belgianwaffle

101 Small Pleasures


Posted in: Reading etc.

A hot water bottle on a cold night;
Drinking tea from a china cup;
Seeing things which you planted grow;
Cycling over the Liffey on a fine day;
Making a cat purr;
Finishing a tube of a cosmetic;
Listening to a podcast;
Finding lost keys;
A thank you letter;
Freewheeling on a bike;

Finishing a worthy book;
Finding a new good book;
Rereading a favourite book;
An empty inbox;
Being up when everyone else is asleep;
Being asleep when everyone else is up;
Finding out a new thing;
Turning to the next month on a calendar;
Taking a good photograph;
Finishing Saturday’s paper on Saturday;

Looking at old family pictures;
Giving away old clothes;
Staying in bed for an extra half an hour;
Sleeping through the night undisturbed;
Reading in bed;
A stretch in the evenings;
Spring in the air;
The smell of freshly mown grass;
Being at home alone;
Successfully ushering a fly out the window;

Getting a seat near the fire;
Getting into dry clothes when you have been wet;
Holding hands with the children;
Making the children laugh;
An evening in when all your recent evenings have been out;
An evening out when all your recent evenings have been in;
Walking on a crisp winter’s day;
Seeing snow on the mountains from the centre of Dublin;
Snow falling;
Snow sticking;

Snowdrops in January;
Daffodils in March;
Tulips in April;
Cherry blossom in May;
The colours of leaves in autumn;
The smell of lilies;
Flowers from the garden in the house;
Lit candles;
Brass polishing;
Shining silver;
Polished floorboards;

Fresh bread and butter;
Making jam;
Eating biscuits you have made;
Pulling a working pen from the jar first time;
Finding the scissors where it is supposed to be;
A tidy desk;
A comment on your blog;
Ticking off items on a list;
Singing;
Birdsong;

The smell of clean clothes that have dried on the line;
Folded clothes;
Clean sheets;
Listening to the sound of wet car wheels on wet tarmac while lying in bed;
Finding exact change;
Getting a postcard;
Writing on heavy writing paper with a fountain pen;
Being well after you have been ill;
Waking up without a headache when you have gone to bed with one;
Poetry;

Finding something good on the television;
Compost (seriously, isn’t it miraculous?);
Watching a family film with the family;
The smell of coffee;
The smell of warm bread;
The smell of turf on the fire;
Winter sunshine;
A breeze from a window in summer;
Someone shutting the door from which a draft had been emanating;
Playing cards with the children;

Walking to school with the children;
Timing the walk to school so that all of the traffic lights are green;
A hard frost with frost on the roofs and crunchy, frosty grass underfoot;
Arriving at the bus stop, just as the bus does;
Being near water: lakes, rivers, canals and the sea;
Reading snippets from the paper to my husband;
Finishing work for the day;
Being greeted by family like a superhero on getting home from work;
The turning of the seasons;
Straightening a crooked picture frame on the wall;

Brushing my hair;
Playing with magnets;
Popping bubble wrap;
Coming to the dishwasher and finding someone else has emptied it;
A Friday evening and a Saturday in every week;
Successfully supergluing something back together;
Wearing a favourite piece of jewellery;
Observing the effect of polish on shoes;
Knowing your neighbours;
Getting in just before the rain starts;

Finishing things.
101

Happy Birthday


Posted in: Siblings

Today is my sister’s birthday. I love having a sister. I wish that I had been slightly more organised and there was the remotest chance that her present might arrive on time. Still, we have a lifetime left for me to surprise her by actually getting her present to her on time. What a delightful thought that is.

50 Years


Posted in: Cork, Family, Ireland

My parents were 50 years married on September 27. My father is 92 and mentally very well; he is exactly the same man I have always known, he hasn’t grown old and vague, he hasn’t failed to keep up with things, he still reads two papers cover to cover every day. He is certainly physically more frail but he is, in his conversation, in his views, in his pretty encyclopaediac knowledge of everything from literature to engineering, entirely the same man I have always know. Sadly, the same is not true of my mother who has been ill for a number of years with Parkinson’s disease and related dementia. Although she has good days and bad days, it is getting steadily worse. A friend of mine says that it is like seeing someone get further and further away which I think is a pretty good description. So we didn’t really do anything to celebrate my parents’ 50th wedding anniversary. I sent my father a card. It’s hard for all of us, for my father, of course, and for my brother and sister in Cork who between them visit my mother every day and, whisk her home at the weekend, if she shows any sign of being well which, increasingly, she does not.

My parents had a very happy marriage. I only saw my mother annoyed with my father twice, once when he trimmed her hair (with great reluctance on his part, rightly it turned out) and she had to go to the hairdresser and basically get it all chopped off to fix his work and once when she had finished packing for the family camping holiday in France and he wanted to get his wash bag from the bottom of the boot and she had to unpack loads of stuff. I don’t ever remember him being annoyed with her. My mother’s best friend from college, a lovely woman with whom I am still very friendly, said that my parents had the best marriage of anyone she ever knew. They were certainly very happy. Each of them thought the other was amazing. They were both right.

My mother was 31 when she got married and in 1967 that was very old and, I think, my grandparents had given up hope that their career woman daughter would ever marry anyone. My father was 42 and his family had definitely written off his chances (a guy I knew in college said that it was assumed in Cork that my father had abandoned his confirmed bachelorhood because my mother was heiress to a huge fortune; sadly, I can confirm, there was no fortune). My parents met in March, got engaged in June and were married in September. My father broke the news to my long-suffering grandmother as he was dropping her into the Imperial on the South Mall for her regular Saturday afternoon tea with my aunt Cecilia. As she stepped out of the car he said, “And by the way, I’m getting married.” He then took off on a four week sailing holiday leaving my grandmother who had never even met my mother to cope with this information as best she might.

I wish my mother were well and I miss her every single day but I know I am very lucky to have grown up in a family where my parents were so happy together so swings and roundabouts, I suppose.

Parents

Confusing


Posted in: Middle Child, Twins, Youngest Child

Our faithful former childminder, T, is coming round on Friday nights to play games with the boys and talk to them in French. They are moderately open to this and are still very fond of T who is a lovely man. Usually I leave them to it but last Friday they had a game that needed a fourth so I played too. In fairness to the boys, their comprehension is still pretty good and they both made a reasonable effort to speak some French as well. However, I noticed that Michael is getting a bit of interference from Irish. For him, it’s all about communicating and where his brother and sister would rather be silent than be wrong, he will always give it a lash and is usually broadly comprehensible. So he would say a sentence in French and often the noun would come to him in Irish so, for example, speaking about the other side of a card, instead of saying “l’autre côté” he said “l’autre taobh”. It took me a while to work out what he was getting at as he gave “taobh” the full welly in terms of French pronunciation. Poor T was, of course, utterly baffled. I trust it may all work itself out.

Mild Success


Posted in: Family, Princess, Reading etc.

I’ve spent a lot of time over the past couple of weeks on trains and I am very susceptible to advertising. “Murder on the Orient Express” has been plugged pretty relentlessly on the big screen in Heuston station. It was, therefore, perhaps inevitable then that we should go en famille on Sunday.

There was some negotiation on the timing of this. This weekend herself was out with a friend Friday morning, out with other friends Friday afternoon, at a party next door Friday night – about 70 teenagers, I applaud my neighbours – over to a friend in Kildare for a sleepover on Saturday and back Sunday lunchtime; Daniel had a play off for second place in his division of the league, they won could well be looking at promotion to division 9, and choir on Sunday morning; Michael had drama on Saturday afternoon and hockey on Sunday morning, so finding an agreed time at all was difficult. I decided we would push on even when I saw a stinker of a review in the Irish Times. We cycled in and out very successfully (back in the dark as well) and the film itself was actually ideal Sunday afternoon family fare. None of the children had read the book so the dénouement was a surprise to them. The cinematography was truly beautiful (my sister says that this is always the kiss of death for a film) and it was all enjoyable in a mild way. Herself got great entertainment from Kenneth Branagh’s Belgian accent (poor, he pronounced the f in ouefs apparently, I didn’t notice) and it was all good stuff and it prepared us psychologically for the much-regretted end of mid-term.

Bad News – Good News


Posted in: Siblings

So, my sister got diagnosed with cancer in April. It was all a bit sudden. She went into hospital for a routine procedure and they said, “Do you know what; we found a tumour.”

It was stage 1 and that is the best stage; the prognosis was really good but, oh the shock and the fear. Work were very good and let me take unpaid leave to go down to Cork and sit in while she was doing some of the chemotherapy. The world of cancer was pretty much a closed book to me in advance. I knew that the chemo drugs made you lose your hair but I hadn’t realised that this meant the hairs in your inner ear that help balance, the hairs up your nose that stop stuff getting up your nose and your eyebrows and eyelashes which mean that you have to wear sunglasses a lot to keep everything out of your eyes and you look otherworldly. I knew fatigue was a side effect but not that your limbs would go numb and your sense of taste would go. Your immune system is compromised so she got shingles as well. So, all in all, chemotherapy is pretty brutal. When you see someone fully clad in plastic carefully insert a needle into your sister’s hand to give her intravenously drugs that burn, if splashed on the skin, it is quite unnerving. She was cheerful all things considered. For the first session, she wore a thing called a cold cap that is supposed to keep the chemicals away from your head and preserve your hair. It sometimes works. It didn’t work for her. All she got was icicles in her hair and then it fell out and she bought a wig. Seriously, the cost of wigs! Who knew? Happily her insurance covered it. In fact she has made a profit on her medical insurance this year. Not as satisfying as you might have thought.

So the pattern was week 1 chemo (the longest protocol, a whole day in hospital getting drugs intravenously) and steroids to get her through it. Week 2 she felt really terrible and week 3, she began to recover and then she started the cycle all over again. Being a person of extraordinary energy and fortitude, she spent much of her recovery time sorting out administration and medical visits and all sorts of other things for my elderly parents and aunt. If you do not have elderly infirm relatives, you have absolutely no idea how much time this takes. And she’s done all sorts of big logistical things too like reorganising my father’s office and filing cabinet (not for the faint-hearted) and arranging for many of his payments to come by EFT rather than cheques which have to be cashed. She is very kind-hearted and obliging and she did all of the weird and random tasks (I need india ink for my pen, I need to renew parking permits etc) efficiently and speedily. My father, in particular, was delighted. So was I, but I was guilt ridden as well (after her first session of chemo, she came to Dublin and took the boys to Taytopark, no really). She was amazing

Anyhow, she had her last chemotherapy session three weeks ago. She is still, of course, hairless and sick as a dog and she fell and sprained her ankle last weekend which didn’t add to her happiness. I am just delighted though. She has to go back for a check up in three months but the doctors have declared the treatment a success and her treatment is over. The relief. Although she is seven years younger than me, which is a big difference when you are children, we have become very close as grown-ups. I speak to her almost every day. There is no one else who understands me in quite the same way. I am so glad that soon she will be well again. I feel we were so lucky because, if she hadn’t had that routine procedure, that tumour would have quietly gone about its work and killed her. It feels like a miracle.