Unpacking

It has been two months since we returned home. After an initial spurt of putting the groundwork of our lives back together, we have begun adding the layers of complexity--cello lessons, orchestra--back in. Unpacking started predictably slowly, as we took things out and either put them back where they used to live, or found a space for new items amidst the old.

One little boy immediately dug into the boxes of trains, and had three layouts running concurrently within 24 hours. The other petted the cat until her fur was all shiny, and got to work locating an explorer post at a fire station. We got a bit sidetracked with some DIY, as we were one closet short due to the spectacular failure of the front hall closet system (think winter coats and board games and puzzles). A new closet system was in order so we could move said winter coats from our bedrooms, making room for our clothes.

Before we knew it, we had barreled headlong into the school year, with book lists and back-to-school gatherings. Alfred arrived home, pulling three more overweight suitcases behind him. There were a couple of things that I had not brought with that I had asked him to tuck in, and he brought with a few other surprises. After four long weeks of unpacking, we finally piled the suitcases back in the garage, to let them gather dust, knowing that we didn't need to go anywhere--for a while, at least.

Which explains the new knife in my knife block and the Renault keychain for my car keys, and the pile of yummy sweaters on my shelves. A few items (including the fleece) will arrive via slow boat sometime next month, and we're looking forward to the early Christmas that will be. But there is one thing that I neither brought with nor left behind that I wasn't sure what to do with.

Though void of any physical presence, it had been a weighty part of my everyday in Tulfarris, as much a part of my day as rustling up some supper and traipsing through muddy fields. I'm talking about this blog.

My morning walks around the lake, with the crunch of the gravel under my wellies, cleared my head and awakened the Wicklow muse. But those walks and the hills are gone from my life, and even though I did finally get the pumpathon pictures up, and wrote a few tidbits, one morning I found the muse, like sand slipping through my fingers, was gone altogether. I felt lost.

It appears that others are having trouble letting it go of it as well: Traffic reports tell me that folks are still reading the blog. A few notes from friends and family wanted to know if I would keep writing? They wanted more!

A bit of investigating options led me to a book: a combination of the best writings and favorite pictures. With the boys back in school, I turned to pasting and cutting, flowing and trimming the blog to fit into physical pages. And so, while the Pacific Northwest rains darkened this morning's skies, I uploaded a beautiful book, full of shadows and light on green fields dotted with white sheep.

We figure that we'll send a couple of copies to our parental units for Christmas, and let others decide if they'd like a copy of their own. You'll find a banner to click on at the top of the page (or you can click here): To help sway your decision, use the code united at checkout for a $5 discount, and the publisher will donate $5 to United Way of King County. Feel free to give the code out or reuse it as much as you'd like.

With this post, I plan to reluctantly tuck this blog into bed, and let it rest. I do want to thank you all for sharing in our adventure. I will resume my occasional posts on tradition and sustainability in my original blog, The Full Irish. I hope you'll join me there!

UPDATE on 16 November 2009: After getting the bugs out of the production process, the link to the book has changed. Also, please note that there is a new, better discount code valid through November 24, 2009: enter BLURBHOLIDAY at checkout for a 20% discount and free ground shipping on any order of up to 5 books. It's a great deal, but expires soon!

All hallows eve

It's a big deal here!

We didn't get to the store in time to get a pumpkin, so we, or should I say a determined Marcus, carved a turnip! Really.


Danny dressed up as a Garda (Irish police).

Marcus doesn't do dress-up anymore. But he still manages to score candy. Hmm.

Car vs. Internet

Short version: Ireland is like French underwear. It’s so lovely it takes your breath away, but it’s incredibly impractical. Up to you to decide what matters most.

Long version:

Alfred reminds me that I have left everyone on tenterhooks: what ever happened to the car? And our Internet connection? Time for an update.

I am slowly but surely distinguishing a rhythm to the week: Monday, people are straggling into the workplace, a bit disoriented from the weekend, and they manage to catch up on the latest with their colleagues, and start having a look at the work that awaits them. This is the day that a few phone calls and appointments are made for later in the week. Between the Irish work ethic (variable) and communications infrastructure (variable), this takes the better part of the day. A few wee bits might get done, but it’s basically just planning for the week. A call to the Internet provider reveals that yes, there was an outage over the weekend, gee they’re sorry, but they’ll put a tracer log on our line. Call back later in the week.

Monday is also the day I am faced with a decision: which car to use to take Danny to school. Alfred hitches a ride in with Paul, leaving me standing there with two sets of keys. The Land cruiser is an automatic, but it’s also huge, completely filling the spot between road and stone wall. The Clio, sweet and cute, takes up half the space, but is manual. I tried to drive it last week and my hip ached for hours afterward. I pocket the Land cruiser keys, do some hamstring stretches (hope the neighbors aren’t watching), and climb in the Clio. She handles well, has a great sound system, and there’s actually space left when I meet an oil truck going the other way. Silently wish I’d had one more week to car hunt.

Tuesday is a bit better, with mechanics and technicians finally finding a space in their calendar for the weekend cases. I pop into town for some groceries, and stop in the library to ask if they have wi-fi. The librarian gives me a blank look, and says, oh no, we’ve nothing like that, but you’re welcome to use the computers here. Guess the library won’t be our backup connection. This is also the day when the mechanic deigns to look at the car, pronounced it healthy, and changed its transmission (=gearbox) fluid. He got it done in enough time to make a call to have it picked up. Car exchanged effected, Alfred arrives home and drops the keys in my hand. He is my hero. It’s a cute little thing, but, Marcus informs me, a minivan nonetheless. Oh, well, it’s only for a year, and it is blue.

Wednesday the rain continues, and I have a date with the relo people. When we first arrived, they escorted Alfred to the PPS office to get his magic taxpayer ID. The agent recognized the relo escort, and waved them to the front of the line. We asked if I could have the same VIP treatment? Sure, they said. I confirm the documents I will need to apply for myself and the kids, and meet up at the appointed hour with Annalisa, who it turns out was hired two weeks ago, and who has a Yahoo maps printout to find the place. Right. I smile, figure at least she’s paying for the gas to drive up to Dublin. Well, she must save a bundle, because I don’t think she went over 40 miles an hour the whole time: what I used to drive in 45 minutes takes her an hour and a quarter. We get to the building—in the mall where I shopped when we lived at Citywest, so I had to get her there—and I get in the line (=queue) for reception, since I figure that’s where they hide the number ticket machine. Annalisa wanders about for five minutes, and then determines the same thing. The good news is that there are only three people ahead of me: the heaving masses are there for the dole, which is a different line. Ten minutes later, at the counter, I breeze through my paperwork. But, says the capricious fellow, I need a letter from the schools stating the boys are attending. Lovely. Another hour and a half on the road (we stopped by Citywest to pick up mail (=post) that still straggles in.) Hooray, Alfred’s car title is there!

I’m back in a bit of time, and take myself to Newbridge, where I find an interiors shop that has some bed linens, so Alfred and I can make our bed properly. While I’m doing this, Alfred is spending time on the phone with the tech, who is regaling him with stories like the fellow who had an outage every weekday from 6:30-7:30: seems a truck (=lorry) driver parked in the line of sight every morning and had his breakfast. The tech makes a few changes to the frequency, and confirms in the tracer log that we had another outage Tuesday evening. No kidding!

I pick up Danny, who informs me that he urgently needs a black tie, so he can be a Garda for Halloween and around the house. Oh, goody, something more to do. At least it should be easy to find a tie in a country full of school uniforms.

As I gear up to go back up (again!) to Dublin to get Marcus, the aura of a migraine surprises me. I locate my homeopathics and lie down for a half-hour before I hit the road again (this time at 60 mph). My head hurts, and traffic is bad. I get to school late, and we end up grabbing sandwiches for supper and eating them in a parking garage. By the time we get home, I’m past wiped out, but at least I can make my bed before I lie down. Marcus wants to know if I can fix the light in his bathroom at 8:30 at night. I say no, and collapse.

If Wednesdays are usually fairly productive, then Thursdays are the day that Things Get Done. With Danny in school for his long day (he’s usually out at 1:30; Thursday it’s 3:00), I can plow through things that pile up. I go to a morning coffee at school, where I finish knitting a mohair kitty for Izzy’s seventh birthday party the next day. As I arrive home, the postman hands me the missing bank epistles, so I can dig into the pile. Got the online banking done, organized myself, waited and waited for the mail to download. Takes a half hour. Clearly, we are not out of the woods yet. I manage to write a report to send off, Danny arrives home, and the connection goes down. Before the report got sent.

After supper, we decide to drive into town to accomplish three things: 1) find the GAA pitch (that’s a sports field where they play Saturday morning), 2) find out what the Motor Tax office hours are (can’t check online!); and 3) pick up some apples and orange juice. The pitch is beautiful, the motor tax office is open when I need it to be, and we run into Paul and the kids at the store (hey, it’s a small town!). We also swing by the library, where Alfred notes someone using a laptop. We exchange a knowing glance, I turn on my PDA, and lo and behold, it detects a wireless network called “Blessington Lib 1.” That sly old fox at the counter was deceiving me! Alfred works his magic, and she fesses up: there’s a connection, but the county official won’t give them or anyone else the password. I’m not making this up, really. We finagle the name and phone number of the evil man, and decide that Alfred the Tenacious will tilt with him. Marcus in the meantime, has logged onto a library computer and checked his email for the first time in a week. He even gets a start on his homework, downloading files to his USB key. I told you that Thursdays were productive!

It is now Friday, and the connection remains absolutely, completely dead. I am typing this in the conservatory, and will get myself together and head into town where I can check my email on the library computers, mail some letters, and pick up my soy (=soya) milk from Harvest Fare. I’ll also duck into the office and see if I can manage the motor tax.

But it is Friday, and the weekend is nearly here: people will be leaving the office early (it will be worse next weekend, since the following Monday is a bank holiday), and this will be put aside until Monday. Danny is off to a birthday party this afternoon, and the weekend is slated for farmer’s markets and exploring out backyard.

There is, after all, plenty of time to Get Things Done next week.

A key of ones own

As I may have mentioned before, Irish weather is extremely variable. A day that dawns sunny and clear would, in most parts of the world, be a harbinger of a beautiful day of fresh air and outdoor activities. But here, it means nothing, only that the day has started with sun; by teatime we may well be pulling out the umbrella or reaching for the coat that we always keep handy for such things.

And so yesterday dawned full of hope. We reviewed the logistics: pile in the doomed Aventis and go to Naas, buy good food for the week at the farmer’s market and pick up Alfred’s forgotten Laser card from the hardware store; drive to Dun Leary and pick up the new car; drive both to Avis and discard the rental; drop Marcus at his school Oktoberfest celebration; drop Alfred at work, go pick up the last of Marcus’ textbooks downtown (and get a ride on the Luás in for Danny). Then pick up the boy and go home.

Even as I wrote my last missive, I wondered if I was jinxing things, much as a gardener greets a fine morning by making plans for two days worth of digging and planting. I was excited about finally being able to put two keys on a single key chain, instead of carrying my house key and the rental car key on separate fobs. Oh, I suppose I could have clipped them together, but it’s the principle of the thing.

All went well, until, stuck in traffic along the grand canal, Alfred revved the motor without engaging the clutch. But wait, I thought, this is an automatic. Sure enough, he could start out in first, but the transmission didn’t engage past that. We limped to a service station and debated what to do. I hadn’t joined the AA club (our wobbly Internet connection makes me less efficient), so we couldn’t call for roadside assistance; we were far from home, and didn’t know where to have the car towed, let alone who to call to tow it, or how would we get home. Oh, and didn’t we just buy the car today!?

Alfred called the man who sold it to us and explained our predicament; said piano teacher graciously came out, called the person who did the pre-sale check and even more graciously offered us the use of his car—a Toyota Landcruiser—for the weekend. When you’re done laughing at the image of us is this behemoth, read on.

He drove the Scenic to the service station, where it awaits a mechanic on Monday. We got home, where Marcus immediately spiked a fever (I knew something was up when he didn’t want supper from the chippie), and we discovered that our tiny communications bandwidth had shrunk to no access whatsoever. My backup plan, trekking over to the hotel on the golf course, turned out to be a non-starter, for they had no access either. It’s probably the weather, states the hotel clerk. I had seen stars in the clear sky on the walk over. Clearly I need a different backup plan.

Perhaps, we say philosophically, we are meant to take weekends off entirely, and attack our long lists during the week. I made a hot drink for Marcus, curled up and knitted a teeny hat for Tulip Duck (who also had caught a cold this week apparently), and put the boys and ducks to bed. Lucky for me, we had managed to get to the Naas market, and I had taken the time to stop and chat with the chocolate guy. Burnt caramel truffles and a fluffy novel. Monday will come soon enough.

Getting around or not getting around

I went in to pick up Marcus from school Wednesday, since Alfred was planning to stay late and entertain colleagues from Redmond (how's that for a switch?). The second I turned on the car, the phone rang, so I turned the car off and answered it. It was my Alfred telling me that he had just received an email from the relo people: apparently they had given us the wrong car, and I needed to go to north Dublin and swap it out right away--the office closes at 5:30, and it was already 4:20! Hurry!

Now, Ireland isn't terribly big, but with the condition (variable, remember?) of the freeways (ahem, motorways), there was only an outside chance that I could make it. In addition, it seemed really stupid to have to swap out a car three days before we needed to take it back. In other words, someone made a mistake three and a half weeks ago and I was supposed to careen through rush hour traffic to recitfy it now.

Needless to say, it didn't happen. What did happen was that Alfred took my car in the next day and Avis came down to his office and swapped out the Avensis for--an Avensis! Boy am I glad we got the right car this time. At any rate, I'm still hamstrung enough that I couldn't drive the Clio, so had to call on Neighbor Natasha to bail me out and take Danny to school. The Internet connection held on (mostly) so I got a fair amount of work done, and I grabbed some groceries after supper, so no damage was done.

The first thing I noticed about Avensis II was the lack of color: silver. Ugh, but it's only for two days. Then I get in the car, and look at the clock. High noon (or midnight). Hmm, I'll reset it tomorrow, since I rely on the car clock rather than a watch. But when I come out of the grocery store and start the car up again, it's high noon--again. And we're back to RTE1 on the radio. Clearly, this car has some electrical issues.

The this morning, I called Natasha and asked if I could reciprocate: I picked up her kids and took them to school, and was planning to pick them up on this wet, blustery autumn day. Easy peasy. We got us a carpool!

Years ago, when I bought my first car, I left the headlights on and drained the battery. My dad bailed me out with a jumpstart and eventually a new battery. Yes, this otherwise intelligent woman cannot remember to turn of the @#$! headlights. I adore that annoying dinging noise, I love smart cars like the Volvo that turn the things off for you when you turn off the car. (Only people dropping ransoms need to see with their headlights, and they can leave the motor running.) Avensis the First dinged like mad when I left the keys in the ignition or left the headlights on. Nifty.

Yup, I had left the headlights on, and the battery was dead, or flat as one might say in these parts. Aparently Avensis II cannot be bothered to ding for me. I sighed and called Natasha to wake the baby and go get the kids. Then I put in a call to the old man to pick up jumper cables on the way home. Are you surprised to hear that the battery cover in Avensis II - the Electrical Nightmare was in shreds, perhaps ripped off in a tizzy by the last person who had to jumpstart it? I'm not!

I pick up my new car, a Renault Scenic, tomorrow. And Avensis II goes back to the bog from whence it came. Be very afraid if you rent an automatic when you come to Ireland...

Breathtaking

We went for a walk the other evening. We like to go for after-dinner walks during the summer, when bedtime doesn't seem so all-fired important. September was a bit like an extended summer, with boys not in school as much, and frankly, the outdoors verily screams at us to come and walk.
We knew that Ireland would be beautiful, we'd been here before, after all. But neighbor after neighbor, friend after friend echoes it: it is absolutely gorgeous here. It's worth the drive from Dublin, just to be able to witness flocks of birds over the lake at sunset. Really. Worth. It.