By
noeleenm on August 10th, 2007
Last night we had a midnight feast…
We didn’t set out to have it, unlike Kasia’s birthday which we celebrated a week after Jan’s, and unlike the dinner we’ve planned for Sunday week for no other reason than it seems like a good idea - and Gail and Jan have been nagging about it.
Since Kasia’s birthday, she’s been to Belgium to visit her parents (her Dad works there and her Mum had gone for a holiday), Jan went home with Leti to receive his Degree, and Gint went home for nine days to Latvia. It was this latter event which serependitiously triggered our midnight feast last night.
Gint arrived home late last Monday night and had to go straight to work on Tuesday morning. By last night he was so tired that he went straight to bed and only woke up at midnight to get something to eat. I had gone to my bedroom around 10pm to work on e-mails for the flood campaign, and came out to check that everything was locked up for the night when I discovered Gint in the kitchen. I had hardly seen him since his holiday so sat down to hear about his travels and, of course, he insisted that we try a bottle of something that was balsamic and herbal and 45% alcohol. I had enough sense – or cowardice – to say ‘no’ to this but instead started grazing my way through the chocolate sweets filled with liqueurs that he had also brought back from his trip.
Then Jan arrived in and joined Gint at the drink – just to be sociable – with the occasional foray into the chocolates – just to be sociable. He was swiftly followed by Kasia, finishing her late shift at the hotel, who spat out the balsamic drink saying it reminded her of medicine her mother used give them when they were small, but was easily tempted by the chocolates.
By then it seemed like an awful pity that Alba had come in and gone to bed before Gint’s emergence from his slumbers so Jan and Gint went up and woke her to come down and join us. She was on antibiotics, she announced, and couldn’t drink, but the chocolates…
At two o’clock in the morning we finally all went back to bed, having decided it was just a little too early for breakfast. I’ve still only the vaguest notion of what Gint did on his holidays, but the bit I heard was interesting enough to make me want to hear more. He visited someplace that was sacred to the Druids, if I got it correctly, and I think it was in the middle of a forest where the birds didn’t sing, and there was something in there about hollows lined with stones, and as soon as I get to sit down with him over a mug of tea I might get it right yet…
It will have to be soon. Kasia’s going home to Poland on Sunday for a few days – where she’ll again see her parents – and Alba is finally getting to go home to Spain for her holiday at the end of September. And on Sunday I spent the evening in my niece’s home in Ashford at a family get-together. They had just returned from a holiday in the Appennines in Italy, and we saw slides of the most fabulous scenery imaginable.
All their stories of their travels are being woven in my head against the background to a wonderful book I read last week, which was set in Nova Scotia and is called ‘The Birth House’, and through the descriptions of Jenni Diski travels in Antartica (and in her head), which I’m totally absorbed in at the moment. These two books – and G. K. Chesterton’s ‘Fr. Brown’ stories, which I was re-reading in the middle – formed another kind of midnight feast for me, this time for my imagination.
Sometimes, though, I think it needs to go on a diet just as much as my body. Does anyone know how you can tell when your imagination has become obese?.
Posted in Books/films/theatre, Czech Republic, House Family, Ireland, Latvia, Poland, Spain, Wine and Some Spirits | Comments Off
By
noeleenm on July 10th, 2007
On Saturday night we celebrated Jan’s 28th birthday with a strange mixture of familiarity and newness. The familiarity comes from the tradition, now quite well established, of celebrating birthdays together in the house – a properly laid table, varied food (from ‘Let’s Eat In’, which delivers excellent Indian, Chinese, Thai or Italian food in our area) and drink, all spiced with talk and laughter… But on Saturday it came also from a feeling of ‘deja vu’, as four of the seven people present had celebrated before together around the same table with the same feeling of contentment.
When Jan brought his Leti to meet us at the beginning of last year, Gint was also living in the house, as well as me. Elke and Michele are now back home in Italy, but Gail, from County Monaghan, almost made it, which would have made us five of that original party together again.
Instead we had Kasia from Poland, and Alba from Spain, with Alba’s Irish boyfriend, Derek, to add in a new flavour to the mix. Spanish vied with English at the table because of the two girls - and Jan who has learned to speak Spanish quite well. At one point, though, it almost caused war as Alba and Leti got deep into nostalgia about the things they miss about Spain.
Staying out late, fiestas, and hot sunshine were all being yearned for causing Alba to give a great sigh and say that she would have to go back soon. Derek innocently said that he would enjoy it, and almost fell off his chair when Alba rounded on him to say: ‘No-o-o! You’re not coming!’ Seeing all of our faces she went on to try to explain, backed up by Leti, that she didn’t mean she didn’t want him in Spain – just that she needed badly to go back and just talk Spanish all day long (Derek doesn’t speak Spanish) with family and friends. The spicy food was needed for quite a while to heat up the atmosphere again at that end of the table, but Derek – a good-tempered lad – got over it quickly, to his credit.
It underlined, though, the difficulties a couple from different cultures, and especially with different languages, can experience. Something – even a tone of voice – that is quite normal in one culture can be seen as very offensive in another. Add to that the likelihood of misunderstandings when one, at least, is speaking in a foreign language, and it’s a minefield. What surprises me most, I think, is that so many couples survive it so well!
The birthday boy and his girlfriend were doing very well, at least, despite both speaking English most of the time, although Jan is studying Spanish as well and Leti is intending to learn Czech. The expressions on their faces, though, when Leti presented Jan with his birthday gift – a red tie to go with the red dress Leti will wear at Jan’s graduation ceremony in the Czech Republic later this month – didn’t need translation.
Earlier that day, Jan and myself had talked of birthdays. He was born at around 11am, he said, and looking at his serious, thoughtful face, I realised how important this day is to him. He feels about birthdays as I do: it’s your own very special day, a celebration of the person that is uniquely you. Oddly enough, I had been reading a novel that centred on an astrologist being murdered (and, no, she hadn’t given someone a bad reading…), and obviously the whole thing of star signs provided a background to the story.
Apparently, it’s not only important to astrologists which star sign you were born under, but also which star was in the ascendant (if I remember correctly). To work this out, they need to know the time of your birth, as well as the date.
Strangely enough, the information this provides seems to be used by the astrologer to predict what kind of person you will turn out to be, more so than what your future will be. Perhaps those two things are so intertwined that you can tell a lot about someone’s future once you know what kind of person they will be? You may not know what fate life will deal them, but you know how they will be likely to react to – or even change – that fate.
Now someone who knows about astrology (and I don’t, as must be blatantly obvious) might tear their hair out at my interpretation of what I picked up from this novel. Maybe I just picked up this bit about the date and time of your birth influencing the kind of person you are – and not the rest, if it was there – because it’s what makes us the kind of people we are that really fascinates me.
Are we really influenced by the date and time of our birth – and the stars above us then? And how much of who we are comes from our genes, from the people who went before us, and how much from the people and the ways among whom we grow up? How much influence do traumatic events have on our lives – even those we block out of our conscious minds?
I was fascinated by the Enneagram when I first came across it. For those who aren’t familiar with it, it’s a system whereby people are divided into nine broad personality types, depicted in the form of a nine-pointed star, with each point representing a number. Each of these personality types is heavily influenced by one or other of the points next to it, known as their ‘wings’. I’ve never been quite sure whether I’m a number Four, with a strong Five influence, or a number Seven.
Four is the dreamer, and Five is the academic that likes to live in an ivory tower and observe life. Sometimes the numbers are depicted as countries and Seven, the other number in which I see much of myself, is sometimes depicted as Ireland – with our tendency to overindulge in drink, food, talk – and to avoid confrontation with unpleasantness.
I have found the Enneagram to be extraordinarily accurate in character description. It is believed it was first used by Sufi priests and later by the Jesuits, to identify personality types and thus encourage them to fight their dark side, and encourage them towards developing towards the light.
But it talks about the kind of people we are – not what made us that way, which is what fascinated me about theories of being influenced by the stars at the time of our birth.
Beliefs are such strange things. At Jan’s birthday dinner, Kasia (who is a devout Polish Catholic) announced that she and I were both going to the Irish Mass the following day, and invited anyone who liked to come along. Nobody accepted the invitation but it sparked a discussion about belief – or lack of it – in God, and belief – or lack of it – in organised religion.
The strange thing is that so many young people seem to find it incredible that anyone can believe in a God of Goodness (Derek seemed to have particular problems with this because of the state of the world) and, worse again, in a church – or churches – founded on the teachings of a Man who proclaimed himself to be the Son of that God. Yet they can believe in Matrix-like scenarios or horoscopes or a thousand other things that seem to me twice as unlikely as a Being who is the essence of Good.
I also believe in a Being who is the essence of Evil. I just don’t believe he capers around with horns and cloven foot… And I believe that one has to choose between those two extremes. I also believe that the saying: ‘The easiest way for evil to succeed is for good men to do nothing’ is a challenge. We have to choose. And we have to do make that choice count for something.
I looked around the dinner table that night and thought about the different personalities in these increasingly dear people who come to our house. And what had made them that way…
…And I prayed that my God of Goodness will walk with them all through their lives, whatever name they may choose to give Him.
Posted in Czech Republic, House Family, Ireland, Latvia, Poland, Spain | No Comments »
By
noeleenm on June 15th, 2007
The Certificate in English Language Teaching to Adults training course is over, the General Elections are over, the appointment of a new Government is over – even the good weather is over, at least temporarily.
It’s a soft grey day today, and it feels like the beginning of a weekend in November, rather than the middle of June.
Since my last April post right up to General Election day in Ireland (which also happened to be the final night of our CELTA course), I was so busy that stories of a changing Ireland just got squeezed out of my schedule. Then, in the immediate aftermath of the Elections/course, I went on an ‘after-school’ binge of being out of doors in the sunshine and air I’d missed so much in the previous weeks.
I’ve climbed Bray Head in the evening, absorbing air, beauty, and bird-song in a heart-gladdening mixture, and gardened at the weekends, with dollops of talk and laughter and catching-up with house-family and family of origin and friends in between. That the end of all this busy-ness coincided with the return to our house of a beloved ’son’ – Jan from the Czech Republic – added to the contentment.
Our ‘family’ seems to be going through one of those patches where it gathers other people up as well – Alba’s parents from Spain, briefly, and her Irish boyfriend, more long-term; Kasia’s friends from Poland, also briefly; now Jan’s girlfriend, Letti, who has come to stay in Ireland (not in our house, but hopefully nearby) for a few months; while Gint, our longest resident, has been increasingly busy in his new career laying timber floors.
For me these past few weeks have been a quiet ‘honeymoon’ period in a very busy life, but already things are moving again. I was lucky enough to do well in the CELTA course, and luckier again to be offered two nights a week teaching English in International House, where I did the course. It started last Monday, and it’s nervewracking, stimulating, and fun!
With the election of a new Government, and the appointment of new Ministers, it’s time again to pick up the battle to keep our floodplain free of high density building. With the Green Party going into coalition with Fianna Fail, and a Green Minister for the Environment, we need to make the most of these few weeks before the Government goes into its summer recess.
…Especially as the otherwise excellent flood defence proposals being put forward seem to suggest that, with these in place, there is no need for the floodplain to be preserved… With the news of drought and flood from Australia over this past week, and the extreme flooding much nearer to home in Donegal in the past few days, it’s hard to believe that anyone can seriously moot this argument any longer – but they do.
So, on with the warpaint again and out with the English language text books, but in between there will be some time for working in the garden, walking in the hills, and coming home to Gint, Kasia, Alba, and Jan in this changing Ireland of ours…
Posted in Czech Republic, Flooding, Friends, House Family, Ireland, Latvia, McManus Family, Poland, Spain | No Comments »
By
noeleenm on January 4th, 2007
Christmas was fun – but busy!
The first chance I got to write anything was a ‘thank you’ letter to a friend, which I wrote at what seemed to me like dawn, but was in reality near nine o’clock, on the day before New Year’s Eve. I was up early to say goodbye to Renata and Pavel who were returning to the Czech Republic. It’s always hard to say goodbye, but I consoled myself with the fact that, for Pavel, this is his second time to stay in my house. The world is getting smaller…
It still seemed strange, though, when the house had been so packed for so long, to sit in quietness.
We (Renata, Pavel, Maria, and myself) cooked for seven on the 23rd December, with Gint laying the table, opening bottles of wine, and muttering over the washing up afterwards. Wojtek was excused from duty as he had to go to work immediately after the meal and was allowed to sleep till then – until we discovered we were unaccountably short of dishes and he went scuttling up to his den (politely referred to as his bedroom), to emerge carrying a precarious load of dirty dishes! He has earned the nickname ‘Bear’ because of his ability to hibernate, a useful skill if you work nights and study during the day, but sometimes the area around his bed is only just short of gnawed bones and a pot of honey…
Renata and Pavel had hunted fish (thank God they don’t have Wojtek’s hoarding habits) in our local Saturday street market, but couldn’t locate carp, the traditional fish dish for much of Eastern Europe. Instead, they were advised to use salmon and brown trout. Apparently, it was delicious – once they had finally given up on the white wine sauce which was supposed to accompany it. The sauce had been chosen from one of my cookery books and the recipe in English, with its very different vocabulary, proved a little too much in the long run. But Gint ate it anyway…
The traditional accompaniment of potato salad, which Renata and Pavel had worked on all day, had ‘eating and drinking’ in it, as we say in Ireland, and more than made up for the disappointing sauce for our Czechs, Polish and Latvian fish eaters. Maria is allergic to potatoes, so she had plain basmati rice with her fish, while I turned my rice dish into a mushroom risotto. We all shared a big green salad, with a very nice vinaigrette sauce (prepared by Maria) - and we all shared white wine!
This decidedly unIrish main course was followed by a very Irish Christmas pudding, made in County Wexford, and custard. I find a lot of visitors to our country have never met custard before (it’s rather like caramel, but usually served hot), and it met with mixed reactions. Renata, for instance, is convinced that every sweet food is sweeter in Ireland, sometimes too much so, but everyone liked the pudding – except Maria, whom I had completely forgotten is allergic to nuts also. Luckily, she tasted them at her first tentative (she has learned to be tentative about food) mouthful, and stopped before any damage was done.
We exchanged our Chriskindel gifts, ranging from scratch cards (which, if you scratch off three matching numbers, wins you the amount named) through calendars and DVD racks to a beer glass that twinkles with different coloured lights everytime it is raised! Now, far be it from me to name a Chriskindel, but the person who was responsible for choosing these twinkling coloured lights on the beer glass is the same person who was shocked to discover we use coloured lights - as opposed to simply white – on our Christmas tree! And she was relieved to find that, at least, our Christmas tree lights don’t twinkle…
Poor Wojtek had to go to work then, but the rest of us finished the night lounging about the fireplace, talking, drinking wine, and building dreams in the embers. We were joined at some point by Gail, who had been Christmas shopping in Dublin till all hours!
Maria set off early the next morning for Germany and her family and friends there, but the simple meal planned for that night for the rest of us meant we could rest a little before I set off for an afternoon tea party in my nephew, Stephen’s house, with 22 of my sister’s children and their families! Mary’s husband, Noel, celebrated his 73rd birthday on Christmas Eve, while his grandson, also Noel, celebrated his 14th birthday. Stephen and Marie, his wife, have established a tradition each year of celebrating both events early enough to leave time for all the little ones to be back home safely in bed in time for Santa’s visit later that night. It’s always a warm, talkative occasion for all of us, apart from the delicious meal.
From Stephen’s, I went to the 8pm vigil Mass for Christmas Day, which was very beautiful. Tall Christmas trees (with white lights!) form a background to the altar, the choir sang sweetly, and our old traditional Crib, that I have known since I was a child, gathers crowds around after Mass. I missed Elke and Michele, though, who accompanied me last year.
At 10pm we finally sat down at home and eat a very untraditional meal – for either Ireland or Eastern Europe – of pasta in a blue cheese and brocolli and walnut sauce. But it was delicious, and we could all eat it. We followed it happily with mince pies and ice-cream, and Renata placed the Baby Jesus in the crib, before we all crept over to the fire to dream some more…
Wojtek had a wonderful Christmas Eve also, he reported later, with four Polish couples sharing a traditional meal – and gifts – far from home. He was better off far from home the next morning, as many (between 20 and 30) of my extended family call then for our traditional Christmas drinks and exchange of gifts, causing quite a din when we’re all together.
A quick escape down then to my sister’s house in Wicklow town for an Irish Christmas dinner, with vegetarian fillets substituting for meat on my plate, Brussels sprouts and carrots and potatoes and delicious sauces, followed by homemade Christmas pudding with cream and brandy sauce. We opened our gifts, poking happily into each others presents as well as our own, before setting off for my niece, Sally-Ann’s, house in Ashford, and yet another Christmas tea, with Christmas cake and every other sweet thing featuring on the table.
Around the table, and in the living room, young Martin and his little foster sister, Saoirse, featured. Martin is ten now, while Saoirse celebrated her first birthday earlier in December, and they are crazy about each other – with good reason. Saoirse played to the gallery all night, and we were happy to be her audience, while Martin offered learned discourses on the space ship he was building, in between giving and returning hugs and kisses to his little sister.
I stayed overnight in Mary and Noel’s house, returning to our own house to spend time with the resurrected Gint (Renata and Pavel had gone to Belfast and were staying over there) before going to Bernadette’s (another of my sister, Mary’s, daughters) for yet another ginormous family reunion. On Stephen’s night, all 22 of that family have a very festive Christmas tea in Bernadette’s and the Chriskindels brings big gifts for the little ones. Mary does Mother Clause and it’s a great night for the small children – and for the adults.
The rest of Christmas passed in a blur of eating and drinking and talking and lounging about – with friends, with family, and with my diminishing house family.
Gint set off for Italy, to visit Michele, on the 28th, Wojtek made occasional guest appearances in the house in between parties, and Renata and Pavel and myself kept up our tradition of eating anything but traditional Irish food by visiting an Italian restaurant – Il Palazzo – in Bray for their last night here, on the 29th.
On the 30th, I went to lunch in another of my nieces’ homes – this time the daughter of my other sister, Sally, who died fifteen years ago, and whom I still miss. Luckily, many of her qualities, and mannerisms, are still to be found in her two daughters – Edel, in whose home we were eating, and Trish, who came to lunch also with her two children, Shauna and Darragh. Edel’s little girl, Hannah, was six on New Year’s Day, so we were starting her celebrations as well as catching up on each other’s news.
I thought on New Year’s Eve I was going to spend the evening alone as one of the very bad storms we’d experienced over the Christmas built up throughout the day. Normally, my generation of our family come to our house on that night to share a meal and talk of family news and memories right through midnight. This year my brother, Pat, and his wife, Judy, weren’t coming because Pat still doesn’t feel up to going out late since he had a mild stroke last Christmas. My sister, Mary, and Noel, came from Wicklow though, picking up our sister-in-law, Angela, on the way. Our other sister-in-law, Marie, came on foot as she lives nearby, and Mary and Noel left her home afterwards. As both Mary and Marie had the remains of bad colds, the laughter that seemed to go on all night caused bouts of coughing that made the house sound like a hospital ward!Â
Pat phoned his good wishes through though during the evening, as did many of the family, with members of my ‘house family’ texting in their good wishes, like Grant from South Africa and Daniel from Spain, who is now living in London. Earlier in the Christmas I’d had e-mails and texts from other young people who have lived here. Nayra, who transformed a photo of me on the back of her Dad’s motorbike last year in their home in Fuerteventura by adding a Santa hat to each of us (I’ll post the photo next time I get to write a post, but more of that anon…), Lucia whose poetry has won prizes and who is now about to publish her first book of poetry, Roberto who became a Dad to Itxasa last September, and Jan, who has just discovered he is about to become a father also…
The coming of babies is appropriate, and joyful, news for Christmas – but the quietness of Bethleham was something I just didn’t get time to experience this year. That’s why tomorrow morning I’m setting off for France for an initially companionable and probably hilarious weekend with five friends as we celebrate my 60th birthday in Carcassonne, but followed by a further week in the little Mediterannean village of Collioure by myself, where I’ll explore, rest, listen to music, be quiet, and build up my energy again for another year.
When I get back I intend to post photos of our Christmas in Ireland, and of France. Meanwhile, I wish for all of us – all of the people who have lived in this house and all of their families, including new babies, as well as all of the people who read about this house – a blessed and peaceful New Year.
Posted in Canary Islands, Czech Republic, Germany, House Family, Ireland, Italy, Latvia, McManus Family, Poland, South Africa, Spain | No Comments »
By
noeleenm on June 19th, 2006
Peter (the Finn) found a room, a proper room as opposed to my half-finished attic. Isn’t it strange how, so often, when a seemingly unsurmountable problem is resolved in some way, the original, wished for solution often presents itself later?
The best example of this kind of thing that I know is when a couple who have tried for a child for years decide to adopt, and then the woman becomes pregnant. It seems to be, again, a demonstration of how worry can actually block a positive outcome.
Peter was desperate for somewhere to live, but just before he was due to come and see the attic someone offered him a proper bedroom – desperation gone, solution comes through.
I’m glad, much as I liked the sound of Peter. This way he’s got somewhere comfortable to stay while the laws of hospitality were still upheld, and yet we have enough space to breathe easily in our house – and continue to get to know one another.
A new rhythm has established itself in our ‘family’, around the World Cup. Only Grazine has successfully remained outside its spell.
Wojtek has four nights off in a row right now. South Korea has done quite well in its group. And Gint is the only one in the house with a television.
The result…? Wojtek and Dong Kwang’s big room has turned into a football stadium for the three lads, and the results of the matches can be heard in any part of the house.
It has infected me to the extent that I – a sporting illiterate – now know roughly how each of the countries of my friends are doing. With almost all of the 32 teams having played two matches (with one more to play in this first round), Poland has no points so far: we don’t talk about this in our house.
Ecuador, though, has six points, along with Germany, in that group!
South Korea has four points, as has Switzerland, in their group, with France coming behind on two points.
Italy and the Czech Republic are in the same group, Italy leading with four points to Czech (and Ghana’s) three. I’m glad I’m not watching these matches with Jan and Pavel, and Michele and Elke…Â
I feared a visit from the Gardai last night, investigating the noise, when South Korea equalised with France to hold them to a 1:1 draw in the 81st minute of the match. France had scored their goal in the 9th minute, and during the 72 minutes in between only gasps and prayers and imprecations were emitted from the room.
The sounds were coming up to me in the attic, where Peter’s ‘near miss’ had finally set me to wallpapering. I was listening to Bach as I pasted and papered, and I must be the only person in the world who will always associate his music with South Korea and football from now on!
At half-time – or just before or after a match – there is a general stampede to cook, eat, go to the bathroom, and do any of the other necessities of daily living.
During one of those intermissions I had started to cook rice, and appealed to Dong Kwang to take a look, as I always burn it.
He peered into the pot, looked incredulously at me, and said: “Is that rice?!!” It reminded me of Elke and Michele’s attitude to Gint’s pasta. Maybe buying rice with the brand name ‘Roma’ wasn’t such a good idea…
Apparently, in South Korea short grain rice is always used, as opposed to the long grain rice I favour. Normally, I buy whole grain rice, but last night I had ‘easi-cook’ because I hadn’t been able to find anything else in the supermarket: the spelling says it all…
When Dong-Kwang got over his horror, though, he was very predisposed to teaching us uncivilised westerners how rice should be cooked.
Cover it with water, allow it to boil very hard, uncovered, for about ten minutes, and then close the lid and cook it on a very low heat until it is done. This took about twenty minutes last night, but Dong Kwang checked it after ten minutes and every few minutes thereafter.
And there lies the real secret of why I burn a lot of my dishes…
Wojtek, who was peering into our lesson as he drank a can of beer, asked Dong Kwang to tell me about the Korean martial arts that he studied.
Kung Fu and Judo, if I remember correctly, are from China, he said, and Karate is from Japan. But Taekwondo is a traditional Korean martial art, and it is this that Dong Kwang learned and taught in the army.
Much of it, he explained, depended on concentrating all of the energy of your mind and body into the move you are about to make. This is why practitioners of Taekwondo (including Dong Kwang) can break timber, and even bricks, by chopping them with their bare hands.
“Confidence is very important”, Dong Kwang went on. “If I think ‘I wonder if I will be able to break it’, then I cannot. I must believe I can do it.”
The importance of this ability to focus, and concentrate, was borne out by the fact that I realised that I had completely forgotten about the rice Dong Kwang was stirring in the middle of his lecture – which turned out delicious, even for ‘easi cook’. Left to me, it would have been stuck to the saucepan. I wish I wasn’t so easily distracted…
Posted in Czech Republic, Ecuador, Germany, House Family, Italy, Korea, Latvia, Poland | No Comments »
By
noeleenm on June 9th, 2006
For an article of clothing that’s not worn so much any longer, hats feature quite a lot in English idioms…
We talk about ‘wearing different hats’ when the same person is operating under different sets of strictures in, say, two different jobs. And in an era when most couples in Ireland got married before they lived together, it was fashionable to wear a hat to the wedding. So, when someone looked like they were getting into a serious relationship, the question: “Should I be taking down the good hat?” (which usually lived in a box on top of the wardrobe) was clearly understood!
I found myself thinking about both idioms this week, firstly because of a row last night at our SWAP core group meeting, and secondly because of two e-mails I received from the Czech Republic during the week…
The row happened over our proposed protest letter. It’s still not up on www.braywatch.com… This is not because of lack of help from John Muldoon, but because a) I haven’t had a chance today yet to look at the amended files John updated when I’d run out of ability, and b) we had a SWAP core group meeting last night, and most of the rest of the group felt the letter should be addressed to our local TDs and our Euro MPs, rather than the leaders of the various parties.
This means changing the letter I wrote, changing the text on the web page, and changing the code behind the lot. So I threw a tantrum and suggested that the person who insisted it needs to be done this way should make the changes in text, talk with my IT friend (who is his friend also), and come back to me with it ready to go – very soon.
Rows happen at our meetings sometimes. They’re the result, I think, of the stress and tiredness induced by trying to fight very big money and lots of resources with a very little resources – and money that has to be raised through car boot sales!
But they’re also the product, I think, of a group of people becoming more and more confident of the strength of the bond between them to withstand widely divergent outlooks (men are definitely from Mars, for instance, when it comes to fundraising) and ideas that wouldn’t even have crossed our minds a year ago.
We’ve grown up a lot over the past year, in terms of refusing to accept what ‘the authorities’ say is good for our community, but we’re growing up so fast that sometimes there’s a danger that we’ll leave the rest of our community behind. It’s hard enough having to do a crash course in planning laws, PR, fundraising, negotiations, hydrogeology, and politics, without having to try and relay the newly gained knowledge, in an understandable form, to our neighbours.
And yet that is vital…
We’re all having to wear too many hats. We have to find a way of getting more people to wear them, comfortably, starting – we hope – with ‘training’ a group of neighbours to go out on an information and fund-raising blitz around the neighbourhood.
Our neighbours know just as much as we do about flooding, but most of them are nervous that they won’t be able to answer questions on the enormous development planned (how many storeys next to the river? how high is the wall around the car park? where will the roads come in?), how exactly it will affect our homes (what’s an alluvial flood plain?), and the whole planning process (how long will it be before we hear whether our appeal to the Planning Board has been successful? will we have an oral hearing?).
Â
I was re-reading ‘Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince’ the other night (like jig-saws, a great way of relaxing!) and the part where Harry fools his friend, Ron, into thinking that he’s given him the Lucky Elixir, and so overcomes Ron’s nervousness about the big Quiddich match, rang true with me. If we can’t lay our hands on several bottles of Elixir of Luck, we could probably do just as well with fooling our neighbours into thinking that’s what we’re giving them. When I think of some of the utter balderdash that’s being propounded by our local authority, and the developers, to promote the present scheme, it makes me realise just how valuable a commodity confidence is – even when totally misplaced – in an argument.
In the middle of all the discussions, it was a relief to find that both the Czech lads who lived in my home had decided, independently, to write…
Pavel wrote to tell me that he hopes that his girlfriend, Renata, will be able to come to Ireland for a month or two in winter to improve her English – and that he will visit for a couple of days while she’s here. He says that he’s working hard, and enjoying it, and that he’s having “a lovely time in the evenings and at weekends with Renata and with my dog”… Aaah.
Then Jan wrote today to say that he will probably move to Spain in September to live with his Leti, while she attends university there.
It looks as if the lovely hat Janeth brought me from Ecuador – made by indiginous Indians – might come in very useful, after all…
Posted in Czech Republic, House Family, IT friends, Ireland | No Comments »
By
noeleenm on April 18th, 2006
Gint arrived down to breakfast on Easter Sunday morning, looking a bit sheepish, and handed me a box of mint chocolates. It was a gift for me from Elke, he explained, which she left with Gint before going home, with instructions to deliver it at Easter. The reason for his embarrassment was that he had told me the day before that Easter is celebrated in Latvia on Monday, not Sunday, and it took phone calls from home on Sunday morning, wishing him a Happy Easter, to make him realise he was mistaken!Â
I understood perfectly. When I went to Ecuador, way back in the ‘70s, I arrived in Esmeraldas in April, just after Easter. On the first Sunday in May they celebrated Mother’s Day, and I sent a tearful message home to my own mother. … Except that Mother’s Day in Ireland is celebrated, as it is in England, on the fourth Sunday in Lent: it was originally called Mothering Sunday, and tradition has it that on that day apprentices were released to visit their mothers. I had already celebrated Mother’s Day at home with my mother before leaving for Ecuador, except that by May – in pre e-mail and pre cheap telecommunication days – March seemed like another century and Ireland like another planet. My family, of course, thought the equatorial sun had already baked my brains when they got my homesick greetings…Â
So I understood Gint’s confusion, particularly as I knew precisely from where it had come…Â
Katerina, from the Czech Republic, works on reception the local hotel of the Group for which I work (where Gail still works in reservations, and where Elke worked on reception till recently). She had explained to me on Good Friday that in her country, and in Slovakia, Easter Monday is the big celebratory day. One of the nicest customs, she explained with great enthusiasm, is that, on that day, the men and boys of the house leave early in the morning to return with switches plaited from willows – and ‘beat’ the womenfolk until they are given eggs… They have until 12 noon to do this, so the women must be prepared with the eggs from early morning.Â
That evening the whole village gets together, men and women, and celebrate. Do the women get a chance to beat the men then, I asked? Apparently not…Â
Now Katerina is no wilting female, and, as far as I know, she isn’t into bondage. She’s studying journalism, and seems to me to be an extremely well adjusted individual. This pretend ‘beating’ is simply something that reminds her of her beloved village. When she went on to explain that herself and her partner, Martin, have already plaited some willows and they will ‘make a little Easter like home’ with friends from Slovakia in Charlesland, near Greystones, where they now live, I found myself going ‘aaah…’ Over a beating…?!Â
When I told Gint about this, he said they don’t have the custom of beating the women with plaited willows (he’ll probably start it when he goes home), but they too celebrate Easter on the Monday, rolling eggs down nearby hills. Hence, his confusion when he got calls from home on the Sunday – and his sheepishness. He hates to be wrong about history, geography, or cultures, his great interests.
It didn’t spoil his day out with his friends, though, and I enjoyed my day at home, ending with a meal out with friends. As I was spending Monday morning at the car boot sale with my SWAP colleagues, and then going on to visit my sister, Mary, and her family in Wicklow, it meant that Gint and I would not have celebrated Easter together at all. So we arranged to share a meal and an Easter bottle of wine in the house around 8pm.
…But, in the course of a walk along the river in Wicklow with Mary (as we fell about laughing over a visit to her doctor in which Mary’s memory was tested, because of a very unfunny fall in which she banged her head very badly), we were approached by two young German girls who were looking for the local hostel. We directed them and carried on, only to meet them again later. The hostel had closed down. They were exhausted, didn’t seem to have the money for a B&B, and we decided, after consultation, that I would drive them to the next closest hostel in Rathdrum. We left them resting by the river while Mary and myself went back for my car.Â
As we walked back, we got to talking about whether or not there would be beds available in Rathdrum, about how it would be if some of the young people from our family found themselves stranded abroad without a bed for the night, and about how there’s an empty twin room in my house right now…Â
Ingrid and Steffie ended up back in my house for the night – the best Easter present I could have given Gint, who brightened up considerably from his loneliness since Michele and Elke and Gail have left. The girls will head on to Belfast tomorrow morning, as Gint and I return to work. But the talk and the laughter tonight, and the feeling of a quiet, full house around me as I write this in the early hours of Tuesday morning, was a good way to end this Easter time.Â
Posted in Czech Republic, Germany, Ireland, Latvia, McManus Family | 1 Comment »
By
noeleenm on February 1st, 2006
Now it’s not just the younger members of my family of origin with whom I try to share - and create new - traditions at Christmas. When I first started sharing the house with my young foreign ‘family’, I worried that Christmas would create problems. I didn’t want to break the traditions built up in our own family, but I wanted any of these young people who stayed here during that time to feel part of a home at Christmas, too - not just an ‘add-on’. It has resolved itself in a very simple, practical way.
In continental Europe, as distinct from the European Union of which Ireland is a part, Christmas dinner is celebrated on Christmas Eve, the 24th December, whereas in Ireland it is celebrated on Christmas Day, the 25th December. So now I eat Christmas dinner with my ‘house family’ on Christmas Eve night, usually after Mass, with full pomp and ceremony and as many traditions from each of our cultures as we can manage to fit in, including the typical dishes. Then any of the family who wish to keep up the Christmas morning visit tradition, drop in on Christmas morning, and any or all of the ‘house family’ are welcome to join us. (They are usually sleeping off our Christmas dinner, though!) Then I eat Christmas dinner again with my eldest sister’s family on the afternoon of Christmas Day, leaving my house family to eat what they want themselves after the night before. Two very full Christmas dinners don’t do much for my waistline, but they sure are enjoyable!
The rest of the Christmas holiday â- officially till 2nd January, but in our case till at least 7th January - is spent between family visits outside the house, and long leisurely meals here at home with the house family.
This year was particularly good, starting with a week’s visit to Fuerteventura in mid-December, where Nayra and Lucia, who lived here for almost a year in 2003, both live now. Nayra is from Fuerteventura, and herself and her family have continuously pressed invitations to visit since her return there. Lucia is from mainland Spain (or ‘the Peninsula’ as it is known in the Canaries), but went to the Canary Islands with her Irish boyfriend when she left Ireland. Now that relationship has broken up, but Lucia stays on in the place she has grown to love. So I got to see two of my beloved young people for a whole week of talk and laughter and music, as well as sun and wine! And I got to meet Nayra’s family, with whom I’d only talked on the phone until then, and her boyfriend, Stefan, with whom I’d never even spoken before.
On my birthday, which is 6th January (and the reason why Christmas lasts its full 12 days in this house!), Nayra’s family phoned and sang ‘Cumpleanos Feliz’ onto my answering machine, and then each one left a message, including Nayra’s sister, who lives in Sweden with her Swedish partner, Guntar, and their baby girl. Guntar also spoke - the only one to speak in English, with the broadest Scots accent I have heard since Jim O’Hara’s visits!
The Christmas almost closed with another visit from another ex, and equally beloved, young foreigner. Jan is from the Czech Republic, and spent much of last year here. Just before his departure in August (he had come the previous November), he met and fell in love with a Spanish girl, Leti, who lived in Dublin but worked with Jan. The relationship grew, even over the distance, with them visiting each other, and now Jan was back to visit Leti for New Year. He brought her out to the house to meet us (at last!), and Gail, an Irish girl from Co. Cavan, who lived here at the same time as Jan, also came to dinner, along with our present ‘family’. It was a night of nostalgia, much, much laughter, teasing, and instant friendship between Leti and all of us. It was almost as hard to say ‘goodbye’ to Jan again as it was when he left the house to go home to the Czech Republic, but it was worth it - even the damage he did to my lower ribs with a bearhug goodbye!
In the middle of those two events, and before the first, Christmas cards and letters were written and received, text messages went back and forth, and e-mails brought instant closeness again. Grant from South Africa, who owes me a long letter for a long time, texted on Christmas Day, again for New Year, and again for my birthday, so even though I still await news of him, I know he remembers us with affection. Pavel, also from the Czech Republic, e-mailed to know if his girl friend who wants to come to Ireland at the end of this year, beginning of next, might come to this house. Daniel from Spain, who went to London, sent a Christmas card to wish us all well.
I have been lucky in the people who have come to this house. And it seems they mostly feel they have been lucky, too, with the people they shared with here, and the protection given by a home that has cared for a family here since it was first built in 1932.
This family is different, but it is still family - especially at Christmas.
Posted in Canary Islands, Czech Republic, House Family, Italy, Latvia, Spain | No Comments »
By
noeleenm on January 30th, 2006
Today I took down the last of the Christmas things - the crib and my three ‘Wise Men’ candles - and stored them safely and sadly away in the attic till next year. Sadly, because Christmas is still for me one of those magic times made for family and friends, when the rest of the world and its worries just have to wait. It can be a rushed time, it can be a very sad time for those who have experienced a recent loss, but even the rush has to do with getting ready for time spent with people you love, and even the grieving means there was someone in your life worth mourning…
I say ‘magic time’, and that has connotations of unreality. Yet, in many ways, Christmas is for me one of the times of the year when I am most in touch with reality. Before Christmas I sit down and write Christmas cards and letters (or e-mails nowadays) to family and friends, most of whom I don’t see nearly as often as I like, and many of whom I haven’t even written to since last Christmas. I haven’t any more time in my crowded (like everyone else’s) life before Christmas than I have during the rest of the year. In fact, if anything I have less, because of trying to clean and decorate the house, choose gifts, and finish off the work I know I’m not going to get back to until the New Year, whether paid work or flood campaign work. But I make space somewhere in the middle of it all to write the cards and the letters because at Christmas priorities shift back into an old, old perspective.
And all the Christmases of my life in this house exert their influence, too.
…Christmases when our parents, with precious little money to spare, made sure that Santa came in the early hours of the morning after a Midnight Mass whose way to and fro was sprinkled with neighbours shaking hands and wishing each other ‘A Very Happy Christmas’.
…Christmases marking the passing of the years by where we ate our Christmas dinner, moving gradually from a full family around the table at home to being invited to Christmas dinner and St. Stephen’s Day dinner in the homes of my two sisters as my brothers and sisters married and moved out to their own homes. But Christmas morning at home was kept sacrosanct in this house for all the family to come ‘home’ to see their parents/grandparents/great-grandparents - and each other.
I turned back from the gate one Christmas morning having seen one group off (as the next generation got older a ’shift’ system had to be employed, as all of them wouldn’t fit in our house at one time), and saw our house sitting in the winter sunshine with a Christmas wreath on the door, a pram parked outside beside a Harley Davidson motorbike, and the roadway behind me packed with grown up cars. My camera, of course, was buried somewhere in the crowded room within but my mind snapped a memory of a home full of its generations that I have never forgotten.
…Christmases when this house must have ached with the pain within it, after our brother, Christy, died suddenly at 37, leaving a wife and four young children behind, after our father and then our mother died, and then after our eldest brother, Tommy, followed our mother a year later, and our sister, Sally, just one year more behind.
…But those who were left held each other a bit closer each Christmas, and passed on to the younger ones coming up the tradition of Christmas and its faithfulness.
Posted in Czech Republic, McManus Family | 1 Comment »