The Human Cost

We have another viewing of our house tomorrow. My first thoughts are “Oh God the boys rooms are a mess” (the girls rooms aren’t much better to be honest).  So I tell them they have to tidy their rooms. Occasionally I’ll get the comment “but why would we bother? It’s not like we want to sell the house” Fair point and part of me would like to agree but we are low on options and we have our pride to consider! 

You see we are in receivership. Being in receivership makes you totally powerless. (Don’t know why but I can’t help thinking of tumbleweed as an analogy!). I could go on about the fact the lender appointed a receiver in the middle of a global pandemic. That the lender appointed a receiver when there was both market and political instability. I could go on about the fact that they sold our land at a bargain basement price. I could go on about the fact that because they sold the land so cheap the house (our home) has to be sold. (It’s a simple equation: cheap land + house = loan + 15% interest =Happy days for lender). I could go on about the fact that we opened the national newspaper and found our house listed as “bargain of the week.” I could go on about the extra security that was given over to avoid eviction seven days before Christmas. I could go on about the fact that we are left completely in the dark. And there’s more. A lot more. But what’s the point? The lender and the receiver are legally within their rights to do what they are doing whatever about the human side of it all. Before the lender appointed the receiver in March, the land was for sale. The selling agent was shocked that the land didn’t sell for a strong price. He told us the feedback from developers was that it was the planning history. So all of this (the receivership, the loss of the home…)  is just collateral damage. As one of our local councilors said to us This is the human cost of corruption”.

The House on the Hill

In 2018 we sold our old family home on the beach to keep the show on the road.  (We had roll-up interest to pay). It was a great home and we have wonderful memories there: christenings, communions, birthday parties, etc. We had great neighbours too. Originally we had bought the bungalow we are living in for the land that connected Holmpatrick Cove to the town. It made sense to complete the Coastal Walkway. When we told the children we were moving to the bungalow our younger daughter wasn’t too keen on the idea. I remember laughing when she said “I’m not moving to that hideous house on the hill”. Granted it was in need of updating and even she would agree now that it wasn’t at all hideous. It’s a great house. We did it up and made a lovely home. On balance we will have great memories from the couple of years we spent here too. What’s more our nephew and his wife bought our old home on the beach. It’s in good hands.

Lately we have been living a bit of a nomadic life. Our stuff is spread between three different locations: here, storage and my parent’s house. Not ideal. At the beginning of March and under pressure from our lender we had to move to my parent’s house down the road. Apart from the obvious upset and disruption we had a lovely ten days there. We had evenings sitting around the dinner table and chatting. My parents enjoyed the company and so did we. There was lots of music again. (it had been a while). The girls played their violins. My mother loved it. They even played the piano with her. It was not an unhappy time. It ended abruptly however when Taoiseach Varadkar made the big announcement about the Covid19 crisis. We were all gathered in the living room watching the speech. About five police cars had pulled in across the road with their headlights and flashing red lights beaming in the window. (Obviously they too were listening to the announcement). It added a touch of drama to the scene. The perfect backdrop. We went back to the bungalow the next day. We made a call given the national emergency. We didn’t want to put my parents at risk.  

My middle son stayed with my parents to keep them company. He was happy to cocoon with them as he was studying for his first year college exams. (He did great) Also I think my mother’s cooking was an added incentive.

Apropos of cooking and much to the amusement of the kids, I have been experimenting a bit of late. A new diet. I like to call it a new lifestyle. It’s a distraction from other things…….My eldest son came in late, not so long ago, after a very good night out with his friends. (A few beers were had). When he opened the door this foul, putrid smell hit him like a brick wall. I’m not sure how to take this but he said that I had been cooking such weird things of late that he just presumed it was another of my experiments. (sadly he was right). He went to bed but he told me later he spent half the night (what was left of it anyway) with his head stuck out the Velux window because the smell was so bad. I still can’t believe he didn’t try and at least find the source. And Oh God that smell! We will never forget it. Let’s just say it was supposed to be a bone broth. When our youngest son woke us up the next day saying there was a disgusting smell in the house Michael went to investigate. The chicken carcass was black. (It reminded me of my trip to the National Museum when we saw the poor mummified bog men). It took at least two weeks to get the smell out of the house. Bone broths have now been officially added to my banned list.

My father used to say about my grandmother (his own mother) that he and his siblings learned to cook in self-defence. Nana Ryan, as we called her, was always buried in a book on topics such as Medieval history or maybe learning a new language. Housekeeping and cooking got in the way.  In our case the kids do the baking for the same reason (self defence). In fairness it might have something to do with the time I managed to hoover a perfect round hole in a cake that  two of the children had baked. They were arguing because the younger one had put too many sprinkles on top. I don’t know why, but it seemed perfectly logical to hold the nozzle of the hoover over the cake to remove the excess sprinkles. I don’t need to tell you that that didn’t turn out well.

I spoke to all five of our children the other evening. I said if you had a choice what would you choose. Choices were: keep the house and put everything that has happened to us behind us and move on OR let the house go and continue to shine a light on what went on. You would think this was a tough choice but all five, from the 13 year old to my 23 year old, unhesitatingly chose the second option. With the risk of sounding proud. I think Michael and I have done a pretty good job. We are proud of them.

Back to the house viewing tomorrow. Now, do I light some scented candles and brew some coffee? (Baking fresh bread is not an available option for reasons outlined above) Or do I whip up a lovely fresh batch of bone broth………?