nine o’clock news every night. Everyone hates it but me.

All of the neighbourhood whatsapp groups set up to help us through the Coronavirus are going crazy. So far no one has taken up the many offers of shopping for elderly neighbours and people are offering each other DVDs and books to swap. I suppose we all feel like a bit of community engagement.

Thursday, March 26, 2020

I worked from home. I dragged the boys out of bed about 11. They were stoic. Michael as his daily exercise cut the hedge and swept the path. I was quite pleased. Inspired by his effort, this evening I pursued my long held dream of moving the compost bin. Quite difficult but mission accomplished.

We got bad news from my sister. My father had a temperature and they wouldn’t let him out of hospital. Public health said no and public health are basically running the country now. My sister spoke to my father who is not a particularly emotional person and she said that he said his heart was broken. I feel so sad for him but fingers crossed it’s nothing serious and they will release him next week. I think we’re all a bit terrified he’s going to die alone in hospital having cannily managed his health for so long but maybe we are all unduly pessimistic. I certainly hope so.

At 8 this evening everyone in the country was encouraged to stand outside and clap for the health service. I am very grateful to the health service but I thought it was a fairly stupid idea. I forgot all about it but at 8 I was sitting inside and I heard this thunderous clapping, I went to the front door and there were all the neighbours up and down the street standing at their front doors clapping away and I joined in, somewhat sheepishly. It was surprisingly moving.

Tell me your own plague updates.

Plague Diary – Part I

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Posted in: Dublin, Family, Ireland, Travel

Tuesday, March 10, 2020

It was my birthday on March 10 and I had a post ready to go on the day but the internet swallowed it. Alas. It was reasonably quiet as Mr. Waffle was busy and we were off skiing at the weekend (hollow laugh). We went out to Portrane for a peaceful walk along the coast.

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We had a cup of tea in the hotel at the end of the walk. Much social distancing but still very much open.

Michael bought me an enormous bouquet of flowers. I was really touched. He went out on his bike to get them while I was taking herself to the dentist to get her braces tightened (fortuitous timing in retrospect). I think he was a bit surprised by the cost of flowers but he bore it bravely.

Wednesday, March 11, 2020

All still pretty normal. My father was transferred to an orthopedic hospital which was very welcome but somewhat surprising.

Thursday, March 12, 2020

The Taoiseach announces schools, pre-schools and colleges are to close. My children are ecstatic.

One of our neighbours put a leaflet in the door offering to do shopping for older people and asking for volunteers to help out. Herself signed up and joined the Whatsapp group. For the moment it appears to be all willing volunteers and no one wanting our services but I suppose that may change.

Friday, March 13, 2020

We cancel our skiing holiday. Aer Lingus lets us change our booking at no cost. We book to go to Rome for a week in October. Fingers crossed. This doesn’t seem like a triumph but by the time my brother-in-law goes to re-book his flights, there seems to be some glitch on the website and he has to spend six hours on hold to the Aer Lingus helpdesk so, could have been worse. We are claiming from insurance for the chalet cost but Mr. Waffle is only moderately optimistic that it will be refunded.

Saturday, March 14, 2020

I drove down to Cork to visit my father in hospital. Normally I get the train but I decided, in the circumstances, that public transport probably wasn’t my best option. France closed the ski resorts. Too late for me. My brother, in Tignes, managed to pick up a flight home from Lyons on Tuesday for €1,000. Maybe the airlines won’t go under after all. I spent all of the three hour drive to Cork listening to Coronavirus podcasts. In retrospect, probably a mistake. My father was absolutely delighted to see me. When I arrived, he was gloomy and downcast and said that it was just as well I had come because he was probably going to die (he is normally not like this at all and appears to believe that he will live forever notwithstanding evidence to the contrary) but by the time I left an hour later he was laughing and cheerful. I was pleased I had come. His eyesight is so bad that he can’t read other than with a special light. He can’t listen to the radio unless the volume is deafening. I spoke to the nurse and she said I could bring in his lamp. I was a bit surprised but pleased.

Sunday, March 15, 2020

There was no mass. It was extremely odd. I went in to visit my father who was much more his normal self and only mildly pleased to see me which, in its own way, was a relief. I had cleaned his standard lamp with antibacterial spray (probably no harm in any event) but when I arrived in to the hospital with it clutched in my arms, I was told it couldn’t be let in which wasn’t entirely surprising but I did wish that they had told me the same thing the previous day. After visiting my father, I drove back to Dublin and listened to another three hours of Coronavirus podcasts. Probably peak panic.

Monday, March 16, 2020

My father’s hospital closed to visitors. I was doubly glad I had gone down at the weekend.

I can’t remember the last time I have been so keen to get into work. Once there, it was mostly logistics, getting any remaining outliers set up to work from home and agreeing various protocols. A lot of people were on leave anyhow as it was the Monday before a bank holiday and many of the rest were already set up to work from home. It was pretty empty.

At dinner, I asked, what we were all going to do in quarantine. Herself said that Shakespeare had written King Lear in quarantine. Setting the bar good and high for us all.

Tuesday, March 17, 2020

Undoubtedly the oddest St. Patrick’s Day I have ever had. No parades, obviously. I woke up the children by going around the house singing, “Hail Glorious St. Patrick” which was poorly received. I announced that we were going to climb a mountain in Wicklow and get some use out of the hiking boots we had bought for skiing. Also reasonably poorly received.

It was nice all the same though.

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Since all the cafes were closed, I decided that we would take a picnic. We got a lovely picnic basket when we got married (great wedding present, if you’re looking for inspiration) but it is quite heavy so it only works for picnics where you picnic near the car, if you see what I mean. By the time we got back to the car after our walk to have our picnic the weather had clouded over a bit and we drove around looking for a handy state forest with a picnic table near the car park. We were all a bit hungry as well which is a dangerous time in family life. We drove into a forest car park, it wasn’t ideal but we went into the trees and I spread out the picnic blanket. Herself suggested that I move it away from the barbed wire. It didn’t rain but it was bleak. The vibe was more Von Trapp family fleeing the Nazis across the Alps than memorable fun day out. This picture fails to convey the utter bleakness of the event (barbed wire just out of shot).

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By the time we had unpacked the picnic Michael and herself had already scampered back to the car clutching a bag of crisps each. Daniel stayed on like a trooper and Mr. Waffle and I each clutched a cup of tea from the thermos like drowning sailors who have been recently hauled from the water. I think we have to call it a failure, sadly. I tried to sell it as a bonding experience but the punters weren’t convinced.

The Taoiseach made an address to the nation that evening and I made the children watch. Michael said, “Gosh, these are historic times, somebody could have to write about living through this in the history exam in the future; I could be a person in history (this seems to be a question where they are asked to imagine they are a person living through say, the 1916 Rising or World War II and so on).” It might even be true, I suppose. I pointed out to him that my blog might be original source material for future history students and he said, “Poor them”. You wouldn’t want to be overly sensitive.

My brother got home from France safely and took himself off into self-isolation.

We always do the shopping online on Tuesday night for delivery on Thursday. It turns out we should have planned that a bit earlier. There were no online delivery slots to be had at all. We’ve signed up with a new supermarket which offered the 27th as its earliest delivery slot. Alas.

Wednesday, March 18, 2020

The first day with all five of us at home. It was very odd. The children were in their rooms; I was in the study and Mr. Waffle set up camp in the utility room. I was impressed by the work technology and surprised and pleased at how much we were able to get done. I was also impressed by the children, they had work to do from their teachers and they set to and started doing it.

Daniel and I made bread. We were very proud of ourselves. We finished the strong white flour.

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I went out to get more flour from the supermarket. I tried four supermarkets, social distancing the while, but there was no flour to be had. At the rate things are going, it looks like this may be the case indefinitely. I am hoping that we may get some from our online delivery on March 27 but who knows? Did I think we were a nation of bakers? I did not.

Generally, I seemed to be driving the children crazy with my incessant questions about their study routines and asking them whether they had got enough exercise but I felt this was better than their father’s lax regime which would let them stay in bed until lunchtime.

My friend in Paris and I agreed that Daniel would not be travelling to them for Easter. I am now playing chicken with Aer Lingus and hoping that they will cancel the flight and give us a refund. We will see.

Thursday, March 19, 2020

It was Mr. Waffle’s 50th birthday. Poor Mr. Waffle. What an awful way to have to spend a big birthday. We were supposed to be off skiing and I’d booked us in to a nice Michelin starred restaurant for dinner in Tignes. Instead he was stuck at home on lock down. I had bought him a voucher for a rather expensive wine tasting course to be held over May, June and July which now may never happen and I am worried that I may never get my money back. It was a pretty poor present in the time of plague lock down.

We made him pancakes for breakfast. I insisted that he work in the study and I took the utility room which was fine except when one of my colleagues asked me during a video conference meeting whether I was stockpiling Rice Krispies for the apocalypse. I mean, maybe. These were low level treats for a 50th birthday, I feel.

I made French onion soup for lunch and an elaborate stew for dinner as well as the standard issue family birthday cake and between that and work being pretty busy, I was exhausted by the end of the day. I’m not sure that working from home is all it’s made out to be.

Still, we did our best for dinner, we got the good cutlery out and we gave the cut crystal glass ware I got from a friend an outing and we sang happy birthday and we’re all healthy so, he could have it a lot worse, I suppose.

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Still driving the children crazy by inquiring about their study routines and forcing them outside for exercise.

Friday, March 20, 2020

I was on a half day and went into the office in the morning to pick up some papers and do some work that couldn’t readily be done at home. While I was there, a cleaner came and washed my door handle and light switch three times. Work is pretty deserted and it is very easy to maintain social distance and I cycled in and out. So, ok, I think but it is very hard to know what’s acceptable.

In any event, the children really welcomed the absence of their mother, however temporary. Cunningly, I had arranged for them to be on Skype with their French tutor (currently on lock down in Paris) on Friday morning from 9.30 to 11.00 so they felt my presence, even in my absence.

Daniel, Mr. Waffle and I played tennis in the afternoon. There are three public courts in the park near us. One was occupied by people playing tennis. The other two were occupied by people playing football: four young men in one case and parents with small children in the other. I passively aggressively started playing on the grass verge nearby to no avail. An Italian woman with two young children came up and I said, “There’s no point looking bitter because it won’t make any difference.” The parents then said, “Come on children, we’d better go, we’re getting the evil eye.” And I felt like a heel. Worse, I think I was a heel. The Italian woman then, fearlessly, went up to the four lads, told them it was a tennis court and not for football, and they could play football anywhere and they just meekly packed up and left to play elsewhere. I was very impressed.

My sister contacted me to say that there was a case of Coronavirus on my father’s ward. The story moved around a bit and I am still not clear whether the patient was in the room he was in or not. In any event, he is not being tested as he is asymptomatic which is good, I suppose. We’re all a bit nervous. My sister has been talking to him a bit and she says he is good form. He is not answering my calls. Unclear whether this is because he’s screening my calls or not getting to the phone on time.

Mr. Waffle turned up in the kitchen with our Seanad voting papers and we dutifully voted; a plague is no excuse for forgetting to vote.

Saturday, March 21, 2020

Still no word from my father. He’s talking to my sister though and he seems fine. Keep your fingers crossed. I thought we might need to self-isolate after visiting him but apparently not.

Otherwise, not a great deal achieved. Herself has decided to paint the ceiling of her bedroom during the pandemic. We got her paint.

How are things in your pandemic location?

Alas

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

Things are not going well. On Wednesday my 94 year old father fell at home. There was no one else in the house. He inadvertently turned off his mobile phone in the excitement so it was about an hour before my brother came home and found him. He seemed alright. The next day, Thursday, he got up and then he got stuck in the shower. His GP came round (now retired, old buddy of my Dad’s though much younger and has basically, as far as I can see, kept my father as his sole patient to tend to his needs) and said he suspected a broken pelvis and sent him off to the hospital by ambulance.

My brother went in with him. He enjoyed the usual on a trolley experience in A&E. I spoke to my father on his mobile phone. He was taken off for x-ray. My brother went home. I considered getting to Cork for the weekend once Mr. Waffle got back from Luxembourg where he had gone for work on Wednesday. The hospital went into lock down because they had a Corona virus case. My father’s mobile phone ran out of charge. That evening I rushed home, fed the boys and then drove for miles to collect herself from her friend’s school where he had been acting in the school play. Something by Harold Pinter. Honestly, notions. She quite enjoyed it, thanks for asking. Possibly the last outing before Corona virus shuts down all the schools.

On Friday morning, I woke up with a sore neck. I was stuck in the pose of a tortoise with neck jutting out of its shell. I have been here before. I limped around the house in agony and unable to bend. Herself said she was a bit snuffly and asked, hopefully, should she stay home as a friend of a friend living about 50 kms away had Corona virus. I sent her in. I limped in to work (unable to cycle, obviously). I sneezed on the tram and everyone around moved away in a marked manner. Good tip for anyone who would like a bit more space on public transport. At work, in a disturbing development, the only position in which I felt comfortable was hunched over my keyboard typing.

My sister spent Friday trying to get updates on my father. He spent the day phone free, visitor free in A&E on a trolley while the hospital dealt with its Corona virus problem by sending 60 staff into self-isolation, which is not great if you’re 94 or, indeed, any age.

Meanwhile, on Friday night herself was in her short film which was being screened as part of the Dublin film festival. Her father was only getting home from Luxembourg at 8.30 and could not attend, her aunt was supposed to come from Cork but was stuck in Cork on high alert for my father, her brothers were supposed to come but a friend of theirs from school was organising pizza and a film for another friend of theirs who is having chemotherapy and has stopped school for a bit (chemo, Corona virus, bit of both?) and they wanted to go, so I felt that they should and they could see the film another time. Her cousin and aunt from Dublin were coming. As we arrived at the cinema, her Dublin aunt texted that they were stuck in traffic. I sent herself scampering off to sit with her friends and sat near the front as I had forgotten my glasses (look, I had a lot on). I quite enjoyed the short film as it featured my first born and many of her friends. I enjoyed most of the other shorts screened as well. Aunt and cousin arrived but I did not see them, alas, as they arrived a bit late and had to leave early.

We had originally planned to have pizza as a big group after the screening but circumstances beyond everyone’s control meant that there were just a pair of us – myself and herself. But it’s an ill wind and it meant that we were able to drive out to the airport and collect her father rather than leave. My sister texted to say that the hospital had finally managed to get my father on to a ward 36 hours after being admitted with (it transpired) crushed vertebrae rather than a broken pelvis (a good news story, basically). Later I picked the boys up after their evening out. Did they have fun? They did. Did they have any trouble finding their friend’s house in the dark (they had to go alone on foot as I was at the film)? One did and one did not. Was there any reason why they would chose to travel separately through the mean streets in the dark given that they were going to the same place? Nobody told them they were to travel together. Was it not obvious? It was not. Anyway, in small world stories, Daniel (who was the one who got lost) ran into a friend from his GAA team who was out walking with his father. The father knew Dan’s friend’s father because they had gone to the same school and grown up on the same road and was able to escort Daniel safely to his destination. Big city, small community.

There was a bit of consternation on Friday as the nurse said to my sister that my father was cognitively impaired. He wasn’t when he went in on Thursday. However, I managed to talk to a nurse this afternoon (Saturday) who was pretty helpful and said that he had had a free and frank exchange of views with his consultant that morning about his medication and that he was perusing the papers my sister had delivered to the hospital and which had wended their way to his room. The nurse charged his phone for him and he called me about an hour ago. Mostly to say that he needed my sister to call him so that he could instruct her to bring various things in to the hospital for him; partly to check whether my brother had got off on his skiing holiday (he had with some misgivings); and partly to complain loudly about the quality of nursing care compared to in his day (which I’m sure was gratefully noted by the overworked staff on the premises). So cognitively he seems fine, if grumpy. Apparently, they are discharging people, Corona virus or no, so I am hopeful he might be able to move to some kind of step down facility early next week.

Meanwhile next Saturday, we are supposed to go skiing en famille ourselves. I appreciate that this is a bit #mymiddleclasshell but between my poor father possibly at death’s door (though things have improved on that front over the past 24 hours); my tortoise like posture and general misery; Corona virus diverse alarms; and a number of logistical difficulties on the accommodation front (we are in a chalet with friends of friends and there have been some unfortunate miscommunications including my brother being in and then out again, he is currently out but has found somewhere else to stay – he’s going for a week with friends this week and family next, isn’t it well for him?), I can’t say I’m looking forward to it as much as I was when we booked it last autumn.

Finally, finally in my litany of complaint and woe, regular readers will remember that I am in the church baptism group. The parish priest has taken it upon himself to have a display in the church on what each church group does. Our group was not enthused; we all have jobs to hold down and plenty to do otherwise. But one of our number organised us all to do pictures. I paid herself good money to paint two of the six symbols of baptism for me and Michael kindly dropped them around to the woman up the road who is on half a dozen church committees and undertook to drop them into the parish office. I couldn’t help to put them up in the church as I was collecting herself from her Pinter play on the other side of the city on display night but surely now our work was done. Not a bit of it, next up, we each had to lead the Stations of the Cross on different dates. I felt myself both theologically and practically unable to do so and said so. Surely this was the end of it? No, this morning a message arrives saying each of us had to turn up at a different mass over the next week and show off the stand. I am not pleased. With all the other things going on, this Greek chorus of pings from the baptism Whatsapp group was not what I needed. I am, frankly, peeved. This could yet tip me over the edge into godlessness. Herself would be delighted as I’ve told her she has to keep going to mass until she’s 18 and she is exploring all avenues for an earlier exit.

Anyone else got any news or have I absorbed it all?

A Low Point

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

It’s been stormy. Our recycling bin blew over and the contents got wet. “Did you put them in the black bin?” I asked Mr. Waffle. “That would have been a terrible waste,” said he. Then he added, defiantly, “I dried them out by spreading them over the Aga.” I was not pleased. Was it for this that I spent my children’s inheritance?

The weather has been quite awful all month. Michael and Daniel spent much of their mid-term break holed up in the house (herself has an elaborate series of ongoing social engagements which mean she touches down in our sphere but rarely) so today Mr. Waffle and I forced them out for a walk on the pier in Dun Laoghaire after visiting his mother. They were very good despite the fact that it hailed on us. Good God in heaven.

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I suppose snow is next.

Rainy Saturday

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Posted in: Dublin, Family, Hodge, Ireland

We were all in reasonably good form this morning. Yesterday evening I had said that we were going for a walk in the mountains to look at the snow. This announcement was greeted with limited enthusiasm. Even I had second thoughts overnight and was contemplating getting out of bed early without truly looking forward to it and only sustained by the reflection that we would enjoy it in retrospect. I was awoken at 9ish by rain dashing against the bedroom window and the glad tidings that it was too wet for our walk were conveyed to the children by Mr. Waffle while I sat up in bed with my book.

I was summoned from my bed at 10 by indignant shouts from herself. The cat had got sick on her bed. One of the joys of adulthood is cleaning up cat vomit, I find. Normally this falls to Mr. Waffle’s lot but he was out getting bread so I was the chosen victim. Later, leaving the boys in the thrall of their electronic devices, Mr. Waffle, the Princess and I braved the rain and went to breakfast in a local cafe.

On our return we brought all the children to town to acquire new hiking boots (when will their feet stop growing?), a camp bed (can only be an improvement on the air mattress, surely), more candles and some Magic the Gathering Cards for the boys (if you don’t know, you’re better off). We got sodden but it was speedy. Then we came home and were still back in time to drop the cat vomit soiled duvet to the dry cleaners (the hilariously named “Day and Night” cleaners which closes at four). Then we came in, lit the fire and battened down the hatches. It’s been delightful.

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How’s your own Storm Dennis day going?