Chapter 8 An Experiment in Being Utterly Charmed, So Much So, in Fact, That You Don’t See Trouble Coming for You Until #2
“Okay, so I’m going to hit record on this little device—it’s voice only, and we’ll edit it later, so don’t worry too much about pauses or mistakes or anything like that.
I’ll send it to you first, and you can listen to the whole thing if you like.
And if you end up saying something that you decide you don’t want on the show, you just let me know and I’ll edit it out before it goes live, okay? ”
“All right.”
“Ready?”
“Hope so.”
“Me too. Here we go!”
Maya: Hello, everyone. Welcome back to A Spinster’s Guide to Online—oops, I’m sorry—Offline Dating. I haven’t gotten used to saying that yet. I’m your host, Maya Davis, and boy, do we have a treat for you today. Isn’t that right, Jackie?
Jackie: I hope so, Maya.
Maya: Today we are coming to you all the way from County Clare, Ireland, and I’m here in a picture-perfect Irish cottage with Jackie Kelly, world-renowned fourth-generation matchmaker.
Jackie: Well, I’ve been on the radio many times, and the TV more times than I can count. But I’ve never been on a seedpod . . .
Maya: Podcast.
Jackie: A podcast. I’m not even sure I know what one is.
Maya: What do you mean, Jackie? Are you saying that you’re not already a huge fan of the show?
Jackie: Well, now, as you know, we don’t have the Internet out here. So I guess I’ll start being a huge fan when they start playing it on Clare FM.
Maya: Any day now! So, for anyone who may have missed it, I have traveled all the way to Ireland to be matchmade by this lovely man, who is obviously naive or very brave.
Jackie: I’d say a little bit of both is the best recipe. But I usually call it optimism.
Maya: Yes. You are a cheery, glass-half-full sort of person, aren’t you, Jackie?
Jackie: I am. Especially if it’s a pint glass. You’d be surprised how many matches are made over a pint of Guinness.
Maya: I wouldn’t be surprised—I’ve seen you in action! And as if trying to find me a match wasn’t quite enough of a challenge, Jackie has very graciously invited me to stay in his beautiful home for an entire week while I get settled here in Ireland.
Jackie: Oh, it’s no hardship. You make a mean cup of tea.
Maya: Hey! What about that lasagna I made you yesterday?
Jackie: Good Lord, I’ll be buggered over a barrel if that wasn’t the best lasagna I’ve ever had in my life. I had three servings and then another after we came home from the pub. Irish fellas like a girl who can cook, Maya. I’ve already told half the village about that lasagna.
Maya: You have? That explains a lot, actually. Last night I had three guys ask me if I was Italian. And one man came up to me and asked for the recipe for Alfredo sauce. Then he asked me if I wanted to go home with him. But only after he had confirmed that I could cook an Alfredo.
Jackie: I told you they’d be lining up, didn’t I?
Maya: Yeah, but I didn’t know it would be plate in hand. Okay, so we want to know more about you, Jackie! I think I can guess the answer to this, but how did you become a matchmaker?
Jackie: Well, I suppose you could say I was born into it, like my father, and his father before him, and his father before him. The Kellys have a reputation for love around here.
Maya: And so would you say that there was family pressure? Expectation?
Jackie: I wouldn’t, no. I was one of five boys and four girls, and we all tried our hand at matchmaking at one point or another, mostly when we were young, because we liked the attention.
I reckon if I had wanted to be, I might have been an accountant or a solicitor or a plumber, and for a time I did move to Dublin to have a go at being a professional photographer.
My sister Joany was the local matchmaker for a while, but she says she got tired of all the phone calls and late nights at the pub.
Maya: So what made you choose it, then?
Jackie: Well, I love phone calls and late nights at the pub!
Maya: Oh, I know you do. My sore head reminds me every morning.
Jackie: You just need a little more practice, then.
But I suppose the honest answer is that I believe in love.
It may sound a bit corny, but I grew up in this very house, where love was everywhere.
It was what we talked about over dinner; our parents read letters to us by the fire from people writing about their wedding, or their new baby, or to ask advice on a tough relationship.
There was the festival to look forward to, and we were invited to so many weddings that we had to have a separate wardrobe just for fine clothes to wear to them.
Even when I was at school, people came to me for advice.
One summer when I was twelve, I ran a little love clinic, and people paid me in sweeties and crisps for love advice.
Maya: That’s really cute. So, what do you like about your job?
Jackie: I’ll tell you, Maya, there’s nothin’ like the challenge of finding a match for someone, and nothing like the high you get when it works out. I have some albums here—hold on just a moment. Ah. Here we are.
Maya: Whoa!
Jackie: These are just some of the photo albums I have of happy couples I’ve made.
Maya: Those are huge. I can barely lift this thing!
Jackie: I’ve another ten or twelve in the closet under the stairs.
Maya: No way! But this is. Wow. Look at these people! There are so many. And they all look so happy. And some of these have notes. This couple named their baby after you!
Jackie: Oh, sure. There’re plenty Jackies out there now. I also have older albums that belonged to my father and grandfather. And old steamer trunks full of letters. There’s just something about them. Well, you could never just get rid of them or throw them away, could you?
Maya: I don’t know, Jackie. Maybe if I had trunks full, I could!
Jackie: Naa. These are people’s lives. And my life. There’s a little bit of me in those photos, though you can’t see it. I’m proud to have brought so many couples together. Changed their lives. Given them happiness.
Maya: Look at these! I wonder how many Irish babies you’re responsible for. Did you ever try to count?
Jackie: Whoa, now, Maya, I can guarantee that I’ve only been responsible for six Irish babies, and no more.
Maya: Six? You have six children, Jackie? That’s a lot!
Jackie: Well, it’s not too many, and it’s not too few.
Maya: I can imagine it was a noisy house!
Jackie: It was just perfect. Now I’ve got fifteen grandchildren. I’ve had to come up with a little rhyme to remember all their names!
Maya: And do you think any of them will be the next matchmaker?
Jackie: Now, that I don’t know. But I’m hoping my daughter Deidra might be taking up the torch one day. Or maybe my son Brendan. But they have the right to choose their path, just as I did. An unhappy matchmaker is about as much use as a chocolate teapot.
Maya: That makes sense. I guess actually liking your job is an important part of the process. Here’s a big question—did you matchmake your children?
Jackie: Oh, no. I tried a few times, but I learned pretty quickly that this was not appreciated.
Maya: What happened?
Jackie: Well, let’s just say if someone hasn’t asked you for help, interfering with their love life might be seen as meddling. Especially if it doesn’t work out.
Maya: Uh-oh.
Jackie: One of my boys will hardly speak to me now, and my daughter Eilish gave me the silent treatment for a full year once.
Maya: That sounds like playing with fire.
Jackie: It can be. Sometimes you’re just too close to it to see clearly. But I’ve learned the error of my ways. Totally reformed, I am!
Maya: So, is there anything you don’t like about your job?
Jackie: Well. I suppose it is hard to not feel responsible for the things I can’t control.
Will she go to the church or will she run?
Will he find another bed to warm when she’s busy looking after the kids?
Will they fight too much? Will he drink too much?
Will the babies come easy or won’t they?
I get a lot of sad letters too. Tearstained.
Lots of men at the pub in their cups, begging me to tell them how to fix it.
Life is a long bumpy road, and sometimes your horse throws a shoe.
I have to remind myself that all I can do is put them in the wagon and slap the horse’s bum, and whatever happens next is out of my hands.
Maya: Do you keep those letters too? The sad ones?
Jackie: I used to. But now I say a little prayer and then I throw them in the fire. And I watch the flames burn up all that pain and worry and carry it up the chimney. And I ask the Lord to do the same. That’s why sometimes even on a hot summer’s day, I’ll have a fire going and the doors open.
Maya: You don’t have to answer this, but I’d like to know. Did you find love, Jackie?
Jackie: Oh, I did, right enough. A grand love. A love for the ages.
Maya: Were you matchmade? By your father or maybe your grandfather?
Jackie: No, no. I met her at a music festival in Cork back in 1978.
They’d invited me up to set up a booth for matchmaking, and I was happy to go join in on the craic.
She was one of the dancers there, and I knew right away, from that very first conversation in line for a cider, with the fiddles playing in the background.
Maya: That sounds magical!
Jackie: Love often is. I asked her to marry me that day.
Maya: You didn’t! The first day you met her?
Jackie: I did. I asked her to marry me that day, on our very first date, and I asked her again on every date after that. Forty-six times, to be exact. Until she said yes.
Maya: Did she say no forty-five times?
Jackie: She never once said no. Even on that first day. She said the same thing every time. “We’ll see, Jackie Kelly. We’ll see soon enough.” And she said it with this smile, Maya. Oh, that smile. I was a goner!
Maya: Amazing.
Jackie: Twelve years she’s been gone now, but I still see that smile when I wake up every morning, and think of it every night before I go to sleep.
Maya: Oh, Jackie. That’s beautiful. Thank you for sharing that.