1159. Charity in all things

Dearly Beloved in the Lord

Greetings! It has come to my attention that some of you are praying to God that you might win the lottery. You would like a better house and a bigger car. Perhaps you would like to travel the world. Allow me to point out the selfishness of that prayer.

Don’t you realize that the world is full of poor people who don’t even know where their next meal is coming from? Let alone having a roof over their heads. There are countless numbers of these poor people who are too lazy to work and so have to beg for money. And yet we still have to act with charity. They may be the scum of the earth but charity is called for.

So I say it loud and clear: give generously to the fund I have set up to help the poor and needy, and remember – charity in all things. Charity! Forget trying to win the lottery. Give from what you already have. There is no place for selfishness, and quite frankly, if you don’t whole-heartedly give to my fund for the poor I hope you burn in hell, you uncharitable bastards.

1158. Roll Over Shakespeare

I don’t often deviate into a true story, but so many have expressed a kindly interest in my house-hunting that I thought the “story” of getting a successful outcome would be an acceptable off-track thing to do.

We now have a house to go to, but what a saga getting there! It was our third trip away to look at houses, although we’d been looking online for over a year.

Here’s the view as we scamper along the road to the region of New Zealand called Taranaki. See the volcano?

We had decided we weren’t going to move until we found as near a “perfect” rental place as possible. Over the years we have been “forced” to hurriedly move because of work, or the owners sold or wanted the place themselves, and so on. It was time to find a place to rent that suited us! A list of must-haves and nice-to-haves was made, e.g. water pressure (not a dribble), three large bedrooms, room for a sizable vegie garden, a log-burner, two car spaces, and so on.

Several weeks ago we found a semi-suitable place online. It was in the shadow of Mt Egmont, one of New Zealand’s many volcanos.

Last Monday the rental agency phoned to say we had missed out in renting it, but another place had come up for rent. Were we interested? We said we were, and could travel the six-hours there and back to see it next weekend. On Saturday/Sunday we made the journey. It’s near the same volcano! It has three bedrooms, a wood-burner, three garages… It was at 422 Ryelish Road, way-way in the country! The appointment with the rental agency lady was at 11am. We waited at the gate. At 11.15am we still waited at the gate. At 11.30am we still waited at the gate. The rental agency lady didn’t turn up. We sent her a text. No reply.

Blow it! said I. We haven’t travelled all this way not to see it. We shall knock on their door and ask. So we did that, but no one was home. The house was unlocked. We went through the garages. We went through the house. I took photographs of everything. There was even a cat on the bed!! They had recently mowed the lawn in preparation for our inspection!

The place was excellent!

As we returned to our vehicle the phone went. It was the rental agency lady. Where were we? She had waited for an hour. We’re at 422 Ryeish Road.

It’s 422 Ryeley Road, she said.

Oh!

Oh!

It was in fact the next road over. We went there. If the wrong place had been excellent, this next right place was perfection! It couldn’t have been better (although there’s a tree blocking the view of the volcano so I won’t be able to photograph it for you when it explodes).

We shall be moving there in three weeks or so. Time to pack! Thank goodness I’m several months ahead with the daily stories! The nearest town is called Stratford. Roll over Shakespeare!

And that is the story of walking uninvited through some strangers’ house and photographing everything. I might add, they hadn’t made their beds.

1157. Finbarr’s novel

Finbarr was quite upset; a film star had been badly injured doing a stunt. Finbarr had always imagined that particular actor as taking the lead part in the film they would make using his novel as a basis.

Finbarr hadn’t started the novel yet as such, but he had a few ideas. He could actually see in his mind’s eye the credits at the end of the movie rolling over the big screen. Of course, everyone in the theatre would usually be standing and walking out by now – during the credits – but in this case they were so moved they remained seated. When the credits finished the audience applauded. That was not that common an occurrence. Clearly they were emotional. Who wouldn’t be after such a gruelling two hours of intense emotion?

It was therefore extremely disappointing to read of the film star’s stunt accident. Of course, there were other actors, but they wouldn’t do as good a job.

There were further problems blighting Finbarr’s plans for a novel: who would play the female lead? The actress he wanted initially was now too old. Of course, they could dolly her up a bit with modern technology but it’s not the same. And then they had plundered the forest for timber, which he had thought would have been the perfect setting for the film.

A final upsetting thing was that Finbarr would have preferred it if the scene used during the final credits had been filmed from a circling helicopter. Filming the final view from a high hill with a telescopic lens was not really the right thing to do.

Problems! Problems! Finbarr was back to square one with his novel writing.

Poem 46: I think I left my wallet

(The poetic form selected for this week is the French triolet).

I think I left my wallet underneath a bed.
I wish I could remember whose bed belongs to who.
Was it Cynthia’s or Brenda’s? Jill’s or even Fred’s?
I think I left my wallet underneath a bed.
Meg’s perhaps or Elsie’s? Jane’s or Winifred’s?
I really hope it’s Moira’s; I liked the kitschy-coo.
I think I left my wallet underneath a bed.
I wish I could remember whose bed belongs to who.

1156. Free phone

It’s a marvellous thing, modern technology. The Government gave everyone with dementia a free phone.

They spend all day phoning each other up to tell each other the same thing.
They spend all day phoning each other up to tell each other the same thing.
They spend all day phoning each other up to tell each other the same thing.
They spend all day phoning each other up to tell each other the same thing.
They spend all day phoning each other up to tell each other the same thing.

I’m talking about the Government, not those with dementia.

1155. Job interview

There were six people waiting for a job interview. It was a simple job, but with the difficulty these days of finding work, almost anything would do. The six waiting interviewees were applying for a mail sorting job. Madeline was in charge of the process.

Madeline was dressed in her Sunday best for the occasion. A little bit of power dressing, she thought, a little bit of black; in fact, quite a bit of black. She was startled to overhear, at least she thought she overheard, one of the applicants say to the others, “I don’t think much of what that woman’s wearing.”

The interviewing process began. Madeline gave each a pile of envelops and told them to sort things alphabetically into pigeon holes.

“Times up!” announced Madeline.

“But you never said it was a speed test.”

“Well what do you expect?” said Madeline. “I’m afraid you were all too slow. We shall re-advertise the job.”