What Makes Us

Michael Casey What Makes Us (c)

by Michael Casey

 

We are all a jigsaw, starting with mum and dad who made me, friends connect and add to me, lovers enrich me, reading feeds me, watching and learning enthrals me, I am a piece of lego that just grows and grows, rolling stones don't gather moss, they gather friends, kisses and smiles feed my spirit, I am never alone for I have grown thanks to all I've met and all I've know, for I am never truly alone.

I believe in Me

I Believe in Me

By michaelgcasey

I Believe in Me ©

By Michael Casey

I read on the BBC site about confidence levels among new students in USA, Freshmen as they are called over there. There confidence is king, but ability does give them a kick up the backside. Confidence is great, it is important, without it nothing can be done, or almost nothing can be done.

Over confidence becomes conceit, we can watch any reality tv show to understand this. Some say Eton educated politicians are conceited and out of touch with the real world, their ability is not equal to their conceit or should I say confidence. On the other hand coming from a poor working class inner city background doesn’t make you qualified to run the country either, especially when both ends of the swingometer haven’t had a real job, or as my dad used to say they’ve never sweated.  They have read a few tomes on politics while at uni, but actual getting up and going to work, or working night shifts for years, no, none of them or not enough of them has any exposure to the real world. Yet both sides are confident they know what they are doing.

Confidence means sex, the boy is cheeky enough to ask the girl out, and to seduce her, before she realises he’s a total arse. We’ve seen enough films to see this scenario over and over again. Wealth and Privilege breeds confidence, but practice makes perfect, the sportsmen we all may love have had to spend hour after hour after hour practising so they can chip that ball into the hole, or bend it like Beckham. Rooney last time I looked had improved at heading the ball, why, because he practised. Which means when Rooney is in the area he’ll have a try with his head, Jackie Charlton used to be a great head player, but they all practiced. I’m sure Sir Alex tells them what he wants and they do that little bit extra, if they don’t then they’ll be sitting on the bench. This could be Sir Alex’s last season and he will probably be called the best manager ever, but even he has to practice and rehearse his art, and I doing mean by looking in a mirror holding a hairdryer.

Americans are confident and they can be because they have all the resources of the world at their finger-tips. In today’s world pop stars seem to be too arrogant, too takeaway food. Here today gone tomorrow, gulped down and forgotten. The craft seems to have been forgotten, the apprenticeship has not been done, it’s all ego and no tomorrow, throwaway “culture”. Our reality shows breed this, and sadly wanabees are the next big thing.

Hard work seems to forgotten, people craving without slaving first, to misquote Billy Connelly “ everybody wants to shock and they are auditioning for their own show.” You cannot turn back the clock, but singers, comics and their ilk forget about the practice that should come before any performance. Have 5 mins of material does not make you an entertainer. Over confidence is self disillusioned, you need to step back and get that paper graded, record your performance and really look hard at it, compare and contrast other people’s papers.

My own path into writing started by listening to all the stories my dad had, hearing them over and over. Being afraid of Mr Gallaghger   in primary school, so I took refuge in books from the age of 8, so I would not get the slipper. 3 years later and 100s of books later I was the head boy. We got an old Bush radio, the saucer dial one, with the dominoe buttons and the strip of marzipan carrying handle, this radio changed my life because I listed to Radio4 for 20 years. Imagine its midweek, your shift cycle has ended what can you do? You listen to the radio. Plays and News galore. Then you stumble into writing so you write and write, I had a head start thanks to Radio4 . Now confidence I did not have, I just stumbled into it and then I realised I’d found something. I can do this, I can do this. You think what to do next after a few months of writing. Pad said “why not write a book”. So I did. This took a while and you realise you had nailed it. BUT its only on paper, a typed effort. I worked on computers, so I bought an Atari 520 and made a 2^nd draft, this took a year when I wasn’t working nights or weekends, a year of a life. It was only when I’d finished my book The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker that I thought I was any good. I’d done my apprenticeship. However you never finish learning with writing, never finishing practising. From then to now is 25years. And before that 20years of using my ears. So if you like as I talk to you its 45years in the making. I’m still not overconfident, you have to work at your craft, and most important of all use your ears. Then and only then can you say I’m a writer.

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THe Light (c) By Michael Casey

Michael Casey

The Light (c)

by Michael Casey

Well the girls are watching 17 again on tv, JJ was talking to her mum in Shanghai earlier, normal happy family stuff. I was thinking about writing a new piece. I was going to talk about "The Light" the title came because I bought a cheap solar light in pound land, you just switch it on and it charges itself by day and then at night a light sensor switches it on. It was designed for garden paths but I bought it so my girls could have a night light, and then we could switch the landing light off. Well it worked ok for 2 days or nights should I say and now it is bust. Short lived. However Light can last a lifetime, all kinds of light.
I remember when I was smaller than my girls are now we had a torch with red and blue filters, you just pressed a button and the filter came down and you had different colours. In the 1960s to us that was a big deal, we also had another light, a tiny hand held projector that showed a Yogi Bear cartoon in a loop, we all gathered in the big bedroom and closed the curtains for our own picture show. Only after a few sessions the loop of film broke. We rushed down to the Grove cinema and asked the projectionist to fix it for us, a James Bond film was playing at the time with a hairy armed Sean Connery.
Leave the light on in the yard, this was needed because one switch put the yard light on and the outside toilet light on. Dad would come home and switch the light off to save electricity, a shout would go up, "put the light back on" , dad would always say "I did not know" Years later we had a grant for an inside toilet, so the light was redundant.
Interior lighting is a big deal nowadays, people have their spots in the kitchen and wherever, we have energy efficient bulbs. Whatever happened to the 100watt light bulb, we had a tall brother who was pressed into service to change the light bulbs, I still use him to change the light bulb above my stairs in my house as I'm not tall enough, you have to hang like a mountain climber off the top of the landing wall and then jiggle and then hey presto the bulb is changed.
Lamp shades of all manner of designs are also available, "what's wrong with a bare bulb" I asked when my wife when she decided that we needed lamp shades. So we had a family day out to B&Q to pick some lamp shades up. Once home the creative director, or wife pranced about sticking shades on lamps, when asked “it looks good?” I replied, “I prefer it the way it was”, “FARMER” was her reply. Though I do believe it’s the interior light, which is always more important than any exterior illumination.


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You can have my piggybank Mr President

You can have my piggybank Mr President (c)

 By Michael  Casey

The cliff is coming the cliff is coming, I'll close my eyes and maybe it won't hurt so much.
Like Thelma and Louise we'll hit the brakes or is it the accelerator?
I can give up soda and chocolate, just have a stick of gum.
Once a quarter I can have a quart of beer, I'm not really a beer drinker after all.
I can eat less MacDonalds , and brush my teeth less.
I don't like the over white, the polar white teeth look much anyways.
All these savings I can put in the piggybank and when its full I can go to the store, stores always need change after all. I can get them to write a cheque out to the IRS or do I just put "pay Physical Cliff", whatever my pennies will add up.
Perhaps I'll lose a little weight too, 245pounds or whatever is more than the President weighs I'm sure.
So a bit less of this and a bit more of that, cheaper that that is, and then I'll be able to keep on filling my piggybank.
Then sure enough everything will be alright again.
Do you think I could persuade the rest of the USA to join in?
Oh I forgot to say, I'm in Birmingham England, just up the road from Stratford and Shakespeare. So would the IRS want my piggybank anyway?

Tell you what if the USA buys my books I'll pay my taxes and if you all buy enough books in USA then my taxes will payoff the Physical Tax, now wouldn't that be a happy ending for any book.

What makes home Home?

What makes home Home? (c)

By michaelgcasey

What makes Home Home? ©

By Michael Casey

Somebody I know is going off on an adventure, he is going to work abroad. So it set me thinking, what would I miss and what would I take with me if I went to work abroad. To start with I don’t think I would want to work abroad, I’d miss the comfort of my own bed, foreigners and foreign countries have harder beds much harder beds than we have here in England. I’m older now with children so I’d want them to stay at their schools and not miss their friends. I know people have gap years and do a lot of travelling, but that’s just a holiday really, they know they’ll be back home.

Yes I’d enjoy say 2 months somewhere different, but home is home, home is where the heart it. So what makes home home? It’s knowing I can get up from my chair in front of the computer and make a drink of something nice and hot or ice cold. It’s nice to know I can drink water straight from the tap and not worry about possible infections, here in Birmingham we have the best water in the world,  it’s Welsh water we steal from Wales, there’s a pipeline. Home is where I can not shave for a week if I’m feeling lazy, being somewhere else I’d have to shave, you can be a tramp at home but not abroad.

Yes I can speak a little French and Spanish, so in those places I wouldn’t be lost, and when in Shanghai I am looked after by the family. Yet being able to switch on the radio to hear the news or dip into tv news with BBC and Sky and Fox too that’s what keeps me happy. In 2007 we were in Shanghai when the Navy lads were kidnapped by the Iranians, all I had was CNN on the hotel tv, this was torture because CNN s just a travelogue, next to rubbish. At home I’d have 3 other news stations at least, for me being at home means following the news, I am a news junkie. I read the Daily Telegraph  constantly too, the web edition, so if I cannot get to a computer I would not be at home.

Home is being nagged to go to the corner shop to get some strange vegetables my Shanghai wife wants, two or three times till I get the right one. Home is watching films with the kids, watching horror films with the wife, slipping out to the corner shop to get fizzy pop for me and the kids to drink during the film. Home is just being relaxed in ones’ own space, being off duty, being able to go outdoors and have a breath of fresh air in the garden, it may be a scruffy little garden or a show garden but it is your garden, you can scratch your bum and throw a fart to the wind. In a hotel it can be very very nice and you can have fresh sheets on your bed every day, but it’s still not home. I know hotels can be great, I worked at a 4star for 3 years but not unless you have a  big suite can you compare it to home in some small way.

Shoes scattered, shoes on a rack, an old pair of shoes converted into slippers, simple things that turn a house into a home. You cannot bring everything with you if you lived abroad. The right type of toilet paper,  the right kind of soap and tooth paste. All of these simple things turn a house into a home, a smile a nod a joke with the postman or the corner shop man these too make home. Understanding the priest on a Sunday this is a little thing that makes us feel at home, even if you don’t really like that priest very much.   Yes do have adventures, but make sure you come on back home, the priest is always waiting to hear your confession.

 Christmas On A  Bus ©

            By

             Michael Casey

On a bus coming home the Christmas Story revealed itself to me, ordinary events on a cold  Winter’s evening.

There was a large man squeezed into a seat sitting crossways as he was so large, I squeezed in next to him, the two of us like boulders abandoned.

A small African child was singing a carol to her mum who was weighed down by worry and a carrier bag  larger than  the child, behind a bigger child was swinging her feet off the seat.

In front of me a child with  a large bright pretty ribbon in her hair was talking excitedly to her nan. Her nan was all wrapped up against the Winter weather, she was more like a parcel than a person She was giving sage advice to her granddaughter, don’t expect too much this Christmas.

There was a pretty teenaged too, she was  moving her ankle in her new clean boots, perhaps Christmas boots, she was speaking confidently to her ugly friend, pretty girls always have either a fat or ugly best friend, its Nature’s balance.

The African family got up it was their stop at the bus stop, I told the child to hold on tight to the rail as she moved forward only she was too small to understand fully.  My children are about their age I said to the child with the ribbon in her hair and her nan.

The large man squeezed in next to me started doing sign language to me, it was only then that I realised he was deaf and dumb. So I signed back to him. A few stops further on the dumb man as big as Gabriel himself got up as it was his stop, we exchanged goodbyes, “Good Luck” I said, he got off and waved goodbye from the street.

I heard a voice on a mobile, “we’ve got to go then or the graveyard will be shut, I want to give mum some flowers for Christmas.” All this represents Christmas,

your Christmas, My Christmas, Everybody’s Christmas. So take time out to speak  to the deaf, to share a smile, to remember your mum, for Christ is Born.

Parenting ©

By Michael Casey

“Mom where’s my shirt?”

“Where you left it.”

“Mom you have to help me, I have to wear it for school.”

“It’s where you left it.”

“You’re no use, Dad where’s my shirt?”

“What did your mum say?”

“She said it was where I left it.”

“So it must be there then.”

“Dad you’re no use, you’re worse than mum. I wish I was adopted.”

“YOU WERE, “ echo Mum and Dad.

“You two are cruel you’ll give me physiological damage.”

“Then that’ll be something we all have in common,” retort Mum and Dad.

“I’ve found it, I’ve found it,” screams the child overjoyed.

“And where was it?” ask the bored parents.

“Where I left it,” whispers the child sheepishly.

And so it goes on in every home everywhere the world. Kids should have all their things electronically tagged, then with a bleep everything could be revealed. Letters  from school arrive at the bottom of school bags, well arrive is a general term, arrive should be replaced with are discovered, just as archaeology discovers things. Three months later you discover what is happening in school, school letters could and are used as bedding for gerbils, sometimes you only know what has happened at school when you are cleaning your kids’ gerbil cage out. Then the terrible thing happens, the gerbil is dead and you have to find an old shoe box and a priest so that the gerbil can be buried with dignity in the garden. Making sure the gerbil is buried deep enough so the local foxes don’t get a takeaway option for their own dining.

“I’ve got nothing to wear.” Now that means you have to visit the charity shop for yourself while you kids spend a fortune on the latest trainers. If you are from a large family you had caste me downs, I did, but this generation don’t want to do that. You tell them tales from your youth and about grandpa and grandma in Ireland and China, in our case, or any other combination for the rest of you reading this. And what do they reply, “that’s the old century,” as if the 2^nd half of the 20^th century was in the Middle Ages, did we have indoor plumbing then?

“Mum, Dad can I have £20  for a trip.”

“When’s the trip?”

“Tomorrow.”

You would have known about the trip if you only bothered to read the paper you used to wrap the gerbil in when you buried the gerbil in the garden, Father Dan in attendance, he’s a family friend and comes around for the dinner, so stifling a smile Dan had blessed the grave. The child promised to come to church more often, and ran away crying.

“Here’s £20 then.”

“But what about refreshments too dad?” the child looks up pleading to you.

“Ask you  mum.” you walk away, you had plans for that £20, you were going to have a beer with a school friend, someone you’ve know 40years, now you’ll have to ask him over for a few cans.

“Mum dad said you’d give me a tenner for resfreshments,” says the child.

Mum is all knowing and loves her child, so she follows dad and steals a fiver for her child.

“But that’s only £5,” says the child looking all hard done by.

“Dad’s given you £25, so hop it, or I’ll give you a kick up the backside.”

Dad looks at his empty wallet, he’s high and dry now.

“What can I do now?” he asks all forlornly.

“We could go to bed,” replies mum.

“Sex at you age, you are disgusting,” replies the child.