Welcome to my crib...

 

I remember, as a child, Dad telling us that if you get a rib of straw from the crib and put it in your purse or wallet, it will never be empty. It's a tradition I've followed every year since. Hey, I'm not leaving anything to chance.

So yesterday, after Christmas Day mass, a few of us were standing at the outdoor crib. I took out a piece of straw and went to put it in my purse, explaining why.

Then someone, more in the know than me, announced.

"It's no use if you get it from this crib, it's not blessed. You'll have to get it from the crib inside the church!"

I thought for a split second, threw the straw back in and said

"Feck that. I'm going in to get some of the good stuff."

And I did. I'm not risking another economic crash if I can help it!

I wonder does this straw come in bales?

RIP.ie

 

I, unfortunately have unwanted guests for Christmas.

Now before you get all charitable and say that this time of year is when we should show mercy to all creatures, let me just point out that...

One little fu*ker bit a tiny hole on the pipe leading from my dishwasher, it dripped onto the plug underneath, tripped all the electrics in the house JUST IN TIME or my whole house would have gone up in flames!

Christmas spirit, me @rse!!!

Anyway, I hotfooted it down to Weir's, my local shop and asked for 

"Two mouse traps. please."

Now, I know I have a Westmeath accent, but years of teaching has perfected my skills of articulation, projection and annunciation, resulting in a clear speaking voice...or so I thought.

The young chap went rooting around behind the counter and produced, with a flourish

"Two MASS CARDS, wasn't it?"

I looked at him in confusion for a moment and then said

"No, it was two MOUSETRAPS. But if they work, I'll come back for the mass cards!"

Update: They DID work :)

Grant my Last Request...

 Music and the sense of smell are the two most powerful emotion stirrers. We all have a particular smell that carts us back to a childhood holiday, or a song that reminds us of our first love.

In 2006 Dad was fighting a losing battle against cancer. On his last night we spent the night with him in hospital but sadly, the following day he passed away. Suddenly we realised that there were things at home that were urgently needed. I said I’d drive back and get them.

I had Paulo Nutini’s album in the car and I played the track Last request on repeat the whole way home to Raharney and back to the hospital, tears streaming down my face. The song is not about someone dying but it is about losing someone you love and I found the lyrics very poignant at that particular moment.

That song is the thing that I most associate with Dad and after that if I happened to listen to the album I would skip that track as I found it too difficult to hear.

Fast forward eight years to my 50^th birthday. I headed into Mullingar after school to treat myself, only to discover that half the town was sealed off due to a gas leak!

Not going to let a little detail like that spoil my day, I sat myself down in the window seat of a little café to eat my mince pie and watch the rest of the mad world scurry by. My mind was racing with making plans for the rest of the night…..shoes to buy, hair to be blow-dried and nails to be painted. Christmas carols were streaming out of the speakers adding to the atmosphere. 

Out of nowhere came the distinctive tones of Paulo Nutini singing the opening bars of Last Request. Before it even consciously registered with me what song it was, the tears were flowing down my cheeks. I looked furtively around to see if anyone had  spotted the mad one crying her eyes out. If anyone passing the window looked in they probably thought

“God, Noeleen Lynam is taking turning 50 fierce hard!”

But in reality it was probably the best moment of my day. I don’t believe that things happen as a coincidence. Everything is planned.

Why would they play that song at that particular time?

It’s not in the charts and it certainly isn't a Christmas tune.

To me that song was Dad’s way of contacting me to let me know that even though he couldn't be physically with me on my special day, he was still there. I know he didn't intend to make me bawl my eyes out but it was the best way to grab my attention.

After having a little cry I composed myself and ventured out to join the maddening crowds on the streets. There was an extra pep in my step, the happiest I'd been all day. 

Fast forward a decade to this week and my 60th birthday. Again I was heading into town to get ready for the family dinner that night. The radio was blaring and I was humming along to Mariah Carey, Michael Buble et al. 

Once more what song came on the radio?

Last Request by Paulo Nutini.

I will be honest. This time I was kinda listening out for it and hoping that I'd get that message from Dad and this time also from Mam, for my birthday. There were no tears this time, only a warm, cosy feeling. 

It doesn't matter what age you are when a parent dies, inside you are seven.

Twinkle, Twinkle little star

 

I was sitting back on my couch, admiring my Christmas tree and reminiscing about where I got the various ornaments from over the years. This one in particular caught my attention.

Múinteoir means Teacher , for all my non-Irish friends, so it was obviously a present from one of my pupils. 

Now it has never struck me as strange before, but maybe two years of retirement have changed my perspective somewhat.

I mean, are there other people out there who have their job titles emblazoned across a Christmas bauble?

Hairdresser or Bricklayer or even Quantity Surveyor.

Nope? So just me then!

Age is but a number!

 I went out with the family for my pre-birthday dinner.

As I was standing with my balloons, the manager of the hotel came over to exclaim

"You can't be the birthday girl! You look far too young. i wouldn't put you a day over 50!"

I smiled broadly at him and thanks him profusely for his kind comments. 

Meanwhile, my inside voice was screaming...

"FU*K YOU! I think I only look 40!