Eileen Counihan

musings on life over sixty.

About

Eileen Counihan is a writer, feminist and mother living in Dublin. Her short stories have been published by RTÉ, Listowel Writers’ Week and other outlets. She is currently working on her first novel.

contact: eileencounihan@gmail.com

I’ve Reached The Age

when
a morning cup of tea
beats bouquets of flowers

when
not having aches
is more valuable than success

when
being invisible on the street
means freedom to roam

when
tears are a gift
not to be feared

when
the dead keep me awake
with hoots of laughter

when
love looks a lot like
loyalty

and when
death, while not yet a friend,
is no longer a stranger.

LOSER

Oh my god, like Sophie is such a b.i.t.c.h.. I can’t believe we were ever friendly. We were standing outside school today and Joanne said to me, that Sophie said to her, that she, Sophie, is really pissed off with me because she heard I was talking to Fionn all night on Saturday and that I knew he was off limits. And I said I was only talking to him and I didn’t know that she had gone out with him when they were in Irish College. I mean how could I have known? I didn’t even go to Irish College because I am dyslexic, so I’m like exhumed from Irish or whatever, so how could I have known that she’d gone out with him for 0.2 seconds a year ago. I mean it’s completely ridiculous.

Then all the others just turned around and looked at me like they so didn’t believe me and that I’m sort of boyfriend stealing trashbag and Sophie said that it wasn’t girl code and so then I got annoyed. I said, ‘well he didn’t even remember you Sophie’ and she went all red and everyone put their arms around her. Apparently she had really liked him for ages after Irish college but he didn’t want to hurt his old girlfriend in Dalkey, whose parents had just broken up or some such complete crap, because after if he’d really liked Sophie he would have gone out with her. But Sophie is so blonde and perfect and used to getting everything her own way since she was born, that fact had escaped her notice. Anyway, they all practically hissed at me so I decided to leave.

As I walked home, I texted Laura who is like my real best friend but she must be doing Hip Hop because she didn’t reply. Laura and I went to National School together, but I was sent to St Mary’s. Mum said it is a ‘good’ school but what she meant was that it was a posh school and everyone’s parents drive Beamers and Mercs and nobody says ‘youse lot’ like we used to at our old school. But on days like today, I really miss my old friends, we’d never have gotten into stupid fights like this.

When I got home, Mum was sitting on the phone. I knew by the way she looked completely through me when I walked in the door that she must be doing her weekly stint as a helper on CrapKids or whatever it’s called. It’s a helpline for loser parents with loser kids. I stood staring into the fridge for ages but there was absolutely nothing to eat and I was starving. Mum was still on the phone, going “mmm, mmm.” She tried to ignore me for ages but eventually I won, like I always do, and she rifled through her handbag and handed me a tenner, waving me away at the same time and saying, “I know, I know it must be hard on you.” Dominos Pizza delivery on its way!

The next day, Sophie and her gang completely ignored me. But did I care? No way. I sat in the front of the class and talked to Urusla, who is like the most unpopular girl in the class. Ursula is the archetype SAD girl, she is well, let’s say large, wears glasses and has really wiry hair that no amount of straightening can do anything with. At first, she looked a bit embarrassed by me talking to her because normally no one talks to her, but then she relaxed and after English she hung around waiting for me to walk over to the Chemistry lab with her. That suited me just fine.

I didn’t know why no one likes Ursula really. It’s not because she isn’t cool or pretty, well she isn’t, but there are lots of girls in our school who aren’t cool or pretty but they are not actively outlawed like Ursula was. I think it goes back to something that happened at the beginning of First year. We were in Maths class and we had just done stimulating equations or whatever they’re called, which no one understood and then Ursula put up her hand and asked, “are we going to have a test on this,” and Mr O’Toole said, “that’s a good idea Ursula, expect a test tomorrow,” and everyone groaned. And instead of Ursula looking embarrassed or sick at what she had done, she laughed and looked quite pleased at everyone’s reaction. That was the bit that made her unpopular, the fact that she didn’t care what anyone thought. It was bizarre. From that day, no one had talked to her or texted her or included her in their after-school plans. She just came and went like a ghost really. I didn’t know where she lived or whether she had brothers or sisters or what car her Dad drove or anything.

On the way to the Chemistry Lab, Ursula asked me, “do you like Corral music”. I was a bit surprised because my Granny likes the Corrs, not anyone our age. But I guess there is no accounting for taste, so I said, “My Mum thinks Andrea is too thin.” Ursula shook her head and laughed. We were partners in Chemistry which was cool because Ursula knew what to do all the time and we didn’t have to wait for Miss O’Keefe to come around and show us, like when I am partners with Sophie or Joanne.

For the rest of the day, I sat beside Ursula. It was so strange, just the two of us. No one spoke to us. It was like I had entered another zone. ‘The no-friends zone’. And the thing was, Ursula obviously didn’t notice that no one talked to her. Or else she was so used to it that she didn’t care, she just doodled away on her copy book, oblivious. If I was her, I would be so suicidal.

At lunchtime, we ate our sandwiches behind the tennis courts in silence. With Ursula, I don’t feel like we have to talk all the time. When I am with Sophie or Joanne or even Laura, everyone is fighting to talk and to be the funniest or to be the one everyone wanted to be liked. After we finished eating, I sat with my back to the wall and my face to the sun. Ursula pulled out her phone and started listening to music.

“Listen to this,” she said, putting an earphone to my left ear. I closed my eyes. The most amazing singing filled my brain. Different voices twisted and turned on each other, one moment it would be calm and still, and then more voices would join in and raise the hairs on my arms. Out of nowhere, I could feel tears stinging my nose and my eyes.

Then over the music, I heard some girls’ voices. I squinted my eyes open. Ursula was lying on the grass beside me and looking like she was being lifted up to heaven. Some fifth years were walking by on the way to play tennis. Suddenly I felt strange, here on our own, in the back field, with our eyes closed. I could hear Sophie’s voice in my head, “Weirdos.”

“Let’s get back,” I said, “lunch must be over.”

*****

That night I tried to talk to Mum about all the stuff in school but she kept picking up the phone and checking her messages which was so annoying because she is always giving out to me for being stuck on my phone. So, I gave up and went to my room and voice messaged Laura instead. She told me that there was a Snapchat saying that Ursula was “special” with inverted commas and we all know what that means. She said that I should be really, really careful or else they would all hate me too. Laura is always looking out for me and gives good, practical advice. We decided that I should just sit on my own and ignore everybody, including Ursula and Sophie.

The next day, I sat alone at the back of the class. That was fine for double history and business but at break, Ursula sat down beside me in the canteen and offered me some Pringles. I could hardly say no, so we chatted about the French verb test we were having that afternoon.

As I was walking back to class, I got a text. It was from Sophie: ‘do u wnt to go shppg cntr aft skul?’ That was weird. I couldn’t work out why she was being nice again. I decided I would have to talk to Laura first, so I didn’t reply. But then I got another text. Huh? So, I said OK.

*****

I met Sophie and Joanne at the back gate and we walked over to the shopping centre. Sophie had a tenner to buy a top. She decided that she needed to go to every single shop first, and look at every single top priced at €9.99, before she went back to the first shop and bought the very first one she’d seen. But as I do the exact same thing whenever I am buying anything, I did not really mind. Then Sophie looked at her watch and exchanged looks with Joanne and said, “let’s get smoothies and sit outside on the steps.” I hoped that this wasn’t to any more conversation about Fionn, because I have a confession to make; the only reason he had talked to me that night was because my cousin played on the same rugby team as he had last year and he had gone to some amazing rugby camp in France and he wanted to find out what it was like. Not because he liked me or fancied me or anything remotely interested. But after Sophie made such a big deal of it, I so did not want her to find that out.

We took our smoothies and sat outside. The square was pretty quiet because it getting dark. There were just some disabled people being pushed along in wheelchairs. I was thinking about whether Mum would buy me a top I had seen in Zara when I realised Sophie and Joanne were looking at me funny.

“What? What?”

The both moved their gaze from me to the disabled people. I was a bit embarrassed looking because Mum always told me not to stare. But then I saw some bad hair and glasses looking at me. It was Ursula and she was pushing a grey-haired lady who was sitting all stiff in the wheelchair.

“That’s her Mum,” whispered Sophie. I looked away, mortified at staring. But then I couldn’t help myself peeking back but they had moved on.

“They’re here ever week. We found out about a month ago.” Sophie was whispering but her teeth were showing. “Poor Ursula. No wonder she’s so weird.” I couldn’t speak for a few seconds. Sophie and her beautiful, blonde hair and her white, white teeth and her French manicured nails looked so perfect. So untouchable.

But at last my voice came,

“You brought me here. Deliberately. To show me.”

Sophie’s mouth smiled and her eyes never left mine.

“I thought you should know,” her voice was so fake and two pretend lines of concern crossed her brow.

That was enough for me. I jumped up and grabbed my schoolbag.
“You loser,” I said without looking at herself or Joanne. I threw my smoothie into the bin and ran after the group which was just turning the corner.

“Hey, Ursula,” I called, “wait for me.”

CHILD APARTHEID

It was a wet Sunday afternoon and we were visiting the AIB Portrait Prize in the National Gallery of Ireland (running until 9 March 2025, admission Free). The highlight of the exhibition, in my uneducated opinion, was the under eighteen section. The humour, the imagination and the sheer talent of the young people’s artwork cheered up an otherwise dreary winter’s day. https://www.nationalgallery.ie/art-and-artists/exhibitions/AIB-young-portrait-prize-2024

As I wandered around, my attention was drawn to the fact that there were lots of families with multiple children running around and, shock horror, having FUN. There was nobody with cross faces making ‘shh’ noises, nobody telling them to sit down, in fact there were no adults ruining the buzz. Afterwards, we went to the shop and café in the Millennium Wing and had a coffee. And yes, there were even more children playing games and chasing each other around the place. Yet again, nobody seemed to mind. How lovely I thought!

My experience is in contrast to the growing chorus of voices, both on line and in mainstream media, arguing about the ‘problem’ of children in restaurants, cafés, hotels, cinemas, swimming pools and other public spaces. There are many people who seem to want the world to be a child free zone: ‘if you can’t manage your children, then leave them at home,’ is their message. How depressing is that! My recent experience was delightful and fun and a reminder that children are messy and noisy, And that public spaces should be public for all citizens, big and small.

Is Micheál listening to Mark?

Let’s be honest, when Mark Zuckerberg, one of the richest and most powerful people in the world, tells Joe Rogen, one of the most popular and influential podcast hosts in the world, that companies need more ‘masculine energy,’ he is saying they need more men. And this is at a time when 90% of Fortune 500 CEOs are men, hardly an indication that our society has become very ‘neutered or emasculated’. His comments, clearly gender-based dog whistling, suggest that so-called masculine values are being threatened and a little reminder, as if we needed it, that power unchecked, will always seek to maintain and defend itself at the expense of progress.

Closer to home, we see that yesterday Micheál Martin announced his new cabinet: three women ministers out of a total of fifteen. A reduction of one. Not a huge decrease you may say, but significant all the same. Let’s hope, he’s not singing to Zuckerberg’s songbook.

where do all the chatty priests go?

Pancake Tuesday

We didn’t get pancakes the day Da died. I had been really looking forward to pancakes for ages but Da had come home from work in the middle of the morning and gone up to his room complaining of indigestion followed by my Mam saying over and over, “I think I should get the doctor, Joe.” By the time she did get the doctor it was all too late and my Dad had died. Then she kept saying, “I knew I should have called the doctor sooner,” but this time she didn’t say it to anyone in particular.

Then my Mam started to cry and all the neighbours came in and sat with her in the front room. Myself and Eoin sat in the kitchen waiting to be told what to do. But nobody told us anything. So, me and Eoin went down to the river to play. We climbed out as far as we could over the river, hanging on to the big branch. We took it in turns holding on. One of us jumped up and down trying to make the other one let go. But we never did, although I thought I heard the branch crack. Then we went back to the town and bought chips at the chipper. Rosa was looking all sad and asked us how we were and Eoin said we were fine and Rosa gave us two extra scoopfuls of chips and a bottle of TK red lemonade which we didn’t even have to pay for. On the way home eating our chips and drinking the lemonade, people from the town kept stopping us and saying things like, “I’m sorry for your troubles, boys,” or “I’ll say a prayer for you all.” Eoin said, “thank you” and everyone smiled at him. Mr McGann, the butcher, kept blowing his nose with a big handkerchief and ruffling Eoin’s hair. I didn’t say anything. I can never think of anything to say when grown-ups say things like, “how are you?” or “how is the family?” or worst of all “how is school?” So, I just say nothing. Mrs Dempster in number 24 says I’ve got a desperate long gob on me and that I’ll never be famous for my charm.

When we got home, Mam was still sitting in the front room. All the neighbours had gone home, but Father McIntyre was standing at the fireplace smoking a cigarette.

“Ah, there they are now Mrs Davis. I knew there was nothing to be worried about. Your mother was worried about you boys.”

Mam didn’t open her mouth, she was staring into the fire and not at us, which was a good thing because our shoes were soaking from the river. Father McIntyre looked at Mam and back at us. “Maybe you should run along and go to bed boys.”

“There are sausages on the pan,” Mam suddenly said and looked at us for a second and then biting her lip, turned away real quick.

Eoin said, “We got chips, we’re not hungry.” Mam didn’t say anything more, she just nodded as if in agreement.

“You’re going to have to be big boys now. Especially you, Kevin. Because you’re the eldest,” said Father McIntyre throwing his cigarette into the fire. I nodded back.

Your Da was a great man, you know. One of the finest men I ever knew.” I nodded again. I thought for a second he was going to cry. But he didn’t. We went upstairs. It was too cold to get undressed so we just into bed in our clothes. I lay on my back staring into the dark at my Liverpool posters. I tried not to think about Da lying in the room next door but then Eoin said, “do you think his eyes are open?”

“Shut up,” I whispered and Eoin started snuffling a bit. So, I said, “John Toshack.” There was a pause for a moment and then a muffled voice came out from under the candlewick bedspread, “Steve Heighway,” “Emlyn Hughes,” “Kevin Keegan,” By the time I got to “Ray Clemence,” I knew Eoin was fast asleep.

***

The next day nobody said we had to go to school, so we played down by the river again and in the afternoon, we bought trigger bars and sherbet fountains and we went to the pictures to see ‘Where Eagles Dare’. It was brilliant and afterwards we came out and Eoin rand down the main street shouting, “Achtung, achtung,” and “raus, bitte, raus.” Everybody looked at us but nobody gave out. We arrived back at the house. It was totally silent and suddenly our laughing felt bad, like we had forgotten that Da had died. Father McIntyre was in the sitting room again. Mam was still sitting in her chair facing the fire which wasn’t lit. It felt funny seeing Mam sitting all the time, usually she is always doing things like the ironing or the cooking or the cleaning or the washing of our hair on a Friday night. But now she seemed to have nothing to do.

“Boys, how are you boys?” said Fr McIntyre.

“OK, father,” said Eoin.

“Good. Good. I was thinking that maybe you would like to come upstairs and say goodbye to your father?”

Eoin and I said nothing but I could almost feel Eoin shrink against the wall. I looked over at Mam but she was looking at the floor directly in front of us.

“I think it’s important to say goodbye. What do you say boys?” I knew this wasn’t really a question, so I just nodded.

We followed Fr McIntyre up the stairs to the front bedroom. The curtains were closed against the grey March evening. The bedside lamp gave a weird glow to the bedroom and the wardrobe loomed larger than usual in the alcove beside the unlit fireplace. The room felt strange, like it was a room I had never been in before. We stood in the doorway. Fr McIntyre gestured us to come in further. We shuffled forward six inches.

Da was lying on the bed. And I couldn’t believe it, not only was he fully dressed in his best suit and the tie he got last year in Arnott’s in the sale, but he was wearing his best black leather shoes. His shoes on the bed! Mam would kill us if we were lying on the bed with our shoes on. But I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t really see his face and I didn’t want to, but Fr McIntyre seemed to be pushing me towards the bed. And then I saw the face and I stepped back against Fr McIntyre. It wasn’t Da’s face. It mustn’t be Da. It must be some other man who was the same size of Da and who had black hair swept back and who was wearing his best suit and his black leather shoes. But it definitely wasn’t Da.

I knew my Da. He was big and solid. And he was always smiling. The same picture kept replaying in my head. It was the picture of me and Eoin and Mam and Da sitting around the kitchen table. It’s Saturday evening and we are having sausages and rashers and grilled tomatoes for tea. The big pot of tea is sitting in the middle and Mam has got to get more bread and butter. Eoin is talking. Making us all laugh with a story about little JoJo McManus and the time he did a wee in the confessional box. And then Da looks over at me and he is smiling with hands up against the back of his head. And I look over at him and catch his eye and then he gives me a great, big, fat wink. And every bit of me is smiling too.

That’s the Da I remember, the Da who makes me feel like I don’t have to be funny, or clever or anything special. That just being Kevin is enough.

Then I was running down the stairs. I knew I had to get away. I was running out the front door. My legs just wanted to run and run. My stomach felt sour and heavy. I was running down the road. My voice wanted to say something but nothing came out. I wanted to be away from everyone. From Mam and her blank face. From Fr McIntyre and his cigarettes that he is throwing into our fireplace. From Eoin and his snuffling. From all the people in the town with their looks. And from Da. Because I knew in my heart that the yellow-faced man on the bed in our front room was my Da. And that he was dead. Da is dead. The words went around my head like the church bells on Sunday morning.

I sat down by the river and wiped my face with the sleeve of my jumper. I didn’t want to go back to them all. So, I just sat there. For a long time. Trying to think of nothing which is a hard thing to do. Harder than you would think. And then when it was dark, I heard Mam’s voice and she was calling my name. I stood up and she was climbing down the bank in her indoor shoes and her tweed coat and even in the dark, I could see her face had a fierce sort of look on it, “what are you doing running away like that?” And I was happy that she sounded cross. Then she gave me a hug and her shoulders were shaking. After a long time, she pulled away and tried real hard to smile, “let’s go home and I’ll make some pancakes for tea.” I love pancakes, so we went home together.

Kids, huh?

My daughter asked me how to address an envelope today. Where does the address go, she wanted to know? Where does the stamp go? Where does that little blue airmail sticker go? Do I have to put my address on the front or the back? It costs how much?

She’s twenty-five years old! Twenty-five years of living on this planet in the 21st century and she doesn’t know how to address an envelope. I blame the parents!

After not so patiently telling her, she still managed to put the airmail sticker on the wrong corner of the envelope. I should have told her to go on YouTube as there are millions of views of videos demonstrating the strange and difficult science of how to address an envelope! When did life get so complicated?

The Algorithm

THE algorithm that dictates everything, has decided that as a middle-aged woman, I am only interested dieting, skincare, cookery and household tips. Besides being boring, it’s not making me feel better about getting older. In fact, it makes me more anxious and as self-critical as the average fourteen-year old.

But why does it have this power? I went to a spa many years ago to have a facial as a treat and as an escape from three small children and a husband who doesn’t cook. While I was lying there, blissed out on the aromatherapy smells and whale music, the facialist leant over and looking worriedly at my skin said the following words, ‘how long have you had rosacea?’ Now, at the time I was in my forties and oblivious to the fact that years of lying under a Greek sun had damaged my skin, so I said, ‘what’s rosacea?’ Her look of pity stays with me.

And that is the problem with the algorithm. It gives you problems that you never knew you had. It shows you the dirt at the back of the fridge that you never saw. It points out the wrinkles in your neck that you never noticed because after all who examines their necks? It squeezes the excess on your midriff and gives you tonnes of advice on how to get rid of it, instead of just moving the button on your trousers as my mother would have done. All in all, it makes you feel terrible about yourself and obsessed with hygiene, appearance and getting thinner.

But the algorithm only reflects what you are interested in, I hear you say, you have told the algorithm that this is what interests you, it does not sit there and decide, ah, that sixty something woman lying on her couch in County Dublin needs to be motivated to run a marathon, do chair yoga and have a sparklingly clean house. And yes, maybe that is true, maybe it is all my fault, and I have been lured into endlessly watching one woman after another miraculously get rid of her wrinkles, muffin top or gunge at the back of her fridge. But I’ve had enough. I’m downing tools, downing the phone and making my own rules.

So here are MY top tips for dieting, skincare, household tips and cookery:
1) Don’t look at yourself in the mirror with your glasses on and lower the lighting in your bathroom. You’ll be amazed at how much better you look.
2) Get rid of your weighing scales and once a year talk to your GP about your weight and overall health. If he or she says you’re OK, then go with that.
3) If at all possible, pay someone to clean your house once a month. If you can’t, then when your friends or family are pass remarkable about the state of your fridge or bathroom or oven, don’t invite them back.
4) Cook what you like to eat.

If none of that works, you can always be sensible and go to your settings, then click privacy and turn off the ‘allow apps to request to track’ setting at the top of the screen!

You’re welcome!