About Me

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Typical Piscean, dreamer, story teller in the tradition of my country, I love to write. I'm not sure that I'm any good at it, but getting the words down has its reward.

10 July 2016

Sunday and the living is easy...after another week!

I had the house to myself today, so I decided to have breakfast in the Garden Room, sit back and relax with a good book and forget about the world for a while.  It's been one of those weeks...again!

Afterwards, I decided that I would sit in the study, and listen to a Mozart piano concerto for a while; I have a random selection on the computer and it reminds of me of my childhood listening to Mum playing our piano.  Even now, eight years on since she passed away, former pupils and their children who were former pupils often stop me in the supermarket, or in the street, to say how much they loved learning to play, taught by her they also got lessons in local history, and a running commentary on whatever birdlife was flitting in the bush outside of the room where she taught.  On the wall is a picture of John B Keane, one of my favourite Irish authors and a Kerryman to boot!

The veranda was painted for the first time five years ago in sage green.  We're now repainting; inspired by The Durrells, we're going forget-me-not blue and I have mixed two tubs of emulsion to create a new colour; brilliant white [half a tub left over from last years redecorting programme] and magnolia [a quarter tub] and for good measure a quarter tub of a light lemony cream emulsion.  We will be gorgeous!  Even Mme Pounce approves.  I'll put up a picture of the new look when it is finished.  I'm moving away from sage green and winter holly green on flower pot holders, to the forget-me-not blue and a lovely deep wine colour and the cream/lemon/white mix.

We spent the week in something like suspended animation, a cousin of Himself's rang the week before to tell us that she would be spending her holidays introducing her new beau to friends and family.  They met in Scotland a couple of years ago at a Rugby match and are now an item, she told him.  He issued an invitation to lunch for last Wednesday as it was one of two days we would be guaranteed to be at home all day. 

"Lovely" she said, "we'll see ye then around twelve thirty on Wednesday".  

Cometh the day, not cometh the cousin.  Half twelve rolled into half one, and two thirty became three.  Luckily I had prepared a salad lunch [as Mum used to call them] and they never left the fridge where I had placed them until she should arrive.  Around four, aggravated by not hearing anything, and I suspect embarassed as she is usually a stickler for the conventions, he rang her.  

"Oh I forgot", she gaily replied.  "We got chatting over coffee and time ran away, besides which I'm on holidays".  Through gritted teeth [all his own] he suggested a phone call would have been nice.  

"Not at all" said she [risking life and limb for keeping him from his veranda painting], "sure what would ye have been doin' anyway?"  No comment.  Smirk!

"Well" says she brazenly "tell ye what, we'll drop in sometime tomorrow just for a coffee, say around three in the afternoon?  We can fit you in between visiting my old school pal Maureen and he wants to see the Art Gallery place in town".  

"Lovely" returns himself.

Thursday afternoon paint brushes were downed at two pip emma, a quick shower and there we were, sitting relaxing [well I was relaxed, I know she wouldn't show, we've been down this road with her before] in the sunshine in the garden.  At four thirty, growling like a Kodiak bear, he stalked off to change into his painting garb and blue paint flew in every direction.  We have a beautifully blue speckled veranda floor now, forget-her-not?

Friday dawned and after going off to do the weeks grocery shopping in the morning, I left him mixing more emulsion to paint the walls of the veranda while I went off to visit my last surviving aunt who lives in a care home about ten minutes away.  Knowing that Theresa would, inevitably turn up, I left a tray of buns and goodies and cups etc., on a tray in the kitchen.  

"What's that for" he asked; "so you only have to boil the water for the tea or coffee when they arrive".  

"They won't" he snorted, "your man is going back to Scotland tomorrow and we won't get a visit".

Four o'clock, while having a good chuckle over family history with my aunt, the cell phone rings.  

"Can you come home please?, would you mind? they'll be here in an hour, she just rang".  

"I'll be back at five" I told him, and I was true to my word.

Twenty to eight her car slid into our front yard.  "Ah sure there ye are" she greeted us gaily, "didn't I tell you we wouldn't be putting ye out if we were a trifle late".  If Himself had a custard pie to hand, she might have gotten it in the face! 


Pondside said...

Are we related???? I have that very same cousin, but she lives on Cape Breton. If I lived there, my teeth would be ground to stumps.
I'd love to sit with you at that tea table. I promise that I'd be quiet and not disturb the reading - just want to sit and sip.
I look forward to seeing the results of all that painting. What a pain that must have been, with all the interruptions!

Frances said...

Dear Irish Eyes, once again you have gently lead us into a delightful tale of family interactions. The emulsion provided a pathway, a way to describe time and present the setting. Beautiful writing. You and your dear husband have much more patience than I do.