I got my hair cut recently. I was speaking with some enthusiasm about the new hairdresser when Mr. Waffle commented, “Il faut jamais changer du coiffeur”. “Eh?” “Remember, the obstetrician said it when you were giving birth.” I am glad that he has treasured this advice all these years to be produced at an opportune moment.
Mr. Waffle
More Birthday – Normal Service Resumes Tomorrow
Mr. Waffle and I went for a birthday walk in the mountains today. It was an absolutely beautiful day as you can see from this photo taken in town at 9 this morning.
Unfortunately, my pictures from the mountains do not do the day justice. But never mind, I will make you suffer anyhow.
Before:
During:
[Sore knee from skiing – Andorra ’96 – coming back to haunt me somewhat during the ascent along with pulled calf from tennis match on Friday night. This is what happens to the elderly.]
And the view from the café afterwards:
.
My 5 year old niece has just called me because she remembered it was my birthday – that’s the kind of dedication we like to see in young children. My father and aunt sent cards. I got lovely presents from family members. Lots of people emailed. This is the first birthday, though, when I haven’t spoken to my mother because she is just not well enough to talk to me. She is, however, the person who taught me to continue enjoying birthdays as a grown-up so I am sure that she would be delighted that I am still celebrating with enthusiasm.
Here is my cake.
Basking in Reflected Glory
One Sunday, the Princess did a second reading, Mr. Waffle did a bit at the start of mass and all the children did prayers of the faithful. I didn’t do anything, though, as Mr. Waffle pointed out, “We’re not the ones who need practice with our public speaking.”
As Mr. Waffle was doing his bit, a neighbour in the seat behind poked me in the ribs and said, “He’d be perfect for RTE.” I assume, a compliment. The American priest said mass; we’re getting used to him. At the end, he singled out herself for particular praise, “I would like to compliment the young lady who read the second reading; it’s a difficult text and she read it beautifully.” Everybody dutifully clapped and herself was mortified, though pleased. This kind of announcement in the church is, of course, the kind of thing I normally despise but, like many another thing, it’s never so bad when you’re involved yourself.
I think I have reached the high water mark in church engagement. From here, it’s all downhill. Indeed, Michael has recently begun pumping the air when the priest says “Mass is ended” which is unwelcome.
Touching
Mr. Waffle came home from football with a nasty cut on his arm from a fall on the astroturf. Daniel asked anxiously whether the physio had been called on to the pitch.
My Goose is Cooked
We are ready.
Mr. Waffle has picked up the turkey [tomorrow I will cook turkey for the first time – I am hoping the people who say it is a big chicken are right].
The Princess is singing a solo at the carol service tonight [a verse of Away in a Manger] and she is filled with trepidation but at least she is clean and so are her clothes – so a triumph, for me, anyhow. She may also be on television later, or she may be on the cutting room floor [she spoke to camera about what Christmas meant to her but so did winsome 4 year olds so she is pessimistic about making the cut]. We will gather around the television filled with anxious anticipation. Michael is resigned to going to the carol service which he will not enjoy as every time we sing around the house he puts his hands to his ears to “stop them bleeding”. He is also clean. Daniel is singing in the choir. He will be clean as soon as the Grinch is over.
I hope that you have a lovely, lovely Christmas and that at least one of your presents is what you always wanted.
DIY
I spent €142 on lampshades in IKEA. Nobody noticed the number of bulbs without shades but me; it was gnawing away at me. As soon as I got home, I put them all up, without assistance. Throughout the week there was a mild burning smell. I got home one day to find a blown bulb with a piece of melted plastic adhering to its surface. My husband was reproachful. He re-fitted all the bulbs. It turns out that these lampshades are trickier to fix than you might think. Do not mock the afflicted.
In other news, we made a last ditch attempt to mend the broken door handle with sugru having tried, and failed, several times with superglue. The problem is that it’s a door handle and you forget that it is supposed to be bonding and pull it off at a crucial moment. After each of us in turn had pulled off the sugrued door handle, Mr. Waffle covered it in a yoghurt pot and some threatening notes:
It was probably too little, too late. It didn’t stick anyhow and I have bought new door handles from China at €25 a pair. They are waiting under the stairs until after Christmas when we all feel stronger.
Did I mention that the bad weather has knocked slates off the roof as well? What are the chances of getting a roofer out between now and New Year? Pretty poor, I think we can agree. Never mind, we are so handy, I’m sure we can sort something out ourselves [insert snort of derisive laughter here].
