Molly and the Flu ©
By
Michael Casey
I had the flu jab today in the church hall up the road, one of our 6 churches, I also told the lady to google me, michaelgcasey, so she did instantly. Her phone revealed that the fat silver haired writer in shades had just been pricked by the nurse besides her. I had my flu jab so I was covered for this Winter. I may even sell one book on Amazon, The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker being the 1st of my 14books that I’ve written so far.
Having given a quick synopsis of the plot to the lady I left the church hall and decided on impulse to visit the church itself. I hadn’t popped into this church in a while but as my mum used to say you get a “free wish” for every new church you visit. It does feel a little dark inside but its a nice place to pray in. I sat at the back, out of thunderbolts range or so I hope, and had a prayer or two. God no doubt wondered why I didn’t visit my own home church as often. My standard reply is PAIN, it takes a while for my body to warm up and then if the priest still hasn’t learnt how to give a succinct sermon the incentive is not there. If the priest remembered the Romans coming to kill you then he might be more to the point, when he’s not praying for the Bishop. So I hope God accepts my pain as prayer.
The flower lady pottered about, she had a small tea trolley with a dustbin and small broom on top. When I’d finished my prayers, and I didn’t even mention wanting a bigger house, I got up to leave. On my way out I spotted another section of the church, a Peace section or something, this was better lit than the rest of the church, the lady in the church, as opposed to the lady in the van asked did I want to exit that way. I told her I was just looking, a more prayerful kind of tourist.
Its a few days later and I’ve had a lot of pain, especially at night when I lie down, was it God reminding me to pray? I really must finish this story. Got a postcard of Saint Albans in the post, which was great, so I wondered who Saint Alban was. Turns out he’s the patron saint of tortured people, I loved the irony of it all. Well I’m tired but pain has lessened so let’s see if I can finish this now.
Molly and me got talking, yes I know purists will say it’s Molly and I but real people never say that, so this is the way I speak to you all. Now Molly has led an interesting life and it took me a second to spot the CND earrings and her matching fluffy long jumper coat, so obviously I called her an old Hippy. She has lots of bangles on one wrist too so I asked did they hid the marks from the handcuffs from her CND days. She took off one bangle and I was very impressed as she explained all the meanings. I stopped myself from asking her to leave it to me in her will, she must be only 75 or less.
We talked on and she explained how she lived in Egypt as her dad was in the RAF and how she had traveled the world. I told her to write it all down and don’t lose it for the future. I said her kids would love it, she explained she had no kids, so I told her to record it and when she had 2 hours worth I’d love to listen to it. She likes cats too, and has a cat or two story published. So I told her how we ended up with Totoro our cat. People are stories and the should not be lost so I encourage everybody to record their stories. My brother’s father in law was writing down his life before he died, so I urge everybody to share their stories.
Molly could be overlooked if you don’t stop and chat, she is the lady in the church as opposed to the lady in the van. Hidden treasure, hidden human treasure can be found even arranging the flowers in a church. And you may even say a prayer or two, just so God doesn’t feel lonely, just make sure He has a pew to sit on, wheels or no wheels.
