Things for weekends

I pull my knees high up under my chin. It is rather strange: I feel never dizzy or have weak knees after donating blood but I am always cold as an ice-block and thirsty as a camel. Otherwise there are no side-effects at all and I happily closed my  eyes for full ten minutes till the super-sweet nurse whispered in my ear that I am all sorted. The elderly ladies, who I know for years and who make their specialty tea ( black with loads of sugar and a bit of lemon juice and a secret only the ladies know) chat with me and feed me with Snicker’s bars. ( They really know me that well.) I had to pause for a few months after I returned from India but they are all excited to hear about news from Delhi. ( I am most happy to volunteer and drink more of the truly excellent tea, which accordingly to the sweet ladies increases your blood flow.) I smile silently. They are so sweet. If you always wanted to donate blood but have open questions I think the German Red Cross answers all of them.

I finally finished a pair of socks that will keep my feet warm: IMG_4065 (1)

More rainbow socks! And yes, I always liked Theodor Herzl.

Back in Ireland: Snow ( Ewww ). Perplexity in regard to the latest political developments. I open letters and read the newspaper. I prepare next week’s tutorials and re-read a thesis chapter.The grocer’s wife tells me the village news: ( surprise, there are none ) I buy milk, yoghurt, cottage cheese and oranges. The priest, my usual Sunday lunch guest, has asked me yesterday if we could have maccaroni and cheese. He has fond childhood memories of this particular dish. I am happy to obey:


I would have sworn never to eat again after this mountain of cheese with cheese and more cheese ( but there was a green salad ) but then I remember that I had made a cake and a cake is an essential Sunday tool, n’est-ce pas? The priest happily takes the left overs with him and entertained me with tales of his past childhood. Of course his mother plays a main part in his tales and a splendid woman she must have been. I go for a long walk afterwards and resemble rather a rolling ball than a human being, but no one else is to be seen and the wind just howls as usual. But that’s alright. Now my sister wants a pair of rainbow socks as well and doesn’t want to listen to my explanation that a certain amount of wool rests is essential to knit them. But my sister insists. She truly would have made a tremendous lawyer. I clean the windows and before I will make tea I write a letter to D.

Soundtrack: The National and Schubert’s String Quartet in A minor Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Now you may yawn because you can hardly meet a more boring person than me.