In Hindsight

Tuesday, May 3^rd 2:28pm, Somewhere in the West of Ireland, 2016

Dear Reader,

Imagine if there was a one year anniversary between a lad and a girl, my age maybe. No, actually older. And the girl gets the guy a really expensive watch, now, not a Rolex watch – Nothing mad fancy like that. Just a nice watch, a ‘My Grandad gave this to me’ kind of a watch. A family heirloom, they call it.

And then the guy gives her

     Dante’s ‘Inferno’.

One of the greats, sure.

But she doesn’t know it as ‘one of the greats now’. She knows it as the most confusing present she’s ever gotten from a lad, ever.

     Are we breaking up, now?

     This thought popped into my head today in the Dairy Products aisle of Joyces’ Supermarket.

I’m not quite sure why.

I don’t know where the thought came from. And then I think maybe it’s because I was buying milk, and a cold pint of milk is the opposite of hot hell.

     But milk is not the contrary of hell. I hate milk, if it’s not in my cereal or not in my tea. Milk on its own is my arch enemy. My hell would be full of milk.

     I stopped at Joyces’ earlier today with Mam to do some grocery shopping while on our way to Granny’s house. I think it’s my first time seeing Granny since Christmas, ‘cause don’tcha know, I’ve been in Paris for the year. She just turned 98 last week, yet she’s still great for a chat, with more consistently good social skills than my own, you could say.

     Hypothetically, if she were at the airport (like I’ve been a lot lately), she would wish the airport guy a good day, rather than a good flight, like I always seem to do when the airport guy says:

     ‘Have a nice flight, Madame!’

And then I say:

     ‘You too!’

          … Oh Dear.

     Then on the plane, she’d compliment the flight attendant on his olive green tie, and include him, along with his wife and children in her prayers; Saying grace over a cup of tea because the airplane food is too expensive.

     I’m not stupid though. I just like to imagine.

I know a 98-year-old has no place on an airplane, but even in her rocking chair on the other side of Galway, she would say all of the same pleasantries to kind cousins and visiting neighbours.

     Granny’s sitting across the table from me now, at the far end of the tablecloth that’s plastered with olive images and olive trees and olive jars, and French and Italian calligraphy.

     She sits, reading from her prayer book labelled ‘Pieta’, with a picture of Rome’s Pieta statue on the cover. And Auntie Margaret fumbles with a biscuit tin; The most stereotypical, French looking biscuits you can imagine. – Butter based biscuits that I brought back for Granny for her 98^th birthday, with a picture of the Eiffel Tower and a biscuit wearing a beret on the tin.

     We’re leaving soon, and you know what? The lambs in the fields have gotten fat, and more adorable, if that’s even possible.

     Mam’s spotted me writing now and she’s saying: ‘Write down that Granny loves ketchup’. Well, she does love ketchup. Funny thing about ketchup, the word comes from Cantonese originally (pronounced like kets-up) This knowledge I’ve acquired is all thanks to a dear friend from Hong-Kong.

But I have to say,

I prefer mayonnaise.

There, I said it.

    

Why am I even talking to you about ketchup and mayonnaise? I suppose I’m just avoiding the topic of ‘Creative Writing’ and ‘Final Submissions’, because sending in that first draft of my book was scary and it made me feel grown-up, but I don’t know if I like that feeling.

Look at me: Old enough to drink in the states now. How have we all gone through University so quickly?

At least we’re going forward, in some sense of the word. It’s just not in the way that I expected. I for one, should be writing the second draft of my book right now, but instead, I’m writing about writing, learning how to play the ukulele, and learning how to speak Italian. (Badly, I might add).

But hey, it’s something.

     After all, teaching English to High School students in France for 7 months made me miss learning things for myself. Then again, teaching changed my life forever and I learned so many things from it. Come to think of it, I’ve learned so much in Paris, like:

-   That the River Seine sparkles in the sun

-   That boulengeries are my sanctuary, and pain au chocolat(s) are my saviour.

-   How to pack a suitcase efficiently

-   Where to find the cheapest and best crêpes

-   How to read poetry aloud, the right way

-   How to hide your kettle from your landlord

-   How to purchase your own Netflix account; Thus becoming an adult

-   How to get your phone stolen on the Metro

-   How to cry about your book characters that don’t exist, and how to feel okay about it

-   That the Eiffel Tower is more magical at night and more muggle during the day

-   That the French love Zinedine Zidane, and I mean, they adore him!

-   That you can get breakfast for 90c

-   That kebabs are a convenient lunch time snack

-   That a pair of good walking shoes are essential in life

-   That it is such a gift to speak Irish, and such fun to speak French

-   That as you become more confident as a language assistant, so will your students, and that is the most rewarding feeling

-   That the world, is cruel.

It is cruellest

to some people,

and it’s sad

in a city as pretty as Paris,

yet now the Seine has never sparkled

quite like this.

     So looking back in hindsight, I am blessed to be wherever I am, be it in Ireland or Morocco, or whatever stage of life I might be in, even if scary Final Year is just around the corner.

Aren’t we all?

Ciao,

Madame Mayreed x