Halloween Horrors

Halloween Horrors ©

By Michael Casey

There was a knock at the door at 9.30pm, while we were watching the Blacklist. Its Halloween tonight and it’s so dark outside now that the clocks have gone backwards for the winter. So just for fun I sneaked to our front door and screamed “DEVIL” and went away laughing, back to the Blacklist on TV.

Only the knocking returned but I ignored it. Our next door neighbour had but up a welcoming Halloween balloon, so that could have attracted trick or treaters.  My girls had a look out the window and think they saw a man with a parcel getting into a van. I was only told this after the van drove off.

I am waiting for a parcel, so was the trick on me. When roused from the Blacklist I saw the van stop at the end of our street and a man get out and have a fag. Smoking to steady his nerves perhaps. Parcel delivery drivers don’t deliver at 9.30pm in the dark on Halloween do they? A parcel man would stick a note through my door. Not unless he was a witch or warlock moonlighting.

I finished watching the Blacklist then I decided to have my own Halloween prank. I drew an evil face on my next door neighbour’s balloon. She did say she was going to be a witch in the woods tonight, so I wonder will the face on the balloon scare her.

If you hear a blood curdling scream in the middle of the night, it must be my next door neighbour.

this is my writer's poser's pose 

More Black Humour

following on the black humour theme. today I bought my girls some clothes and a lot of books. I told them its their Christmas present. And their Chinese New Year present too. They are 1/2 Chinese after all. Then it gave me an idea for a story, not yet written. It would be about a hypochondriac who keeps on thinking he has this disease or that disease so spoils his children, each time he thinks he's contracted this or that new disease. So you can imagine in the school playground the kids saying, I got this new top because my dad has piles, or I got these new shoes because my dad's arthritis got worse. Or dad had bad tooth ache so he bought me new boots, etc etc I may very well write this story down. Though I should say I really do have a few maladies, but laughter is the best medicine.

200 UP

Today I've recorded a few more stories. So now I have recorded 200 of my shorts, which is less that 20% of my output. I've written more stories than the Brothers Grimm, twice as many, though some card might say my stories are grimm, ha ha ha, they will laugh to themselves.

Anyways as I recorded more today I did remember that a few days ago a blind guy was looking for a reader, so perhaps I should send him my 1st 200 stories to listen to. As for the rest of you www.michaelgcasey,typepad.com has 50 or so samples. So far 10 hours plus of recorded material.

Todays recordings included the piece below.

Government Dating Agency May 31, '11 10:34 AM
Fill in E784/52 and your new spouse will be ready(c)
by
Michael Casey
I saw somewhere that the Government would be involved with marriage. So that set me thinking.
Fill in form E784/52 and your new spouse will be ready.
Just as stupid as a census form would be the Government provided spouse, all you do is fill in the
form.
You fill in sections stating what kind of sex life is required, variety and kind and frequency.
You fill in sections stating what kind of faith is required, though nowadays "None" would be the
most common.
Sections for what kind of intellect required.
What kind of hair colour, and type, soft or shiny.
Height requirements would be catered for too.
Tall dark and handsome, or very curvy with a twinkle in their eyes. Eye colour would also be on the
list.
The form would go on for three pages and has to be filled out in triplicate. Native language
requirements or preferences would also be listed.
It could take hours to fill in the form, but once completed, the Government guarantees perfection
and a till death do you part guarantee.
With the government in charge of our mating, nothing can go wrong. Only on the way down in the
lift its love at first sight as you see somebody for the first time. Can it be true can it be really true.
You were made for me and I was made for you.

Hotel Achat Offenbach Frankfurt Germany 2008

Its an ill wind that blows no good

They say its an ill wind that blows no good. Today 24 hours before my pain killing injection the hospital rung to cancel it. Its nearly 6 months since my 2nd hip started to hurt, now I could be waiting another month. So that's the ill wind. Mind you there's a storm due to hit Birmingham and UK big time in the morning, so I suppose I won't be drenched as I won't have to go out in the rain. Though as I'm not going to hospital I'll be doing my usual school run instead, so I will be drenched but slightly less so. Which reminds me how did I meet my wife, one reason was because she got food poisoning and missed her flight to Germany, so she came to Birmingham instead. Such is Love and Fate and etc



some photos to amuse you all

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School Shoes

School Shoes ©

By Michael Casey

Shoes are shoes, are shoes, right? No, shoes are not shoes, they are school shoes, which is another thing entirely. And as for children’s shoes, don’t make my cry. They are something even more tearful, to the parent that is, the cost is so enormous.

You or me we got to the shoe shop and try them on and in 5 minutes you are out the door, you may even be wearing the new shoes and your old ones are throw in the bin. Shoes are expensive, leather shoes that is. Plastic or any other material tends to be cheaper.

The school year started a month or so ago, now ½ term approaches, and small daughter tells me she needs new school schools. She has small feet, size 2 or less, so normally she does not get through shoes as fast as her sister, who is a size 5.

So you look at the shoes and agree they are ready for the bin, so now you have to replace them. You can’t just give her any old shoes, they have to be school shoes, which have a special, almost magical quality, the fit, not the fit for the foot, but the fit for the school rules. Yes, school rules. They must be black and be plain, as if fit for the Amish or Quaker temperament.

Our cheap and cheerful shoe shop has closed down, and the other one is expensive, so the Internet beckons. We look at Clarks, they have nice shoes, in nice black leather, but I wince at the price. Small daughter doesn’t mind non leather shoes, so we agree to look at other websites. She does not have sweaty feet like me and big sister, so we can try non leather shoes.

We browse here and we browse there, then hey presto we find £15 shoes, which fit the bill, and fit her feet, and fit school rules. So we buy 2 pairs which we hope will last till the Summer, and save £15 if you can follow the logic.

So dad is given a congratulatory kiss, and small daughter skips away happily. Only to return half an hour later to remind you that the Seasons are changing and really she needs some new boots to wear to school in the bad weather, but once at school she’ll put her cheap new school shoes on.

So together we look at the boots, size 2 boots, at least there are no rules to conform to here. So we go to Clarks and they have a sale, and we put a pair in the basket, before opening a new Window.

We look at Amazon and Debenhams, and compare the boots. Are fluffy warm boots good enough, are the boots too tall, which would get in the way of small daughter’s running activities in the playground, or are they just right. I feel like Goldilocks looking for boots instead of a bed.

Then we find the just right boots, only they are not just right, as my small daughter decides they won’t match her clothes, when she’s wearing them not just for school. So we have to search again. Finally we settle for some mid- calf length boots with fake fur on the inside and thick soles  to keep her feet out of the puddles and snow this coming Winter.

So now she is a happy bunny and away she goes to play with her dolls’ house, at least I don’t have to buy shoes for all the inhabitants of that house, or I’d be in the poor house.

Photo is me in Malta 2013, if I make any money I'll return there

Pain and Fear Oct 2014

Pain and Fear Oct 2014©

By Michael Casey

Just so you know I’m talking from experience, not airy fairy philosophy, only my own philosophy learnt the hard way. I’ve talked to a few people now about Arthritis and pain. My own Arthur as I call it, arrived unannounced in March 2013. By the time I went through the health system it was 5^th October before I got some proper pain relief, for my left hip.

Then such is the nature of the beast that my other leg, hip and everywhere else decided to go out in sympathy. Now after maybe 4 to 6 months I hope that’ll be sorted too, finally.

I always say I don’t want to pop pills for the pain as I don’t want to turn into Michael Jackson, the name Michael is all we share in common. I don’t want to be addicted to anything, besides which my kidneys don’t allow me to pop too many pills. So I use Movelat gel instead. It works in 5 mins and doesn’t smell like Deep Heat.

So that’s my background, I have met people who suffer much much worse and for years. So should I should shut up, or grin and bear it, and have a stiff upper lip, the British way.

Personally I think stiff upper lip is bollocks, when you are in pain you are in pain. You are not even looking for sympathy, but a little empathy does go long way. I’ve met people who say their kid or grandkid or nephew or whatever has this disease or that disease. As if it’s a competition in pain. It’s not a competition, and I do pray that others do get a bit of relief from their pain.

The other thing I say when people are offering one up-man-ship in pain, is does the sufferer have a sense of humour. This takes the wind from their sails, and they even think I’m being unkind. Some even miss the point, if you have a sense of humour it deflects pain away, it lessens it. Humour got us through the War, if you can laugh at something it is not your master.

Fear of something is greater than the thing itself, Churchill knew that, so we should all remember that too, whatever pain we have. He also said Never Never Surrender. That’s true too. I have seen people give up through pain and sorry, it just leeches away the soul. So the answer really is Always Look On The Bright Side of Life.

It does not mean that I or anybody else is a comedian, and all singing and dancing comedian. A kind of Bruce Forsythe but on speed, or any other substance. Your outlook on life colours your life itself. If you give yourself a crucifix to carry then you will weigh down your soul. I’m sad because of this or because of that, my Life is Over, this mentality is a Cancer.

I don’t say we should be like Patch Adams, we can all heal ourselves, medicine helps, but it is ourselves that help ourselves the most. Give yourself a kick up the bum when you are feeling glum. So you did not get that job, that girl ignored you or slapped your face.

Life moves on, and we have to move on too, or we are drowned in the sea of life, time and tide waits for no man. I had a Birthday and this means I am now the same age that my dad was when I was at the lowest point of my life. It was my dad’s Birthday and I’d lost a job and I could see no hope on the horizon.

I can remember my dad shaving in the kitchen sink, saying sagely that something would turn up. I never knew if he really believed what he was saying, then or now. But I believed and loved him totally, which I hope every other son everywhere does. And if you don’t then you don’t have a Kerry Blacksmith for a dad as I did.

So I lived in hope and my brother said try computers, so I did, so I applied for one job in computers, and got it. That job lasted 21 years and laid the foundations for my very life. My fears were banished and I had a secure job.

How did I repay my dad for his confidence in me, I visited him every single  day when he was in the old people’s home, for 3 years, 20 years later. It’s all in Padre Pio and Me.

The pain of loss is a great big thing, I know as my mother died, then 8 weeks later my dad would have joined her, but my brother did CPR and saved our dad. So we had 5.5 years extra time, time to show our dad our thanks for his great life and influence over us his children.

When mum died I shed not a tear, not one, as she had ordered us not to cry for her, and not to fight. This was her mantra for years before her death. To be honest, she was worn out from her large family. 

When dad died finally, a week after I’d found another new job, escaping the scrap heap again, I was in pain. I howled like a puppy dog being beaten with an iron bar. Grief does that to you. History repeated itself, I had found another great job. I was working for CPNEC Birmingham. Hotel work is hard work but great fun. I really did excel at the hotel.

So I’ve talked about real pain, as in Arthur, emotional pain as in losing a parent. I nearly lost 2 in the space of 8 weeks. So which is the worse.  Emotional pain always trumps physical pain. The heart feels pain more than anywhere else. So when your friend is going through a divorce or her bloke cheats on her, be there for her. A few words here and a few words there can and do save lives and souls too.

Some may think you are a stupid sod, but if you shine sunshine into a life as the clouds gather and the walls come crashing down, then, you will save a soul. You may also make a friend for life. The clever people don’t know what to say, or they are too posh or too polite to say anything. This is Wrong.  A hug is worth more than any amount of pills from a busy uncaring doctor.

You may wonder why I try and write humour most of the time, and not more serious posts like this. Well the answer my friends is blowing in the wind. Music is therapy too, that’s why your neighbour was playing Barry White all night long for a week. Until either the Police raided his house, or he realised there are as good a fish in the sea that ever came out of it.  

You Only Know When You Are Dead

You Only  Know When You Are Dead ©

By Michael Casey

There is something similar between Paul Merton and Alfred Nobel, no Paul Merton does not have an explosive delivery. The thing I see in common is this, they had to have a death before they realised what people really thought of them. Alfred Nobel read his own obituary, then he changed. Paul Merton only discovered after his parents’ death that they admired his success.

Which has set me thinking, what do people really think of us. Will they only tell the truth behind our backs, or do they have the balls to tell it as it is to our face. I once said of somebody that he was “shallow” then a week or so later when we were all down the pub, as was our company’s religion, I was confronted by him.

I heard you said I was shallow. Yes, and yes you are. Do you want another pint I asked, so I got a round in and no more was said. In those days 20 years ago and more the company was more like a social club, but, everybody did work very hard, very hard indeed.  We have all scattered to the 4 winds now, but I’m sure when we all look back we all look back not in anger, but with laughter.

When I left the company I’m told they had the largest leaving collection ever, though that could have been like Cecil D Milne’s funeral, not because he was liked but  everybody wanted to make sure he was really dead. However, as I look to my right I have a painted water-coloured copy of a Burne-Jones hanging on the wall, the angel is playing a flute, below is our piano which my eldest daughter plays on. We saved up for years to buy it, and now the fruits are being to show.

Why are people afraid to say what they mean and mean what they say?  Perhaps I was born blunt, or honest as I would say, there is nothing worse than asking people what they want to eat and then they change their mind, or moan afterwards that they really wanted something else.

Whenever the kettle is boiled in our house I’ll ask do my girls want a drink, tea, green tea or hot chocolate. So I don’t waste the gas. My youngest is the one who says no, then says yes just as I’ve sat down again at the computer, just as I’m in mid-sentence.

Though I should not complain as they always give me inspiration to write something new, 550 short stories, pieces like this is my tally so far. Take a peek at Amazon Kindle if you want to read some. Slice of life, as the NY poet Elaine Polin would say.

When you are dead and in your grave its only then you realise that a coffin and a grave is just like being in a submarine, such a small space to sleep in, though you’ll never again come up for air. In your grave you’ll hear the grass being mown above you. You’ll hear lovers make love in the sunshine above. The laughter of children as they steal the flowers from your grave before giving them to their teacher in the school next door to the cemetery.

The rain beats down on your headstone, tears merge with the rain, somebody has come to pay you a visit, only the sound is muffled six feet under, they should have left your hearing aid in when they put you in your box. They put shoes on your feet, but a hearing aid would have been more useful.

You strain to hear who is crying, who is lamenting your passing. Its none of your family, it’s the cleaner from your office, you gave her some advice to help her son read. Now he’s passed the 11 plus, all because you spent a few minutes chatting every night to his mum. She forced him to listen to Radio 4 and to read a quality newspaper, and then there was that book list you gave her. It was nothing really, but it was enough to change her son’s life. Just as BBC Radio 4 had changed your own life.

There’s laughter above, two drunks are sitting and spitting as they drink cider as they sit on your grave. You wouldn’t mind a drink yourself, it’s a bit boring just lying here all stiff 6 feet under, if only there was cable tv in the grave. At least you have time to think, and you are not rushed off your feet any more.

No need to visit my grave you had said, I’m with you, I’m in you, I’m your dad, I’m your husband, your boyfriend, your secret lover, your boss your friend or whatever else you may have been. No need to tramp though the rain to lay flowers. That’s what you said, but secretly you wish somebody came, its cold and lonely in a grave.

So on it goes for all eternity. If you were a Poet maybe people would come and you’d hear laughter and listen to your own poems being read back to you. But you were just you, and sometimes its only when you are dead that you know just how much or how little you were loved.

So love now, not tomorrow, because tomorrow you could be dead.