And so we were enjoying the
craic in the pub last night, when I realized that we were supposed to be over in Dunlavin, playing with the West Wicklow "orchestra" -- all seven of them. But the warmth from the fire was a good counter to the wind lashing outside, and besides, by the time we got home to get instruments and trekked over the hills to Dunlavin, it would be almost over.
But I am getting ahead of myself. Let's start at the beginning. Sort of.
As I write, the wind is howling around the house, whistling into the windows. My jeans are soaked through just from walking from the car to the back door carrying my veggie box from one of the famer-parents at school. It has been windy for two nights, though the addition of torrential rain only started yesterday afternoon. Since we spent a similar Sunday afternoon with a tub of caulking and some good music, our house is
less drafty, but still "breathes": our landlord says, "but how can it be drafty? Those are triple glazed windows!" Indeed they are, but if they don’t shut properly, they won't be able to keep this wind out. I'm not sure even German windows are up to the task.
The stormy weather comes on the heels of a stormy week. Not weather wise, no, in fact, we had sunshine and the first snowdrops are poking up their delightful heads. I actually got a chance to escape fro the turmoil and stress and do a bit of tidying up in the garden, making room for the bulbs to do their thing.
And despite of the wind, things are calming down again. After a week without broadband, using the mobile dial up, the landlady lit a fire under the Omnitel fellows, and our network magically came back up. Two hours later, it cut out again, but then it restored itself right about the time we decided to give up and go to bed. It's been fine since (touch wood).
Seamus the plasterer from the property management company arrived on Monday morning with a box of white powder and the requisite collection of spackling knives. Danny, home "sick" from school, was entertained for at least half and hour. I sent his cheery self to school the next day (Danny, not Seamus). Seamus said he'll be back next week with a bit of paint. I'm not sure if I dare hope, but perhaps his company is atypical.
The situation at Marcus' school resolved itself with a chat with a harried German teacher called Frau Baum (Mrs. Tree), who has to try to force feed 19th century German literature to 8th graders. She was responsive to our request to not leave behind Marcus just because he's a temporary student. There's still the history teacher, whom our son fondly characterizes as "psychopathic." Maybe I'll deal with her once I figure out how to counter the Catholic science teacher's lesson on birth control.
By far the most stressful area, though, has been at Alfred's workplace. While Redmond is reeling from the behemoth's announcement of job cuts (since eclipsed by Boeing and Starbucks), Ireland has felt its share of the pain. Redundancies, as they are called here, were voluntary, and it was a long week for everyone, wondering if enough volunteers were going to step up. In the end, nine people applied, eight were needed; Alfred was spared the difficult task of 'volunteering' one of his reports, whose wife is expecting in May. There is an upside to this process: managers were able to have very frank talks with employees about just what role they played; employees were asked to really evaluate whether they wanted to be there. Every one of the volunteers was looking for a way out, and Microsoft provided it. They are all going off as a team this afternoon to celebrate. I fully expect Alfred to miss supper, but bet he'll be back in time for soccer, assuming the wind doesn't blow their ball away.
Of course, all this has meant long hours for Alfred, and he managed to leave Marcus waiting for half an hour yesterday evening. I was settled at our neighbor's kitchen table, catching up on their doings (major changes: she will take the kids to France for the remainder of the school year to prepare them for the move to a French-speaking secondary school here; her husband passed his driving test; the baby's been sick, but is learning to talk), when my phone rang and Marcus vented. I did mention that the torrential rains joined the gale-force winds yesterday afternoon? And that teenage pride prevents him from doing anything as commonsensical as wearing a coat?
And so it was that we found ourselves in our favorite pub (Blessington has three, though only one serves food, and it is darn good food), snuggled in front of the fire. And we are no longer tourists here: the waitress recognizes us, calling my husband "himself" (the Irish equivalent of "dearie") and we find we are actually acquainted with a few folks around us.
Alfred was deep in conversation with one of his fellow tin whistle classmates, discussing how to play a roll. My guess is that she's around eight or nine years old, and thinks it's funny that a grown man is in her class. Every now and then, she can't hold it in and giggles. I recognize her mother, who has a 17-year old and a toddler at the table as well, from cello lessons on Saturday; we chat too. She is kind enough to suggest that both my son and husband might be interested in another class in another small town, one where they actually learn to read music. Danny hovers around, Marcus pretends he doesn't know us.
I note as we are bundling up to brave the elements that there is a second lower pane of glass inside the pub window, and realize it is there to protect us from the wind that invariably whistles in around the main window frame. So
that's what those are for!
I have not yet booked all the flights and hotels (and
riads) for the spring trips, but should get to it over the weekend. The American embassy has not yet received my passport, so things might get interesting. But am grateful that things have calmed down and we can complete our year here.
