Too Legit to Quit - Or my driving test

It is official, I am now a full licensed driver on the Irish motorways. It was by no stretch of the imagination easy even though I drive only automatic cars (here). We purchased an automatic nearly two years ago after I told my husband that if he wanted me to drive we would have to get a different car because driving on this side of the road + manual transmission was out of the question for me. I had applied for and got my first provisional a year before this point. 5 weeks after buying the car I took my test, and obviously failed. But due to the wonderfully weird Irish system, until last June I was able to drive on my second provision without a licensed driver in the car so there was no rush to re-take the test. After June 2008 with its crackdown on provisionals came and went I continued to drive... illegally, which really made no difference to me because I have had an American license since I was 16 and never been in an accident or in receipt of a speeding ticket. But as my second provisional is due to expire this August I said what the hell. Also I was slightly embarrassed that my youngest brother - in - law (19 yrs old) was taking his test. 

With this in mind I decided the time had come, I had been 'practicing' for two years here. I booked a pretest for yesterday. It was noted that my tail brake light was out, so I rushed off to get it fixed. There was an annoying light on in my dash - for the catalytic convertor, and even though it has passed the NCT last month, I would not be able to take the test until the light was off. So I booked in the car to the Honda dealership to have it looked at. I went off for an hour and came back to find there was nothing they could do. Uh, you are the Honda dealership, authorised to work on Hondas? The service guy was apologetic but didn't really seem to grasp the gravity of the situation (i.e. 80 euro for pretest, 90 euro to have car fixed, 70 euro for driving test - all non-refundable at this late stage). So I did the only thing that I know how to do in these situations. 

I cried hysterically. Now when I am upset, I mean really upset, it is not a pretty sight. My face gets blotchy and red and very puffy. I sobbed until my shoulder shook. Of course, these tears made him extremely uncomfortable but he was unrelenting, there was nothing they could do in the time before the test. Plus it as just a driving test. "Just a driving test? What the fuck do you know? It has taken me two years to re-take this stupid thing." I don't think that won me any friends.  

Frantically I called the driving school. Yes they had a car I could take the test in, yes it was free tomorrow. It would cost me 140 euro. In desperation I paid it. I mean what was it going to cost to fix a car with nothing wrong with it? The car arrived 1 hour before the test, it was a techtronic automatic - totally different from my Honda CRV - a Japanese import. Well to make a long story short, I passed. In fact I only received one mark on the entire sheet, that is nearly unheard of!

All day I have been singing in my brain the MC Hammer song we all danced to in 6th grade "Too Legit, too legit to quit... hey hey" We gotta represent for O-town.

The House

Last night I watched an autobiographical documentary The House (2008) by Tanya Doyle. It was a haunting look at the decision to sell the family home that consequently forces Doyle to confront the breakdown of her parents marriage and the death of her mother. Located in a housing estate in Clondalkin, the house provides a way for Doyle, her siblings and her father to deal with their unanswered questions and attempt to gain closure - whatever that really means. I was struck by how the recollections of the past reveal the deep seeded nature of familial gender roles. This was succinctly put by one of the sisters who says to Doyle you don't have parents, you have a da and a ma; your da is your da and your ma is your ma.  This documentary also brings up issues around the responsibility one feels for younger siblings, and this often drives one to step into certain roles (i.e. of lost mother). It is a poignant look at family and the past but without sweet sentimentality; it is honest, heartwrenching and raw.There is a review of the documentary in the online version of the Irish Times. It is definitely worth watching. 

I was compelled to recollect the sale of my grandparents house after they passed away. For me the house was a part of them, a part of us. It was built by my great-grandfather in the 1930s after the family moved out of the old Tenderloin in San Francisco. When my father was born, he and my grandparents in the little basement room which was later turned into Grandma's painting studio. When I arrived home for Grandpa's funeral I drove straight over to the house.  I remember walking into the house up the darkened back stairs. It was quiet and the stairs creaked beneath my feet. I expected to hear my grandmother call out to me. I walked through every room remembering what had taken place. I went into their bedroom and just looked at everything as if trying to memorise each last thing. How the sun filtered in past the venetian blinds. The meticulously folded corners of the chenille bedspreads. The organised old towels in the hall closet. Grandma's hand-sewn 50s house dresses hanging neatly pressed in the closet. The sound of nothing. That was what really got me, I was overwhelmed with the sound of nothing. When they finally sold the house my mother said the family that bought it had invited us to stop by to see the changes and they had extended the invitation to me when I was next home from Ireland. As we drove by a couple months later my mom mentioned it to me.  I decided not to see it, I knew in my heart I could never go in there again. That house was an extension of my memories and I had already said my goodbyes.