Due to a computer glitch, this story was first posted half in english and the rest in german. Sorry about that. Fixed it.
Odinslast.
For all the Birthday boys and -Girls out there:
Breithlá sona duit. Bail ó Dhia ort.*
Danny O'Reilly rarely glanced at his calendar.
What for? If one had reached a certain age, it only depressed one. So why bother in the first place. Lately especially.
The Kitchen-calendar showed the same date for months now. But still day after day passed, came a certain one creeping closer. But not the tiniest mark or note pointed to the ominous "Day X" and that's how the old man preferred it. He allowed himself a small lapse of memory and pretended to have forgotten what was coming up.
Unfortunately, others did not have any real or pretended "Senior Moments" and possibly different calendars than O'Reilly.
It already started at breakfast time. O'Reilly had just settled down at the breakfast table with a big cup of tea and the newspaper to read the obituaries when the telephone in the sitting-room noisily jangled.
He decided to ignore it.
Finnegan at least could switch off his hearing-aid and claim the batteries were dead.
O'Reilly had to turn up the volume on his radio.
He lost his appetite for breakfast as the confounded thing shrilled again a short time later. He took his old flat cap off the hook, put keys and wallet in his pocket and threw a small pillow on top of the telephone that started up again.
But as he opened his front door, he could see the Widow Connolly, clearly on her way to his little cottage. She had a big box with her that obviously held a cake. Bridget's Apron strings, was he not to be spared today?
The old girl by herself was sometimes hard to stomach but her cake on top of it all.....
O'Reilly quickly slammed the door closed again, missing Mavourneen's little nose by a hair's breadth. The little tabby looked up at him indignantly and complained loudly.
"Ah well," said O'Reilly, "we'll have to use the back door then."
They slipped out the kitchen door in the back and through the tiny garden on to the dirt road behind the hous and made their get-away.
That is, O'Reilly made his get-away. Mavourneen looked for mice and stayed put.
Taking all kinds of shortcuts and detours, the old man managed to get to the train-station unseen as he planned to take a train last minute up to the city. To not have thought of that earlier!!!
"Ah well," said O'Reilly, "always had the best ideas when it was too late."
That everything had gone so smoothly so far made him slightly suspicious but the Luck o' the Irish was proverbial and so he continued to believe in it, got into the queue at the ticket-office and waited patiently.
Which proved to be his doom......
An old lady in directly in front of him dug painstakingly in her handbag looking for her purse, as suddenly three goblins gone crazy threw themselves on O'Reilly, screeching "Happy Birthday, Grandda!!" at the top of their voices.
The old dear nearly jumped out of her skin, dropped her handbag and had to grab the ledge of the old-fashioned ticket-window.
"Saints, preserve us!" she wheezed, "the wee buggers just took ten years off me life!"
O'Reilly was about to apologize to her, when a paw-like hand clamped his shoulder and a deep voice growled "Ha, tryin ta get awa', on yer "Day of Glory", eh? No no, tha' just won't do, my good man!" in' his ear.
O'Reilly sighed, resigned to his fate.
Busted....
In the meantime the rest of the family came off the platform and O'Reilly had to endure being kissed, hugged and congratulated. Toby and the twins clung to him like monkeys, on one side his niece had her arm hooked with his and on the other his Daughter-in-Law held him by the hand.
"Ah well," said O'Reilly, "would have been surprised to get away. Didna manage to avoid it for years."
Finnegan, which had arrived with the others hooked his arm through Mrs. Casey's, clamped her handbag under his arm and simply dragged her along, despite her protests. "I say, Annie! Tomorrow you can still drive into town! Today we celebrate till the Banshee giggle!" "Tomorrow is the Holy Sunday, I canna!!" she clamored but that rather halfheartedly. And turning to O'Reilly, she added in Irish: "Go maire tú an lá, Danny!"** and he thanked her politely.
"Ah well," sagte O'Reilly, "but that you are coming by train I had not expected at all."
Later that evening, as there was the usual singing, laughter, cursing and celebrating, O'Reilly sat happily amid Friends, Family and Neighbors.
His Son-in-Law handed him another beer, patted his shoulder and said: "Sláinte agus saol chugat, Athair!"
O'Reilly grinned and toasted him: "Is minic a gheibhean beal oscailt diog dunta, Mac."***
That made them both laugh.
"Ah well", said O'Reilly," it is wonderful after all, to have you all gathered around me and we got something to celebrate. But that you always have to make such hullabaloo about it!! Not even if I were the Pope!....."
Thank you, Google!
*Breithlá sona duit=Happy Birthday; Bail ó Dhia ort=Gods Blessing on you.
**Go maire tú an lá!=Many Happy returns!
***Sláinte agus saol chugat=Health and long life to you;
Athair-Vater
Is minic a gheibhean beal oscailt diog dunta=An open mouth often catches a closed fist.
Mac of course means Son.
A/N: Phew, O'Reilly really keeps me on my toes. When I wrote the very first story in mid-june 2008, I had no idea that O'Reilly speaks Irish. Because I certainly don't! ( or rather: I don't just yet....)
When I used to read of authors saying of their creations that they had become somewhat "Independent", I used to think: "What a bunch of Baloney! How can a made-up person become "Independent?" **Taps Forehead**
Ah well......
At least I can always ask Google for help and the wonderful people in the Forum on This Site
And I got real good at copying and pasting.....
On that note:
Sláinte!
Odinslast.
For all the Birthday boys and -Girls out there:
Breithlá sona duit. Bail ó Dhia ort.*
Danny O'Reilly rarely glanced at his calendar.
What for? If one had reached a certain age, it only depressed one. So why bother in the first place. Lately especially.
The Kitchen-calendar showed the same date for months now. But still day after day passed, came a certain one creeping closer. But not the tiniest mark or note pointed to the ominous "Day X" and that's how the old man preferred it. He allowed himself a small lapse of memory and pretended to have forgotten what was coming up.
Unfortunately, others did not have any real or pretended "Senior Moments" and possibly different calendars than O'Reilly.
It already started at breakfast time. O'Reilly had just settled down at the breakfast table with a big cup of tea and the newspaper to read the obituaries when the telephone in the sitting-room noisily jangled.
He decided to ignore it.
Finnegan at least could switch off his hearing-aid and claim the batteries were dead.
O'Reilly had to turn up the volume on his radio.
He lost his appetite for breakfast as the confounded thing shrilled again a short time later. He took his old flat cap off the hook, put keys and wallet in his pocket and threw a small pillow on top of the telephone that started up again.
But as he opened his front door, he could see the Widow Connolly, clearly on her way to his little cottage. She had a big box with her that obviously held a cake. Bridget's Apron strings, was he not to be spared today?
The old girl by herself was sometimes hard to stomach but her cake on top of it all.....
O'Reilly quickly slammed the door closed again, missing Mavourneen's little nose by a hair's breadth. The little tabby looked up at him indignantly and complained loudly.
"Ah well," said O'Reilly, "we'll have to use the back door then."
They slipped out the kitchen door in the back and through the tiny garden on to the dirt road behind the hous and made their get-away.
That is, O'Reilly made his get-away. Mavourneen looked for mice and stayed put.
Taking all kinds of shortcuts and detours, the old man managed to get to the train-station unseen as he planned to take a train last minute up to the city. To not have thought of that earlier!!!
"Ah well," said O'Reilly, "always had the best ideas when it was too late."
That everything had gone so smoothly so far made him slightly suspicious but the Luck o' the Irish was proverbial and so he continued to believe in it, got into the queue at the ticket-office and waited patiently.
Which proved to be his doom......
An old lady in directly in front of him dug painstakingly in her handbag looking for her purse, as suddenly three goblins gone crazy threw themselves on O'Reilly, screeching "Happy Birthday, Grandda!!" at the top of their voices.
The old dear nearly jumped out of her skin, dropped her handbag and had to grab the ledge of the old-fashioned ticket-window.
"Saints, preserve us!" she wheezed, "the wee buggers just took ten years off me life!"
O'Reilly was about to apologize to her, when a paw-like hand clamped his shoulder and a deep voice growled "Ha, tryin ta get awa', on yer "Day of Glory", eh? No no, tha' just won't do, my good man!" in' his ear.
O'Reilly sighed, resigned to his fate.
Busted....
In the meantime the rest of the family came off the platform and O'Reilly had to endure being kissed, hugged and congratulated. Toby and the twins clung to him like monkeys, on one side his niece had her arm hooked with his and on the other his Daughter-in-Law held him by the hand.
"Ah well," said O'Reilly, "would have been surprised to get away. Didna manage to avoid it for years."
Finnegan, which had arrived with the others hooked his arm through Mrs. Casey's, clamped her handbag under his arm and simply dragged her along, despite her protests. "I say, Annie! Tomorrow you can still drive into town! Today we celebrate till the Banshee giggle!" "Tomorrow is the Holy Sunday, I canna!!" she clamored but that rather halfheartedly. And turning to O'Reilly, she added in Irish: "Go maire tú an lá, Danny!"** and he thanked her politely.
"Ah well," sagte O'Reilly, "but that you are coming by train I had not expected at all."
Later that evening, as there was the usual singing, laughter, cursing and celebrating, O'Reilly sat happily amid Friends, Family and Neighbors.
His Son-in-Law handed him another beer, patted his shoulder and said: "Sláinte agus saol chugat, Athair!"
O'Reilly grinned and toasted him: "Is minic a gheibhean beal oscailt diog dunta, Mac."***
That made them both laugh.
"Ah well", said O'Reilly," it is wonderful after all, to have you all gathered around me and we got something to celebrate. But that you always have to make such hullabaloo about it!! Not even if I were the Pope!....."
*********
The Irish phrases, Translations included, I found Here and Here:Thank you, Google!
*Breithlá sona duit=Happy Birthday; Bail ó Dhia ort=Gods Blessing on you.
**Go maire tú an lá!=Many Happy returns!
***Sláinte agus saol chugat=Health and long life to you;
Athair-Vater
Is minic a gheibhean beal oscailt diog dunta=An open mouth often catches a closed fist.
Mac of course means Son.
A/N: Phew, O'Reilly really keeps me on my toes. When I wrote the very first story in mid-june 2008, I had no idea that O'Reilly speaks Irish. Because I certainly don't! ( or rather: I don't just yet....)
When I used to read of authors saying of their creations that they had become somewhat "Independent", I used to think: "What a bunch of Baloney! How can a made-up person become "Independent?" **Taps Forehead**
Ah well......
At least I can always ask Google for help and the wonderful people in the Forum on This Site
And I got real good at copying and pasting.....
On that note:
Sláinte!
