Adoration

After 83 days of living with him, I think it is time to write about him. My housemate.

I haven’t lived with anyone I didn’t really know before, I won’t holiday with anyone I don’t like, I’ll rarely spend time with people I don’t really know so I technically moved in with a stranger. Yes, he was in my social circle but I never said more than 10 words to him and now here we are living together.

Day 83 has us sitting in the living room together. He is sitting on the couch reading the Sunday Times while I watch him from the kitchen table. I am pondering how to word what I want to say about him.This morning he made me coffee and laughed when I didn’t like it, he toasted my bagel for me and helped to pack my friends suitcase for her.

Usually we stay up late talking to each other, I tell him stories about growing up and he laughs while I recall the silly things that I have done. He has an incredible memory for remember the silly things I’ve said while in his company and he loves to repeat them to anyone who will listen. He loves to sleep and usually starts his “It’s nearly bed time” count down from about 9pm. He picks out music that I have never heard of that he thinks I will like. He is afraid to be in the car with me because he thinks I am a dangerous driver and will sit in the back unless he looses a bet and has to ride shot-gun. He is trying to teach me how to play guitar and he thinks I can play a perfect G. Sometimes he will sit with me and play and when the song requires a G chord, he’ll nod and I’ll play. He tries to make me sing more, and keeps asking us to start a band or go busking. We talk about our families and friends that we had that are no longer around. He loves humous and reggae sauce, he eats creme eggs whole and has a new found addiction to winding me up. We Facebook each other across room, text each other throughout the day and have a handshake that we do before bed time.   Sometimes we hide in my room and talk, sometimes he climbs into my bed when drunk. He always says “Please and Thank you” and always remembers to give me a fake evil look when I leave the door open by accident.  If I tell him something about someone and he repeats it, I get mad, he’ll later take me aside laughing and say “You know it is okay to let someone know that you will miss them”. He is respectful and wise, he doesn’t push his beliefs on anyone and he is generous with his time. He appreciates when I cook for him and he always cleans up after I do. He makes me laugh so hard that I cry and when he is hung over I crawl in next to him to check his pulse. We’ve made some funny traditions and all of them make me feel like I belong here. He gives me advice and reminds me of my self-worth, he helps me to figure things out and he always sits next to me when he thinks I might be feeling lonely.

Most importantly he thinks we are family and that families should look after each other and he does, he takes care of me, even with all my ups and downs. I love my new home, my new family and my new friend, Brian.

Stubborn dog.

Well, I’ve moved out, or moved in depending on how you look at it.

It’s new and exciting and my room feels like home, I stay up late taking to Ro, We’ve already throw a party but I miss my Mom. I am so used to the little thing, reading the Sunday Times in bed together, Having to call her a million times from the top of the stairs when looking for something. Helping her unpack the groceries and us both sitting down to eat something only just after putting things in the freezer.

I miss my Dad too, the way he used to wake me up at 5am every morning coming home from work. How he would come in and sneak me a bar of chocolate if I was feeling down. I miss how he used to be singing downstairs and I would join in from my room and we’d sing song after song until Mom would scream at us to shut up. I miss the stupid way he ruffles my hair that makes me smile when I’m happy but makes me sob when I’m down.

I miss my little brother and how he always goes looking for his pssport when he is drunk. I miss fighting over the tv remote and watching stupid shows just to annoy him. I miss him calling into me telling me what drama him and his friends encountered while they were out.

I even miss the dog, how he climbs up on to my lap and stays there just to get warm.

I called over on Sunday evening and it was different, it felt different. My room was no longer my room, the bare walls looked lonely and while I did sit and read the times with Mom on the couch it wasn’t the same. The dog didn’t come near me and it begane to feel very real. Things are changing and I have to move with it or I’ll get left behind.

Roast Potatoes on a Sunday

I usually wake at about noon, Dad will have already left for golf and my Mom will be downstairs drinking tea and having some fresh brown bread with marmalade. It takes me ages to wake up so I tend to reach down for my laptop and turn it on and read some blogs, forums and chat with a friend. By the time I get up and go downstairs Dad will be back, telling Mom all the news from the golf course that morning, my brother will fill us in on what happened when he went out the night before and Mom will tell us what she got up to, depending on her weekend schedule. We’ll all sit into the one room chatting and giving out to the dogs who try to take our seats.

At around 3 or so, Mom will serve dinner, it’ll nearly always be roast potatoes for a Sunday. We’ll stay squashed on the same couch eating dinner and arguing over what to watch on tv. As the day passes Dad will fall asleep in front of the tv and Mom will go into the other room and read. My brother will venue off for the afternoon and I will go meet some friends. Whatever time I’ll get home at, I’ll call into Mom’s room to tell her that I am home and safe, She’ll turn to face me so I’ll crawl into bed next to her and tell her all about who I met and where I was. I’ll get distracted by the Sunday Times magazines and stop talking and read to her. We’ll talk for an hour or so and I’ll have to go to bed myself, so I’ll get changed. I’ll call back into her because as always I’ll have forgotten to tell her something. She’ll be asleep, glasses perched on nose, lamp still on and the newspaper lying on her chest. Softly sleeping, she’ll have stayed awake for me to come home and talk to her.

It is nearly 2.30pm and I have gone back to bed, I have already been down to see Mom eating her bread and marmalade, I am afraid to stay downstairs for fear of crying, I’m not sure I can go through our usual Sunday routine knowing it is my last Sunday at home.

The happiest little sister

I have a big brother. I love saying that. I have a big brother! His name is Mark. He is 26, just 15 months older than me. Unlike most older siblings he didn’t grow up with me, he was also given up for adoption and ended up infamily who live a few miles away. I met him 7 years ago. I used to bump into him at the shop, video store and at the bus stop, we would talk and share news but it was was never arranged to meet, we’d just have to cross paths. A card at Christmas and a postcard from paradise to make him jealous.

Recently though, thanks to the wonder that is our decling economy, he seems to have gotten himself a job delivering post on my road. Lucky for me, I have Thursday and Friday mornings off and therefore I am called to postal duty where I wander around after him telling stories about my childhood and asking him a million questions about his. It’s only been the last month or so but the other day in passing conversation he called me his sister and I my heart did a little somersault. I am a little sister. Not just anyones though, I am Marks little sister. Therefore this makes me, the happiest little sister alive.

Midnight

Just before midnight, minutes before turning 25, I drove to Monkstown with one of my closest friends in tow. We sat in the car listening to terrible 80′s cheese waiting for the clock to strike. It was then I was suddenly aware without even realising it at the time, that I had driven as near to Mary as I possibly could, right across the river, only a stones throw away. It seems my subconscious is alive and well and thinking about her today, of all days, my birthday.

Mary’s Daughter

On a wet Sunday in Limerick about 5 years ago, I met my grandfather for the first time. He was a short man and had red cheeks and big round glasses. I remember his room smelling really damp with a hint of old spice after shave. There was a large oak wardrobe and dresser and a hospital bed. The large bay window looked into the gardens and carpark and there was a dead plant on the window sill. I did not want to visit him, I had no interest in meeting him.  The man who sent me away 19 years previously didn’t deserve any attention from me.

I was brought in any way and assured there would not be any drama since his mind had been wandering of late and he wouldn’t even realise I was in the room, not to mention figure out who I was. I sat in the corner and listened to the conversations between himself and his children. I watched him move slowly to his bedside dressers to get something and then offer us all some mikado biscuits. I took one and thanked him, I then watched him turn to his son with a very confused look on his face. It became very clear to me that he had copped that there was  stranger in his room eating his biscuits. “Who is that girl?” he asked looking back at me. “That is Mary’s daughter” came the reply. This was the moment I was dreading. He took hold of his old wooden walking stick and slowly got up off his bed. “Come here child,come here to me” I didn’t move, he came close and he put his two arms around me and held me close. I was unsure of what to do and stood there with one arm around him and the other dangling by my side. I pulled away after a few minutes to see tears streaming down his face. I excused myself and left.

Today I found out that he died last month. No one told me, the internet is a wonderful source of information. I felt sad for Mary, he father has passed and there was nothing I could do to take the pain away. I wanted to mail my sympathies to her but I knew that they would fall on deaf ears. I didn’t want to reestablish contact but I did want to say I was sorry for her loss. Would I have gone to the funeral had I known on time?  Yes, I would like to think that I would have gone to pay my respects. In some shape or form, I am bound to that man and that family for all my waking days.

Distinctive Cheering

Today I got the DVD of my time as a Cork Rose contestant. I watched it when I got home alone and I was so critical of myself. I didn’t like the way I looked, I was too fat for my dress, I was moving about the whole time. I never stopped talking, I nearly said porn but instead said “lovely magazine” I was sprouting so much rubbish. I had to turn it off. I watched it later with Mom and she thought it was brilliant, loved the dress and thought I was great. I needed some time before I could turn it back on.

After a few hours, I went back to watch it again. I watched it over and over and analysed the way I move and talk. The more I watched it, the more I didn’t see what I looked like. I started to hear myself, the way my voice goes into a higher pitch when I’m excited and how I make this funny face when I’m laughing at something I think is really funny.  Just before turning it off I just listened to it, I didn’t want to analyse my dress or the way my arms were going the whole time, I just wanted to hear what it is I sound like. My voice doesn’t sound the way it does in my head. Just as I was starting to think I was terrible, I could hear some distinctive voices cheering in the background and then I remembered that it was all because they believed I could do it, that I did.

Being 5

Climbing up the wooden stairs was exhasting, she slowly opened her mothers bedroom door to find her awake and waiting for her return. She slipped off her sandals and climbed under the covers. Her mother pretended not to notice her mascara stained face, knowing she had been crying earlier, she distracted her with stories of her weekend away. Somewhere in the conversation, her mother turned to her and told her that she was taking on too much, worrying about too many people and too many things.  The daughter, filled with curiosity asked her was she like that as a child.

Smiling, she turned her full body towards her and recalled a story from when the girl was 5 and in Junior Infants. Do you remember “Ms Keogh?” she asked. “I do” she nodded. “Well one day when I was collecting you from school, she asked me to wait until all the parents had left. I waiting anxiously wondering what she needed to talk to me about. Eventually she called me inside the classroom and I sat down, waiting for her to tidy away her things and clean the board. You were playing with some cubes in the corner, you didn’t seem worried or phased that I was there.”

“Your teacher watched you for a minute and smiled at me. ‘I’d keep her if I could. She is a very special girl.’ I didn’t really know what to say to that so I said Thank you and waited for more to come. ‘Today at break, I made one of the children stay in, I wouldn’t allow them out to the yard to play because they had drawn all over the table. Obviously this is vandalism and we have to explain to them that this isn’t acceptable.’  I looked around at you playing, wondering if you had drawn on the table at school, you didn’t usually draw on the furniture at home.”

“I turned and looked back at the teacher who continued her story. ‘I was sitting eating my lunch when your daughter came into the classroom, I was surprised to see her since she should have been outside playing, She came up straight up to me and asked why Laura was not allowed out to play, I explained to her that Laura had been bold by drawing on the table and that I could not let her out until she has cleaned it off. She then looked at me for a minute, checking if I was serious and she looked at Laura, who wasn’t doing anything but being stubborn and sitting at her desk, off she went to the bathroom and returned with some water and a cloth. She rolled up her sleeves and cleaned the table. Walked back over to me and asked.’Can Laura come and play now, the table is clean’ I couldn’t argue with her. The table was spotless. Then off she went, down to Laura at the back of the class,took her by the hand and off they went.”

I was so proud of you. I called you over and placed you on my lap. You did some cleaning today I hear. “Yes, I did, Laura didn’t know how to do it and she was in here all alone”  That was nice of you to help her I said. “I like Laura” and you hopped off  my knee and got your coat from the rack and waited at the door. The teacher walked us both to the main entrance, making small talk about the weather and the busy village. Taking your hand, I walked with you up the road to the bus stop, remembering the words the teacher at said.”

This story made the daughter laugh, “So I’ve always been a worrier?” “No” the mother answered, “You’ve always been a carer”  The daughter rolled her eyes. “I’d say I was probably just cold outside or we were short a  person or something, I don’t even remember who Laura was to be honest”  The mother took off her glasses slowly and put them on the bedside locker. She took her daughters hand in hers and whispered “It’s funny that you think you have changed over the years because you haven’t, you are still the same person you were at 5, always looking out for others.”

The daughter after her day of distraction, started to cry, eventually  falling alseep right there next to her mother, just like she did when she was 5.

Wedding Dresses and Scratchy Carpet

I started to write this draft on Saturday while wearing a Wedding dress and lying on a carpet in the Raddison hotel in Cork. I had about 5 minutes to myself all day so I thought I’d blog. I then got out of bed at 6am and started to blog again but I knew my typing would wake my friends so I stopped. I went out to the garden with no shoes on and sat and looked at some baby rabbits hopping around the place.

I got back into bed and feel asleep. I was tired from the last week. I learned alot about myself though. I learned what kind of friends I want to be surrounded by, I know what way I want people to see me and I learned that a bit of feedback goes a long way. I also learned that taking your hair done and sleeping on it makes me look like a banshee.

I had such a memorable weekend. I spent half of it fretting that I had to sing on stage and I spent the other half smiling to myself. I managed not to damage any ones ear drums after singing and was quite pleased that I was able to get on stage and talk. Even though I didn’t win, I am really glad that I took part. I’m hoping the friends I’ve made will be my friends for life. I met some lovely people and it also made me appreciate my friends more.

While we were waiting around, we weren’t allowed to see the audience coming in but I just needed to see my Mom and friends and know that it didn’t matter what happened once they were there, I quickly changed my opinion when seeing them make me more nervous. The funny thing was while waiting in the Green room with my escort. Chuckles arrived freaking out because he knew I was nervous. I didn’t realise it was so hard to be an audience member. He is so strange sometimes, I had to calm him down since he was nervous because he saw I was nervous. Boys are weird.

I could hear my friends cheering when I got on stage and I could see their silhouettes in the crowd. Ronan gave me a red rose and squeezed my hand when I got off. I was happy to have him next to me and was excited to see what the others had thought. Being surrounded by the people you love is the best feeling in the whole world. Wandering around the reception area looking for Kyle (since he is the tallest) and wandering near the bar looking for Chuckles, I was stopped by strangers and told I was hilarious. There is something about a compliment from a stranger, while it makes you feel good, it’s your what your friends think that makes the difference. Waiting to find them to hear seemed like hours even though I knew it was only a few minutes. Hugs, Kisses and pats on the back were in order and the laughed that I was still shaking even though it was all over.

I didn’t want to stay there alone and it ended up being three of us in the bed and since I couldn’t sleep. I went and got breakfast and made them tea. I love these random nights in hotels only miles away from your own house. I’ve also come to realise that it doesn’t really matter where you are or what you do, it is your friends who make your world turn around.

Leaving Cert Memories

My brother is sitting his Leaving Cert at the moment, you wouldn’t know it though. Out house is still as noisy as ever, the desk for studying hasn’t been used and the only difference is my Dad’s stress levels have gone up. It reminds back to 6 years ago when I did mine, phone calls from friends freaking out and call from relatives to wish me good luck. Mom eventually got sick of the phone and took me out driving to look at new houses, This was more to calm her down than to calm me down. I was fine, I didn’t do a tap of study so I knew I was in trouble before I began. The thing is even if I had studies it wouldn’t have sunk in. I only remember things I am interested in and when I do remember something it’s something I think I’ll need or will be relevant. Even now, I can’t recall a Maths formula or a poem as Gaeilge. I didn’t think I needed them. A few nights ago I could hear my brother reciting Maths formulas in his sleep.  I felt sorry for him, they were stealing the day and now they were stealing the night too. Anyway, it’s nearly all over for him and my flash backs to the exams can stop. Thank God!