Siblings

Home Again, Home Again

10 November, 2024
Posted in: Cork, Ireland, Siblings, Travel

And I’m back from the fleshpots of Cork.

I had an exciting day. I went to the Glucksman for my breakfast (a gallery cafe – not bad but not at all as good as the old Crawford Gallery cafe for which I will probably grieve forever). They only had seats outside where I went with some trepidation but despite slight drizzle towards the end of breakfast, it was actually fine even though there were no outdoor heaters.

Thrillingly, the Christmas craft fair was on in the Glucksman. I mean, I love any old craft fair but this one is really good. All the people manning the stalls had made the stuff themselves, which I really enjoy. I bought a Christmas decoration from a potter and a tea towel from a lovely man who draws lighthouses. We had a little chat, he’s originally from Antwerp. Not so many lighthouses in that neck of the woods. Honestly, I could have stayed for hours but I did not because I was already running late for my next event.

My sister had a spare ticket to an interview with some director from Cork I’d never heard of and I agreed to go with her. It was in the Triskel, Cork’s premier arts venue once a church and, still boasting the slightly uncomfortable benches which are part of any church experience. There were about 50 people there.

The director appeared, a guy called John Crowley. He was really interesting, a genuinely fascinating man; he was about the same age as me and a year behind me in college (I learn from Wikipedia but this is not quite how it describes his college career) and a stalwart of the Dramat but I can’t say I remember any productions in which he was involved. He talked about the films he had made (loads) and then I realised he was the director of Brooklyn and the Goldfinch (as he said, “one of those much more successful than the other, kind of you not to mention it”) and Life After Life and the second season of True Detective and tons and tons of stuff. He was super-understated and just very pleasant as well as knowledgeable. It was a revelation, he has a new film out which screened as part of the Cork film festival (We Live in Time) which I will definitely be going to see when it comes out. It struck me that if he were from Dublin I would definitely have read about him in the Irish Times and indeed this event but the Irish Times does have a tendency to gloss over people who don’t live in or come from Dublin. Is it any wonder Cork people are, I don’t want to say bitter, but bitter adjacent.

And one final, thing as Columbo would say, a very famous chipper in Cork called Jackie Lennox’s closed down. It was such big news that it was even covered in the Irish Times. My brother queued for about three hours for fish and chips on its last day of operation.

Anyhow, when I was visiting my parents’ cemetery on Tory Top road (Cork word for a pine cone, unknown anywhere else), I passed the establishment in the photograph below. It has (you will have to take my word for it) the same lettering as the closed down chipper. It has obviously been here for some time. What is going on? A real mystery.

Proustian

9 November, 2024
Posted in: Cork, Ireland, Siblings

I’m in Cork for the weekend for my sister’s birthday. I haven’t been down since the summer. I went to inspect my parents’ gravestone; newly inscribed. It was a bit damp and gloomy, perfect cemetery weather.

And I inspected the work my sister has done in her attic. It’s all thrills.

I went for a walk around the Honan Chapel and thought about how my family history intersected with this Celtic revival church.

Because I don’t live here or even visit very often now, Cork has become a place of memory and reminders of the past for me. I’m not sure how I feel about that.

Baltics II – Klaipeda, Lithuania to Kuldiga, Latvia

22 September, 2024
Posted in: Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Siblings, Travel, Twins, Youngest Child

Tuesday, August 6, 2024

The purpose of our trip to Klalipeda was to give us a chance to visit the Cuoronian spit. This was a geographic feature of which I had previously been ignorant. But it’s a 100km long narrow sandy spit. 50kms are owned by the Lithuanians and 50kms by the Russians (Kaliningrad). It’s one of the few places where you can look south to Russia.

We took the very regular car ferry across to the Spit. The Spit itself is a national park and you have to pay to get in (unclear what happens at night when the booths are deserted – and people do live and stay on the Spit – presumably some guest tax covers it). There is one main road through the middle of the Spit (not very main, just one lane each way) and the rest is pretty much all cycle and walking paths. As is often the way when we go on an outing, it takes us so long to get out of the house that almost the first thing we have to do when we arrive is find somewhere for lunch.

We had lunch in Juodkranté and very nice it was too – both the lunch and Juodkranté which is a smallish holiday resort.

I was very taken by the weather vanes which are a feature of the Spit (each town has its own design) but they were a bit large to buy. If you ask me, they are missing a trick by not turning them into miniature Christmas tree ornaments for the discerning tourist. Do I have a photograph? I do not.

We then went on down the Spit to Nida. What an absolutely charming little town it is. We hired bikes to avail of the fantastic infrastructure and went to the beach. Sadly, not all of us love a beach but those who do really liked it.

We then cycled along the cycle path towards Russia. There is a “nature reserve” along the border so we were stopped from seeing it. Possibly for the best.

We then cycled up to the big dune. The Spit is just basically one big sand dune. When they cut down the trees for shipbuilding in the 18th century, the sands began to shift and whole villages were engulfed. It’s quite woody now for obvious reasons.

The big dune gives a great view into Russia.

Great views all round in fact.

Sartre was here on his holidays, I think, and there is a sculpture to celebrate. I can’t say it looks like he had a fantastic time.

We went back into Nida.

Such a pretty little place. There were lots of older German tourists but otherwise not so many visitors.

We gave the bicycles back and had dinner outside.

On the way home, we stopped again at Juodkranté to go to the cemetery at Mr. Waffle’s request (I am normally the cemetery enthusiast but it has clearly rubbed off on him over the years). It’s full of graves with German inscriptions. What a complicated part of the world this is.

We drove to the (very regular) ferry at a sedate pace within the speed limit and were passed by a number of speeding Lithuanians. Lithuanian driving is adventurous. When we arrived at the port, we were literally the last people on the ferry, we made it with one minute to spare. No wonder they were speeding past me. But, you know, there was another one along in 20 minutes.

I must say the Spit was a highlight of our trip and I would love to go back and cycle the length of it (maybe even into Russia after the war?). Apparently you can fly direct to Palanga (nearby, more anon) from London. It is definitely on my list for a return visit.

Wednesday August 7, 2024

In the morning we left Michael in the flat and Mr. Waffle, Daniel and I went for breakfast. We found a trendy cafe a bit like the trendy cafes everywhere else. Grand but not exactly local. We explored the small market in the square. Klaipeda was known as Memel back when it was East Prussia and there’s a balcony in the square where apparently Hitler addressed the locals; it seems a surprisingly small and intimate venue. Following World War I, the French were briefly in charge in Memel which is why there is a building that used to be a French prefecture in the main square, honestly, weird man.

In the market there were two women speaking to each other in what sounded like French with American accents so I asked whether they were French Canadians. Mr. Waffle explained to me that this was a rather 70s expression and I certainly felt a chill when they replied, “Nous sommes Québécoises”. We live and learn. However, a black woman beside me also looking at goods turned around to them and started speaking to them in French explaining that she was from Haiti. They all seemed delighted with themselves; I did feel under the eye of the all-powerful Francophonie with this all happening within view of the former prefecture and everyone, one way or another, a long way from France. The tourists had come from a Baltic cruise boat. Mr. Waffle muttered that if he were going on a cruise, he would certainly not come to the Baltics on his holidays. A certain amount of cognitive dissonance there.

The town was a bit run down and not as nice as the places on the Spit. But grand. There was a nice area by the river.

There was the obligatory Irish pub. Named after Rory Gallagher – a bit of a deep cut as herself would say but nice to see a Cork reference. It had closed down though.

If I were to come back and I think I might, I would definitely base myself on the Spit and I would book good and early.

Anyhow, clutching our touristic purchases from the market – including a shawl for me, it’s time – we said goodbye to Klaipeda and went on our way. We stopped in Palanga for lunch. It’s a huge tourist resort and I thought it was loathsome. Not recommended. Good lunch though once we avoided the pizza restaurant by day discotheque by night venue.

And then it was on to Latvia.

In my experience Latvia has the most exciting driving in the Baltics (and that is saying something) and the worst roads. We began our trip on a dirt road, the kind of thing you might get at home for 500 metres, if there were roadworks. It went on for 17 kms. I could have done with a warning from Google maps. Saintly Mr. Waffle was driving but it was like Mad Max Fury Road. The photos really don’t convey the white knuckled horror of it all.

Anyway as we are going through this definitely inhospitable territory, my phone rings. “I have to take this,” I say to Mr. Waffle. “It’s the man about the engraving on my parents’ gravestone.” In retrospect, did I, did I have to take this call? Relaxed Cork voice rolls into the car saying, “I’m in the cemetery now, in front of the grave, I’ll just facetime you.” It is odd to be driving down a dirt road in Latvia with your parents’ grave in the car with you and your husband’s eyebrows up around his hairline. Anyway we agreed on what was needed, eventually, he was in no rush. And then he called me back again because he’d forgotten some detail, very relaxed indeed on his part. God in heaven, it was stressful. I still haven’t seen the gravestone in the flesh, as it were, I’ll keep you posted. It cost us a fortune and probably shortened my own life.

Anyhow, miraculously enough, we arrived in Kuldiga uninjured. We stopped at a supermarket on the outskirts of town and it had an extremely soviet feel. It reminded me a bit of the supermarkets in Bosnia in the 90s.

The Airbnb was nice and bigger than Klaipeda – which would not be hard – but it still only had 2 bedrooms so the guys had to share a room which they were very good about to be fair. I finally cracked and cooked dinner. A regret.

Daniel went for a run and said that people looked at him like he was crazy. Were they wrong? Surely this whole running enthusiasm must be close to, forgive the pun, running its course. Maybe it wasn’t the running but the fact that there was a tourist in town that turned heads. Kuldiga may be on the UNESCO world heritage site list but tourists are few and far between.

The rest of us went for a wander around Kuldiga after dinner while Michael dealt with the disturbing news that two friends of his are engaged. There’ll be more of that in his future.

Kuldiga was very, very quiet and a bit run down but clean with lots of interesting wooden buildings. It felt a bit like a town in a Western.

The town has depopulated slowly since the 1990s. It felt like somewhere that had once been prosperous but now was on its uppers. But still immaculate. I was very struck by how clean everywhere is in the Baltics compared to extremely grimy Ireland, Dublin in particular looks filthy compared to the Baltic capitals.

My brother rang to say that he had missed his train to Dublin, where our cat was anxiously awaiting his arrival. The neighbours fed the cat and my brother told us about his trip to the Olympics. He saw the pole vaulting world record and he met some Canadian Olympic rowers in a bar (that’s my brother). One of the rowers let him hold her medal though in the pictures he sent, he is holding one side and she is holding the other very firmly. Wise.

We spent the evening wondering why we thought it was a good idea to spend two nights in Kuldiga. More thrilling content soon. Something to look forward to.

Re-entry

1 September, 2024
Posted in: Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings, Twins, Work, Youngest Child

We came back last weekend and then I put in a full week in work Monday to Friday. The longest week I have ever put in. It is scarcely believable that I have to go back tomorrow. A former colleague once advised me to never start work after holidays on a Monday. Advice which I frankly would have done very well to follow.

At mass last weekend I met the granny of one of Michael’s school mates who informed me that Michael was a charming child and that she had a lovely chat with him at the bus stop. She is originally from Bere Island so we have our Cork identity in common and my sister’s partner’s parents have a house on Bere island only up the road from her family home so, you know, small world and all that. I came home and told Michael I had met his former school mate’s granny and that she had said how much she had enjoyed chatting to him at the bus stop. “Ah,” said he, “was that who she was? I thought she was just a random old lady.”

Since our return home, many of our spare moments have been spent wrestling with the garden which was almost entirely out of control and still teeters on the brink. It is apple jelly season with a vengeance, however, Falling Fruit who have come and stripped my apple trees in the past have promised that they will come in late September. That could be too late, I could be buried in apple jelly by then.

Myself and Daniel went to see the film “Kneecap“. It’s about a rap band from Belfast. I thought it was funny but probably not ideal for parent child viewing. I read some reviews afterwards and I quite enjoyed the Guardian one where it referred to one of the characters – known as mo chara – as “Chara” throughout as though it’s some kind of surname. Mo chara is the Irish for my friend and cara is the root word which only takes a “h” because of the mo/my. Look, we Irish speakers have to get our kicks where we can.

No sooner had she arrived home than herself went to Wales for a 21st. Sooner her than me. Coincidentally, my sister and her partner are in Wales also for a family wedding on his side. If there are any disasters in Wales, we are extremely exposed this weekend.

Mr. Waffle and I went on a tour of the former military school in the Phoenix Park this morning (now a geriatric hospital). Good chapel work (one of each obviously, though the Protestant one converted to Catholic at some point which seems slight overkill and now both are closed to the public and one surrounded by slightly menacing deer) but overall a bit dull.

They had an old phone booth which the guide told us they had had to lock as tourists kept going in to take selfies. I am surprised by this as it is a bit off the beaten track and seems a relatively harmless use of outdated infrastructure in any event, but there you are. As I peered in, I was reminded of how when someone picked up the phone you had to press button B so that the money would go in or else you would be cut off. I remember a girl in school said that she enjoyed ringing Australian numbers and hearing confused Australians pick up (in the middle of the night, I assume) before they were cut off as, obviously, she never pressed button B. What a time to be alive. As I say to the children, when I was young we had to make our own fun.

Full details on our Baltic holiday odyssey to follow. Something for you to look forward to.

Things

21 July, 2024
Posted in: Family, Middle Child, Princess, Siblings, Twins, Youngest Child

My sister has been cleaning out the attic of my parents’ house. A vast undertaking. My experience in the house where I grew up has made me very wary of acquiring too many things in my own. My mother always said that she was not part of the throwaway generation (note the old implied insult there, I loved my mother but she was still my mother, if you know what I mean). She meant it. They kept everything, the useful mixed in with the emphatically useless: carpet cut offs; boxes of paperbacks; silverware; children’s toys; old photos; my grandmothers’ hats and kid gloves; pots and pans; broken furniture; old correspondence; copybooks from the 30s, and 40s; you name it, it was there. To be fair to my parents, they did grow up at a time when Ireland was poor and people did keep things which we would not today. But even allowing for this, I think they were big keepers. I suppose they weren’t helped either by moving from a very large house to an Edwardian semi-D.

I feel my sister is so much more cheerful now that she has sorted through this mountain of things and – epic achievement – emptied the attic. I, unlike my parents, am always giving things away and encouraging my children to do likewise. I have discovered through Olio, that there appears to be someone who wants everything, although the effort required to get it to them can be considerable. Daniel and Michael spent a weekend in Cork helping their aunt with the attic clearance and I was gratified to hear Daniel say that I was quite right to be constantly disposing of stuff. He was horrified by the volume of things.

The most impressive thing that I ever encountered was an English woman I met in Brussels who was moving home to London. Her flat in Brussels had been large and her flat in London was much smaller. Instead of trying to repurpose her Belgian furniture and possessions, she sold or gave them all away (I still have two of her prints framed on my landing) and just kept a couple of souvenir items. “It’s a different place, it needs different things,” she explained. While I don’t know that I could ever do that, I think it is an admirable attitude. I gave my daughter some of my mother’s rings. Seeing the Princess wear them and remembering my mother wearing them makes me very happy and brings me more joy than all of the contents of the attic. I suppose I must caveat this by saying I have no idea what all the contents of the attic are.

The older I get the more I think people can be weighed down by things. My sister says that she heard an older woman say to a young woman in a shop once that there is a time for acquiring and a time for disposing and perhaps this is also true. I like to think that I was always restrained in my acquiring and by nature a disposer but how then to explain my posters of Venice from the 90s which my sister found in the attic?

P.S. Happy Belgian National Day

Late June/Early July Round Up – Bringing you Right Up to Date – Thrills

6 July, 2024
Posted in: Cork, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Reading etc., Siblings, Twins, Youngest Child

Friday, June 28, 2024

I was travelling to Cork for the the weekend and began receiving increasingly apocalyptic messages from the train people about how busy it was going to be. There were matches on, and festivals and concerts. As Mr. Waffle put it, “Overcrowding Taylor’s Version”. Honestly possibly followed by “I’m the problem it’s me”. It turns out everyone in the country is a Taylor Swift fan. Anyway, the trains were grand, you will be relieved to hear.

Saturday, June 29, 2024

The reason for my trip to Cork was to visit an old school friend. She has moved to the US and has an American husband and four American children but she bought a house in Kinsale years ago and they come to Ireland for a fortnight every summer. Genius.

I took the bus from Cork to Kinsale to see her. I haven’t been on the bus to Kinsale in years. The last time I took the bus, it was ancient, drafty, irregular and the journey took about an hour. Well, well, well things have changed I can tell you. It was a private operator (yeah, I know, they hoover up the profitable routes etc.) and the bus was convenient, punctual, clean, comfortable and speedy. It only took 25 minutes to get to Kinsale which is faster than I would do it in the car. God I was delighted.

My friend met me in the car park in town. She and her husband had had terrible food poisoning during the week and they were both still feeling a little delicate but definitely on the mend. She and I went out for a walk to the Bulman – a classic adventure – and had lunch. She couldn’t face the mussels – and who could blame her? – but I can confirm that they were very satisfactory.

Then we went back to her house so that I could inspect her children. They get bigger all the time don’t they? Her eldest son has just finished first year in college and her only daughter is starting in the autumn. All three boys still look more of less the same but her daughter has really grown up. She is a very pretty young woman and she made me feel about 102 through no fault of her own; it’s just I remember her aged 3.

While I was there, this super yacht passed by and apparently it belongs to some very rich American family who spent €80 million on it. My friends tell me the super rich Americans have bought the lovely house where my great uncle and aunt lived in the ’50s. I can tell you, the more I hear about this house, the greater my regret that my great aunt decided to sell it and move back to the city after my great uncle died. Oh well. I’m not super rich, but I’m happy.

My friend and I went back into town, explored the shops and had a cup of tea. The rain had held off for our walk in the morning but it made up for it in the afternoon. Still all grand; Kinsale is well supplied with shops worth exploring.

I was really glad I made the trip; my friend has made such an effort to stay in contact with her Irish friends and family and I am always impressed by her dedication. We met in New York last year when I was having my delightful break from work. Possibly there will be more of this kind of thing in our future.

I was staying in my brother’s house as my sister had visitors (she is in my parents’ house and my brother is in my aunt’s house which is next door, I am not sure how any of us feels about this) but I dropped in to see her in the evening. All very pleasant.

My brother had gone up to Dublin that afternoon (it’s like Lannigan’s Ball) so I had the house to myself for the evening.

Sunday, June 30, 2024

While I still bitterly lament the demise of the Crawford Gallery cafe (they have a new tenant, not at all as good), I am becoming very fond of the Good Day Deli which has an strong rus in urbe vibe and very good food.

After a quick breakfast and a farewell to my sister, I hightailed it back to Dublin. Not though before my sister had shown me a big picture of my mother and two of her classmates on the front page of the Irish Times. I can only speculate that the sight of a woman getting a master’s in science snagged the editor’s interest in the 1950s. I would say that was probably the last time a UCC conferring has featured on the front page of the Irish Times as they don’t like to include content from beyond the Pale, if at all possible. I have to say, not a great photo of my mother but there you are, exciting all the same.

Also, at the opposite end of the academic journey, my sister had found my father’s progression card from kindergarten to first grade. Goodness, gracious me, that card has had quite the journey.

Monday, July 1, 2024

Mr. Waffle and I went to see “Inside out”. It’s the kind of film that’s better if you have a young child to hand who can be persuaded to go with you. We did not.

Tuesday, July 2, 2024

Herself returned home. Let joy be unconfined etc. It is nice to have all five of us together.

Friday, July 5, 2024

I worked from home and so was in a position to see two of my three children go out for a morning run around the park. Michael a boy after my own heart, stayed in bed (he was up all night talking to his friends and following the UK general election). Where will it all end?

The Princess, Daniel and I went out for lunch together locally (Mr. Waffle was at a conference and Michael has no interest in food – how can he be my child?) and very pleasant it was too.

We spent the evening with all five of us hunched over the dining room table booking our summer holiday. Not everyone is available at the same time. The logistical challenge has left us all in an enfeebled state.

Saturday, July 6, 2024

I went to the Women Impressionists exhibition in the National Gallery. It was fine and I might go back and have another look but I was not overwhelmed. It had only four women impressionists – are there more? Don’t look at me. Berthe Morisot, Mary Cassat and Eva Gonzalès I had heard of but Marie Bracquemond was new to me. I am scheduled to go to a lecture on the exhibition next week and perhaps I will be in a better position to appreciate it thereafter. It’s one thrill after another here, right?