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 Home ©

 by 

Michael Casey

Home is where  the heart is.

Homeless is outside a house looking in wishing it were your home.

Put into a Home is where due to circumstances a loved one has to be put into care.

As I talk to you this morning I have a drawing on the desk propped up by the computer speakers.

It’s a drawing of a girl with all her hair to one side, she has long eyelashes and is carrying a small bag.

Besides the biro drawing of the girl is a big heart and some stars, written above is “For Daddy.”

I have a notepad on the desk in front of the computer monitor so my girls love leaving drawings.

On the side of the fridge is this week’s spelling list, held there by magnets that aunty gave us.

On top of the fridge is a fruit bowl full of fruit and sweets.

By the fruit bowl is container full of pens and crayons, a shopping list in Mandarin beside it.

There are photos of family scattered about the house, in one corner photos of my mum and dad both long gone, but still much loved. When you get to Heaven you’ll see them is what I say to my girls.

We found a stilly photo of me so I put it on the shelf next to the huge red Chinese dictionary, the fairy from the Christmas tree  is also on that shelf waiting ever patiently for Christmas to return.

Behind me is a painting of an angel a Burne Jones copy, blowing a flute thing.

Girls shoes are scattered about the house, waiting to trip me up.

Behind the sofa in this room are two huge bags of soft toys, waiting  to escape.

Once my smallest is back home she’ll release the soft toys from their Jail.

Then she’ll line them up in rows and sitting on the teddy bear wooden stool she’ll be teacher.

All the toys have names and she’ll chide them as together they learn this week’s spellings.

Her big sister has her nose in a book, she’s determined to win a prize from the local library for reading the most books. I told her I read everything in the school library when I was young.

The sound of chickens comes from the living room LULU, not that lulu, but a chat show queen on Phoenix can be heard. Then my wife is on the phone while she shakes her big wok.

I look outside and am pleased to see my sea of shamrock, I transplanted it here many years ago, it nearly died during the harsh Winter we just had but now I have enough for all of Riverdance.

I’ll stop there for now.

But you can see what I’m on about. A home is a combination of all the things I’ve just talked about.

A home is a physical place, but it is much more than that. It’s the little things inside the house that turn it into a home. Such as the Looney Chick toy that I’m using as a cushion, my girls brought it back all the way from Shanghai last year, and now we use it as a cushion.

The drawings on the desk in front of me are done with love by my girls.

Sharing a pack of Rolos, even though you love them so much, this is home, this is family.

In the end, where there is love then there is a home. Without the love even if your home was better than a 5 star hotel, then it really wouldn’t be a home, it would be just a location.

For as we all know Home is where the Heart is.

Just send me something useful

I started watching Evan Almighty but it was too slow. Though it did remind me of a thought I was having. You see if you read Internet Story here at MYSun  or on my website www.michaelgcasey.multiply.com  then you'll know all about my writing passion IF that's not too strong a word for it. So yesterday I had a phone call offering cable tv, this gave me a germ of an idea which led to yesterday's post about Call Centre Calling. Then today I had an email offering 4600 channels in HD. Only the email came from Singapore. I know some email providers scan your emails and is it this that leads to junk emails. I now must get 60 a day, I just wish their computers died. However going back to films, Bridget Fonda and Nicolas Cage were in one film where a cop falls in love and shares his lottery with a cafe girl. You must have all seen it, its a great feel good movie. In the end he has nothing but his new true love, then New Yorkers post $10 dollars to them, so that finally they are not just happy in love but rich. In my story Internet Story the last line is "just send me $10." and no I hadn't seen the film when I wrote the tag line. In fact the BBC  banned my essay Internet Story because it Solicited money, they did not see the joke.

My line of thought is, why don't folks send me something useful, like an English translation of the Don Camillo stories which were written by Giovanni Guarechiti. But no all I get is rubbish emails, for viagra, from Barrister this or that, or from the office of Mr Big, Can I be trusted, can I help as they are dying of cancer but want to give me a Zillion pounds all in used fivers. I even get emails from myself. I don't know how to do that BUT I do know its quiet easy for any IT buff. They should just save their  energy, or get a girlfriend. Though now I have started this piece I'll ask for a  new central heating system, British Gas tried to overcharge me. I told the guy all I needed to do was wait as his quote was outrageous.  Then 3 weeks later they offer the job at 1/3 OFF. Or if we follow the premise of the lottery win film then folks can send me a 1 pound lucky dip. If there are any legal brains out there can you tell me if I'm ok to accept lottery tickets and would there be any comeback if I won willions. Do the folks need to write FREE TICKET on the back.

Now having written this email will I get lots more "you have won the lottery please send all your details" emails. Or will some nice company offer to replace my boiler. I could do with a new cooker too, its all gas stuff I need. OR should I cook on my own hot air.

Good Night Everybody as The Waltons used to say.

www.michaelgcasey.multiply.com 

Call Centre Calling

We all just love call centres, we all just love it when they call when we've just sat down on the toilet and we're expecting a call from grandma in Shanghai. So the phone rings and we dash for the Andrex and the sink to wash our hands in. Then still pulling up our pants, we fall down stairs just as Norman Wisdom or Brian Rix would do, then pulling up our pants and doing up our trousers’ belt we pass by the hall mirror and see the black eye we've just got. We answer the phone, there is a long long pause, as if the call centre  guy is having a final drag on his fag  before answering, "hi I'm Guy, could I interest you in cable tv,  I've got such a great package to offer." his voice  oh so so sexy, in his imagination anyway. Has he not heard of Sky, the best package.  So we swear in Shanghai dialect, and hang up the phone. Then we notice our trousers are split, the one's grandma in Shanghai had made for us, the trousers for her Panzi, her Fat Fat Boy son in law.

If only we could get revenge, just like in Bruce Almighty. A bottled water company rings, so we click our fingers and its as if the Dam Busters had breached that dam, a sodden girl will NEVER ring your number again. Then there's a knock at your door, its the Mormons, you smile and smile, and they start running away, only asking which way is the airport. Why? Well I'll leave that to your imagination. The phone rings again, so you do heavy breathing, only for a voice at the other end of the phone to say "I'm Sergeant Dixon, would you be interested in joining the neighbourhood watch scheme." "Sorry Wrong Number is your reply." You decide to change, you're half way up the stairs when the phone ring again, you turn and fall down the stairs again. Your wife is just in the door and she answers the phone,  she can see you over her shoulder, "I told you you were too fat for those trousers" You trip over again, "bloody call centres is all you can say."

My Old Age

I'm called "grandpa" by the teachers when I pick up my kids from school. Because my hair is prematurely white. In a way its a joke, but I am over 40 years older than my kids. I was a late starter, but I do have a young wife, who looks even younger because she's  from the East, Shanghai to be exact. In the East they respect Old Age, so I'm all in favour of that. But as for having a good old age, I think I'll be dead, I won't last that long. I'll have to work to at least 66, and maybe 67. So I'll be worn out by the time it comes to retire. My dad was a blacksmith and then spent 40years in a steel works, The District Iron and Steel in Brasshouse Lane Smethwick. Has a ring to it don't you agree? He retired a year or two early when the works was closed down. He had ten golden years with my mum, then mum died, then he had 5 years in an old people's home, read Padre Pio and Me   www.michaelgcasey.multiply.com But he at least had those golden ten years.

My brother was made redundant and now at 60 he's retired. He can look forward to 20+years of relaxation and learning. Me I've got 14 years more to do, if there's any jobs left. If I could win that lottery, then I'd retire today and write more books. Or if I could get something produced/published then I'd be able to retire. The chances of that happening, probably zero, but strange things have happened, read Literary Criticism on my site. Perhaps the government should start a National Laughter Campaign to cheer us all up, Ken Dodd should be ringmaster. The thought of years of slavery is saddening, perhaps we could start a National Singing Campaign, a kind of whistle while you work, Arthur Askey  reincarnated to pass all those extra working years away. We could sing the Song of The Hewbrew Slaves, for that's what'll happen, retire at 95 IF we're still alive, in the year of 2010 If we're still alive

My favourite Sweets

My favourite sweets are, now let me stop before I continue. What are your favourite sweets, as you sit in front on the PC, a cup of coffee perched by your screen as you read this instead of doing those oh so interesting Excel reports for the boss. Can you remember back to when you were a child? Or have you never given up on sweets, or are you a parent? Well for me it was always a Cadbury's Crunch. My brother would sell his very soul for a Rolo, my youngest daughter loves them too, her delight is squashing them until these stick to our glass coffee table, which is also our Chinese eating table. If you look though the living room window you'll think you're looking at a restaurant or looking at China. Well you are, Shanghai to be exact, rice with everything. With a diet like that my girls are tall and thin. Thats why they enjoy sweets so much. My big daughter likes Caylie now, if I've spelt it right. We all adore a nice bag of crisp, so an Aldi 26 pack does down well. I'm old enough to remember the salt being in a blue bag inside the crisps, and not when they reinvented it 20 years ago, I mean 45 years ago. Pop came in heavy glass bottles which had a penny refund on the bottle, and you could get some chews with the refund. I always used to drink the dregs from the pop bottles before taking the bottles back. My brother who I'd put a red hot poker on his leg, just for fun as kids do. Well my brother peed in a few bottles, to simulate dregs, and yes you've guess it, I drank those dregs. Which reminded me of the salt in crisps packets. We had an old fashioned sweet shop just a few yards away from the family house, two ancient sisters with a small husband between them lived there and made bread but in the front room was a sweet shop with all those jars of sweets. They used to say to us children as we left "off ye go, home to your parents. So we called the shop "off ye  goes".

As you grow up your tastes change, and its a nice novelty to rediscover an old fashioned sweet shop. Then the memories come flooding back. I'm lucky in a way because I drunk so much milk it protected my teeth from all the sugar. However I did give up sugar in my coffee when I was 19, just to see if I could. Blokes discover beer and stop having sweets, well until they are parents. As for women its said that a woman would prefer a bar of Cadburys or Galexy  instead of a man. Give her a  Jackie Collins and chocolate and maybe some Baileys and the whole human race could die. Sobering thought that. But it does give a whole new meaning to "I'm Sweet on You."

Cheerio from a wet Birmingham, and don't forget wine/chocolate/beer/Dr Pepper are all best served cold just like revenge, as any Mafia friend may tell you,

Drawing Pictures with Words

A picture is worth 1000 words, and its true. A photo will show more detail and instantly convey so much more that a paragraph or more or even an entire article. I have lots of photos of me covered in ice cream like a big kid, or Panzi which is my Chinese nickname, Fat Fat Boy. So a photo shows I'm just a big kid, even if the teachers ask am I the granddad when I pick up my kids from school. In fact I'm the dad is my reply. Photos convey happyness, thats family photos. News photographers will capture sadness and pain and suffering, and the occasional piece of joy. Years back I was surgically attached to a basic snap camera and I was there to capture all the drunkeness of the people I worked with. When you have your own kids you take lots of snaps and invest in a digital camera so that you can email photos to Shanghai or where ever the mother in law is best kept. Absence does make the heart grow fonder, is what they say.

Drawing is a different medium, it changes things, it can soften or exagerate, it can bring things down to earth, it can deflate politicians. Its like a close up that pulls back, then it reveals that the politician is hiding something, even if it reveals the politician is sitting on the toilet with his pants down and he is wearing ladies underwear,just like Pinnochio in Shrek. I wish I could draw but I cannot. I can give 1000 ideas to a cartoonist but I just cannot draw. My wife is very very good and my girls probably inherit their drawing skills from her. I try and draw pictures with words, but I am aware I need a minute or two to paint my picture,whereas a cartoonist can do something in seconds. So I'm jealous of artists, I'm also jealous of songwriters who get to the punchline so much faster than me. However when I do get a poem right, then I get a result fast. Perhaps I should not talk in terms of competition, the biggest competition is with ourselves. One of the best compliments I ever got about my writing was that I lead up the path and put a picture in somebody's mind.

Well www.michaelgcasey.multiply.com is my path, will you follow it?

 

Praise and Reward

Praise and Reward, its a sticky question. Some things don't ask for praise or reward. Like if your kids do a small chore for you, they don't ask for a pound, they are just happy to help you, because they love you. If you are thirsty they'll fetch you a drink, they won't charge you for it, they'll do it instinctively. Just as my daughter did this evening when she watched me decorating, or rather my attempts at decorating, she even sacrificed her fizzy pop for me, she knows how I prefer pop to alcohol. Sometimes I'll offer a reward and she'll turn it down. For me this shows I'm bringing her up the same  way I was brought up. I know the majority of people reading this will think I'm old fashioned. I do know  that her Irish grandparents would be so proud of her if ever they saw her, Irish grandad did hold her in his arms but after 7 months or so he was gone, as for my mum she went early to make the tea.

Encouragement does work and should be used all the time. My youngest daughter just loves Matilda the fillm based on the Roal Dahl book. Why does she love it? Because its funny, and because the little girl does find love with the teacher.The teacher loves and encourages. Just as everybody reading this does love and encourage their own kids, even if at the moment the encouragement is to move out of the way of the tv so all dad's mates can watch the world cup, and isn't the garden a great place to be and dad will give you some money for pop from the corner shop If only the kids get out of the way of the tv.

My daugher has joined a sunday choir, so there she is praising God, and she gets rewarded with a few quid for singing.

They do say we all have to sing for our supper, just like Little Tommy Tucker.