Fools Errand

Fools Errand ©

By

Michael Casey

The wife often sends me to the shops, and I do forget everything she wants, so she sends me back to the shops again.

She sent me out for red onions and celery today, I half got it right, I brought back a red onion and spring onions. So  she sent me back up the shops again, as she was going to cook some some concoction. Only it started to rain while I was at the shops, then she laughed and she was not cooking tonight but tomorrow. So I was a double fool.

I should add that she is a good Chinese cook, but recently she has turned her attention to English food, and as my belly will testify, she is gifted in that area too. Luckily tonight, she had stolen a tenner from me, but I stole back a few quid so I could buy orange juice for myself. Its swings and roundabouts in our house, I give her money for the week and then she steals my share of the food money for her love of all things fruit and cakey. 

So I consoled myself by eating the lovely strawberries she had bought. The kids were upstairs playing 3D cinemas, my sister having given them a few dinosaurs in 3D and some 3D glasses, which meant I could scoff the strawberries while they were busy with 3D. It wouldn’t be right to interrupt them with strawberries while they were so 3D busy, I am a very caring dad after all.

My other errand was to the Charity shop to offload some of the treasure the girls did not want, at least the Charity shop can make a few quid. Charity shops are great if you want to pick up a few books, especially when you want to pass them on as a teaching aid.

All in all its been a good day, even if I had to throw away a watch and you must know just how much I love watches, if you don’t  then read 

The Watch and Me at www.michaelgcasey.multiply.com 

That’s all folks, from this fool on his own hill here in Birmingham. 

Weather Forecast

The Weather Forecast

By

Michael Casey

I just read in the DT that the Weather Forecast was going to be quality tested. This is a joke, Weather Forecasts  are an Art it is NOT a science, obviously it involves science, before you pedants out there correct me.

Bob Hope used to say he liked England because you got 4 Seasons in one day, my brother’s Wedding Anniversary is upon us, and he had:- snow, rain, sunshine  and more, all on one day.

Just look out the window, that’s the best weather forecast, we all know that the black clouds bring rain, even children know that. What’s with all the Political Correctness and the Weather. Where is the common sense?

There’s too much of the “I’ll Sue” mentality, it’s the weather for God’s sake or are we going to start suing God. You got it all wrong with Creation, it should have taken less that 6 days, and as for the 7th day of rest, you should have been doing overtime to correct your mistakes. 

And as for Weather, Mr God, you really messed up there.

A bolt of lightning just hit the soothsayers, thank you God, I like weather your way!

Hotel Achat Offenbach Frankfurt 2008   I'd love to go back

The Door

The Door ©

By 

Michael Casey

The door wasn’t even there, I couldn’t even see it, I had always hoped that somebody 

would opened the door. But how could a door be opened if it did not even exist?

Then by a series of random events I found I’d passed through the door, and I was 

somewhere else, somewhere totally unexpected. I have a  photo  of me standing up 

and presenting, at the time I felt that was a dream, a hope, an “if only” and the photo 

must now be 20 years old. 

Concierge duties have prepared me for presenting duties, the major difference is that 

now I have a whiteboard behind me. The talk is a bit different, much more important 

now, but the fun is the same, the standing up is the same.  The sore feet still part of 

the territory, but the door has been opened and I’ve past through it.

So how has this happened? Is it magic? Is it prayer? Is it luck? Perhaps its God’s luck.

I did once dream of a dirty white door, but now instead I’ve passed through an 

invisible  door, I’ve reached my dream, only 20 years after the dream began. Perhaps

I’m a really heavy sleeper,  and like Rip Van Wrinkle I’ve awoken, only to find 

myself where I’ve wanted to be, standing up in front of a whiteboard talking  and 

getting paid for it.

I haven’t made the bestsellers list, that’s an even longer dream, probably even beyond 

God’s magic, beyond Hope beyond Reason. But I am a good at waiting, very good at 

waiting indeed, perhaps even better than a pregnant woman, I’m watching the sands 

of Time  fall and maybe just maybe another door will open without me noticing it. 

Then before I retire I will be the latest new thing, the latest new writer, and with  the 

help of God and two policemen I’ll sell more books than Dan Brown.

Attachment: Shoplife.pdf

The things that bind us

The things that bind us

Our Father Who Art In Heaven, these are the words that should bind Christians together. I’m a Catholic for what its worth, and immediately hatred begins. My daughters have both joined a C of E Choir and one will be Baptised there at Easter, even though I though she was already Baptised, this took place at the Chinese Evangelical Church 9 years ago, and I did dab water on her head within days of her birth.

So that’s 3 Christian churches where the family attend, I hope it means our prayers get answered sooner, though if you read Padre Pio and Me on my site www.michaelgcasey.multiply.com then you know I hit the jackpot years ago, spiritually that is, not in money terms.

None of this makes me or us holy, quite the reserve, I am in need of prayer. So its nice that new Muslim friends pray for me at Friday prayers, if any other faith group wishes to pray then I will be very happy to receive all and any prayers. I did write a nice poem which can be seen on my home page, but all in all Prayer for me is a deeply personal  thing. Its like the whispers in the night, its like the star lit sky, its the breeze on a summer’s day, its like the goodnight kiss from a child before they go to bed.

I just read a little about Melvyn Bragg in today’s DT, I wish I had a tenth of his intellect, but I do know that occasionally a few words  come to me which are much greater than I ever will be. Artists create and we struggle to understand what its supposed to mean, struggling with ourselves is the biggest struggle. The interior life is the biggest deal of all, its a never ending journey, sometimes along the way you get a “whoosh” perhaps when on a Pilgrimage, or when you are having a quiet sit-down   in a cathedral, you’re there to rest your sore feet on your lunch hour but then “whoosh” you get a poem or you witness something. I  spent 3 years+ of  lunch hours resting my feet in St.Phillips, its the C of E cathedral, St. Chads was too far away, I joked that I was trying to convert them to Rome.  I saw many things, such as a hugh bodybuilder lighting candles with his wafer thin girlfriend in tow. I was a voyeur while girls cried their eyes out, I just joined my prayers with theirs, a phantom prayer sayer hoping and helping them with prayers, not that they’d ever notice me.

Does all this sound old fashioned and useless, prayer is dead, God is dead, that’s what ignorant people say. So what should I say and do? I’ll just say what my mum always used to say, “God is Good.”

And so are we if we just stop and listen to the prayers on the wind, listen to the stars, beyond that curtain in the night sky.

Day dreaming(c) By Michael Casey

Daydreams © By Michael Casey

Daydreams ©

By

Michael Casey

I was just looking at Rightmove.co.uk, its one of my dream sites, there I have my dreams. What would it be like to own this house or that house, would it be big enough for my growing girls, would I get a bathroom of my own?

Dorine used to say her dad in Normandy was so happy when he had his own bathroom, I would be just as happy myself. I am the only man in a three female plus one household. I bought a new chair from Argos the other day, mine had collapsed after 6 years, thanks to my girls wanting to sit with daddy when films were on, and yes daddy does look a bit like Shrek. So I bought a small 2 seater  which is nice, only my girls have decided its just perfect for them, so I am relegated to the old and cold leather settee, my wife’s laughter is the only comfort.

So I look at Rightmove.co.uk for comfort, only what do I get only sadness, why, because the house of my dreams has been sold, not that I could afford it anyway but its good to dream. Our dad used to say if ever he won money he’d buy us all a house, so the concept no doubt springs from him, but he have us all a home, and that is built with Love so I laugh at myself as I look at the pretty houses. But IF I do win any money then a house it will be. There are lots up by the woods and only cost 3 times more than I’d get for my house, so winning the lottery or finally getting published is the only chance in hell that’ll I have. But strange things have happened in my life, luck and prayer do bring results, like my current job path.

So what’s my latest dream house? Well its up the road about a mile from where I am sitting and only twice as expensive as where I am now sat talking to you. It’s a nice large semi, or rather end of terrace, so by default a semi, with a garage too. So you could extend and make it bigger, if only you or rather I had the money. Hope springs eternal they say, so I hope that one day I will indeed have my dream house, what will it be and where will it be? God alone knows, but I will keep on dreaming, even if I have to wait 30 more years, and then I could be in an old people’s home, and all I’d have left would be dreams.

My daughters have vowed they’d visit me in the home, and one  has even offered some numbers for tonight’s lottery, so on that note I’ll just pop out to the shops and see if I can make my dreams a reality, good luck everybody.

Treasure for my Girls

Treasure for my girls © 

By 

Michael Casey

My sister was having a clear out prior to having her bedroom redecorated, so she was throwing away years of treasure and assorted rubbish. I had myself throw out an old armchair as we were having a new one, normally Sky Burial takes my rubbish away, however after 2 days nobody has taken my old chair away. 

There was a screech of brakes, my sister’s car came to a halt, she jumped out and hurled her rubbish onto my old armchair, with a wave she was gone. Monday is her choir practice so she had no time to waste, her tonsils were revving and ready to go, so she was gone. My daughters, her nieces dashed to the armchair in anticipation of treasure.

Once back inside our house, the pirates shared out the hoard, and what a good hoard it was. Clip on earrings in a variety of sizes and colours, necklaces of gold and silver, not forgetting broaches galore, one of which I recognised as a broach from an Irish Dancing shawl from 45years before. I could remember the jiggling and so forth, aunty had even won 4 medals, and when she had quit Irish Dancing the shawls were converted into curtains for the bathroom windows, our mum was a whiz on the sewing machine.

My girls shared out the treasure, singing the praises of the best aunty ever, so much treasure and it was all for them, not forgetting all the educational books you always get when your aunty is a teacher. Then my girls opened up shop as shop girls selling earrings and the like. Educational treasure that feed the imaginations, as well as the spirits, it could have been so easily thrown in the bin, but now it would have a new lease of life, thanks to the best aunty ever. 

My Dad My Best Friend

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 2nd 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 5th child, the 5th 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 3rd 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.