Siblings

Running from Billy to Jack

21 November, 2022
Posted in: Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Siblings, Twins, Youngest Child

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.

Stuff

18 November, 2022
Posted in: Cork, Dublin, Ireland, Siblings

You will recall that I am unwilling to let my parents’ large enough collection of Cork Historical and Archaeological annual journals go to a secondhand bookshop. I am equally unwilling to give them house room here. My sister emailed me yesterday to say that the society are willing to take the journals back. They will even collect them. They have even thanked her for donating them. A thrill.

Meanwhile, in other news, I have spent the afternoon taking apart an old fence which has been awaiting my attention in the shed for some time. I escaped almost entirely unscathed although – in quite a dramatic development – a large and rusty nail attempted to pierce me in the neck as I tried to bend back the boards. Also good, on balance.

I met a friend with sciatica this morning and we had a cup of tea and then limped around the block – me with my knee and her with her hip. Is this how it’s going to be from now on? This is not the vision of being in my 50s that Hollywood has led me to expect.

Aaargh

16 November, 2022
Posted in: Cork, Dublin, Family, Ireland, Siblings

My brother decided to go to Tenerife for Christmas last year. On balance, I decided that on the first Christmas since our father died, it would not be great to leave my sister to celebrate Christmas alone with our elderly aunt (aunt is not really transportable so her Christmas has to be in Cork). We went to Cork en masse. It was pretty successful from our point of view but I would concede that it was a bit of a squash and a squeeze and, of course, my poor sister had loads of work to do as hostess.

Last year, my brother suggested putting my aunt in respite and having my sister come to Dublin. At the time, I thought it was an appalling and callous suggestion but, I have to say, now I am slightly more amenable. My brother is going away for Christmas again (Annecy, thanks for asking) and my sister has said, firmly but politely, that she’d prefer us to come to Cork after Christmas rather than for Christmas and that she doesn’t want my aunt to go into respite. I wanted to see her face to face for this to make sure that she meant it. I saw her last week, she meant it. We’re going to go down on the 27th.

Meanwhile my sister-in-law in Dublin had asked what our plans were and kindly offered to host us for Christmas day. At the time, I said that I was unsure but that we would probably be in Cork. I met my sister-in-law for lunch today and as agenda item 1, I was keen to share our Christmas news. Imagine my horror when she led with the news that, after some initial reluctance to go away for Christmas, she had taken up her brother’s invitation to spend the day in Wexford with him and his family. We both gasped on receipt of each other’s news, but sure here we are. We have agreed that we will go to their house for a family get together on St. Stephen’s Day which will be nice but not the same.

My other sister-in-law and her little family are staying in London which I totally understand.

So, in summary, I will be cooking Christmas dinner for just the five of us (possibly for the first time ever?). A change is as good as a rest, I guess.

Going Through my Camera Roll

15 November, 2022
Posted in: Cork, Dublin, Family, Ireland, Siblings

I am desperate here. I am looking through my photos for inspiration but, nothing really occurs. Join me in my exploration.

Mr. Waffle and I went to Howth for a walk at the weekend. Mr. Waffle objects to the industrial chimneys in the distance (Dublin’s incinerator and the Poolbeg towers which have something of a cult following locally and really divide opinion), but I find them kind of useful for getting my bearings. Feel free to weigh in on this thrilling topic.

What a nice photo he took of me but, why didn’t he tell me to tuck in my shirt. I suppose like my mother when I was a teenager, he thought, “Is that the fashion?” This was taken before I tripped and broke my fall by sticking my hand into a gorse bush. I looked a lot less pleased with myself then.

What is the relationship between Dublin football club Bohemians and Berlin? Bohs are definitely poor but I’m not sure about sexy.

When I was in Cork last week, my sister gave me a box of old curling photos which she found in the attic. Anyone for an over-exposed photo of my father in Stonehenge in a simpler time from a mass tourism perspective?

How about myself and my brother? Funnily enough, I made exactly the same face when I collected him from Dublin airport at 1 in the morning the other day. I knew from the moment he was born that he would be trouble and I was not wrong.

It’s funny, the picture is black and white but I remember vividly the red of that dress. No effort of memory is required for the rug which remained in use in my parents’ house until my father died. It was was in quite good nick too. They really built stuff to last then, didn’t they?

Maybe tomorrow something will happen. Hang in there.

Relationship Status: Itâ€™s Complicated

19 September, 2022
Posted in: Cork, Ireland, Middle Child, Mr. Waffle, Princess, Siblings, Twins, Youngest Child

Mr. Waffle and I were on a lovely walk (well lovely in parts, parts were a bit inhospitable, but the views were generally nice and the weather was fantastic) in Carlingford the week before last when my phone started pinging.

It was my Sunday afternoon book club speculating about the health of the Queen of England. They weren’t wrong, we arrived home in time to see the BBC read out news of her death. I was startled by how shaken I felt up there on the mountain. I mean, she was 96, it was hardly a complete surprise.

I suppose she reminds me a bit of my father who was of the same generation, just a year older; the old order changeth and all that. I remember my father telling me about the death of the old King – George V – in 1936 when my father was 10. There are few enough people now who remember that. I am surprised that, 100 years after independence, the death of a British monarch still has so much relevance here including for me

The Irish papers were full of the symbolic importance of her trip to Ireland in 2011. The children were in primary school at the time and the school closed down for the day as it was a bit close to the Queen’s visit to town. People were pretty nervous, I remember (presumably not as nervous as she was). It all went off peacefully though. She went to Cork (“Rebel County” snorted Mr. Waffle as gangs of school children waved flags to greet her on the Grand Parade). The fishmonger in the Market made a career from his brief encounter with her much to my brother’s ongoing chagrin. He feels that the fishmonger may have gone overboard on the marketing. He got a book out of the two minute encounter which was featured all over again in the Irish coverage of her death.

On the Sunday after she died, I was surprised when the priest prayed for her at mass. “We pray now for Queen Elizabeth II and that she will be forgiven her sins, and received into the Kingdom of Heaven,” intoned the priest. “That’s what we do when people die, we pray for them and for God to forgive them their sins,” he informed the slightly startled congregation.

This Sunday, I noticed on the missalette under the list of mass intentions (a list of people for whom parishioners have paid for masses to be said – don’t talk to me about the Reformation – for special intentions, anniversaries, exams, dead family members, whatever you’re having yourself) that on Monday, 19 September, somebody was having a mass said for Queen Elizabeth II (RD). RD stands for recently deceased. Like we didn’t know. There she was sandwiched in between Bennie and Maisie (anniversary) and Pat and Mary (deceased) and sitting underneath the information that it was the feast day of Saint Januarius, Bishop and Martyr.

The second reading from St. Paul (something of a pragmatist) to Timothy was timely:

My advice is that, first of all, there should be prayers offered for everyone – petitions, intercessions, and thanksgiving – and especially for kings and others in authority so that we may be able to live religious and reverent lives in peace and quiet. To do this is right, and will please God our saviour: he wants everyone to be saved and reach full knowledge of the truth.

It really feels like the end of an era.

Updated to add: this appeared in today’s Irish Times. My brother is going to get a hernia.