Nov 11th 2017 would have been my dad's 96th Birthday

so I've brought this piece back and a 2nd piece after the photos

 My Dad My Best Friend ©

 By

Michael Casey

My dad was my best friend, no I’m not boasting, he really was my best friend. How can I say that, well it all started with having a 2^nd ice-cream when all my brothers and sisters only had one. When you buy 8

ice-creams for your family buying another 8 is expensive, even in 1960s England. I got an extra one and my siblings called me the “pet” as they were jealous, to tease me they sung the song Michael Rows The Boat ashore, my dad used to say “leave the boy alone.”

I suppose it was because I was the 5^th child, the 5^th child in 8 years and they were not expecting any more that I was spoilt a bit, and yes I did enjoy it. Dad always seemed to wear an old sports jacket and when he came back from his weekend trip to the pub after his week of being in the furnace, he always brought us back cheese and onion crisps in the blue bag. Dad really really loved us, as mum did too, I don’t know about other families but we knew we were loved, it wasn’t said and we didn’t hug loads, we were loved and we knew it. The sky is blue and the moon shines at night, it was as certain as that, we were loved.

I spent a lot of time talking to my dad, I was the penultimate one to leave home, we spent hours talking every night, we were both news junkies, or should I use today’s language, we love current affairs. We both  loved Sir Robin Day the journalist, I still love journalists, we even have one in our Chinese family. Simple perhaps naïve pleasures, these bond you, glue you to your family. My dad also encouraged all of us to save, he wanted all of us to have a good start, we had lodgers and most loved drink too much, so leaning from their bad example we all saved for our futures.

“What’s a bit of food,” said dad as we stayed at home, modestly downplaying his influence, his role, his love for us.

“Do what you like but do your best,” was his simple yet sage advice when I asked what subjects to do at 3^rd year split. His children went to the best universities in the world, they worked hard, we followed his example. Dad would and could work 16hours a day, he even worked 7 days a week at times, perhaps even for years. A Kerryman will walk into Hell for his children and for 40years that’s exactly what he did. I hear people complain about this and about that and it makes me smile, people should try working as hard as my dad did.

My father survived a “fatal”  heart attack   back in 1996, I’ve written about it in Padre Pio and Me, he even found me a wife and perhaps even a job, then he had his last breakfast then he died. I did visit him every single day for over 3 years, then I met my wife. Dad lived long enough to see me marry, only today we found a photo of him holding my daughter in his arms; 8 months later he died, he died 5 days after I’d found another job after a long bleak spell.

Do I miss him? No. The day he died I wept and howled like a tortured dog, but that’s normal. When my mother died  I did not shed a single tear, I’d been ordered not to cry years before, so when mum died I shed no tears, she was in Paradise so I shed no tears. And what of now ? Dad’s in Heaven too, no doubt wearing a big thick coat, when you’re used to a furnace anywhere else can be cold, I hope he’s enjoying watching his 4 grandchildren growing up. I also believe he’s now met the Chinese side of the family and together they drink tea, both Chinese and English while they debate just how Irish or Chinese my girls look. The Chinese grandfather and the Chinese great-grandfather watch from Heaven and both will have to admit having some Irish blood is not a bad thing at all, at all at all.

 *****

there's another post about my dad after the photos

 Padre Pio and Me ©                    

  By

  Michael Casey

It’s a contradiction in terms immediately, how can I copyright  a Saint. A brand new saint at that. I first heard of him through some Religious reading I did. I feel embarrassed to admit it, but I am a practising Catholic, its not fashionable to have any Faith but its mine so I admit it. Immediately the prejudice begins, but if I WERE A Jew or a Muslim, it would be the same. I do feel that my catholic tastes have given me a broader outlook on life, as has my  eclectic tastes and rubbing shoulders with a wide variety of people. But I want to talk about Padre Pio. I had a crisis and was reading about him at the time, so I said my prayers to him and the way forward was revealed. Though Padre Pio always says go Higher, he is just a stepping stone on the way to a better place.

What is so hard to understand about Padre Pio  is how he suffered. He had the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Condemned by his own superiors, made to be quiet for a decade and so forth. Science Fiction teaches or rather amuses us about Time Travel, but with Padre Pio it really happened, he wanted to share in Christ’s agony so he thought, what if he too could have and suffer the wounds on that day of Crucifiction. So it came to pass that he suffered for 50years. He had the indignity of medical examinations and of being thought just to be a mental patient, but his work and life proved his holiness. So it’s nearly 1990 and I hear about him and read a few books, its hard to understand the value of suffering in this age of quick fix pain killers and the lets have a fix, whatever the fix might be, sex, drugs and rock and roll or whatever. Its like suddenly studying again after years of lying fallow, the learning curve is enormous. So too is it with Padre Pio, the idea behind his life is enormous, but so too is the capacity for love and help.

My favourite story is how Padre Pio explains that The Wedding Feast at Cena happened because Jesus could not refuse his mother. Very Italian, or Irish or Spanish and so on, but could any of us refuse our mothers? So I thought more about what Padre Pio said, and his motto of Pray Hope Don’t Worry became my own. Carpe Diem is another good motto but perhaps this can be used by any Hedonist, or other kind of selfish person.Padre Pio reminds us to pray and that pray is not wasted, its perfume that is never wasted is a phrase I like. My mother always used to say that if you couldn’t sleep you should say the Rosary, and she was right. Though in today's world an hour on the Internet or with MTV might do the trick. So why the devotion to Padre Pio, I’ll cut to the chase. My mother died suddenly but peacefully in her sleep, my brother tried CPR, but she was gone. Imagine the angusih amongst her 6 children and her husband of nearly 50 years.

All except me, my mother had said no tears when she go,so I never cried, I was the odd one out.I know how prayerful she was, so I had no need of tears. Eight bare weeks later my brother, the same brother heard our dad fall out of bed, so he ran to his bedroom. My brother was facing the exact same situation, he tried CPR, the ambulance was called, an injection was given straight to the heart. On weekends there is a doctor in the ambulance, so Luck, if that’s the word was with us. The next day 4 of my brothers and sisters came around to tell me the news.

When my sister had come around 8 weeks previously I knew somebody was dead but I assumed it was my dad, he’s die first we all thought. So now 8 weeks later it was his turn to die. At the hospital dad was given 1 week to live, I cried like a baby, worse than a baby, but I loved him, so I told he he should go to our mother and not hang on if he didn’t want to. The next day I was in my sister’s house crying, we picked hymns for his funeral.Yet my father survived, 19 patients on a heart ward, 18 died my dad survived. Padre Pio was beseiged by my prayers, I put Padre Pio’s photo under his pillow. Dad lost his mind, he was in Dudley Rd for 3months, 12 weeks, more than half of them all tubed up. His life hanging in the balance. At the same time somewhere in Florida another man was at deaths door, he was a totally stranger to me, I didn’t even know his name, I’d never met him, he was give 24hours to live, a Chinese man from Shanghai was at deaths door. The Chinaman survived.

My dad’s memory was totally wiped, he did not know who I was, I’m your son was greeted with, am I married. I was the favourite son, he did not even know me. But still we prayed, it’s a feeling in your guts, just like when you are nearly killed as you cross the road, its in your guts and in your heart, Jesus save my dad, Jesus save my dad, Padre Pio help !!! This goes around your head like a merry go around or a kaleidascope. Finally dad awoke.

He said that he can remember hearing the doctor say to wheel him down to the end of the ward, because he’d be dead soon. At that moment my dad awoke, and the doctor dropped  his cup of tea in shock. No not an instanteous miracle, but as Dr Singh had said if he were 30years younger he’d have a heart transplant because dad’s heart was rubbish. Now, when I told my brother that dad was reading a newspaper he was shocked. His memory had come back. He knew who we all were.Every day for three months I walked the corridor at Dudley Rd, the longest hospital corridor in Europe, 1 kilometre long.

Finally he left the hospital, my sister had found a good home for him to live in, he was far too weak to live in the family house. For 3 years dad survived, like a Godfather with all his children making constant visits. Finally I met my future wife. It was her uncle who had miraclously survived at the same time as my father. It was her uncle who encouraged us in our love. From Shanghai to Birmingham.These great men, her uncle and my father never met, but I know Padre Pio must have  helped both of them. Further prayer was needed to bring me and my wife permanenetly together. A Chinese miracle happened.

 Now we are wed, we have a 2year old and please God a healthy second baby in the Autumn. The improbability of our meeting, plus the fact that both men HAD to live for us to be married and have a family, this may be a coincidence to some but I know a miracle when I see one. A miracle is something that makes you feel humble, it makes you know that God has whispered your name. When I look at my wife, I feel humble. Seeing our daughter laugh and play also makes me humble as will our new baby. Then you can look back and know that prayer is like perfume that can never be wasted, your life has led you to where you are now, yes at times sad and terrible, but be humble in the sight of God means something, not just for me, but for all Believers.

I once stood by the fridge and said to Padre Pio, I give up, you take over, all I want is to be married, and perhaps have a family, and do something useful with my life. That was just before my eyes were opened to my wife. I used to say that I got 2 out of my 3 wishes. Perhaps my current occupation is my 3rd wish, or a more outstanding miracle is waiting in the wings, but as Padre Pio  said,always ask for the big Grace.Perhaps we have to be humble enough to deserve it, because I believe it to be a fact that, truly great people are humble because they know just how little they really know

 

Casting Like a Fisherman

Casting Like a Fisherman ©

By Michael Casey

I’ve been having a quiet morning after my early start for the doctor’s and I’ve looked at the newspapers and it’s still early, 12.30pm so I can talk to you before I have some dinner. I was wondering what to talk about today, I’d posted something to keep you all going while I was looking at the newspapers, Writer’s Block  a piece from 2013, so I was relaxed but undecided about today’s chat.  I was casting my mind, a key word is all I need then away I go and an hour later I have finished something new. So Casting came to mind.

I used to work with a guy who was a fisherman, or angler, they catch then return the fish, which my dad would say was stupid, you should eat your catch. If you’ve noticed the old stone building that accompanies some stories, that really was where my mum was born in 1920s and lived with 8 other siblings till she was 12 and the new house was built. If you spit from there then you have the sea, the Cromane Lower peninsula opposite Inch and Dingle where Ryan’s Daughter was filmed. The building has since been rearranged  by my 1^st cousin’s son, the stones are part of his improved house with the windows now overlooking the sea.  So if you google earth you won’t see it. But you could find my cousin with the information given.

As you can imagine the sea plays a big part of life in Cromane Lower, my uncle used to have a boat and caught a few fish too, as well as having 4 cows and growing a few things. They had peat bog too, and this is a welcoming smell when burnt on the fire. The old house had become the cow shed for 4 cows, and I bumpt my head on the cow shed door because I gave up sugar in my coffee between 2 Christmas visits in 1977 and 1978. I grew 2 inches taller just by not having sugar in my coffee. Is that 40 years now, where did the years go?

Fishing is an important thing in the Kerry life and worldwide where fish and people meet. Angling is a rich person’s sport by comparison. I never understood it at all until my former boss explained it to me. By the way it’s a Pole not a Rod, if you hear rod then they are micky mouse anglers, fishermen. It’s a Pole. A carbon fibre pole can set you back 1000 pounds yes that much. It screws into each other and can reach 20 metres though it could be even more. One night in one of my computer rooms an angler brought in his pole and it stretched out half the length of our computer room. You would not believe it till you saw it.

I’ve just had a quick bite to eat, did you notice the flow of word change? Anglers have to have good eyes to spot their prey, and to be quick to chances. My old boss, Andy was his name, was a carp fisherman if I remember rightly. Now Carp Hunters are a breed apart, it’s like child with a bamboo rod and a hairnet on the end v a man and his carbon fibre pole. The carp is very clever and can grow very big, the fisherman is hunting it, like hunting for Red October. It’s a game of chess, not ludo or snap, yes a game of chess. 

Andy described all this to me over 20 years ago, he has since moved on as have I. If Andy knew I’d written nearly 1,200,000 words now over 14 books he’d be amazed. We bumped into each other 15 years ago when I was working at a hotel. Now Andy works at the GBBO, the Great British Bake Off, he looks the image of Paul Hollywood the baker, not unless he has really changed his life path, as I have.

Back to Casting, as I said I just cast my eyes over the fridge and had a snack with Cranberry Juice, which is supposed to be good for you. I think a surgeon told one of us this once. Now where was I? Yes casting takes many forms, you have to throw your bread on the water. If you say you cannot do something then you are already defeating yourself. Give it a try. Faint Heart Never Wins the Belle. What’s the worst thing that can happen? Laughter but  is it harsher than a slap in the face or a punch on the nose? Always try things, a new job, a new dress, especially if you have legs as good as mine. Don’t be afraid to try something new.

I tried hotel work, and I ended up the best person there. Then I had never taught before in my life but I just stood up and did it. I got 2 excellents and an exemplary for my teaching on my external assessment  for  Esol. I knew I could do it because I had previously spent 3 years in the hotel CPNEC, talking to maybe 100,000 people. I’d also had my writing experience. I am the lowest common denominator, If I can do it then anybody can. Give yourself confidence by practice, you do 15 mins a day, but every single day then after a few months you are polished. In my case I improved my Spanish just by using that method over 20 years ago now. So after 40 years since the exam I still cn string a sentence together.  So try that method for yourself, 15 mins a day but every single day. But you must read/speak aloud.

Now it’s getting close to finish time for today. Ok, I just need to eat again and I can see 1000words approaching so I’ll give you all a rest. My point for today is, cast your nets wide, don’t be afraid of failure, your family will always love you, yes they may laugh at your mistakes. But if you don’t try you don’t know. Ask that girl out, ask that boy out even if you think he’s too young for you.  Don’t live in such fear that you are always stuck on the side lines, get off the bench and join in. Though if you are a writer you are always partially on the side lines watching not part of it. Cast your nets even when you are tired and worn out, never give up, never give in. Didn’t somebody once say cast your nets again, trust yourself and then your nets will be full to breaking point. But you must keep on casting, listen to Him or listen to Doreen, but always try.

Writer's Block 2013

here's a piece from 2013  just to keep you going. I've had yet more blood tests, so I was up early and I smell of Pears soap, I thought I'd try it instead of my usual cheap soap. Mrs Candyfloss, who looks as if a candy floss is stuck to her head just stopped outside the house to adjust her false teeth, so I stopped to admire her. I still have all my own teeth though 2 more are missing now these past few months. I have to visit dental hospital again soon. And yes in my imagination the whole of the North Korean Army girls will swoon over me, and depose Mr Kim, before their beautiful land is wasted by his vain ambitions. Kpop will save the world for real. Well in my imagination. See I add a topical item just to see if you are awake, helps the google listing too. Though my words are pretty invisible or rather my book sales are, as you read it here and don't want to pay 3usd for a book. 

BUT

Thanks Poland and all of the few who read me, though 50,000 plus have been reading this blog over time. As well a readers in over 25 other countries all over the map.

Do you think the Dear Leader will have me on his Internet a la NorthKorea?

 

Writer’s    Block ©

By Michael Casey

I couldn’t think what to write about off the top of my head, normally an idea presents itself and then away I go, so I’ve decided to write about Writer’s Block. I have to go to bed now, I normally write something before bedtime, and sometimes some other times, anyway this writer has to go to bed. So forgive the break and in the morning I’ll continue this theme. I did once work with a guy called Duncan who could not sleep during the day so he fell asleep on the night shift. He’d be typing away at the keyboard in the computer room then whoosh, his head would fall forward and he’d hit his head on the screen and then he’d be fast asleep.

So to avoid that, I’m going to bed right now, nite nite. Good morning, well I’ve had my sleep so that’s good, no Duncan head butting the computer, he must be over 40 now, but in memory he’s 20. Memory does play a big part in writing. You harvest memories. I seem to remember childhood like a video recorder, but where did I just put my shades or my mug, that’s so much harder. WE all have a few Black Holes too, bad romance if I misquote Lady Gaga, can be one of them.

Now to get started on Writer’s Block what has happened this morning before I pick up the pen again to talk to you? Well its afternoon now, nearly 2pm. My girls have deserted me for a day trip to London, they’ll be eating expensive cake now in Covent Garden. Shanghai mum’s and their daughters just love cake. I’ve also done a quick bit of painting in the bathroom while they are away, so the paint has a chance to dry while they are eating cake.

Now is this deliberate time wasting by a writer, any writer so that they don’t have to face the page? It could be, I even popped out to the corner shop, but I did have to, it wasn’t an excuse. I’ve had a couple of mugs of hot stuff. First Ovaltine, as I’ve given up coffee for a year now I have to drink something. Then I had my one daily cup of disgusting Green Tea, and it is disgusting, my friend just looked at me like I was an idiot and said “add milk or sugar” when I complained how bad it tasted. My Shanghai wife just scolded me and said I was diluting the goodness in it.

I’m also listening the 3 Mike and The Mechanic albums I have, my record collection kind of stopped 20 years ago, so its like the 90s revisited if you live next door to me. So now I’ve explained everything I can finally talk about Writer’s Block. Though I may stop for a moment for some pain killing cream. Hip Hip Hurray, it was an easy pun so forgive me.

Now what have I proved as I go through the 500 word and pain barrier. I think I’ve proved that writers will do anything so as not to face the page, if they have writer’s block. It’s like avoiding Confession if you are a Catholic. Which reminds me I read a piece by “Holysmoke” in the Daily Telegraph this morning. It was about a drug that keeps you alert, Americans swear by it. I did tweet “Holysmoke” to say Imagination is the best drug and any substances destroy it. I don’t think he’ll reply, but the smoke from the Thurifer  was very intoxicating when I was an altar boy and reader all those years ago.

Writers Block is also like a man on death row wanting to carry on with his conversation with his own shadow so as to keep the hangman at bay. Did I tell you I once read a book about Pierpont the last executioner? It was very good.

Get to the point you bastard I can hear any Telegraph readers say as they read this. But I think I have made my point already. I never get Writer’s Block,  it may be because of the paint fumes seeping into the front room from where I am talking to you.