Siblings

May Bank Holiday Round Up

3 May, 2023
Posted in: Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Siblings, Travel, Twins, Youngest Child

I have been absent. My blog has been unwell but now, I think, I hope, that all is well. I have paid a man money and he has resolved matters. It was pleasing that even the tech expert was baffled by what had happened and had to himself engage with my webhost with various questions I could in no way understand.

You find me languishing at home with a slight head cold after a very busy time. Thrills.

First up, I have attended my last parent council meeting. Eight years of indentured servitude over. Lord, I found it tedious, though occasionally useful. For reasons that are too dull to explain I got a hamper at our last meeting and it contained a lifetime’s worth of chocolate and a presentation box of Teeling’s whiskey which I was planning to give away as a present but before I could do so, Michael broke it. Win some, lose some.

I went to the pastels exhibition in the National Gallery which I would really recommend. Who did I see there only Elizabeth Farren, later Countess of Derby? You will recall that I saw a beautiful full length portrait of her with a muff in New York. Let me remind you.

The one in the National Gallery was much less flattering but it disclosed the vital information, inexplicably ignored by the Met curators, that she was originally from Cork. Good girl yourself, Elizabeth.

Mr. Waffle and I went to see an amateur production of “The Importance of Being Earnest”. Not too bad actually and we had dinner after in our friends’ house. Our hospitality debt is currently of almost unfeasible proportions.

Last Friday, we had a woman who used to mind the children when they were small around for tea. She was super-nice and always adored the children and they were very fond of her too. She was delighted to see the boys and they were saintly and talked to her for ages, particularly Michael who stayed for her full two and a half hour visit (Dan had training). Her health has not been great and I think she’s quite lonely. She looked amazingly well though. We had a long chat and one of the things she said was that her first language was Alsacienne (sp?) but none of the young people speak it now which is a shame. I am a big Francophile but I think their attitude to minority languages leaves a lot to be desired. Obviously Alsace is a very contested part of France and she talked a bit about her parents’ hair raising experiences during the second world war. And also her own hair raising experiences of trying to get a new flat in Dublin when her landlord sold up. She’s in housing for older people now and she has a nice small apartment and she can stay there indefinitely. She’s very pleased but as it only came through a fortnight before she had to vacate her previous accommodation, it took a lot out of her.

On Saturday night, the boys and I went to see Foil, Arms and Hog in Vicar Street. Honestly, they’re hilarious.

A couple of weeks ago, a guy I had gone out with in Rome in 1993 contacted me. We hadn’t totally lost contact after I left Rome and we’d been to each other’s weddings in 2000 and 2001 respectively but we basically hadn’t seen each other since. His youngest daughter was doing an English course in Dublin and he and his wife were visiting, could we meet up? I invited them to dinner on the bank holiday Sunday (I thought we might have a barbecue, pause for laughter). He sent me a photo of his family, I sent him a photo of mine. None of us have got any younger but we have produced 6 beautiful children between us.

Anyway on the Sunday they arrived. I nearly lost my life not only were the parents and the English learning child in Dublin there but also the other two children. We had enough food but it was touch and go and only my ludicrous over-buying saved us from disaster. On the plus side, all the children got on like a house on fire. Their eldest (20) who looks like a sporty cool dude was a complete nerd on the inside and he and Michael really bonded. Almost the first words out of his mouth when he came into the house were “You have Risk Game of Thrones”. Sadly, this is true. It’s so strange – but really nice – to see people again after such a long time and their children who you never knew existed. The parents work in Geneva and they seem to have three Swiss children even though she is Spanish and he’s Italian. The children’s Spanish and Italian is perfect as is their French, obviously, and I can tell you their English is pretty good too.

On Monday, exhausted from our day of hosting, the boys stayed home to swot for the Leaving Cert which (terrifyingly) is now next month (they were pretty impressed by the more relaxed system that appears to apply in Switzerland and the Swiss kids were equally horrified by the ides of everything hanging on one exam). Mr. Waffle and I went to Kilkenny for a day out. Mr. Waffle’s great grandfather was a fireman in Kilkenny (thank you 1911 census records) and we went and inspected his house which was a solid brick built construction. And we also visited Kilkenny Castle – finally value for my OPW family card – and did the tour. I was, yet again, so impressed by the quality of the OPW tour guides. One of the first inhabitants of the castle in the early 1200s was Isabel de Clare who said the guide, inherited a lot of her land from her grandfather who was a king. Could this be the daughter of Richard de Clare or Strongbow who basically started the 800 years of oppression? It could indeed and the guide threw in for free that Isabel and her mother Aoife are buried in Tintern Abbey in Wales which I am now keen to visit.

And my brother pitched up at our house on Monday with all his worldly belongings. He has got the ferry home from France and is on his way back to Cork but working from Dublin for the week. He likes to keep us all on our toes.

And how was your own bank holiday weekend?

Random St Patrick’s Week Round Up

14 March, 2023
Posted in: Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings, Travel, Twins

I have had a busy week. I was in Kildare Village during the week. I find this very difficult. It’s an out of town shopping centre in thrall to the car. A completely privatised space with the shopping area unrelated to Ireland and more American architecturally than anything else. It reminds me most of Disneyland Paris. You could be anywhere really. However, it is spotless and it has a Villeroy and Boch shop. And it is handy. I bought new luggage. And while I sneered, I also loved the pristine streets – there was a woman walking around with a dustpan and brush even though smoking is prohibited so less of a problem with the ubiquitous cigarette butts than on the public street – and the “public” toilets were spotless. I bought a jacket. Made in North Macedonia. Surprising.

I was amused by their choice of poetry in the flowerbeds. It just seemed an odd choice for somewhere so privatised and controlled. Kind of the opposite of woodland paths.

The play area had signs in a combination of languages I have not previously seen together.

Mr. Waffle was away during the week so the children and I had to struggle on alone. On seeing the table laid for dinner for three, Daniel commented, “It’s fewer all the time, someday it will just be for one, huh?”. Thank you Daniel. The fact that this thought had already occurred to me did not make his remarks any more welcome.

On Wednesday afternoon every socket in the house went. I consulted the internet, I rang Mr. Waffle abroad, I put a pathetic message out on the neighbourhood whatsapp group and I called three electricians to no avail. The fridge was gone, the heating was gone, the internet was gone. I was slightly despairing. Then I rang my sister who is handy. She suggested a number of solutions and we tried them all. Ultimately, we were able to get the downstairs sockets and the heating working. I have never been so grateful to her in my life. Then an electrician rang back and agreed to come the next day.

When the electrician arrived he discovered that the problem was the immersion. I didn’t even know the immersion switch existed (we have a boiler and I have poked at its control panel but I didn’t really know we had an immersion). “How long has this been on for?” the electrician asked sternly. I had to confess that since I had never known of its existence, possibly since we moved into the house 10 years ago. “Have you never heard of turning off the immersion?” he asked sternly. I have, of course I have, I just didn’t understand we had one. The immersion has a totemic importance in Irish lives and if you have no idea what I am talking about, I suggest that you watch this comedy routine through to the end to see what I mean. Now reflect on the fact that our immersion has been on for 10 years.

The electrician doesn’t even reckon we need it with the boiler. He left with the sockets restored, â‚¬140 and my conviction that he inadvertently took my phone charger as well (he denies same but where is it otherwise?). The savings we will make on our electricity bill, particularly in the current climate, will more than pay for a new charger, I suppose.

I have learnt all Duolingo has to teach me in Ukrainian, so I had a first lesson. Much work to be done.

I heard a funny story that tells you a bit about Ireland. Because of the way entry to our higher education system works, in the past, certainly, and possibly still today, many high achievers put both medicine and law on their application forms. The logic was that you didn’t want to let your “points” for university entrance go to waste. Medicine was always – and remains – the hardest course to get into and law was the next hardest (though I think this is now less true than it used to be). Although these are very different disciplines, I suppose they do have in common that they are the gateways to the traditional professions. Anyway, this story is about a woman who was managing partner in a big law firm and went home to the west of Ireland for a funeral. One of the elderly mourners met her and trying to place her asked, “Are you the girl who didnâ€™t get into medicine?” She was.

Herself is in Sofia. I am still scarred by my last time in Sofia but she was not deterred. She has confirmed that she is alive and it is snowing.

At mass this morning, the parish priest in his sermon said that after escaping from slavery in Ireland and before coming back to convert us all, St. Patrick went to Tours. Surprising. Apparently he was a first cousin of St Martin of Tours on his mother’s side (this is what the priest said). Can this be true? Having been to both Tours (you will recall herself spent some time there a number of years ago) and the St. Patrick museum in Downpatrick, I cannot say that I am familiar with this story. We live and learn.

My sister and her partner are coming to visit us this afternoon. I was beyond appalled to get this message from her.

Herself had expressed an interest in a small, uncomfortable (though not unattractive) sofa which used to belong to my parents. I thought confidently that it could stay in my sister’s house until herself was ready to take it into her own home (ten years? never? who knows?). I reckoned without my sister. It is on its way. I suppose it can go into the Princess’s bedroom which is already host to two armchairs and a gossip chair and is rapidly turning into a lumber room. Sigh.

In any event, a very happy St. Patrick’s Day to you.

54

9 March, 2023
Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Reading etc., Siblings, Twins, Youngest Child

I was in Cork during the week with my bike. God, it absolutely lashed, it also snowed and hailed. And it was uncharacteristically chilly. I had kind of forgotten the intensity of Cork rain, cosseted as I am in Dublin where it never rains much. My rain gear which is fine in Dublin proved inadequate for Cork. I was out and about a bit so it was put under some strain. Inter alia, I went to see Reggie in the Everyman – funny in places but pretty site specific as they say, can’t see it travelling outside Cork – Reggie was in Elec Eng the year ahead of me in college and I’d say that he has more lucrative ways to make a buck so he must really love it. He was a brilliant debater in college and the best bits of the show are when he interacts with the audience, he’s very fast on his feet. Something about his accent and some of his expressions really remind me of the Cork of my youth and my parents’ friends so I have a bit of a soft spot for him.

The purpose of my visit was to keep an eye on my aunt as my sister was away. To be honest she seemed pretty well minded without me and I was quite impressed by the trail of people in and out every day which my sister masterminds from her fastness next door. Still, my aunt was very glad to see me which was pleasing.

I found a box of my mother’s old papers from before she was married. There were loads of old letters and her diary from the year she spent in England. I had a quick look through it pending a more thorough perusal in due course and many days are marked in capital letters NO POST. My poor mother. That said, the box is full of letters sent to her in England so there must have been some post.

I came back on the train on Thursday. My rain gear completely gave up the ghost on the cycle to the station. My boots (still drying as I type) were super saturated as were my socks. My rain jacket and trousers leaked at cuffs, joints and hems soaking through all the layers I was wearing. I was, foolishly, not wearing waterproof gloves but my nice Paula Rowan ones that Mr. Waffle bought me one Christmas. I literally had to wring them out in the station. They will never be the same again. I was frozen and damp on the train home. Sigh. Don’t give me this “There’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing” guff.

I derived mild pleasure from sending my brother this picture from the train showing snow in Tipperary as he is in Morzine next week and rain is forecast. Rain!

I arrived home safely in time for my birthday celebrations. Mr. Waffle had made superhuman efforts as had all of the children. I got messages from all and sundry (why would you keep your birthday a secret? why?) and lovely flowers from a former colleague as well as great presents from Mr. Waffle, the children and my siblings. A triumph overall.

Sadly Mr. Waffle was up to his tonsils at work and couldn’t take the day off. It was snowy but bright and sunny (Dublin weather) so I went to the park and took some pictures for myself. Sadly, I also got a puncture but into every birthday some rain must fall (though not, generally, in Dublin).

We were invited to dinner at my oldest friend’s house. I have known her since I was born (our parents were friends). On the way over to her house I explained to Mr. Waffle how this was an important time as until April 20 (her birthday) we were the same age and she could no longer tell me what to do. Mr. Waffle said, “I think that was understandable when you were children but it’s a bit weird that you are still talking about it now.” I was extremely pleased that her birthday card adverted to this very fact.

I must say being 54 is not at all as I anticipated when I was 24. I am beginning to realise that everyone is still 24 on the inside.

I Gambled and Won

2 March, 2023
Posted in: Mr. Waffle, Siblings, Travel, Twins, Youngest Child

My brother invited me out to visit him in Annecy. After some humming and hawing I decided to go – my main concern was whether his flat would be habitable by someone with my high standards.

Thursday, 16 February

My v saintly husband drove me to the airport at 5 in the morning and I flew into Geneva at the crack of dawn (OK about 10 local time).

I had decided to spend the day in Geneva. I have been to Geneva before for work but never really explored it as a tourist. When I arrived in the city, it struck me how clean the air seemed. No wonder they sent invalids to Swiss sanatoria.

The first thing I saw was the Jet d’Eau and I know that they’re very proud of it but I’m sorry Geneva, it is the world’s most boring city landmark.

I followed my guidebook to the centre of the old town. The weather was absolutely beautiful. I had my lunch outdoors on the square. I had tartiflette – getting into the spirit of my Alpine adventure – and I was delighted with myself.

The old town was almost entirely car free with many cyclists. Pleasing. It didn’t seem to be touristy at all really although there were many shops selling tourist tat near the station – perhaps a Thursday in February is not peak tourist time. The old town was reasonably quiet and I was able to walk in the footsteps of Calvin (very big man locally) pretty much on my own.

The cathedral is very plain in a manner that is quite strange if you’re used to Catholic churches. That’s the altar:

They had Calvin’s chair as well. Suitably plain.

They had a monument to the Dukes of Rohan as well which I really liked but all I could think was “the riders of Rohan going to the aid of Gondor”. Different family.

Overall, it was very plain but whoever decorated the side chapel – the chapel of the Maccabees – did not get the memo and that is quite the sight particularly after the main cathedral.

Calvin feels very present in Geneva.

So, mind you, does Jean Jacques Rousseau who also seems to be something of a local hero.

There were posters everywhere for local referenda. Michael says “I told you they operated by direct democracy voting on every issue and you didn’t believe me”. I believe him now.

I went to the musÃ©e des beaux arts which is a big building with a slightly eclectic collection. Some nice pictures. I enjoyed this one by Hoppner of Lady Stafford as Hebe.

And also this one by Rigaud of the snappily tilted Elisabeth Charlotte of Bavaria, Duchess of OrlÃ©ans and Princess of the Palatine. Wikipedia says that she “gained literary and historical importance primarily through preservation of her correspondence, which is of great cultural and historical value due to her sometimes very blunt descriptions of French court life”. I am not surprised.

In some ways this was probably the most interesting picture. It sets the biblical scene in Geneva and you can see all kinds of contemporary local colour in the background including soldiers, farmers and houses on stilts in the mud (some of the stilts are preserved in the city museum, honestly, not fascinating).

The museum had a couple of rooms which were transported from a castle or big house, alas I forget where (wainscotting, old furniture, you know the kind of thing). Outside these rooms, a young Indian woman was hovering. She approached me, “Do you speak English?” She asked whether I would mind going around the rooms with her as she was afraid to do so as they were very creepy and there was no one else around. I found it a bit odd but I was happy to oblige. She was from Delhi and had just arrived in Geneva to study. I said that my sister had lived in Delhi. She asked where I was from and then told me that her sister had been working as an actuary in Dublin for the past seven years. Small world and all that.

For the record, the rooms were not at all creepy but I am middle aged and clearly not as imaginative as she was.

I also took in the city museum. I always enjoy a city museum. The contents can be so…varied. This was my first guillotine.

I found the basket to catch the severed heads singularly unnerving. Maybe I am more imaginative than I thought.

There was a really excellent audio visual display where they projected old maps on to a relief on the floor showing how the city had grown. Possibly I have been influenced by nearly 22 years of marriage to my map loving husband.

Then I headed off to the bus station which was quite grim. There was a bus there from Kosovo (Pristina to Geneva direct). Imagine all that distance and you couldn’t even afford a cup of tea at the end of it (making assumptions about income levels in Kosovo but honestly I paid â‚¬4.50 for a cup of tea in a transport caf type place across the road from the station, dear for anyone for God’s sake).

The bus ride to Annecy (difficult to pronounce, I assure you) was uneventful other than my role as an interpreter between the bus driver and a young Japanese woman (he was keen to explain to her how to get a â‚¬10 refund and it was complicated).

It was about an hour to Annecy and Dan was waiting for me. His flat was actually very clean and comfortable. I was delighted. And, you know, relieved.

Friday, 17 February

My brother had taken the day off work and he drove us up to the 3 VallÃ©es. I’m only used to the kind of ski holiday where you stay in the resort so it was pretty weird to be driving up but Dan was really familiar with everything and dropped me at a ski hire place right beside the lift where I could also get a ski pass. It took about five minutes and was super handy. I was, honestly for the first time ever, very impressed by my brother’s organisational skills. Also the guy in the ski hire place had spent six months in Cork in 1993 and he gave me a 25% reduction and a free helmet for the day. What’s not to love?

I haven’t been skiing since 2019 and I was pretty nervous especially since I had hurt my knee. I haven’t been skiing with my brother in more than 20 years when I was much better than him but he’s been practicing in the interim and my limited prowess has lessened. He spent a season in Chamonix a couple of years ago skiing every day and he’s really good now (at least compared to me). I went very slowly down some blues and greens and he was super patient.

We had a lovely lunch up the mountain. He seriously suggested that we could get sandwiches from the Spar in the town and eat them in the gondola going up. The horror. He still has some things to learn. We had to queue a little bit to get in and people with reservations were slipping past including some famous English actor – unknown to me but the English man behind and Daniel were suitably impressed. Apparently he was in a number of shows none of which I had seen. Low levels of thrills, frankly. Which is not what could be said for the tartiflette which was, frankly, superior to the offering in Geneva. What? I was in the mountains.

Having had a pretty successful day until about 3, things started to go downhill (hah!) and much of the last run of the day I spent on my bottom. I didn’t injure myself as I was proceeding very slowly but it was icy and when I went over I was stuck like a beetle on my back (technically on my side). The skiing world chamionships were on and that must be why a woman labelled National Team of Haiti was around to come to my aid. I mean I don’t think she was on the team – more part of a supporting cast but I feel that as an Irish person I should be at least as good at skiing as someone from Haiti. Definitely, definitely not so.

Dan was an absolute hero nursing me down the slopes but I felt a bit foolish and disgruntled. I have never been a brilliant skier but I was fine on blue and green and could do a red on a good day but look at me now.

Saturday, 18 February

My sister was coming in via Chicago where she had been for work. My brother went off to the airport to collect her (I was very relaxed about getting the bus until I discovered that literally every other person who has visited him has got a lift, however, I was so pleased with him after the previous day that I couldn’t be annoyed).

I spent the morning exploring Annecy and reading the local paper. I read a horrendous story of some misfortunate skier who had an accident on the slopes and was being skied back to safety by someone pushing a stretcher. You know the kind of thing. Anyway as he was being taken down the mountain a skier (or possibly snowboarder) took out the guy pushing the stretcher and the stretcher went flying down the mountain where it was finally stopped by some trees but having started with a simple broken leg the skier had much more serious injuries after this. And obviously trussed up like a chicken there was absolutely nothing he could do in his stretcher to halt its breakneck progress. How singularly unfortunate was this guy? I mean did I feel lucky now? Oh yes I did.

Annecy is absolutely beautiful and quite charming. The bishop of Geneva hung out there when Calvinism was having its moment and it was the catholic counterweight to Calvinist Geneva. Be that as it may it doesn’t seem to have done the local churches much good when the revolution came and they were used as stables. Poor old Jeanne de Chantal was dug up.

The Alps are visible from many of the roads in the town. They provide a spectacular but, alas, increasingly unsnowy backdrop to the town.

The town has a river and a number of canals and like many another spot (Bruges, Ghent, Cork) calls itself the Venice of the North.

I was shocked (SHOCKED) to see this sign outside the Monoprix.

I had a bit of a wander around the shops. I am pleased to report that in Annecy they will let you speak French and will not insist on speaking English to you. The traditional quintessential Annecy thing is a child chimney sweep. In the mountains the population was poor and things were tough. Rather than having an extra mouth to feed in winter parents would send off children as young as six with what I think we would now call a gangmaster and have them sweep chimneys for the winter. As Mr. Waffle said, they seem surprisingly proud of their history of child labour. Actually, the enthusiasm seems to be dying out a bit and there were relatively few child chimney sweeps about.

I was extremely impressed by the tourist office where I went to pick up a map – truly excellent advice on what to do and where to eat. I couldn’t help comparing it with Rye in England (a beautiful place to visit but one where you have to pay for the tourist map of the town and the tourist office is underwhelming, public private partnership gone too far).

When my sister got in she was tired having flown from Chicago via Heathrow. My brother and I let her have a nap and went up to a small resort near the city – Semnoz – (just a couple of lifts and a pub really) for a drink and a look at the views. The views were spectacular but there is no doubt that snow was in short supply. It hadn’t snowed since mid-January and we had our drinks outside in a sea of mud (which in happier times would have been snow).

The sunset was spectacular but it is hard to do it justice with a photo.

I’m sure there will be snow again but the trend is not cheering. In the car we listened to an article about future proofing ski resorts. Apparently the 3 VallÃ©es can cover 65 square kilometres with artificial snow at the touch of a button but the smaller and lower resorts seem doomed. One of the people interviewed said that perhaps in 50 years people will come to the resort just to see snow as there won’t be any elsewhere. Honestly I did feel a bit that I was fiddling while Rome burned.

My sister having somewhat recovered from the rigours of her flight felt able to dine out so we did. Satisfactory.

Sunday, 19 February

We cycled around the lake, a distance of 38 kms. My longest ever cycle and it was amazing. Here is your intrepid reporter wearing the ski jacket that she bought for her first ski trip in 1990. Vintage. Honestly it must have been enormous when I bought it in Modena where I was studying at the time as it is still a little baggy.

It was almost all on segregated cycle paths and the views were superb.

We stopped for lunch in a delightful little town (the venue was recommended by the tourist office and the woman also recommended that we book – two excellent pieces of advice). It was quite lovely.

The chemist Berthollet is from there for those of you interested in chemists.

My sister still recovering from her trip found it a bit more trying than my brother and me but she had hired an electric bike so it was less exhausting for her. Although she was the only one in the group suffering from jet lag

Our afternoon stop was near the end but I became tense that we might not get the bikes back in time. In fact there was no need to worry. A truly excellent day and unlike my skiing day, at no point did I fall or feel like I might die amid a happy bunch of five year olds (this is who you ski with on the green slope) and better again I wasn’t at all stiff or sore afterwards. A strong contrast with my post ski experience.

Monday, 20 February

My sister was staying in a hotel in town having (probably correctly) deemed my brother’s flat too small for all of us. I walked into town and we met for breakfast and explored the joys of the bus station (much nicer than Geneva) from whence we would both be going back to the airport in due course.

She was still a bit under the weather so went back to bed. Meanwhile I had a nice lunch and a boat trip on the lake which I would highly recommend. I tried to tempt my sister out but she couldn’t face it as she had been extravagantly ill on her most recent boat trip. And although she conceded that the lake in Annecy was unlikely to present the same challenges as the ferry to Skellig Michael she was steadfast in refusing to go.

It was a shame because I think she might have liked it. It was interesting to see from the lake the places we had explored on shore the previous day on our cycle ride.

When I got back to land, my sister had been consulting guides and offered the glad tidings that the castle was open on Mondays. An extremely unlikely development designed to trap the unwary. We had an enjoyable poke around.

There were some nice paintings of the local area. It was a lot more snowy in the 1800s.

There was a chimney sweep. Naturally.

And a pleasing wooden statue of Saint Hubert (patron saint of hunters, in case you were wondering).

Tuesday, 21 February

The three of us met for breakfast and then my sister took the bus back to Geneva (the only other guest my brother has had to explore the joy of the bus).

My brother and I drove up to a slightly nearer resort called La Clusaz. This seemed to be almost entirely full of French families whereas the 3 VallÃ©es had a lot of English and Irish groups. It’s a smaller resort but still plenty big enough for me. I thought the snow was a bit worse but there were some lovely long easy trails through the forest which I enjoyed although the workmen shovelling snow from the sides on to the piste were a bit unnerving.

I fell over because my skis stopped suddenly on grass. Easy enough to get up I suppose but unpleasant. I really had a complete failure of nerve and refused point blank to go up to the top of the mountain and ski down a red with my brother. We had lunch up the mountain in a less lovely self service restaurant (I took my eye off the ball there) and then skied slowly down to the bottom. I sent my brother off up the mountain and took the button lift up and down the nursery slope. Humiliating? Well yes. Enjoyable? Also yes.

I finished up and went into town where everyone was dressed up for mardi gras. Asterix was the theme in the cafe where I went for a restorative vin chaud.

My brother made it safely off the mountain and we went into town where we had a booking at a lovely restaurant. I’d got him a voucher for there for Christmas so it seemed a bit unfair that I should get to benefit but he didn’t seem to mind and we both really enjoyed our dinner.

Wednesday, 22 February

Up at the crack of dawn to get my flight home. I have to say my brother was a brilliant host. He went to loads of trouble and I had an excellent time. Who would have thought it?

My kind husband collected me from the airport and after some confusion we managed to find each other. This enabled me to forgive him when I found that he had turned off the Aga. It was considerably colder in Dublin than in Annecy so it went straight back on again. The bill is truly terrifying and probably not great for the future of snow either but there it is.

The blossoms were out on next door’s plum tree and spring was a lot further along than when I left it. All in all nice to be home. I want Mr. Waffle to contemplate a spring break in Annecy next year though. We will see. Meanwhile, I have bought myself a Christmas table cloth as a souvenir. Mr. Waffle got a chimney sweep fridge magnet. Delighted.

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: Cork, Family, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings, Twins

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.