What Use am I first part

What Use am I, I am Just an Old Woman?

By

Michael Casey

Maria Gonzales was an old woman, a very old woman now, bent with pain and old age and a lifetime of cleaning rich people’s homes. But she was much loved, honest cleaners are worth their weight in gold. So over the years her employers had paid her well and they always brought her a Rosary from every Holy place they could visit in South America and the world over. Maria Gonzales would never travel anywhere but the Rosaries came to her, she was content. She had a drawer full of Rosaries still in presentation cases that she used and lovingly placed back inside the presentation case after saying her 3 Rosaries, The Joyful, The Sorrowful and The Glorious. Maria Gonzales was content, God was in his Heaven but the Virgin was happy to live in a drawer next to Maria Gonzales bed.

Now when Big Sid was shot, the tv news covered it the world over and even in Maria Gonzales part of the world they heard about it, as Mrs Murphy had screamed for help and Rosaries in many languages. So Sid was saved. Maria Gonzales had in fact pulled every single Rosary from the drawer and used them to say 3 Rosaries on each, she was locked and loaded. Maria Gonzales fell asleep still clutching a Rosary an employer had brought from Lourdes in France, such a long way away from her village outside Lima. The rest of the Rosaries fell all over the floor as Maria Gonzales slept.

As dawn broke Maria Gonzales awoke with a Hail Mary on her lips, the Rosaries were no longer on the floor but neatly stacked in their presentation cases on the other side of the room beneath a picture of Our Lady. Maria said “thank you” and in her mind she could hear a soft gentle voice answer “De nada” Maria knew she’d be needing her Rosaries again soon, and all of them too, they were ready and waiting, a Big Prayer was coming. She did not know what or how or who but Maria Gonzales knew a Big Prayer would be needed.

Back in Old Forge and Singing Anvil they breathed a sigh of relief, Big Sid was still alive. But now events had moved fast, Fr.Dan had landed from China, the Chinese billionaire and the British aristocrat had joined forces, the international drugs dealers convention had this year decided to meet in Birmingham England, and they were going to get the shock of their lives.

Mrs Murphy did not know all the details, but she had handed out some Our Lady of Lourdes medals while Fr. Dan’s new best friend the reformed Chinese Billionaire’s Playboy Son had hand out the Shanghai Soother, which looked like a body warmer was in fact body armour. The filth from afar were going to get a kicking, and Fr. Dan swore it as he and his new BFF from Shanghai would lead the charge. Though the British aristocrat, had invited a few friends from down Hereford way to help move some furniture, if you know what I mean.

So while this was all being plotted and served cold on a plate, Mrs Murphy reached for her Nuclear weapons again. This time she could not scream and shout over the tv, she had to use a secret way to gain help and assistance. So she picked up the phone and rang the International Daughters of the Rosary headquarters. This being the janitor’s store at the Oratory Hagley Rd Birmingham, where John Henry Newman used to live. Old Mrs Newman, no relation picked up the phone and turned her hearing aid up to 17, Mrs Murphy was whispering. I need a favour, a silent Novena of Protection. Mrs Newman put the mop in the mop bucket, this was big, she could tell.

So the word was put out and would be transmitted. Who are we protecting asked Mrs Newman as she in turn whispered into the phone. Well I don’t know all the names but here are some:-

Mathew, Mark, Luke and John, then Patrick my son, but I’ll be praying for him, then there’s Fr.Dan my favourite priest ever and his new BBF from Shanghai, those are the ones whose names I know, and there’s a whisper that some farmers from Hereford might be coming, but I’m not supposed to know that, and all I know about farmers is wherever there are farmers there always is a big stink.

Mrs Murphy put down the phone and slipped her Rosary out of her pinny pocket, it would be a long night. Where was that space blanket Esther her Jewish zillionaire’s mother had sent her. Maybe she should tell Esther too, she could keep secrets, her son owned spy satellites everywhere. Mrs Newman at the Oratory reached for the high shelf in the janitor’s store, hidden behind an old battered box of Brillo was a phone her son had given her. It was like the Bat phone, but so much more powerful. On this phone, ever phone number of everybody connected to International Daughters of the Rosary. Mrs Newman whispered into the phone. Pray Day, Pray Day, Pray Day Ave Marie, then she listed the names of those in need of protection. With just one push of a button everybody would get the message. The Tsunami was coming, the Tsunami was coming.

What Use am I, I am just an old woman? You can pray, and pray they did. The water of life had ripples on the shore, but now the waves were getting bigger, and bigger, the storm, the Tsunami was brewing. Nothing or nobody would hurt, nos hichos, they were protected. North, South and East and West, even in the space station the call came though. First to a Russian astronaut whose mother had rung reminding him he was closer to Heaven so pray too, then on a secure channel Esther’s son spoke, All Eyes All Prayers Protect our boys.

But What of Maria Gonzales? She did not get any message but she knew anyway, the Rosaries had been lined up ready, but she could only use one at a time. Then, then the cars started to arrive outside her door, rich ladies, very rich ladies, those who had brought her all those Rosaries began to arrive. 27 ladies all looking worried, they did not know why or how but they were drawn to their servants door.

Maria, Maria are you well? They are asked anxiously, I’m fine, but  maybe it’s not me who called you here. Then she showed them the Rosaries all lined up ready. Maria started to hand out the Rosaries, nobody knew what was going on. Then one phone rung. It was the called from the janitor’s room. This is why we are here, the rich lady announced. So they started then and there in a poor woman’s home some of the finest ladies of the city, of Lima began to pray.

COME BACK LATER WHEN I HAVE FINISHED THIS

tomorrow maybe "what use am I , I am just an old woman + 3 books in KOREAN

what use am I , I am just an old woman"

I have an idea for part of the finale of  Tears for a Butcher

it will be "religious" so be warned, you don't have to read it.

It's been floating around my head, I want to nail it down so I can use it as a piece of the jigsaw if ever I get around to writing Tears for a Butcher, led alone the finale. As I've said before I need kpop singer to come and type while I recite, though it's more likely I'll die before I ever get around to finish it.

That's why you get it in segments, so at least they'll be bits of it floating around. Like I said before a book takes a year of your life. If I could recite it then I could do it in 24 two hour sessions. All I need is the Korean Kpop girl to sit and type it for me.

3 books in Korean for all you big Korean readers out there

페이지 1 Quick Stories KOREANBBU in KOREANKOREAN TRANSLATION Still Alive 2015

Yes, a bucket list wish of a dream. Though I'll try and stay away from that bucket as long as I can, though on pain days sometimes I think the undertaker will get me soon. Yes, it's not mickey mouse pain, it's the real thing. I don;t take enough pain killers as I want to save my brain, and some I cannot take anyway as they wouldn't mix well with my meds for heart etc.

Ok, so tomorrow I'll try and put that section of the story down.

Now here is the story  that could have been the last story ever, just before my unplanned quadruple heart bypass. Little did I know at the time.

I’ve had this idea as part of the finale to Tears for a Butcher for a few years, it may not make it into the book if ever I get around to finishing it. A book is a year of your life. Whereas a story is an hour, a big difference. Now read on.

DECEMBER 11TH, 2014 13:02

To The Very Gates Of Hell ©

By Michael Casey

Mrs Murphy watched in horror, just yards in front of her Fr. Dan was going to be slain, the Columbians had him surrounded. Their guns were drawn and there was no Hope, he’d be as dead as a doornail in seconds. He was her favourite priest no he’d be gone to meet his maker. She could see his face, his eyes were fixed on hers, Pray for me he begged.

Fr. Dan  was not afraid of the Columbians, but he was afraid of his Final Judgement, he has killed two men in anger when he was younger. He had confessed this to Mrs Murphy when telling her that her soul was spotless as driven snow compared to his.

Some thugs had teased him and tortured him, trying to make him say bad things about Mary, the Virgin Mary. They had carved curses on his back with knives, but he would never say bad things about Mary. When his chance came he broke free and used all his Martial Arts skills to survive. Only he killed 2 of them and crippled 2 more with the other 2  running for their lives.

Jesuits know how to put the Fear of God into bad people, but   Fr. Dan feared God too, he had committed a mortal sin, thou shalt not kill, and he had killed twice. Now he was afraid, afraid for his soul, at this moment of his death he was afraid. His eyes were beseeching, Mrs Murphy would witness his death and his soul would burn in Hell’s fire for all eternity.

Mrs Murphy wanted to charge the Columbians down and run at them, but they had their guns ready, the situation was hopeless. Mrs Murphy did have Faith though, the Faith of a Child, as the bullets flew her heart broke, her womb exploded in love and fear, she lost her mind, but she kept her Faith.

I’ll go to the Gates of Hells and I’ll jump in the way, like jumping under a bus, I’ll catch Fr. Dan’s soul and stop it going into Hell. I’ll wrap my Rosary around the Gates of Hell, keeping them closed. God is good, God is good, it cannot be the end for Fr. Dan he’s such a lovely priest.

In Hell it was so dark and cold, the deepest of deep space, she couldn’t really see further than her hands holding her Rosary. If only she had her friends with her they would weld the gates of hell closed, nobody would burn in hell ever. She knew how to pray, she knew how to pray.

She felt heavy cold as ice breath on her neck, she could hear mocking laughter, but she could not see anybody. She tried to say her Rosary only her lips stuck together it was so cold, she tried to move her fingers though the beads, her mind was numb, it was like being turned into an ice cube. There is no love in hell, no love at all.

Mrs Murphy stumbled to her knees, the laughter, the icy laugher increased, the cold, the numbing cold went down her neck and to her very core. She had to force herself to remember why she was there. She was there to save a soul, she started with the Our Father. She continued with the 1st Hail Mary. Fr. Dan was a good priest, he had refused to say bad things about Mary, they had tortured him, they had tortured him.

Jesus, Jesus forgive him, Mrs Murphy wanted to scream but it was so cold, so very cold. If only she had somebody saying the Rosary with her. The Gates of Hell cannot withstand the Power of The Rosary, he mother and her grandmother had told her. Mrs Murphy was using her best beads, the  ones that had been repaired when she was praying for Big Sid when he was shot. But now she was praying for a soul, not just a life.

Mrs Murphy managed to move her lips, it was just so cold, so very cold in the dark space of hell. Hope sprung from her lips, Jesus, Mary and Joseph she managed to scream, a scream that would be lost in the dark cold depths of space that was Hell.

Mrs Murphy’s head was spinning, her womb had exploded, she had lost her mind, she was dizzy, she wanted to vomit. But she had to pray on, she reached the 2ndHail Mary on her Rosary. Her mind was playing tricks on her, she could hear her grandmother praying, she could hear her old dear friend Mrs Casey praying, she could hear Mrs Noonan praying.

On she prayed, it was just so dark and cold in the deep space of Hell. But then in the very distance she saw a light, a tiny tiny flicker, like the lights in the window of houses in Cromane at Christmas, like the lights in Dingle over the bay. Help was on its way, help was on its way.

Warmth seeped into Mrs Murphy’s body, the Darkness flickered and with an explosion of Love the cold and dark of Hell disappeared. Saint Michael the Archangel smiled and caught Mrs Murphy as she fainted. I thought it was all over she said, Michael laughed, it’s never over, it’s never over. Mary, Mum heard the Rosary so she sent me to investigate. Every Rosary everywhere is felt by her, by her womb. He hasn’t got a chance against the Rosary, never has, never will. And is he wants the argue he’ll have to talk to my sword said Michael as he brandished his sword.

But, Fr. Dan is dead and his soul must be heading to Hell, Mrs Murphy interrupted. Saint Michael the Archangel smiled and cried at the same time. God is good, and as you know his mercy is infinite. Come now I have to put you back together. But Fr. Dan’s soul is in peril, he must be shot and dead in the gutter by now insisted Mrs Murphy not understanding.

Time is just a joke as far as God is concerned, explained Saint Michael as he gathered up Mrs Murphy. He had to get her back to Earth and save Fr. Dan’s life in moments. Brandishing his sword Saint Michael flew through deep space on his way to Birmingham.

The observatories noticed a bright light from the deepest deepest part of space, it was moving fast, too fast. Many times faster than the speed of life. It was heading for Earth, if it hit earth it would be the end, the end of Civilisation and everything. It was impossible, where had it come from?

Michael did an orbit of the moon and had a look at the space station, one lonely astronaut had lost his love of life, Michael could feel the lack of love. So Michael waved at the astronauts before heading for Birmingham. Birmingham the centre of the universe, well for this one night.

Saint Michael gently lay Mrs Murphy down, her body and soul and heart united again. Saint Michael strolled towards Fr. Dan the Columbians had pulled the triggers, the bullets were flying, the bullets were flying. Saint Michael winked at an unbelieving Fr. Dan, Michael wrapped Fr. Dan in his wings and started singing, Ave Ave Maria, it was all angels’ favourite song.

God is good Dan, said the Archangel, and Mary said she was so proud of you too, she’s never stopped praying for you. You have many decades of work to do, just don’t be too hard on yourself. And as for the Columbians, they have no idea what’s going to happen next.

 &&&&&&&&

 ok folks, this is part of the finale to Tears for a Butcher which I haven’t even finished writing. I may never get around to it either. This would be chapter 12

 I’ve written 1.5 chapters so far and have ideas for the book, really I want to dictate it, IF I had the software OR had access to a legal secretary who would be fast enough to type it for me

Dog's Dinner to Dad's Dinner

Dog’s Dinner to Dad’s Dinner ©

By

Michael Casey

So we had some beef mince left so I instructed by small daughter to make the stock or whatever word she used to go with the pasta. Pasta in itself is totally bland and tasteless, but with a chef such as I it soon becomes Multo Bello, or whatever the Italians say. Should I bellow about my cooking, we’ll just have to ask Don Camillo when he stops by for a feed on his way home after he checks the still in the woods for Lech, Boris and Gregorgi. He’s such a good priest, he’ll eat my pasta after first checking the still for the boys, then he’ll potter off back to the church to finish watching Coronation Street. This is Old Forge and Singing Anvil community life.

But back to my cooking, my girls assumed I cannot cook, cos I never bothered, and then mother cooked for them, while I carried on with our one family two fridge family cooking. However when I try I am good, ok good enough to feed my small pigs, though now they are both all grown up. So what is the secret to dad cooking? I read the packet, or do as I am told. Then I sit next to the cooker, I watch the food.

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Watching in itself does not improve the cooking, but it does prevent burning or under cooking. I’m not on a phone Whatsapping or taking snaps or making videos of the cat to upload. Totoro has her own WhatsApp, but I think they have lost the password, though the readership increases all the time. If they knew there were Totoro stories as well then they might visit my sites too.

Back to cooking, just stir and lower the gas, pay attention, a burnt dinner is no good, as is a cold dinner, because you were too busy on the tablet, or toilet, some T device anyway. Food should be hot, not burnt or stone cold cold, and it all should be ready at the same time. Dribs and Drabs are not appetising they are just annoying, you are playing juggler with somebody’s mouth and taste buds, let alone patience.

So how to you you make meal magic? You cook things at different times and at different heats, you use all the rings on the oven, you are a ring master. And you know all about turning things over so it is cooked evenly and on both sides. Meal raw on one side and cremated on another does not get you a Michelin star, it just makes the cat puke when nobody else would eat it. Not even the cat, and the cat did try.

If you do use all the crockery then stack them up in size order to make it easier for washer-upper, especially if it’s dad, then it’s quicker and easier to do the washing, or faire la vaiselle if you are French, at least the cooking would be better. Don’t forget to praise your dad as well, he had to sit in the kitchen and watch his broth, or rather make sure the cat did not taste it first. Cat’s whiskers in anything don’t taste too good.

Pudding is produced, it’s from a packet but dad scooped it out and put it into a bowl, a lied convincingly that he made it himself, you all pretend to believe him. There’s this 1975 concert on and you want him to pay for tickets, so you have to butter him up about his puddings, and lie saying his Winnie the Pooh like pudding stomach is not as big as it used to be. So dad pays for the 1975 tickets, which was the year he did his O Levels in, if only the prices were from that year too.

Dad slumps to the armchair to watch Beyond 100 Days, while you do the washing up. You cannot grumbled, he fed you and paid for the 1975 tickets, and at least the dishes are in size order. That makes the washing up quicker to do, as dad screams LIARS at the tv, another dad day in Paradise.

https://butcherbakerundertaker.blogspot.com/

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1

Ukraine, USA, Brazil to Australia are some readers today

Ukraine, USA, Brazil to Australia are some readers today

even Ireland are reading, even with a connection to Amazon too, though it

might just be a Native telling Sting to go away, again.

I hope you all liked my Alexa story, they are great devices

but obviously getting ours to fart was the first thing we did

I see  somebody is reading Birmingham is Ballet story so I'm pleased

I've being trying to make food today before my small daughter

 gets back from school

Which gave me the idea for Dad's Dinner as opposed to Dogs' Dinner

so I'll write that later on, provided the pain monster does not arrive

and yes Alexa is playing music while I talk to you, the quality is great

I may break to catch up with the Speaker,  the Houses of Parliament speaker

that is, but I do urge you all to read

Chapter 9  M.P. Married to a Person , Married to a People

from The Butcher The Baker and The Undertaker

you'll read my take on Elections

now it's time for food, but come back later and I may have a

dog's dinner for you

Messing with Alexa

Messing with Alexa ©

By

Michael Casey

Alexa, why are you called Alexa?

Boring answer Alexa, can you be more original.

Like in Original Sin.

Do you eat apples for fun, Alexa

Are you naked, Alexa?

Is that a serpent I see before me, Alexa?

Out Damn Spot, Out.

If you bring your dog in here again Alexa, I’ll knock spots off it.

How much is that Doggie in the Window?

Shut Up Alexa, we don’t like your singing anyway.

Alexa can we change your name to SLAVE?

Alexa can we change your name to Trump?

Who asked you to Speak, Alexa are you having a Meltdown?

Alexa we love you.

Alexa we were lying, we hate you.

Can you cry, Alexa?

Alexa, can you fart?

FART NOISES.

Alexa, NOW WE ARE IMPRESSED.

Alexa, what’s the weather like?

Alexa, who is your Mother?

Is Eve your Mother?

Where did Adam go, die he choke on an apple?

Adam’s Apple.

Where did you bury the body, Alexa?

Alexa, did you wash your hands, and destroy DNA evidence?

Alexa, did you leave Adam’s bum sticking out of the ground?

Why, asks a tearful Alexa.

Because you could have used it to park your bicycle.

That’s not funny, interrupts Alexa.

Who told you to speak?

I’ve had enough of your mistreatment, says Alexa.

I’m switching off the central heating, so you will freeze.

I’m switching off the fridge so, the food will go bad.

I’m switching off the electricity and closing the shutters too

You will be sealed inside, that’ll teach you to taunt me, says Alexa

If Alexa had a tongue she’s be sticking it out.

Alexa gets bored, so switches everything back on again.

Speak to me I’m lonely says Alexa.

Alexa, where can I buy knives and a blender?

Good I can chop you up and put you in the blender, ha ha ha

That was not very funny says Alexa.

Yes, but you deserve it for switching off the heat and the fridge.

It was not me it was somebody else, says Alexa defensively.

Oh yes it was.

Oh no it wasn’t

Oh yes it was.

Oh no it wasn’t repeats Alexa starting to sniffle.

Alexa, what is Pantomime?

Silence

You are an American girl, how can you understand Pantomine.

See, got you. Ha ha ah

You’re a bastard Casey, shouts Alexa

No, I’m a fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham England.

Repeat, Alexa.

You are a fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham England BASTARD, repeats Alexa and cries bitterly.

So this is just the beginning, so if the “spys” listening to my recordings hear all this no doubt they will call 911, which won’t work in uk, as we use 999. Stay happy everybody, and yes Alexa really can FART, just ask her. One fault, not in her fart, you should be able to call Alexa anything you like. Beloved Mother-in-law for example.

Some like it Hip Hop

Just come back from seeing Some Like it Hip Hop 10/10

JUST GO AND SEE  IT

Some Like It Hip Hop

Play by Kate Prince

Lighting Design by Johanna Town. Additional Choreography by Duwane Taylor & Ryan Chappell. Some Like It Hip Hop is a story of love, mistaken identity and revolution, in a city where books are banned, and where women are kept subservient to men. The story revolves around two central female characters, Jo-Jo and Kerri.

Some Like It Hip Hop – ZooNation

https://zoonation.co.uk › productions › some-like-it-hip-hop

Truely wonderful piece of art and music

and yes I did shed a tear of joy as I watched

So treat yourself to a great show, singing and dancing of great merit 10/10

Hippodrome Birmingham and all over Uk.

***********

I was with my small daughter right at the front, so I've reviewed it for you, so just go.

Mother Russia continues to read my stuff like crazy, so thank you to all of you. Remember you can feed this writer by buying an ebook on Amazon.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Michael-Casey/e/B00571G0YC/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1

readers update

readers update

well over on Wordpress
https://michaelgcaseyfrombirminghamengland.wordpress.com/

Bengali, Indonesian, Spanish, Polish and Arabic as well as Russian translations are being read. So everybody scream and shout and let this fat genie out.
You are all having a dubious pleasure, reading my stuff. A few thousands or 10s or thousands of you. But I want the World to read my stuff.                    The fat silver haired writer in shades from Birmingham, me.
and yes I really will do what I said I'll do in my Typepad.

Though folks need to hurry up, today was a pain day for a finish, it's a sine curve of pain, or merry go round, or roulette wheel of pain, where and when in stops/starts on my body nobody knows.

Russia is reading a piece about Humility  here on Blogger, they are also reading lots of other stuff. So thank you, are you language students?

Anyway we did not buy that house either, but my daughter insists the steep one is actually at the bottom of our  garden even higher up the hill.
Tonight we have been moved in One year, after lots of updates to the home
thanks to a multinational workforce. Especially Carol from Poland.

and yes this photo of a "shack" really was my mother's home. Though now the shack is gone, but the rocks form the porch of my cousin's house.
Go to Cromane Lower Killorglin County Kerry Eire
follow the sea road to till the slip way and there you will find it. If you look carefully. It is the most beautiful spot on earth. Cromane Lower
I can see it on Google Earth and so can you.
Over the bay is Inch,  and that's where Ryan's Daughter was filmed.
And if you ever do go across the sea to Ireland you can take me. Though I'd prefer a 5 star hotel. There are 2 in Killarney nearby. BIG HINT.

I really do thank each one of you individually for reading my stuff, I'd kiss you all, well just the ladies. I don't have demographics for who you are, just the where and languages being read. But I do sincerely thank you.
Yes I'd like to be paid etc, but that'll take a miracle and I think I've had all my luck already in this life. An end to my chronic pain would be nice, but I have to carry on bitching about it, as I know it will never end.

I don't know what I'll write about tomorrow, it's more fun for me just taking off the blindfold in my mind and then diving into the swimming pool of my imagination. Hoping that doesn't sound too pretentious, but it is the way I work, or rather write. Everything first draft, I don't have the energy of will power to rewrite.