Coming To Terms With Father Christmas
Katy's Rescue: A Story About A Man Who Kept His Head
I found this delightful book in Bellaghy's one and only charity shop. It was published in 1953 so is the same vintage as me. Martha adores it and I read it to her at least two times every day she is here. Both Martha and Evie love stories and love being read to. And I love to read to them. I also enjoy telling them stories that are not written down.
Madeline's Rescue features a dog, later named Genevieve, who kept her head and rescued Madeline when she fell in to the River Seine. I told the girls a true story about a man who kept his head when Aunt Katy fell in to the River Braid.
So girls... are you sitting comfortably? This is a true story that happened a long time ago when Mummy and Aunt Katy and Aunt Hannah were only girls. Hannah was the youngest, She was about the same age as you Martha. Katy was about 8 or 9 years old and your Mummy was 12 or 13. Bert had a yellow car that we called the Yellow Submarine and we'd often jump in to it and go somewhere nice for a walk. One of our favourite places to go was Currel's Avenue just outside Ballymena. We'd take Danny (he was our dog back then) and we'd walk beside the river. There was a swing there. It wasn't a proper swing like the one in the garden. It was just a piece of stick on a rope. You'd stand on the bank and get the stick between your legs and go swinging over the river. It was very exciting and a bit dangerous. Bert went first and he was very good at it. Then it was your Mummy and she was good at it too. Then it was Katy's turn. Katy was lighter than Bert and Zoe and she bounced around when she swung over the river. The next thing she bounced off and went splash! into the water. Down she went under the water! Then her head appeared. Down she went again! I could see Bert starting to kick his boots off and throw off his coat. Aunt Hannah, who was very young, started to scream and she ran off in a panic. I could see that Bert was going to get Katy out so I ran after Hannah who was racing away and not seeming to care where she ran or what she ran in to! She thought that her sister was going to die. I knew that Katy was going to be OK because Bert was keeping his head. By the time I caught Hannah and soothed her and brought her back Katy was safe. Zoe said that Danny the dog had jumped into the river too. He liked swimming and he thought that if everyone was going to be splashing about in the river he should too! Poor Katy was soaking wet so all of us shared out our clothes so she could go home in dry things. Bert just drove us home even though he was drenched. He didn't mind because he was very happy that he had kept his head and been a hero. When we got home Katy had a warm bath and Bert got dry clothes and a nice hot cup of tea and everyone was very happy.
Did you like that story?
Yes. Tell it again.
So I did.
Happy Birthday, Two Today
The Simple Things
And nothing got burned.
I enjoy cooking for the family but sometimes I try to go all gourmet and get stressed and have disasters so my new plan is (a) to have a plan; (b) keep it simple.
And when it is simple there is more time for cuddles, fun and giggles with the grandchildren. What could be nicer?
Solitude and Company
On Monday I went to Eelburn, just me and the brown dog. When I was in Vancouver I decided that there would be no more respite for Pearlie. She was becoming thoroughly fed up with it and the thought of going into residential care for two weeks at a time was spoiling her life. From now on we go on respite, she stays at home. That was what my three days in Donegal was about. I thought I'd be lonely but was not. It was so relaxing to have nothing to do. I spent a deal of time just staring into space. How come I never realised how great that is? Just staring into space. Wonderful. Judy and I did lots of walking and clambering over rocks which was fun but sadly I appear to have overused my knees which became apparent this evening.
For this evening there was lots of kneeling and up and downing at the chapel for it was Cousin Joe's anniversary Mass. One year since he died. The service was beautiful with astounding music. While he was ill last September, too ill to receive visitors any more, I passed some time picking blackberries. Tonight when I got back Bert had opened a bottle of blackberry wine made from last year's picking. It was pretty fine. I wish I could have given Joe a share of it.
Happy Birthday Dear Granny
As Good As It Gets
Martha and Evie's Mama went back to work last week. Martha has been hanging out at Nellybert's for two years now and has pretty much found her feet, or to put it another way, worked out how to rule the roost. But Evie is another matter. She's new. She's finding her feet.
Last week Aunt Tricia (Kerry Sister) was around and we spent the first Evie day in Carnlough where we bought the best toy ever (an interactive musical telephone) and had a roast beef dinner in the Londonderry Arms. Miss Evie is very partial to roast beef. On the second day we had Hannah and that worked out very well too as both the young Misses are very fond of Auntie Han.
Yesterday there was no Hannah and no Martha so Miss Evie and I borrowed Bert's van and headed off to Drumkeeran to visit two very dear friends of my darling Matty. One of Matty's friends is recovering from a bad fall and is only recently back in her own home. It is always a delight to see her as she loves, without condition, the seed, breed and generation of us all. The only thing is, she always cries when she sees us, thinking of our mother. The next visit was to her sister-in-law next door. We entered to the delicious smell of baking scones. It was just like visiting Matty. There was apple tart and custard as well as scones and Miss Evie enjoyed it immensely. She'll never taste her great-granny's home baking but, thank God, they're still making wonderful scones on the moss road.
Today we had both girls and Auntie Han to help me out. (Words will never describe my gratitude.) We had a relaxed, easy-going day. Martha and I went food shopping, then Evie and I had a walk while Martha and Hannah whipped up some biscuits. There were stories and drawing, dancing and Pingu. Bert did some serious baby-dodging but that meant plenty of outdoor chores got done - roses pruned, pig houses sorted etc. etc.
At lunch I looked around at my grandchildren, my helpful and generous Hannah, my baby-dodging husband and my dogs and I thought to myself, "This is what I always wanted. This is as good as it gets."
A Birthday for Joe and Jean
It's London Sister's birthday today and it would have been our cousin Joe's as well. They were born on the same day and in the same parish.
Joe died four weeks ago from brain cancer. Tonight was his Month's Mind and the chapel was packed to the doors. The service was beautiful. His daughter, a very talented harpist, arranged and took part in providing the music just as she'd done at her Daddy's funeral. His son read a heartfelt and tremendously moving prayer that he and his sister had written for tonight's service. My brother and other family members did readings. Joe was a well-beloved husband, father, son and brother. He was a good, caring and helpful friend to so very many people. He was funny, open-minded, curious and intelligent. He was the sort of man who should have lived to a ripe old age because he was the sort of man who added value to his community.
He is going to be missed so very much.
Blackberries, A Funeral And An Eely Song
It was at the funeral of another school friend about five years ago that my cousin addressed me as 'Nelly' in the graveyard. I was surprised. Somehow I'd thought that my neighbours and relations from way back when wouldn't know about the Garden. I should have had more wit. Anyway he said he enjoyed it and ever since then I'd always thought of him when I was putting together a new posting. This following post is an old one from around that time and, I think, the sort of post he liked reading.
I'll miss thinking of him when I come to Nelly's Garden although, not as much as he'll be missed by the family who adored him.
That's not to say I don't enjoy a bit of eel myself but in moderation only. I couldn't gorge myself on them nor eat them on consecutive days.
Bert fried a huge panful of them, ate two helpings and set aside a large portion for today's lunch. I merely nibbled on two small pieces.
When I returned from work this evening I asked him,
Did you have a nice day darling?
He answered,
No. I had a terrible day.
Why? What happened?
Well you know the eels I was keeping for lunch? I refried them and they were just perfect. My mouth was watering for them. I was even singing an eely song while I was buttering my sodas and making my tea.
The one that goes, 'Eels! Eels! we like lots of eels!' sung to the air of the Bavarian Drinking Song?
Aye. That one.
What happened? Did you burn them?
Pearlie rang over wanting me for something.
Oh God! Were you over there for ages and burned your eels useless?
No! They were out on the plate waiting to be eaten.
Oh dear. Not...?
Yes! I came back over and there was the plate sitting where I'd left it. Not an eel in sight. The plate was spotless!
Bonnie...? Aye! She's the only one big enough to have reached it. Not one solitary eel left....
Sunshiney Day, Making Hay
The Sun Has Got His Hat On
But that's all right. Must go. I have a poly tunnel to water before it gets too hot.
What Makes Blogs Shit
What makes blogging shit is when bloggers have got lots to say but, because they try to be decent and tactful people, they don't blog about it.
'Twas ever thus.
These past few days I have spent a lot of time with family members near and wide. It has been mostly very good. Today was particularly good. I have heard stories mad, sad, fantastic and true.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I have been trying to compile a tree-like plan of the Nelly family right down to Miss Martha's third cousins. This has entailed much cyber-stalking and looking at photographs of friends and friends of friends on Facebook. I have discovered a number of things. One is that boys are much less likely than girls to concern themselves about privacy and another is that I have a lot of young (mostly) female cousins who pose seductively in their temptressy going out outfits right in front of pictures of the Sacred Heart. Mind you that is an improvement on the cousins who posed in short sequins and cleavage against a background of mops and buckets and other kitchen squalor.
Another thing I found is that more than a dozen of my young relatives are excellent sportsmen and sportswomen within the Gaelic sphere. Which brought to mind a comment my naughty cousin J. made today. He spoke of a young neighbour lad who was that good at hurling that he ought to be put out to stud. I couldn't help saying that I had many young female relatives who should, for the sake of the GAA, be introduced to him.
Yes. I know I'm an eedjit. But as someone once said, and on a very special day, at least not a boring bastard.
There Would Always Be String
Some odds and ends of Mum's needed a final sort out. These were photographs that had been removed from her picture frames, a few newspaper cuttings and a lot of greetings cards. They were stashed in the room that I'm intending to turn into a workroom and it needs dealt with for it is very cluttered.
Throwing Mum's stuff away is not easy to do. I found the assorted greeting cards the hardest to dispose of for she had kept so many of them, some even dating from more than thirty years ago. My parents had seven children, eight grandchildren and lots of friends so they got a lot of cards. As I hesitated over this one or that one I had to keep reminding myself that a bunch of cards are not a measure of how much Seamus and Matty were loved. I did keep a few – mostly because they were particularly pretty and some because they contained messages that would have meant a lot to my parents.
I am going to have to watch for that sentimental hoarding streak for I don't want to leave my children the chore of going through the amount of crap that Pearlie had packed away. Mum kept stuff, maybe a little too much stuff, but it did not impede her life.
Recently Bert and I watched a terribly sad documentary* about a man, Richard Wallace, who had accumulated so much clutter in his home and garden that he only had a crawl space in his home to get around. His cooking area consisted of a gas ring piled on each side with stacks of newspapers and magazines. His only bit of comfort in that junk-packed house was a chair in front of a tiny television set. He slept in that chair. That poor man was in despair with his life, which he called 'an existence', but his urge to hoard was too strong for him to resist.
All Pearlie's sisters have or have had hoarding tendencies. Bert's Aunt Nessie lived a lot like poor Richard Wallace. I wrote about her a few years ago while she was still alive.
Bert's Aunt Nessie keeps, among other things, every loaf wrapping she's ever had - in case they should come in useful. Now if I were to list all the things that Nessie hoards I'd be here all day. Enough to say that there is just one narrow path through her house that is filled to the rafters with stuff. It is a blessing unto God that she never goes out to get more stuff and a further blessing that she only spends about three and sixpence a week so the amount of stuff trickling into her house these days is very minimal.
Nessie was definitely the worst afflicted with the hoarding compulsion. The other three sisters crammed their homes with knick knacks, linens and so on but Nessie gathered up stuff that was actually rubbish. I never visited Nessie's home as for obvious reasons she did not welcome visitors. If people did call she came out and spoke to them in the front yard.
Compulsive hoarding severely affected Nessie's quality of life and I believe that her persistent health problems were exacerbated by it. Living like she did made it impossible to maintain the house and her roof was in poor repair and none of her windows or doors were fit for purpose. This made the house cold and damp. Her house was condemned by the local housing authority and they were prepared to knock it down and rebuild but she refused this offer outright. In many ways Nessie was her own worst enemy.
These days Bert has only the one aunt left and she is over eighty now and not as able as she used to be. She has two younger friends who are trying right now to declutter her home so that she can get around more easily. Sadly she is not enjoying this process and is resistant to everything that they are trying to achieve.
I will say this about Bert's mum – she might have hoarded a great quantity of stuff that was not always as useful or as pretty as she thought it was but she was a great curator of The Museum of Pearlie. She pretty much knew where most things were and she labelled everything. When I was packing up her previous abode I found a box neatly packed and labelled 'Rubbish'.
In Pearlie's day she hoarded margarine tubs by the score. I don't know what she ever intended to use them for. She kept plastic bags, rubber bands and great quantities of string. She never threw out a button, a used stamp, a letter or a piece of yarn. Occasionally Bert will be looking for string and there will be none and he'll say, “In Pearlie's day there would always be string!”
So I suppose there are good and bad aspects to holding on to things. The thing is to be organised and always know where they are. Many is the time that I have had to buy something I knew I already had (somewhere) because the task of looking for it was too arduous. Hopefully this will change in 2012 – the year of living simply and cutting the crap.
By the way Pearlie is still hoarding in a small way. She is collecting obituaries from the local papers and the caps from her Fortisip containers. The obituaries I understand, the bottle tops not so much - except that they are a beautiful shade of lilac. Old habits are very hard to break.
*Channel 4's Obsessive Compulsive Hoarder
The documentary focused on Richard Wallace, whose 30-year hoarding habit has prevented him from having a bath and a single night's sleep in his bed for years. "It's getting a bit silly now," he admits, and yet he appears to be unable to stop the compulsion to hoard.
First November
The Empty Chair
After Mammy died we decided that we would not be in too much of a hurry to dispose of her possessions. We all felt that we needed some breathing space.
But eventually, we knew it would have to be done.
In this past week a great deal has been done. A great deal still remains to be done but the task has been started.
Kerry Sister has been here for a week and she has worked hard. She left this morning. This afternoon I was baby sitting and called out 'home' to say some sort of a goodbye and while Miss Martha slept, I wept and wept. A lot of tears have been shed in Matty's house this past week.
My parents built that house nearly forty years ago and they hadn't a whole lot of money to do it with so, when the time came to fit and furnish it, they had to make economies. As the years passed Matty replaced nearly all the original furniture with better pieces. These last few years she had it nearly the way she wanted it. I was with her a few years back when she bought her three piece suite and I remember thinking, 'that's going to outlast her'. We all encouraged her to improve the house because we knew how much pleasure she got out of it. The two youngest sisters were very handy and they built her kitchens and laid wooden floors. Every time they came home there would be a project, either woodwork or decorating or hanging new curtains. The young brother would be getting her to modernise her light fittings and overseeing the general maintenance. The rest of us would help out in other ways – maybe driving her around searching for the perfect thing or helping out with a few extra quid towards a new carpet or curtains. I'd get her plants for the garden and I wasn't the only one either.
She was still at it after the diagnosis of terminal cancer - a new back door in July 2010, the Leitrim sister re-upholstering stools and footstools for her. She was even re-organising the china in her corner cabinet from her bed when she couldn't get up.
So – with such a mother you can imagine how painful it has been to take her house apart. To even think about the removal from her home of all the nice furniture she waited so long for is hard. But it is the small things that scald my heart. Her slippers, her handbag, her toiletries and her address book. Her hand writing in this or that notebook. Her bedroom, with her matching wardrobe and chests of drawers and all the personal touches gone now. There are no clothes, no books, no holy pictures, no rosary beads – all that remains now are her embroidered slippers, her toilet bag and a cupboard full of empty hangers. And soon, very soon that will be gone too and Matty's house, our home place, will just be an empty shell.










