I was at a wake last weekend. The corpse was in the front room and the food was in the kitchen. So far so conventional. However, this wake was catered. There were respectful gentlemen in waistcoats going around serving tea and sandwiches. It was odd but, you know, not a bad idea. I can really see it catching on.
Archives for November 2022
A Seasonal Recommendation
I know an author, oh yes. She has written a book (as authors do) and she suggests that, if I am short of content, I might give it a plug. I have not yet read it but I was in Eason’s on O’Connell street today and I was pleased to see it front and centre on the ground floor. If you are looking for a Christmas read, may I recommend Emily Bell’s “This Year’s for You and Me”? You will see that I am not alone in my recommendation as Eason’s has put it with best new fiction. If it’s anything like last year’s Christmas best seller by the same author, it’s a sweet and funny Christmassy tale. I am waiting until December to read my (already purchased to avoid disappointment etc.) copy.
Going Through my Camera Roll
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.
Aaargh
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.
On the One Hand, On the Other Hand
My Covid wheeze has finally gone (you will recall that I had Covid in June so it’s definitely taken a while). The pretty much constant cold I had for October has cleared up. I can travel outside without a packet of tissues for what feels like the first time in months. I rejoice in my lung and general otorhinolaryngological* health.
However, last week, I hurt my knee. It felt a bit like I’d pulled something. I have no recollection of anything in particular happening and I have been just waiting for it to get better. I thought about getting my skiing knee brace out of the shed but that just seemed defeatist. It hasn’t been improving but until the last couple of days, it hasn’t been getting worse either. However, this morning, I was pushing my bike across the road and had to scurry to get out of the way of an oncoming vehicle. Did my knee like the scurry? It did not. Cycling and walking are both a little bit sore. I was with Mr. Waffle when crossing the road. He has an appointment with the physio for next Tuesday to look at his sore back. It took so long to get the appointment that it is no longer sore, so he offered me the appointment instead. I think I will give it a go. Sigh.
*Many years ago, my father was offered a post working in otorhinolaryngology. He decided not to take it up and sent a telegram, “Regret cannot accept post otorhinolaryngology”. The woman in the post office refused to believe it was a real word and accused him of trying to dodge paying the proper per word fee. And my father’s story is the only reason I know the word but, you must concede, it’s a good word that deserves more publicity.
Stuff
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.
