The Party
Well, there was a right hooley out in the home today. They are known to throw up a fine spread when there are celebrations to celebrate and
what better reason to throw a party than a birthday. Especially if the Birthday girl happens to be 104 years young.
And fit and fine and hale and hearty.
A mind as sharp as a tack and an ability to paint that has her in her 105th year on the planet still exhibit, AND sell.
I watched her last week as she pushed a 90 year old man in a wheelchair up to the dining room for his tea.
Oh, the go of them.
While all the celebrations were in full swing I breasted the teamaid for a sanger and a sausage as I had dined solely on a biscuit for the entire day. It is only when I get a headache that I realise I have not eaten and am wondering if it is too late to luncheon at midnight.
I poured a baby Jameson at 6.04 pm and I left the glass back down on the table at 9.49 with an inch still in it.
The going was steady.
A fair number of drops of the craythur trickled down onto the towel, and a fair number of drops of the above trickled down into the creases on her neck, but the majority of the drops hit their intended target and made Siobhan cough.
I laughed out loud.
"Well, that's hit the spot eh Mrs........" says I and then explain the story of the Magdalene women to her.
When Siobhan is listening she really listens. She is curled up to one side of the massive chair and I am as close to her as it allows me to get, my knees pressed sideways into its metal panels, and my head bent under the headrest so I can watch the micro movements on her face. I relate the stories of the day to her in language and images she can understand. I like to mention Carlow and Gowran, Killeshin and The Hill - Burrin Street, Graigcullen and The Crescent.
I talk about the Dooleys.
"Hang down your head, Tom Dooley" I will sing and watch as a muscle twitches under her eye. Her fathers name was Tom Dooley, although not he, the eponymous rebel of the song.
"Siobhan, member the time Ollie took us up the hill in the Morris Minor and how we screamed with laughter as he looked in vain for the jack when the engine stalled? "
He was purple in the face in his sunday suit and overcoat and he stood scratching his brylcreamed head in wonderment as he laid the entire boot out on the grass. I was too overwhelmed to mention I had seen it fall out through the hole in the floor I had been watching the road through about 10 miles ago.
"Siobhan, member the time Paddy Matthis flashed at me" -
Years ago in Ireland we did not have paedophiles, we had quare fellas. A quare fella was any oul fella who was a bit soft in the head and who walked about either foostering with - or displaying- himself. Your Nana would warn you to stay away from "quare fellas, and the Booshey Man" .These lads were harmless and gormless at the same time. A lot of them ended up in "The County Home" in their latter years. Little did we know at the time that all the real foostering and abuse Nana didn't know about,was happening behind the very gates of the institutions that were supposed to be protecting and educating the innocent.
I digress.
2 hours in to the drink and my arms ache from leaning over. I become all "Roald Dahl" and try to make her hold the glass. I watched some home movie footage of Dahl try to re-educate his wife after a massive stroke. At times bordering on torture - as he manipulated her limbs and made her try again, and again, and again - it is a seminal piece of archive, which in their case, worked.
I am aware that she will not suddenly say " here's mud in your eye" and drain the glass and slam it down.
I am aware that her OWN birthday on this Tues 19th will be a much quieter affair with no party food and only her family to mark the 5th birthday she will have had here.
I am ALSO aware that I can only narrate this tale, document this progression, photograph and film this, from a space that is OF me, but NOT me. It is as if I step outside of myself to type this.
In that vein I am way more DOOLEY than Mahon.
ps Many Happy Returns Nellie x
And fit and fine and hale and hearty.
A mind as sharp as a tack and an ability to paint that has her in her 105th year on the planet still exhibit, AND sell.
I watched her last week as she pushed a 90 year old man in a wheelchair up to the dining room for his tea.
Oh, the go of them.
While all the celebrations were in full swing I breasted the teamaid for a sanger and a sausage as I had dined solely on a biscuit for the entire day. It is only when I get a headache that I realise I have not eaten and am wondering if it is too late to luncheon at midnight.
I poured a baby Jameson at 6.04 pm and I left the glass back down on the table at 9.49 with an inch still in it.
The going was steady.
A fair number of drops of the craythur trickled down onto the towel, and a fair number of drops of the above trickled down into the creases on her neck, but the majority of the drops hit their intended target and made Siobhan cough.
I laughed out loud.
"Well, that's hit the spot eh Mrs........" says I and then explain the story of the Magdalene women to her.
When Siobhan is listening she really listens. She is curled up to one side of the massive chair and I am as close to her as it allows me to get, my knees pressed sideways into its metal panels, and my head bent under the headrest so I can watch the micro movements on her face. I relate the stories of the day to her in language and images she can understand. I like to mention Carlow and Gowran, Killeshin and The Hill - Burrin Street, Graigcullen and The Crescent.
I talk about the Dooleys.
"Hang down your head, Tom Dooley" I will sing and watch as a muscle twitches under her eye. Her fathers name was Tom Dooley, although not he, the eponymous rebel of the song.
"Siobhan, member the time Ollie took us up the hill in the Morris Minor and how we screamed with laughter as he looked in vain for the jack when the engine stalled? "
He was purple in the face in his sunday suit and overcoat and he stood scratching his brylcreamed head in wonderment as he laid the entire boot out on the grass. I was too overwhelmed to mention I had seen it fall out through the hole in the floor I had been watching the road through about 10 miles ago.
"Siobhan, member the time Paddy Matthis flashed at me" -
Years ago in Ireland we did not have paedophiles, we had quare fellas. A quare fella was any oul fella who was a bit soft in the head and who walked about either foostering with - or displaying- himself. Your Nana would warn you to stay away from "quare fellas, and the Booshey Man" .These lads were harmless and gormless at the same time. A lot of them ended up in "The County Home" in their latter years. Little did we know at the time that all the real foostering and abuse Nana didn't know about,was happening behind the very gates of the institutions that were supposed to be protecting and educating the innocent.
I digress.
2 hours in to the drink and my arms ache from leaning over. I become all "Roald Dahl" and try to make her hold the glass. I watched some home movie footage of Dahl try to re-educate his wife after a massive stroke. At times bordering on torture - as he manipulated her limbs and made her try again, and again, and again - it is a seminal piece of archive, which in their case, worked.
I am aware that she will not suddenly say " here's mud in your eye" and drain the glass and slam it down.
I am aware that her OWN birthday on this Tues 19th will be a much quieter affair with no party food and only her family to mark the 5th birthday she will have had here.
I am ALSO aware that I can only narrate this tale, document this progression, photograph and film this, from a space that is OF me, but NOT me. It is as if I step outside of myself to type this.
In that vein I am way more DOOLEY than Mahon.
ps Many Happy Returns Nellie x
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