Yet another installment in the mortifying exercise known as Diary Friday. This is also from my Ireland journal. I am 14 years old, I think. 13, something like that. I’m posting this one, in particular, today, my parents wedding anniversary … because it tells the story of an experience we had, as a family, in Ireland which none of us will ever forget. We all probably have different memories of it, different snippets remain – because of our ages – Siobhan was only four years old – but it made a HUGE impact. This was what our parents gave us, by taking us out of school, taking us out of America, and bringing us to Ireland. It was an extraordinary experience to have for small-town kids such as the O’Malley kids. And I love it, because this little journal entry, written by me – a self-absorbed adolescent – recognizes it – I recognize that this was an amazing experience, a glimpse into another world entirely, something that did change me forever. I lived in America, sure, but I never forgot my visit with Auntie Bridgie in Killarney. And I seem to know, even back then, that I would always see the world just a little bit differently, because of our experience that day.
Also, I LOVE the detail about my mother telling us to eat whatever Bridgie gave us … that it was important for Bridgie to be able to feed us … saying “No thank you” is not an option, when someone who has pretty much nothing offers you food. You say, “YES!”
APRIL – IRELAND
We left Dingle. It was a quaint little town. We are on our way to Killarney. Mum said we were going to do some visiting today in Cahirciveen – Grandpa’s father’s brother’s wife — Aunt Bridget (Bridgie) who is about 83 years old. Mum told me about her. She has no teeth, serves whiskey any time of day, does not have a toilet in the house, and once when Mama was there [that’s my grandmother], a cow walked right in.
I was kind of nervous, but it was so funny. Auntie Bridgie [that’s what we all called her. She was not an “Aunt” – she was definitely an “Auntie”] was so delighted to see us. She waited at her gate with her arms stretched out to us. She had no teeth, wore a black dress, red sweater, and black boots, and she talked so much. She was a riot.
Her house is 150 years old, very dim, with two chairs, green mirrors, and an extremely farmy smell. Cows live in the garage. On the wall is a picture of the Pope. And Bridgie’s husband’s Irish Army medal or whatever. He’s dead.
For such an old lady, she is in great shape. She bustled around, making tea, and setting the table, and boy, did she talk. She laughs a lot, too.
Flies were everywhere. It was kind of disgusting, but I was very in awe of her.
She was born in that house and she has lived there her whole life.
Her son, Jackie, came in. He’s about 38, and very good-looking. He was really nice and he went upstairs to get the whiskey to give to my parents. Mum and Dad were trying not to laugh. I can tell that Bridgie thinks that Jackie is just wonderful – the most wonderful man who has ever been born. She repeats everything he says, and beams at him, toothlessly.
I love her.
Jackie came up to me holding out a big glass of orange liquid – or golden liquid – and I thought it was whiskey and I was like: “Well … uh …” but it turned out to be orange soda.
Bridgie wanted all of us to eat eat eat and she sat us down at the table, and I did not want a thing at all. But she kept saying, “Have some tea/bread/meat/milk/mints” and I felt so stupid and rude saying, “No, thank you” “No, thank you” – But she really kept at me, so I had a ham sandwich, and had a sip of tea. The plates were really really dirty. But I ate off them anyway.
Mum said that it is very important for Bridgie to serve us, and also to have something to give us … and so that we should eat whatever she offered. To be polite.
Then Jackie took us up to look at the new house he had built for them, that they would move into in June. It is new and modern. Jackie showed us how the toilet flushed. We all watched the water go down. A modern toilet is new for these people.
I really cannot picture little old Auntie Bridgie in that modern house. Mum said that she probably would walk down the hill every day, and just sit in the doorway of her old dim cottage, watching the cows.
We stayed there for a while. We petted the cows. We listened to Jackie and Bridgie talk. He drives a milk truck into Dublin, I think. Mum and Dad drank whiskey, even though it was only 11 o’clock in the morning. Bridgie has a huge TV in that dim room. HUGE. Bigger than ours. Cows walk by the door and moo in at us, and there’s the huge TV. So funny.
Jackie and Bridgie. What a pair.
They are both so wonderful. I think it was so great for all of us to meet them.
The whole thing was a very learning, broadening experience and I am going to write about it for one of my English assignments.
Golly Sheila – maybe we did have the same childhood. I wasn’t so lucky to have actual relatives to go visit, but when I was 12 my parents took my brother and I to Europe for three and a half months. We bought a car and drove all over with the Europe for $5 a day book. We almost never stayed in hotels, opting instead to stay in rooms that people rented in their homes. And these weren’t bed and breakfasts, they were just people who opened their homes to traveling strangers. So I got to experience what it was like to be part of their families. One of the places that I remember the most was an old woman, who was probably about Auntie Bridgies age, who put us up in a room over her barn. Like if you put your eye close to the seam in the wooden floor you could see the cows below. You could also hear them and most definitely smell them. But her home and the barn were in the middle of the most beautiful rolling green hills – like the one Julie Andrews runs across in the Sound of Music, and I think we were in either Austria or Switzerland. Most of the people we stayed with couldn’t speak English which was fine with my father because he was all into attempting conversation in whatever language they spoke wherever we were. The thing that I remember the most about the experience was eating with these people in their homes – which were so very different from the homes in my limited experience. The more rural they were the more likely we were to be eating off cracked and possibly not so clean plates accompanied by the buzzing of flies. We were drinking milk right out of the cow and cheese and bread that were made by our host/hostess, not purchased from the store.
I have so many wonderful memories of that grand adventure, and like you, even then I knew that our parents were giving us the experience of a lifetime.
But you put me and my brother in the backseat of the car for too long, and I don’t care where we are, we eventually started pounding on each other. So I also have memories of doing calisthenics on the side of the road in eleven different European nations, as well as most of the major highways in the U.S.
Good times.
oops my computer has the stutters.
I am cracking up at you noting how good looking Jackie was – the attraction to ‘blurpy’ men has its roots here? ;-)
I deleted the stutters. :)
Yes, indeed – the eating was a big deal. My journal entries are filled with descriptions of the food, and how it’s different, and stuff … Just to see how other people live – and Ireland isn’t AS far removed from my world as other countries would be – but still, there are cultural differences, and it was incredible to be face to face with them. Especially when we met our relatives. That was when it really hit home.
And there were 6 of us in a teeny European car. Driving around. Believe me, there was much arguing, and shoving and secret punching going on.
Carrie – HA! So weird, right??
Actually, Jackie was the opposite of “blurpy” – he was a skinny beanpole, with a pale face, and soft blue eyes. Not a blurp on his body to be found.
I don’t think my David O’Hara-esque yearnings were quite fully formed yet.
I mean, please. I was probably in love with Lance Kerwin at this point in my life. He is not blurpy.
That’s a cool story. Your description of your aunt reminded me alot of my own aunt over there – especially the dress and sweater part. Except my aunt doesn’t talk that much – in fact she kind of mumbles. On our last trip over, my fiance had just met her and couldn’t understand a word. My aunt was saying something like ‘av yuz et yet’ and L. kept having to say ‘Sorry, don’t understand..’ Finally my aunt says really loudly ‘Food!!’ – and light dawned :-) Thanks for triggering some good memories.
Wow Sheila! I totally remember that day – except I never went up to the new house, I stayed with Auntie Bridgie and crunched on some biscuits and pretended like i could understand what she was saying. I think there is a slide of she and I sitting next to each other. She was the same size as me – and I was nine!
//serves whiskey any time of day//
A grand woman.
jean:
hahahaha I think I remember that slide.
Member Auntie Bridgie with the cell phone in Dublin?
If you know, I, for one, would like to know what happened to Auntie Bridgie and Jackie after they moved into their new home. For myself, I had a Polish side of the family full of Auntie Bridgie types who often spoke a mixture of English and Polish, and who were inclined to grab you up in a bear hug, or slip you silver dollars on the sly. My memories of our large family gatherings, usually on Sundays, at my Great Grandparents’ little house are little wonders. Until I was around 5 or 6, they had no toilet in the house. If you were lucky enough to spend the night during the winter, the wise ones always “held it” until after dark, and then begged to use the outhouse–thus allowing a mad dash through the snow. I only got to do that once, but every detail is cemented in my mind. These people were mostly coal miners, but a more generous, open-hearted bunch you could never hope to meet. When possible, I still drive by that little house with a mixture of gratitude, nostalgia, and awe.
one addition to the story.
i remember asking aunti bridget if she would miss the old house once she moved out.
she smirked at me and said, “I’m not crazy!”
Brendan – you told me the only thing you remember about our time in Ireland is that you accidentally put salt on your corn flakes and then took a huge bite.
Besides, Auntie Bridgie never smirtked.
maybe she didn’t smirk actually, maybe it was a sly glance. how’zat?