Ireland

All posts tagged Ireland

What’s going on here?

Published July 31, 2013 by Sandee

Building

Looking after my neighbor’s apartment has HAD its perks — emphasis on “had.”  And there were things that I had come to expect, like availing myself of loose quarters.  This time around was ever so disappointing – and I’ve never seen so many roaches!

When I went to their apartment to bring the mail and water the plants, though I was attacked by roaches, I still looked for the many packages of cookies T has insanely hoarded for like — ever. But, as mentioned in my previous post – there weren’t any – I would still have eaten them with roaches there – he usually keeps them bagged and in jars and shit.  Okay so fine – I accepted that I’d be responsible for purchasing my own snacks.

Then one night, I steamed vegetables, opened the cabinet for olive oil and had the hideous remembrance that it was on my shopping list since I’d run out.  “Oh dang. But T prolly has some!”  I go downstairs and grab a bottle — I don’t know what the hell kind of oil was in there but, that, was no olive oil!

Okay so next, T has always kept quarters on the foyer table.  Other times when I watched his apartment when he was in Ireland, I would take them if I ran out of laundry quarters and replace them later.  This time the quarters looked like commemorative quarters – I was scared to touch them, so had to wait till next damn day to finish laundry.

Yesterday I came to terms with the fact that I was spoiled when it came to T’s apartment.  The only thing I could partake of in there was the liquor, but I’m not apposed ta drink it.

Back home after dropping their mail and flicking off roaches that leeched onto the black garments I’d worn the last four days, I realized that looking at liquor bottles did much to warm my mind and much to loosen my sphincter – I had to take a shit.

Oh so marvelous, but, alas, no toilet paper… Thank God we live in a century where we needn’t waddle down to the babbling brook to wash our asses when this happens – so I hopped in the tub and got under the spigot.  But what happens upon the ‘morrow, I mused, as it was too late to go the supermarket.  Then the light bulb came on in my noggin, and I dashed down to T’s.  He’d be good for at least one roll.  And.  He was.

Why’d it have to be weird?  It was some generic brand that had been perfumed.  And you know what can happen when you use tissues laced with industrial fragrance?  But, oh, I am happy to report that all is well in the nether regions!

I await now the return of my neighbors, and will disclose not the least of my disappointments.

New Year’s Eve With Sandee and Company

Published January 8, 2013 by Sandee

Grammaspic_witheffects

I escaped spending New Year’s Eve in the emergency room.  My neighbor had a bleeding growth on top of his balding pate.  Oh I can talk about him here – I’m 99 percent sure he won’t read this.

I love him.  He’s eighty-something.  He has a computer – he doesn’t look or seem to be the age that he is, but when you’re eighty-something, you don’t have time to troll the web for random blog sites.  When he gives me a site address he says the entire www dot-whatever-the-hell-it-happens-to-be-dot com – cute!

I’m his secretary when he goes to Ireland.  I mind his apartment, get his mail.  I call him twice a week in Ireland to read it to him.  Piece by piece.  He gives me all kinds of instructions.  I’m on the phone with him for an hour.  Another elderly neighbor from Ireland used to mind his apartment for him.  When she found out I was doing it she says, “Oh God bless you Sandee!  I’m done with it — he thought I was his fucking secretary!”

When he called and told me that his head was bleeding, I ran down there.  Turned out the bleeding happened during the evening.  He thought he should go to emergency to check it out.

“I’ll get dressed and be back in half an hour,” I said – I had just thrown some slop on to run down there.

I felt guilty fluffing my lashes with mascara while he waited downstairs with his bleeding growth, but one half hour later exactly, I was ready.

I get there — he’s still in his robe, holding a tray of food.

“Come in.  Have a seat Sandee,” he says.

What?!  I almost choked wolfing down my food, and suffered guilt for putting on mascara, and you ain’t even ready — I put off my morning jog for you!

“Why don’t you just call me when you’re ready,” I said, and went up to change for a jog.”

I got back.  No message.  Haha!  He did call — two hours later!  Some emergency.  I headed back to his apartment thinking, Maybe he changed his mind.  Yay.

While he was dressed this time, he says all leisurely again, “Come in.  Have a seat Sandee.”  He sat in the reclining chair.  I stood over his head to see the wound.  It appeared fine.

“You’re not in pain?”

“No, it’s just the damn thing bleeding last night is all,” he says in his slight Irish brogue.  He wasn’t bruised and wasn’t in pain.  I suggested he wait till the day after New Year’s Day, when his doctor would be in.

“If an emergency happens in between, call me.  But you don’t want to be going to emergency unless it’s really an emergency – we could be there hours.”

“Hours?  Really?”  He’d never been to emergency it turned out.

I had an angle then, while he still teetered on the idea of going.

“Yeah, trust me,” I said.  I told him horror stories of the emergency room that we might see sitting in there so long and got him to change his mind.  Brilliant!  I’d seen some pretty horrible things in emergency, heard awful things.

He thought he’d be seen right away.  Aha.  Au contraire mon frère, I told him.  When I was done with my horror stories, my buddy was turned off by the idea of going, and while I successfully angled for this to happen, I’m still taking brownie points.  Dammit. But sure, I’d do it all again.  He’s my buddy.