Michael has become obsessed with current affairs in general and elections in particular. The recent Assembly elections in Northern Ireland were of huge interest and last weekend he was to be found happily poring over pie charts in the paper and seeing to what extent his predictions had come true (he had higher hopes for Alliance, in case you’re interested). On Monday the paper also covered the Northern Ireland elections. “Are they still going on about that?” asked Michael. “Well, the election was only on Friday, so yes. Are you no longer interested?” “No, I’ve moved on to Nord Rhein Westphalia where the upcoming elections are to be an early judgement on Olaf Scholz’s success as Chancellor,” he said. I’ll keep you posted lads.
Michael
Supporters’ Club
Mr. Waffle is a faithful attender at Daniel’s matches. Dan seems to appreciate the support and I think his father quite enjoys watching him play.
On Tuesday evenings Mr. Waffle plays soccer down the road with some other men from work. One Tuesday evening Daniel announced to Michael and myself, “I am going down to the field of dreams.” We were startled and confused. He clarified that he was off to support his father in his Tuesday night kick around. I was quite touched as was his father but it is unclear if the standard of soccer will encourage him to go again.
Bring Flowers of the Fairest
I remember commenting to a Northern Protestant friend that although the devil has the best tunes (he definitely does, Protestant hymns are so much better that we have taken some, in a spirit of ecumenicism, I assume – indeed, when the Church of Ireland bishops came out and said that Covid was particularly difficult for their services because they hadn’t been able to sing and singing was such an intrinsic part of their worship, it was hard to argue), they are really missing out on the Marian hymns. She was puzzled but intrigued.
I explained to her that May is the month of our Lady. When I was in primary school we had May altars. I used to make little ones at home with flowers from the garden. I also remember picking cherry blossoms for my Nana who came to visit regularly so I may have slightly conflated the delight at her visit with the general pleasure of picking flowers for display.
In primary school each year on a glorious May day we would parade around the school yard with a statue of Mary on a plinth, balanced precariously on the shoulders of sixth class girls, saying prayers and singing hymns led by the principal – who was a nun – with a loudhailer. I wouldn’t say I loved it – and sadly, I never got to carry around the statue which was a very coveted role – but I liked it better than lessons and the flowers and the hymns were always nice.
I am reminded of this because the weather is beautiful this weekend (top tip for any tourists out there, the nicest weather in Ireland is always in May/early June) and the Botanic Gardens and the Phoenix Park, both of which I graced with my presence (making poor old Michael come with me both times, Daniel was at matches, fortunately for him) were delightful. And at mass this morning the final hymn was Bring Flowers of the Fairest which filled me with nostalgic joy.
Bank Holiday Weekend Round Up
We had my brother to stay for a couple of days last week and then my sister and her partner came around on Saturday. Very satisfactory. I do wish my siblings didn’t live quite so far away. Oh well, I suppose Cork is not as far away as it once was. When I was growing up it was a five hour car journey and trains were prohibitively expensive. So better these days I suppose. My brother is coming back this weekend to watch a rugby match so no cause for complaint there really.
Our neighbour gave us rhubarb from his allotment and I stewed it and then made custard. Then I made pavlova from the left over egg whites. Achievement level unlocked. Daniel says this is very appropriate turn of phrase as gaming instructions are often overly elaborate like this: “You have made custard and you have leftover egg whites, what do you do?” Insert warlocks and spells for custard and egg whites and there you go.
On the bank holiday Monday, we went for a walk in Wicklow. It was well trailed and the boys left the house with minimal grumbling in fairness to them. We went up to Eagle’s Crag where we have often gone before.
It didn’t rain much.
Daniel stayed with me so that I would have someone to talk to and to give me a pull up the steeper slopes. I am curious about when we swapped roles.
We missed herself.
La France a Voté
I am not sure how much more bad news I can take so the results of the French election are welcome. Michael was glued to it and even watched the Le Pen/Macron debate in French. If only I had known that this was what it would take to make him voluntarily watch French TV.
I was messaging my friend in Paris during the election and asked her whether there was any chance she knew of some job that my child could do in Paris over the summer. Sadly, she did not. Her own daughter is back for the summer (she too is studying abroad) and my friend is hunting for a job for her. How glad you must be to have her back “pour l’été” I typed. “Pour l’éternité” Apple autocorrected which caused some mild confusion. I just thought you’d like to know how ineffective it is in all languages. I am driven demented with envy by my husband’s absolutely brilliant Android autocorrect.
Belated Easter Round Up
The boys got Foil Arms and Hogg tickets for Christmas. They went with their father and their sister just before Easter and pronounced it satisfactory.
For Easter Sunday we had extended family round and it was lovely. Sadly my nephew was off in Germany with a friend (I mean not sadly for him but sadly for us as it would have been nice to have had all the cousins together) but otherwise we were all there. As the 11 of us sat down to lunch, herself said, “Have we any bubbles?” “Champagne? No,” I said. “Well even Prosecco or Moscato?” she asked. I would like to say that these are English notions but her paternal grandfather never met a celebration which he felt could not be made better by Prosecco so they are probably home grown notions. She did a great job in prepping the table. She’s quite arty; this did not come from me.
Dinner – cooked by Mr. Waffle – was reasonably successful although my four year old niece did not eat anything. “You’re not eating,” said Michael anxiously. “Michael, that you of all people should say that…” said her mother. Everyone laughed. Even Michael. He is like his grandmother who really enjoyed small children and was quite fascinated by them. Dinner was a triumph for the cat who after everyone had left the room, leapt up on the table, grabbed the remains of the leg of lamb and made off with it at speed.
There was a rather damp garden Easter egg hunt for my niece. The Easter eggs were small but many and I have never seen her more pleased than when she came in with her bucket of eggs. It was really great to have everyone together again.
The week after Easter, Mr. Waffle and I took ourselves for a walk to Portrane. We went there just as Covid was beginning and it was funny to be there now that it’s – apparently – all over.
I went to see “The Secrets of Dumbledore”. Absolutely no one in the family could face going with me, so I went on my own. At the start, Dumbledore outlines how to outwit Grindelwald: we need last minute plans, overlapping plans, confusing plans. My heart sank a bit as JK Rowling is a woman who likes a convoluted plot without making it an essential part of the plot if you see what I mean. It was alright actually but I do think the whole thing may be beginning to run out of steam.
Over the holidays I took herself to the dentist and then we bought her a ball dress. It took a lot out of both of us (far more than the dental visit which was benign by comparison). Part of the problem was that with her sylph like figure most things looked good on her and she tried on a lot of things. We bought this dress in the end. She is pleased. I hope she continues to be as she will have to get a lot of wear out of it.
I have discovered that she has become a coffee drinker. I suppose as addictive habits you pick up in college go, it could be worse. It’s always really sad when she goes back to England. Usually she’s quite perky but she was glum on this occasion – which made it worse – as she had upcoming exams and she had to unpack all her stuff from storage. Both of these weighed pretty heavily on her mind. She has on campus accommodation which I thought was terrific but it comes with the not inconsiderable downside that she has to pack up all her stuff in three large boxes for every holiday. She says third years have it down pat and only bring a t-shirt to college. For English students their parents can drive them up and down and help them with the packing but she has to do it by herself. Last time she grabbed some unfortunate random young man to help with her boxes. “Where are your parents?” he asked. “They’re not here,” she said (with a touch of bitterness, I’d say). He thought that her parents were dead and was both mortified and sympathetic until the boxes were moved and the matter was cleared up. I am beginning to realise that from now on holidays will be bookended by happy arrivals and gloomy departures. Oh well.
I trust your own Easter was satisfactory.
