Siblings

The Longest Relationships of Your Life

3 February, 2023
Posted in: Siblings

My brother was in Dublin for work during the week and stayed with us. Like the kind humanitarian I am, I drove him out to the airport for his morning flight. The airport was full of hares (enormous) running around the place. I counted six or seven. I went out to Malahide Castle for a cup of tea and a walk afterwards (because I can) and saw more. Is it global warming bringing us an early March hare season?

I stripped the bed he slept in later in the day and it felt curiously…warm. He had left the electric blanket on, switched to max. Who does that? Give me strength.

He is adapting somewhat to the constant tidiness he finds in my house. “You just want people not to be able to relax,” he hazarded. I refused to be goaded, “I only want you not to be relaxed.” I will be staying with him in France in a couple of weeks time and I fear the worst. I suppose it will by my turn not to be able to relax.

Also how is my younger, feckless brother turning 50 on Sunday? A mystery.

Working Our Way Through the Schliemann Layers

31 January, 2023
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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

Christmas Round Up

31 December, 2022
Posted in: Boys, Cork, Daniel, Family, Ireland, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings, Travel

Christmas Eve

We went to midnight mass on Christmas Eve (9 o’clock, midnight isn’t what it once was, inflation etc.) which was nice and the choir were in great voice. Herself and Daniel got trapped by the elderly priest who mans the side door.

Him: I haven’t seen you for a long time.

Her: I’m in England [as she explained she wanted him to understand that she was abroad and not like the other two pagans she was with].

Him: There are great Catholics in England. Look at Cardinal Newman, you can be like him.

Big ask.

Anyway, when we got home, the children disappeared up to bed and Santa got to work. At 11.30 herself arrived down looking for a snack in the kitchen which was Santa’s centre of operations. Who comes down hungry at 11.30 on Christmas Eve? Anyhow, Santa finished the present wrapping and brought herself out a snack to boot. What a saint.

I cracked open the After Eights at 11.55 and who could blame me?

Christmas Day

Santa was very tense this year but in fact, did a very good job, the children were broadly pleased.

Herself made brunch for us all. It was excellent.

We visited Mr. Waffle’s mother in the nursing home and then had a brief – though pleasant – walk.

Then we went home to make our very complex dinner. I had put the turkey in the oven before we went out. In fairness, the aga came into its own and overall dinner was v elaborate and v successful [my next door neighbour cooked for 18 and they had to drive to her daughter’s place to do some of the food as her oven was not big enough – the stress!]. However, our turkey was, alas, like ashes. To paraphrase Paul Hollywood, “very dry in the mouth.” But is that not what gravy and cranberry sauce are there for?

I spoke to my brother in France. Over the course of Christmas Eve the gas in his airbnb had got feebler and feebler. It ran out about 7 which was not a great time to ring the owner and explain the problem. Himself and his friend S were looking at charcuterie and cheese for their Christmas day lunch. However, they went for a walk around the town and found an open restaurant with a festive menu. My brother wanted to see what other options there were (this is so typical of him) but S insisted that they go there (my brother always characterises S as his pleasant but slightly dim friend from college but my sister says this is not so, it is just what my brother believes and S’s PhD from Cambridge and post-doc from MIT are strong arguments for S’s smarts but nothing has been as convincing as his bundling my brother into the restaurant there and then). Apparently dinner was delicious.

St. Stephen’s Day

The washing machine broke down again. We went to visit the cousins for lunch bringing with us a full load of damp laundry from the machine (happy Christmas!). The children were glad to see their cousins and lunch was delicious including very good turkey. If I ever have to cook Christmas dinner again and, honestly, my aim is not to, I will ask my sister-in-law for tips.

Daniel made Cajun turkey pizza for dinner which he said was a real success. The rest of us had our leftovers in other forms.

December 27 – 30

We went down to my sister in Cork for a few days. It’s amazing how good the road is now. Just over 3 hours each way which compares very favourably to the five hour trek which was a feature of my youth.

My sister and I did a tour of our relatives in North Cork and Limerick which was broadly successful – though God it is impossible to visit my Limerick relatives at any time of day without getting a full three course meal – v nice in fairness but it does make me think that they must regard my hospitality as well below par. We talked a lot about my father and my sister talked about the day he died. I think, it was a surprise to everyone but my sister felt particularly sorry for the junior doctor in charge.

The boys spent most of their time playing Magic with my sister’s partner. She says he enjoys it. I hope so for his sake.

Herself and myself went out for breakfast in Cork (difficult, many places closed, queues everywhere and the indignity of a queuing app nearly broke me). We had an unsatisfactory breakfast but a good trip to the Crawford gallery.

Then the boys joined us in town and we went up on the Ferris wheel. Mr. Waffle had met a friend for lunch but we met him in Waterstone’s after where as a Christmas treat he bought each child a book and then we went for tea and a bun. Where will it all end?

I thought my 93 year old aunt was in good nick. I got her a book of poems about cats (you’d be very surprised how many poets have penned cat verses) for Christmas and she was delighted. Honestly, I think it was the most popular Christmas present I gave anyone this year.

After our disastrous effort earlier in the week, I booked breakfast for myself, Mr. Waffle and herself (no one else wanted to come). Options were few. I booked Sophie’s at the Dean for 9 in the morning which was earlier than I would have liked but beggars can’t be choosers etc. The Dean is a new hotel beside the station part of the ubiquitous Press Up group which is basically a Dublin franchise. I see they are doing what they can to ingratiate themselves with the locals.

The views were really good but the food was only alright. The decor was odd, ski chalet meets marble palazzo. I remain on the hunt for a good Cork breakfast venue.

Herself expressed interest in a very nice but profoundly uncomfortable antique sofa and armchairs my mother bought at auction sometime in the 60s (the sofa is very like this but with fewer legs – it’s a two seater rather than a three seater). My sister was going to get rid of them and I was resigned (because although nice they are, see above, uncomfortable). I was delighted when herself said she wanted them (she said that if you weigh less – like her – they are less uncomfortable). But now I realise that I will move them to Dublin and by the time she comes to have her own flat, she won’t like them any more and I will have them forever. I am not sure that I am as pleased as I thought I was.

New Year’s Eve

Notwithstanding the thrills of Cork, it was nice to be home. The boys filled in their CAO forms today – a procedure which is more open to error than you might think. However, having seen how the English system operates, courtesy of herself, it could be a lot worse.

Herself went to Scotland to stay with a friend for new year’s. I spent the day doing jigsaws and eating stem ginger.

The new washing machine arrived at 8 in the morning and the men said we hadn’t paid for installation (no, but we would have, we would have, if we had known this was optional) and left us to our own devices. Mr. Waffle spent a happy time wrestling with it but it is now working, we are pleased. Michael audibly gasped when he saw it in all its glory when he came down for breakfast.

Lads, we are 2023 ready. May I join in the already deafening whatsapp chorus from the people on the road and wish you a very happy new year?

Flying Solo

29 November, 2022
Posted in: Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings, Travel

Iâ€™m visiting herself in England for a couple of days. I donâ€™t know when I last flew anywhere alone. My last couple of jobs involved no work travel abroad. So the last time I travelled abroad for work was probably 2015. And when we fly en famille, Mr. Waffle covers all the logistics. So it was with some trepidation that I began my solo adventure.

There was a man on the plane watching something without headphones. How is this acceptable? For the first time there were no masks on the flight. It seemed a bit strange. And finally- they no longer take cash on board. So much for the flight. The journey was entirely uneventful. But long. But then I got to see herself at the end of it. Thrilling. We had a cup of tea.

My sister is also visiting- she was staying with a friend in Sweden and is dropping in on herself on the way home. For reasons I donâ€™t at all understand my sister kept her movements secret until recently and is staying in a different hotel from me. Draw your own conclusions but my paranoid streak is working overtime.

This is a welcome development though because herself has a formal dinner tonight and has booked her mother and aunt into a local restaurant. Thrills. More news as we have it.

Running from Billy to Jack

21 November, 2022
Posted in: Boys, Daniel, Michael, Mr. Waffle, Siblings

This morning it lashed rain. In view of climactic conditions, Mr. Waffle drove the boys to school. My brother was staying over and surfaced about 9.30. He looked dolefully at the weather and hopefully at me. “I am going to take the car for a service,” I said firmly so he went off gloomily into the rain to get to his meeting by public transport. I drove the car to the garage. They said it would be ready at 2 which was handy as it meant I could collect the boys from school. I emailed the boys with the glad tidings. I had put my bike in the boot to cycle home. I mean cunning but damp notwithstanding rain gear etc.

Then I cycled into town to meet a friend for lunch. Then I cycled home again and out to pick up the car. The garage telephoned to say that it wouldn’t be ready until 3.30. I emailed Michael (Dan was in after-school study) to say I’d be a bit late to pick him up. Then as I was nearing the garage they called to say sorry, it wouldn’t be ready until 4.30. I cycled to the school to tell Michael the bad news and offered to take his bag on the bike while he took the bus. At least it was no longer raining. I cycled to the garage with Michael’s school bag in my carrier basket. I picked up the car and drove home. After a quick cup of tea, I was off into traffic again to pick up Daniel at 5.45. I’m exhausted. I think I cycled about 20kms which is a lot for me (although I know there are those who do 50 at the drop of a hat this is, I cannot emphasise this enough, not me).

In entirely unrelated news, Dan’s GAA team ended their championship campaign yesterday. And not in a good way. They had pizza in the club house at 6 that evening. At about 8, Dan rang me to say they were going to the pub and was it ok if he went too. After some humming and hawing we said yes. He seems to have had a great time and, though some of the older boys were drinking, mostly it seems to have been a sober affair and I picked him up from the pub about 9.30 in great form. Apparently he had nothing at all to drink alcoholic or otherwise as he had very little money on him. It doesn’t seem to have bothered him, in fairness. I suppose nightclubs are only round the corner.

Home

20 November, 2022
Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland, Siblings

Regular readers will be aware that I am from Cork and although I have now lived for longer out of Cork than I did in it, it will probably always be home to me. When my father died in December 2020, I remember thinking that for the first time I had no home in Cork. Your parents’ house is your house, it is, as my mother-in-law used to say, “where they always have to take you in”. A slightly grudging formulation I always felt, I mean surely home is where they always want to take you in?

I was delighted when my sister said that she wanted to buy my parents’ house. It was the best possible option for me. The house would stay in the family and someone else would, realistically, have to go through the lifetime’s worth of stuff accumulated by my parents. Probate took a while and so did the conveyancing process but now the house is finally my sister’s. The sale closed in early November. I am pretty sure I will always be welcome to stay with my sister but, of course, it’s no longer my parents’ house. She has lots of plans for renovations (very much needed) and changes. It is lovely to think of the house being looked after again as it was when my mother was well. She was the most competent person I ever met, she took upholstery lessons and re-upholstered the sofa, she painted, she moved furniture with abandon. She really had endless confidence that she could do anything and mostly she could. So this is completely a good news story but still I feel a bit sad. Another door closed, the end of an era.