May 7, 2012

Back From The Brink…?

So, last Tuesday I went back to work. Back into an office for the first time in over seven months. And, overall, I think it will be OK, maybe even better than OK.  I’m liking it so far, although I’m already starting to see what the politics might be within the company which is interesting. I will like it more when D and I can sort out our evening commute so that it isn’t taking us three quarters of an hour for what should be about twenty minutes. Still, that’s largely down to me because he has offered to take the bus and let me have the car. I’m not sure what would make me feel worse, though: feeling rubbish because he has to hang around for me after work or feeling rubbish because I have snaffled his car and he has to sit on stinky public transport. It would appear that the stinky public transport would get him home quicker but I still feel shifty about the car.

Anyway, yes, things are good overall. Until I look at the current list of things that we need to pay for or replace. It looks something like this:

My car needs to either be fixed or scrapped; the decision will be based upon the cost of the fixing. If it’s fixed, it will need to be taxed and NCT’ed which will be another four hundred Euros. My credit card bill needs to be kicked into shape and dragged back from the brink. The two hundred and fifty Euro electricity bill needs to be paid. (No, I have no idea how it’s anywhere near that high. It certainly isn’t usually.) The fridge needs to be replaced. We need a sofa or, at least, something to sit on. My pension needs to be restarted. We decided that we would use some money that Dave had in a special savings account to pay J’s play therapist the bulk of the money that we owed him because we felt that it wasn’t fair that he should be kept waiting and, more importantly, because we hope to soon be done with him – in the nicest possible way, of course. (This, bizarrely, is a huge load off my mind.) In the meantime, the figures swirl round and round in my head and, in all of this, I haven’t even taken the mortgage into consideration. Gah.

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April 26, 2012

Good Things.

❁ The boiler’s auger jammed on Saturday but today, thanks to Niels the Nice Dutch Boiler Man, we have heat again.  ❁ Dave’s mum is taking the children to the UK with her at the end of next week for a few days. ❁ Peanut butter on Polish bread rolls is really delicious. ❁ I have managed to give up drinking normal tea and have, for the past week or more, been drinking herb and fruit teas with honey thus helping (slightly) to cut down my sugar intake. I feel better for it. ❁ I am going for a pre-Starting Work meeting with my new employers tomorrow. Still excited at the prospect but slightly dreading the early mornings. ❁ I dropped in to the office where I used to work yesterday after meeting one of my ex colleagues for lunch. It was lovely to see everyone and even lovelier to walk back out the door again. ❁ Himself and I spent some time going through our finances the other evening. In spite of everything, it looks like we should be in a pretty good position if we can get through the next two to three months cheaply. ❁ The Swede got engaged about a month ago and so next year, probably at the end of April, we will be heading over to Sweden for the first time ever! (This is very exciting.) ❁ We have invested in some very bright lime-sh green paint so that we can add some colour to the kitchen with a plan to paint one wall of the eating area. (B&Q might just be my new favourite place.)

What good things are happening for you this week?

Grasshopper green for one kitchen wall. J also wants a wall of his room this colour. It's much more vivid in person.

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April 24, 2012

Where Did It All Go Wrong?

When I was eighteen, I left Ireland for three years to go and study Theology on the side of a mountain in North Wales. Well, alright, it might not have exactly been a mountain but it was certainly quite a steep hill, and it was on the outskirts of Snowdonia. Anyway, this made me something of an oddity in Ireland, a country that has understandably lost most of its patience with religion and, for the most part, can’t really be bothered to argue about it any more. As a result of spending three years ready stodgy text books, I decided I definitely didn’t want to do anything Theology-related for a living and, when I came back home, embarked upon what was to be a decade of working with engineers and disgruntled customers. Recently, though, and largely due to Anne Rice’s presence on Facebook, I’ve been growing slowly more interested on what’s happening in the world of religious institutions and especially Catholicism.

I think the entire world is now probably painfully aware of what has been uncovered in Ireland over the last decade or so with regards to the abuse by clergy of children and, more shockingly, the fact that the hierarchy of the RCC knew about this and worked to hide it from their congregations, moving priests from one community to another when too many incidents could not be explained away. It bears stopping and considering for a moment, I think, that the administrators and organisers of the Catholic church in Ireland thought that their authority was more important than protecting the bodies and souls of men, women and children that they had a – by their claims alone – a spiritual responsibility for. The question that springs to my mind is this: did it not occur to them that perhaps, by removing the vicious nuns and paedophile priests and cleaning up their clergy, they would have retained a moral authority that it turns out they have subsequently lost completely? Did they really think that they could control the abuse by moving their staff around from parish to parish? More importantly, did they really feel that they would get away with it indefinitely? Because now we know that it wasn’t just child abuse. It was the systematic and brutal abuse of women too. The Catholic church, through the State, ensured that women were locked away, unheard and mistreated, often for the duration of their lives. In hospitals, they were subjected to unnecessary and unasked-for medical interventions in childbirth that crippled them for life, many in constant pain. And so I’m sitting here this morning, having read this article, wondering how Catholicism  gets from “Love one another as I have loved you” to maiming and abusing the most vulnerable members of society, and then having the cheek to tell its religious who are genuinely working for the good of those vulnerable members that they’re spending too much time agitating for social reform and not enough time decrying Things Benedict Doesn’t Like.

I tend not to put words on what I believe in terms of God or Spirit or The Ultimate Reality, call it what you will. Sitting through lectures on how theology has developed, and the theories of the people who have studied texts from the various books of the bible have left me unwilling to follow a set doctrine. If the bible is the word of (a) God, it’s the word as written down by humans with all their complexities and flaws. It has been translated, amended, reworked and reworded and so you can probably find justification for any act you might care to commit in the current version, never minding the Apocrypha etc. Nowhere, though, in the Gospels have I ever seen anything that said that Peter was infallible. Nowhere in the Gospels have I ever seen anything that says that giving money to an already obscenely rich institution is a good thing in and of itself. Nowhere can I see any indication that the RCC today is what the man Jesus intended for his followers to instigate. From the radical teaching he brought, I cannot see a shred of the compassion and social conscience left in the actions of the church today. I wonder, in all honesty, what he would have made of it.

 

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April 23, 2012

Of Parental Visits.

Heaven help us. Dad’s staying tonight – and maybe tomorrow night too, I’m not sure – and that’s completely ok with all of us. He has taken Dave out for pints, and bought us all Chinese take-away for dinner because I pointed out that it would probably be cheaper than he and I going out to eat by ourselves. I did say (in my own defense) that I was going to be cooking dinner anyway so there was really no need for anything extra but I think he’s finally starting to feel comfortable enough to stay put in one place without the need to run off into the distance every five minutes which, I have to admit, it much nicer from my point of view. So we sat down together, stuffed our faces on good Chinese and then Dave kept an eye on the children getting ready for bed while I did a bit of hoovering and hung out some washing. Now I’m sitting at the kitchen table drinking camomile, vanilla and honey tea while the dishwasher lulls two snoozy dogs to sleep in their beds. And it feels really good. It feels like – lack of sofas and heating aside – we have a home where we can welcome people in.

I have this warm glow partially as a result of my mother visiting earlier. She arrived after Dad and managed to sit down long enough to have a cup of coffee with him. It’s quite plain that what she sees in this house horrifies her and is something that she cannot comprehend. The fact that we don’t live in a pristine state all the time is anathema to her; there was a reason why I used to joke about her polishing the grass in her garden, after all. But even as her dislike was so plain to see, it came to me all in a rush that what I have here is every bit as real and as precious as anything she could imagine. She told me, several months ago, when I called in to see her one day, that she didn’t think I would ever be happy. I was incredibly hurt by that initially. I couldn’t believe that even my mother, who has a tongue like a vipers at the best of times, could say such a thing to her only child. Now I understand truly that, though I might wish her to understand how I feel, it’s not essential that she does so. Nor does she have to find favour with what I do, or how I do it. There is no reward for trying to please those who have shut themselves off from the world. There is nothing to be gained, emotionally, spiritually or physically, from attempting to take on another person’s ill-feeling. I wish my mother all the happiness in the world; all the joy and contentment that she can feel. And I will make a concerted effort to stop judging her as she is judging me because I don’t want to be sucked into that vicious cycle of negativity and nastiness.

I can see what I have been blessed with and how lucky I am. To ask for more validation than I’m already receiving seems a bit over the top to me.

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April 21, 2012

Today’s Achievements. (Which Is Now Yesterday.)

I would like to have the time to sit and write here properly but, for today at least, I don’t. As a result, I will make a quick list with the intention – oh, always the intentions! -  to come back to it later.

* Today, a nice man in a lorry delivered one point two tonnes of wood pellets to my house, bagged and on a pallet. I’d love to tell you I’m half way through moving them but I think it’s closer to about a third of the way. Thankfully, Dave has said he will help when he gets home. Which will be shortly. Hooray! Still, sheer bloody pig-headedness basic self respect means I have to get as much done as I can so that I know I haven’t left it all to him.

* After almost two years, it looks as if we are finally starting to wind things up with J and his play therapist. I have been of the opinion for some time that nothing useful was happening there any more. It now looks as if we might be done with it all by the end of next month. This will free up Friday nights and sixty-five euros a week. Yay, frankly. To be fair, the PT was talking about coming to a close last summer but J really didn’t seem ready to let go. Now, though, he seems to be in a better place with it and they are both aware that they have an end in sight and that they have to work towards this.

* We’re still no closer to finding out what on earth is going on with the apartment that Dave’s been sharing with his aunt. At the moment, his official moving out is dependent on her being offered accommodation elsewhere. This is slow because there is a mass of bureaucracy involved. Naturally, he does not want to leave anyone high and dry but it’s getting expensive to keep, essentially, two households running and I must admit that while I completely support his holding on until he can let go, it’s frazzling me a bit. There’s not a thing that we can do to influence matters one way or the other as she has been on the list for sheltered housing for several years and all these things naturally run at a snail’s pace. In some respects, it’s not bad timing because at least we know something has to happen before the end of July when, I believe, their current lease expires. Still… It’s money going out that can ill be afforded. It makes me cranky because it would make D’s life so much easier financially if he wasn’t also paying rent every month. It actually has nothing to do with me, and it doesn’t affect me financially at all. It’s just irksome to my twisted mentality that he’s paying rent on somewhere where he isn’t living.

* We now have proper broadband in the house. For the first time in many, many years, I can potter about on my laptop without having to deal with the frustrations of O2′s sucky signal. All hail UPC and the nice engineers who sorted it all out quickly and neatly with no fuss whatsoever.

* I went for an interview last Friday with a company who were looking for someone to work in their Sales Admin team and they offered me the job on Thursday. It’s not great money but the hours are nicer, it’s not a million miles away – back in Sandyford again – and the company seems like they’re growing while keeping a level of realism about their approach. I like that. The people who were at the interview were people I felt I would be happy to spend time with, which is always a bonus, and I’m really pleased that it’s worked out. I start on the first of May and I’m more excited than  thought I’d be at the prospect of going back to work. One thing is obviously the relief that comes from being able to go to the bank on Monday and say that I will soon be able to pay my mortgage again, but another is that I know I’m starting to sink into a rut at home. I love it, don’t get me wrong, and left to my own devices would be happy to do more of it, but I feel like it’s time to rejoin the world a bit.

* Today (being Saturday, the day after I started this) we got quite a lot done at home. We have abandoned the sofa to the boiler house where dogs can have full control over it. Fudge, A.K.A. Destructo Puppy, has chewed one arm almost completely to bits and it’s no longer fit for human purposes. Predictably, it’s going to be a while until I/we can afford to replace it – although I have been scanning the equivalents of Freecycle already, just in case – but we can make do with what we have for the time being. I was struck by a real gloom earlier; somehow got caught up in all the things we need to spend money on or to replace or whatever, and, daft as it may seem, felt quite desolate that I now live in a house without a sofa in the sitting room. But I realised this evening that it’s not all bad because it’s changed the way I see the room and it’s reminded me, however daft it might sound, not to get so hung up on how I think things ought to be, especially when so often it turns out that there’s a much better way for thing to be than I ever imagined. You might think that with the changes that have already taken place this year, I’d be a little bit more trusting of the way things are flowing. Apparently, you’d be not wholly correct. I think I’m getting better, though, and trusting more. I can see it all unfolding and I like what I see so far. It’s the obsessive need to hang on to every little last thing that’s causing me problems. Living with Dave is a good lesson for that, actually. For the most part, he’s really easy to live with nowadays. He’s considerate and helpful and we see most things the same way but occasionally, something small crops up and I have to remember that, while he’s really laid back about most things, I’m not living on my own with the kids any more and that, if this is going to work, I need to loosen my grip on the reins slightly. I’m lucky because, yet again, this is another lesson that’s being taught gently so far.

* Tomorrow, it’s the turn of the front garden and the spare room. The front garden because it’s being overrun with weeds – I think I could win awards for my dandelions – and the spare room because I think Dad’s coming to stay on Monday. Hopefully, the beautiful sunshine we had today will stick around so I can get yet more washing done and we can all enjoy working towards making this house an even nicer place to be. I like this working as a team business. It’s a really satisfying feeling. But for now, it’s bed time. Remind me to take some pictures too. There needs to be more pictures! G’night.

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Filed under Furry Familiars, Home Life, J, Thalia, Work

March 27, 2012

Making Space(s).

Proper golden Spring sunshine is falling on us like a blessing, and has been for the last three days; to have t-shirt weather in March is unusual but welcome all the same. As a result, my washing basket is almost empty and my ironing basket is clear until the next load dries. My exceptionally considerate husband spent a bit of time out in the garden this weekend and, as a result, it looks tidier than it has in about eight months – the sort of place where you can actually sit outside without instantly compiling a list of small, niggly jobs that need to be done and which banish all hopes of soaking up sunshine peacefully. The grass has been given its first cut of the year and the hard surfaces have been hosed and swept, although that doesn’t last for long with two fairly substantial dogs about. I’m now trying to decide whether or not I should dig over the berry patch and consider planting things. The herb patch is completely overrun after a year of neglect and the bay tree – which I love madly – is threatening to take over the known universe.

Inside the house, I rather suspect I need to work on the ‘One Room A Day’ tack until I have got it all back under control. The sitting room and the spare room (which used to be the study but now has a bed for when my dad visits) are not too bad, and the kitchen is passable although all the cupboards need cleaning out, but our room and the utility room need to be taken asunder and scrubbed. In addition, I think an overall epic clear out is required given that some of Dave’s things are creeping in – as indeed they should. We’ve been trying to work out where we could put his desk and PC (which would be useful as my laptop is showing every sign of early onset dementia) but it’s so vast that, short of sticking it in our bedroom, I can’t think where it could go. We could also do with getting some bookshelves up on the walls so that we can store more books without the bulk of having book cases. This would free  up extra floor space as well because then we could store things higher up which would be useful. I know it will all come together in time, it’s just that my house has masses of storage space but not for things that you necessarily use often. There’s a huge garage and plenty of attic space but it’s not as if you want to go rummaging in the roof when you want to find a book to read, you know. Logically, it makes sense to start moving some of his stuff in now because there’s time to sort through everything and we’re not under any real pressure but before we can do that, we will need to strip back some of the existing possessions on my side so that we can accommodate everyone here. I normally have at least one major clear out a year so it shouldn’t be that difficult. As ever, I suppose, it’s all about picking a place to start.

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March 22, 2012

To Pause.

(It should probably be noted that I started writing this two days ago and, for once, decided that I might actually go so far as to try and finish it.)

I went and sat in our local church for a while today. My head has been spinning, seemingly without cease, over money, the mess the house is in, the possibility of going back to work soon and my general inability to summon enough energy to deal with any of these things satisfactorily.

There is something about the quality of silence that one finds in a place that is saturated by years of prayer; there is a depth to it, and an anticipation of it, that is richer and stronger than anywhere else I know.  Of course I understand objectively that one can pause to meditate anywhere, but I suppose my brain finds it easier to slow down in a place so steeped in the convention of paying attention. As time goes by, I find I am more and more drawn to the idea of prayer, not as a communion with a God robed in snowy white with a cloud-full beard on a throne, but honestly more as a reaching out towards the spirit of the Universe in general. And on the (increasingly prevelant) days when I need to find a sense of wonder to cut through the apathy that is swamping me, it seems that the silence of a church is helpful.

I am thankful for so much at the moment: for the happiness that is shining in us and through us; for the health of my children and, come to think of it, myself; for the time that I can spend as I wish – as long as I don’t want to actually spend anything or go anywhere! – and the books and series that are filling my time and my imagination. But there are days when the formlessness is too much, when the never-ending mess that a four month old puppy can create seems almost insurmountable and when I wonder if I will ever have the energy to do anything useful ever again.

This is what my house looks like.

This is what my house feels like.

In the midst of the havoc, it is pleasant to sit somewhere pristine and quiet (that doesn’t smell of dog) and just absorb that stillness. It’s relaxing, certainly, but it’s also quite invigorating and that’s something that I didn’t necessarily expect. In the clear, calm silence, a space forms that allows me to light upon what comes next. When the cacophony that rattles about my brain on a daily basis is quieted, the things which are necessary are easier to grasp and the small, and not so small, graces are found.

One of the not-so-small graces reading with me in the garden last week.

 

Speaking of small graces, Evie had a check up in Crumlin today and everything looks as it should. Her consultant is happy with her and she doesn’t have to go back until this time next year. I didn’t have much in the way of worries there, to be honest, but it’s always nice to find out that you’re right. By way of a congratulatory present, I took her shopping in the city to replace the Claddagh ring that she lost and, because the shop had a sale on, bought one for myself too. (The one she lost is one that I had had since I was eighteen and had kept, in spite of the fact it didn’t fit me any more,  for her to wear.)  It is a reminder to us both to take care of our hearts – both physically and emotionally -  and of the gentle hands that we have entrusted our hearts and lives to.

Evie's on the left, mine on the right.

Dave, being the anti-Irish type that he is, loathes Claddagh rings: he feels they’re tacky and touristy and part of the whole ‘Guinness and Leprechaun’ trade that we push on willing Americans as they pass through. I have always loved the symbolism of them so, on this, he is over-ruled. I feel that clichés are probably clichés for a reason and I thought it would be alright for a mother and daughter to celebrate their happy and healthy hearts in this way. If it’s tacky – and I’m not saying it isn’t – sue me. And if anyone asks, I’m old enough to say that I remember when Buffy was the coolest thing around!

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