Sister (to me last week): You haven’t updated your blog in ages.
Daughter: I know, and I have said so many blog worthy things.
So, obviously, I’m back.
Siblings
Catastrophe
I have two parents and between them, they have broken 3 hips since last March. My poor mother broke her second early on Friday morning. Now that I am a veteran of the procedure, I am no longer appalled that she and my brother spent 12 hours in A&E before she got onto a ward [Is it worth pointing out that she and my father have what our Minister for Finance calls “gold plated” health insurance?]. Since both of the last hips were broken on bank holiday weekends, that meant it was days before the operation. This time, my mother had her operation on Saturday after being admitted just after midnight on Friday night which was pretty good going. My brother and sister who are both in Cork have been visiting and minding but I was down at the weekend and although it was good for me to see her, the benefit to the patient was pretty negligible as she was still sleeping after the operation for all of my time there.
I am becoming very familiar with the hospitals in Cork. I particularly enjoy the disembodied English voice at the main entrance to the University Hospita which tells visitors to sanitise their hands. It also says, vainly, to the smokers in their dressing gowns who are sucking on their cigarettes in the wind tunnel nearby that “This is a smoke free campus.” Then acknowledging reality it goes on to add sternly, “Your smoke is disturbing patients in the cardiac and cancer wings overhead.” Frankly, I would be surprised, if this were the case, given the chill wind whistling though the underpass where the smokers huddle.
I fear my mother’s recovery from this will be long and slow. Alas. Cheerful broken hip stories in the comments please.
Today’s Crisis
I found this note in the kitchen when I got home:
Further investigation revealed that the cat had finally caught a plump city pigeon [a long held ambition, previously unrealised] which she had brought into the utility room to eat. The children gleefully told me that the utility room had been filled with feathers which the childminder swept up. She also removed the bloody corpse to the intense chagrin of the cat. For her (childminder’s not cat’s) own obscure reason she deposited it in a plastic bag by the door of the shed. When Mr. Waffle got home, he had to bring it through the house and put it in the outside bin. The horror.
Also, my brother turned up unexpectedly at tea time. We had Domino’s pizza for dinner, so a day of unhealthy eating all round.
Do I Despise Me?
My sister took me to Kildare Village today. It’s essentially a shopping centre in the middle of nowhere surrounded by a car park.
It was a bizarrely antiseptic experience walking around the streets of this spotless, tiny, artificial town. No civic architecture, no life or purpose other than neat little shops in this lifeless, manicured space.
We went for a cup of tea and through the window we saw an old abbey; surprising, but very pleasing.
“We can go and look at it, if you like,” said my sister.
“But we haven’t seen all the shops yet,” I said.
Practical Application of Science
Me: Do you know where the round table is?
My sister: The attic.
Me: Oh God, any idea where?
Her: No. The attic is like Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle; the more sure you are that something is up there, the less likely you are to be able to locate it.
The Agony and the Ecstacy
My brother who, despite his many flaws which I would be only too happy to list, given half a chance, is very kind and generous. Last Sunday, Cork played Dublin in the all-Ireland senior hurling championship in Croke Park the national stadium. My brother got tickets for himself and Daniel to go together (the other two children being uninterested in the prospect). Daniel was extremely excited. I was torn; obviously, I wanted Cork to win, more particularly since Dublin had already beaten Cork in the football and if they beat them in hurling as well (not a traditional Dublin strength) the children would be unbearable. On the other hand, it was Dan’s first match at Croke Park and I really wanted his team to win.
It was a very close match and according to my brother, Daniel really enjoyed it. But, in the end, it was clear that Cork were going to win. Daniel wept into his Dublin flag for the last 10 minutes. My brother said that Cork and Dublin fans alike tried to comfort him but he was inconsolable. When I asked him later what people had said to him he said, “I didn’t listen, I was too sad.” Alas, it is hard to be seven and see your team lose.
Here are the rivals before the match. They posed with a baseball bat for reasons which are not now clear to me. Obviously, a hurley would have been better.
