Neighborhood watch

I have joined the neighborhood brigade that sits outside their front doors (or in the doorway if it is cold) and surveys all. Ok, the other two people who do this on a daily basis are Mrs O'Reilly and Mrs Sullivan, and they are in their 80s or perhaps 90s. They have gotten more frail over the years. Mrs O'Reilly is now hard of hearing and requires one of the neighbors to walk her ugly dog daily. Up until two years ago she walked over to Phoenix Park at least once a day with pet in tow.
Poor Mrs Sullivan has been poorly for years now. More heavyset than Mrs O'Reilly, she has problems with her hips and hasn't ventured on foot more than 10 steps from her front door in years. Both ladies have great tans despite Ireland's climate though. Some days they sit together and chat; others they stay in their respective doorways.
Mostly I just wave to them or call out hello since they are directly across the street. If they are looking particularly lonely, I sometimes chat for a moment. As I set off around the corner to a friend's house on our way to the same wedding last Saturday, I stopped by to let them know why I was all dolled up. They told me to enjoy myself, and as I walked away I heard one saying to the other "she's a good girl."

A couple of years ago, I got extensive work done on the house. It desperately needed heating for starters. I ended up living at Rugby Girl's house longer than expected. One day I got a text from another friend who lives on the road, checking on how I was and letting me know that the two ladies were worried about me. They wanted to know if I had moved (as if I would without telling them!), and if not when would I be back.
Once I had moved in, unpacked, and tidied up, Mrs O'Reilly called over to check out the changes one evening. She approved. I offered her tea but she refused because she had already had soup for her dinner.
Mrs O'Reilly and Mrs Sullivan were the first people I met on the road when I moved in nine years ago. Both born and raised in the neighborhood, they set the tone for the community I joined. It wouldn't be the same without them.

Determined Debbie

Columbo is not broody, let me clarify this before yet another kid story. This is about one of the many nieces and nephews with whom Columbo's contact is almost entirely restricted to phone calls. It's a good thing Columbo likes to ask penetrating questions, or phone conversations with the younger ones would consist mostly of silence.

Determined Debbie is becoming a mini-adult and hence has had more interesting conversations with Columbo lately. She is also a hard core negotiator innately. "Backing down" is not really in her vocabulary, or perhaps is becoming a learned behavior over the years... Alternatively, Columbo may bring out the hard-core negotiating elements of Debbie's personality.
When Determined Debbie was little, she was the one who kicked Columbo out of the play room, where Columbo had peacefully been taking a nap while all the munchkins played outside and the adults who had gathered to celebrate GoGo Girl's graduation from university were visiting elsewhere in the rented house. Not only did Debbie take charge when the munchkins decided to move indoors (rather than the three elder ones), but she also unceremoniously pushed Columbo out of the bed when Columbo took her/his time about vacating the premises. In Columbo's defense, Debbie was and is quite strong despite her tender years, and Columbo had been living a life of smoking cigars and interviewing dodgy candidates in not so salubrious gin joints. Columbo grabbed the trench coat and stomped off to a quieter location. However, Columbo did not forget this incident.
Anyway, years have passed since then. Determined Debbie is hoping to visit Columbo with her cousin Sweetpea next summer. Both girls really want to go, but how they express their sentiments varies hugely and reflects their differing personalities. (Luckily, they are also genuinely fond of each other, or Columbo would have a challenging visit.) Debbie told Columbo yesterday evening that she loves doing research and will be creating 3 or 4 schedules/itineraries that she and Sweetpea will discuss and agree on before presenting them to Columbo as choices upon their arrival. "Egads" thought Columbo, "Determined Debbie is only 12 (ish)." Commendable and very organized--she must get this from her mother--but tricky (see description of DD's negotiating skills above, which I suspect may be encouraged by playing poker or other games with her father, no mean negotiator himself). The negotiations began. Columbo praised Debbie's researching and approach, which was sincere but would hardly put Debbie off her game. Teasing ensued and various suggestions were proposed for consideration.
"Columbo, you want me to visit don't you?" was the quick retort. "I am only going to come if we get to do what I want."
"Listen kid, there are plenty of nieces and nephews... I could always drop you and take the next on the list."
Shocked silence. Determined Debbie has always thought Columbo was a pushover but there are times when Columbo needs to up the game to match his/her opponent. After a bit, Columbo reminded Debbie that her father, Gambling Boy, had to learn his own negotiating skills somewhere.

Do you want to be my neighbor?

I had a slow start the other morning (i.e, I was running late). I legged it over to the friendly neighborhood bus stop, and luckily there were three buses there. Unluckily, all three bus drivers were taking their tea break.
As I got closer to the waiting area, which they redid recently at great expense and inconvenience--and neglected to replace the bench which the old biddies aren't happy about--I noticed the rubbish bin.

What you cannot see is the smoke that was billowing out of it. I just shook my head at the sight and smell of the bin (it reminded me of camping fires, not that I am an expert), then took a photo.
When one of the bus drivers finished his break and let the waiting passengers on the bus, he was laughing at me. The others had chosen to wait more upwind of the bin, while I was under the new shelter since it was raining and I was also trying to keep an eye out for a taxi.
The bus took me about halfway to my final destination so I started walking and trying to flag down a taxi at the same time. I shook my little fists at one driver who drove by in an empty taxi when he dismissively waved me off. I had almost made it to the hospital by the time I finally got a taxi.
Then I made the mistake of talking to the old dear volunteering at the reception desk since she was free. I should have waited for the more efficient looking receptionist. Old dear directed me to the wrong waiting room, later walked by me while I was sitting there and just smiled sweetly at me. Eventually, I ended up in the correct place where they had apparently called my name seven times looking for me. Or so I was told.
After my minor outpatient stitches, I toddled off to the hospital canteen. The coffee there was horrible so I headed back on foot toward my friendly Italian restaurant. No more joe maxis for me. On principle.

The kids and their pearls of wisdom

Poppa (or Papa as I think some of them spell it) is the grandfather. My sister, Lovebug, told me a couple of stories about her kids and the traits they have picked up from their beloved Poppa. She gave me permission to use them as material here.
Mimi, when told she was a wild little girl and that she must get it from her father, leaned over and whispered in Lovebug's ear, "I get it from Poppa." And she does.
Diddums, Lovebug's son, has picked up Poppa's annoyingly dismissive flip of the right hand and walk away routine. He is a sweet and sensitive boy normally... (Lovebug and I worry that we, and perhaps other members of this crowd, have also picked it up.) He got impatient with one of his aunties, GoGo girl, and told her to get out of the house, followed by the dismissive flip.
Most of the grandkids enjoy antagonizing or teasing Poppa, once they figure out that this is his favorite way of interacting with them. Initially, some of the older ones were slightly intimidated by him; this was back when he retreated to his bedroom upstairs to avoid stress, too many people around, etc. Now he seems to appreciate the kids more, and he is also more chilled. Definitely pampered and spoiled by his own children, but possibly a bit lonely at times nonetheless.
I am gearing up for his five-week stay. It will be an adventure no doubt. "Where's me dinner?" Or more likely, "where's my G&T?"

Slagging a mother or grandmother's offspring...

...is not recommended. Even when poking gentle fun at their baby geniuses, no matter what age, the ladies are likely to get defensive. Or perhaps it was the person slagging that made them more defensive than usual (me).

While chatting to Jane, I commented on how I had never expected to see her favorite son being a dad and laughed. She bristled, saying he is a very good dad and a joy to see with his newborn daughter. Seeing as he is in his late 40s, married to a young'un, and this is their first child, I don't think I was terribly out of order -- especially since he had told me years ago that he wouldn't have kids at an advanced age like his own father had done.

Later that evening I had a nice chat with my own mother. She can slag me and I can slag me, but apparently I am not to comment unfavorably on her gorgeous grandchildren. To protect myself from my own siblings' potential ire as well, I shall not recount which story she told me. Of one kid, I said that sounds great. Then I asked about another kid (she has 10 grandkids and matriarchal tendencies). My response to her story was "that's a bit precious, no?" Bristles again.

You would think I would learn from my mistakes. In both cases, I managed to salvage the conversations and restore goodwill. At least I have learned that much.

Gaining in confidence

I have been getting a sense of achievement in writing these blog entries so far, and have been in that excited newbie state. I have only shared the URL with a few people and deliberately left it off the search engines.
Having paddled in the shallow end for a while, I have reached the point of considering a wider distribution of my words. Gentle readers have emailed me their kind impressions of the blog overall, but none have as yet used the comments feature for individual entries... I am ready for both comments and "constructive" feedback. Here I sit, with my comments moderation settings all configured and no comments to moderate.
By the way, my weekend has started already and I am relishing my night in. I am sitting here sipping a glass of wine, with a glass of water on the side. It's all about the pacing. I had a good work week, a bit tiring (despite my limited hours -- more than last week). I even contributed a technical suggestion at a meeting today and was told that it was a good idea. Go me.
I have been surfing the web, checking facebook, and chatting to two aunts. Jane is a bit of a worrier, and the other aunt hates talking on the phone. Not just to me. One of her many sons said to me years ago after collecting me for my annual visit to his mother's for Christmas, "what is it with his mother/my father and their siblings? They do not really do phone conversations."
[Pops rang me the next evening (it has been a week of contact with family, making up for long silent period). He had news to import having decided to look after a chore for me that I never got around to completing... Having done that and gotten in a dig or two, he then got restless. "You want to end the conversation, don't you?" I asked. Embarassed chuckle but then "ok, I am not calling you Tuesday. This call takes care of that."]
Seriously, I come from an unusual set of relatives -- on both sides. Don't we all?
With regards to the net surfing, which I have continued to do, along with shopping and napping, I have decided after reading http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2009/aug/12/speedos-fashion that I shall be avoiding French pools, at least the ones where all the big-bellied, old men hang out.

Music I have been listening to... and random

In no particular order:
1. Don't plan on leaving town by Conway Savage
2. Wishlist by Pearl Jam
3. REM
4. Moon Safari by Air
5. You Masculine You by Lampchop
6. Don't bring me high, don't leave me dry by Radiohead

The comments I get about my changed figure
1. Are you pregnant: 3*
2. Perhaps you eat too much cheese: 1
3. You have got fat: 1

* Latest: Cheeky neighborhood girl (about 4 or 5?) asked me yesterday evening. She told me she also asks her mother every day, and her mother said if she asks again, "she'll moirder her." I'm with her mum on this one if Cheeky asks me again.

[Update a week later: Cheeky ran up to me yesterday when I was sitting outside my front door and told me that she was going to have a baby. She then proceeded to lift up her top and pull some brand name doll out from under it. Class. It is apparently a fascinating topic for her.]

People lie about 3 times in a 10-minute conversation (no relation with previous list):

"But why lie to appear competent or likable? Why not just be yourself? In fact, "just being yourself", if we examine it closely, takes creative effort. Our expression of who we are involves choices that reflect social and interpersonal context, our mood, our personality, our need to maintain our self-image and so on."

Guardian article