belgianwaffle

Dublin

Bring Flowers of the Fairest


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Middle Child, Twins, Youngest Child

I remember commenting to a Northern Protestant friend that although the devil has the best tunes (he definitely does, Protestant hymns are so much better that we have taken some, in a spirit of ecumenicism, I assume – indeed, when the Church of Ireland bishops came out and said that Covid was particularly difficult for their services because they hadn’t been able to sing and singing was such an intrinsic part of their worship, it was hard to argue), they are really missing out on the Marian hymns. She was puzzled but intrigued.

I explained to her that May is the month of our Lady. When I was in primary school we had May altars. I used to make little ones at home with flowers from the garden. I also remember picking cherry blossoms for my Nana who came to visit regularly so I may have slightly conflated the delight at her visit with the general pleasure of picking flowers for display.

Untitled

In primary school each year on a glorious May day we would parade around the school yard with a statue of Mary on a plinth, balanced precariously on the shoulders of sixth class girls, saying prayers and singing hymns led by the principal – who was a nun – with a loudhailer. I wouldn’t say I loved it – and sadly, I never got to carry around the statue which was a very coveted role – but I liked it better than lessons and the flowers and the hymns were always nice.

Untitled

I am reminded of this because the weather is beautiful this weekend (top tip for any tourists out there, the nicest weather in Ireland is always in May/early June) and the Botanic Gardens and the Phoenix Park, both of which I graced with my presence (making poor old Michael come with me both times, Daniel was at matches, fortunately for him) were delightful. And at mass this morning the final hymn was Bring Flowers of the Fairest which filled me with nostalgic joy.

Matters Ukrainian


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland

We now have 4 Ukrainian families living on our road. Herself met young Master Next Door in the course of her gallivanting and he tells her that they too have taken in what he rather sweetly called “Ukrainian guests”. Apparently they all gather gloomily in the converted shed in one of the houses up the road and listen to the news from Ukraine. It’s extremely grim. I am slightly in awe of my neighbours who spearheaded this. As well as putting up their own refugees, they are gathering up old laptops, ware, cutlery and pots and pans for Ukrainian families as well as trying to source more permanent accommodation and schools and everything else. Mr. Waffle dropped off our old bikes to a man in town who is reconditioning them for Ukrainian refugees. It is nice to feel that you are doing something, however small, but it’s only a drop in the ocean.

Networking Lunch


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Work

I had lunch with a former colleague of mine during the week. “Look at this,” said she and hauled out a letter informing her that she is going to be made a Chevalier of the Légion d’Honneur. I was suitably impressed. I also had lunch with an old friend who has decided to abandon retirement to head up an august (though small) body. I feel the quality of my lunch dates at the moment is high.

Property Ladder


Posted in: Dublin, Ireland, Work

A younger colleague of mine told me that she has bought a house. She is in her late 20s and has been living at home with her parents since leaving school and saving diligently. I mean I applaud her and I’m delighted for her and it is always hard to buy on your own (as opposed to with a partner), but I can’t help comparing it to my own experience. I thought it was pretty hard at the time but really it was easy for me to move out of home and rents were pretty cheap and there were lots of places where I could rent and still save up a bit (if only I had been more frugal – it was not my nature, good job I met Mr. Waffle saver by nature). I’m not sure I would really have wanted to live at home until I was 30 and I didn’t have to.

She is the only colleague I know under 30 who has bought her own house. It does not augur well, I feel. I do wonder how my children are going to find somewhere to live in due course if things keep going as they are. I suppose we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

The Bread Basket of Europe


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

When I was growing up my mother often talked about the man made famine in Ukraine in the 1930s. I have to say, I was not particularly interested at the time but it occurs to me now that my mother was born into a farming family in 1936 and that that famine probably had a direct impact on her family and her neighbours, at the very least in terms of what crops they were growing. No wonder she spoke about it, she must have heard a great deal about the damage that central planning did to Ukraine.

My cleaner is Ukrainian. She’s about the same age as me and I do think about what she has had to put up with in her life time compared to me. To talk to her is awful, I feel so helpless in the face of her misery and distress. She has relatives stuck over there and I think she is going out of her mind with worry and I can’t do anything useful. She said sadly, “All the Irish people are being very kind but it is too terrible.” It is indeed.

My neighbours have taken in a Ukrainian family. She’s a doctor and there are apparently close links between Irish and Ukrainian doctors (who knew?). Herself and her husband who lived in a grown ups only house until now have been amazed just how much energy and enthusiasm a nine year old has. The child also has a medical condition which means he has been stuck at home for Covid as well. How utterly grim. It’s all just grim. The neighbourhood whatsapp group has been hopping with offers of help but it all feels very limited. I listened to a wonderful – thought very sad – podcast where people talk about their home cities in Ukraine. A man who was a couple of years ahead of Mr. Waffle in school was working in the Ukraine and was killed.

Honestly, if this were fiction, you would say it was too unlikely – a conflict with so few shades of grey, a heroic president who was formerly a comedian, a full scale invasion in Eastern Europe.

Untitled

For God and St Patrick


Posted in: Dublin, Family, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Twins, Youngest Child

This year he has brought us a four day weekend and, honestly, nothing could be more welcome.

Poor Daniel is sick though recovering. A negative Covid test but a bit miserable all the same. Mr. Waffle, Michael and I turned up for 11.30 mass in our local church only to discover that masses were at weekday rather than Sunday times. Mass was over. Alas. Michael rejoiced, naturally.

Trying to find out where to get a 12.00 mass in Dublin is very difficult. The archdiocese categorises by church and while I can see that might be handy in a general way, it was not useful on this occasion. I found an excellent English website which listed all the masses in Dublin by time and then by location. Not so godless after all, it appears. Anyway we went in to town to the church in Whitefriar street to find them locking the gates against us. No 12 o’clock mass. We actually tried to visit the other week to take in its shrine to St. Valentine and relics and the door was briskly (and I felt slightly gleefully) shut against us by the same man. The house of the Lord is always open indeed. Mind you we had had to skirt the parade to get there and even at that early hour, not all of the parade goers seemed sober. So perhaps a wise precaution on balance. We eventually got 12.30 mass in St. Theresa’s on Clarendon street where they had gone all out with the music and had a lovely solo singer and all manner of musical instruments including perhaps bagpipes? Anyway they played us out to the quintessential St. Patrick’s day hymn, “Hail Glorious St. Patrick” very nicely done.

Mr. Waffle and I tried to get home and around the parade but to no real avail so eventually we gave it up as a bad job and watched a bit of the parade. Views were poor but I love to see people leaning out of the windows upstairs in city centre buildings (it reminds me of this picture):

Untitled

Then we had lunch in town and went home about 3 before it all became a bit too raucous. A lot of people waving Ukrainian flags as well as Irish ones and the authorities had bedecked the city in both. This chimes with our official St. Patrick’s day message which focuses on Ukraine.

In unrelated news, I found where all the jam jars in the utility room have disappeared to; they’re hidden in the shed. Our facilities for summer jam and jelly making are intact. And the way things are going, we might need them.

Untitled

Finally Aunt is still in hospital, seems to be reasonably well but the hospital is now closed to visitors due to surging Covid cases. It hasn’t gone away, I suppose although there was nary a mask to be seen in town today. Another colleague tested positive yesterday but I am now much less unnerved by this than I used to be. I wonder is that entirely a good thing.