Cars,trees and helmets!!

After the bread round, I came out of the bake house, having done the evening prep to three boys in an open shed surrounded by cars and car parts, one shouting across the yard to the other” you can’t race, you can’t afford fire proof underwear”. Really?

It’s good to know he can’t race - because he’s only 14 -  but weird all the same that all three are car fanatics, driving up and down our lane for years until such time as they can get their liscence to drive the road. The oldest, finally heading for the dream and studying motorsports technology in Oxford, is just planning to buy a rally cross car. Apparently this is the best way to get the finance for Oxford together and give him the much needed experience to built an engine. Other people, I say, just work and put the money in the credid union. Not so, in this house as I  keep my fingers crossed that some other fanatic will actually buy that car off him when he is finished. For the purpose of building this rally cross car, the ancient mini ( that the other chap bought 2 years ago) is pulled out of the shed and put under tarpaulin outside. That too, by the way, was “an investment” and was going to be sold off at a profit when done up and driving. I has been done up to a point but is still far from driving and everyone is ignoring the fact that you cannot insure a classic until you’re 25 ( a long way off for all of them!)

In the process of convincing me that I wanted another dead car in the yard, the promise was that “we’ll dismantle the helmet and the mini can have that space”. A helmet in any other house, is a thing you put on your head – preferably when you are cycling. In this house it is a soap box – in the shape of a helmet – that was built last summer and pushed down St Patrick’s hill in Cork when the boys, together with some equally mad friends joined the Red Bull Soap box race. The Headcases was their team name and headcases they are. Needless to say, the helmet remains undismantled as the mini joined it in the yard and the only open roofed space that we have – which, while the kids were small and reasonable, housed my outdoor washing line – is now being got ready for the new member of this car family – with the 14 year old saving for fire proof underwear……

While the jury is still out whether being such a push over is good parenting, I head off for my run to the tree. Made it all the way there and back in reasonably fast pace and thinking I might be able to at least run half those 10km in June. While running, I think and make plans ( I cannot abide loud music on my ears) and dream again of the next plan of having a mobile van on the road, a beautiful old bread van, branded as “Speltbakers on the go” and serving all the villages and countryside long left without a bakery. The sun is shining and the plan is good. The boys always say they can design or refurbish something for me. The Mini-man, who is studying for the leaving, is even talking about joining the business for his gap year but really – a betting woman would put money on that Logo going around on a rally car with some son in fire proof underwear or there was a plan of a “Speltbakers mini pizza”. You figure that one out and watch this space.

City break

Sitting in Jack Monday’s coffee house at Thomond bridge in Limerick. After a great weekend in a building site in Limerick and in the Burren in Clare, it’s time for some paperwork – Bank holiday or not. The rest of the family is still asleep in the building site or walking the river so I left cornflakes and orange juice amongst the mattresses and left to be civilized on my own…..

Just to give you the running update, I “ran” the three bridges in Limerick yesterday and today and even though I still walked large parts, I ran more than half and when I ran I actually moved forward rather than backwards and am profoundly grateful to have done the miserable “first time running in two years” wobbles in the privacy of my own back roads rather than on the ever so sophisticated river walk in Limerick city.

Much as I love living in the countryside with the amazing fields of rapeseed all around us, I do love the city as well. The building site is right in the city centre, across from John’s castle and is suffering the first wave of gentrification which is lovely to see. After a long day in IKEA thinking kitchen worktops and presses, we arrived on Saturday evening with a trailer full of goodies, unloaded, spread the mattresses and admired the building works in progress. Unpacking the amazing Caesar salad from Glasrai and Goodies in Gowran ( the good traveler comes prepared!!), we sat down for dinner – the good traveler also brought some Costellos from home and planned the weekend. In the city, you don’t even have to figure out when mass is on Easter night, you just leave the house when the bells are ringing. So come quarter to nine, we were literally called out and joined St Munchins parish for Easter night and as luck would have it, joined one of the best Easter night ceremonies I have ever been at. A lovely choir, an honest and meaningful ceremony that adapted the old and infused with new. Admittingly I was probably not fully awake after the old testament readings in the dark but when the Gloria was sung, when the lights sprang on and the bells rang, I jumped to attention and did believe that he truly is risen and that we might still have a chance in this church, which I stubbornly refuse to give up on.

Easter Sunday saw us in the Burren, which was once home for 5 wonderful years. Once a year at least I have to see Mullaghmore and walk the Cregg road at the foot of the mountain. Once a year we try and get everyone together in this place. It is a place where I come for the big decisions in my life or if I need peace I cannot find anywhere else. If landscape holds magic as the late John O Donohue so often said, it holds it there and seeing the children that used to play there when they actually were children, when I had to help them over the walls and butter their breads for the picnick – seeing them nearly 15 years later still falling into the water, still messing, still pushing each other, still not happy until everyone is wet has a certain bit of magic as well – especially when they turn around to me to say “careful Mama”, as time slowly turns the tables and I sincerely hope I have another 15 years until they have to help me over that wall.

Look up

Actually stuck with the plan and have been “running” nearly every morning. Barring market days – which are a very credible excuse – I have been out every day. I walk/run to “the tree”, a tree about one mile away which has forever been the minimum measure of any outdoor activity in this family. “I’ve been “to the tree” covers anything involving movement. So “the tree” is the aim as I persevere to try and turn the walk into a run with today possibly the first day where the run element was longer than the walk and ‘meet neighbours on the road and gossip’ element. Anyhow, we’re on track to survive moving for 10km and new runners have added a huge element of bounce that I thought was gone forever.

Also, the famous van has been bought and has arrived. Actually it has not really been bought, it has been signed for and will be mine in about 5 years time all going well. It is brilliant and thanks for your advice, the five seater van it is and the most useful car I ever had it is also going to be.

After the bread round took the new van to Limerick on Monday to take some measurements for a kitchen that will require a trip to IKEA over Easter. Driving on the motorway takes on a new dimension in a new car. No more listening to the engine making funny noises or the left front wheel rattling or wondering if the boot unlocked itself again. Basically, you have more time and leisure to look around and people/car watch which is a great hobby of mine. I love to watch and guess who does what why and who with and I would love to be able to write stories. I am a great fan of the late and amazing Maeve Binchy who did just that with amazing skill. So anyway, traveling on the M7, there was car stopped on the hard shoulder going the other way and a couple in a big white wedding dress and tux where there with their photographer posing for wedding pics. Now, apart from it being illegal, why would you do that? Boring stretch of road, no county boundary – or was it the boundary between Offally and Limerick? Was he the AA man and they met here when she had a break down? Did they crash their cars here and are now married? Did she have a break down and he stopped to help or did he have a flat and she stopped to change the tyre - and two years later to the day , they come back on their wedding day? See, the story is there to be written, I am just not good enough to pick it up. So frustrating and so annoying that I don’t actually have the nerve to stop and ask. Maeve Binchy apparently once fell off her chair in a coffee shop because she was leaning into the conversation at the next table. I have not quite done that yet but I would love to know the background to these many snapshots of other people’s lives that we see around us every day.  “Look up” is the name of a video widely shown on Facebook to illustrate what you miss when you permanently look into your own playdevice. It’s a great video, look it up and look around you and please , if anyone should know that couple on the M7 heading Dublin way last Monday, why the picture on the hard shoulder????? Maybe her parents house stood there before the motorway got built….. maybe they met there 10 years ago demonstrating against the new motorway…… please does anyone know??

Running again

Last weekend, I realised that the 1st April is frigteningly close to the 1st June, which in turn is terribly close to the bank holiday weekend for which I have so thoughtlessly registered for the women’s mini marathon. So, training commenced on Monday. Stop eating rubbish, drink lots of water and run, walk, cycle and try and rediscover the reasonably fit person that used to live in this body.

These days “busy” is the permanent excuse and busy means that breaks consist of cups of tea and bread and cheese on the sofa. Deadly combination. The only excercise happens every Thursday when I  park the market car on 5A in the multistory car park and I don’t take the lift. Pathetic. So yesterday morning, we don’t bake on a Monday, I bullied the leaving cert son and we set off at 6 in the morning. We walked to the top of the lane and he ran off while I walked another bit and then started running – only to discover that any bounce has left without giving notice. I struggle on and bounce comes back but breath leaves and we are back to walking. I meet the son on his way back and move on – enjoying the rising sun on the yellow rapeseed and the early morning and my feeling of compelte and utter self righteousness. He runs the distance in 14 minutes, I cover it in 26 and we plan and scheme. As life is not fair, he will get fit very quickly and I will take tremendously much longer but fit I will get because everybody can get fit anytime. 

Always much too lazy to be competitve in sports, I was always a good swimmer and the otherwise the one who set up the equipment and provided safety for the others. I was a pretty good netball goalie and tall enough to enjoy basketball ( in Ireland only. In germany, I don’t rate as tall at all) So, I lived quite happily at the edge of the sporting world with some kind of natural fitness that was always good enough. Now sadly, this natural fitness is gone in a sulk and demands a lot more work than it was ever allocated before. Challenge accepted – as I went out “running” again today. Two days in a trot – I must be winning.......

Anyhow, after the breadround will now stop gloating about this amazing success of the new training regime and tackle the dreaded tax returns. Normally the shoebox is emptied in and around Sepember with the grand plan to be finished by the October deadline. This year, I am starting in April and will have it all done before the summer. What a novel idea. Imagine, doing the mini marathon with the tax returns done. Even if that makes me a very sad person, it would be such a good feeling. #mustgetalife.  Imagine doing the mini marathon in the sun with the tax returns done......

Family run

Thanks for all the advice and suggestions and yes, the 5 seater it is going to be and –for the first time ever – a new one. I have decided, that doesn’t mean, I’m growing up. Growing up is still optional!!

The magnificent weather was going to be the topic this week, the wonderful fact that I  fixed the washing line and market cloth, tea towels and aprons were drying in the sun.  However, as we speak they are being washed on the line by a fairly serious shower and sunhine is no longer on the agenda and not worth talking about. 

After the bread round last Saturday, I was very tired, delighted with the week and progress but tired and in the throws of  a head cold. That is to say, I finished the market in Carlow in blissful sunshine, sold out to lovely customers and came home to feeling sorry for myself and dumping on the long suffering family. “Family- run” is just one of many terms associated with small businesses, terms that have been discovered by the advertising industry and have – in many respects – become meaningless as everyone wants a bite of the “look at me – I’m small and beautiful”  cherry. I will rant on about artisan and home made some other time but today, I’d like to thank the family, not only mine but the family of every truely family run business who put up with so much, carry so much and tolerate even more. It is not always the work – even though that can seem never ending -  it is more the being dumped on by the hysterically overworked person whose idea the whole thing was and who as soon as you come into sight, wants to know why you are not doing anything. Kicking a ball around becomes an offence as easily as doing your homework, studying for the exams or – God forbid – sitting down to watch a match. A tiny television tucked into a corner, is not small enough and staying out in study until 9 in the evening is not long enough. 4 years into the grand bakehouse adventure, life is slowly settling down from the really hystericall to the the manageble. In a good week, all going to plan, life is good and the light at the end of the tunnel is startling and bright. But it takes little to tip the balance back into manic and relaxing around me is never a good idea. 

So thanks to the 14 year old, who routinely takes over in the evening when the clean up becomes too much and gives up his Saturday lie in for an early shift from 4 to 7. Thanks to the leaving cert student who is always there to fill in, always there as back up and always the calming influence when it should be him that’s getting nervous. Thanks to the student who comes back after a long week in the water and on her feet as a waitress to turn around and write invoices and do the bread round. Thanks to the other student who’ll deliver bread when he can and does the chopping and cleaning, who takes on the pay roll, the web site and the general  computer illiteracy that abounds in this business and thanks to the long suffering husband who never questioned the wisdom of starting a business in a recession, who calmy accepts that most things are his fault and who still asks “ what can I do? - when he so rarely get a polite answer. Thanks to them all when they understand that when I rant and give out, I am really quietly and politely asking for help. 

So – once a year – I say thanks and will try and make amends. 

Now, that that’s done, there are still the garden furniture that need to be painted, the grass cut, the dishes to be done and the advent wreath from before christmas is still sitting on a chair out back. Why is there clothes on the floor and wellie boots in the kitchen? are the dogs fed and the chickens mucked out? Surely there isn’t more sport on tv tonight and are you really going for another cycle......... seriously? 

Van or no van, new or old van, 3 or 5 seats???? I need advice!!!!

After the bread round is wasting a lot of time recently. Whether I am running on the road( once) , walking the dogs or washing the floor ( much more often) -  I’m thinking. When I’m baking or filling in the spread sheets, I am wondering : Do I need a new van, do I need five seats or three, can the business  tackle the repayments and why doesn’t my van go another year or three??

The old Van is much loved,  has done the mileage, owes me nothing and still motors on very well. Insurance is prohibitive however and our mechanic has – very nicely – said he doesn’ t really want to see the van again. “You should be buying not fixing” has been his verdict for sometime now. There are so many things that make sense financially and that are logical and sensible but sadly, I have never decided anything on that level.  I decide by gut instinct rather than by any rational thought processes. Normally,I  know what I want and then fashion the rational around that. Now, I want a van with five seats. For over 20 years now, I have driven a family car where space was premium, for over 14 of those years, seven seaters were the name of the game and I distinctly recall a birthday party where one orienteering party of 13 was collected in one car load. Now, those parties are gone and some of the children too. Grown up, one has his own car and only the youngest depends on me for transport but still, the instinct remains to have space. Silly, nostalgic instinct or sensible multiuse of space??  Has anyone any ideas that might help? Anyone been there and done that and changed from multi-tasking mother to multi-tasking mother with  a business to run?

For the second Monday running, I have avoided the paperwork day with a run to the garages to talk, look, compare and test drive. I want reclining seats ( bakers need to sleep somewhere)  when they are offering touch screen radio. I want a tailgate boot rather than a hinged door ( unloading in the rain or using the Van as a market stall in bad weather) We work our way around it and have found the Van that has it all, except I can’ t decide whether five seats as opposed to three ( or really two and a half) is the way to go. Flexibility or functionality and do I really need a new van?? I struggle to process the fact that buying  a new van apparently is not stupid even though I laughed all my adult life at people who did just that, Driving  old cars was a way of life that suited me. That has now changed, say the mechanic and the accountant but I am hanging on here and struggling with the brave new world of sensible decisions.



So, any thoughts, any advice please?  After the bread round tomorrow or the next day, I need to make a decision – and then I’ll start pfaffing about the colour. I like yellow………

Spring is here

Finally the sun is shining, the birds are having a field day –literally and the whole country is cutting the grass and enthusing about the weather. Needless to say, after the bread round is finally going for those walks and getting that excersise and has –-  in completely unfounded optimism – registered for the VHI women’s mini marathon.

Warmer nights mean many things to many people but to us it means that the sourdough is livelier and that I should have taken out the radiator that keeps that part of the bake house warmish. Last Thursday night I didn’t and the sourdoughs thought they might go for a walk. On Fridays, I start at a leisurely 2.30am, stoke up the stove for a bit of heat, put on the yeast doughs  and divide the sourdoughs into baskets. It is a nice and easy morning after the hectic market day on Thursday with a lovely “only one more day to the weekend” feeling. Philippe, second baker for that day, came in at 4.15am, goes into the pantry to hang up his coat and comes out with “there is sourdough everywhere”….. At this stage, even I see the tell tale signs of a sourdough puddle creeping in underneath the pantry door and the day takes a turn. Our five bucket sourdough starter tower is alive and bubbling and I regret to say, I didn’t think to take a video. Too old for that universal reflex action obviously!! The lids were lifting and puffing and  bubbling with sourdough starter running down the tower and slowly spreading on the floor. We closed the door and finished the bake – with one eye on the slowly increasing puddle, wondering if anyone ever made a horror movie with sourdough.

Two hours later with the bread on the road, I tackle the buckets and the puddle and discovered that spilled sourdough is plain nasty to take off the ground and off the wall and off the buckets. It sticks – but I win in the end, with one spotless pantry, a tower of sourdoughs brought back under control and the surplus gone to feed the compost. One cup of tea later, we turn into a proper episode of faulty towers. A bird has got stuck in the sourdough in the compost and needs rescuing and washing and drying – in  the kitchen – not the bakehouse, I hasten to add!!  The bird gets washed – with difficulty, sourdough still being nasty to take off and objects vigourously. I get pecked and clawed and am quite happy that this bird is small and his beak insignificant. As he dries off in a box on top of the stove, I light my own fire and finish the paperwork for the week. And you thought we only bake.

Happy to report the sourdoughs are behaving since then and have abandoned all efforts to escape and colonise the bakehouse – and the bird is well again – if probably still very cross. After the bread round spent Sunday afternoon at the Barrow towpath for a walk on this first of hopefully many spring days. Sunshine, proper heat in the sun and a glorious river walk – which by the way is perfectly fine and I really hope doesn’t get developed into this proposed tourist project of a walkway. Yesterday, there were many, many walkers enjoying the tow path near St Mullins, the amazing St Mullins Café was overfull, serving wonderful salads and sandwiches, brownies and tarts and any further development of this wonderful resource seems entirely unnecessary and probably damaging. I don’t wash buckets, walls and floors and birds if there is no escaping sourdoughs. Why would you fix and develop a tow path that is perfect as it is? Oh – and if you see a tower of buckets on your travels, give us a shout.